Friend of the Departed

by Frank Zafiro

  “The public didn’t seem to get most of what we did,” I conceded. “Especially things like that.”

  “But those policies or procedures or decisions had good reason behind them, correct?”

  I nodded.

  “Even if the lay people of River City thought matters should be far more simple?”

  I nodded again. “Okay, I get it.”

  “If I were her attorney, I would be against sharing any information about the case, the investigation, or my defense with anyone who was not a part of the defense team. There are too many things that could go wrong.”

  “So the public defender is making the right call.”

  “In my estimation, yes.”

  “Can you just agree to take the case on the condition that you review the material first?”

  “I could, but I wouldn’t. Nor would I expect her attorney to agree.”

  “Why wouldn’t you?”

  “If I agree to represent a client, I do so completely. Not conditionally.”

  I didn’t bother asking him to take the case and just bail if the materials proved her guilty. That would go against his personal code of ethics, as well. I knew first-hand that that code was non-negotiable.

  “Coming to any conclusion about her guilt or innocence is going to be difficult without the investigative file.”

  “I realize that. But I don’t expect you to come to an absolute conclusion. That’s the purpose of the courtroom. I only need your best judgment.”

  I smiled grimly. “I don’t have the best track record when it comes to judgment. In fact, I think that’s how we met.”

  Harrity was in no mood for humor. “Quite the contrary. Your actions were in conflict with the law. They may have been bad decisions in that regard. But they weren’t in poor judgment as it relates to the human element. You have something of a knack for that.”

  “Human element? I’m not sure I get what you mean.”

  He considered a moment, then said, “How about this, then. You concern yourself more with the morality of a situation than the legality of it.”

  I thought about that. Maybe he was right. “All right. Do you have anything at all to help me get started?”

  He picked up an unmarked file from his desk and handed it to me. “I’ve compiled some basic information on Henry and Marie, as well as some questions I’d like you to consider, and try to answer.”

  I took the file. It was painfully thin. I had one more issue to resolve. “You know I’m not a private investigator, right?”

  “Of course. But state law doesn’t require you to be a licensed investigator to conduct an informal investigation. Just don’t misrepresent yourself as being one. Or as a police officer, for that matter.”

  I knew that. “No kidding.”

  He gave me a pointed look. Not an accusation, but a knowing stare.

  I shrugged. “I understand. I just assumed you’d want someone with official status, is all.”

  “I called you,” he said plainly. “I want you.”

  “Why? You can afford to hire the best private investigation firm in the city. Or the sleaziest, if that’s what you want.”

  He nodded slowly, a slightly pained expression crossing his face. “I could. But in this situation, I’m more comfortable asking you.”

  “Why?” I don’t know why it mattered to me, but it did. I respected Harrity, and he had helped me out, but we weren’t exactly friends.

  “May I speak candidly?”

  “Sure. We’ve got attorney-client privilege, right?”

  He ignored my joke. Or maybe we really did have attorney-client privilege. I wasn’t sure.

  “I asked you because I need someone with the investigative ability of those expensive firms, but a willingness to do what is necessary. What is right, even if it isn’t…orthodox.”

  We sat quietly for a moment while I chewed on that. His meaning didn’t change the more I chewed, and the more I chewed, the less I liked that it was probably true. But neither one was a reason to say no, so after a while, I stood up and offered my hand.

  “I’ll get to work.”

  He clasped my hand and shook it, his palm damp. “Thank you.”

  I tucked the file under my arm and headed out the door.

  12

  I stopped at the library on my way home, using the computer there to search the Internet for news accounts of the Marie Brassart case. I didn’t bother reading the entries, instead printing them off to take with me. Harrity was paying expenses, and I liked the feel of paper.

  After an hour, I was already yawning and flexing my left knee. The creak and pop of the old injury sounded like gunfire in the quiet library.

  After almost two hours, I rubbed my tired eyes, picked up my short stack of print outs and headed home. I tossed the case file and my research onto the small kitchen table and grabbed a cola from the fridge, ignoring the Kokanee next to it. Then I plopped into the chair and stared at the pile of paper in front of me. It was only then that I wondered if I’d made a mistake.

  Harrity was essentially asking me to solve a murder case that the police had already worked, and presumably solved. And to do it without access to the case file.

  Only he wasn’t really asking, was he? He was paying.

  I glanced around my small apartment. I’d become used to Spartan surroundings. It was all I could afford on my small medical pension. But over time, I’d come to realize that it was enough.

  That didn’t mean the extra money wouldn’t be nice. The brakes on my Toyota had been squealing for months. Maybe it was just dust or maybe they were toast, but with the money Harrity was paying, I could afford to find out.

  So why did I feel so strange about this?

  The stack of papers on the kitchen table didn’t give me an answer. Neither did the cold bite of the soda from the can.

  Maybe it felt different because Harrity was hiring me, instead of the other way around.

  No, that didn’t feel right.

  Maybe I didn’t want to step into the role of investigator again. It wasn’t something I’d ever been comfortable with in the first place.

  No, that wasn’t it, either.

  I tapped the bottom of the can on the table, watching the condensation grab onto the wooden surface in beads. I stared at the limpid droplets, and I pushed just a little harder.

  And then it was clear to me.

  Harrity said he hired me because I was a good investigator. But he could find that in a score of others in River City. The real reason he chose me was because I would…do what was necessary, even if it was unorthodox.

  Which meant potentially illegal.

  Harrity hired me because he believed I wouldn’t balk at crossing the line if I thought it was the right thing to do.

  I wasn’t sure I liked that assessment.

  I took another sip of cola, wishing it was beer. Then another. I kept sipping and thinking about that until the can was empty. And then, so I didn’t drink one of those Kokanees, I left the stack of papers on the kitchen table and went to get a late breakfast with Clell.

  “It’s kind of odd,” Clell said, pouring coffee from the carafe.

  We were at Jenny’s Café, only a few blocks from the building he guarded most Saturdays, a structure that housed everything from investment firms to call centers. He had to be to work in less than an hour but he didn’t seemed rushed.

  I lifted my own cup and sipped. The taste made me smile.

  “Maxwell House.”

  He smiled back and lifted his cup in a toast. “Yup. Since you bought me that first can, I’m ruined. Can’t go back to the bargain brand. And I can’t find any other place downtown that serves it.”

  “I’ll make sure not to introduce you to anything fancy. It might crush your savings account.”

  “Appreciate that.”

  “So you think the job’s odd?”

  Clell shrugged. His sharp mustache didn’t droop over his lips so much as it stood guard. He’d lost a few pound
s in the last couple of months but his belly still pushed against the light blue security uniform. “I don’t know as I’d say that. I mean, I guess I can understand where the fella is coming from. On the one hand, you wouldn’t want your friend’s wife to go to prison for something she didn’t do, right? But on the other hand, you certainly wouldn’t want to defend the person that killed your friend, either. So I get him wanting to know.”

  “So do I. Then what’s odd?”

  “Well, to be honest, the odd part is your reaction.”

  I cocked my head at him. “My reaction?”

  “Yup.”

  “How so?”

  He took another drink of coffee, watching me. Then he said, “Look, Stef. I know I ain’t known you for years and years. But I count you as a friend, and the Good Lord knows there ain’t many in this world I count that way. And I always figure that what a friend does most is tell the truth.”

  I didn’t answer, but the throbbing pain in my jaw made me realize I’d been clenching it. I unclenched and felt the tension and the pain dissipate. “And the truth is?”

  “The truth is, he’s right. Since I’ve known you, I count four times you’ve helped someone out by investigating something. Four cases. Does that sound about right?”

  I thought it over, ticking them off on my fingers. “Matt and his daughter. The hockey player. Monique.”

  “And Cassie,” Clell said.

  I felt my jaw clench again. The small pain flared up once more. “Yeah, and her. So?”

  Clell didn’t seemed bothered by my reaction. “So, look what you’ve done every single time.”

  “I did the best I could. That’s what I did.”

  “I don’t doubt that,” he agreed. “And near as I can tell, your heart was in the right place, too.”

  “It was.”

  “And, to be fair, in most of those situations, you got good results.”

  “Not great results, though.”

  “Maybe not great, and maybe not in every case, but I think it’s fair to say that people who needed your help were better off after you got involved than they were before you came along.”

  “I hope so.”

  “From what you told me, I think they were. But, Stef, here’s the thing. You broke the law. In some way, large or small, you broke the law in each and every case.”

  “Not every time,” I protested automatically.

  “Yes, you did. Every single time.”

  I didn’t answer. Instead, I thought about each instance. I walked through the events in my mind, hoping he was wrong.

  He wasn’t.

  “Christ,” I muttered. “I’m an unlicensed, sleazy investigator.”

  “That’s not true, either,” Clell said. “From what you told me, you had the best of intentions in every one of those cases. You weren’t hiding in bushes taking pictures of some guy having an affair. You were trying to help people.”

  I thought about that for a minute, too. Then I nodded. “You’re right.”

  “I know. I wasn’t asking you if I was right. I was telling you what I know.”

  “Coffee makes you a little testy.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not being testy. I just think people should understand who they are, that’s all.”

  “I’m the guy that breaks the law,” I said, letting a little sarcasm seep into my voice. “Which makes me a criminal, by definition.”

  Clell snorted. “Bull puckey. You’re a good man, Stef.”

  I wanted to believe his words. “I read somewhere that man is what he repeatedly does.”

  “Now you’re getting all philosophical on me.”

  “Hey, you started it.”

  Clell smoothed his mustache, then shrugged. “You might be right. Look, I think the reality is that you’ve ended up in some bad situations in your life. Maybe more than most folks. And I’ll even grant that some of those situations might be partially of your own doing. But instead of giving up, you do what’s necessary to get the right thing done. That’s how I see it, anyway.”

  “So you’re saying the ends justify the means?”

  “We can kick that idea around over another cup of coffee if you want. But you’re missing my point. I’m just telling you who I see in front of me.”

  “A good man.” The sarcasm in my voice was unmistakable.

  “It’s who you are,” Clell said, ignoring my tone. “And who you are is why this lawyer picked you for this case.”

  “But why?” I asked. “Why would he think there’d be a need to cross a line in this case? Or that when I got to that line, I’d cross it.”

  Clell took a sip of his coffee, regarding me. “I think I already answered your second question. But the first?” He shrugged. “Maybe he’s just being cautious. Maybe he’s one of those guys that prepares for the worst.”

  I chewed on that for a long while, along with the rest of my breakfast. After that, we drank the remainder of our coffee in silence. When I’d finished mine, I counted out enough cash for the bill and a tip, clapped Clell on the shoulder and limped out of the restaurant.

  13

  I tore into the stack of paper as soon as I got home.

  I started with the few notes written in Harrity’s sure strokes. Marie Brassart was thirty-nine. Henry Brassart was forty-six when he died. They lived in a rural area just south of River City called Namaste Estates. Henry was hit by a car while jogging. The vehicle that struck him threw him forty or fifty feet into the wooded area along the side of the road. That was where his body was found a day later. Within two weeks, Marie Brassart was charged with the murder of her husband.

  Harrity wrote the obvious questions below the biographical information and the summary account.

  Was the marriage a happy one?

  Was there a motive? Life insurance? A will?

  Logistically, could she have done it?

  If so, did she act alone or was there a fellow conspirator?

  What is the evidence?

  “Christ,” I said, as I read the questions. “The answer to all of these would be in the police case file.”

  I sighed, and turned to my stack of news accounts. What I found there was a great deal of speculation and very little fact. Through public disclosure laws, the Herald was able to get a copy of the charging affidavit because it had been filed with the court. The rest of the documentation was exempt from disclosure because it was an ongoing case.

  The affidavit was disappointing but held several surprises.

  I went directly to the brief narrative and got my first surprise. I expected a charging document in a murder case to be voluminous, including every little detail and going on for twenty or thirty pages. Instead, the affidavit was stark, hitting on the sparest of facts in direct bullet points instead of the more common narrative approach. I read through each point carefully.

  Your Affiant will attest that:

  Victim Henry Brassart and Defendant Marie Brassart are married.

  On July 9, the victim was struck by a motor vehicle while jogging on King Pigeon Lane near his home.

  Based upon medical evidence and witness accounts, this occurred sometime between 1400 hours and 1730 hours, but most likely at approximately 1500 hours.

  The force of the collision threw his body into the wooded area along the roadside, where he was discovered twenty-two hours later.

  The victim was declared deceased by emergency medical personnel on scene, and death was confirmed by the Medical Examiner.

  The Medical Examiner performed an autopsy of victim’s body and determined the cause of death was blunt force trauma, caused by the vehicle collision and the secondary impact of a tree.

  The victim and Defendant own a 2006 Lexus LS 460 L, License BJH367.

  By all accounts, Defendant is the primary operator of the Lexus.

  Pursuant to a search warrant, the Lexus was examined by detectives and members of the Crime Scene Forensics Unit (CSFU). Damage was discovered to the right side front assembly, nearby hood ar
ea and right front quarter panel.

  The vehicle damage to the Lexus was consistent with having struck an object such as an adult human.

  The vehicle damage to the Lexus appeared to have occurred very recently.

  Aside from the damage, the vehicle exterior was very clean and well maintained. It appeared to have been washed very recently.

  During an interview with detectives, Defendant claimed to have struck a deer, which caused the damage to the Lexus.

  An examination of the vehicle revealed no evidence of a struck animal, deer or otherwise. CSFU technicians found no hair, blood, or other materials to corroborate Defendant’s statement.

  Defendant is unable to provide an alibi for her whereabouts for the majority of the time window in which Henry Brassart was murdered.

  Witnesses state Defendant and the victim were experiencing marital discord.

  The victim’s will explicitly leaves approximately ninety percent of his net worth to Defendant.

  The victim has a life insurance policy in the amount of 1.5 million dollars, listing Defendant as the sole beneficiary.

  I read the whole thing twice, then set the paper back down.

  Thin.

  That was a second surprise.

  The probable cause was goddamn thin.

  In fact, I was surprised that the prosecutor charged based upon this information. While it certainly looked suspicious on the surface, there was so much left out. I had half a hundred questions teeming around inside my head, just from reading the short affidavit.

  Why such a bare bones affidavit? They had to have more than this. I wasn’t sure this amounted to probable cause, which was the standard of proof the police needed in order to arrest. It was sure as hell a far cry from proof beyond a reasonable doubt, the standard necessary to convict. And even with a murder, a prosecutor won’t go to trial if she doesn’t believe she can prove the case to that standard. In fact, I was pretty sure that the ethical code of prosecutors required that belief before any case was even charged. They weren’t allowed to charge a case they knew didn’t meet the standard of proof beyond a reasonable doubt.