by Chad Zunker
“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Mason deadpanned, looking around. “This office double as a pawnshop?”
“Yes, I’ll give you fifty bucks for that obnoxious gold watch.”
“This watch was a gift from Senator Lorenzo.”
“Then make it twenty bucks.”
David handed Mason a mug, took a seat across from him.
Mason took a sip, nearly spit it out. “You trying to poison me?”
“Guess you’ll find out in about sixty seconds.”
David took a big gulp, as if it didn’t bother him.
“What happened to your hand?” Mason asked, noticing the bandages.
“Fishing accident,” David lied. “What do you want, Neil?”
Setting his mug down, Mason leaned forward. “I want to talk about the case.”
“Yeah, I didn’t figure you showed up here to offer decorating advice.”
“You can be a real ass at seven in the morning.”
“You can be a real ass every hour of the day.”
Mason grinned. “Touché.”
“What about the case?” David asked. “You finally dropping all charges?”
“No, but I am here to offer you a deal.”
This time David didn’t have a smart-ass reply. He was too stunned.
“What kind of deal?”
“Twenty years. He could be out in ten.”
It took all the willpower David could muster to keep his jaw from dropping onto the table. Twenty years, out in ten? That was a far cry from going after the death penalty. Considering the mounting evidence David kept finding against his own client, the unexpected plea offer felt like a gift from the legal gods. He should be jumping for joy right now. But something didn’t feel right.
“Why the sudden change of heart?” David managed to ask. “Two days ago, it was nothing but ‘death penalty this, death penalty that.’”
“Believe me, this is not my idea,” Mason admitted. “I’d love nothing more than to go to trial and completely humiliate you. But Jordan wants to spare Murphy’s widow the agony of a trial. This has already been painful enough for Michelle and the kids. He doesn’t want them to have to relive it all in vivid detail in a few months just to put a complete mental case like your client on a long road toward his eventual death. Reluctantly, I agree with him. Let’s give Michelle some immediate closure, so she can begin healing right away.”
“That’s kindhearted of you both.”
It was also total BS. David knew that Jordan couldn’t care less about sparing Michelle from a trial. Not with the coming election. What was really going on?
“Don’t act so shocked,” Mason continued. “In spite of what you may think, I’m not a bad guy. Believe it or not, David, I think we could be friends. In a lot of ways, you remind me of . . . well, me.”
“Great, let’s go tandem biking.”
Mason frowned, as if already tiring of having to put on this friendly act. He put out a hand. “Do we have a deal or what?”
David didn’t shake it. “I’ll have to consult with my client first, of course.”
“Of course.” Mason dropped his hand, didn’t look at all happy with that initial response. “I’ll give you until the end of the day. Then all bets are off.”
TWENTY-SIX
This time, the jail deputy left the handcuffs on Rebel. David didn’t argue with him. Not after his client had tried to choke him last night. They sat across from each other in the private room. Rebel seemed to have calmed down. He even looked remorseful sitting there, staring at his cuffed hands with droopy eyes.
“Real sorry about last night,” Rebel offered. “You still my lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“I just hate being called crazy, that’s all. No excuses, though.”
“No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have provoked you.” David stuck out his bandaged right hand. “Friends again?”
“Yes, sir.” Rebel shook it. “What happened to your hand?”
“Got into a fight with a guy last night.”
Rebel grinned. “Two peas in a pod, you and me. Hope he got the worst of it.”
“I’ve got some news, Rebel. The DA is offering a deal.”
“Really? They ain’t hell-bent on sticking the needle in me anymore?”
“Apparently not. They’re offering twenty years. You could be out in ten.”
Rebel took in that news but didn’t respond right away.
“What do you think?” David finally asked.
Rebel seemed contemplative. “I think I might have met that man at one of the free breakfasts the Methodist church puts on for the homeless each week.”
“Who? Luke Murphy?”
Rebel nodded. “He was volunteering.”
“Did you talk to him?”
Another nod. More reflective thought.
“What did y’all talk about?” David asked.
“Don’t remember. But he was real nice and friendly.”
“You think that’s why you had his business card in your backpack?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” His eyes met David’s. “You think I could have killed a man without even remembering it?”
David could tell it was a sincere question. “I think we’re all capable of doing really bad things when we’re not operating in our right minds.”
“My mind hasn’t been right for a long time, Lawyer.”
“I found the Clozaril prescription in your backpack. Does it help you?”
Rebel shrugged. “A little.”
“But you haven’t been taking it?”
He shook his head. “Nah, makes me numb all over. I hate it.”
“I could get a doctor in here. Try different medications. See if we could find one that works better for you.”
“I hate doctors more than lawyers.”
David didn’t push. It was not the most important thing today.
“What do you think I should do, Lawyer? Take the deal?”
“I think the DA has a good case against us.”
“So we’d lose?”
“If we went to trial, I’d certainly do everything I could.”
“But we’d still lose?”
“Today, yes.” David thought about the mystery woman. “But a lot can still happen between now and a trial.”
“I see.” He leaned back in his chair. “How come you’ve never asked me for any money? Ain’t no such thing as a free lawyer in this country. A case like this would probably cost me ten thousand dollars with one of those big law firms.”
“Probably twenty times that, actually.”
“You serious?”
David nodded. He thought about the money he’d found in Rebel’s backpack. “Moses said you always seem to have cash on you. Why’s that?”
Rebel shrugged. “My uncle left me a little something when he passed. I get by here and there with it. But you ain’t asking me to pay you a dime. How come?”
“I’m happy to take whatever you can manage, believe me. But I have other reasons for doing this.”
Rebel’s eyes narrowed. “Benny meant a lot to you, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did.”
“You know, Benny took me down to the river one day, and he baptized me in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Told me I never had to be afraid of death again.”
“Are you afraid?”
Rebel shrugged. “Hadn’t really thought too much about it until now.”
“Well, the clock is ticking. We have until midnight to accept.”
“What if I’m innocent?”
“In the court of law, the only thing that matters is what we can prove.”
“Ten years is a long time for a man like me to be locked up.”
“Take the day to think about it.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Luke Murphy’s funeral service was held at the Methodist church downtown. Several hundred people were in attendance. David sat near the back and damn near cried his eyes out w
hen Michelle walked down the middle aisle to the very front with her two small kids at her side. Regardless of the DA’s motives, David knew that Mason was probably right. Accepting the plea deal and avoiding the trial would likely be the best thing for Michelle and the family. But David still couldn’t comprehend the sudden change of course—especially with everything he’d found out through his own investigation.
David scanned the crowd. It looked like the entire DA’s office was in attendance. Jeff Jordan and Neil Mason sat near the front of the sanctuary. Dana Mitchem sat with other colleagues two rows behind them. A minister started the service with a prayer. A choir sang hymns. Then two of Murphy’s high school friends offered some words and stories about Murphy, getting a few laughs here and there. Under other circumstances, David thought he might have been asked to say something. But he understood why he had not. Still, it stung. Murphy was a good friend. Had he made the right choice? After the minister led the service, the choir sang a closing song. Then everyone was invited to a reception in the fellowship hall next door. Michelle and the family exited first, and the rest of the crowd was dismissed.
David hung around the back, waiting for Dana. After talking with her colleagues, she finally came over to where he stood alone in the back corner of the room.
The hug between them was extra tight.
“This was nice,” David offered.
“Murphy would have hated it,” Dana countered. “He didn’t like being the center of attention.”
“That’s true. Remember when I gave him that fake award at our team party after nationals? Wow, the look on his face.”
“I thought he was going to punch you.”
“Believe me, he took it out on me on the basketball court the next day. I think I still have the bruises to prove it.”
They shared a brief smile.
“I’m really going to miss him, Dana.”
“Me, too. He was like a big brother.”
Another quiet moment before Dana broke the silence.
“I heard about the plea offer this morning,” she said.
“Doesn’t make sense. Why’d Mason do it?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t consult with me.”
“You have to know something.”
“We’re all a bit shocked by it,” Dana admitted. “Yesterday, everything was full steam ahead. And then it all changed overnight for some reason.”
“Did you show Mason the video of the girl I sent you?”
She nodded. “And I told him about Murphy possibly being at the bar with her just minutes before his death.”
“What did he say?”
“He was dismissive of the whole thing. But I could tell it caught his interest. Then I saw Jordan in Mason’s office late last night. I didn’t catch too much, but they were definitely talking about Murphy’s case. I heard Jordan mention pressure to close things off and make it all go away. Nice and tidy were his exact words.”
“Pressure? From where?”
She shook her head. “No idea.”
“Did you find anything in Murphy’s files or work contacts connecting him to the initials KP?”
“Nothing. And I promise you, I checked thoroughly.”
David sighed. “None of this feels right, Dana.”
“Just take the deal.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
David huddled with Thomas back at the office. They spent an hour diagramming every possible angle of Rebel’s case on a portable whiteboard. The board was now covered with notes, circles, and arrows that connected everything together. David stared at the board and shook his head. The DA had an overwhelming case against his client. So it made zero sense that they were now offering him a deal.
And not just any deal—a generous deal.
“I think we take the deal,” Thomas said.
“What if Rebel doesn’t want to take it?”
“You’re a good lawyer. You lead him to that smart conclusion.”
Sitting at his desk, David ran his fingers through his hair. The mutt was curled up in his lap. He had to admit he was kind of enjoying having the dog around. “We’re missing something, Thomas. Why does Jordan suddenly want this case to just go away? Look at the board, man. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“It doesn’t have to make sense. Let’s just accept the gift and move on. This was our aim when we initially took the case. Get Rebel a deal. Well, mission accomplished.”
“But we’re onto something, and for whatever reason, they don’t want us to continue to pursue it.”
“We can’t play games with a man’s life, David.”
“I know, I know.” David turned, stared out over Congress Avenue. “Dana said she suspects someone is putting pressure on Jordan.”
“So what? The man works in politics. I’m sure he gets pressured from everywhere all the time. Get your client on board, and put this whole thing to bed. Besides, we could use the extra time right now to start packing up the office.”
David groaned at that comment, which made the dog perk up. Thomas then left him alone with the cluttered board.
“What do you think, Sandy? Should we take the deal?”
The mutt just bobbed his head at him curiously.
A new text notification arrived on his phone. He picked up the phone off his desk, stared at the screen. No name, just an anonymous local number. However, he noticed it was the same random person who had texted him the news article link yesterday about the young man who was recently killed outside the Tejano nightclub.
Mr. Adams, if you receive this in the next few minutes, please respond. More details to follow. It’s about the Luke Murphy case.
His eyes narrowed. The text was grammatically correct. That wasn’t usually the case with the random texts he often received from the streets. He sometimes had to pull out his decoder ring to decipher those illiterate messages.
He typed a reply.
I’m here.
A second text arrived seconds later.
JW Marriott bar. Two men are sitting at the end of the bar. One is wearing a blue suit with a yellow tie. You should check them out.
David typed:
Why?
He waited, but there was no immediate response. He typed again.
Hello? Who are these men? Who are you?
More waiting. Still no response. He did a quick Google search for the random phone number and found nothing that connected it to any specific person or business.
Who was it?
David read the message again. JW Marriott?
Sighing, David set the dog down, headed for the door.
TWENTY-NINE
The JW Marriott was a short two-block walk south on Congress from his office building. David couldn’t be sure if this was legit—still, he hustled. He entered the glass doors of the opulent hotel lobby, peered over to his right. The spacious bar lounge was connected to the wide-open lobby with dozens of comfortable seating arrangements. The bar was packed with people on this late afternoon, a likely mix of hotel guests and the downtown business crowd. David circled around the outside of the lounge and slipped onto a stool at the end of the main bar.
Peering ten stools down from him, David spotted a man probably in his thirties wearing a blue suit and yellow tie. He was the only guy in a blue suit and yellow tie that David currently saw sitting at the bar. He didn’t recognize him. The guy had brown hair combed perfectly to the side and looked like a preppy banker. He was talking to another man of similar age who wore a gray suit. The second man had a goatee, wore glasses, and was prematurely balding on top. He looked like David’s grade school science teacher. David didn’t recognize the second guy, either. Who were they?
David ordered a beer when the bartender came over to him. While pretending to be on his phone, he raised it up just enough to take a pic of the banker and the teacher. He quickly texted the photo to the random number.
Okay, I’m here. Now what?
He stared at his screen, but no reply came back to him. He was beginnin
g to lose his patience. Still, he watched both men. Their discussion did not seem light of heart. There were no smiles, laughs, or easy banter between them. Both men looked quite pensive. Lots of frowning and squinting. Ten minutes after David had arrived, the meeting between the two men appeared to be over. Both men stood up from their stools and headed for the hotel lobby doors.
Setting cash down for his drink, David slipped off his stool and quickly walked over to where the two men had just been sitting. He glanced at the signed credit card receipt still sitting on top of the bar. The banker had a somewhat legible signature. David pulled out his phone, made sure no one was watching, and casually snapped a photo of the receipt before the bartender came back over to grab it.
Then David hurried through the bar and out the glass doors of the hotel. He peered in both directions. The sidewalk in front of the hotel was packed with late-afternoon travelers. He put himself in the middle of the crowd, searching faces coming toward him and the backs of those headed in the opposite direction.
But couldn’t spot either guy. They were already gone.
THIRTY
The clock was ticking on Mason’s deadline for accepting the plea deal. David had only a half hour left to make the call. Mason had already texted him multiple times, demanding to know his answer. David kept pushing him off. It was time to go see Rebel, who was probably a nervous wreck right now, wondering if his lawyer was going to show up before midnight. David still wasn’t sure in what direction to lead Rebel. This afternoon’s text messages and his monitoring of a hotel bar meeting between the two men had only muddied the waters for him. The anonymous texter had implied the bar meeting was about Murphy’s case. How? And why had this same person texted him the article yesterday about the guy who was killed in a drug deal? What the hell was going on? He’d sent several texts back to the original phone number but still hadn’t received a response. Whoever was on the other end wasn’t communicating with him at this point. Why?
