An Unequal Defense (David Adams)

by Chad Zunker

  Sitting at his desk, David stared at his laptop screen. He’d run Google searches on several variations of the signature on the bar receipt before finally finding the guy. The banker was actually a real estate attorney named Lee Barksdale who worked for a big firm called Sewell & Merritt. Barksdale’s website profile page had his smiling photo and said he’d earned his undergrad degree at LSU, went to law school at Dartmouth, and had been practicing law with Sewell & Merritt for the past eight years. None of this information meant much to David. An online search trying to connect Barksdale to Murphy turned up nothing. At least there didn’t appear to be any formal connection between the two men.

  David couldn’t stall any longer. Grabbing his jacket, he left the office and made the quick walk over to the criminal justice complex, where he found himself sitting in the private jail room a few minutes later. Although the room was frigid as usual, David could feel sweat beading up under his armpits. A deputy led Rebel inside and took off the handcuffs, per David’s request.

  “Where you been, Lawyer?” Rebel asked, sitting.

  “Sorry. I was trying to sort some things out.” He showed Rebel the photo on his phone of the two men from the bar. “You recognize either of these guys?”

  Rebel stared down at the screen, his face bunched. “Nope.”

  “Take a second look. This could be important.”

  After more squinting at the phone, Rebel shook his head. “Ain’t never seen them. Who are they?”

  “They may or may not have something to do with your case.” David then showed him the news article about the guy who was killed outside the nightclub. “This mean anything to you?”

  “Nope. What’s this all about?”

  “I haven’t figured it out just yet. You still can’t remember anything else about that night in the alley?”

  “I keep trying. But ain’t nothing more coming to me.”

  “What about what Moses said about you going to settle a score?”

  “Hell, that could be anyone. I got so many people trying to screw me over.”

  David sighed, ran his fingers through his hair. He felt the heavy weight of the moment. He was out of options and time.

  “So what’re we going to do, Lawyer?” Rebel asked.

  David looked up, swallowed. “I think we accept the deal.”

  Although saying the words felt like a punch to the gut, David knew Thomas was right—he couldn’t play around with a man’s life.

  Rebel gave him a half grin. “You just saying that because you’re scared?”

  “Damn right, I am,” David admitted. “This is not a game. This is your life.”

  Rebel actually laughed, taking David off guard.

  “You find this funny?” David asked.

  “Nah, I don’t. But you know that question you asked me earlier today? Was I afraid of death? Well, I done thought about it all day, and guess what? I ain’t afraid. I really do believe what Benny always said. Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit who gives life has set you free from the law of sin and death. You ever read that before, Lawyer?”

  “Probably. Mom had me in church every Sunday.”

  “Romans Eight,” Rebel clarified. “Words of freedom.”

  David cocked his head. “So what are you saying, Rebel? Are you telling me you actually want to go to trial? Despite my advisement against it?”

  “Damn right. I ain’t afraid. You shouldn’t be afraid, either.”

  David had to admit, he was glad to hear Rebel say that. But he had to make sure his client was coming to this decision all by himself. “I turn this deal down, we can’t go back. You understand that?”

  “Either way, the truth will set me free.”

  Minutes later, David stood on a quiet sidewalk outside the county jail. The time on his phone said eleven fifty-seven. Three minutes to the deadline. With shaky fingers, he typed out a brief text message to Mason, stared at it for a few seconds in disbelief. Taking a deep breath, he pressed “Send.”

  No deal. See you in court.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Sleep was near impossible. Mason had immediately responded to David’s late-night text message turning down the plea deal with a string of angry expletives and basically called him the stupidest and most reckless attorney who’d probably ever walked the earth. Staring at the ceiling in the back room all night, David wondered if that was true. Giving up on sleep around four in the morning, he sat at his office desk and researched the news article sent to him by the anonymous phone number. The twenty-three-year-old man who was killed in the nightclub parking lot a week ago was named Eduardo Martinez from Del Valle, a lower-income community on the fringe of East Austin. According to the article, Martinez had been employed by the City of Austin for the past two years as part of a facility maintenance crew. Martinez’s 2001 Mazda hatchback was found at the scene of the crime with small amounts of heroin inside. Police suspected a drug deal. No suspects had been arrested. David read several other similar online articles that basically summarized the same information.

  Who was Eduardo Martinez?

  Why had this mystery person texted him the article?

  David stared at an online photo of Eduardo Martinez, which looked like it had been taken from his city ID. The guy had dark hair combed neatly to the side, was clean-shaven and smiling. A small teardrop tattoo sat below his left eye. He didn’t necessarily look like a drug dealer. Using an online background check, David found a misdemeanor DUI charge from four years ago but nothing else.

  When the sun finally popped up outside his office window, David jumped in his truck and drove through East Austin, out past the airport, until he reached the Del Valle community. Using the address from the criminal background check, he located a small redbrick home on a street lined with nearly matching homes. A gray minivan was parked in the driveway. David noticed a couple of tricycles and scooters in the tiny but well-maintained front yard. The neighborhood was just starting to wake, as cars and trucks began pulling out of various driveways.

  David parked on the curb outside the home. From a property search, David knew the house belonged to Hector and Sayra Martinez, whom he guessed were Eduardo Martinez’s parents. Getting out of his truck, David followed the short driveway to a brown front door and knocked. Seconds later, a heavyset woman in her fifties answered the door.

  “Ms. Martinez?” David asked.

  “Yes, can I help you?”

  “I hope so. My name’s David Adams. I’m a local attorney. Sorry to intrude on you first thing this morning, ma’am, but I wondered if I could have a few minutes to speak with you about Eduardo?”

  Hearing his name immediately made her eyes water.

  “We had his funeral just yesterday,” she stated.

  “Was he your son?”

  She nodded. “Why do you want to talk to me about Eddie?”

  “My deepest condolences, Ms. Martinez. I wouldn’t even bother you today if it wasn’t really important.” David noticed two small children running around in the interior of the house. “I think there’s a possibility his death could somehow be connected to another legal matter with a client I’m representing.”

  “My son was a good boy,” she said, eyes narrowing. “What the TV and papers have all said about him is not true. Eddie was no drug dealer. If there were drugs in his car, they weren’t his, I can promise you that, Mr. Adams. Eddie had two kids here to feed and a good job, so he would never go near that trash. He’s been so responsible and helpful to me, especially since my husband died last year.”

  “I understand. Do you know who he might have been meeting with in the parking lot of that bar the other night?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. Eddie and his friends went to that bar all the time. He liked to have a good time, but he wasn’t a troublemaker. I told the police the same thing. I don’t think they believed me or cared much. So I don’t believe they’re even out there looking f
or who shot him. But I wish they would go looking for my daughter right now.”

  She covered her mouth with a trembling hand, a new tear falling onto her chubby cheek.

  “Your daughter?”

  “I haven’t heard from my Mia for the past four days. I’m worried sick. I know something is wrong.”

  “Does she live with you?”

  “No, Mia is a law student at UT. She lives near campus. She texted me a couple of days after her brother’s death, said she was going to take off for a week or two, but I was not to worry. That was the last I’ve heard from her.”

  “But you are worried?”

  Her brow raised and pulled together. “Mia didn’t show up at Eddie’s service yesterday. She would’ve never missed her brother’s funeral unless something bad had happened to her. Mia and Eddie were like best friends.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  “Yes, of course, but they said there was nothing they could do, especially with what Mia had texted me. Mia is an adult. The police said they had no reason to try to find her. Can you help me, Mr. Adams?”

  David wondered if Mia could possibly be the same woman from the security video. Although the KP initials didn’t match up, could she be the woman who’d met with Murphy at the Dirty Dog and who had approached him outside the county jail the other night?

  “I’ll try. Do you have a photo?”

  “Of course.”

  Letting him inside the foyer, Ms. Martinez handed him a framed photo of her daughter. David studied it carefully. She was not the same woman from the security video. Although Mia had medium-length black hair and a thin build, she had brown eyes—not green eyes. Still, she might be involved somehow.

  “Can you give me her address?” David asked.

  Ms. Martinez wrote down her daughter’s address on a piece of paper. Holding out his cell phone, David showed her photos of Murphy, along with the two men from the hotel bar yesterday.

  “Do you recognize any of these men, Ms. Martinez?”

  She examined them closely. “Isn’t this the man who was just murdered downtown? It’s been all over the news lately.”

  “Yes. Any chance Eddie knew him?”

  “He never said anything to me.”

  “What about the other two men?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Adams. I’ve never seen them before.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  David parked in front of a yellowed old building four blocks north of UT’s campus and located the front door of Mia’s unit on the second floor. He knocked twice and waited. There was no answer and no sound of movement on the other side of the door. He tried to peek into the square window by the door, but the blinds were sealed tight. He knocked again, but still no response. Then he looked down at the doorknob and noticed there was a small chunk of wood missing from around the lock mechanism. Staring closer at the latch, he thought it looked like someone had jimmied it with a tool. Had someone broken into the apartment? Reaching down, David turned the doorknob, felt a chill push through him. The door was unlocked.

  Cracking the door open, he called out, “Hello? Mia? Anyone here?”

  No response. He pushed the door farther open, then cursed. He could immediately tell the apartment had been ransacked. Directly in front of him was a living room with a sofa and a chair, the cushions of which were flung about, a coffee table in the middle flipped completely upside down. A small desk that sat against the wall had all the drawers pulled out. The drawers were lying on the worn carpet, with papers, pens, folders, books, binders scattered beneath them. The kitchen to the right looked the same as the living space. Half the cabinet drawers were pulled wide-open, most of their contents on the kitchen floor.

  David nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a noise coming from down the short hallway to the bedroom. Was someone still inside? He grabbed the closest weapon he could find—a frying pan—and took a few steps into the hallway. Another rustling noise sent a jolt through him. The light was on in the only bathroom. He took a quick peek inside. No one was there. The bedroom was next. The door was cracked open, and the light was off.

  He thought about Mia, his throat thick. Was he about to find her? Had something bad already happened to her? His grip tightened on the pan in his right fist, and he pushed the bedroom door farther open. The bedroom was also in complete disarray. Boxes were tossed around, with books and binders spread out all over the bed and the carpet. The noise again. From the other side of the disheveled bed. David stepped over boxes, held his breath, and glanced around the bed. A brown cat bounced up and bolted straight for the door, scaring the hell out of him.

  David quickly backtracked to the front of the apartment. He took another quick scan of the room. Who had been here? And what were they looking for? He wondered if he should call the police; however, he decided against it. Not until he had a chance to explore Mia’s disappearance. Getting the police involved at this point could complicate and perhaps compromise his own investigation.

  Stepping outside onto the walkway, he pulled the front door closed behind him. A neighbor two doors down exited her apartment at that same moment and looked over at him. She was probably around the same age as Mia—midtwenties—with a blonde ponytail, jeans, and a UT Law School T-shirt.

  “Have you seen Mia?” David asked.

  “Not in a few days,” she replied. “Who are you?”

  “A friend of her mom’s. She asked me to stop by and check on her.”

  “Mia’s probably over at the law school library. She’s hardly ever home. She studies every second of the day. I wish I had her kind of discipline.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  David entered the main building of UT’s law school, which sat on the northeast corner of the sprawling university campus. He immediately recognized the familiar academic sounds and smells, as well as the exhaustion etched into the faces of the students who crossed back in forth in front of him. Two years ago, he’d been one of them, fighting his guts out to finish as high in his class as possible, eager to get recruited by the best law firms in the country.

  He found his way over to the Tarlton Law Library, began searching for the brunette who liked to wear a burnt-orange UT baseball cap nearly everywhere—according to the many photos he’d found of Mia on Facebook. David moved in and out of the library rows and around the study tables. When he didn’t spot Mia anywhere, he began asking around and flashing her photo to other students, while telling them he was recruiting for one of the local firms.

  Several students said they had classes with Mia, but she hadn’t attended them all week. A couple of them knew she’d had a death in the family and figured she’d temporarily stepped away from school to deal with it. David was about to give up altogether when he talked to a girl named Alicia in a student lounge who seemed to be closer to Mia than some of her other classmates.

  “Sure, I’m friends with Mia,” Alicia said. “Is she okay?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I’m trying to find her.”

  “Did you check with her mom?”

  “I just came from her mom’s house. She’s really worried.”

  “Oh, okay. Mia’s brother’s death really rocked her hard.”

  “I would imagine so,” David replied.

  “No, it was more than just grief. She really wigged out about it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I met up with Mia four days ago. She gave me one of her class papers and asked me to turn it in to Professor Albert. Mia told me she had to check out for a bit and didn’t know when she’d be back. But she wasn’t a sobbing mess, which surprised me. Honestly, it was more like she was scared.”

  “Scared of what?”

  Alicia shrugged. “I asked. She didn’t want to talk about it.”

  “Any idea where she might go to check out?”

  Alicia tugged a strand of curly red hair. “Not really. I figured she went to stay with her mom, but I guess not. She’s been dating this guy in a band. I think his name is Scott, but
I can’t be too sure.”

  “Do you know the name of the band?”

  “Something weird . . . maybe the Dragon Puppets? I think they play funky heavy-metal stuff—which is not really my thing.”

  “I really appreciate your help.”

  “Sure. I hope she’s okay. I’ve texted her several times this week but haven’t heard anything back.” Alicia’s nose wrinkled. “Hey, aren’t you the attorney in that prosecutor’s murder case that’s been all over the news?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Is that why you’re looking for Mia?”

  David cocked his head. “Why would you ask that?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just that I saw Mia meeting with that guy in the courtyard here the same day he was killed.”

  “Luke Murphy?”

  “Yes. I didn’t know who he was at the time. But I figured it out after the news broke of his death. I never got the chance to ask Mia about it, though.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  David received an urgent phone call later that morning from Larue, his young friend with the cornrows and baggy jeans, saying he had a person David needed to see ASAP. He met up with Larue on the sidewalk right outside Pete’s Dueling Piano Bar. The bars along Sixth Street were all closed this morning, so the sidewalks were nearly empty.

  Larue introduced the young guy standing with him as Skater. The teenager was thin, with orange spiky hair, and his skinny arms were covered with tattoos—most of which looked like scenes from Star Wars movies. Although he hadn’t met Skater before, David thought he remembered seeing him holding a cardboard sign near his office building, where he was begging for money and food. The kid didn’t look strung out, which was sadly how David found most of the street kids who camped on the downtown sidewalks.

  “Good to meet you,” David said.

  “Yes, sir. You, too.”

  “Tell him what you told me, Skater,” Larue urged the kid.

  “All right. See, I was hanging out over by the convention center this morning, like I usually do, just minding my own business, you know, when this dude suddenly comes up to me and starts talking. He asks me how long I been on the streets and if I do drugs and all that. I ain’t perfect, mister, but I told him I’m no druggie. I figured he may have been a doctor or something, maybe from one of them charity deals, ’cause he wanted to check me out and shined a tiny flashlight in my eyes and stuff. I guess to see if I was lying and was high on drugs. He gave me a bag of food from Whataburger, so I didn’t really care much.”