Defending Turquoise (Thaddeus Murfee Legal Thriller Series Book 5)

by John Ellsworth

  Thaddeus asked, “Who is the victim?”

  Nancy Jo re-found her place on the screen. “Another Indian. Randy Begay. Same last name—but ‘Begay’ is like ‘Smith.’ Millions of them.”

  “Maybe related, though,” Thaddeus mused. “Maybe she’s accused of killing a family member?”

  Nancy Jo shrugged. “Could be, I honestly don’t know. All I know is the case came over from the DA and Judge Trautman said to call you for the appointment. It’s been a long time since he appointed you. Maybe he figures you’ve done your penance. He wants you here at 11 a.m.”

  “It’s 10:15. I’ll definitely be back.”

  “Good. I’ll let him know you accept the case.”

  20

  After the Trautman drop-in he disappeared downstairs to the coffee shop and sat alone for a half hour, reading emails and checking case law on the issue of capital murder bail. The bail issue would reincarnate itself on the Turquoise Begay case, so he was getting ready to speak to it.

  At 10:55 he returned to the chambers of H. Ivan Trautman. He told Nancy Jo hello again and took a seat. She asked him whether he had ever heard of the fifteen-year-old Navajo girl, Turquoise Begay. He said he had not. She had only smiled. “Good,” she whispered to herself as she went back to her screen.

  Just then, Wrasslin Russell, the guilty-verdict-queen and district attorney, showed up. He looked her over from the corner of his eye. She was short, maybe five-two, and stocky for her size, scaling out at 140, but she had a mean streak wide as Interstate 40 and a desire to see all evildoers behind bars. It didn’t even matter if they were guilty, the defendants whose files she was handed. “I’ll convict each and every last one of the sons-of-bitches, guilty or not,” she told her supervisor when questioned about the negligible amount of cocaine seized from a college student whom she was bent on sending to prison. “I’ll put each and every one of the fuckers behind bars that I can, let God sort them out!” All Thaddeus knew was that she seemed to be short in stature but long on attitude. He absently shifted in the seat so as to move away from her.

  “Crowding you?” she asked without looking over.

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  “You’re not here on the Turquoise Begay case, are you?”

  “I don’t know. Nancy Jo asked me if I knew her or not.”

  “Do you?”

  “No. Do you?”

  “Naw. Just another shooter.”

  “Who did she allegedly shoot?”

  “Uncle. Blew the side of his head off.”

  “Poor kid. Wonder what he did to deserve that?”

  The DA rolled her eyes. “Oh fuck, here we go,” she muttered as she flipped the pages of the People magazine she was fanning through.

  He looked over at her with mock chagrin. “So she’s guilty—in your eyes? Already, without a trial?”

  “Aren’t they all? You’re starting to sound like a defense lawyer. For a minute there I mistook you for a human being.”

  “Now don’t go getting all up in my face,” he said sweetly.

  She tossed her afro to the side. “As if you know ‘up in my face,’ cracker.”

  “Pardon?”

  “We’re done here.”

  “What did you just call me?” he asked, his voice climbing in pitch. “Cracker? Are you fucking kidding me here?”

  At which point Nancy Jo looked up from her screen. She raised a hand. “Boys, girls, let’s all play nice. Judge has had a long morning and this nasty talk won’t make him happy. Suggest you both leave the ’tude out here with me. I’ll watch it while you’re in with him and when you come back you can have it. Save it for the playground, not in here.”

  “Sorry,” said Thad. He settled his gaze on the far wall and withdrew. This was going to be one hell of a hearing. He could just feel it coming on. Wrasslin and Trautman in the same room? He wondered if he would wind up worse off than Turquoise Whoever when all was said and done. He half-expected it.

  Suddenly he was tired and his $100 million and moving his own clan back to Chicago looked welcoming. He was beginning to feel very sorry he’d ever left, no matter the good reasons he’d thought he had when he fled. He realized what they said in AA was true, that even when you take a geographic you take yourself along. It applied to him and he wished he knew more about “living right” than he did. Maybe he should just get up, leave, and never look back on any of this. He sighed and drew a deep breath. Wrasslin leaned away. Cooties, he thought, and suddenly grinned. He was back. These sons of bitches needed a good fight, he decided, idiot judge included. Now who was Turquoise Begay again?

  Those were his feelings when Nancy Jo’s phone buzzed and the judge asked for them.

  Thaddeus went first. He knocked once on the judge’s door and heard a shouted: “Enter!” from within. He twisted the brass doorknob and pushed on through, Wrasslin close behind and then flanking him to take the far right-hand chair. Thaddeus nodded to the judge and took the one remaining counsel chair. The Chief Judge’s office was spacious and took up the southeast corner of the courts building, looking down from the second floor onto Aspen Avenue below. The drapes were open and the window was cracked so a soft breeze lazily swayed the sheers. Thaddeus looked around, as the judge was still studying an orange-colored file open before him on the desk. H. Ivan bit his lip and nodded, alone with his thoughts.

  Directly behind the judge was a double-wide bookcase that, from eye level up, was decorated with churchy knickknacks—in case there was any question about the judge’s religion, here was the smoking gun. A statuette of the Salt Lake Temple was partially blocked by the judge’s extra large head, but Thaddeus had seen enough pictures and memorabilia from the Mormon Salt Lake Temple to immediately recognize it.

  Beside it and not quite as large stood the first temple of all, the Nauvoo Temple. At least it was a modeler’s depiction, as the temple itself had been destroyed when the Mormons fled Illinois after raids on farms where livestock went missing and horses were rustled.

  Omnipresent in the midst of all this was the standard church-issue portrait of Joseph Smith himself, the founder of the Mormon Church and its first prophet. Of course there were no photographs of the prophet and so the artist’s depiction of him was a cross between Early Christian cherubim and Osmond family. Patriotic as all hell, the Mormon judge also kept two sets of crossed American flags at either end of the iconography, plus a photograph (in 49ers uniform) of Steve Young, ex-BYU/SF 49ers quarterback.

  Thaddeus took all this in and wondered at the man’s connection with reality. He grimaced and looked away, whereupon the judge fixed him with his eyes and said, “Are you uncomfortable here, Mr. Murfee?”

  “Yes, Judge, just too much horseback time yesterday. Feeling a little sore.”

  “Good enough. We don’t want you in anything but top form today. We need your best game for what I have in mind.”

  Thaddeus smiled. “And what might that be?”

  “I’m appointing you to represent a young woman by the name of Turquoise Begay. Notice that is an Indian name.”

  “I noticed.”

  The judge pressed the fingers of both hands together. “Problem with the case is, we’re pressed for time. I can give it three trial days, period.”

  Thaddeus inched forward in his chair. “Hold on. How old is Turquoise?”

  “Fifteen-sixteen, thereabouts.”

  “And she’s what, being prosecuted as an adult? Or is this a juvie case? I’m not at all familiar with juvie procedure and constitutional law and I might have to pass on this.”

  “She’s being prosecuted as an adult,” Wrasslin declared. “While she’s young, she’s very mature and understands the charges against her. You’ll be asked to waive any competency hearing as she makes straight A’s in school.”

  “What do straight A’s have to do with competency? And you still haven’t answered my question. Is this an adult or juvie case? How’s she charged?”

  “As an adult,” the judge declared with a f
rown. “I wouldn’t get you over here and interrupt your terribly busy day with a juvenile dependency petition, Counselor. Give me some credit, please.”

  “I do, sir,” said Thaddeus. “I hold Your Honor in the highest regard. I’m just trying to understand what I’m being handed here.” He uncrossed his fingers and avoided looking at the background knickknacks.

  “According to the police reports, she had sex with her uncle. This is based partly on a rape exam and partly on pure assumption it was the uncle. The assumption was made about the uncle because an hour later, while he was passed out, she took her dad’s rifle and shot the poor man.”

  “Poor man? Statutory rape equals ‘poor man’? Am I missing something here?”

  “Rape is a penitentiary offense, you’re right. But he didn’t deserve to be executed for it. Not by a fifteen-year-old.”

  “Fifteen-year-old victim,” said Thaddeus. “You calling him the victim ignores that she was a victim too, I believe.”

  “Counselor, are we going to have a hard time with this?” said the diminutive judge, pushing himself away from his desk. He adjusted his black eyeglasses and fixed a hard stare on Thaddeus. He crossed one leg over a knee and Thaddeus saw he was wearing cowboy boots, all nice and shiny. “I’m trying to give you some work that pays seven hundred and fifty bucks a day for court time. I know you need the work and I’m extending an olive branch here, willing to let bygones be bygones. But this isn’t a case to make a huge commotion about.”

  Exasperated, Thaddeus looked around for help. “Roslin—you’re the DA?”

  For the first time, she smiled. “Sworn in less than one hour ago. New DA. First case, here we go!”

  “Besides,” the judge said, “this is an Indian case. You know what problems that presents for the court.”

  “What does being an Indian have to do with anything?”

  “My great-grandfather settled Arizona up around Lee’s Ferry. Mormon pioneer. Back in the day, Indians were called Lamanites. Look it up. My family killed them back then, savages, raping and pillaging. Now they’re drunk on firewater most of the time, swimming in their sins too many to count, and killing each other. There’s so much of it pouring into my court from the reservation that time constraints kick in. We just don’t have the time to drag them out like regular cases.”

  “Well, Your Honor, in this case I would at least like to meet with my client. As you know, I’ve already got one black mark against me with the bar association and don’t need another one for neglecting a client.”

  “Two,” said Trautman, “you have two black marks.”

  Thaddeus stared at him and sighed. “Two, then. Which makes it all the more imperative I talk with my client before we go ahead.”

  “You do that,” spat the judge. “And let me tell you what else is going to happen in this case. I know you, Mr. Murfee. You are also known for not being entirely forthcoming in all you say. In fact, you’ve lied to me in open court before. You were suspended for a year for that. Beware, sir, that if you come into my court and plead this girl not guilty and then take her to trial and lose, I’m going to view that as one more lie you’ve told me and I’m going to personally jerk your law license permanently.”

  “Judge, pleading not guilty and going to trial is not—”

  “Hold it, mister! Before you say something you might regret, let me remind you this meeting will be reflected in the record. DA Roslin Russell, sitting just to your right, is a witness to all that’s being said in here. Are you not, madam?”

  Wrasslin looked away from the window. “Haven’t missed a word, Your Honor. You’re trying to impress on Mr. Murfee the necessity to be forthcoming with the court.”

  “And if he pleads not guilty and goes to trial and loses, I’ll be after his blessed license.”

  “Well—” Wrasslin began to say, but the judge cut her off.

  “And I want you to make notes about what’s being said here.”

  The judge cleared his throat.

  “Here’s some more. The state will turn over all discovery within seven days. Defense counsel and DA will then meet and negotiate. If there is no bargain then trial will begin thirty days hence. Three days maximum for trial. Court will conduct all voir dire. Counsel will not be allowed voir dire with jury.”

  “So the defense will get one-half or one-point-five of the three days to present the defense case?” Thaddeus said to confirm. He was entitled to at least half the time. What the judge was ordering was also in error, which would give major grounds for an appeal. Of course the girl would be languishing behind bars for two years while the appeal went through the courts.

  “State has the burden of proof, so state gets two days, defendant gets one. That’s my usual stacking on these fast-track cases, Mr. Murfee.”

  “Judge, please. Can we get a court reporter and make a record on this? I would like to voice my objections on the record.”

  “You will be given a written order confirming all this. Make your objections then. Your objections are also overruled, incidentally.”

  “Judge, you don’t even know what my objections are!” cried Thaddeus. “How on earth can you overrule before I even make them?”

  “That’s how it goes in my court, Mr. Murfee.”

  “With all due respect, I must decline the appointment. You’ll need to appoint someone else to defend the girl. Someone in better standing with the court than me.”

  The judge’s eyes narrowed. “Are you suggesting the court is prejudiced against you?”

  “Do you treat all defense lawyers like this? Even the hotshots from Phoenix?”

  “I told you, these Indian cases get the amount of time we can afford. No more, no less. I have standing orders with all judges to limit these Native American cases to three days, max. You’re not being treated any differently than anyone else.”

  “Please, Judge, give this case to someone else. I think I’m leaving town, anyway.”

  “Not so fast. You’ll leave town when I say you’ll leave town. Your appointment to defend Turquoise Begay stands. The order will issue this afternoon. You can pick it up from your courthouse box. Is there anything else?”

  He stared at Thaddeus straight on, just daring him.

  Thaddeus swallowed hard. “No, sir. I’ll go speak to her this afternoon.”

  “Seven days. A plea in seven days or trial in thirty. The case has been charged as a capital case, a mandatory crime. Her age is no defense against prosecution as an adult. Your client is looking at spending her natural life in prison plus one hundred years.”

  “Judge, she’s a teenager, for crying out loud!”

  “And?”

  “Forget it,” Thaddeus muttered, but not so loud as to be heard. He fled the chambers, Wrasslin close behind.

  “Welcome to the Turquoise Begay sham,” he growled.

  “Don’t say you weren’t warned, hot shot.”

  21

  Thaddeus downed a quick sandwich at Kathy’s Kafe and thirty minutes later he hoofed it back east to the Coconino County Jail Complex, a liver-colored two-story edifice containing not only the jail but also the sheriff’s office and public windows where visits could be arranged and bail could be posted. The duty deputy buzzed him through the visitors’ door and he was told to go hole up in conference room three, that Miss Begay would soon be brought to him. He was buzzed into the room. He looked around and groaned at the sterility and lack of humanity in such places. Miserable vomit-green walls, fixtures and pipes overhead, glass brick windows, barred, that let in light but couldn’t be seen through, and threadbare linoleum that must have been post–World War Two vintage as all pattern had been worn away and only a faint gray remained. Furniture and decor consisted of a stainless steel table, maybe four by six, bolted to the floor, a stainless steel bench along either long side, also bolted to the floor, and a Plexiglas encased Jail Rules bolted to the wall for those who might forget where they were and need a refresher in jailhouse etiquette.

  He was just beg
inning to get angry with the long wait when the door suddenly buzzed, startling him from some kind of reverie and jolting him upright at the table. First through the door was the female deputy’s head and a hurried comment, “Fifteen minutes and I’m back here and jerking her out.” The head disappeared as quickly as it had entered and a young woman entered.

  She was neither manacled nor fitted with leg irons, but entered with a shuffle step nonetheless, thanks to the jailhouse-issue flip-flops required on all prisoners. Turquoise Begay wasn’t beautiful, Thaddeus saw, but her face contained a kind of ageless wisdom in the eyes and affect. She was beautiful in the respect that he had found all Indians to be both beautiful and tragic at the same time: a result of their quiet acceptance of their always-near-tragic circumstances out on the reservation where the government had sentenced them to be born and wither a hundred years before. Physically, she stood 5’2”, thin-framed, high cheekbones, thin lips, aquiline nose that starlets would kill for, and, when she grimaced as she sat, she revealed a perfect row of bright white teeth not unlike the kernels of a perfect ear of corn all in a row and gleaming. Her hair was Navajo black and shone as if ramped up by an interior light. Like all Indians she was socially withdrawn and acknowledged him with neither a facial response nor a word as she silently sat and waited.

  “I’m Thaddeus Murfee,” he said, and gave her his professionally distant smile.

  She returned his smile with a stare. Evidently she could think of nothing to say in return.

  “I’ve been appointed by Judge Trautman to be your lawyer.”

  She brushed a wisp of hair from her eyes and chewed her lower lip. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I,” she said, not as a question but as confirmation she understood her plight. “They think I shot Uncle Randy.”

  Thaddeus turned the yellow legal pad over. He wrote the date at the top, and her name.