by J J Miller
He bowed slightly, hunched his shoulders, and made a quick adjustment of his cap. He then held out his hand and walked toward me with a limp.
“Mr. Madison,” he said, “I’m sorry to—”
I kept my hands by my side. “What are you doing here?”
“What? I need a lawyer.”
“LA’s got a million lawyers. Why me?”
The guy was taken aback by my tone. His mouth hung open as he tried to find his words.
“I need help.”
“If I don’t get a straight answer from you right now, I’m throwing you out, got it? I’ll ask you again: why did you choose me?”
“Henry Tuck.”
“What about him?”
“I knew Henry. When he needed a lawyer, someone gave him your name and he asked me to check you out.”
“What do you mean, check me out?”
“He wanted some due diligence done before he came to see you. He wasn’t great with computers and he asked me to see if you were the right fit for him.”
I couldn’t help thinking of the huge biker with his knee crushing my neck, telling me I was dead if I went anywhere near Chip Bowman.
“Did you take any precautions to make sure you weren’t followed here? Or did you just wander in?”
Bowman stood a little straighter and hit me with a trusting look. “Mr. Madison, my life is in danger. I can’t afford to let my guard down for a second, and I assure you, as a fellow Marine, that no one followed me here. I swear.”
“A fellow Marine?” I looked at him soberly, and nodded.
“Henry was my DI too. He told me you were one of his best ever recruits.”
That was news to me, not that I’d ever expect to hear such flattery from Henry’s mouth.
I walked to my office door and extended my left arm out. “Come in and take a seat. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Bowman flattened his mouth in a humble display of gratitude, and stepped past me. I closed the door behind him.
“Megan,” I said, digging into my pocket. “Do me a favor, would you? Take my car and get Bella to school. And then if I’m still busy with this guy when you get back, call Mrs. Lindstrom and tell her I’m going to be late. Any time after twelve that suits her.”
“Got it, Mr. Madison,” said Megan, taking my keys and handing me my coffee and breakfast. “Get some of this into you.”
As Megan set off, I sipped at the coffee. It was barely warm, so I threw it down in about four gulps. I tore open the paper and took a bite out of the burrito, and walked into my office.
“You got me at breakfast, so I apologize,” I said to Bowman through a half-full mouth.
“I’m sorry. Please, go ahead and eat.”
I sat down. “Let’s keep this moving. Are you and Henry friends?”
“Not really. Our paths hadn’t crossed since basic training. But he somehow knew I was employed at HardShell security, and contacted me.”
“What do you do at HardShell?”
“Basically, I work as an armed courier. That’s what most of the guys are hired to do. You know, carry a gun and chauffeur piles of weed and cash around.”
“I know a little about HardShell, as it happens. Did Henry work there?”
“No. He kept his involvement in the company real low key. He never spoke to anyone there, but one day he approached me. We spoke a few times after that, and then one day he told he was concerned about what was going on in the company. He asked me to check on a couple of things.”
“Such as?”
Bowman shifted in his seat. “Mr. Madison, with all due respect, that’s not why I’m here.”
“Well, right now that’s what I’m interested in. What did Henry want you to look into?”
“He thought Mr. Rollins was getting into some illegal activity.”
Right, I thought. Maybe sharing poolside pina coladas with Fernanda wasn’t the only reason Henry wanted to pull his money out.
“And was he?”
“I wasn’t sure.”
I leaned back in my chair and studied Bowman. He was for all the world one of the most unassuming individuals you could ever behold. He looked like the excitement of his week was tending to his stamp collection.
“I want to thank you so much for seeing me, Mr. Madison,” Bowman said politely. I held up my hand to stop him.
“Tell me why you’re here.”
With that, Bowman took a deep breath. “The truth is I’m scared, Mr. Madison. My team was robbed. They made off with a million dollars and a lot of weed. They killed both my partners and shot me in the leg. I think the cops think I did it.”
“Did the cops tell you that you’re a suspect?”
“No, not in so many words. I just started to feel like one.”
“Is that what you’re scared of?”
“Well, yes. Them. And Quinn Rollins. I’m sure he thinks I was involved somehow.”
“What about the Iron Raiders?”
Chip Bowman’s face slackened with mild surprise. His mouth opened again but offered nothing.
“You know, the motorcycle gang, the Iron Raiders,” I prodded. “Why the hell would they threaten to turn me into ground beef if I helped you?”
I was leaning forward now. Bowman looked puzzled. His jaw moved from side to side. He then tilted his head quickly in preparation to talk.
“I think I can explain.”
I looked at my watch.
“You’ve got two minutes. Convince me fast or I’m kicking you out of my office.”
Chapter 8
“The bikers,” said Bowman quickly, like he was thinking on his feet. “I have no idea why they’d do that to you.”
“Really? No idea at all?”
“Look, like I told you. Henry thought there was some dodgy stuff going on at HardShell. And so did I. But I never found anything. But I think there was something dodgy going on. And I think that the bikers may have lost more than just money in the robbery.”
“And they think you’re in on it?”
“I guess so.”
“And so does your boss.”
“Yes.”
“And so do the cops.”
“Yes.”
I looked at my watch again. “Time’s getting on, Mr. Bowman. From what you’ve told me I’m not inclined to touch this case.”
“I didn’t do it, Mr. Madison. You’ve got to believe me. I’ve got two young daughters and a wife I love very much. All I wanted to do was do my job well, build a good life for my family, and save enough to put my girls through college. I’ve got no reason to do something like this. How they think that I’m part of this crime is beyond me. But, like I said, I checked you out for Henry’s sake. You’re one of the best defense attorneys in Los Angeles. You’ve proven that time and again. And from what I read you’re prepared to fight for justice. And Marine to Marine, sir, I’m begging you to fight for me.”
I was leaning back in my chair now, weighing up Bowman’s words. I was also weighing up the wisdom of provoking a return visit from my biker friends. Why would I risk that? Why should I? I didn’t know this Chip Bowman guy from Adam and, what, I’m supposed to put my life on the line for him? But his last line echoed in my mind: Marine to Marine, I’m begging you to fight for me. This was an appeal that was almost impossible for me to ignore.
Almost.
Bowman began fiddling with his phone. I was about to suggest that he get his focus back on our conversation when he stood up and presented the screen to me.
“This is Carrie,” a pretty woman smiled at me from the phone. Bowman flicked to another photo. “And this is Tracy and Hannah. Tracy’s four. Hannah’s two.” In the photo, the two blonde-haired girls were seated beaming on their father’s lap. “I live for my three girls, Mr. Madison. I’ve done some stupid things in my life but here are three things I got right. They are my world and I would never do anything to put that world at risk.”
Bowman stepped back and resumed his seat. “I swear to God, M
r. Madison. I had nothing to do with that robbery.”
I looked at my watch again. The gesture wasn’t to put any pressure on Bowman. Rather, it was a reminder that I’d given him a commitment to decide, and now my time was up.
“Okay, Mr. Bowman. I’m going to need to know a lot more about your situation. I want you to start by telling me what happened that night, and then tell me everything you’ve told the cops.”
Bowman relaxed somewhat and took a few moments to gather his thoughts. Then he began, telling me that he and two other employees, Bo Hendricks and Nathan Reed, were tasked with a collection run that went from Los Angeles up to Humboldt County and back. It was a four-day job. It was a twelve-hour drive up to Humboldt, where they collected cannabis and cash from various growers and then returned to Los Angeles.
“How much were you carrying?”
“It was only a small load by usual standards. We had a hundred pounds of cannabis and a million dollars in cash.”
“Small, you say,” I said with raised eyebrows. “Go on.”
“When we got back to LA, we headed to a warehouse on Mission Street that HardShell leases.”
“Is that where everything was supposed to be stored?”
“No. There are no vaults there. It’s a new property, and it hasn’t been fitted out with all the usual security equipment yet. It was a place where we’d store the vans and we’d leave our cars there while we do the runs.”
“Were you scheduled to stop there on this run?”
“No. But then Bo got a call from his girlfriend. He was pretty upset, and didn’t tell us too much but he said he had to go see here as soon as possible. That was okay with us because, you know, there was still Nate and I to secure the delivery.”
“So you pulled into this warehouse lot. Then what happened?”
“Well, I was driving, and I remember getting out of the van, but that’s about it. Next thing, I wake up. I’m lying on my back, there’s these paramedics leaning over me, and lights flashing all around. I’ve got a bullet in my leg, a big lump on the back of my head and a powerful headache.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Is this what you told the cops?”
“Pretty much. They wanted to know where the money and cannabis was meant to go.”
“And where was that?”
“The HardShell head office. There’s a couple of big vaults there. We’d lock everything up in there overnight, then the next day, we’d take them out to where they were supposed to go.”
“Where to?”
“The weed was destined for dispensaries and labs. About two-hundred grand was going to the California Credit Union over on Rosenell Terrace. But most of it had to go to City Hall.”
“City Hall?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Taxes. Most of the money was the monthly installment of five of our clients. Because of the banking situation they can’t cut City Hall a check or wire their money from a cellphone. They have to physically hand their tax money over to the Finance Department.”
“Hell, that kind of cash must make those government workers jumpy.”
“It sure does,” said Bowman. “And all they have to do is count it. There are growers, dispensary owners and other businesses out there that take the risk of driving their cash and weed around themselves. No security. It’s a crazy situation. Everyone in the chain is watching their back, scared of getting jumped.”
“And that’s what happened to you?”
“Yeah. Like I said, I pulled into the lot, got out, and after that I don’t remember much.”
“You blacked out.”
“I think I was knocked out, sir. I mean, Mr. Madison.”
“Call me Brad.”
“I asked the paramedic what was going on but he didn’t tell me anything. I turned my head and saw my buddies lying on the ground nearby. They had paramedics on them too. Then the paramedics stood up and that’s when I saw that Nate and Bo were dead.”
“They weren’t knocked out like you?”
“No, I could see the paramedics being mindful of where they stepped and when I looked I saw they were stepping over pools of blood. And there were some bikers there.”
“What? At the crime scene?”
“Yes.”
“What were they doing there?”
“I don’t know. But I heard them shouting. They were pissed about something.”
“You didn’t hear what they were saying?”
“No. I was in a kind of haze.”
“Okay. What else do you remember?”
“I starting screaming, asking what the hell happened to Nate and Bo but no one explained anything to me. They just told me to calm down. They told me that I’d been shot and that they were going to take me to the hospital. Then they loaded me into an ambulance and took me away.”
“Where were you shot?”
“Here.” Bowman tapped his right thigh. “I was lucky the bullet didn’t hit the bone. Just muscle. I got the stitches out a week ago. It’s healing fast but it’s still sore.”
“Whereabouts were your co-workers shot?”
“Twice in the head. Both of them.” Bowman looked guilty as he said this. “I have no idea why I wasn’t killed, if that’s what you’re going to ask.”
“No, but I bet the cops asked you that.”
“Yes, they did.”
“How many times have they questioned you?”
“Three. Twice in the hospital and then once at my house.”
“Did you get their names?”
“Yes. Detective Ed Frierson and Detective Lou Morello.”
I wrote the names down. “What about security footage? Surely, there were cameras monitoring the place?”
“No,” said Chip shaking his head. “As I said before, this was a new lease for HardShell. Nothing had been set up yet. It was little more than a parking lot and an empty warehouse.”
“Okay. So why are you here? You haven’t been arrested for anything?”
Bowman moved forward to perch himself on the edge of his seat.
“Sir, I mean Brad. I don’t know what to do.”
I drummed my fingers on my desk.
“Did you have anything to do with this crime, Mr. Bowman?” I asked, studying his face. Bowman began shaking his head, slowly and deliberately. If he wasn’t being honest, he was damned good at pretending to be.
“Brad, I swear on my children’s lives: I did not do this. Nate and Bo were my friends. I was just doing my job, earning good money, and trying to build a good life for my family. Now I could lose everything. There’s no way I’d ever take such a gamble. There’s no way I could shoot Nate and Bo like dogs.”
“I’ve seen men abandon their families for far less than a million in cash, Mr. Bowman.”
“Brad, you’ve got to believe me. I’m innocent.”
I don’t know why but I was inclined to believe him.
“But you’re telling me the cops don’t believe you, your boss doesn’t believe you, and that a criminal gang doesn’t believe you either.”
“I think they’re going to try and pin it on me. They all are. I’m a scapegoat.”
“Or else someone’s trying to frame you.”
Bowman nodded. “That could be true, also.”
“Hypothetically, why would your boss want you to take the fall for this?”
Bowman sat back in his chair. He looked down at his hands as he flipped his phone around with his fingers. “I’ve given that a lot of thought, Mr. Madison. I always thought Mr. Rollins liked me. But you know how Henry asked me to see if anything shady was going on? Well, there were a couple of times when I thought the other guys loaded black market weed and cash into the van.”
“Did you check the van?”
“Yes, but I found nothing. Then I went to Mr. Rollins and asked if he had ever given other members of my team permission to take on any goods that were not listed on the manife
st. And he said no. And he told me to tell him if I saw anything untoward going on.”
“That’s good, isn’t it? That means he trusts and values you.”
Bowman lifted the corner of his mouth and tilted his head. “That’s what I thought too. But then after all this went down, I started to look at things differently. Like, maybe he thought I was out of line with raising my suspicions with him. Maybe he thought I should just turn a blind eye and shut up.”
“You think Mr. Rollins was doing business with illegal growers?”
Bowman shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe.”
“So this whole robbery double murder might have been a plot to get rid of you?”
“Maybe.”
“Why wouldn’t he just fire you?”
Bowman bent forward and put his head in his hands. “I know. It’s ridiculous. I mean, he might have thought I might squeal if he fired me. But I didn’t know anything for sure. I had nothing to go to the cops with. And he knew that.”
“Maybe he just thinks you did it.”
Bowman straightened. “Yes. You’re probably right.”
“Still, I am interested in the Iron Raiders. They sure as hell don’t like you. What have you done to earn their wrath?”
“Could be that they just think I’m guilty too.”
“Could be.”
“Or it could be… No, I’m just getting desperate.”
“Could be what?”
“Well, what if the aim of the robbery was not just to steal all that money and weed? What if there was something else in the van that was not on the books? Something the cops don’t know about because Mr. Rollins could never report it to them? Something that the bikers knew was there and that they knew was stolen? Something small, very valuable, and easy to hide?”
“Like what?”
“There are no diamonds up in Humboldt County. There’s only one thing I can think of that fits, if I was to guess. Meth.”
Chapter 9
Nina Lindstrom lived a comfortable life in a Hollywood Hills mansion, and she intended to keep it that way. When her husband Eric finally admitted he’d been cheating on her, she kicked him out. The confession confirmed, or at least justified, all the suspicions she’d put to him over the years that he’d flatly denied. She told him she’d found incriminating photos and emails on his phone. He promptly deleted them and smugly told her she had nothing. That’s when she revealed she’d sent all the material to herself and that she’d secured a lawyer. And because Nina was Claire’s friend, that lawyer was me.
