Justice in June

by Barbara Levenson

  I eased the car out of the parking lot and into the line of traffic. As soon as I got to the highway, I called my mother.

  “Hi, what’s up?” I asked. She had picked up on the first ring.

  “I’ll tell you what’s up. I had to learn from Angelina Martin that my daughter was accosted, injured, and taken to the emergency room. She said this occurred two days ago. Mary, why are you shutting me out of your life?”

  “I’m not shutting you out. I’m just trying not to worry you over nothing. I’m just fine. But more importantly, why were you talking to Angelina? Did she call you to tell you about this?”

  “No, fortunately for me, I happened to call her this morning.”

  “What in the world for?”

  “Well, I thought it was high time that we met the Martins, so I invited them to go to dinner this Saturday night, with you and Carlos, of course. It’s all set. We’re meeting at the Ocean Inn in Fort Lauderdale. That’s sort of halfway between where they live and where we live.”

  I was speechless. Just the kind of additional stress I needed right now.

  “Mary, are you there?”

  “Yes, I’m here. I’m just amazed that you would do something like this without consulting me. What’s the point of this dinner?”

  “How can I consult you when you’re never available. Always too busy to call. The point is that you and Carlos are practically inseparable. It’s only reasonable that our two families should meet.”

  “I’m over thirty years old, Mother. Don’t you think I should be the one to tell you when a relationship is serious? When it’s time to meet the family?”

  “I know how old you are. That’s just the point. Your time is running out to know the joy of having children. Although, I must say, lately you haven’t been much of a joy. What about this blow to your head in your parking lot? Are you really okay?”

  “I can’t discuss this any further right now. I’m trying to drive through traffic, and I’ve got a dozen problems at work. I’ll talk to you later.” I closed my cell phone and slammed my hand against the steering wheel.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “No one has any information about Luis Corona. I’ve called every holding facility, state and federal, from Monroe County all the way through Palm Beach,” Catherine said as soon as I walked in the office door. “They all say he’s not on their roster. What else can we do to find him?”

  “He could be anywhere. The feds truck defendants all over the country, or worse, he could be on his way to Guantanamo. Once they lock him away there, we’ll never get access to him.”

  “I thought you weren’t interested in representing him,” Catherine said.

  “I wasn’t at first, but Ramon has already fired us, and I guess I felt ashamed of leaving Luis in this mess. He really doesn’t look like a terrorist, not that I know what one is supposed to look like. He just looked like a scared kid.”

  “On another note, a packet of papers was delivered by messenger from Judge Maxwell.” Catherine laid the packet on my desk. “Any other calls you want me to make about Luis? Do you think you’ll be on TV again? Maybe the media will come to the office and we can all be on CNN. My kids would love that.”

  “I’m not doing this for the publicity, but I’ll keep your kids in mind if the horde descends on us. Try to get Lucy Stern’s husband on the phone. Steve Stern at the U.S. Attorney’s Office. Maybe he can help me find Luis.”

  “I remember Lucy. She’s your old friend who brought you flowers for the new office,” Catherine said. “Is she a lawyer too?”

  “No, she’s actually a friend all the way back to elementary school. She married Steve before she finished college. She’s mainly a mom. Leave word for Steve to call me.”

  I opened the packet that Liz sent over. The first set of papers outlined the defendants she had sentenced over the last six months. It appeared that she exceeded the sentencing guidelines in several cases. There was an armed robbery of a seventy-year-old woman in a bank parking lot. The woman suffered a debilitating heart attack. Liz used the “three strikes law” to give the defendant a life sentence. His priors included another robbery and a burglary. A twenty-year-old was convicted of stalking several girls on a school playground. She gave him twelve years, although the state had asked for only six. That one was sure to come back after an appeal. There were a few other violent crimes in which the defendants had received high sentences.

  The drug cases were a different story. Several low-level sellers had received the bottom of the sentencing guidelines. One woman who was a confirmed addict with a long record of petit thefts was sent to a treatment program where she could also house her baby. None of these matters seemed enough to trigger an investigation. There was no mention of any drug cases being dismissed by Liz.

  Next I turned to the descriptions of the employees who worked for Liz.

  Patricia Patterson was her judicial assistant, the euphemistic name the court system gives to judicial secretaries. She had worked for Liz for her entire tenure on the bench. Before that, she was employed by Judge Streeter, who retired. Patricia was an African American, fifty-seven years old, married to a Miami-Dade police major who headed the internal investigation unit. Her children were grown. All were college graduates and were career military officers.

  Millie Clancy was Liz’s courtroom clerk. She was responsible for the court files and for keeping all docket sheets. I paused a moment. Here was someone who could alter case files. I read on. Millie was sixty-one years old, a widow near retirement. She had been in the clerk’s office for twenty-nine years. Her husband had owned a small grocery store. He was shot in his store when two warring drug dealers held a shoot-out. Her one daughter was married and lived in Atlanta.

  Gladys Perez-Martinez had been with Liz for six of her ten years on the bench. Her prior employment was with a private security firm. Liz described her as a highly competent bailiff. She kept good order in the courtroom and kept the attorneys in line. She was always impeccably professional, her white shirt starched, tie straight, shoes shined, long hair pulled back in a bun. Liz also described a different Gladys. An after-hours party was held for Patricia’s birthday. Gladys came dressed in a miniskirt, high leather boots, and her hair loose in long curls. No one recognized her for several minutes.

  Gladys was thirty-five years old. She was married two years ago to a Colombian who had his own import-export business. She and her husband, Billy Martinez, purchased a house in a fashionable subdivision in Doral. Gladys performed a variety of duties, including courtroom organization, conforming and dispersing orders, and opening mail.

  I finished reading and dialed the state attorney. It was time to find out just how far this investigation was going.

  Jason Jimenez-Jones had been elected state attorney two years earlier based on his campaign pledge to go after crooked officials. This was a pledge made by numerous Miami office holders, some of whom eventually landed in jail themselves.

  I was impressed enough with Jason to work for his election. I liked the fact that he was a typical “mixed breed” Miamian, like so many of us. I also thought he was sincere about making Miami a better place. Now I was in an awkward position. He was doing what he promised and I wanted him to stop.

  I got through the first layer of phone answerers and reached Olga, Jason’s first assistant.

  “Olga, this is Mary Magruder Katz. I believe we met during Jason’s election campaign.”

  “Yes, I remember. You’re the defense attorney with the Fieldstone firm, correct?”

  “Well, I was at the time. I have my own law firm now. I need to set an appointment to speak with Jason.”

  “If this is about employment, I can put you through to the chair of our hiring committee,” Olga said.

  “No, I’m very happy where I am, thank you. I need to discuss a matter regarding one of my clients.”

  “Jason doesn’t meet with attorneys about individual defendants. You need to take up such matters with the assistant handling
the case.”

  “Look, Olga, this is a highly confidential matter. I’m quite sure Jason is the only one I need to speak with.” I was becoming more irritated by the minute.

  “Well, tell me the name of your client and the case number and I’ll see if Jason will see you, but he doesn’t have any openings until a week from Thursday.”

  “I think you better jog Jason’s memory. I dropped my entire schedule to assist Jason’s campaign two years ago. He will be facing election again soon. The Criminal Defense Bar Association will be interested in hearing that Jason’s open-door policy has been closed and locked. Now go tell Jason I’m on the line and that I need to see him immediately about a current investigation. I’ll wait while you consult him.”

  Olga hesitated. “I’m not sure if he’s in his office.”

  “Well, the best way to find that out is to buzz his intercom. I’ll wait.”

  A few minutes passed. I reread Liz’s papers and my notes from our meeting while I waited.

  Olga returned to the line. “Ms. Katz, Jason said to come over tomorrow morning at ten thirty, and he said to tell you he was sorry you were kept waiting.”

  I hung up and gave myself a hug. Never take “no” for the final answer.

  As soon as I hung up, Catherine buzzed me. “Steve Stern is on the line. He wants to know if you can meet him and Lucy for lunch tomorrow. He’s meeting Lucy at noon at that new bistro on Brickell Avenue, The Green Toad. What an unappetizing name. What should I tell him?”

  “Tell him that’ll be perfect.”

  The day was winding down. My head still hurt. Now all I had to do was find Carlos and hope he wasn’t still angry with me, because I had to tell him about my mother’s devious dinner on Saturday.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Carlos answered his second cell phone. I could hear construction noise so I knew he was still at a job site.

  “Carlos, I’m so sorry I ran out on you yesterday. I just had to see my own house. And I’m really sorry your land deal didn’t go through in Palm Beach. Let me make dinner tonight. Whatever time you say.”

  “You’ll make dinner? Is this your way of poisoning me in order to end our relationship?”

  “Hey, I’m not that bad a cook. Okay, how about I pick up dinner that someone else cooked. I can stop on my way home.”

  “I’ll be there by seven. We’ll talk then.” Carlos hung up abruptly.

  By six thirty, I had showered and changed into shorts and my sexiest tee shirt. The table was set. The wine was poured and arroz con pollo was keeping warm on the stove, courtesy of the Spanish chicken place in South Miami.

  I knew when Carlos was turning into my driveway. Sam began to pace by the front door. As soon as I opened the door, I tried to hug Carlos, but Sam bullied his way between us and put his paws on Carlos’s chest. When I finally got my turn, I could smell Carlos’s shampoo. His hair was still wet. He must have showered instead of arriving in his construction clothes. He returned my hug, but it was less than enthusiastic.

  He picked up his glass of wine and stared at it. “You don’t have any Scotch, do you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. Want it with water or soda?”

  “Neither. Just over one ice cube.”

  I handed him his drink and started to serve up the dinner plates.

  “Could you keep it warm a bit longer?” Carlos asked. He drained the Scotch in the glass and poured himself another shot.

  “Carlos, what’s wrong? If it’s about yesterday, I’m really sorry. I was thoughtless. If it’s about Luis Corona, I’m sorry about the fuss I made. I’m trying to locate him so I can help him.”

  “Listen, I’m not mad, just tired and disappointed. I thought I knew you, but, as you have pointed out often enough, we don’t know each other that well. I can put up with your wacky side and even your stubborn side, but I didn’t think you were selfish and uncaring about my feelings. I’m not Sam that you can have around just when you want him. I’m not prepared to be your puppy dog.”

  “Are you breaking up with me?” I asked. Because if you are, you picked a shitty time to do it. My mother called your mother and arranged a dinner party for the six of us for Saturday night. I knew absolutely nothing about this, until she sprung it on me on the phone today.”

  For the first time since he arrived, Carlos smiled. His smile just makes me tingle.

  “So your mother has decided that we are official. Well, I guess we better not break up this week. Maybe we wait until next week.” He began to laugh.

  “What’s funny about this?”

  “I’m not breaking up with you. I love you. I just want you to stop acting like a spoiled child. Go put that chicken on the table. I’ve had a terrible week. Besides your antics, I’ve lost out on my next project. I’m behind on the condo project, and the investors are on my neck along with the people who put deposits on the units. They want to move in in two months and we aren’t half done.”

  “Well, let’s have some dinner, and maybe we’ll both feel better,” I said.

  When we were almost done with dinner, I brought Luis up, again.

  “Please, tell me everything you know about Luis. I have nothing to go on. I don’t know why he was coming to Miami, or anything about his background.”

  “It’s good that you’re going to represent him. I really don’t know what he was doing in Miami, but I can find out from his parents. In fact, you can talk to them yourself. His parents own some high-end boutiques in Argentina. Our families have known each other for years, and they’ve been very good to my brother, Jose, and my sister, Celia, since they’ve been living down there. Jose and his wife and kids run the cattle ranches that were my grandfather’s. But they keep an apartment in B.A., too. And the Coronas take Maritza under their wing when she’s in the city by herself.”

  “B.A.? Maritza?”

  “Yeah, Buenos Aires. Maritza is my sister-in-law. She’d kill Jose if she didn’t get into the city pretty often. You know living in the cattle region is like living in Texas. And my sister has a little apartment in the city too. God knows what she’s into. Mama is so upset with Celia for staying away so long. Cuban kids don’t move far from their parents, but Mama forgets that we are only half Cuban.”

  “So you’re the good half. You stayed here.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m the oldest. I also like making a healthy living. That’s easier here. Governments come and go in Argentina, and sometimes they take people’s money with them.”

  “I’ll call Luis’s parents tomorrow. Right now, how about dessert?”

  “Only if we’re having it in the bedroom,” Carlos said.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I was in the office early the next morning. It was the first morning that I didn’t awaken with a throbbing head. I placed a call to the Coronas at their home number. They would be able to talk more freely than at their office.

  A maid or some servant answered immediately. “Hola, buenos dias, casa de los Coronas,” she said.

  “Señor o Señora Corona, por favor. Yo soy abogada de Luis.” When I told her I was Luis’s lawyer, she hurried from the phone.

  “Uno momento, por favor. Señor, Señora, rápidamente. El telefono. Es muy importante.” I heard the excitement in her voice.

  “This is Señor Corona,” a deep voice said.

  “Señor, my name is Mary Magruder Katz. I’m an attorney in Miami, and a friend of Carlos Martin, the son of Angelina and J.C. I wanted to talk to you about Luis.”

  “Just a minute. Let me get my esposa on the other phone.”

  In a minute another voice joined us. Mr. Corona explained to her in rapid Spanish who I was.

  “Have you seen Luis? How is he? Where is he?” Mrs. Corona sounded like she was crying.

  “I saw Luis briefly at the Dade County Jail. However, federal agents came to move him before I could interview him. He appeared healthy, and showed no signs of any injuries.”

  “This is good, but where is he now?” Mr. Corona said. />
  “We aren’t sure, but I am working on it. I have a meeting set today with someone from the federal prosecutor’s office. I wanted to introduce myself to you and find out what I can that may help me to assist Luis. Have you been able to speak with him?”

  “Not really — only once for a minute. They let him call and he told us he had been arrested on the airplane. He didn’t even know why,” Mr. Corona said.

  “I need to ask you some questions. Do you know why Luis was coming to Miami?”

  “Of course, we sent him there,” Mrs. Corona was definitely crying.

  “Maria, please, let me give some information to Ms. Katz. You just listen,” Mr. Corona said.

  “Okay, Miguel.” I heard Maria Corona blowing her nose.

  “Ms. Katz, we own several boutiques here in Buenos Aires. We feature Argentine designers. We have been trying to expand into the States. We got an opportunity to purchase an excellent location in Coral Gables. Paulina Lowy was closing her shop. Luis was entrusted with the money to make the purchase. It was our hope to give him the confidence to purchase the shop and to stay in Miami to run it.”

  “Was he carrying funds with him to make the purchase? How much money was involved,” I asked.

  “He had a hundred fifty thousand dollars in cash with him to make the initial payment. The rest was to come in payments from the proceeds of the shop on a monthly basis.”

  “Why did he bring cash? Was it American dollars?”

  “Oh, yes, that’s what Paulina wanted. You know many people outside the United States prefer to deal in currency, especially American dollars. Some South Americans don’t really trust bank checks, or even banks at all.”

  The call that you got from Luis, when was that? Give me a timetable. When did he leave Argentina?”

  “He left on Friday. It’s a long flight so we didn’t expect to hear from him until late Saturday, but there was no word, so we called the hotel on Sunday morning where he had his reservation. They said he never checked in. We checked the airline thinking something had happened to the flight, but they said it landed on time. We got his phone call at five a.m. on Monday morning. He said they arrested him on the plane. No one told him why. He mumbled something about smoking. Then he said he was being booked into the Dade County Jail. Then they made him hang up. That’s when I called the Martins for help,” Mr. Corona said.