The Law Partners (Michael Gresham Legal Thriller Series Book 3) (15 page)

"And tell Jamison Weldon I said thanks for the money," Michael added. "I'm going to use part of it to fund full tuition packages for law students specializing in criminal defense. I might even name the scholarship after him. Something for him to explain to his buddies down at the police station."

For the first time since the hospitalization, his face brightened and he shook his shoulders and arms as if coming fully awake.

"Damn, I could use a cup of coffee. Anybody coming with me?"

Danny and I held hands and skipped up the courtroom aisle—her huge pregnant belly made her progress more like lunging than skipping, but you get the idea. When we pounded out through the doors, DA Reddy was nowhere to be seen.

Oh, to have been a fly on the wall when the chief of police took that call.

Oh, yes, Danny delivered the Gresham’s first son at four a.m. the next morning. He was named Michael and came in at eight pounds twelve ounces. Michael called me that morning and said he wouldn’t be available for a few days. There was a new son to be welcomed into the family and he wasn’t going to miss a minute of it.

I didn’t blame him one bit and made a mental note not to call him. At one moment two days later, I forgot my mental note and dialed his number with a question.

The call went straight to voice mail.

He wasn’t kidding about the new son being the most important thing in his life at the moment.

So I left my message and hung up, happy for him, happy for Danny, and happy for having had the luck of drawing Judge Wang on Michael’s case.

"
M
ichael Gresham
," Danny says to me a week after my case is dismissed, "you're walking around here whistling, playing with Dania and cooing at Mikey and digging in my garden. It all makes me believe you're doing much better. Maybe even better than ever."

I stop what I am doing--spreading mayonnaise on my ham sandwich--and look up at her. She is right. I
do
feel good.

"You're right," I say. "I'm back."

"So I think it's time you did something nice for your staff. Everyone has stood by you and soldiered on even in the darkest of dark days. None of your work went undone and terrific results have been obtained so far."

"This is going to come to something I'm not going to like, right?" I say.

She looks at me. She is a loving wife but she knows I have her number. Which isn't to say she doesn't have my number too, she does. We are interdependent in a healthy way. In our world it has sometimes been our interdependence that has kept us bound together as a fighting unit even when one of us was badly injured in body or spirit.

"You're going to like it. I'm going to propose you take the staff on a long weekend getaway.”

"Okay. Where to?"

"Well, you loved Rosarito when we went there. Why not take them there? It's right on the beach with great food and lobster grills, mariachis, the whole nine yards. The gang at the office will love it."

"I think we take Harley with us too. If she'll go. She's performed above and beyond."

"That would be terrific. Ask her, if you want."

"I do. I owe her so much."

Arrangements are made with our nanny to care for Dania and Mikey while we're away. The nanny and her mother are going to stay in our house with our daughter and son and keep things as normal as possible. So that's a relief and we're one step closer to being on our way.

We charter a small jet. We load up all the lawyers, paralegals and secretaries, and fly west to San Diego. Along the way, there are card games, a game of craps in the tail of the plane that you can get into if you are crazy enough, and there are TV shows and movies. After changing a pending court hearing, Harley is able to accompany us. She is delightful, and brings along what Danny and I can only conclude is a boy toy, as he must be at least 15 years younger than her. We're introduced and learn, much to our chagrin, that he is actually her son from a marriage long ago extinguished. He now lives with his father, a pilot for United Airlines.

When we land in San Diego, it's sunny and warm and the outlook is for more of the same. I have chartered five SUVs. We load up luggage, someone's guitar, the cat of one of our paralegals who has been unable to find cat-sitting services, snack food and we head for the Mexican border fifteen miles south of San Diego. Just across the border, the traffic gets heavy and turns into stop-and-go bumper tag. As we inch along, roadside vendors are selling anything and everything that can be made from wood or ceramics. Crosses, praying hands, statutes of the Virgin, and all the rest of the religious iconography associated with Latin American populations are everywhere we look. Then there are the modern day icons: L.A. Lakers' shirts, Chargers' hats, Padres' coffee mugs, and Dodgers' sweats. Hundreds of pounds of these items are sold each day at the border, northbound and southbound. Our SUV opts for churros all around and soon we are munching on the sugary donuts as we head into the Mexican interior.

We check into the Rosarito Beach Hotel, all twenty-six of us on the same floor. From our windows we can look out on the beach and the Pacific Ocean, one of the nicest views I've ever been favored with by a hotel. Around three o’clock Mira arrives at the hotel. She has come by a separate air carrier after we cleared it with the court for her to attend.

Then a strange thing happens. At just after four o'clock in the afternoon there's a knock on our door. Danny opens it and I hear her arguing with someone. At least it sounds to me like they're arguing; Danny is quite fluent in Spanish and the words being exchanged are all in Spanish. The door then closes and she returns to me in the living room of our suite.

"What was that?" I ask.

She has a puzzled look on her face; she's frowning as well.

"Hotel security. They're saying that a bomb threat has been called in. The Rosarito police are searching the rooms below us and they would like all of us to go downstairs and gather out on the beach. They were quite adamant that we leave our room this very minute. The chief of security is thinking maybe someone in our group called in the threat. I told him that was impossible, that none of our people would ever do such a thing. He wasn't convinced and we had words. So up and at 'em."

We gather together our wallets and Danny's purse and my fanny pack and head out for the elevators. The hotel takes drink and appetizer orders all along the beach and over the next hour we're all served our favorite beverages and eating finger food. Harley sits with Danny and me; her son is taking his first surfing lesson and we watch as he repeatedly struggles to get up on his board and immediately falls to one side or the other. The waves carry him ashore and then he's immediately paddling out again, where his instructor is waiting beyond the breakers, a huge smile on his face. So that's all good.

"So what about this bomb threat?" Harley says. "I didn't think they had terrorism in Mexico."

"They don't," Danny replied. "I'm thinking they wanted access to all of our rooms for some reason."

"Well, they're searching them as we speak," Harley said. "What do you think, Michael?"

"I honestly don't know what to think. But let me ask. Are you playing with the idea that it might have something to do with Mira's case?"

Harley pushes back in her beach chair and clenches her hands.

"Damn! I want to say no way, but my B.S. antennae are up. There's something bogus about all this."

"Exactly," Danny agrees. "It’s just too convenient to have a bomb threat the same day we check in. Almost the same hour."

"Well, we'll keep our eyes open," I'm saying when Marcel comes strolling up the beach. He's found a quiet spot to the north a hundred yards or so, and is spending some time with Mrs. Lingscheit (who's actually divorced, but still prefers the "Mrs." tag).

He plops down in the sand beside me.

"What are you thinking, Boss?" he asks me.

I look at Danny and Harley.

"There is a consensus among my little group that this is just too coincidental. Harley is wondering if Mira's case has followed us to Mexico."

Marcel nods. "I'm with Harley. I'll need to search everyone's room before we go inside again. I'm going to pass the word and get everyone ready to cool their jets while I just give everyone's room a quick once-over. You on board with that, Boss?"

"I am. One hundred percent."

"Who might be behind this?" Danny asks, always the dutifully persistent one.

"We've talked about it,” Marcel says, referring to conversations he's had with me and with Harley. “There's a consensus that there was much more to Michael's attack than just some random cop playtime with a prisoner."

"Are you thinking Lamont Johnstone's campaign is involved?" Danny says. "Because I am."

"I don't think we want to rule anything out at this point," Marcel answers.

"So you're going to go through the rooms. What are you looking for?" I ask Marcel.

"Anything unusual. Maybe bugs, maybe hidden cameras--I don't know. But I'll know them if they're there. I brought along some equipment for just this reason."

"That bag you wouldn't check?" Danny asks him. On the plane ride out, he sat one row ahead of us and kept the largest possible carry-on stowed overhead. Anytime another passenger would attempt to get into that bin Marcel would be right there with them, keeping an eye on his small suitcase.

"Yes, that bag," Marcel says. "We can't really let our guard down." He looks at me.

"Spread the word. Tell the gang to stay put on the beach or go inside to the restaurant when the all-clear comes. Michael's orders," I tell Danny and Marcel. They immediately head off to advise the other employees of our firm, leaving me and Harley to ourselves.

I waste no time.

"I've been thinking about us," I say to her.

"I didn't know there was an 'us,'" she laughs. "Am I missing something?"

"I'd like you to join my law firm."

She smiles and looks out at the ocean. Then she turns back. “Well, Michael, that's very flattering, but I've got a firm of my own."

"You still would. But you and I would associate on certain of each other's cases. To make it work, I can offer you five million, paid mortgage and automobile note, expense account, thirty days off plus whatever else you need, and complete autonomy. But the good part is, you wouldn't need to ever take the bread-and-butter cases again, that stuff that sucks up so much time but brings in the overhead money. I'll be covering that for you."

"Probably forty percent of my time goes into those kinds of cases," she says.

"Is any of this sounding attractive?"

"Attractive, yes. Something I'm going to wind up doing, probably not. I need time to think it through."

"Be my guest. We've got the rooms for three days. Just be ready to give me an answer before we fly home, please. If you're up for it, I want to bring you in with me on Mira's case."

"Because?"

"Because there's a chance I might be called as a witness in that case. I don't want Mira to be looking at a mistrial if the DA tries to call me to the stand."

"That would be a conflict."

We are in agreement there. An attorney cannot ethically act as a witness in a client's case. The fact that I had evidence planted in my car and the fact that I was beaten by the cops is pretty strong evidence that we might need to pull a rabbit out of the hat at some point. Probably not, but there's always that possibility. I don't want to leave Mira hanging with a lawyer forced to withdraw from representation should that happen. So I want Harley beside me at trial. It's only smart planning. Plus I’ve tasked Danny with the medical issues that come up. Even so, she’s not ready to take on the entire case by herself. I really need Harley with me at counsel table. Better safe than sorry.

On the other hand, I plan to use Judge Wang's ruling as evidence with the jury of the police corruption rampant in my defense of Mira Morales. Most likely that will be all that I need because the order also includes factual findings by the court as the predicate for its ruling. Those facts specifically include the court's findings that, one, I was beaten by the police to gain advantage in the case against Mira, and two, that the gun was planted in my car by the same police department that beat me. My own testimony about these things will nine times out of ten be unneeded, but just on the off chance the DA would see fit to have me testify about any of it, I want Harley sitting next to me to carry on.

T
wo hours later
, we get the all-clear from the hotel staff. We remain in place, as agreed, while Marcel goes ahead and scans our rooms for listening devices and cameras. One by one he gets word to us when our rooms are all-clear. It's close to eight o'clock when Danny and I return to our room. The sun is just dipping belong the horizon and we pause to watch the reds and yellows crawl across the sea toward us. Then it's lights out.

We have coffee and sweets brought to our suite and buzz up our people, inviting them in for small talk and a goodnight cup. Maybe half respond, drifting in and out. Danny and I find ourselves all alone by eleven and we crawl into bed. It's been a long day and we both immediately cuddle up and she begins kissing me. I return her warm kisses and before we even realize it is going to happen, it’s happening. For the first time since I was beaten we make love. In a way it’s a huge relief for me; I honestly didn’t know whether my body still worked or not. I am relived and happy when we’re done. Danny falls asleep quickly and I’m left there, lying on my back, her head on my chest, and I’m thinking about my life.

I conclude that I’m the luckiest man in Mexico. I am.

I don't know how much later it is, but I awake with the absolute certainty that someone is in our room with us. I didn't hear the door open and I haven't heard them moving around, but I know they're there. I look around in the dark but it's useless: the blackout drape is tightly closed and there's no ambient light. All is blackness.

I am lying on my left side, my left hand beneath my pillow. My fingers curl around the grip of my Glock. Yes, guns are illegal in Mexico and yes I could go to jail if caught. But with all that's happened to me, Marcel was insistent that I keep a gun in my room anyway so he brought one along and took it with him during the hotel search. Now I'm glad that he did.

Ever so slowly I slide the gun down and into my right hand. I lift it out from under the pillow. Then I reach across and make sure Danny is still in bed with me. She is. But I don't know who else is or isn't with us, so, while my first thought is for our safety, my second thought is that I don't shoot until I know what I'm shooting at. Not only that, but in hotel rooms the walls are usually not thick enough to stop a bullet and I sure as hell do not want a near-miss traveling into the adjoining room or even the next and killing someone. So here I am, lying half-on my back and half-on my left side, gun in hand, waiting for a noise--anything--to alert me to what in the hell has come to visit.

Then I hear it again. A brushing, as if the palm of a hand is sliding across a wall. Slight but real. I slowly roll fully onto my back and begin inching into a more upright position. Now I am fully sitting up, gun in hand, trying to stop breathing and just listen. Which I do--for a good thirty seconds--during which I hear the sound twice more and I tighten my finger around the trigger.

Then it occurs to me. Turn the damn light on.

Which I do, reaching out with my left hand until I find the twist switch on the table lamp on my nightstand. Then, in one continuing move, I turn the light on and sweep the gun across the room.

There he is.

A huge
raton
is walking across the top of our bureau. He freezes in the light and looks at me, baring his teeth. Then he ducks his head, runs to the far edge of the bureau, and leaps off onto the floor and disappears from my view.

Rats as big as cats are common in Mexico. While the Rosarito Beach Hotel is a very classy place, the room door was propped open while people came and went during all the room searches. I know the room was open in this manner because it was still propped open when Marcel came to our room to perform his first sweep and he told me I should call the front desk and complain, which I did. The clerk profusely apologized and offered to comp our dinner but I told him that wasn't necessary.

The whole experience was greatly unsettling. As I switched on the light, Danny came fully upright in bed, effectively blocking my view to my right, leading into and through the closet/dressing area and back into the bathroom. Had there been someone there I would never have seen them until they were on top of us and finished with us.

I couldn't go back to sleep that night. The next night wasn't much better, but I finally managed to sleep. The next morning we all report to the hotel's private dining room as we have planned. A case review will take place.

A small breakfast buffet is set up so we all make our selections and spread out to eat. An hour later we have enjoyed our firm breakfast.

Now it is time to review for Mira’s trial.

I go first, standing up after breakfast was cleared away and reciting what I believe the State's case will consist off when Mira goes to trial.

"Okay, everyone. Here's my birds-eye view of the trial against Mira. Let me preface by saying I hate the timing. The case goes to trial on October 31, a Monday. One week and one day later is the general election where the District Attorney will be elected. We absolutely must have a verdict prior to the morning of the eighth so that the voting public knows Mira was found not guilty. If we don't, she loses the election, plain and simple."

Marcel raises his hand. "Can we get the case tried in one week? I mean you need at least two days to pick the jury, am I right? Then the State drags its feet in putting on its case. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't see any way this case goes to verdict before the election."

I nod and indicate my total agreement with Marcel.

"That's why we're going to need to file a
Motion to Expedite
. I'm going to ask the court to give the State three trial days and to give me one. One is all I need and the State will scream bloody hell if I try to give it any less than three. In addition, we'll need two days to pick the jury. So there's our entire calendar. This way the State will have to be done and leave us enough time to put on our defense case and possibly get our verdict before the election."

Danny raises a hand. "Should I get on the
Motion to Expedite
? I'd like to write it."

"You're hired," I say. "Let's get it on file immediately. Remember, everyone, the election is November Eighth. We need to have an article in the
Tribune
and everywhere on TV about our defense verdict no later than the night of the seventh. Otherwise, Mira loses the election and the good old boy network wins."

"Got it," says Danny. "I'll have the
Motion to Expedite
by tomorrow morning."

Then I continue with my guesstimates of how the trial will proceed.

"First they will call Detective Jamison Weldon to set the stage. Then they will call one or two CSI's to explain what evidence the crime scene has given up. They will call a uniformed police officer somewhere in here to testify about the integrity of the crime scene and the identities of all persons coming and going while the scene was under police control. Next will come someone from the Medical Examiner's office to describe the body of Darrell Harrow and its condition and so forth. The assistant medical examiner who performed the autopsy will then be called to testify regarding cause of death and autopsy findings. A criminalist will testify about the gun used to kill Darrell Harrow, his position and the shooter's position when the fatal shot was fired, distances of both, and placement of gunshot residue and result of fingerprint/DNA testing on the gun itself. Darrell Harrow's widow and maybe an older child, if there is one, or a brother or sister if there is not, will then take the stand and talk about the broken hearts Darrell left behind. This will inflame the jury against Mira so that when we begin her defense case we will be working against their rage."

Marcel stands up. "A cigarette butt was seized during the search of your office. It was a cigarette butt that you removed from the crime scene. No crime lab reports have crossed my desk about it. So what do we do about it when they try to use it at trial?"

The beating erased the cigarette butt from my memory. I had forgotten about that portion of the search and the police finding that item. Now it all comes back, the gleeful look on Detective Jamison Weldon's face when he waved the baggie in my face at the search and seizure. I groan and my hands fall to my sides.

Mira’s expression when she realizes Marcel is correct is pronounced. A cloud crosses her otherwise calm face and she explodes at me.

“My God, Michael! You removed evidence from my condo and the cops found it in your office? Seriously?”

Marcel shakes his head and sits back down. He has done his job.

"Well, to be very honest, the beating I took must have blocked that memory. Until just now, I had forgotten about it. But there're no crime lab reports in the file, nothing about any testing done on the butt. So I'll argue at trial that it shouldn't come into evidence because, without a crime lab report, it proves nothing. There's no DNA testing or spectrography to tie it to Mira and prove what the smudge substance is."

“Bullshit!” cries Mira. “No judge will keep that out of evidence. You have tied yourself to me as someone who isn’t trustworthy. How does the jury view you when it all comes out? How does that make them view me?”

For a moment, I have no answer.

"That's a very weak argument, the one about the fact there’s no crime lab report. Because there will be, Michael,” Harley says. “This isn't good at all."

I’m flustered. I can’t understand how this happened and I’ve evidently blocked it. I look at my staff for help. Evidently I’m not as together as I had thought coming in here this morning.

"Just erased it from my memory bank. Do you have any idea what we do with it?"

Harley looks from me to Marcel and then back to me. "Honestly? I don't. Except, like you said, there's no crime lab report so we argue like hell to keep it out from in front of the jury. We can also argue that the judge's order suppressing the search and seizure of the gun from the car also should apply to the cigarette butt from the office. But that's iffy and might not fly."

"For the love of God," I say, and the air goes out of me. I'm left feeling very vulnerable. It is malpractice that I removed evidence from the scene. Worse, it is a crime. The fear creeps up my spine and I shudder.

The room has gone very quiet.

"Let's take a break," I say quietly.

We break for coffee as it's been about forty-five minutes since I began. We spend five minutes making small talk, during which time Harley sidles up to me and says good morning. She gives me a funny look, as if she's privy to some secret that I don't know about, but I brush it off as nothing.

* * *

W
e finish
our coffee and return to the case review. I lead it off.

"So I'll start with testimony from the court clerk about the data and issuance of Judge Wang's order. Then I'll call Harley to the stand to testify about her motion to dismiss and the substance of Judge Wang's order of dismissal and order of suppression of evidence. Then--"

Harley suddenly stands and raises a hand. "Hold it, Michael, please."

All eyes turn to Harley.

"Don't you think that I should call you and put you on the witness stand for some of this?"

"I don't understand," I begin but then it dawns on me. She has made her decision about my offer and she is grinning ear to ear now. She's in!

"You're in?" I say.

"I'm in. One hundred percent."

Without missing a beat, I plunge ahead.

"Well, in that case why don't we divide up the witnesses into technical and non-technical. You take the technical witnesses and I'll take the non-technical ones, including Mira herself if we decide to call her to testify. If there’s any medical stuff, Danny gets that."

Harley adds, "Ordinarily, neither of us would call the defendant to testify, but where the defendant is a lawyer--and a criminal lawyer to boot--my normal reservations and precautions will probably be set aside in favor of her getting to tell her story. I have no doubt she can handle herself on cross-examination against whatever they might throw against her. And the simplicity and believability of her story and her role as a witness will go a long way."

"True," I add, "especially since she was a law enforcement officer as an assistant DA when the shooting occurred. That will carry some weight with any jury."

Harley sits back down.

"Hey, everyone," I say, "Harley has just today joined our law firm. Let's give her a big round of applause and do everything we can to make her feel welcome."

Applause follows and Harley waves off all cries that she make a speech. Finally she does a three minute introduction of herself and an impromptu history of her career and life.

"And that guy you’ve seen killing himself on the surfboard every day this week? That's my son, Tom. He's no surfer, I'm thinking, but my God he's got game!"

We all laugh. Casual employees are dismissed, free to enjoy the beach and the shopping. The rest of us now find ourselves alone, huddled together around one table, ready to start in on the real business of trial law practice: the strategy and, ultimately, the defense.