Defending Turquoise (Thaddeus Murfee Legal Thriller Series Book 5)

by John Ellsworth

  Then the old fight came creeping back inside. You can do this, he said. You can do this and you can make it work. One day at a time, she’s entitled to a defense by law. Make it happen for her. Starting now.

  He left the office and drove up San Francisco Street and turned into Angelina’s subdivision. There were no cars in front of her house. He pulled into the driveway and got out. The wind was blowing, thrashing, it could be said, down off the sweep of the mountains and he felt a total chill rush through his body. He headed for the front door and it swung open just as he got there.

  “Come on in, Thaddeus,” she said.

  She was wearing black silk pants, moccasins with heavy white socks, and a sweatshirt that said “Wildcats”—the school mascot of her daughter’s college. Her dead daughter. She was wearing no rings, no jewelry, and had evidently slid into some lipstick just before he arrived, for her lips were cherry red and glossy. At her height—five-ten, five-eleven—she was always an imposing figure and carried herself almost regally, a nod to her blueblood pedigree and her family’s old money from timber and ranching and mining interests across the state. Her father was wealthy and she had been imbued with the figurative and literal carriage of someone who knew his or her value and lived up to it. That she was caught up in this miasma with her dead husband and the wickedness that had been going on inside her house troubled Thaddeus. Clearly, she was not the kind of woman who would suffer fools, especially fools like John Steinmar and—

  He stopped the thought, realizing that he didn’t know the truth about what had been going on inside this house at all. He knew only Shep’s version, which was zilch. That being acknowledged, he decided to plunge ahead and see what he could turn up.

  “Coffee?”

  He said he would like that very much, thank you.

  He looked around the living room while she was away in the kitchen. It was very formal, with two floral couches, identical, facing, and two side-by-side wingbacks at either end of the rectangle, identical covers as well. A large, oblate spheroid of ironwood with a flat bottom served as a one-of-a-kind coffee table which had been topped with a sheet of glass smooth on the edges in the shape of a huge yawn. Indian art adorned the walls, lending them a bright aura of pinks, yellows, and reds overlaying all the desert and high plains hues where the artists evidently drew inspiration. The room was attractive, native, and very expensive, thought Thaddeus. He leaned back in the couch that stretched beneath the front window and drew a deep breath. He arranged his thoughts and decided how he would broach things with his new client.

  She returned with a silver tray and two cups, steaming.

  “So,” she said as she passed a china cup and saucer to her guest, “you’re my new lawyer, eh?”

  “Thank you. Yes, if that’s what you want, I’m honored to serve.”

  “Well, Mr. Thaddeus, that’s what I indeed want. Do you need more money? Or do you have a split with Shep? Just tell me how much and I’ll get a check to you.”

  “We’re fine there. Shep has already paid me for my services. Thanks for asking.”

  “Hey, if you’re happy, I’m happy.”

  “But I would like more information about the morning you shot your husband.”

  Her coffee cup paused just below her mouth, but she had presence of mind enough to finish the sip.

  “Oh?”

  “Can you tell me how it happened? I know what you told Shep and Nony, but I’d like to hear it direct from you.”

  “Well...I shot John. He was hurting me and I shot him. Did I mean to kill him? I suppose I did.”

  She balanced the saucer and cup in one hand. Thaddeus thought he might have seen a hint of a jiggle there, but wasn’t sure.

  “Why did you shoot him?”

  She waved a hand before her eyes as if swatting gnats. “He was hurting me. He had me down and was biting me.”

  “I’ve seen the pictures.”

  “Well, that’s embarrassing.”

  “Don’t be embarrassed. No need.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Was there a struggle?”

  “He was trying to sexually assault me.”

  “How so?”

  “Good grief, didn’t you read the file?”

  “I did. I just want to hear how it’s going to sound spoken by you.”

  “He was trying to insert his fingers into my vagina. He was biting my vagina. I don’t know, I suppose he wanted to have intercourse. You never knew with John.”

  “So there was a history?”

  “My God, yes. The man was a deviant. I didn’t know it until after Hammy was born, of course.”

  “Did he ever assault your little girl?”

  “Funny you should ask. Turns out he did—he had been for some time. So she killed herself. Haven’t you seen her note in the file?”

  “Yes. And I’m sorry.”

  “Me too. She hung herself from her closet door. Left that note. The grand jury said it didn’t clearly implicate John. I said screw them and went after justice myself.”

  “As in—”

  “As in I shot the bastard. Right in the head. Bang!”

  She had raised both hands and demonstrated a two-handed grip that would have made the NRA instructors proud.

  “Bang!” she repeated. “Now hurt a woman, you fucking deviant.”

  “You’re still very angry at him. I’m not sure I want the jury to see you angry.”

  “They won’t. I played Blanche DuBois in A Streetcar Named Desire. I can still pull it off—without the alcoholism and the delusions, of course.”

  “There’s a relief.”

  “Is that sarcasm I hear?”

  “Just the slightest hint, let’s say. I’ve known a few Blanches in my time.”

  “Don’t tell me: your mother was a Blanche!”

  He suddenly felt tricked and seduced by her niceness. She had seen right through him, right through to his own alcoholic, addled mother. How good was this woman? he wondered, pulling himself together.

  “Let’s focus on you, why don’t we? So you shot him and good riddance. Are you talking about any of this with anyone? A counselor?”

  “My God no. I’m not giving up my secrets, Thaddeus. Not at this stage of the game.”

  “That’s smart. Let’s keep it that way.”

  “How about a refill? Coffee cold?”

  “I could go for that. Please.”

  She returned with a Mr. Coffee carafe. Refills were poured and the half-empty carafe abandoned to the tabletop.

  She tugged the sleeves of her sweatshirt and smiled at him. A nice smile, a manicured smile, he thought. Like everything in her sublime upbringing and sweet life. But he thought he saw more beneath the polished exterior. Much more.

  “If I said you shot your husband because he had sexually assaulted your daughter, what would you say?”

  Again the pause of cup below lips.

  “I’d say you were spot-on.”

  “So you executed him?”

  Brushing gnats again.

  “He was a bad man. A very bad man.”

  “If you were asked that same question in court, by the attorney general, how would you answer?”

  “I’d say ‘John was a violent man.’ I’d say ‘I was only protecting myself.’ I’d say ‘look at the bite mark pictures.’”

  “But you wouldn’t say he had it coming?”

  “Only to you and Shep. I played Blanche, remember?”

  “I remember. And I’ll keep that in mind.”

  They continued talking about what happened and why. She showed him into the family room where the actual shooting had taken place. The carpet had been replaced so the cutout bloodstains were nowhere to be seen. But that was okay; he’d seen the pictures; studied them in detail, in fact. She reenacted the struggle, the reach for the gun, the relative distances when the shot was fired that killed her husband. Then she stood, arms folded, staring at Thaddeus as if she were standing guard. But standing guard over what? And wou
ld her guardedness be apparent in the courtroom? Or could she pull off the role of the put-upon spouse, the battered wife, the terrified victim?

  He told her he would pick up her file from Shep’s office and they would talk within the next week. She thanked him for coming and thanked him for taking her case. She asked him again if he needed more money and he said he’d been paid, he was happy.

  She walked him out to the car and then trotted back inside her house.

  He was excited.

  She was good. She was very good.

  And she was Blanche. That gave him a world of talent to direct.

  Out the window she watched him pull away. A pang of sadness struck her heart: there was something about him, his youth? His innocence? She remembered when she had once been young and idealistic. She remembered that from before meeting and marrying John Steinmar, but not from after. Bastard. He had taken away her naiveté with his groping hands and mouth.

  Her cell phone beeped.

  She read the caller ID and grabbed it.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “He gone?”

  “He’s gone, Bill.”

  “What did you think?”

  “I think he’s sweet. You’re sure he’s the right one?”

  “I’ve watched him try two cases in my court. One was a rape and one was an insurance bad faith case. He prevailed on both. He’s smooth and more than that, he’s unbelievably bright. He simply out-thinks the other side.

  “Not so smart he’s going to catch on to us, is he?”

  “Not that. We’re safe.”

  “Hey, you’re the judge.”

  “And you’re the defendant. It’s all good, as my kids say.”

  “See you tonight?”

  “No can do. Miriam’s back from Page.”

  “Then SD this weekend?”

  “San Diego is good. There’s a judicial conference beginning Friday. I can just stay over. I’ll modify your bail, check the box for out-of-state trips.”

  “Hotel Del?”

  “I’ve already got our old room. We’re good.”

  “I love you, Your Honor.”

  “It’s mutual, old friend.”

  “Later.”

  “Later.”

  39

  William “Bill” F. Gerhardt II was fourth-generation Flagstaff. His great-grandfather had pioneered first down on the Mogollon Rim and then moved north to Flag. His own father had served in Vietnam one tour, come out on R and R to father Bill in Honolulu, and then gone back to ’Nam and died at Di An. Bill grew up fatherless but not without lots of male influence. His mother made certain of that. Her four brothers fought with each other to see who got to take him to Little League, who got to coach him in Pop Warner, who would buy him his first deer rifle, who would teach him to ride, to drive, and on and on. He was a man by his sophomore year and made the varsity football squad at linebacker. He was ferocious and when, nine years later, he graduated law school in Tucson, he still retained that fighting fervor that he had inherited from his father and uncles. Three years of practice had been followed by appointment to the bench, where he had served fifteen years exactly.

  He met Thaddeus for lunch at Kathy’s Kafe, a common meeting place among local professionals on the south side of town. The place was well known as a pickup joint for the waitress staff, many of whom were either in bad marriages or who had left bad marriages and were newly on the prowl. “You damn near gotta be a divorcée to be hired on here,” Bill told Thaddeus when their iced tea arrived.

  It was noontime and Judge Gerhardt had had a sparse calendar that morning. The afternoon carried the promise of twenty default divorces, during which he would fight to stay awake as the split-ups recited their agreements for marital property, custody, alimony (very rare in Bill’s court), and retirement funds. He was glad for the chance to get away and have lunch with Thaddeus, who was fairly new in town but already quite successful, especially if you were willing to overlook Thaddeus’ problems with H. Ivan Trautman. Bill was only too happy to do that. Frankly, he hated H. Ivan, ignored him as best you could ignore the chief judge, and socially avoided the man at all costs. He was a Mormon and a joke. Bill liked to say that he himself was a “recovering” Mormon.

  “Thanks for meeting up with me,” Thaddeus said.

  “Well, I am concerned about you taking on the Attorney General and his circus. I would say it’s an unfair fight, except you’re smarter than all of them.”

  “That’s a nice thing to say. I’m not worried. I might be outnumbered but they can only talk one at a time.”

  “Attaboy. So true.”

  Beef and noodles arrived and the duo dug in. Heaping forkfuls of the man-food were gulped and swallowed without talk for several minutes. Then Bill paused to wipe his mouth.

  “How much has Angelina—Mrs. Steinmar—told you about what happened?”

  Thaddeus felt a caution sign turn yellow in his gut. Judges and attorneys were forbidden from having ex parte discussions about cases. Both sides had to be present to ethically discuss a case, not just one side.

  “Quite a bit. I think I have a pretty good feel for what happened.”

  “Well, she gets my vote. Steinmar was a no-good bastard. Little albino got what he had coming.”

  “Well, that’s good to hear. I guess,” Thaddeus hesitantly added. He actually wasn’t all that sure that any of it was okay to hear. Ex parte—if anyone found out—

  “You can bet the evidence will fall her way. That’s a promise.”

  Thaddeus nearly swallowed his fork. This definitely was over the line. He’d never heard of a judge promising a litigant’s attorney that he would favor her with evidentiary rulings.

  “Good to know,” he mumbled.

  “Just don’t want you to have any more problems with Ivan the Terrible. I hear you have another case with him. Murder?”

  “Sixteen-year-old Indian girl. She’s innocent.”

  “Hell, Thaddeus, we’re all innocent. We just need forgiveness.”

  “I hear that.”

  “Do you feel good about defending Angie—Mrs. Steinmar?”

  Thaddeus chewed thoughtfully. He wanted to say, I feel much better now, but didn’t.

  “Yes, I feel good about her case. Clear case of self-defense.”

  “Clear case. No doubt. You’ll certainly get a self-defense instruction.”

  “Well—”

  He wanted to say, ‘well thanks,’ but didn’t. Truth was, he was speechless. He felt a discomfiture wash over him and he wanted to stand and leave before any more unethical conversation could ensue. Instead, he remained in place, calmly forking down the beef and noodles. A nod to the waitress, yes, he would like a refill on the tea. He chewed slowly and kept his eyes off the judge.

  “Nice lunch crowd,” he said as tangentially as he could.

  “Tell you something else, Thaddeus. Angelina wouldn’t harm a fly. I mean that literally. But something snapped in her when Hammy hung herself. Changed that lady overnight. Do you know she went to bed the night before with no gray hair? Next night she had long streaks of gray. It changed her in a twinkling. Not for the better, either.”

  “So you’ve known her a long time?”

  “Every Christmas Eve we’re over at the Steinmars’ for carols and punch. Tradition around here.”

  “That sounds nice.”

  “Here’s one other tidbit. We just spent the weekend together in San Diego.”

  Thad dropped his fork. It hit his shoe and skittered under the table.

  “Well—”

  The judge beamed. “Now,” he said proudly, “now you know how the cow eats the grass in this town.”

  “Well—”

  “Don’t you even think about losing this case, son. It just ain’t gonna happen.”

  “Well—”

  “Gotta get back. Mucho divorces this afternoon for old Bill. Catch you later. You can pay.”

  Thaddeus watched the judge bang out the door and tuck chin to chest for
the walk north on the windy street. The waitress hurried over with a clean fork.

  “Pie?” She smiled.

  “And a shot of Jack Daniel’s,” he quipped.

  “We don’t serve alcohol.”

  “I wouldn’t have asked if you did.”

  “You’re losing me, Thad.”

  “You know my name?”

  “We all know you. You’re one of the cute ones.”

  “Are you on the jury panel next month?”

  “What? What?”

  “Never mind. Gotta go. Here’s a twenty. Thanks again.”

  He studied her name tag.

  “Wulanda.”

  “Wu—call me Wu.”

  “Wu.”

  40

  When he got home that night, Katy was in the driveway shoveling snow. Turquoise was at her side. The teenager was talking on her cell phone with one hand and casually sweeping, a broom in the other hand. Thaddeus was warmed to see she was comfortable enough with them to talk with friends, to have her own ongoing life. Sarai was flat on her back in the early spring powder, beating arms and legs into snow angels.

  He pulled his car inside the garage and hit the close button. Ducking out beneath the articulating door, he held his arms wide and Sarai happily bounced over and was encircled.

  “Daddy, come see what I made in the snow.”

  “You’ve got it,” he said, and allowed himself to be pulled into the yard where a covey of snow angels were in flight. “This is great,” he said. “I wonder who did this?”

  “Daddy, I did this,” the little girl shouted, the beginnings of mock frustration in her voice. She was learning, he thought.

  “Hey, Turquoise, what’s up?” he said to their newest addition.

  She held up one finger and mouthed, “It’s Tommy.”

  He nodded and raised a finger to his lips to hush himself. Tommy couldn’t be interrupted in whatever in the world he was saying. Thaddeus was glad for Turquoise; Tommy was perfect for her.

  “Hey, babe,” said Katy. “Want to spell me on the shovel?”

  “Happy to. Hand it over.”

  Katy stood upright and passed him the shovel. He accepted and bent to the task. The snow was a good eight inches deep, powder, and tended to fly apart as he chunked it out of the driveway.