An Unequal Defense (David Adams)

by Chad Zunker

TEN

  David hightailed it back to his office with a renewed purpose in his step. He had to immediately begin his own investigation to see if there was any truth to the mystery woman’s claim—that there was more to the story behind Rebel’s arrest. As far-fetched as it still seemed, David had to work with the hypothetical that Rebel did not in fact shoot and kill his friend. Which meant someone else did. Who? Why? According to Dana, the DA’s office wasn’t all that interested in finding another suspect. They were convinced they already had their guy and were eager to go to trial. David’s only hope was to go out there himself and find the real killer—or at least find enough evidence to place huge question marks around the certainty his client pulled the trigger. That prospect felt daunting at the moment. He was just one man, and this was a big city. Unlike other more high-profile defense firms, Gray & Adams, LLP couldn’t afford to hire real investigators. That hadn’t mattered too much over the past six months, since most of his cases were simple misdemeanors. But it sure as hell mattered now. His client’s life was on the line.

  Reaching his building, he bounded up the stairs two at a time and turned the corner toward his office suite. As usual, Bobby E. Lee was sitting in a chair right outside the front door, wearing his gray Confederate-soldier outfit. The white-bearded black man stood and saluted upon David’s arrival, just like he did nearly every time David came in and out of the office.

  “Morning, Bobby,” David said.

  Bobby Lee acknowledged him with a simple nod of the head. David opened the office door, stepped inside, and was surprised to find several of the boys from the Camp waiting for him in the entry room. Doc stood against the wall, arms crossed, looking pleased. His paralegal had gotten what he’d wanted—David’s help with Rebel. Larue sat in one of the chairs at the table. A young black man of about twenty with his hair in cornrows, he wore baggy jeans with a red Chicago Bulls jersey. Curly, a man in his forties with a wild mop of brown hair, sat in another chair, wearing his usual denim jacket, jeans, and work boots. Shifty occupied the final chair. The seventysomething man had white wisps of hair and was missing half his teeth. But he was still doing his best to devour the contents of a leftover box of glazed doughnuts. This group of men had remained David’s closest crew since the Camp had met its unfortunate demise last year.

  Thomas stepped out from his office to quietly greet David.

  “Watched the news,” Thomas said. “Guess we’re getting the huge mess.”

  “Hope I’m right.”

  “Me, too.”

  “What’s everyone doing here?” David asked.

  “I asked Doc to round them all up. Figured we could use all the help we could get.”

  David looked around the room. Had any client ever been represented by a more misfit legal team? He shook his head. Rebel might be doomed. “Hey, guys. Appreciate you coming to the office this morning. I’m sure Doc has already gotten you up to speed, but here’s the deal. As of this morning, Rebel has been officially charged with first-degree murder. I need your help to prove that he’s innocent.”

  “We’re here for you, Shep,” Shifty chimed in, glazed icing all over his lips.

  “Yeah, man,” Curly concurred in his husky voice. “Whatever you need.”

  “Just tell us what to do, bro,” added Larue.

  David began to pace the room in a tight circle. “Rebel can’t remember much about the other night. He claims he’s suffered from blackout spells for years, where he can be completely out of it for up to thirty minutes, and he says that’s exactly what happened to him. He woke up in the alley wearing someone else’s jacket and hat, and then found a gun in his pocket. Next thing he knows, he’s being arrested. I need your help to retrace his steps in the hours leading up to his arrest. I need to know where he was, what he was doing, who he was talking to, anything and everything we can find that might shine some light on what really happened.”

  “I know some guys that used to hang with Rebel,” Curly said. “I’ll see if I can track any of them down. Maybe they know something.”

  Larue jumped in. “Yeah, I know a lot of dudes that hang out right by that same alley, since I’m always over at Pete’s. I’ll see what I can find out.”

  Larue was a bit of a music savant. Benny had taken him under his wing. The old man had helped the kid break the bondage of addiction and had given him a chance to grow his musical talent. Because of that, Larue had earned himself a part-time gig over at Pete’s Dueling Piano Bar on Sixth, a sing-along joint with a stage that hosted two of the city’s best ivory ticklers in a nightly battle. David had gone there to watch Larue on several occasions. He could play like no one David had ever heard.

  “Appreciate that, Larue and Curly,” David said. “Anyone have any idea where Rebel has been staying? He can’t seem to remember that, either.”

  “He used to camp by himself over by the greenbelt across from the mall,” Shifty said. “But I ain’t seen him around there in a long time.”

  “I don’t think he stays anywhere for too long,” Doc said. “A night or two here and there before he moves along. He’s always been a bit paranoid someone was going to find him. I believe the month he was with us at the Camp was the longest he’d ever been stationary.”

  David considered that. “Well, we need to find the last place he was staying. Not only could it offer a look into what Rebel was doing, but I need to find his dog. I think the dog has Rebel even more concerned than going on trial.”

  “I remember that little yapper,” Shifty said, smiling, revealing a gaping hole where two front teeth were missing. “That mutt kept waking me up in the middle of the night. Yap, yap, yap!”

  “You remember what the dog looks like, Shifty?” David asked.

  “Yeah, think so. Name is Sandy, right?”

  “Correct. You run point on finding the dog.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  The boys all seemed eager to help, which David appreciated. The more eyes and ears he had around town, the better. After they’d all left, David moved inside his office. The TV was on and showing the local news channel. He immediately spotted video of himself standing right next to Rebel inside the courtroom. When the reporter directly mentioned him by name, David grabbed the remote and turned off the TV.

  “Just going to get crazier,” Thomas said from the doorway. “I’ve already fielded a dozen media calls here at the office. Some of them have already put together that you and Murphy went to law school together. Everyone wants to know why you’re doing it.”

  “Tell them the ghost of Benny told me to do it.”

  “Right. That’ll make them leave us alone.”

  “What do you know about Neil Mason?”

  “Tough SOB. Doesn’t play nice.”

  “I’m going by to see him this afternoon and talk about the case.”

  “Want me to come along?”

  David shook his head. “Nah, I’m good. I can handle him.”

  “I’ve already filed paperwork to get you access to the crime scene and other matters.”

  “Thanks. I’ve got to find out what Murphy was doing in that alley the other night. Doesn’t make any sense—and no one seems to know for sure.”

  “What else can I do?”

  “First things first: take good care of your paying clients. Try to keep our doors open while I roll the dice with our firm’s future.”

  Thomas sighed. “Yeah, about those doors.”

  He handed David a folded sheet of white paper. Opening it, David immediately spotted the words Eviction Notice printed at the top.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me?” David said.

  Had his sleeping on the sofa brought on the eviction notice?

  Thomas took a seat in a guest chair. “Found it stuck to the door when I came in this morning. Apparently, our building is under new ownership. And I guess the new owners don’t like us as tenants very much.”

  David skimmed the notice again. “It says we’ve violated a clause in our lease agreement but doesn’
t specify anything.”

  Thomas shrugged. “I don’t know. I called and set up a meeting to discuss it with them in person tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be there, too.”

  “You have more important matters right now.”

  “Listen, Thomas, if we’re looking at getting kicked out of this office because I’m the idiot who’s been sleeping on the sofa every night and violating our terms, then I’ll sure as hell be there to beg them for forgiveness.”

  ELEVEN

  David knew it was critical to get a good look at the crime scene as soon as possible. Considering the DA’s current position with the case, the police would not likely keep the alley under lockdown for too much longer. Not when they already had their guy in custody and a half dozen popular bars along the building strip needed access to the alley to operate every night. David showed legal papers to a portly police officer who guarded the barricaded perimeter on one end of the alley and seemed bored out of his mind. Staring a half block down the street, David noted that Murphy’s white Escape was still parked along the curb, looking unnoticed and untouched.

  The officer shoved the paperwork back at him. “All righty, pal. Don’t touch or remove anything.”

  “Anything else I should know?”

  The officer shrugged. “The orange cones mark where they found the body.”

  Slipping around the barricades, David moved into the alley, which reeked of a pungent cocktail of beer, vomit, and urine. He took note of the various dirty dumpsters and all sorts of homeless remnants that led him to believe the alley was a popular overnight sleeping spot. Worn blankets, old clothes, and box debris were littered throughout and cluttered up back doorways to the building strip. Did any of the items belong to Rebel? Was anyone else sleeping in the alley near Rebel the night of the murder? He knew Mason wouldn’t have his own investigators spend much time trying to track down a homeless eyewitness. Not only would most of David’s street friends never talk to the police, they weren’t usually credible enough to use in a courtroom, anyway. David hoped his own investigative crew could find a diamond in the rough.

  Stepping up to the orange cones that framed the placement of Murphy’s body, David felt a sudden catch in his throat. It was hard to imagine that his friend’s life had been taken right there in that spot by a sudden bullet to the back of the head. What was Murphy doing in the alley? Was he cutting through on his way from or back to his vehicle? Did he simply find himself in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or was there more to it?

  Kneeling, David could see the stain of blood on the pavement. His eyes grew moist when thinking about Michelle and the kids. Several times over the past two days, he’d thought about picking up the phone and offering her his condolences, but he couldn’t get himself to make the call just yet. Especially now that he was officially representing Rebel. What would she be thinking now that David had agreed to defend the man who all Murphy’s colleagues thought was guilty?

  David stood and glanced over toward the back door of Burnside’s Tavern, only a few feet away. He’d spoken on the phone a couple of minutes ago with the same bar employee from the police report, who basically reiterated verbatim everything he’d said to the police that night. He stepped out for a smoke, spotted the dead body, and then heard a gun being fired maybe twenty feet away. He called 911 while watching a man wearing a green military-style jacket and a black knit hat toss something into a dumpster before running out of the alley. That was it. There was nothing flaky about his account of things. Although he did confirm that he saw others running out of the alley around the same time as the man in the green jacket.

  David again wondered about the woman who had approached him outside the jail last night. There’s more to the story. Did she really know anything? Or was she just another wacko? Since news had broken of his representation, David had already received several voice mails from strangers who all claimed to know something about the case—none of which had panned out as legitimate. One man claimed he had proof that Rebel was working directly for Don Vito Corleone. A city of crazies.

  Walking over to the back door of the tavern, David stood directly where the witness must’ve stood the other night. He peered down at the orange cones, then all the way up the alley. There was nothing blocking his view. No dumpsters, no debris. The witness had a direct line of sight. David stepped all the way to the opposite end of the alley from where he’d entered, looking around to see if he noticed anything that might be helpful. Nothing stood out. Sixth Street was busy every single night of the week. Surely someone had to have seen something. The problem for him was that the police already had their man. So if anyone had spotted Murphy here or there, or had seen something peculiar, there was no official call to action to report it. David had to go find them.

  Looking up at the surrounding buildings, David wondered from which end of the alley the police had snagged the sidewalk security video that apparently showed Murphy entering the alley and being followed by someone wearing a green jacket. He’d find that out when he got discovery material from Mason that afternoon. Moving back through the alley again, he took several photos on his cell phone, documenting everything. He would show them all to Rebel, see if he could trigger anything from the man’s shoddy memory vault.

  Finished, David sidestepped the barricades again and thanked the police officer, who only grunted at him and went back to staring at his cell phone. David casually walked the half block over to Murphy’s Escape. There was a parking ticket under the windshield wiper. Glancing inside the back seat window, he noticed that Murphy had a black gym bag, along with two booster seats for his kids. David took a peek inside the front window, saw two empty coffee cups in the console. Folded up in the front passenger seat was a gray suit jacket, which Murphy must’ve been wearing on that day.

  David squinted, noticing something else in the passenger seat. Poking out from under the jacket was a small black leather day planner. Murphy had always been a bit old school. Could he have kept his schedule in the day planner instead of on his cell phone? Would there be anything inside that could be useful?

  Circling the vehicle to the passenger side, David put his hand on the door handle, pulled, but it was locked. Back in college, Murphy had kept a key magnet under the back bumper. He’d always reach for it after they’d played pickup basketball. Could it still be there? Moving to the back of the car, he knelt, casually reached under, and felt around. His fingers landed on a small metal square. Bingo. He pulled off the magnet, found a car key fob inside.

  Walking back over to the passenger door, he hit the button on the fob, heard the door locks release. He took a glance up the street at the police officer, whose eyes were still planted on his phone. Murphy’s car clearly wasn’t part of the investigation at this point. But David wanted to be careful being spotted doing something like this in case the vehicle ever became part of the case. Opening the door, he quickly snagged the black day planner, locked the door again, and hustled down the sidewalk.

  TWELVE

  David grabbed a table in the back corner of Houndstooth Coffee, which sat directly across the street from his office building. Then he began to pore through every detail of Murphy’s day planner. He found a photo of Murphy with his family at Walt Disney World stuck inside the opening flap. Cinderella’s castle sat in the background. Murphy looked happy, even with Mickey Mouse ears stuck on his head. The kids, of course, looked ecstatic. David knew the family had taken the trip to Orlando last summer. Murphy had told David he’d emptied out his savings account for it, since he’d been feeling guilty about how much time he was at the office these days.

  Continuing to search, David found a small stack of business cards, most of which belonged to other attorneys around the city. There was even a business card for David Adams, Gray & Adams, LLP. When he’d first handed it to Murphy last fall, his friend had given him a sly grin and said he couldn’t wait for their first courtroom showdown. That would never happen now.

  Damn, Murphy. What were you do
ing in that alley?

  He began flipping through the opening pages of the planner. He quickly perused a notes section, all handwritten notes Murphy must’ve kept on his cases over the past year. David tried to find anything that could’ve somehow been connected to his death. Working in the DA’s office could be dangerous. There was always the possibility of a disgruntled family member taking vengeance into their own hands because a prosecutor had put a relative behind bars. David wondered if that could be the case with Murphy. Nothing stood out as obvious, but he’d give the notes to Doc to do some cross-checking. Doc was a whiz at that kind of thing.

  David found a calendar in the back. It looked like Murphy kept most of his appointments listed in the day planner. Flipping to two days ago, the day of his friend’s death, David scanned the entire day with his finger. Murphy had meetings and court appointments throughout the day, none of which seemed outside of normal prosecutor work. His finger then settled on ten o’clock that night, and his eyes narrowed. Thirty minutes before his death, Murphy had a meeting scribbled down with someone listed only by the initials KP at a bar a block over from where he’d died called the Dirty Dog. Who was KP?

  He was pulled away from his thoughts by someone suddenly standing over him.

  “David Adams?”

  David looked up, noticed a fiftysomething man with a graying crew cut, square brown glasses, and a black windbreaker and jeans.

  “Yes?” David replied.

  “Keith Carter,” the man said. “Sorry to interrupt. You’re the attorney representing Roger North?”

  David nodded. “What can I do for you?”

  “I work with Texas Veterans Legal Assistance Project. We offer legal help to veterans in low-income situations. Roger North came onto our radar today.”

  Carter handed David a simple white business card. It listed his name, the organization’s name, and an address in Austin, with an American flag logo in the background.

  “I guess word travels fast,” David said. “What kind of help?”