Death Penalty (28 page)

He laughed, and that surprised me.

“Charley, you're losing your sense of humor. Believe me, this is strictly a business matter, nothing more.”

“Take a trip to Jackson Prison, it's full of guys who tried the kind of business deal you're talking about. I don't know how I can make this any clearer, but the answer is no.”

“I understand,” he said quietly. “But please do me the courtesy of talking to me face-to-face.”

“It won't change the answer.”

“Perhaps not. But I think you owe it to us. If not me, then certainly to my friend.”

“I don't owe you anything.”

“That's probably true. But I don't think that applies to my friend, does it?”

“If you don't get off my back and drop this, I'll call him myself and let him deal with you.”

“If you like. Do it.” He sounded confident. Much too confident. “All I'm asking is to meet and talk this over. Then, if you still feel the same way, no harm's done.”

“It won't—”

“I'll let you know the place and time.”

He hung up.

I sat staring at the telephone. I decided that if he did call, I'd refuse the meeting.

What could he do to me?

Nothing.

As if that thought summoned up a ghost, in my mind I saw once again Will McHugh, tied to that dreadful chair, a prisoner in that equally dreadful trailer.

AS A COURTESY
. I called Judge Bishop at his courtroom. He had just heard a motion and was preparing to hear another, so he was in chambers and took my call.

“Good morning, Charley. I presume there have been developments?” Even over the phone, his quiet voice still had that odd force of command.

“Mallow called,” I said. “I wouldn't disturb you, Judge, but you did say you wanted to be informed.”

“You're not disturbing me, Charley. What did he say?”

“He said there had been some changes proposed. He wants a face-to-face meeting. When I told him no, he said I owed it to Judge Palmer.”

“Did he use Palmer's name over the phone?”

“No. He referred to him as ‘my friend,' but we both knew who he was talking about.”

“What did you say?”

“I said I would call Palmer direct.”

“And?”

“He said to go ahead if I liked.”

“He wasn't upset?”

“Didn't seem to be.”

There was a pause. “When is this meeting supposed to happen?”

“He didn't say. He said he'd let me know.”

“Don't call Palmer,” Bishop said.

“Why not?”

“Just a hunch, Charley. Let's see what happens.”

“I don't intend to meet with Mallow.”

There was another pause. “Let me know when he contacts you.”

“This has gone far enough.”

Now the voice grew even more soft, but ever more commanding. “I'd meet with him, Charley. Play this thing out. You never know what it might lead to.”

“Supposes it leads to Judge Palmer? I'm not going to have any part in bringing him down.”

“I understand that. But, so far, it's more curiosity than anything else, isn't it? Humor me on this, Charley. I'd consider it a favor.”

That's what Mallow says all this is, just a favor.”

“Let's see.” I heard someone speak to him. “I have to go now, Charley. Keep me advised.”

I didn't have time to speculate on what The Bishop had in mind. Mrs. Fenton buzzed and advised me that I had two unscheduled visitors. Prospective clients. I told her to bring them in.

They were father and son, and looked it. I knew the father. He owned the local radio station and several other businesses in town. I had represented his chief talent in contract negotiations, a disc jockey who used the name River Rat. The negotiations had been amicable.

“Mr. Denton,” I said, “it's good to see you again.”

We shook hands.

“This is my son, Peter.”

Sidney Denton was fifty-ish, with a square and heavy body, half-fat, half-muscle. He was blond. His white skin was freckled.

His kid was an absolute duplicate, only younger. I guessed about twenty.

Both men had exactly the same meaty and strong grip in their handshakes.

“Please sit down,” I said. “Now, what can I do for you?”

Sidney Denton smiled. It was one of those board-of-commerce
smiles, the smile of a confident businessman who expected to either sell you something or to buy, but at a bargain.

“Pete has gotten himself into a bit of trouble,” he said. “I'd like you to represent him.”

“What kind of trouble?” I looked at Pete, who seemed as supremely confident as his father.

“A kid prank,” his father answered. “Pete is a junior at Central Michigan University. He was home for the weekend with a couple of his buddies, and they got into some trouble. They had something to drink, you know how college boys are.”

“Go on.”

“We just came from the jail. I posted bond for Pete.”

“Bond? What's he charged with?”

“It's all a mistake,” the father said.

“Could be, but what's the charge?”

“Armed robbery,” Pete snapped.

His father glanced at him as if he disapproved of his choice of words.

“Tell me what happened,” I said to Pete.

“Well, they were—” his father began.

I held up my hand to stop him. “Please. I'd like to hear this from your son.”

Denton frowned.

Pete shrugged. His expression was neither friendly nor unfriendly. If anything it bordered on sullen.

“Me, Chris Baker, and Norris Child were here for the weekend. They were staying with me at my parents' place. It's on the river.

“Anyway, we went into Port Huron on Saturday and cruised around that big mall there for a while. There wasn't much to do. We came back to my house. My parents had gone to a party. We started drinking beer, you know, having our own party.”

“I don't like Pete to drink and drive, so I allow him to
drink when he's home. We, my wife and I, entertain a great deal, so there's a fully stocked bar.”

“The three of you started drinking, then what happened?” I asked Pete.

“We got into a discussion about crime. About robbery, mugging, and things like that.”

“And?”

“Chris Baker said I wouldn't have the guts to commit something like that. Norris agreed. They were egging me on. Like I said, we were drinking.”

“Go on.”

“Finally we bet some money. I got one of my father's pistols.”

“I'm a gun collector and a hunter,” the older Denton interjected, defensively.

“We drove to the gas station at Main and Elm. It was the only thing open.”

“I know the place,” I said.

“They waited in the car and I went in with the gun. I stuck it up, just like I said I would, took the money from the till, and came back to the car.”

“The police arrested them about a mile away,” his father volunteered.

I sat back in my chair. “Did they tell you that you didn't have to make a statement?”

“Yeah, just like in the movies.”

“Did you make a statement?”

He shrugged. “It was just a gag, just something to prove a bet. Yeah, I told them. Wouldn't have made any difference. Chris and Norris were so scared, they were blabbing and told them everything they wanted to know anyway.”

“Were they charged, too?”

Young Denton nodded. “At first. But the cops dropped the charges on the promise they would testify against me. So much for good friends.”

“Did the gas station attendant identify you?”

“Sure. I knew him. He knew me. We went to high school together. At first he thought it was a joke, that is, until I fired a shot into the ceiling. That scared the shit out of him.”

I nodded. “Undoubtedly.”

“It was a joke,” his father said. “They didn't need the money. It was just a coDege-boy prank. It wasn't a robbery.”

“After you fired the shot, did the attendant say anything?”

Pete half smiled. “He begged me not to shoot him. He always was a wimp, even in school.”

“Have you ever been arrested before, Pete?”

He shrugged again, it was becoming an irritating gesture. “Speeding, a couple of times. Fighting once.”

“Assault?”

“At a football game. I got a fine and probation, that was all.”

“Are you on probation now?”

His father cleared his throat. “He is. It's up next month. But on this other thing, I think when this is all explained, just some college boys out for fun, it'll help clear things up. Of course, what happened was serious, Pete knows that now. I was thinking that you might get the charge reduced. A fine, probation, public service. Pete is prepared to do whatever he must. He knows he's stepped over the line.”

I looked into his father's eyes and I saw the prayer there. He wanted some reassuring words, something that would let him know his son would be all right, that nothing serious was going to happen to him.

“Let me explain what Pete faces here. The charge is robbery armed. In Michigan, that calls for a sentence up to life in prison. Also, I'm sure they charged him with the
possession of a firearm during the commission of a crime.”

Pete nodded. “They said something like that.”

“That charge, unless there's a plea bargain, calls for a mandatory two years in prison, all on its own. Mandatory. The word means you have to do the time, all of it.”

Sidney Denton paled. Pete showed no reaction.

“Even if it was just as Pete says, to win a bet, it's still an armed robbery plus an assault on the attendant. A pistol was used, fired, and money was taken.”

I looked at the kid. “You do drugs, Pete?”

“No.”

His father frowned. “He smoked some pot in high school and got in trouble for it. As far as I know, Pete doesn't use anything now.”

“When the cops arrested you, did they run a Breathalyzer on you?”

He nodded.

“Did they say you were drunk?”

The half smile returned. “It showed I was drinking, but I wasn't legally drunk.” He said it with a kind of smirking pride.

“If you had been drunk, it might have been a defense, not a good one, maybe, but one that would show that you were too stiff to form the necessary intent.” I paused. “And you're sure you weren't high on something else? A little cocaine, maybe?”

“Beer, man, that's all we had.”

Sidney Denton looked even more pale. “What can you do for my son?”

I sat back and tried to form the words so that they wouldn't hurt too badly.

“If it's as Pete says, there isn't much anyone can do. He planned an armed robbery and carried it out. He used a loaded gun and fired it, even if it was only to make a point. His two companions will testify against him, saying they
never thought he would actually go through with it. Pete confessed to the police after they read him his rights. In other words, they have an ironclad case of armed robbery, plus the weapon charge I just spoke about.”

“But it was a prank. A judge would take that into consideration.”

I nodded. “He would. Also, Pete's a college boy, comes from a good family, and the judge would also take all that into consideration. But Pete's on probation now. That's another crime, violation of probation. So, for openers, you've got the robbery armed, the gun charge, plus the violation of probation.”

“What exactly are you saying?” his father asked.

“My guess, and it's only that, is that even if a lesser plea could be worked out, Pete is looking at one to two years in prison.”

“Bullshit,” Pete snapped. “I've read about murderers getting probation.”

I nodded as I thought of Becky Harris. That was exactly what I was trying to work out for her. “That does happen sometimes. Usually, it's in Detroit, where murder is a kind of hobby. But this is Pickeral Point, and they look at things a bit differently in these parts.”

“I know all the judges here,” Sidney Denton said. “They know me, they know my family. Surely something can be worked out?”

“Maybe. Six months in prison, the rest in a halfway house. It would depend on the judge and would also depend on luck.”

“What about a jury trial?” the kid asked. “That's why we came here. They say you can get anyone off.”

“That would be nice, if true. And if it were true, you would have had to wait in line. I do my best, but that's all I can do. I doubt a jury would look on a college boy sticking up a gas station as amusing. You stand a better chance if you can get the right judge and a plea bargain.”

“Probation?” his father asked.

“Anything's possible, but I'm afraid Pete's looking at more than that.”

“You said this guy was good,” Pete snapped at his father. “He's a fucking asshole.”

I smiled. “He'd do well in front of a jury,” I said to his father. “Tell you what. Just like the doctors, why don't you get a second opinion?”

Sidney Denton nodded.

“And, then, if you want to come back, I'll do everything I can for Pete.”

“How much do I owe you?” Sidney Denton asked, his voice deep with defeat.

“If you decide to come back, we'll work out a fee for services.”

The kid smirked, got up, and swaggered out the door. He was, like his old man, half-fat, half-muscle, but there wasn't enough muscle to protect him from what would happen to him where he was going.

Pete Denton was about to get an education that would be unobtainable in any college.

I felt sorrier for his father.

Justice sometimes wreaked havoc on the wrong people.

Sue Gillis prepared dinner at her place. She made pasta with Italian sausage, having added oils and spices that made everything speckled with green and red. When I first looked at the heaping bowl, I thought I might be able to nibble a forkful or two, if only to be polite. Hamburgers are usually as fancy as I get. Of course, on the first mouthful I found the kind of delight usually associated with sex. I ate until I was near bursting.