Justice in June

by Barbara Levenson

  I read everything again. The big question mark was the cases Jason said Liz had dismissed without reason. There was no mention of those cases in her summary of cases she had handled. Either Liz was lying to me, or someone was signing her name on orders.

  A large manila envelope in my in-box drew my attention. The name of a court reporting firm was printed on its front. I found the transcript of the trial Liz had conducted with Joe as defense counsel. It was voluminous. I scanned the pages quickly for objections and decisions by Liz. It did seem that Joe had gotten more objections sustained than the prosecution had received, but none of them looked like favoritism. I decided to have Catherine read the whole transcript and give me notes on any evidence of fawning or favoring of Joe.

  I glanced at my watch. It was after four o’clock. I didn’t want to talk to Liz at the courthouse. I called her cell phone, but only got the voice mail.

  I glanced down at the file and saw her home number and dialed it. Liz answered after a couple of rings.

  “Hi, Mary. Is anything new?”

  “Not exactly, Liz. How are you? I didn’t expect to find you at home.”

  “I came home early. I just couldn’t concentrate with this thing hanging over my head. I picked up when I saw it was you.”

  “I met with Jason today, and it may be necessary for you to be interviewed by him, but don’t worry. I’ll stall that for a while, and we’ll have plenty of time to prepare you. Meanwhile, Jason said that you had dismissed a lot of drug cases with no hearings, and early in the cases, sometimes even after the arraignment. You wouldn’t have done that just to lower your case numbers, would you?”

  “Good heavens, no. My division has always been very efficient, and I’d never play the system like that. I don’t know of any cases I ever dismissed like that.”

  “I didn’t think so, but I had to ask. Here’s what I want you to do. Get a complete printout of the dispositions of the cases in your division for the last few months. Then we can pull the files and see what these orders look like. It may be that someone has been manipulating cases assigned to you. When you have the list, Catherine and I will go to the clerk’s office and view the files. Do this as soon as possible. Oh, and order the printout yourself. Keep your staff out of this.”

  “Do you suspect one of them?” Liz sounded almost hysterical.

  “It’s a possibility,” I said. “The list you sent to me contains only the cases in which you actually sentenced a defendant. We need the official printout from the clerk’s office. That should show all of your closed cases.”

  “Okay, Mary, I’ll get on it first thing tomorrow. I’ll go in early before any of the staff arrives.”

  I hung up and looked over the notes again. I needed to know more about Jack Carillo. Carlos must know something about him. He took me to a party at Jack’s house.

  I dialed Carlos and left him a message to call or come by the office. Just in case he showed up, I brushed my hair and put on fresh makeup and a spritz of Obsession cologne.

  Lucy was right. Carlos was definitely a hotty.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  I spent the next hour catching up with mail and drafting motions in two D.U.I. cases. Catherine came in to say she was leaving, and that Carlos had just called that he was on his way over.

  A few minutes later, Carlos clumped into the office and folded his tall frame into the chair across from me. He was in his jeans and construction boots, which he propped up on the end of my desk. He looked macho and I must admit it turned me on.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “Thanks for coming over. Are you on your way home?”

  “Eventually, but I have to stop at my parents first.”

  Angelina and J.C. live in a condo in one of the most glamorous high-rises in the Grove. They have the penthouse, which is a whole floor. The elevator opens directly into their own hallway. They moved there after their kids were out of the nest. Carlos had shown me where he grew up. It was in what used to be horse country in the southwest part of the county, before housing developments sprung up on every piece of ground.

  “How come you have to stop at your parents? Is everything okay with them?”

  “Oh, yeah, I just have to talk to them. I have to fire Marielena’s daughter, so I need to give them a heads-up.”

  “You mean your aunt’s daughter works for you? Marielena is the worst busybody. How come you let her daughter work for you?”

  “I don’t know. It’s family, and she needed a job.”

  “What’s her position?”

  “She’s supposed to be my realty agent at the condo. You know, man the sales office. For the last few years these things sold themselves. In fact, for the building in Fort Lauderdale, we held a lottery. That’s how many buyers there were. I didn’t think she’d get in much trouble, but now people are screaming to move in, and she can’t handle it. She doesn’t know how to talk to people. I told you about this.”

  “Yeah, but you didn’t tell me your cousin was mucking things up.”

  “She is. She insulted a couple of the buyers and she just can’t handle things, so I gotta fire her. I might get sued by the buyers. I’ve never been sued.”

  “All right, Carlos, we’ll sort this out. Right now I need to ask you about Jack Carillo. You took me to his house on Star Island, to that party. I need to know some more about him.”

  “You’re not his lawyer, are you?”

  “No, but he has something to do with a case I’m working on. How well do you know him?”

  “We went to high school together. I see him from time to time at the Yacht Club. When he bought that house, he hired me to renovate it. It’s not the kind of work I do anymore. Haven’t since I first started the business, but he was an old friend so I agreed. It was a messy job. He kept changing the plans.”

  “What about his drug-dealing reputation?”

  “What about it? Why do you think I know anything about that?” Carlos was clearly annoyed.

  “Well, is he part of the Mafia drug dealers?”

  “How should I know? You mean the Cuban Mafia, don’t you? Do you think I hang around with that group of people?” Carlos began to show his Latin temper.

  “You took us to a party at his house. I just thought you’d know something about him. Don’t be so sensitive,” I said.

  Carlos stood up. “I never thought you were one of those Anglo bigots who thinks every Cuban is a drug dealer. I have no information to give you for your case.”

  Carlos tramped out of the office, slamming the door. I was too surprised to go after him. Oh great. Now I had the two cases from hell, and I just lost my boyfriend.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  I left the office after Carlos’s tantrum and went right home. Sam was glad to see me at a normal time for a change. While he chowed down his dinner, I found a beer in the fridge. I thought about Lucy’s healthy diet and decided not to order the pizza I craved. I opened a can of tuna and turned on the TV. It made good background noise to drown out Carlos’s words. How could he think I was a bigot?

  Something on the TV caught my attention. The reporter was doing a feature on Miami as an international center. “While Miami does not have full foreign embassies like New York and Washington, Miami does boast the largest number of foreign consulates of any city with less than five million in population. Many nations post consul generals in South Florida, with their offices and homes located throughout the area. Central and South American countries in particular find this helpful, since many of their citizens visit, live, or work in South Florida.”

  I smacked myself in the head. Why hadn’t I thought to locate an ambassador or consul from Argentina? When a foreign national is arrested, they always call their embassy. At least that’s what they do in the movies. Luis probably never had the opportunity. I wondered if Miguel Corona had made such a contact. I needed to follow up on this in the morning.

  I spent a restless night worrying about the fight with Carlos, which was really a o
ne-sided fight, — all on his part. At two a.m., I wandered into the kitchen and gave in to chocolate chunk ice cream. Then I slept.

  At six a.m., I was wide awake and decided to take Sam for a run before the heat of the day enveloped us again. More of Lucy’s guilt trip. The humidity was draining and the thermometer read eighty degrees already.

  We ran several blocks up to the Miracle Mile. Starbucks was open. I got a double espresso, a glass of water, and the morning Herald. We sat down at a table. Sam lapped up the water. I sipped my espresso and opened the paper. The headline in the Metro section leaped from the page.

  ALLEGED DRUG DEALER MURDERED, MANSION BURNED

  Jack Carillo, recently arrested and indicted on numerous drug and money-laundering charges, was found shot in the back of the head in the smoldering ruins of his Star Island mansion.

  A call to the Miami Beach Fire Department was received at nine p.m. last night. The first responders found a blazing inferno. Arson was immediately suspected. Firemen found chemical residue throughout the first floor.

  The mansion was the residence of Jack Carillo, who was found in a second-floor bedroom. The medical examiner arrived at the scene as soon as conditions were safe for entry. Initial tests showed Carillo was dead before the fire began. No medical signs appeared to show that he had been asphyxiated by smoke inhalation. Further examination found two bullet holes in the back of Carillo’s skull.

  Police and the state attorney have refused to comment on possible suspects. The investigation will continue with assistance from special police and fire investigation units. The medical examiner will perform a full autopsy later today.

  I sat staring at the paper. Then I grabbed Sam’s leash and raced home. I jumped into the Explorer, threw Sam in the back, and drove directly to Pinecrest to Carlos’s house. As I pulled into the driveway, Carlos was getting into his Escalade. I leaped out of my SUV, waving the paper and my arms to stop him from driving off.

  “What is the matter with you?” Carlos yelled. For a minute, I thought maybe he was still mad and was about to run me over. He idled the motor and got out of the car.

  “Did you come over early hoping to catch some of my Cuban Mafia friends?”

  Sarcasm dripped from him like the morning humidity.

  I handed him the paper. He spread it on the front of the car, and we read the article together.

  He looked up. “I can’t believe Jack is dead. I’ll call his parents and see if I can be of any help. Thanks for letting me know.” When he finally looked at me, I saw tears in his eyes.

  The lack of sleep, the shock of the article, and seeing Carlos’s emotional reaction shook me. “Look Carlos. I didn’t ever mean to hurt your feelings yesterday. Please, forgive me. I love you. You should know, there’s been a Jewish Mafia in Miami Beach for years. Myer Lansky died in Miami. I wouldn’t mind if you brought all that up. None of it reflects on you or me. It’s just part of the landscape.”

  “What did you say?” Carlos asked.

  “I said there is also a Jewish Mafia and —”

  “No he interrupted. The love part. You’ve never said that before.” He put his arms around me and we stood there together while the next door neighbor gawked at us.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  I walked into the office an hour later. Catherine was at her desk getting the messages from the voice mail. There was one from Liz and one from Jason.

  I returned Jason’s call first. This time I was put through immediately. Probably not a good sign.

  “Hello, Mary. Thanks for returning my call so promptly.”

  “Of course, Jason. What can I do for you?”

  “I think it’s time to bring your client Judge Maxwell in for questioning. Since she’s represented by counsel, I am duty bound to tell you that we are going to go visit her and ask her to come in voluntarily. Of course, she has a right to have you present while we talk to her.”

  “And suppose I refuse to allow her to talk to you.”

  “Well, I have several options. I could subpoena her to appear before a grand jury. Then she won’t have access to her lawyer. I could arrest her as a material witness or she could make an appointment and come in here and talk to me. It’s up to her.”

  “Jason, what has changed from yesterday that is causing you to jump like this?”

  “Did you see this morning’s paper? I’m sure you know that Jack Carillo has been murdered.”

  “Surely you don’t believe Judge Maxwell is involved in that.”

  “Listen, Mary, I’m going to share something with you that can’t go any further. Jack’s lawyer made a deal with me yesterday. Jack was about to become a cooperating witness and name the head of his organization. Before we could talk to him, he was dead and his house was torched. Right now, everyone is a suspect. That’s what has changed. Let me know what your client decides.” Jason hung up.

  My phone rang immediately. Catherine answered and announced that Liz was on the line again. I hadn’t even had a minute to think how much to tell her.

  “Mary, I’m sorry to bother you again, but I really am so nervous. Is there anything new?”

  I was used to lots of phone calls from my clients. Part of being a criminal defense attorney is also being a psychologist, a life coach, and a sympathetic ear.

  “You’re not bothering me at all,” I said. “As a matter of fact, I just spoke to Jason a minute ago. Do you know that Jack Carillo has been shot?”

  “No, I didn’t know.” Liz drew in her breath. “Is he a — alive?”

  “No, he was shot and his house was burned down. He’s quite dead. Jason is moving this investigation along. We may have to go in to see him next week. If we don’t go voluntarily, he may subpoena you. Please, let me do the worrying for you. How are you coming on the list of closed cases?”

  “I can’t stop worrying. I ordered my case audit last night, and it was delivered a little while ago. Jason can’t believe that I’m involved in Jack’s death, can he?”

  “Who knows what prosecutors think? See if you can get the list together by Monday and send it over by messenger.”

  “Why can’t I just e-mail it to you?”

  “Because then it will become a document that has to be given in discovery. You’re probably seeing numerous motions in court regarding what is now known as E-Discovery. Let’s keep everything as quiet as possible right now.”

  “Of course, you’re right. I guess I’ve stopped thinking like a lawyer or a judge and started thinking like a defendant.”

  “You hired me to do the legal thinking, Liz.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  While I finished the phone call, I searched for embassies and consulates on the Internet. Under Argentina, there was an embassy in New York, and one in Washington, and a consulate in Miami. The consul general’s name was Philipe Marquez. A further search turned up the name of our ambassador in Buenos Aires, Francis Miller.

  Francis Miller? I couldn’t believe I had just read that name. I knew him, as did everyone in Miami. He was a devout Republican who had been in Congress for umpteen years and was finally defeated by a young energetic woman. His full qualifications for the job of ambassador were that he was out of a job and had donated and raised lots of bucks in the last presidential campaign. None of that was important. What was important was that he and J. C. Martin were fishing buddies. I had met Miller at a dinner at the beach condo in April.

  Catherine got me the phone numbers for the embassy in Buenos Aires, and for the consulate in Miami. I tried the local one first. A friendly voice told me that Señor Marquez was in Washington until Monday morning. When I explained that this concerned an Argentine citizen who had been arrested and was being held in an unknown jail, she promised to give this top priority. I gave her all the information that I knew.

  Next I called the American Embassy in Argentina. Ambassador Miller had left for the weekend. I spoke to his assistant and asked that Miller be reminded that we had met through J. C. Martin. That was the magic do
or opener. The assistant took a full report about Luis’s arrest. Then he said that Miguel Corona had actually phoned there some days ago complaining about the arrest.

  “What action did you take?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

  “We explained that we would look into it, but we had other pressing matters.”

  “I hope these pressing matters do not take precedent over my phone call.” I said.

  “I will share all of this with the ambassador first thing Monday morning,” he said.

  As I hung up, I surmised that the pressing matters were Miller’s weekend vacation plans. I just love seeing our government in action.

  So now I had an idea about what to do next with Liz’s case, and a start on finding Luis. Now if only I didn’t have the “family” dinner tomorrow night with two sets of parents with about as much in common as a pride of lions and a litter of wildcats; both of the feline species, but likely to tear each other to pieces.

  Just as I was finally getting settled at the computer to draft some motions, Catherine hurried in. She dropped a phone memo sheet on my desk and announced that Detective Jim Avery was in the waiting room.

  I glanced at the phone memo. It was a message from Steve. His investigator had found that the cell phone number that had called my BlackBerry was assigned to Beverly Hills Financial Services and had been reported stolen the day before the nasty phone call. The location of the theft was alleged to be Miami International Airport.

  “What does Avery want?” I asked.

  “He wouldn’t say; just said he needed to talk to you again about the incident in the parking lot.”

  “Okay, better bring him in. Just what I need, a police interrogation. Oh well, it’s probably good training for my mother’s questions tomorrow night.”

  Jim Avery strode into the office. He was dressed in jeans and a tee shirt with the police logo on the front. He looked very different than when he was dressed in the standard plain-clothes attire. The shirt showed off his muscles and suntan, and the jeans, well, they showed off how tight they were. The head injury must have dulled my senses or I would have noticed his good looks the last time we met.