Attorney at Large (Thaddeus Murfee Legal Thriller Series Book 3)

by John Ellsworth

  “But we’re not going to catch anyone removing money.”

  She laughed. “Damn sure not going to with this video feed.”

  “I know.”

  “So where does that leave us?”

  He turned his chair away from the monitor and faced her across the office.

  “Well,” he began, “we will have the documents. The returns, the P&Ls, the lifestyle analysis. The bank deposit analysis.”

  “There’s still that discrepancy between what he deposited and what he reported on his tax returns.”

  “Is it enough to convict him?”

  “Hmm. We’d best talk to the lawyers. See what they think so far.”

  “I’ll call them. Want to see them tomorrow?”

  “I think so. ASAP.”

  “I’ll call David Fisher first thing in the morning. I’m outta here now.”

  “Same here. See you in the a.m.”

  “Adios.”

  46

  Thaddeus knew what he wanted to do about the IRS, but he just wasn’t certain how to go about it.

  He knew that in criminal proceedings brought by the United States against him, he wasn’t allowed to take the deposition of the witnesses against him. Which meant he couldn’t take the statements of either Aldous Kroc or Mathilde Magence in order to learn about the case against him.

  Which was a show-stopper.

  How, he wondered, could he ever defend himself in a criminal case if he didn’t know what the witnesses against him were going to say at trial? He thought it very unfair. In a civil case, of course, he could take the deposition of any witness, and discover the adverse party’s case. But not so in criminal. Which was the most important kind of case that one would ever face.

  So he did the next best thing; he called attorney Gerry Browne in Reno.

  Gerry called him back a day later.

  “Hey, Thad,” said Gerry, “what’s cookin’ down there in LV?”

  “I’m trying to wrap my head around this criminal case, Gerry. Something I don’t like about it.”

  Gerry snorted. “I thought we were gonna let me worry about that case. I remember you paying me something like a million bucks to take the worry off your plate. Am I wrong about that?”

  “What I don’t understand is how to get to the testimony of Kroc and Magence. They just can’t have that much against me, because I didn’t do anything wrong. But the rules of criminal procedure in the federal courts don’t allow me to take their depositions.”

  “Exactly. One of the worst articulations of Constitutional rights in the law.”

  “How’s that Constitutional?” asked Thaddeus.

  “Well, the Sixth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution gives you the right to confront and cross-examine the witnesses against you.”

  “Right.”

  “But how can you effectively do that if you don’t know ahead of time what their testimony will be? It looks to me like the Constitution gives you the right, but then the Congress pulls it back, out of your reach, by implementing rules of procedure that don’t allow you to take depositions.”

  “Totally agree.”

  “Well, I’m glad you do.”

  “So here’s what I’m thinking,” Thaddeus said. “I’m thinking of suing the feds for malicious prosecution and then taking their depositions in the civil suit.”

  There was a long silence.

  “You know, you just might be on to something there.”

  “I know. With your blessing, I’m going to get it on file and see where it goes.”

  “My blessing’s all over you, Thaddeus.”

  They traded information for another ten minutes and then said their goodbyes. Gerry said he would like to attend the depositions of the IRS agents, when the civil case got to that point. Thaddeus agreed and said he would give him plenty of notice.

  Thaddeus called Sparky into his office.

  The paralegal hustled in and Thaddeus noticed that the shock of red hair had been allowed to grow out and was now covering his ears. He looked several years older, in a Willie Nelson kind of way, but he kept extremely busy around the office and Thaddeus had long ago told him he had earned the job as a full-time employee. Sparky spoke very little of his life outside the office, and he had twice refused Thaddeus’ invitations to lunch, telling Thaddeus he preferred not to mix business with pleasure. Whatever that meant, Thaddeus had thought, but he let it go. Strictly business was how it was going to be between them and that was fine.

  “Sit,” Thaddeus said.

  “What’s up?”

  “I want you prepare a suit for malicious prosecution against the IRS. That’s about all I know right now.”

  “Fine. What’s malicious about what they did?”

  “They came into my casino with a search warrant and went way beyond its limits.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, the search warrant gave them the right to search. Fair enough. But they then went into the count room at the casino and installed video gear. That was far beyond the scope of the search warrant they served on my guys. It was illegal and I believe I have the right to name the employees who did it, in the suit against the IRS.”

  “You’re talking Kroc and Magence?”

  “I’m talking Kroc and Magence. I want the IRS named as a party defendant, sure. But I want Kroc and Magence named as well. At the same time you prepare the lawsuit, also prepare a notice of deposition for Kroc and Magence, for thirty-five days after the filing of the lawsuit, both deps on the same day, four hours apart.”

  “Well, I know where I’ll be for the next week.”

  “Huh-uh. Ready to file by noon tomorrow. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

  “I’ll be here all night.”

  “Time and half, Mister Union Man.”

  “I wasn’t going to ask.”

  “But you are a member of the pipefitters union?”

  “I am.”

  “And I honor all Union rules and abide by them. Time and a half.”

  “Actually it would be double-time.”

  “Double-time then.”

  “I’ll have it by noon tomorrow. Ready for your signature. Then I’ll walk it across the street, file it in the George Building, and secure service of process. Hopefully we can get it served on the two little bastards tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Yes, yes, and yes, they are little bastards,” said Thaddeus with a grin. “I like your style, dude.”

  “I told you you’d like my style. I got your back, son.”

  “No ‘son’ shit, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Tomorrow then.”

  * * *

  One week later, five days after being served with the lawsuit for malicious prosecution, the IRS dragged Thaddeus into court. They wanted a protective order.

  They were falling all over themselves with righteous indignation. How could a criminal defendant even think he had the right to file a lawsuit for malicious prosecution and then take depositions? they cried. He would be gaining an unfair advantage if allowed to proceed. He would be skirting the rules!

  The judge was Phineas Y. Barberow, a seventy-five-year-young jurist who had himself twice sued the IRS while a private attorney. He knew all about them and their methods, knew they were almost totally impervious to assault by citizens, and knew they had thousands of lawyers to come in and cry “Foul!” Trouble was, they could only talk one at a time, as Judge Barberow was fond of saying. And that day, their spokesman’s words were falling on deaf ears.

  “Counsel, are you telling me that Mister Murfee can’t take these depositions because they might provide some advantage to him?”

  “That’s a shorthand way of saying it, but yes.”

  “Weren’t you looking for an advantage when you illegally installed cameras on his business premises?”

  “Your Honor, nobody has yet found the Service acted illegally.”

  “Well, write this down. Write down that I am very close to making that exact finding, understand me?
”

  Thaddeus had earlier recited to the judge the famous—or infamous—facts of the case of Morris v. United States, 521 F.2d 872, 873-74 (9th Cir. 1975). In that case, Melvin Morris, a plumber and contractor, bought eighteen substandard buildings in San Francisco to renovate and sell. Morris relied on credit from lenders, subcontractors, and suppliers to finance the building projects. After Morris began refurbishing investment properties, a union representative told Morris that since Morris did not employ union labor he should expect to hear from the Internal Revenue Service (IRS). Shortly thereafter, the IRS investigated and audited Morris and his wife. The IRS concluded that the couple owed back taxes for excess depreciation deductions taken on the buildings. While investigating Morris, the IRS informed Morris’s creditors of his tax liability and told creditors that Morris would become insolvent. Creditors refused to further support the venture, and Morris lost his business.

  During their investigation, IRS agents harassed and intimidated Morris and his wife. To collect amounts owed for back taxes, the IRS unlawfully seized and levied upon the Morrises’ property. After investigating and auditing the Morrises for several years and collecting part of the alleged deficiency, the IRS realized that the Morrises had properly computed and paid their taxes. The IRS conceded that the deficiency determination was an error and returned the wrongfully seized property. The Morrises sued for, among other things, lost business opportunity, but their claims failed because of sovereign immunity.

  Thaddeus had concluded, “This fact pattern is the modus operandi of the IRS, as evidenced by its agents in Morris v. United States. In other words, they do terrible, illegal things, and then come crying to the court that they didn’t mean it. Just like here today. They have rights, they say their rights are being violated, with total disregard for the rights of citizens who have been violated. This must stop and the court should turn a deaf ear to their whining!”

  Which is exactly what the judge did.

  “Gentlemen—and ladies—” the judge said, deferentially referring to the two female attorneys with the other three IRS attorneys bringing the motion, “the depositions are going to be held in seven days. And I think we’re going to hold them in my chambers, so we can get all objections the IRS always has, ruled on immediately. Does anyone have any questions?”

  The IRS attorneys were already packing.

  They had no questions.

  * * *

  Seven days later they were one big happy family. Plus Thaddeus himself, in attendance were Judge Barberow, three IRS attorneys and one U.S. Attorney, and Aldous Kroc and Mathilde Magence.

  The government lawyers took control of the judge’s long red leather couch. Thaddeus helped himself to a patterned wingback chair; the judge would maintain law and order from behind his monolithic desk, and to his right was the witness chair, just waiting. The court reporter sat to the judge’s left. She extended the tripod stand under her machine, fed a foot of paper though its maw, and announced she was ready.

  “We’re on the record,” said the judge. “Let the record show it’s July seventh and all parties and counsel are present. Witness Aldous Kroc has been sworn by me. You may proceed, Mr. Murfee.”

  Thaddeus watched the witness take the witness chair, settle himself in, and try to smile as if comfortable and carefree. It didn’t work quite as planned; within minutes he was tugging at his collar and shuffling his feet as if he were kicking rats.

  Thaddeus began. “I just have one question today for you, Mister Kroc. And here is my question. Please tell us by what authority you installed the hidden video camera inside my count room at the casino.”

  “Objection,” said the U.S. Attorney, “assumes facts not in evidence.”

  “You’re objecting to the foundation?” the judge immediately shot back.

  “I am.”

  “Overruled. The witness will please answer the question.”

  Kroc craned to look at the judge. “What was the question?”

  The judge motioned to the court reporter. She read the question once again.

  “Please tell us by what authority you installed the hidden video camera inside my count room at the casino.”

  Kroc stared dumbly at the far wall. He rubbed his hands together as if expecting a treat. “I made the decision to install the camera. It was on my authority.”

  Thaddeus immediately followed up. “Did any court give you authority to install the cameras by virtue of a search warrant?”

  “No.”

  “By virtue of a wiretap?”

  “No.”

  “Did your supervisor give you authority to install the surveillance equipment?”

  “No.”

  “And at the time you installed the video equipment you were acting as an agent of the United States?”

  “It was my job.”

  “You were doing your job?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you were acting as an agent of the United States?”

  “I thought so.”

  “Yes or no.”

  “Yes, I was acting as an agent.”

  Thaddeus bore in on the agent. “Do you know what a search and seizure is?”

  “Yes. I think so.”

  “Well, you’re a criminal investigator, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you surely know what search and seizure is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know what an illegal search and seizure is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell us in your own words.”

  “An illegal search and seizure is one that violates the Fourth Amendment to the Constitution.”

  “And as a matter of law in this country, how do we protect citizens against unreasonable searches and seizures.”

  “By suppressing evidence.”

  “How else?”

  “By requiring a search warrant.”

  “Or a wiretap warrant?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you have any such warrant when you installed eavesdropping equipment in my casino?”

  “No.”

  Thaddeus paused. He studied his notes momentarily, intending for it all to sink in with the judge. Which it had.

  “Mister Murfee,” said Judge Barberow, “may I ask a question or two?”

  “Please do.”

  “Mister Kroc, was there anyone else acting with you when you illegally planted the eavesdropping equipment in Mister Murfee’s casino?”

  “Only Agent Magence. Plus some technicians.”

  “Well,” said the judge, slowly, “I’m not so much concerned about the technicians. They weren’t law enforcement officers, were they?”

  “No. Just techs.”

  “Exactly. So you and Special Agent Magence were the only criminal investigators involved in the illegal installation?”

  “Yes.”

  “You were the only sworn officers?”

  “Yes.”

  “For the record, the court is going to give the U.S. Attorney’s Office the opportunity to convene a grand jury to investigate the illegal actions of Agents Kroc and Magence. Failing to do so will result in the court appointing a special prosecutor to convene a grand jury and review these illegal activities. Have I made myself clear?”

  The government attorneys all answered affirmatively, that the judge had made himself clear. Faces were white, hands shook as folders were fumbled into and out from bags, as if a good answer were about to be produced.

  “Very well. Mister Murfee, do you have any other questions for this witness?”

  “No sir.”

  “Miss Magence, your deposition is also noticed for today. Before testifying, however, it is incumbent on the court to warn you that you should seek the advice of counsel and consider interposing the Fifth Amendment rule against self-incrimination. Long story short, your own criminal attorney is going to tell you to keep your mouth shut and refuse to testify. My advice is that you follow his or her advice. Anything else today?”

  “No,
Your Honor,” said Thaddeus.

  Within two hours the U.S. Attorney H. Mouton Carraway himself called Thaddeus and advised him the criminal indictments pending against him were being dismissed. With prejudice, meaning they could never be filed again.

  Thaddeus thanked him and hung up the phone.

  That night the firm, and dates, ate lobster with Thaddeus and Katy and Sarai at Red Lobster. Drinks were ordered, toasts were made, and the meal was a smashing success.

  “Thank you all,” Thaddeus said to his staff. “Particularly you, Sparky. Thank you for a job well done.”

  “It’s okay, son. Just covering your back, is all.”

  Thaddeus only gave him a long, studied stare, before breaking into laughter and ordering coffee with dessert.

  47

  He had been to LA for more cash out of the safe deposit box, and this time Ragman rode the bus into Las Vegas.

  He was coming from Bank of America, where he had ratholed $1 million cash for the job. So he could have chartered his own jet had he wanted.

  But he didn’t.

  Instead he was opting for anonymity. The bus lines had no such thing as passenger lists. If a hit man needed to move around without leaving a roadmap of breadcrumbs, Greyhound was the only way to go.

  He needed a prison for the tiny girl. He needed sustenance to keep her alive until she was no longer necessary. He needed a bed for himself. And he needed painkiller.

  Or what he called painkiller.

  What he really meant was speed. He rode the pipe, the magic pipe.

  When he was speeding he was untouchable. Feelings blotted out, forgotten, best of all, unfelt. No guilt, no remorse, no hesitation to disfigure and mutilate. Enough slicing and dicing and the money would be surrendered, Murfee to Mascari. He would then ride the bus around while they mourned and swore revenge.

  He smiled. Bottom line, he would get the money returned.

  “There’s this guy with this kid,” Mascari had said.

  “I’m your man.”

  That hadn’t changed.

  Nor would it.

  Fifteen hundred dollars cash for a beige Camry. False name, don’t need insurance just now, thanks. The salesman scratched his head. That was an odd duck, he told himself. But hey, he kept $500 commission. He turned away and went back to pushing used steel and rubber.