Defending Turquoise (Thaddeus Murfee Legal Thriller Series Book 5)

by John Ellsworth

  He passed her a red cell phone. “I got this for you, so you can talk in private with Tommy. You’ll have the guest room at our house and you can talk to him in privacy to your heart’s content.”

  She accepted the gift and was immediately glowing. “I always wanted my own phone.”

  “Now you have it. Welcome to the family,” Thaddeus said.

  “Thank you. I want to do good for you guys. And for Sarai. She’s my best friend right now.”

  “Do you have any girl friends from school that you want to have visit?”

  “Amendola Asi, Lupe Marquez, and Nancy Yellowman. They’re my best buds. They’re in small animals with me.”

  “Then let’s wait a week or two, let you get settled in, then you can get them to come down for a sleepover. Deal?”

  “Deal! What about Tommy, can he come down?”

  “Sure,” said Katy. “But he can’t stay overnight. The judge would remove you if that happened.”

  “I know.”

  Thaddeus asked, “Did you tell the prosecution that Tommy was the one who gave you the STD?”

  She looked away. “I was embarrassed to have anyone know my uncle was making me do it. I hated it for Tommy to find out. I was afraid he would turn away from me.”

  “Understood,” said Thaddeus. “Totally.” He looked at Katy, who nodded. It was beginning to make more sense, especially now that they had met Tommy and found him to be a diamond living up there in the rough.

  “So do you want me to tell the DA that you reject her offer of forty years in jail?”

  “Yes. I can’t be in jail for something I didn’t do.”

  “Then we’ll have to get ready for trial. Katy is going to take you shopping for some clothes. The ones you have, that you brought along, are fine. But we need some clothes for court, too. Plus you might see some spring clothes on the racks. We’ll help with that too.”

  “Am I going to school?”

  “You’re going to have three tutors. We’ve arranged with the Department of Children and Family Services for that. They’re local teachers, all very good.”

  “So I’ll have classes at home?”

  “Yes, that’s the best we can do right now, since it’s halfway through the semester and you’ve already missed so much.”

  “I can’t read so good. I need help.”

  “Not a problem. They will do some evaluations and take it from there. You’re in excellent hands.”

  “I think I’m starting to see that.”

  “If Thad’s finished, let’s go swing some racks. It’s dress-up time!”

  For the first time, Thaddeus saw Turquoise smile. She stood and her body language said it all, for she took two steps toward Katy.

  She was, she was saying, home.

  36

  Two days later, Thaddeus trekked across Aspen Street to attend the pre-trial status conference with H. Ivan Trautman. The day had dawned bright and sunny but, as so often happened in the mountains, by noon the sky was swept with low-hanging snow clouds and by one it was starting to sift down in large clumpy flakes. He shivered and buttoned the top button of his pea coat. He wanted to curse the snow; he was ready for spring. But he gave thanks instead: thanks that Katy and Sarai were with him, thanks that there was something he could do for Turquoise and her problems, and thanks for his law practice, the property they owned, and how well things had been going ever since Shep swooped in and gave him a hand up by inviting him to join the Angelina Steinmar defense team. It had done wonders for his spirit and attitude—just to be wanted.

  That day’s hearing was a regularly scheduled one; the court wanted to know the status of plea negotiations in the case of State of Arizona v. Turquoise Begay. Thaddeus stepped on the opposite sidewalk and hurried inside the courts building. He stamped his feet on the rubber mat and smiled at the two deputies manning the security apparatus. He walked through, set off the alarm, stepped back through and removed his belt. He tried again. No alarms went off. The guards suggested he get a different belt, one with a smaller buckle. He said he preferred the one he was wearing because of the turquoise inlay. Hand-made by Hopi craftsmen. They shrugged and watched him disappear upstairs.

  Thaddeus and Wrasslin had a few minutes to duke it out while they waited to enter the judge’s chambers. He announced that his client had refused the offer of forty years in the penitentiary. “Surprise!” he wanted to shout, but refrained. DA Wrasslin was visibly upset, crossed her legs, crossed her arms, and turned away from him. “Judge Trautman isn’t going to like this one damn bit,” she spat over her shoulder. “You have been warned.”

  “Come on give me something realistic. The guy was raping her.”

  “She said her boyfriend gave her the clap.”

  “So that means the uncle wasn’t raping her? I don’t know which in-bred-child-molesting reservation you were raised on, but on this one there’s no such thing as exclusivity. Any man can have a go at any woman, blood relative or whatever. That’s what we have here and you’re too damn obdurate to see it.”

  “You can go in now,” the secretary said. She was new; someone Thaddeus didn’t recognize. He wanted to ask her about Judge Trautman’s mood, but thought better of it. It just might get back to His Honor that Thaddeus had asked, even if it was only a joke. The little jurist could be counted on to pounce on any slight at this point, real or imagined.

  Wrasslin led the way into the inner sanctum.

  “Sit,” said the judge. He was wearing his black robe and black frame glasses and had a look on his face that said the lynch mob was close behind. A look that said he saw nothing redeeming about the world and its creatures, especially defense lawyers named Murfee.

  Or was Thaddeus simply reading too much into the guy’s attitude? he wondered.

  “Mr. Murfee,” the judge began in a slow monotone, “tell me what plea has been entered into.”

  Thaddeus was quick on the uptake. “None, Judge. We’re ready for trial.”

  Whereupon the jurist exploded, “Get the hell out of my office! No, wait! Tell me what effort you went to with your client. Does she understand the evidence against her?”

  “Yes. We’ve been over it thoroughly.”

  “Who’s ‘we’?”

  “My wife—Katy Murfee and I.”

  “I heard she had obtained custody of the girl in juvie. So your wife is working with her now?”

  “My wife is a physician. Her specialty will be family medicine. She is totally qualified to work with this child and help her through this difficult time. Plus, like Turquoise, Katy is Navajo.”

  “Good grief. And where is the girl staying?”

  “With us.”

  “No! You mean to come into my court and tell me you’re housing a defendant you also represent? Didn’t we do this dance once before when you made your client’s bail? This is purely unethical of you to be supporting her! I’ll have your license or know the reason why not!”

  “Not supporting her, sir. She’s a ward of the state and the state is providing all her support. We’re just providing the care and attention a minor female of sixteen requires.”

  “So you’re acting as her foster parents?”

  “We are.”

  “Damn unethical. I’m calling the state bar as soon as we’re done here. You can kiss your law license goodbye.”

  “I wondered the same thing, Judge, when I heard,” Wrasslin volunteered. Thaddeus stared daggers at her. Great, now she was in on the crucifixion too. Here we go again.

  “I’m still her counsel. We are ready for trial. You have given us a trial date and I expect you to stick with it.” Then Thaddeus totally surprised himself: “And if you waver from the trial date so much as one inch I’m filing a judicial complaint against you!”

  Total silence. Seething, fighting an almost overwhelming impulse to eviscerate the young lawyer, the judge reminded himself that they were on the record. Everything being said was being neatly and religiously recorded by the court reporter crouched ove
r his machine in the corner. He took a deep breath, held it, and Thaddeus watched his lips move as he counted—slowly—to ten.

  “You will have your day in court, Mr. Murfee. Your client will be given a fair trial and treated with the respect all defendants get from this court. You will represent her zealously but within the bounds of the law. Am I clear?”

  “Perfectly,” said Thaddeus, and he began dumping papers back into his file case. His back was bathed in sweat. He swiped a coat sleeve quickly across his forehead while the judge’s eyes were downcast on his calendar. It was unbearably hot in the office and he felt out the corner of his eye the gaze of Wrasslin, who certainly was seeing him as a prisoner about to be dragged to the gas chamber. Except he wasn’t. Inside, he was calm and, even more, fed up with this moron’s belittlement, threats, and enmity. He’d had it and he wasn’t taking any more of the guy’s bullshit. Let them take his license; he’d retire to San Diego and race sailboats. Or down to Jamaica and drink rum and have more babies with Katy. Or—

  “Counsel, we’re twenty-eight days out from trial. We will have no more meetings between now and then. Is there anything further either of you wish to bring up?”

  “No.”

  “No.”

  “Fair enough. Mr. Murfee, my complaint against you will be lodged with the state bar before close of business.”

  Thaddeus stood and faced him head-on.

  “Knock yourself out, Judge.”

  “Wh—”

  He turned on his heel and left without being formally excused.

  They could all go to hell.

  It was a new day.

  37

  The symptoms were ambiguous: the right side of his face felt numb—he noticed when he absently rubbed his hand over his face. Then Madonna Sanders—a second paralegal—buzzed him and asked about the statute of limitations for homicide—something he would ordinarily spout back off the top of his head, but he suddenly couldn’t remember. In fact, he wasn’t even sure he’d understood the question at all. Feeling a slight panic, he stood to walk to the half-fridge for a bottle of water, and fell. His right leg didn’t work. Which is when he cried out for help. Luckily, Wendy heard his cry. When she got to his office, he was again trying to stand and again toppling over. So she dialed 911 and brought him a bottle of water. She unscrewed the cap and held it to his mouth, but the water dribbled out the right corner of his mouth, which had formed itself into a downturned scowl. In fact, the entire right side of his face was drooping at that moment, which scared her to death and she dialed 911 again. The emergency operator told her the EMTs were en route, to remain calm.

  He lay on his back, studying the overhead fluorescent lights.

  “Thish idn’t good,” he managed to say.

  “Lay flat,” Wendy ordered. “The EMTs are just about here. Are you cold?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  By her watch it was four minutes later when the EMTs came charging in. They were wearing gray slacks and matching shirts, patches on their breast pockets with the serpent on the staff, stethoscopes around their necks, and lugging large boxes and telemetry equipment. They did vitals, asked him questions, and knew immediately: stroke. They gave him an aspirin, standard protocol.

  He was loaded onto the transport rig and rushed out to the flashing ambulance.

  At the hospital the ER staff immediately assessed.

  Stroke. Wife and family were called. A t-PA was administered to dissolve clots. Aspirin was administered. Monitors were plugged in and scans made.

  A day later it was very clear. A mild-to-moderate stroke had hit, the result of a blocked artery, now unblocked, and Shep was left unable to speak or think clearly. He would require months of rehab; his time at the office would cease to exist for the foreseeable future.

  When word reached Thaddeus, he was stunned. He was off for the afternoon, riding Coco in the forest, when the cell phone chimed. Shep was in the hospital, said Wendy Patterson. The stroke was disabling. They were already calling clients and informing them they would need to obtain new counsel for their cases. Would Thaddeus want to hang onto the Angelina Steinmar case, assuming she wanted him? In a split second he said he wanted the case, that he would do whatever he could to help Shep manage his practice, to hold cases together, to make upcoming court appearances where the dates were near. Wendy thanked him and told him she would call back when she received word from Angelina. The rest of it was covered, she explained, as most clients were simply going to move on.

  Suddenly drained of all desire to see the sights and continue his ride, Thaddeus trotted Coco back to the corral. He sprayed him off and brushed him down. Fresh oats and hay, clean water in the trough, and the horse was happy. Thaddeus went inside and told Katy about Shep. She filled him in on strokes—their treatment and recovery times—and Thaddeus was left feeling very sorry for Shep. He was a great guy and good friend and one of the best trial lawyers Thaddeus had ever watched in action. He decided to drive into town and drop by the hospital, just to let him know he was there if needed.

  At Flagstaff Medical Center they directed him to Shep’s room, where Thaddeus found his friend hooked up to tubes and monitors. He was lying lifelessly on his back, semi-propped up, and the TV was playing Ellen. When he saw Thaddeus, Shep tried to smile, the smile worked only the left side of his face. His right side seemed fixed, immobile, as if the muscles were no longer attached and receiving smile signals.

  “Hey,” said Thaddeus. “This sucks.” He indicated the hospital and devices hooked up to his Shep.

  Shep nodded. “Ish dramatic, yesh?”

  “Dramatic, indeed,” Thaddeus grinned. Good old Shep, always ready with a laugh.

  “So I’m going to get ahold of Wendy and let her know I’m available to help any way I can. I wanted you to know that, too.”

  “Take Angelina file. She wansh you.”

  “Sure? That would be great.”

  Shep nodded. “Wendy shez. Angie called.”

  “Should I call her myself?”

  “Yesh. You get fee.”

  “No way. You keep that. I only want to help.”

  “Good man.”

  “Hey, you’d do the same for me. You gave me a hand when I was down. Just let me do what I can to help you now. That seems fair.”

  “Fair.”

  “So can I bring you anything?”

  “Big Mac.”

  “Will do. I’ll drop by tonight after work. Fries?”

  “Doc shez no grease. Causes strokes. Ha!”

  “Hold the fries.”

  “No, bring fries. Pleash.”

  “Done.”

  Thaddeus gave the lawyer’s shoulder a squeeze and said his goodbyes.

  38

  After visiting Shep, Thaddeus drove back to the office and, sure enough, there was a pink phone message with Angelina Steinmar’s number. “Urgent,” was all it said.

  “Angelina,” he said when she picked up. “I just visited Shep. Looks like he’ll be out of the office for a while.”

  “I know, isn’t it just awful? Poor man. I was so counting on him, too.”

  “Just let me know if I can help you find a new lawyer. There are some really good ones, even around here.”

  “I don’t want a new lawyer, Thad. I want you.”

  “I haven’t tried that many murder cases. I don’t know.”

  “You have what it takes, you care. That’s all that really matters.”

  He realized then that she was crying. Her voice broke into heaving sobs over the phone.

  “Listen, how about I drop by and we talk about this. That good for you?”

  “C-c-c’mon by. Goodbye.”

  He hung up. He looked out his window, across Aspen Street, beyond the courthouse, up to the top of the San Francisco Peaks. They were snow-covered, as they were much of the year, and the very tips were buried in dark, churning clouds that were undoubtedly dropping another load of snow on the rocky mountaintops. He studied that division between trees and summit, t
he treeline, that exact point—that moment—where the trees surrendered to the altitude and the harsh places took over. He had the feeling that he himself had just moved from one such area to another, trees to rocks. It was going to be lonely up here, he realized, with the Attorney General and the State of Arizona bringing to bear all of their power and endless resources to send Angelina Steinmar off to her doom and the executioner’s needle. The same could be said for Turquoise Begay, whom the state wished to send to the penitentiary for forty years for something he was certain she did not do. Angelina, he wasn’t so sure about. Shep had told him that he’d made up her entire story, that she would be providing perjured testimony to the jury.

  Which was when it struck him. He couldn’t represent Angelina Steinmar; her testimony was false and he’d promised himself that he would avoid such pitfalls forevermore after his fall from grace when he posted his own money as bail for Hermano Sanchez and wound up disbarred for a year. That was the end of that kind of crapola. Not only that, if he knowingly presented her perjured testimony he was equally guilty of a very serious felony. Not one for which he was facing extinction, as was she, but a serious felony and sentence nonetheless. Knowing the local judiciary and with his past record of being less than honest with the court, he could see himself doing ten years or more for such behavior. Come on, he thought, what kind of mess had he gotten himself into now?

  His hands shook as he shrugged into his topcoat. His fingers felt papery and unusually cold, as if the life were draining out of him, fingers to hands to arms to torso to—

  He stopped right there. Get hold of yourself, he commanded. You can do this. You’ve done it before. You have Shep’s file and his notes of the story given by Angelina to Nony, who wrote it all down as it was related to her. You haven’t done anything wrong—you didn’t make up that whopper. Revisionist history: you haven’t done anything wrong...yet. But if you knowingly introduce perjured testimony, at that exact point you will cross from the trees up into the rocks. Who knows what might happen?