by Chad Zunker
“Legal counsel. Administrative support. Legwork on the ground. That sort of thing.”
“Money?”
“I wish. To be honest, donations barely cover our cheap office space.”
David was disappointed to hear that. He could use whatever financial support he could get right now. “Do you have a team?”
Carter grinned. “One-man team.”
“Just you?”
“Yep.”
“Are you a lawyer?”
“No, sir. I just care about our vets, that’s all. I know firsthand how the trauma of being in combat can mess up our military brothers’ minds, which can often lead to serious legal situations. Does he really think he’s being framed by the CIA or by Russian agents?”
“Who told you that?”
Carter shrugged. “I’ve made insider friends doing my kind of work.”
“I see. I’m sure you understand I’m not at liberty to discuss my client conversations with you at this point.”
“Yeah, I hear ya. Well, you have my card, Mr. Adams.”
“I do, thanks.”
Watching him walk away, David wondered if a guy like Carter could add any value to his investigating team. He’d keep his card handy just in case.
THIRTEEN
Even though David was on time for his four o’clock appointment with Neil Mason, he was forced to sit for thirty minutes in an uncomfortable chair down the hallway from the man’s spacious corner office—like a troubled schoolkid waiting to meet with the principal. David was certain Mason was just messing with him. Several times the prosecutor had walked out into the hallway, glanced over at him, made casual conversation with others, and then strolled back inside his office.
Frustrated, David tried to make the most of his wait time. He again pored through every word written down inside Murphy’s day planner, looking to somehow match up the initials KP. There was no one listed on any of the contact pages with those same initials. Who the hell was Murphy meeting with at the Dirty Dog the night of his death? David planned to make it over to the bar when it opened tonight.
Finally, a female assistant of some sort came to get David, guided him down the hallway and inside Mason’s office. Mason had his suit jacket off, tie loosened, and shiny dress shoes up on the corner of his desk. David was not surprised when the man didn’t bother getting up to offer any sort of greeting. But he was surprised to find his friend Dana standing over by the window, arms crossed, almost looking guilty for being there.
“Sorry for all the waiting,” Mason offered weakly. “I believe you know Ms. Mitchem. She will be assisting me with this case.”
David looked over at Dana, who gave him a slight eye roll. Clearly, she was being used as an extra pawn to somehow throw David off his game. Dana did not look at all happy about it. Maybe he could work that in his favor somehow.
“Have a seat,” Mason said, motioning to a guest chair.
Sitting, David placed his briefcase on the floor. He noticed several framed photographs on the shelf behind the prosecutor’s desk of Mason posing with prominent political figures. One with Mason shaking hands with the governor. Another of Mason with the mayor, both wearing baseball uniforms, arms over each other’s shoulders, as if they’d just finished playing a game. David again remembered what Dana had told him yesterday—this case was as much about next year’s election as it was about seeking justice. He felt his stomach turn.
“You want coffee or something?” Mason offered, picking up a miniature football off his desk. He tossed it in the air before catching it.
“No, I just want to talk about the case.”
“Well, slow down a moment. Let’s get to know each other better first. Dana said you played a little college ball over in Abilene.”
“Yes,” David replied in a deadpan manner. “My favorite color is blue. My favorite food is cheeseburgers. Can we just get to the case?”
Mason ignored that response. “I played some college ball myself over at Sam Houston. Second team all-conference tight end my senior year.”
“Congratulations,” David managed.
“You enjoying your stint in criminal law? I’m sure it’s been quite a change from your corporate days.”
“Yes, and yes.”
“You know, I did six years with a big firm in Chicago. Couldn’t stomach the gluttony. Good for you for getting out.”
David didn’t respond. How long would he have to endure this?
Mason didn’t let David’s lack of enthusiasm slow him down. “How’re things going over at your little firm? What’s it called again?”
“Gray and Adams.”
“Heard you guys were having a little trouble with your lease.”
David tried not to flinch. What the hell? Did Mason have something to do with the eviction notice? Did the man have that kind of immediate reach? David glanced over at Dana, who just stood there stoically, like she’d rather be anywhere else in the world right now.
“No trouble,” David replied, keeping his cool. “Just a mix-up. Everything is going great at our firm. Couldn’t be better, as a matter of fact.”
“Glad to hear it. You ever handle a murder case, David?”
“I think you already know the answer to that.”
“Right. Certainly not a death penalty case.” Mason grinned, as if the thought of ending a man’s life pleased him. “Well, if you need any guidance, I’ve asked Dana to help walk you through the various procedures. It can get complicated for a rookie. I don’t want you to feel too overwhelmed.”
“How nice of you,” David said. “Let’s talk about a plea deal.”
Mason smiled wide, every tooth gleaming white. David wanted to grab the miniature football away from him, throw it so hard at the man’s face that it knocked his perfect front teeth right out.
“There will be no deal offered to your client on this one,” Mason said. “He brutally gunned down someone who worked inside our office. He did it with malice and without remorse. And while your client may have a bunch of his own wild conspiracy thoughts—none of which will play well in a courtroom, mind you—he was clearly competent enough to know exactly what he was doing.”
“That’s still debatable.”
Mason’s smile tightened. “Don’t waste my time with psychiatrists, David. You won’t get anywhere, and it’ll only piss me off.”
“Your mood is of no real concern to me.”
“It should be. This can go a lot of different ways for you.”
“Can I see the file now?”
Mason looked over at Dana, who handed David a manila envelope secured with a rubber band.
“What about the security video?” David asked.
“There’s a flash drive inside the envelope,” Dana explained. “It’s all there, I promise. I copied everything myself.”
David stood, already sick of dealing with Mason. “This has been fun. Thanks for your time.”
“See you in court, kiddo.”
FOURTEEN
David found a TV reporter who looked like he still belonged in high school waiting for him right outside the front door of his office building. The kid jumped off the steps upon seeing David approach. David recognized him from the local news channel. The reporter had short black hair plastered to his head and wore a white button-down shirt and khaki pants that were two sizes too big for him.
“Mr. Adams, my name’s Theodore Billings—”
“I know who you are,” David interrupted, sidestepping him. “I’m not interested.”
“Come on, man. This case is major news. People want to know you.”
David wondered if there was any advantage in putting himself in front of the camera right now. Mason’s perfect smile was showcased in every other news clip.
“Do people want to know me? Or do you TV vultures just want to create an even bigger spectacle of the whole thing?”
“A lawyer calling a reporter a vulture? That’s funny.”
“What’s in it for me?”
&n
bsp; “The opportunity to shape your side of the story. Otherwise, people just speculate. In this case, I don’t think speculation is a good thing for you. Just give me ten minutes.”
“I’ll think about it.”
David shut the building door behind him and hustled up the stairs. Minutes later, he huddled with Thomas inside his front office. The DA’s discovery file consisted of copies of the arresting officer’s statement, a detailed account of their interview with the witness from Burnside’s Tavern, and two other witness statements—both of whom reported seeing Rebel flee out of the alley and down the sidewalk. The two witnesses also mentioned seeing a couple of other people run out of the same alley right after the incident. Could one of them have seen what really happened? None of the three witness statements in the file claimed to have actually seen Rebel shoot Murphy, so David still had that going for him. The DA’s file also contained photos that showed Murphy’s dead body, which were difficult for him to view. Attached to a photo of the gun used in the attack, there was a ballistics report matching Rebel’s prints to the gun. None of this surprised him, which was good; however, David had to admit seeing all the evidence compiled in one place felt overwhelming. No wonder Mason was acting so cocky—the jerk had good reason.
“Shall we look at the video?” Thomas asked.
“Not sure I want to see it, but here goes nothing.”
Sticking the flash drive into his laptop, David pulled up the sidewalk security video. He could tell from the opening image that the camera was located above a building along Neches Street—the opposite end of the alley from where Rebel had run away and from where Murphy had parked his vehicle. As David pressed “Play,” they huddled close to the laptop screen. The video was edited to a brief thirty seconds. Murphy immediately entered the screen from the right, which meant he was walking away from Sixth Street. He wore a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, no tie, and gray suit pants that matched the jacket in his car. Murphy was talking on his cell phone as he turned to enter the alley. Was he still on the phone when he was shot? A few other pedestrians strolled along the sidewalk on the video. Seconds later, a man wearing a green military-style jacket and a black knit cap also appeared and quickly entered the alley behind Murphy. Then the video abruptly ended.
David rewound the video and watched it again. He couldn’t see the face of the man in the green jacket. He had tucked it down and out of view, almost as if he knew to hide it from any building security cameras. Was that possible? Or did David just want to believe it? The guy was about the same size as Rebel, which was not helpful. And the figure definitely seemed to be moving intentionally into the alley.
“You can’t tell for sure it’s Rebel,” David stated.
“You also can’t tell it’s not Rebel,” Thomas countered.
“True. But it at least keeps our defense alive.”
“Our defense being what at this point? A theory that someone else wore the green jacket and black hat into the alley, shot and killed Luke Murphy, and then put the clothing items onto a blacked-out homeless guy?”
“Correct.”
“Pretty far-fetched.”
“But not impossible. We just have to create plausible doubt.”
“All righty.” Thomas sighed. “Where is this Dirty Dog Bar?”
Pulling up a map on his phone, David showed it to Thomas.
Thomas began pacing. “If Murphy stayed true to the scheduled meeting you found in his stolen day planner—which I wish I knew nothing about—he’d likely have just finished meeting with someone at this bar. Which meant he was probably cutting through the alley on his way back to his car.”
“That’s my running theory.”
“So who is this mysterious KP?”
David shrugged. “Someone secretive enough for Murphy to keep their real name out of his day planner.”
“You’re starting to sound like our client with all of your conspiracies. It could be anyone, David. It could have no connection at all.”
“And I’ll cross it out as a possibility as soon as we can confirm that.”
Thomas thumbed back through the file. “According to some of these witness statements, there were other people in the alley that night.”
“The real killer could’ve been among them.”
Thomas nodded. “We need to see if any security video from the opposite end of the alley exists.”
“Doc is out there seeing what he can find from other bars.”
“We need to check city cameras, too.”
“How do we do that?”
“I’ll look into it. I know a guy.”
“Thanks. So you’ve never been to the Dirty Dog?”
Thomas shook his head. “Not my kind of place.”
“It wasn’t Murphy’s kind of place, either.”
“So what was he doing there?”
“I don’t know. But hopefully I’m about to find out.”
FIFTEEN
Everything David needed to know about the Dirty Dog could be found in the sign above the bar’s entrance—a happy bulldog humping the leg of a surprised half-naked woman. Heavy-metal music blared as David entered, and groups of leather-vested and tattooed men banged around at the pool tables. Had KP chosen this meeting location? If so, why had this person wanted to meet here?
Grabbing an open stool at the main bar, David noticed two heavyset, long-bearded men three barstools down give him a serious once-over. Although David had ditched the business suit, he still looked rather preppy for this place in his jeans, running shoes, and brown leather jacket.
A female bartender came over. Wearing a white tank top that showcased her muscle-bound arms, which were completely covered in tattoos, she looked like she could easily break David in half. Even the short, spiky pink hair looked tough.
“What can I get you, hon?” she asked.
“Coors Light,” David said.
She stepped a few paces down, filled him a tall glass, brought it back over.
“Nice place,” David mentioned.
“Tell that to your face,” the bartender suggested, smiling.
He matched her smile, tried to relax a bit, took a drink of the beer.
“I’m David.”
“I’m single,” she replied, winking. “But you can call me Blaze.”
“Good to meet you. Were you working here two nights ago?”
“Depends. Why do you want to know?”
“You hear about the prosecutor who got murdered a block over?”
“Sure. Everyone was talking about it.”
“I think he was in your bar a few minutes before he was killed.”
She eyeballed him. “You a cop?”
“No, I’m a lawyer.”
She grinned. “Even worse.”
He laughed, took another drink.
She peered down the bar toward the two huge men on the stools. “Those guys don’t like lawyers too much, so don’t tell anyone in here what you do, okay?”
“Can’t say I blame them.”
“But you’re cute,” she said. “I’ll protect you.”
“I appreciate that.”
David welcomed the flirting. It meant she’d probably be helpful.
“You haven’t been in here before, have you?” she said.
“First time.”
“Then that beer is on me, hon.”
“Thanks. About my question . . .”
“Yeah, I’m here every night. Except when I’m fighting.”
“Fighting?”
“I do the MMA circuit.”
“Oh, impressive.” David knew that stood for mixed martial arts, a violent full-contact combat sport. Blaze really could protect him from the bikers.
“You got a picture of the guy?”
David pulled out his phone, showed her a photo of Murphy.
“Yeah, I remember him. He was here.” She pointed. “They were sitting down at the far end of the bar over there.”
“They?”
“He was
with a woman.”
“Any chance you got her name?”
She shook her head. “Nah, but she was an attractive girl. Pretty eyes. Nice black hair, although most of it was tucked under a ball cap. An Astros cap, because I remember making a joke with her about my Dodgers.”
David wondered if it could be the same woman who approached him outside the county jail last night. He looked above the bar by the TVs. “Any security cameras in here?”
She laughed. “You kidding? Believe me, both the owner and our customers want no evidence of what happens in this place every night.”
“You ever seen either of them in here before?”
“Can’t say for sure. But they seemed to be into each other.”
“Really?”
“They were snuggled up together real good.” She shrugged. “They weren’t here for too long.”
“They leave together?”
“Don’t recall, hon, sorry.”
David glanced down toward the end of the bar, tried to imagine Murphy sitting with an attractive woman who wasn’t his wife. Could he have been having an affair? That didn’t seem possible. Murphy was such a stable family guy. He never even joked about other girls. If it wasn’t an affair, what was it?
David dropped cash on the bar. “I appreciate your help, Blaze.”
“Leaving already?”
“I don’t think this is the place for preppy lawyers. If I stay much longer, those guys might try to use me as a pool stick.”
“How about you come watch me fight sometime? I can get you seats so close, you might get blood on your shoes.”
David forced a smile. Watching blood splatter was not really his cup of tea.
“That’s quite the offer,” he said, politely sidestepping the invite.
“You know where to find me, cutie.”
SIXTEEN
The next morning, David picked up his old truck from the auto shop—where he’d dropped $500 he barely had to get the alternator replaced—and then drove out to Smithville, a small town of several thousand an hour east of Austin. Doc had managed to connect some dots through different street friends and somehow tracked down Rebel’s ex-wife. David thought it might be good to get a better perspective on his client’s past, although Doc had warned him that the ex-wife seemed a bit hostile over the phone. Using his map app to guide him, David followed three different long dirt roads. The pin in the map finally settled him at Pine Tree Trailer Park, a cluster of rather run-down RVs and trailers.