Code of Justice

by J J Miller

  “So I’d get out when I’m…”

  It’s a prospect too heavy to process. For someone in their twenties, forty years of age may as well as be a century away.

  “But I didn’t kill anyone.”

  He breaks down, his shoulders heaving as the sobs lurch from his body.

  “Bobby, sometimes it’s not a matter of whether someone is guilty or not, it’s a question of how powerful the prosecution can make their case seem.”

  He pulls himself together and looks at me with some fire in his eyes.

  “I’m not pleading guilty to something I didn’t do.”

  “Good,” I say. “We’re not taking the deal.”

  “Are they going to win, Brad?”

  Bobby’s not the only one fired up.

  “No Bobby. We are.”

  ✽✽✽

  A week later, I go see Lawrence Lewis to work through the discovery process. This will give me an idea of how strong his case is. But with a few weeks before we are likely to go to trial, there’s a chance his strongest evidence is yet to come.

  He greets me, impeccably dressed, at reception. Confidence hangs off the guy like thick cologne.

  He shows me to the conference room, where a junior associate sits with a pile of folders on the table in front of her.

  I decline Lawrence’s offer of coffee.

  “Let’s get to it. I’m keen to see what you’ve got.”

  “There are no surprises here, Brad. The evidence is all very clear, very solid. And a bunch of witnesses who will testify that Bobby Timmins is a violent individual with a track record of picking on girls.”

  “Careful, Lawrence. You’re repeating yourself.”

  “Maybe. But denial can be particularly stubborn. You could do with some clarity.”

  “And you could do with a fast victory and back-slapping headlines. But I’m not here to please you or your boss.”

  California’s Attorney General Camilla Bancroft is only three months into the job, but she won office with a tough-on-crime campaign. Neither she nor Lawrence want a trial because that introduces a chance, however slim, they’ll lose.

  Lawrence opens the folder, selects a piece of paper and spins it around towards me so that it sits at the perfect angle for me to read. There must be a bit of flair in just about everything Lawrence does.

  It’s a witness list. I scan the names. There’s no Cameron. The barman’s there, the friends I spoke to in the bar, too. But there are three others I don’t recognize. All female. That troubles me. Deeply.

  I take a photo of the list.

  “Bobby Timmins strangled that poor girl, and we can prove it.”

  “Well, I’ve got my doubts, Lawrence. And so will a jury. Your case is not as ironclad as you’d have me think. In fact…”

  Lawrence spins another piece of paper towards me like a dealer.

  It’s a DNA report. I pick it up and read.

  “Your boy’s DNA is all over that girl. Her face, her hands, her neck... “

  I was expecting this.

  “Of course, it is. They were making out. They were all over each other like a rash. This doesn’t prove anything.”

  I keep reading.

  “Now, this I find interesting,” I say.

  “What’s that?”

  “It says here none of Bobby’s DNA was found under Lindy’s nails.”

  “That’s right,” says Lawrence. He doesn’t take the opportunity to elaborate.

  “Was anyone else’s DNA found under her nails?”

  “That’s not specified.”

  “Well, it should be. Who’s the medical officer?”

  I read the name at the bottom of the paper. Toby Jenkins. A serial klutz.

  “God help us. What else you got?”

  He pushes the rest of the folder towards me.

  I go through it methodically. After a few minutes I come to a printout of Lindy’s phone record. Her last text message was sent about twenty minutes before Bobby turned up at the pizzeria.

  I go back to the inventory of evidence seized from the apartment.

  “Where’s her phone?”

  “Not there.”

  “Really? Her phone is missing?”

  “That’s right. Maybe your client can help us locate it.”

  “Maybe the murderer can.”

  Having gone through all the paperwork, I rest my elbows on the table, clasping my hands together at my chin.

  “You’re going to need more than this to convict my client, Lawrence.”

  “Who says we won’t get more? Brad, make good use of your time and convince your client to take the plea. Because if this goes to trial, mark my words, you will lose, and Timmins will spend the rest of his life in prison. Are you prepared to see that happen?”

  “I’m prepared to make sure he walks.”

  “That’s courageous of you, Brad. But also foolish.”

  “Save it, Lawrence. I’ll see you in court.”

  There’s one thought as I make for the elevator: I need a stronger case, or we’re screwed.

  6

  Tina Maybury was not hard to track down. That’s the beauty of social media — within minutes I knew what she looked like, where she worked and where she worked out. But as I keep tabs on her that morning, I see her “check in” at a nearby cafe.

  I scan the room as I enter, spot Tina and take a nearby table. She is with another girl, catching up over coffee. Talking about Lindy, no doubt.

  After half an hour her friend stands up and Tina calls for the check. As they said goodbye, I leave money under my cup and move in.

  Tina is just out the door when I introduce myself as Bobby’s lawyer. She can barely conceal her contempt.

  “I know you’ve probably been advised not to speak to me, but I’m defending an innocent man.”

  “I’ve got nothing to say to you, please leave me alone.”

  Her pace quickens.

  “How did you find me anyway? It’s creepy.”

  Do people really think you can share all the details of your life online and still have privacy?

  I walk at her shoulder.

  “Tina, please. Let me ask you something: Do you really want to see an innocent man go to jail and Lindy’s real killer walk free?”

  Her pace slows a tad as she thinks it over. At last, she stops.

  “Lindy was having a rough time. Bad break-up with her ex, and she was cutting loose trying to get over it. I warned her to stay off Tinder. I told her there were creeps like Bobby Timmins on there. But she wouldn’t listen. And now she’s dead.”

  Tears pool in her eyes. She looks at me ruefully.

  “And you want to try and get that bastard off?!”

  “Tina, I want to find out the truth.”

  She wipes her eyes.

  “What do you want? I’ve got to get back to work.”

  “The relationship. Did she end it?”

  Tina pauses. She’s shaping her answer.

  “Yes. She thought Cameron was cheating on her.”

  “Cameron? You know Cameron?”

  Tina’s gaze shoots off down the street. She looks like she wants to walk away. She’s trying to figure how to answer my question, or whether to give me an answer at all.

  “Yes, I know Cameron. Of course.”

  That’s all she plans on saying.

  “And... was he?”

  “Was he what?”

  “Was Cameron cheating on Lindy?”

  “Is that really any of your business?”

  I change tack.

  “Did Lindy contact you that day?”

  Again, she hesitates.

  “No.”

  “If she was in trouble, would she have contacted you?”

  Tina looks away again.

  “Usually, yes. But we had a falling out. The day before she… passed… she sent me a text. She was reaching out.”

  She starts crying.

  “I didn’t answer her.”

  I hand Tina a
clean handkerchief. She takes it and dries her eyes.

  “Just one more thing, please Tina. Did you know Lindy had set up a recording device on her computer? So she could record what happened if she brought a date home?”

  “What? Like a sex tape?” Tina looks shocked.

  “No, no. It was a safety precaution. She told Bobby she made recordings to keep her dates in line.”

  “Well, that’s a surprise.”

  “How so?”

  “Lindy? Running some kind of spy software?”

  “Yes.”

  “That doesn’t sound right. She was a technophobe. She couldn’t change out her sim card without help. Cameron used to do all that stuff for her. Set up her internet, phone, apps. That kind of thing.”

  “Well, she definitely knew how to operate this software.”

  “Then she must have had help. There’s no way she figured that out by herself.”

  “Tina, how did Cameron treat Lindy? Was he ever violent or aggressive towards her?”

  Her face twitches. A brief mark of fear.

  “No. Never. He’s not like that at all. I mean, Lindy never said anything like that.”

  “Do you know where I can find him?”

  Again, she pauses, then just shakes her head.

  “Tina, can I get Cameron’s number off you?”

  “I guess so,” she says, somewhat reluctantly.

  She pulls out her cell, taps it a few times then reads the number out. I key it into my phone.

  “I really have to go.”

  As Tina walks away, I’m left feeling there was something important she wasn’t telling me. About her relationship with Lindy. And maybe her relationship with Cameron.

  ✽✽✽

  I’m on Santa Monica Boulevard heading west when my phone rings. It’s Claire. My instant reaction is something’s wrong. That is, that I’ve done something wrong. And I’m right.

  “Where are you?” she says in a tone that tells me I’m not where I should be.

  “On the road. How come?”

  “Bella’s play is about to start.”

  I check my watch. 1:57.

  “Shit! I’ll be there in ten.”

  I can almost hear her eyes roll as I hang up and try to figure out the fastest route to Bella’s school — a pricey, new-age preschool with a website spiel that makes you think it’d be cruel not to send your kid there. They call it an academy, for crying out loud. Luckily, I’m not too far away.

  I reach Venice in seven minutes flat. There are no parking spots, so I swing the car onto the curb outside the school and run for the hall.

  I stand at the back, and my heart lifts when Bella — dressed as one of the three little pigs — sees me and gives me a gleeful wave.

  The performance only lasts a few more minutes, and then it’s a wrap. I walk up to the front where Claire was sitting.

  “Daddy!” Bella squeals and runs at me. I lift her up and give her a hug.

  “I’m so proud of you. You were awesome. Best. Little. Pig. Ever.”

  She laps it up. I look past Bella and see Claire smiling in a way projects no joy. I may be paranoid, but it seems she’s appraising me, again, measuring me up. And it’s not a happy calculation — more like a forced choice between two dud movies. I give her a big smile, like an idiot.

  We make small talk, but Claire remains distracted. As soon as she can, she speaks quietly over Bella to ask what she really wants to know.

  “Brad. When is Bobby getting out?!”

  There’s no way I can spin it.

  “It’s going to trial, Claire. He’s not getting out before then. Bail is off the table, you know that. I’ve put in for a speedy trial.”

  “But that will still take weeks. God knows what will happen to him in that time.”

  “Claire, I’ve seen him. It will be tough, but he’s smart, and he’s stronger than I would have given him credit for. He’ll find a way.”

  “I thought you were the one who was going to find a way.”

  Claire is obviously mortified by the thought of prison brutality. Violence, intimidation, rape. But there are varying degrees of hell, and at least I know Bobby has not been subjected to the worst of it. Not yet.

  “To do that I need to convince the prosecution someone else killed that girl. But it’s a work in progress. Unfortunately, Bobby’s case has to run its course. He’ll have his day in court, and I’ll prove to the jury he is innocent.”

  Claire’s not convinced. I need to leave.

  I bend down and kiss Bella.

  “Gotta go, pumpkin.”

  I say goodbye to Claire, who’s standing dead still, blank expression.

  “Bye,” she says, her lips barely moving.

  On the way to the car, I pull out my phone and call Jack.

  “I was just about to call you,” he says.

  “Tell me you have something.”

  “Oh, I have something alright.”

  I stop at the car and stand there, waiting.

  “I checked with the lab and got them to do more DNA testing. And guess what? There was another set.”

  “Where? On her body?”

  “Yes. But also on her laptop.”

  “Jack, I’m gonna send you the number of Lindy’s ex. His name’s Cameron Degotardi. Give him a call. Could be a long shot, but if he’s innocent he won’t mind offering up a sample for testing.”

  “I’ll add him to the list.”

  A couple of hours later, Jack calls back.

  “No luck with this Cameron fella. Phone keeps ringing out. So I had a friend check flights out of LAX.”

  “And?”

  “Cameron Degotardi landed in Mexico City two hours ago.”

  7

  The courtroom is packed on the first day of the trial. My confidence is somewhat guarded. Only an egomaniac would start a trial believing it’s a foregone conclusion. That said, the law has more than its fair share of narcissists who never see failure coming - and it’s always nice to be the one who delivers the reality check.

  Lawrence is already seated when I arrive. I nod at him and then greet Bobby. He looks drained and nervous. I put my hand on his shoulder and again stress to him that our case is strong, and the jury will be fair and true.

  Two months inside has changed him. It’s not so much that he’s hardened, more that he has shed his softness. In the many times I’ve seen him over the past weeks, I’ve been impressed by how well Bobby has handled himself. It’s not the way I’d ever want it to happen, but he’s grown up. The signs of his manful character are there. And once the prosecution gets started on him, he’s going to need all the character and strength he can summon.

  I scan the crowd, half expecting to see Claire sitting there, the second judge in this trial. But she’s not.

  Just before I turn around, though, I spot Cory Simpson, the neighbor. It’s the first time I’ve laid eyes on him in the flesh. He’s bigger than I thought. As Jack says, he could do with some sun. And he could do with some exercise. A double chin hangs off his pimpled face, and belly flab strains his buttoned shirt. His dank brown hair is swept neatly to one side - dolled up for court.

  Overall, you’d say he was quite docile in appearance. But then you’d notice the grinding jaw, the grim, taut mouth and the eyes burning holes in the back of Bobby’s head.

  Note to self: I need to get the jury way on my side before this nemesis takes the stand.

  Lawrence’s opening statement is exactly what I told Bobby it would be. He says Bobby has a fierce temper and lacks the self-discipline to control it. His violent tendencies are fueled by a concoction of supplements he takes openly. He objectifies women, brags about bedding them publicly and reduces each conquest to a number. To him Lindy Coleman was just another notch on the bedpost of a cold misogynist. But when she comes to her senses mid-date and tries to fend off his entitled advances, he goes at her harder. Determined to subdue her - hell bent on forcing her to succumb - he strangles her to death. We have video evi
dence of the violent struggle that precedes Lindy’s death. And through this recording, Lindy tells us all exactly who killed her.

  “It’s up to you to see justice is done,” Lawrence says in conclusion.

  “It is your responsibility to see that Bobby Timmins pays the fullest price for this horrific murder. Lindy Coleman had so much promise ahead of her. Now her family and friends have only the memories of her beautiful soul to cling to. They are looking to you to provide them with the small but significant solace of justice.”

  In my opening statement, I agree with Lawrence. The jury’s duty is to deliver justice. But that does not mean they have an obligation to find Bobby Timmins guilty. Never forget, I tell them, guilt must be proven beyond reasonable doubt.

  “I will argue that, for all the evidence the prosecution shows you, none of it proves Bobby Timmins killed Lindy Coleman. It does not conclusively answer the key question - who killed her? It only serves to raise questions. Because my client, while he does have flaws, is not a murderer.

  “Beyond reasonable doubt,” I conclude. “That’s the platform upon which your decision must stand, and I am fully confident the innocence of this man will be confirmed. We all want justice for this terrible crime, but justice at any price is not justice at all.”

  I sit down feeling assured this jury will be open minded. That’s all I can ask.

  To begin, Lawrence calls Detective Morahan - balding, mid-forties and carrying a lot of bulk on his five-ten frame. He has that classic veteran cop demeanor: jaded but sharp-minded, wouldn’t blink at an oncoming apocalypse.

  And in Morahan’s opinion there is no doubt: Bobby Timmins is a killer. Not the premeditated variety - just a loose cannon who lost control. Unfortunate, maybe, but Bobby was always going to be a potential threat to the women he dated.

  Then it’s my turn to cross-examine.

  “You say Bobby was always going to be a threat. How so?”

  “The steroids and other substances he was taking heightened his aggressive tendencies.”

  “You have evidence of this?”

  “I think the video tape makes that clear.”

  “Detective, did any trace of a supplement or a steroid show up in Bobby’s blood test?