First Degree

by David Rosenfelt

  There were embarrassing moments as well, though Willie never seemed to notice. When asked to compare the current world to the one he left seven years ago, he bemoaned the inflated prices of “gas and hookers.”

  When I get to the office, I walk in on a priceless conversation between Willie and Edna. I pick it up in the middle, but it’s immediately clear that Willie has shocked Edna by declaring that he has never seen or even heard of crossword puzzles. She had supposed that there were people in far-off lands, living in caves or trees, who were this deprived. But here, sitting in our office? Impossible.

  Willie does not seem the least bit defensive about his admission, probably because Willie is not the least bit defensive about anything. He grudgingly agrees to let Edna attempt to teach him the basics, which only compounds the obvious cultural gap.

  “Indeterminate,” she says, looking at the newspaper. “Seven letters.”

  Willie is offended. “I know how many letters ‘inde-’ whatever has.”

  Edna shakes her head. “I’m looking for another word for ‘indeterminate.’ It has seven letters and the third letter is ‘u.’”

  “Why the hell are you looking for it?” he asks. “You already got that ‘inde-’ word. Look for one you don’t have.”

  “The word is ‘neutral.’”

  “I thought you said it had seven letters.” Willie starts counting on his fingers, softly mouthing the letters as he counts. When he finishes, his look is triumphant. “No way.”

  I get a momentary nightmare flash of Willie playing Scrabble with Laurie, and then I break up this conference and bring Willie into my office. Willie is a black belt in karate, but I believe that if I hadn’t shown up, Edna would have killed him.

  Just before Willie and I start talking, Pete Stanton calls. He has come up as dry as Vince Sanders did in the search for Geoffrey Stynes. He assures me that he’s checked everywhere there is to check, which leads to the inescapable conclusion that Stynes was in my office under an assumed name.

  This complicates the situation considerably. If he signed the retainer agreement using a false identity, then that agreement has no legal standing. The murkier question is whether this relieves me of the constraints of the privilege. I could research this, but I don’t, since right now murky works fine while I figure out what I want to do about maintaining Stynes’s privilege.

  I decide to split the difference. Without revealing what little I know about Stynes’s identity, I will utilize some of the information that I learned from him to help my client. I’m on shaky legal ground, but it’s ground I’m prepared to defend if I have to.

  I call Laurie and carefully tell her that I have received information about some possible evidence in the Dorsey murder. I describe the area behind Hinchcliffe Stadium in the same fashion Stynes described it to me, and ask Laurie if she could check it out. I further tell her that if she finds anything, she should leave it untouched and call the police.

  My feeling is that the evidence may be helpful in demonstrating Oscar’s innocence. I will not help the authorities by pointing them to Stynes, but if they get there on their own, I can live with it.

  Turning back to Willie, I briefly bring him up to date on the progress of the lawsuit. I tell him that both of the other parties have agreed to be represented by the same attorney, and we are to meet with him later in the week. I also reemphasize that which I’ve told him at least five times before: Any money that he gets from Philip Gant will in effect ultimately reduce the inheritance of my ex-wife, Nicole. Nicole and I have not spoken since her father’s arrest, but it still represents a conflict of sorts for me. It is a conflict about which Willie continues to be unconcerned.

  I haven’t yet discussed the possible award Willie might get, and a jury decision in this area is particularly hard to predict. Based on my initial settlement discussions, however, I think we could be looking at a five-million-dollar offer, and this is the number I tell Willie.

  Willie starts to make a noise that is somewhere between gurgling and blubbering. Whatever he is doing, it is not compatible with breathing, and for a moment I consider whether to call 911. Eventually, he recovers enough to commence gasping.

  “Five million dollars?” are the first words he can manage.

  I nod. “But I recommend that you reject it.”

  “I should reject it?” He’s having trouble processing the words. “You mean turn it down? Turn down five million dollars?”

  “Yes. I think you should hold out for in excess of ten, after my commission.”

  “Ten what? Million?” he asks.

  I nod. “Million. We’re talking about almost seven years. Isn’t your life worth at least a million five per year?”

  He slows down, trying to gather his thoughts to deal with what he is hearing. “Damn straight,” he finally says. “This is my life we’re talking about.” Willie is a really good “thought gatherer.”

  “So we’re agreed?” I ask.

  “Definitely. We are standing on the same corner, man. Singin’ the same tune. Walking the same walk. All the way.”

  “Good,” I say. “One for all and all for one.”

  He nods in agreement, then: “But what if they don’t give us the ten?”

  “Then we’ll get a jury to give us fifteen.”

  “My man!” he enthuses, and actually slaps me five twice, so that it will total ten. A while later he gets up to leave, but stops at the door and turns to me. “You’re not bullshitting me, right? I mean, no way you are bullshitting me?”

  “No way.” I smile, and then he smiles a hell of a lot wider than I do.

  Minutes after Willie leaves, I get a phone call from Dylan Campbell’s assistant asking me to meet Dylan in his office as soon as possible. I can only assume that the police have uncovered more evidence damaging to Oscar, but there’s no sense asking the assistant. Dylan takes center stage whenever he can; if there’s a bomb to drop on me, he will drop it personally.

  I’m ushered into Dylan’s office as soon as I arrive, another sign that he’s got something to use on me. It’s more often his style to make visitors stew in the reception area, but this time he can’t wait to get right to it.

  Also in Dylan’s office waiting for me is Lieutenant Nick Sabonis, the lead detective on Oscar’s case. If he shares Dylan’s glee at what is about to be said, he hides it well. Nick’s a career cop nearing the day when his biggest concern will be what fishing rod to use. He doesn’t get into personal stuff with lawyers; he just wants to lock up the bad guys and move on to the next case.

  “Thanks for coming down so quickly, Andy,” Dylan says. “New evidence has turned up concerning your client.”

  I just wait for him to continue; coaxing him to hurry up would give him a satisfaction I don’t want to provide.

  “We got a call from a Wallace Ferro, the manager at the Food Fair supermarket on Riverside. It turns out that there’s a tape of Garcia in the store at the exact time that the coroner says the murder was committed.”

  I’m pleased but puzzled. “I asked him about the tapes.”

  Dylan nods, a slight smirk on his face. “According to him, you didn’t ask too hard. This was a tape above the cash machines at the bank branch in the market. It’s a different system, and they don’t tape over them for months. For some reason he thought we’d be more interested in it than you would.”

  Little of what Dylan is saying makes sense, but I’m not really concerned. No matter what Wally the grocery manager thinks of my investigative techniques, my client is about to be freed and so am I. I’m out of the case and clear of conscience. I can go back to saving otters.

  “Does Oscar know about this?” I ask.

  “He does. He’s been released, and he’s agreed to voluntarily answer some questions.”

  Alarm bells go off in my head. “What kind of questions? Why wasn’t I informed?”

  “Don’t worry, Andy, Oscar waived his right to counsel.” He smiles. “Especially your counsel.”

&nb
sp; “What the hell is going on, Dylan? What are you questioning Oscar about?”

  My sense of foreboding increases when Nick, not having said a word, walks out of the office. My sense is that while he may be on the same side as Dylan, he doesn’t want to associate himself with this performance.

  Dylan doesn’t even seem to notice him leave. He is taking his time, savoring the moment. “We’ve made another arrest in the case, Andy. We believe Oscar has information to provide in connection with that arrest.”

  “Who did you arrest?” I ask, knowing that this is the reason Dylan called me here, and knowing with even greater certainty that I’m going to hate the answer.

  “I’m sorry I have to be the one to tell you this,” he lies, “but we’ve arrested and charged Laurie Collins with the murder of Alex Dorsey.”

  THE PRESS IS OUT IN FORCE BY THE TIME I GET TO the jail. When it was Oscar Garcia that stood accused, it was a marginal story. When it’s Laurie Collins, ex-cop and sworn enemy of the deceased, it’s page one all the way.

  I work my way through the reporters and camera crews, making comments as I go. I don’t usually like to speak to the press until I know the facts, so I say only what I know to be true.

  “What’s your reaction to the arrest?” I’m asked.

  “It’s beyond idiotic,” I respond.

  “Are you going to defend her?”

  “The facts will defend her,” I say. “I’ll just make sure everybody knows them.”

  I get inside the jail and ask to see Laurie. The bozo at the front desk tells me that she’s being “processed.” I know she’s smart enough not to talk to anyone without me present, but I don’t like the fact that she’s alone. After five minutes of waiting, I tell him I’m going to go outside and tell the press I’m being denied access to my client. Coincidentally, at that very moment he receives a telepathic communication informing him that the processing just ended.

  I’m led back to an anteroom where I wait for another five minutes, until Laurie is brought in. Her hands are cuffed in front of her, and she is already dressed in jail clothing. I expect to see fear in her eyes, but that’s not what is there. What I see is anger. Which is good, because I’ve got enough fear for both of us.

  “Andy, what the hell is going on?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I haven’t tried to press anyone for information yet. I wanted to talk to you first.”

  “They’ve charged me with Dorsey’s murder,” she says, total disbelief in her voice.

  I nod. “Tell me what happened. Don’t leave out a thing.”

  She sits down, resting her cuffed hands uncomfortably on the table. The cuffs are so offensive to me, I want to bite them off with my teeth.

  “There isn’t that much to tell,” she says. “I went out to the stadium, like you said. It took a little while, but I finally noticed something in the shrubbery. I went over and looked at it, but I didn’t touch it. It looked like clothing with blood on it. Then I saw the handle of a large knife, as if somebody had tried to cover it with the shrubs.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I didn’t do anything. Ten seconds after I saw the stuff, officers seemed to come from everywhere. There must have been seven or eight of them, guns drawn. They read me my rights and brought me down here.”

  “Do you think they had been following you, or waiting at the site?”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t know, maybe both. There were a lot of them.” She shakes her head again, this time with more sadness. “It was weird; I helped train two or three of them.”

  I’m silent for a few moments, trying to figure this out. None of these pieces fit together.

  “Andy, why did you send me out there?” It’s not an accusation, just a need to know.

  “I had information that the killer’s clothes might be there. I figured that if they were, it would get Oscar off the hook. It should do the same for you.”

  Laurie speaks quietly, and for the first time I can hear the fear overtaking the anger. “Andy, they were my clothes.”

  She can’t have said what I think she said. “What?”

  “The clothes with blood on them … they were mine. I don’t know how they got there … I never even noticed them missing from my closet.”

  In a flash that feels exactly like panic, I realize that this is the worst of both worlds. We are facing a situation that makes absolutely no sense, yet clearly has been planned and executed with precision.

  “Laurie, we will get through this.”

  “And where will I be while we’re doing that?” she asks.

  She’s talking about the possibility of bail, which I started thinking about on the way over here. It’s very problematic. Oscar was charged with first-degree murder, and there’s no doubt that the same will be the case with Laurie. It’s very difficult to get bail in that circumstance, and I can certainly count on Dylan to oppose it.

  “Bail’s going to be tough,” I tell her. I don’t lie to clients, and I’m certainly not going to start with Laurie.

  She nods, knowing very well how the system works. “If we don’t get it, and even if we do, we need to get to trial as quickly as possible.”

  “It’s way too early to be talking about a trial. We’re going to try and end this before we even get there.”

  “I can’t sit in a cage, Andy.”

  I would love to tell her she won’t have to, but it’s not within my power. This point is driven home all too clearly when the guard comes into the room to take her back to that cage.

  I tell Laurie that I’ll be back to see her tomorrow, at which time I’ll have learned much more about the situation, and we can talk about it in detail. I tell her again that we’ll get through this, that everything is going to be fine. I tell her that I love her and that she needs to keep her spirits up.

  Which brings me to the things I don’t tell her. I don’t tell her that they couldn’t have had time to test the blood on the clothing yet, so they can’t be sure it’s Dorsey’s blood. I don’t tell her that that means there is other evidence against her, evidence that the police feel independently justifies the arrest. I don’t tell her that I know in my gut there are other shoes to drop, that things are going to get worse before they can get better.

  I don’t tell her that every single cell in my body is scared shitless.

  Once Laurie has been led away, I go downstairs to see Sergeant Luther Dandridge, head of the detail that deals with the prisoners. I know him, but not well, and there’s no real reason he would do me any favors. I take a shot anyway and ask him to make things as comfortable as possible for Laurie.

  It turns out that he knows and likes Laurie, and he tells me he’s already arranged for her to be kept away from the rest of the population and treated as well as possible. When I hear him say it, I want to kiss and hug him and maybe give him the eleven million I didn’t give cousin Fred.

  I’ve got to get my emotions in check.

  It’s almost eight P.M. when I leave the jail, and I call Dylan’s office. No one answers, which means I’m going to have to wait until tomorrow to get any information. I call my office machine, and there are a bunch of messages, mostly from friends of Laurie’s and mine expressing their support. Kevin has also called to tell me he’s ready to go to work tonight.

  The last call is from Dylan, alerting me to the initial court appearance tomorrow morning at eleven. They are moving quickly, confidently. We have got to do the same, but it’s hard to move quickly and confidently when you don’t know where you’re going.

  I call Kevin at his house and he answers at the beginning of the first ring. The conversation is exactly what I expect. Even though I know he is outraged and upset, he doesn’t voice either of those emotions. Those would be wasted, unproductive words; what we need to do is spend every moment of our time and thoughts on helping Laurie, not bemoaning the unfairness of her fate. I ask him to come right over so we can get started.

  I get home and take Tara for a short walk,
and by the time we get back Kevin has arrived. I make some coffee and we get down to making whatever plans and decisions we can, given our current limited access to information.

  Our first priority is getting that information, and since I will have to prepare for tomorrow’s court hearing, I give that task to Kevin. He will be waiting at Dylan’s office before it even opens in the morning, and if he gets any resistance at all to our demand for immediate production of discovery material, he will notify me before the hearing. I will then once again embarrass Dylan about it before the judge. I doubt Dylan will want that to happen, so I suspect he’ll be generally, and grudgingly, cooperative with Kevin.

  We discuss how we will frame our request for bail, and prepare a motion utilizing what favorable case law there is. Kevin thinks we have a better chance than I think we have, which is encouraging, since he’s a terrific attorney who has worked both sides of the system.

  I tell Kevin about Stynes; my reservations about breaking that privilege have long since disappeared. Since Stynes had to know that they were not his clothes behind the stadium, he was clearly in my office for the purpose of framing Laurie. He played me like an accordion, and paying him back will be a key component of Laurie’s defense.

  Kevin leaves and I sit up another couple of hours, thinking about the case. I instinctively know that the victim is going to be the key, that understanding the last two years of Alex Dorsey’s life is the only way to reveal the truth about his death.

  One thing I know for sure: Laurie did not kill him. Stynes’s involvement proves that, at least to me, but I would be sure of her innocence even without it. She hated Dorsey, and she could well have wished him dead. Under certain extreme circumstances, I could even imagine her killing him, be it to protect herself or others. But the brutality of the murder, the total disregard for the dignity of human life, clears Laurie beyond any doubt.

  I get into bed, but barely sleep at all. I keep thinking of Laurie in that cell, and on some level it feels as if falling asleep in the comfort of the bed we share would be like abandoning her.