Defending Turquoise (Thaddeus Murfee Legal Thriller Series Book 5)

by John Ellsworth

  Moroney sallied forth again.

  “How do we know you asked him not to ask you questions?”

  She threw up her hands. “Ask him, why don’t you?”

  “Judge,” began Moroney.

  “Counsel, she’s answered your question twice now. And I’ve asked you nicely to move on to something else. Now please move along.”

  Moroney scooped up his papers from the podium and abruptly took his seat at counsel table. His neck was red and he was whispering furiously at Art Handelman. Handelman whispered back.

  Then Moroney looked up. “That’s all I have, Your Honor.”

  “Counsel,” said the judge to Thaddeus, does the defense have any other witnesses?”

  “We do, Your Honor. One more.”

  “Please continue.”

  “Defense calls Art Handelman as an adverse witness.”

  Calling him as adverse meant Thaddeus was going to be able to lead the witness. It was an age-old tactic to be taken with non-friendly witnesses. Non-friendly, thought Thaddeus, but vital.

  Art Handelman retook the stand. He brushed a hand back over his silvery gray hair and nodded when Thaddeus asked if he understood he was still under oath from the last time he testified. “I understand,” he added.

  “Good. Now Mrs. Steinmar testified that when you first made contact with her she asked you to allow her to get a lawyer before speaking with you?”

  “Uh, her exact words were, ‘Art, I’ve known you forever. But I know my rights and I want a lawyer before I answer any questions. A terrible thing has happened here and I want a lawyer.’”

  Thaddeus was astounded. The witness had actually corroborated what Angelina had told the jury! He’d never had this happen before, where a police officer established that a witness was telling the truth.

  “Did she appear to be afraid of you?”

  Handelman appeared thoughtful. “She appeared to understand I wasn’t there to help her. She knew I was on official police business when I went in to talk to her.”

  “Was she scared?”

  “Like I said before, her hands were shaking so bad she couldn’t light her cigarette. I had to do it for her.”

  “Was that before or after she said she wanted a lawyer?”

  “Before. Then I asked her for a statement and she said she wanted a lawyer.”

  “So you of course honored her request and allowed her to get a lawyer.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Really. What did you do instead?”

  “I took out my recorder and Mirandized her. Then I started asking her questions.”

  “Did you hear her testify she lied to you about the bite marks because she was scared of you?”

  “I did.”

  “Did you hear her say, ‘He wasn’t believing me when I told him what happened. So I embellished. I added the bite part.’ Did you hear that?”

  “I did.”

  “Did you know she was lying to you?”

  “I hadn’t really formed an opinion.”

  “But you wouldn’t have been surprised.”

  “No.”

  “Because lots of people lie to you, don’t they?”

  “Yes, they do.”

  “Why is that, do you suppose? Why do people lie to you?”

  “Because they’re scared. It’s human nature.”

  “Was Angelina scared?”

  “Like I said, she couldn’t light her own cigarette.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Her voice was shaky, she mentioned she might have to run in and throw up. She was terrified, you want my honest take on it.”

  “That’s what I want. Your honest take.”

  “I knew she was terrified. She’d been around me for years and she knew I was very good at catching bad guys.”

  “So she lied. How well do you know Angelina?”

  “Like I said, I’ve been to her house socially many times.”

  “Are you a good judge of character?”

  “I like to think so.”

  “Judge her character.”

  He asked because he had a hunch. If he were right, the case was over.

  “I think she’s telling the truth in court. I know she is.”

  Thaddeus stopped. Now he knew. Handelman was the judge’s go-to guy. He would say whatever the judge wanted him to say. Payback would come later—another case, another time, his own ass would be on the line and the judge would go to bat for him. But right now it was his turn to pay his dues. And he just had.

  “But yet you’re prosecuting her.”

  “I would prosecute anyone who shot and killed a district attorney. Goes with the job.”

  “So you prosecuted her even though she might have been telling the truth about what happened?”

  “We never actually got that far that morning.”

  “Meaning?”

  “At one point she held up a hand and I paused the tape. She wanted to call Shep Aberdeen. I waited while she called him. Shep told her to shut up and stop cooperating. She took his advice and I never got to hear the rest of what happened from her viewpoint. If I had I might never have prosecuted her. That simple.”

  Thaddeus stopped. He had nursed this thing along as far as he dared to go. Any further and it would begin to look like the Chief DA Investigator was in bed with him. Right now it looked like he was a man committed to telling the truth. But another step, especially a big step, and it was going to begin to stink. So he stopped.

  “Your Honor, I believe that’s all I have.”

  “Very well. Counsel, do you wish to examine?”

  Jimmy Moroney, it would be said in the offices and taverns and restaurants around town, had never looked more morose, more sad, than he did just then.

  He slowly lifted his eyes. The corners of his mouth were drooped sorrowfully. The earlier swagger in his voice had all but dissipated when he looked at Judge Gerhardt and said, simply, “State has no questions.”

  “Very well, Mr. Handelman, you may step down. Defense may call its next witness.”

  “Your Honor,” said Thaddeus from his chair, “the defense rests.”

  49

  They broke for lunch and returned at one o’clock for closing arguments.

  The state’s argument was uninspired and sonorous and melancholy. Jimmy Moroney drifted somewhere between asking for the death penalty and asking for a finding of voluntary manslaughter—it was never clear exactly how he saw the facts stack up. His close took less than fifteen minutes, all told.

  Thaddeus took even less time. He explained the difference between manslaughter and a justified killing, or self-defense. The jurors paid particular attention to his explanation of “imminent threat of great bodily harm or death,” and made special note of how he applied that particular law to the facts of the shooting. Clearly she had been frightened for her life—if you believed her, as the judge did. Clearly she had told a whopper because the chief investigator unfairly questioned her even after she had asked for a lawyer—if you believed the chief investigator himself. In other words, Thaddeus had been handed a case where both the judge and the chief investigator had vouched for the defendant. In his closing summary he was careful not to be too bold, too confident. He thanked the jury for their service and told them he expected them to return with a finding of Not Guilty of this justified homicide.

  Both attorneys stared dumbly ahead while the judge read his jury instructions to the jury. Angelina fought down a smile and tried not to squirm in her chair, but her satisfaction with Thaddeus’ work with the jury and presentation of her case was at its highest point. She loved, loved, loved him, as she put it to Christine during one court recess. Christine relayed all this to Thaddeus, who brushed it away. He had long ago lost control over the outcome of the case when the court had suddenly vouched for her reputation for honesty, followed by the chief investigator doing the same. It was out of his hands. A power greater than him had stepped up to the plate and ripped an in-the-park home run. It was al
l in the park, inside the rules, done to look fair and reasonable. Nothing went out of the park, nothing that could be traced back to anyone.

  50

  The jury deliberated until 4:40 p.m. before returning with its Not Guilty verdict.

  Bedlam broke out among the press. Thaddeus and Christine went into the judge’s chambers and a deputy led them down the back stairs of the courthouse. They went around the block and made it up to their office without being seen. Christine locked the door, Thaddeus made two cups of coffee, and they retired to his office.

  Later they would hear that Angelina had answered questions from two TV crews and hung around for over an hour after the verdict. She was alternately crying and laughing. Crying, she explained, over the destruction of her family, happy that now she could begin rebuilding her life.

  They talked for an hour while they waited for the crowd to clear. The phones were ringing off the hook but going straight to voicemail. Another coffee and a cigar for each of them—a new/old routine—and they were finally out of things to say. She returned to her office and straightened her desk. He called Katy and gave her the news, and the day ended.

  He drove up to the Flagstaff Medical Center to give Shep the good news, only to find he had been discharged. He had gone home, where, the nurse explained, he would probably make a full recovery. Speech therapy every day, physical therapy three times a week, and, best of all, his mind was unaffected by the stroke. He would be back in the saddle within a few months, she guessed.

  He belongs in the saddle, he thought about Shep when he pulled into his own driveway that night. He tossed a look at Coco and Charlie in their corral, burning through hay and oats. He, himself, didn’t belong in a saddle, not one of those saddles, anyway. He determined right then and there to get rid of the two of them but immediately reversed himself. Like him, they would die of old age on a ranch with lots of good food and shelter from the storms.

  At least that was his prayer for them all as he went inside.

  51

  It was a circuitous route that brought Henry Landers to Thaddeus’ office a week after the Angelina Steinmar victory. Henry had read about it in the newspapers. A portion of the story talked about Thaddeus and the enormous successes he had enjoyed in various courts around the country. But the interesting part came almost at the end. That’s where the story focused in on the pending Turquoise Begay trial.

  Henry had been astonished. He hadn’t known his great-great-granddaughter was on trial. On trial for anything, much less for the murder of Henry’s great-grandson, Randy Begay.

  Most of all, Henry needed to discuss the case with Thaddeus. He blew through Williams at 85 MPH on his way to the lawyer’s office. The two-year-old Silverado had never charged along so fast and so well.

  It was a brilliant June morning when Henry pulled off I-40 into Flagstaff. He parked in the front lot of Little America and sauntered into the restaurant. Waffles, two eggs, four sausage links, and two cups of coffee later, he was ready to look up Thaddeus. He drove uptown and pulled into the BOA lot. On the directory beside the elevator he located Thaddeus’ office and rode upstairs. Christine greeted him and buzzed Thaddeus, who was surprised and happy to see his old friend.

  “I read about the trial,” Henry said. He was 102 years old, gnarled and deeply lined about the face and eyes, but his mind was sharp as ever. Walking seven or ten miles with the sheep every day probably helped contribute to his longevity, according to the IHS workers who kept track of such things. That, Henry laughed at them, and a steady diet of beef stew and roast beef hash out of the can.

  The friends caught up and traded stories and common gossip. Henry was still living in the hogan during the winter. Now that it was summer he had moved the herd back up into the Wachuska Mountains for summer pasture. Henry’s granddaughter—Katy’s mother—was tending the sheep while Henry was away for the day and the coming night, when he would return to the hogan, sleep there, and make the hike back into the mountains tomorrow at first light. All was well. There was plenty of money, the truck was in good shape, and he basically had no other needs. Thaddeus questioned him for several minutes about such things, making sure the old man was well cared for by the tribe and by his meager earnings from the sale of sheep and found turquoise.

  “You won the case: the district attorney’s wife. She was found not guilty, thanks to you.”

  “I’m not sure how much of it was thanks to me,” said Thaddeus. “There was a good deal of help from the judge and the police.”

  “Really? Why would they help her if she shot the DA?”

  Thaddeus spread his hands. “White man’s ways, Henry. Dark and mysterious. That’s all I can say about it, probably.”

  “I can honor that. Now, please, tell me about my great-granddaughter, Turquoise Begay.”

  “Turquoise was being abused by her uncle Randy.”

  “Randy Begay. Son of Martha Gray Mountain. My granddaughter.”

  “Yes, well, Randy was no damn good. He was raping Turquoise and had been since she was ten.”

  “Then I’m glad she shot him. I would have if she hadn’t.”

  “That’s just it. She didn’t do it.”

  “The lady?”

  “No, Turquoise.”

  “No, I’m talking about the lady I saw leave there. She’s the one that shot him.”

  Thaddeus leaned forward in his chair. “Come again? What lady are you talking about?”

  “The lady on the motorcycle. She shot Randy Begay. I saw her leaving. I know this because she covered up her tracks.”

  Thaddeus buzzed Christine. “Come on in here, please. I need you to hear this.”

  Christine came right inside. She blew a lock of hair from her forehead and opened the keyboard on her tablet. “What gives?”

  “Listen to what Henry has to say. Henry, would you repeat that?”

  “I was coming over to see about Randy Begay. This was some time ago. Weeks or a month or two. I forget. On two times I had been to Garcia Begay’s trailer. Once when Kitna died and once when Garcia was sick with TB and they thought he would die. He got over that.”

  “So you knew where Turquoise lived. And you were going there to see about Randy Begay. See about what?”

  “I heard he was bothering Turquoise. I was going to see if he should be killed.”

  Christine looked at Thaddeus, who only shrugged. That’s just Henry, his look said.

  “Okay, what happened?”

  “About two or three miles off I see someone in black clothing come down off the porch and move the motorcycle onto the highway. Then this person pulls a rag from her coat pocket and begins to dust over the tracks left by her motorcycle tires.”

  “Her? You knew it was a her?”

  “I’m coming to that. Instead of stopping at the trailer, I decide to follow her. She goes several miles and then pulls in at the New-Nav Trading Post. She goes to make a phone call and removes her helmet and gloves. That’s when I see it’s a woman. I don’t know her. But I know she covered her tracks. So I followed her: All the way back into Flagstaff, down the alley. She put her motorcycle under the carport and covered it. She went inside the house and so I drove around front. The news people were parked in front.”

  “How do we prove this?” Thaddeus asked.

  “Easy. I brought you my phone camera. I have pictures of her from New-Nav and from her backyard with the motorcycle. That’s why I came over. If I didn’t have to give it to you I just would have called.”

  “You could have posted online. Saved a trip,” Christine commented in her matter-of-fact way.

  “No online for this old Indian,” Henry laughed. “Bad medicine.”

  “Okay, Henry, let’s take a look.”

  The old man passed the cell phone to Thaddeus. He immediately located the pictures. Clearly it was Angelina at the New-Nav phone booth. Clearly it was Angelina on the motorcycle leaving there. Angelina in her backyard, helmet off, covering her motorcycle. Front shot of Angelina’s house, n
ews vehicles out front. All pictures were date-stamped and time-stamped. All dates fell on the same date Randy Begay was found dead in the bedroom of Turquoise Begay.

  “Amazing,” Thaddeus whispered to himself. “Just amazing. You caught the shooter, Henry.”

  “I think I did,” said Henry. “She saved me a bullet.”

  “Did you have your rifle with you?”

  “Always. In its window mount. Never leave home without it.”

  “My kind of guy,” Christine chuckled and tapped the old man’s booted foot.

  “You like guns too?” Henry asked.

  Christine nodded violently. “Love, love, love them.”

  “I shoot bad guys,” said Henry. “Just ask Thaddeus.”

  “I do too,” said Christine, not missing a beat. “So we’re even. So does he,” she said and inclined her head toward Thaddeus. He didn’t acknowledge her.

  “These pictures are going to create enough reasonable doubt for me to walk Turquoise out.”

  “Meaning?”

  Thaddeus looked at the old man and smiled. “Meaning you’ve just handed me reasonable doubt, Henry. Chris, let’s get these printed and blown up thirty-by-forty.”

  “I’m on it,” she said. She took the camera and left.

  “Can I give you another phone? We have a few spares around here.”

  “Yes, please.”

  Thaddeus rummaged around through his two top drawers until he found what he was looking for.

  “Here we go. AT&T unlimited minutes. Don’t worry about the billing, I’ve got it covered.”

  He passed the phone to the old man.

  “It will tell me its number inside?”

  “It will. Look under settings.”

  “I know that. When you get as old as me, you study things. I know everything about these cell phones.”

  “Then you know where to find the number.”

  “I know that.”

  “I know you do.”

  Henry stayed around, later having lunch with Thaddeus, until about two o’clock, when it was time to drive back west to the hogan. They shook hands in the parking lot and the old man climbed into his Chevy. Thaddeus waved from behind as Henry pulled out of the exit driveway and disappeared south, headed for the freeway entrance.