We loaded the car and walked across the street to a cafetería, the kind of place famous in Miami. The walk-up window on the side dispenses Café Cubano and is jammed every morning. Inside there are a few tables and a counter to place an order. The simple menu consists of Media Noches, a specialty Cuban sandwich of ham, cheese, and whatever else is leftover. There were also toasted paninis and fresh fruit.
By this hour, the tables were empty, and one worker was mopping the floor. We sat down at a corner table and in minutes were biting into the toasty delight of a sandwich rich in cholesterol and calories, the perfect combination to de-stress any attorney.
“Was Mark Epstein your boyfriend? Wait’ll I tell my kids. I think they have his baseball trading card,” Catherine said.
“Was, is the operative word. It was a long time ago.”
“I don’t know. He looked like he was ready to go back in time,” Catherine laughed.
“Please, don’t mention Mark to Carlos. He has a big jealous streak. While we’re asking nosy questions, what’s with you and Marco?” I asked
“You’re not nosy, Mary. I really like being with Marco. He’s kind and funny. It’s been a long time since I’ve had fun evenings. I try to spend all my spare time with my boys. They never see their father. He gives me no help at all.”
“I haven’t asked you about your divorce, or much else, but I have wondered. And I definitely have wanted to ask you about your interest in wolves.”
“You’ve been great not to ask, but I feel very comfortable now about telling you what I went through. I guess from my résumé you know that I graduated high school in Daytona, and went to Volusia County Community College where I got my paralegal certification.”
“Sure, I read that,” I said.
“Before that, I went to at least six other schools. My dad was in the army and we moved a lot. One of the best places was Seattle. That’s where I learned about wolves. I always loved animals and with us moving so much, it was too hard to get a dog, so my mom found out about Wolf Haven outside of Seattle, and I fell in love with the place. In the summer, I trained to be a volunteer, and I spent every minute I could working with the vets and the field workers. People who breed wolves as pets and then abandon them or give them up, send them to the haven. Some are found injured and are unable to return to the wild, so they end up at Wolf Haven too.
“They are the most intelligent animals and they really won’t bother people if they’re left alone, but they aren’t dogs and they can’t be treated like they are. I’ve never forgotten those great days and everything I learned from the animals. I tell my boys about my time there. The pictures and calendars remind me of a good time in my life.”
“I guess that’s why you and Sam get along so well.”
“About Brady, my ex, we met in Daytona. He was a mechanic and amateur race car driver You know Daytona has the big five hundred race, and lots of car jockeys hang around there. We got married after a few months. I thought he was exciting, but excitement goes away fast when babies come along and money is a big problem.
“Then he got a chance to work at the track in Homestead. That sounded exciting, like a new life. We sold our trailer and bought an RV to live in, packed the two kids, and arrived with enough money to eat for a week. Brady worked at the track and I tried to get a job, but the only wheels we had was the RV. I hated Homestead. It looked like a bombed-out town, even eight years after Hurricane Andrew.”
“What a nightmare,” I said.
“Tell me about it. But that’s not the worst. I woke up one morning and found a note from Brady. All his clothes and tools were gone, along with the fifty bucks I had in my purse. But I’m a survivor. I sold the RV and with the money, I bought a used Honda Civic and drove out of Homestead with my kids and all our worldly possessions crammed into that little car. I drove up U.S. 1 until I came to Coconut Grove. It looked so pretty, flowers blooming and narrow curvy streets. I took the rest of the money and rented a garage apartment on Bird Road. The old lady who owned the house knew someone looking for a legal secretary. I got the job in a law firm on Bayshore Drive, put the kids in school, saved my money, and moved to a better apartment, and the rest is history, as they say.”
“I can’t even imagine being that brave. Did you ever connect with Brady again?” I asked. I snuck a glance at Catherine expecting to see a sad expression. Instead she was smiling.
“Oh, sure. Six months later, one of the attorneys where I was working helped me get my divorce. The office investigator found Brady in Fort Lauderdale, living with some bimbo. He’s two years behind in child support. Every so often, I go to the state attorney’s office. You know they have a child support division. They haul him into court, threaten jail, and I get a few hundred bucks. It’s funny. I never really missed him. Once I got us settled, I just felt peaceful.”
“You deserve a medal, like Mother of the Year. I admire you, Catherine.”
“So you can see why Marco is such a part of my happy new life. He seems like everything Brady wasn’t, but I’m never rushing into any permanent arrangement again.”
“I hear you. I’m scared of ‘forever’ too.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The cell phone rang on the way back to the office. Catherine covered the phone and told me it was Liz.
“Tell her to come over after work tonight. I need to go over the information we found in the court files.”
As soon as Catherine disconnected from that call, the phone rang again. This time she handed it to me. It was Señor Marques, not an assistant.
“Ms. Katz, I am delighted that Luis has an attorney ready to work on his case,” he said.
“Thank you. Do you have any news?”
“I am working with our embassy in Washington. We have filed a formal request for information about Luis’s location. Our government in Argentina is considering filing a petition in Congress seeking their help. Honestly, I am at the end of my ability to find Luis. Here’s what I’m considering. Luis’s parents have arrived in Miami. What would you think of calling a press conference to appeal to everyone and anyone to come forward with information regarding Luis’s detention?”
“Who would be giving the press conference?” I asked.
“I would be there and lay out the facts that we know. Mr. and Mrs. Corona would be there to answer questions about Luis, and you would be there to discuss any legal matters. If the timing is right, maybe we can smoke out the federal authorities before it’s too late.”
“I think it’s a great idea. I even suggested that I might call a press conference in the last message I left for Ambassador Miller, not that he returned any of my calls. I was thinking of filing a Writ of Habeas Corpus in the federal court. Maybe this is the time to do that and produce it at the press conference,” I said.
“Habeas corpus means bring me the body, doesn’t it? I thought that was only used in cases where a person is already sentenced, like in a death penalty case.”
“You are exactly right about its meaning. It means produce the body of the person. It’s what we call an extraordinary writ, and what better place to use it, than in a case of a wrongful arrest.”
“I’ll set the wheels in motion for a press conference for tomorrow afternoon. We could be the lead story on the evening news and be in plenty of time for the morning papers. You get your petition ready. Shall we hold it here in my office?”
“Why not in front of the federal courthouse?” I asked. We may as well pull out all the stops, if we’re going to find Luis before he’s locked away at Guantanamo. Where are the Coronas staying?”
“They are at the Ritz-Carlton not far from your office. You’re in the Grove, correct?”
“Yes, I’ll go to meet them before the press conference.”
I was on the edge of my seat and gripping the steering wheel of the car as we drove into the office parking lot. I jumped out and raced inside to begin drafting the petition. I needed to finish it before Liz arrived for our meeting. The life of a cr
iminal defense attorney may be nerve wracking, sometimes gut wrenching, but never, ever dull.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Liz arrived at five thirty. Catherine had already left for the day. I was proofreading the habeas corpus petition at the computer. I looked up to see Liz standing at my desk.
“You startled me,” I said. I jumped up and came around the desk.
“I can see that. You never even heard me come in and call your name. You know that’s not really safe. Anyone could come in here and attack you. You need some better procedures, like locks and an intercom after five o’clock,” Liz said. She plunked down on the sofa and looked at me expectantly. “Anything new?”
“Catherine and I spent a good part of the day in the clerk’s office going through the files in your division that were closed without any plea or sentencing. There were many files like that, with orders of dismissal.”
“What? That can’t be right.”
“Well, we made copies of a number of the orders so that you and I can go over them.” I pulled the pile of orders out of my briefcase and spread them on the coffee table in front of us.
Liz picked up one and read it, then another and another. She frowned. Then she began rereading each one. She shook her head and looked up. “I have no recollection of any of these case names or these orders.”
“Your name is in the heading of each order right below the case number, and your signature is on each one.”
“I see that, but there must be some mistake. Honestly, Mary, this just isn’t my work no matter what these papers say.”
I could hear the panic in Liz’s voice. She sounded like my five-year-old nephew when he fell into a sewer opening and was trapped, but that’s another story. Trapped! That’s what was happening to Liz.
“Liz, let’s talk about your signature on these orders. Is that your signature? I noticed that your signature on each order is exactly the same, none bigger or smaller. They almost look like carbon copies.”
“It’s my handwriting. Oh, wait. I have a signature stamp.”
“You what? You have an ink stamp with your signature?”
“A lot of the judges have them. When you sign a few hundred orders a week, it saves time and it keeps you from having hand surgery.”
“I guess I’m kind of surprised that you would have such a thing. You just lectured me about safety. How safe is it to have your signature floating around?”
“Well, like I said, I’m not the only one to have a stamp. Ann Ackley is the one who told us to get them. She suggested it at a judges’ meeting. Why would our administrative judge suggest it, if it wasn’t safe?”
“I don’t know. Who has access to this stamp besides you?”
“My staff, especially my bailiff. She uses it on the agreed orders that the lawyers send in. She opens the mail and if there’s an agreed order that doesn’t require anything but a signature and sending copies back to the attorneys, she moves it right along.”
“What kind of orders would those be?”
“Oh, agreeing to a continuance of a hearing or agreeing to extra days for discovery or agreeing to take a deposition in another city, things like that.”
“I also noticed that every closed case had a disposition sheet signed by Judge Ann Ackley as the administrative judge of the criminal division. What are those sheets for?”
“I guess they’re so Ann can see if the cases are moving along timely. I think they’re just boilerplate. She probably doesn’t even read the files. You know the courts love to make paperwork.”
“Do you and Judge Ackley get along well? Please, don’t think I’m snooping. I’m just trying to get a whole picture here.”
“She’s been a good friend to me. You know she was one of the first women on the bench in Miami. She gave me a lot of help when I was first elected. She’s really a fun person. And since both of us are single, we go out for a drink after work sometimes.”
“Liz, Judge Ackley has a — how can I put this, a strange reputation. You know they call her Annie Oakley instead of Ann Ackley. Some of the lawyers say she has an extensive gun collection, and there are rumors that she has a gun with her on the bench. There are also stories about her and some of the cops who testify in cases in front of her. That she’s a little too friendly to be objective.”
“That’s a whole lot of gossip, Mary. Several judges have concealed weapons licenses. We aren’t always in the best situations. Many of us have had death threats. As for Ann’s boyfriends, those are her own business.”
“Liz, don’t you see that someone is setting you up? The state attorney thinks you’re helping out drug dealers. All these orders have your signature. Add in the Jack Carillo case and everything points to you. If you’re not involved, then you need to open your eyes and see that someone is using you.”
Liz stood up and paced over to the window and back. “I can’t believe that the people I work with everyday could be using me.” She began to cry.
I had my fill of tears and sobs for the month. I hate to yell at a client, but sometimes it’s the only way to reach them.
“Liz, shut off the waterworks and sit down here. I need your objective thinking now, if I’m going to help you,” I said. “Jason is chomping at the bit to subpoena you to a grand jury if I don’t produce you for questioning voluntarily. He’s issued an ultimatum. What are you going to tell him? That you signed all the orders, but you didn’t know you signed them? Or that you ordered the murdered informant to have his deposition taken?
“We need an action plan. If you can’t give me some help here, I can’t dig you out of this hole by myself.”
Liz sat down and wiped her nose. She looked like a helpless child.
“Now, listen to me carefully. Someone is using you. This is an unpleasant reality. I need you to think like the great judge that you are. I see three possibilities: Judge Ackley, who has access to case assignments and dispositions; your bailiff, Gladys, who has access to your signature and your orders; and Joe Fineberg, who is a defense attorney and has access to — well — your chambers and condo.”
Liz’s face turned a bright red. “It can’t be Joe. We never discuss any cases, his or mine, and he never comes to my chambers. We meet outside of court. Ann could fix cases all by herself. She has access to everything in the criminal courthouse.” Liz drew a deep breath.
“Do you honestly think it could be Gladys? After all the years we’ve worked together?” Liz asked.
“Tell me everything you know about Gladys’s personal life.” I pulled my yellow pad closer and got ready to take notes.
“I wrote it all in the papers I sent you. She’s a local girl. Graduated from Hialeah High School and Miami-Dade College. She dated here and there until she met Billy Martinez. They lived together for a year and got married two years ago.”
“How well do you know him? What’s their relationship like?”
“I met him at the wedding, and he’s been to a few courthouse parties with her. He’s very good looking and Gladys adores him. She’s so proud of their new house.
“He took her to South America with him to visit his family and she told me it was a business trip for him. He’s originally from Colombia. She asked for the time off to go on the trip.”
“When did that trip take place?”
“Let me think. It was eight months ago, right before I moved back to criminal.”
“What kind of business does he have?”
“I think he imports Colombian artwork and accessories, and he exports some American products. Oh, he also plans shopping trips for South Americans who travel here.”
“This wouldn’t be the first time that an import company was importing more than artwork,” I said.
“Oh my God, Mary. Are you saying that he’s dealing? Just because he’s Colombian doesn’t mean he’s a drug dealer.”
“Of course not. Not to sound trite, some of my best friends are Colombian. Well, two or three, and they’re lawyers. It’s very possible that he and Gladys ar
e the key to this mess. We need to test this theory. I think I know a way to do this. Let me work on it, and I’ll call you as soon as I have things in place. Meanwhile, I’ll give Jason a date to bring you in to his office, but I’ll try to put it off for a week.”
“Can’t you tell me what you’re going to do?”
“Not yet. In the meantime, be careful. Don’t discuss the investigation with anyone, and keep your eyes open.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The next morning I was up at six. I finished the petition in Luis’s case by ten, and checked in with Catherine at the office where everything was under control. I told her to call Jason and explain that I couldn’t arrange my schedule for his questioning of Liz until the middle of next week.
“He’ll see the press conference about Luis on TV and know that I’m not conning him about being busy,” I said.
I washed my hair and tried to tame it with a product called “Frizz Me Not.” Not that it would help much. The weather called for intermittent showers and the humidity enveloped me in waves of mist, promising to turn my hair into a frame of frizz. That’s the thing about Miami. It’s great for your skin and shit for your hair. Why in the world had I suggested holding the press conference outdoors?
I was on the way to the Ritz-Carlton to meet Luis’s parents when my cell phone rang. It was Carlos.
“How’s it going?” he asked. He sounded distracted.
“I’m on my way to meet the Coronas. What’s up with you? You sound funny.”
“I don’t feel funny. I’m at the office and I just got served with a class-action lawsuit by fifteen of the condo buyers. It says I have thirty days to answer. I am pissed.”
“Okay, don’t panic. Fax the papers to the office and the contract that I told you to bring me. I’ll look everything over tonight after the press conference. Everything will be okay.” I closed the cell phone and gave myself a slap on the head. Just what I needed. A protracted civil case involving my boyfriend.
Justice in June Page 10
