Judge and Jury

by William Bernhardt

  “I...suppose I still had...feelings for him.”

  “You appear to have gotten over that.”

  “Prison helps you see things more clearly.”

  Maria took several steps closer. “Ms. Pérez, isn’t it a fact that the intimate relationship between you and my client didn’t begin until after your case was resolved?”

  “You don’t know what—”

  “In fact, I do know, Ms. Pérez, because I worked on that case and I saw both of you almost every day, and I know damn well there was nothing going on between the two of you. Yet.”

  Judge Fernandez scowled. “Language, counsel.”

  Maria nodded. “Apologize. You can probably senswe my frustration with this...witness.”

  “I think everyone can feel it,” the judge said quietly.

  “Ms. Pérez, isn’t it true that you actually set my client up to take the fall for a murder? That you knew what really happened but kept quiet—at the same time the two of you were in an intimate relationship.”

  “Totally false.”

  “And isn’t it true that when Dan learned the truth about your criminal activities, he turned you in.”

  “He ratted me out. But he knew all along—”

  “And isn’t it true that he ended the relationship when he realized you were a scheming liar willing to throw him to the dogs to save your own political career?”

  “Objection,” Caldwell said.

  Maria ignored her and kept plowing ahead. “And isn’t that why you’re here today? Because he told the truth about you, and you’re bitter about it and want revenge?”

  “Not true. Not—”

  “Objection!” Caldwell said.

  “And isn’t it true that you volunteered to testify today, not because you knew anything about the case, but because you wanted to get even with the one man you couldn’t fool?”

  “Objection!”

  The judge cut in. “Ms. Morales. You need to stop talking and let me rule on the pending objection.”

  “No need. I have no more use for this witness. She can go back to prison where she belongs.”

  “Ms. Morales!”

  Maria did not look contrite. “Pass the witness. Are we done? Or does the defendant have some more lying convicts they’d like to call?”

  “Ms. Morales, I’m holding you in contempt.”

  “Only fair. I hold this witness in contempt.” She paused. “But at least I’m telling the truth.”

  Chapter 32

  Dan spent the early part of the night re-reading every single deposition transcript in the case. He didn’t find any signs of additional tampering. Garrett was trying to track down Marjorie, but no one seemed to know where she was. Caldwell, who had hired her, said she’d been called back to Manhattan. Dan doubted she had ever been there in the first place. She’d been hired because she could be bought. Caldwell and Drake, distinguished officers of the court, went along with it.

  But Sweeney had engineered it. He’d seen the need from the start, before the depositions even began. As always, the grandmaster was three moves ahead of their game. Maybe more.

  He glanced at his watch. Just before midnight, he started his tour of Walmart parking lots. There were six in the area, and he had no idea which might currently contain Dinah. For all he knew, she might’ve moved to a Walmart in Oklahoma. Made sense, actually, if she was running from someone. He remembered once reading a wonderful novel about a pregnant woman who holed up at a Walmart. He didn’t think that could ever happen in real life, much less to his own sister. But he would start his search and hope for the best.

  To his surprise, he found it was not just homeless people sleeping in Walmart parking lots. Many of the people present were simply travelers, saving the fees at a KOA campground by spending the night here. “It’s not much to look at,” one man with a small RV unit told him. “But it’s free. Park, get some sleep, then move on in the morning.”

  Apparently Walmart had made a decision at the corporate level to allow this. Perhaps it was a humanitarian gesture. Perhaps they thought it would increase early-morning traffic, as overnight guests came in to use the bathrooms and left with breakfast. Whatever the reason, Walmart was a dependable place to park for the night. It was like an underground subculture. If the people living in the flood tunnels were Mole People, this was the Concrete Congregation.

  At his fourth Walmart he met a man named Floyd who clearly had no RV. But an impressive mustache. Collared but torn shirt. Bolo tie. All his worldly possessions were in a shopping cart, half full. Floyd had straggly gray hair and an unsightly lesion on his right cheekbone. Dan worried it might be cancerous.

  After a few minutes of chitchat, Floyd warmed up a bit, which led to some tongue-loosening. At least this time Dan had committed no apparel faux pas. He wore the most tattered clothes he could find on his boat. He even ripped up his jeans a bit himself.

  “You’re a college boy, aren’t you?”

  Dan had to admit that he was. “You won’t hold that against me?”

  “Don’t jump to any conclusions. I went to college too.”

  Dan tried to stifle his surprise.

  “I used to be a CPA.”

  Dan’s lips parted. “Then how...?”

  “Did I end up homeless and sleeping in the Walmart parking lot? Long story.”

  “Give me the abridged version.”

  “Well, there was a girl.”

  “Isn’t that how the story always opens? More common than ‘Once upon a time.’”

  “She said she loved me, but she loved booze more. And drugs. And that took money. So she took all mine. And I got so messed up I lost my license. Couldn’t work. One thing led to another. Lost my house. Kinda fell apart.”

  “You could pull it back together. You just need a little help. I know a place—”

  Floyd held up a hand. “Please don’t try to save me. I don’t want it and I don’t need it.” He leaned back, gazing around the parking lot. “This is a good place. Two of the Walmarts in town are no-gos. Don’t allow people to sleep in the lot. I don’t know why. Bad neighborhood, maybe. I just wish they’d get over the lawn chair rule.”

  He debated. Should he admit that he had no idea what the man was talking about?

  Honestly was supposedly the best policy. “What rule is that?”

  “Walmart lets us hang here. But there’s a certain etiquette involved, if you know what I mean.”

  He did not.

  “You’re not supposed to sit in lawn chairs in the lot. Bad news for me on a rainy day.”

  “Any other rules?”

  “There’s no parking fee, but they do kinda expect you to buy something. I usually do a little begging till I get enough for one of them Krispy Kremes. Man, I love those donuts.”

  Dan smiled a bit. “They are tasty.” Horrible for you, but tasty.

  “You’re expected to leave other people alone if they want to be left alone. Give them space.”

  “Do the people here...interact much?”

  Floyd pulled the last remains of a Hershey bar out of his pocket. Looked like he’d been working on the thing all day. “Nah. Specially not the folks in the RVs. They eat, sleep, spend time with their pets. Some of them even have satellite hook-ups or DVD players so they can watch tv. Can you imagine? Too cheap to pay for a real campground, but a satellite dish on their RV.”

  It did boggle the mind. But he didn’t have tv reception on his boat. “You think that’s the main motivation? Saving money?”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes I think some folks just don’t know what to do with themselves. They don’t know where else to go. After a while, it becomes a habit. Pretty safe, too.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. Truckers aren’t allowed. The parking lot is well lit and on a main road. What can happen? Wind blows a stray shopping cart into your RV? You’ll survive.”

  “Do you like these people?”

  “They’re ok. Migrants, some of them. They hit New England
in the fall, when it’s pretty and not too cold. Come down here in the winter. Maybe crisscross the heartland in the spring. Avoid the tornados and hurricanes. Maybe get to California, where it’s always pretty warm. And they have more Walmarts than you could visit in a lifetime.”

  “I suppose they do at that.”

  Floyd pulled a weed out of a crack in the pavement. “So mind if I ask you a question for a change?”

  “Course not.”

  “You said you weren’t a cop. So why all the questions?”

  Dan drew in his breath. “I’m looking for someone.”

  “Why not talk to the folks in the RVs? They’re way more respectable-looking than some washed-up homeless CPA.”

  Dan licked his lips, then moved a little closer. “The person I’m looking for was homeless. Or so I believe. You’re more likely to know her than the people who don’t come out of their trailers.”

  “Gotcha. A woman, huh? She do you wrong?”

  “No. I’ve never met her.”

  “Then why so anxious to find her?”

  Dan took a deep breath. “She’s my sister. Or so people tell me.”

  Floyd whistled. “And you’re just now finding out? Wow. And I thought my life was messed up. Why you looking here?”

  “I talked to a woman downtown, in the tunnels.”

  “Mole Person.”

  “That’s right. She thought my sister might’ve gone to a Walmart.”

  “This sister of yours got a name?”

  “Dinah.”

  The recognition was instantaneous. “Big pretty eyes. Skinny. A chin—” He paused. “Like yours?”

  “I bet that’s her.”

  “Oh man. Oh man.”

  “What? What is it?”

  “That’s bad. I’m sorry. But it is. Real bad.”

  “Have you seen her?”

  Floyd nodded, with the saddest expression Dan had ever seen. “I saw her. I saw them take her.”

  “Who? Who took her?”

  “I really don’t want to talk about this. Especially not to her brother.”

  Floyd started to get up, but Dan pushed him back down. “Listen to me, Floyd. I don’t want to get rough. But you’re gonna tell me what you know.”

  Floyd shook his head. “Trust me. You don’t want to know.”

  “I do. And you are going to tell me. One way or the other.”

  Floyd stuttered. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “I can give you an address. You find out for yourself.”

  “Fine.” He was practically shouting. “Give me the damned address.”

  Floyd did. And Dan recognized the location.

  “Isn’t that one of the Sweeney women’s shelters?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So they’ve taken her in?”

  “Not the way you mean.” Floyd shook back and forth. He looked terrified. “They got lots of women there. But what they’re doing...”

  “Who is ‘they?’”

  “You be careful,” Floyd said, rocking. “They ain’t gonna be too happy to see you.”

  “They won’t see me coming,” Dan muttered. He stood, crumpling the paper in his hand. “But they won’t forget I was there.”

  Chapter 33

  Dan approached the women’s shelter cautiously. According to his phone, it was almost midnight. He doubted they were ever happy to see men arrive here, but even less so late at night.

  He could see lights on in the front. Someone was in the lobby.

  He wasn’t turning back now.

  He had called Garrett. “Glad you’re still awake.”

  “I never sleep.”

  “Right, I keep forgetting. Look, can you get online and see what you can learn about this women’s shelter?”

  “Sure. Normal web or dark web?”

  “Dark. I don't want puff pieces. We all know that women’s shelters are a good idea.”

  “Got it.”

  “Much appreciated.” He didn’t expect much to come of it, but it was always worth trying. If anyone could find something useful on short notice, it would be Garrett.

  No point in delaying this any longer. It was not going to be pleasant, but he was going to do it, just the same. He took something out of his glove compartment—something Jazlyn had given him long ago—and slid it into his pocket.

  If his sister was in there, he wasn’t leaving till he found her.

  He passed through the front doors, but as soon as the woman at the front desk saw him, she stood and waved toward a security officer—female—on the other side of the room.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the woman at the front desk said. Blue jeans. Black Lives Matter T-shirt. Phone in her right hand. ”Our visiting hours are over.”

  “I’m not here to visit anyone.”

  “We’re closed.”

  “The doors are open.”

  “We have to be open for emergencies. Women in need. 24/7. You don’t appear to qualify.”

  He saw the security officer cautiously approaching. He raised his hands over his head. “I’m not here to cause trouble. I’m an attorney and I’m investigating a case.”

  “Do you have a subpoena?”

  “No, I haven’t had time for that.”

  “Then I have to ask you to leave.”

  “I’m looking for my sister.”

  The woman behind the front desk paused. She thought a moment, then spoke. “If your sister wants to speak to you, I’ll be happy to arrange it. Leave your information and I’ll contact you after I’ve spoken to her.”

  “I don’t have that kind of time.”

  “I’m sorry, but that’s how we do it here.”

  The security officer cut in. She was armed. “Sir, I don’t want to evict you forcibly. You can surely see why we have to maintain tight security.”

  “I do. And I don’t want any trouble.” But I won’t run from it, either. “Can you at least confirm for me that my sister is here?”

  The front desk woman and the guard exchanged a glance. “What’s her name?”

  “Dinah.”

  “Last name?”

  “I’m...not sure what name she might use.”

  The front desk woman squinted a bit, but glanced down and checked her roster. “We have no one named Dinah, or anything like that.”

  “Can you call the other shelters?”

  “Not at this time of night. Look, we only have twelve rooms. Two hallways.” She pointed. “You can see for yourself. No one hidden.”

  “But I really need to see my sister. She’s not hiding from me. I mean her no harm. I’m trying to help her.”

  The woman sighed heavily. “Come back tomorrow morning. I’ll call around and see if I can find a Dinah.”

  “Thank you.” He nodded toward the guard. “And you.” He left the building.

  As soon as he reached his car, he pulled out his phone. “Did you get all that?”

  Garrett responded. “Heard every word. And I have a problem with it.”

  “Spill.”

  “I pulled up the blueprints for that building. They had to be filed at the city planner’s office. It’s true, they have two corridors and a basement. On the ground level. But that’s not the whole story.”

  “Basement?”

  “You got it. Just as big as the ground level. And get this—everyone one of these Sweeney shelters has one.”

  “For what purpose? To shelter more women?”

  “I doubt it. All their publicity says there are twelve rooms per building. You can’t get to the basement from the ground level. There’s no staircase or elevator, which puts the building in violation of the ADA. There’s a door in the back with a single staircase that leads down to the basement. There’s no communication between the two floors. I bet the people working in the shelter don’t even know it exists.”

  “Then what is the basement for?”

  Garrett sighed. “Much as it pains me to say it, there’s only one way you’re going to get the answer to that question.”

&nb
sp; “Roger that. On my way.”

  “You could call the cops.”

  “Because they love and trust me so?”

  “Jake would come.”

  “Eventually. I’m not waiting. My sister could be in danger.”

  “At least wait for me to arrive. I can be there in twenty minutes.”

  “I appreciate the gesture. But no.” He disconnected and slid the phone into his pocket.

  This time he was going alone. He didn’t know what kind of danger Dinah might be in. He didn’t know what kind of danger he might be in. But he wasn’t going to wait around any longer.

  * * *

  Dan sneaked around back and found the back door with no trouble. Avoiding the gaze of the guard inside was easy, and there didn’t appear to be any other security on the premises.

  At least not outside.

  He was not surprised to find the back door locked. Fortunately, he knew how to handle that.

  His father was not a criminal and neither was he. But his father had been a police officer, and as such, he passed on a few life skills before he was ripped away from his family. Like how to throw a punch. How to throw a baseball.

  And how to pick a lock.

  As quietly as possible, Dan slid both pieces of the lock pick into the slot. It didn’t take long. There was no deadbolt and the lock was basic. They were not expecting visitors.

  Why would they? Who would ever expect anything underhanded in the basement of a women’s shelter? The whole concept was so disgusting, so devious—

  —that only someone like Sweeney could be behind it.

  The door creaked slightly as he pushed it open. The interior was dark. He cautiously brought out his phone and used the flashlight function.

  Damn that thing was bright, at least in here. Did it have a half-bright setting?

  A flight of stairs led downward. He cautiously made his way, one careful step at a time, very aware that someone wouldn’t want him to be here. Someone who had possibly already taken potshots at him once.

  Each step seemed to groan. Each squeak made his heart palpitate a little faster.

  He could feel sweat pouring down the sides of his face. This what not what he went to law school for...