Until Proven Innocent

by Gene Grossman

  Returning from the liquor store, I see that the dog is no longer on Tony’s boat, so the dynamic duo is probably back on our boat. There’s a manila envelope waiting for me that looks like it’s from Jack B. that is probably his report on the owners of April’s apartment building. This would be good time to sit back, have a beer or two, or three, and read Jack’s report.

  There’s a knock at the hull. It’s not Mister Necktie this time, but a guy wearing a leather apron. I’ve never seen him before.

  “Yes sir, can I help you?”

  “I’m the shoemaker.”

  “So?”

  “I have an appointment to measure Mister Bernie.”

  Why not? This should be no surprise to me. In addition to us being the best-equipped forensic science boat in the Marina, the dog will now have some custom made shoes to wear. I’d like to see how she justifies using the firm’s money for this project. Another remarkable fact is that the dog now has a title. Not only do we have ‘Doctor Braunstien,’ we also have ‘Mister Bernie.’ I wonder what my official title is. No, I know what it is: ‘Big human who does heavy lifting.’

  I invite the shoemaker aboard, sit back, pop open a beer, and start reading Jack’s report. I can’t seem to concentrate on the report. For some reason, the shoemaker and Bernie are in the main saloon with me, and Bernie is getting measured… but not for shoes. Instead, Mister Leather Apron is measuring him for what looks like a special harness or something. I remember the last time the kid finagled this dog into court, and I hope that this isn’t part of another grand scheme of hers.

  The shoemaker has finished his measuring session and is now leaving the boat. Jack’s report now has my full attention. As he mentioned to me in the past, the apartment building that April lives in is owned by a real estate trust controlled by Chad and Ruth Sinclair. The bulk of this report concentrates on their unique lifestyle and beliefs.

  The Sinclairs have received quite a bit of press coverage over the years because of their creation and leadership of an infamous right-wing white supremist militia group out near Lancaster, California, the farthest northeast portion of Los Angeles County, about forty miles from the San Fernando Valley.

  Sinclairs themselves haven’t committed any crimes, but their followers have certainly had some well publicized brushes with the law. Some characteristics that most of these extremist groups seem to share are hatred and distrust of government, hatred of anyone but white people, a hatred of and refusal to pay income tax, and a belief that the laws of this country don’t apply to them.

  The exploits of some of them have become very well known. A woman claimed that the United States Government owed her many millions of dollars, for defrauding her into thinking that she should pay income tax. She conducted her own court, found the government liable, issued a judgment, and then sold portions of the judgment to gullible believers, in the form of legal-looking certificates that resembled diplomas from Harvard. One elderly couple I know were so taken in by her baloney, that they bought a ‘certificate’ from her that was supposed to be worth over sixty thousand dollars. I understand that she was selling them for less than ten cents on the dollar. The elderly couple tried to pay off their mortgage with her phony certificate, and ultimately wound up losing their home.

  Other believers had refused to file income tax returns, and many have been sent to Federal Prison. The most notable in that group includes Mister Irwin Schiff, who authored most of his anti-tax manuals while a guest at the U.S. Government’s ‘greybar hotel’. Whenever he’s in between prison sentences, he usually makes the talk show rounds.

  The more mundane followers fall into groups that include skinheads and other terribly misguided, armed people, who participate in Al Qaeda-like training, in preparation for some eventual government takeover, during which time all their guns will be confiscated. One member of this group was the late Timothy McVeigh, who showed his utter disregard for others in Oklahoma, when he blew up the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building on April 9, 1995, killing 168 people. He was ultimately put to death by lethal injection, but not after the government that he so hated spent millions of dollars helping him get a fair trial.

  Another of their ilk is the highly decorated war hero Colonel James ‘Bo’ Gritz, who ran for President of the United States in 1992. He first drew attention as the ex-Green Beret who led the Ross Perot-financed commando-style missions into Southeast Asia, to rescue POW’s he believed to have been imprisoned since the Vietnam War. Many people believe that because James Bo Gritz’s nickname was ‘Jambo,’ Sylvester Stallone created the Rambo character in his image - especially in the movies that shared Gritz’s beliefs with respect to American prisoners of war.

  Gritz’s manifesto brought out into the light of day what most of his like-minded followers believed in - an end to foreign aid, an end to the federal income tax, dismantling of the Federal Reserve System, absolutely no gun control, and a recognition that the United States of America is a ‘White Christian Nation.’

  The beliefs of people like McVeigh and the Sinclairs were eloquently stated once by Gritz in a comment he made during the 2000 Presidential contest between George W. Bush and Al Gore: “…Jews, feminists, sodomites and other liberal activists may install Gore over an apathetic moral majority…runaway abortion, anti-Christ/God and globalism are certain.”

  Well, at least I now have an idea what we’re dealing with here. I’d like to see the looks on their faces if the Sinclairs were around whenever April’s boyfriend of color visited. The Sinclairs are also champions of what has been referred to as a ‘sovereign state citizen’ movement, whereby the believers disclaim their United States citizenship in a misguided attempt to exempt themselves from all of the laws that the rest of us mere citizens are compelled to obey. These people have gone so far as to assert their believed status as a defense to everything from non-payment of income tax, to driving without a driver’s license, contending that the Courts have no jurisdiction over them. That goes over big with the judges; that’s why so many of them write their books in cells.

  The Sinclairs probably don’t believe in the terms of a written apartment lease either, unless they’re completely unaware of what their manager Miller is doing to April, and who knows how many other tenants.

  I’m glad Jack did such a thorough report on these people because it certainly shows me a side of society that I wasn’t that familiar with. Unfortunately though, it doesn’t give me anything that will help with Tony’s defense - but then again, it wasn’t supposed to. And thinking of April, I never had a chance to watch those commercials of Hershel’s that I recorded, so I might as well see what they look like. I programmed the machine to record a commercial each nite, during the second break of the late movie.

  Looking at the commercials this way is strange because each time I see April she looks a little thinner. At one time she mentioned that her boyfriend Joe didn’t want her to lose weight, but now that he’s gone, she must have decided to start a diet. I can’t wait to see her in a couple of months to find out what the girl inside really looks like.

  *****

  As I walk down the dock, Tony motions for me to come aboard his boat. He gives me a report on the investigations his team is still conducting. I don’t want to burst his balloon, but I still don’t see any defense tactic to use. Without his .50 caliber gun, he has no desire to visit the firing range, so he spends all of his time working on the case.

  I also notice some things missing from his boat, mainly the equipment that he and Suzi used to reload his shell casings. The workbench is also empty, with all the empty shells gone. Tony tells me all that stuff was picked up by some company that does computer analysis of those things. It looks like the stress is finally getting to him, because he must have lost at least another ten pounds in the past couple of weeks.

  Considering the large recent expenditure that our law firm just made in computer software, I’m curious to know why all of his reloading equipment was sent out to another company. Is it possi
ble for someone else to have more stuff than the kid? I make a mental note to inquire, but then realize that it would be an effort in futility.

  Back at the boat, the phone is ringing. It’s Myra calling.

  “Hello beautiful. Calling for a date?”

  “You know what she did?”

  “By she, I assume you mean the adorable little girl that we both know and love. Right?”

  “That little brat is demanding that we stipulate to the fact that she can testify as an expert witness in ballistic fingerprinting. How can she expect that? She’s not even a teenager yet. She can’t possibly…”

  “Okay, okay, just calm down. You know she’s still mad at you for subpoenaing just her, without also including the dog. What harm can she do? If you really believe that she doesn’t have that much knowledge on the subject, then it doesn’t make any difference. In fact you’d be doing yourself a favor by stipulating. That way her qualifications or lack thereof don’t get in front of the jury, and all it means is that she’ll be able to offer an opinion in her testimony.

  “Remember, you’re the one who wants her there, so why not let her have the spotlight for a few minutes? I think she’s been rehearsing her lines for the past day or so, and probably thinks she’ll be holding a press conference after the trial. C’mon, she’s just a kid. Let her have her way this time. We both know that when this trial is over, you’ll both be talking on the phone every day, like nothing ever happened.”

  “Maybe you’re right. I hope this doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass.”

  Fortunately, the conversation ends before I have too much time to concentrate on her ass. From what I now know, I think Myra should get some ass-bite medicine. It would be a very bad idea for her to get on the wrong side of this kid. Obviously Myra has no idea about Tony’s equipment having been sent out for examination, because she didn’t mention receiving any notice of additional witnesses being added to our list.

  Any thoughts I may have had about asking the kid what’s going on also bring to my attention that the doctor and Mister Bernie are not on the boat. I look out the window and see that her electric cart is still parked, but there’s no sign of her. I call her cell phone.

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “I see that you and your assistant aren’t on the boat and your e-cart is still here. Are you very far away?”

  “I’m in Santa Monica, on business.”

  “You haven’t taken my Hummer, have you?”

  “No. I have a driver today. Dinner will be brought over at seven this evening. Please be on time.”

  No information, no answers, just a command to be on time for dinner. She said that it would be ‘brought over,’ which means that the Asian Boys will be delivering and serving us another gourmet meal. At first I was under the impression that all they would ever be bringing to the boat is Chinese food, but I was wrong. On different occasions they’ve been known to deliver goodies from other places in the Marina, like the Cheesecake Factory, and Jerry’s Deli.

  I may not know what’s always going on around here, but at least the food is good.

  *****

  Any question I might have had as to who her driver is gets answered when I see Stuart carrying a box to the boat. When he unpacks it for placement in the forward stateroom, I see that it’s the ammunition reloading equipment and Tony’s supply of empty cartridges, which he meticulously counts and brings home after each trip to the firing range.

  During dinner, Stuart assures me that his gambling days are behind him, and that all of his other legitimate enterprises are coming along nicely. He also mentions that I may be seeing him on television in the near future, because he’s thinking of doing some commercials for one of his products.

  Of course no dinner with Stuart is complete without him telling me about a new business he’s thinking of putting together, and tonight is no exception. This time, it’s a completely online venture with no warehouse space or inventory required. Stuart became intrigued with some statistics he heard during one of his law lectures and is concerned that there are too many people out there who’ve never made out a Last Will and Testament. His plan is to create a new national Will Registry, where anyone in the country can use his service to file a Will. He then plans to notify every funeral parlor in the country about the service, so that whenever a deceased is brought in, their statistics are fed into his Registry to see if there is a Will on file there.

  If a person doesn’t have a Will prepared, Stuart will offer several sample templates with numerous paragraphs that can be selected and edited online, to be cut and pasted into a final document. There will be a nominal fee charged, in the neighborhood of about twenty or thirty dollars, and Stuart feels that in no time at all, he should have several million people in the Registry.

  In addition to serving private individuals, he intends to offer a reduced rate to Attorneys and Trust Departments of banks, so that they will list their clients’ names and statistics with him. The wholesale division catering to professionals will not require actual storage of the text of those Wills, and instead only contain the fact that a Will does exist, and who the custodian is. As an extra incentive to get lawyers to sign up and register their clients’ Will locations, Stuart will be adding their names to his national list of Will preparers, so that visitors to his site can find the nearest attorney by zip code.

  I’ve got to hand it to Stuart. He comes up with quite a few hair-brained schemes, but every once in while, he gets lucky with something that actually can be of use to a great number of people. This time, I think he’s got a keeper.

  The pleasant dinner concludes. As usual, Suzi just sat and listened all evening. I have a feeling that the computer in her brain has stored every word she’s heard every person say for the past ten years.

  *****

  The kid must have been busy last night after dinner, because my phone is ringing and I see Myra’s number displayed. I can usually tell what mood she’s in by how many seconds of greeting time I’m allowed. Today it’s down to zero, so the mood can’t be too good.

  “Peter, what the hell’s going on with Tony’s murder case?”

  “I’m just fine thank you, how about yourself?”

  “Please, spare me. I want to know what type of show you plan on putting on next week at his trial.”

  “Myra, is there something I’ve done since our last conversation that’s prompted you to make this call to me?”

  “No Peter, you haven’t done anything… it’s her.”

  “By her, I assume you mean the little witness you pissed off by subpoenaing without including her companion?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly who I mean. When I got into the office this morning there was an email from her instructing me to tell my trial deputy not to make a relevancy objection to the questions you ask one of our witnesses.”

  “What witness would that be, pray tell?”

  “She wouldn’t say, but I think it might be her. I explained to her that if you wanted to ask her questions beyond the scope of our direct examination, that you could call her as your own witness.”

  She’s right. Something is definitely going on, but as usual, I haven’t the slightest idea of what it is. Obviously the kid has some information that I’m supposed to bring it out in cross-examination.

  “Myra, I know you’ll believe me when I tell you that little Doctor Braunstien hasn’t told me anything about this line of questioning yet, but I’m sure she’ll give me instructions before we get to the trial. I’ll tell you what - as soon as I know what the heck is going on, I’ll give you a heads-up, so that you can prepare your trial deputy.”

  That seems to have satisfied her for now. I’m getting the feeling that Renaldo is in for a heap of trouble. I had a hunch that the prosecution would be calling some witnesses to establish Tony’s motive, but I didn’t know that Renaldo would be one of them. I hope this doesn’t screw up Special Agent Snell’s arrest plans, because I’m sure he’s planning on taking Renaldo, Evelyn, and
her daughter into custody after the trial.

  *****

  The reporters are in their usual feeding-frenzy mode as Tony’s trial date approaches. Every time you see a local newscast, some blow-dried bimbo is standing in front of the Venice Soundstage with a ‘new breaking development’ in the murder case, which usually consists of a neighbor down the street saying that they really didn’t hear any gunshot, so the soundstage must be soundproofed.

  Our office is not making any statements about what tactics we’ll use in Tony’s defense. I keep watching the news, hoping they’ll interview one of the legal geniuses they have on stand-by. Maybe the legal eagle will say something like ‘well, if I was trying this case, here’s the type of defense I’d put on…’ I sure can use all the help I can get, because at this point it looks like Tony had better be instructed to bring a toothbrush with him to the trial. He might not be going home after it’s over.

  If nothing new turns up that can help me clear Tony, I’m going to have to call an office meeting and ask the kid for some help. She got me into this mess, so maybe she can figure out some way for me to get out of it.

  I don’t see the cops hanging around Tony’s boat that much, so their investigations have probably hit dead-ends too. There’s plenty of action around his motorsailer, but it’s not for the case, it’s the Asian Boys getting it all ready for a cruise. Maybe I should tell him to take it before the trial, while he still has a chance.

  There’s a knock at the hull. Looking over the side I see a familiar face. It’s Vaughn, an explosives expert we used on a case not too long ago when some vehicles were being blown up. He’s a former FBI lab tech who retired and went out on his own and now consults with various law enforcement agencies on anything that has to do with a bang.

  “Hello Vaughn, come on aboard. To what do I owe this pleasure today?”