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Authors: Michael C. Eberhardt

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BOOK: Witness for the Defense
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Sarah smiled for the first time that day. “That was sure a stroke of luck.” Her face just as quickly turned serious again. “But what about bail? You can’t leave that up to Kellogg.”

“I really don’t think that will be a problem,” I said. “Not even Patterson would oppose an OR.”

“I hope you’re right.” Sarah’s eyes shifted to my hands, wrapped in chains, folded on the counter in front of me.

“Looks like I blew it,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“If I would have kissed Patterson’s feet,” I said, shaking my head at the thought of it, “you and I would be having lunch about now.”

Her gloomy look didn’t change. “It wouldn’t have made any difference. After you left, he explained a few things.”

“Like what?”

“That he honestly doesn’t feel Bobby Miles is lying.”

I snorted. “Patterson wouldn’t recognize the truth if God stamped it on his forehead,” I said. “If he could, he’d still be in the courtroom instead of pushing paperwork.”

Sarah’s voice became flat. “He’ll be the trial deputy on this one.”

“That’s because no one else believes in what he’s up to,” I said weakly, knowing full well I was dreaming. The D.A.’s were likely lined up, each begging to take a shot at me.

“Hunter,” she said in a somber tone, “there is no way Martinez could have forced Miles to lie.”

This startled me. “Of course he could have.”

“It’s going to be tough to prove.” Sarah pulled several documents from her briefcase. “Here’s their records. They were never together in lockup. They were never even close enough to shout to one another.”

I slammed my hand on the counter. “I don’t give a damn what their records show. Someone told that kid what to say, and it sure wasn’t me!”

She closed the folder. “They’re asking for fifty thousand bail.”

“That’s just great,” I said, throwing my hands in the air. “I don’t have that kind of money. I just finished paying off all the damn lawyer bills from my divorce.”

The door opened behind me. It was Kellogg’s bailiff. “The judge wants this handled before lunch.”

Because he’s in a hurry to down several martinis to celebrate my demise, I wanted to say, but I’d said enough for one day.

“People versus Hunter K. Dobbs,” Cindy, Judge Kellogg’s perky young clerk, called out. My head throbbed from nerves. I feigned a lack of concern as I stood in the jury box, my hands and feet shackled. Sarah was next to me, nervously tapping her pen on the counter.

Patterson was standing behind the counsel table next to his cohort, Jerry Lipton. Several court clerks from the other courts were leaning against the wall on the other side of the room. Next to them stood several D.A.s and fellow P.D.s, waiting to see what Kellogg would do. I glanced at the spectator section: thankfully, I didn’t see any reporters.

But who was I kidding? The press would be all over this like the proverbial cheap suit. I would likely end up on page one of the metro section. Someone—one of Patterson’s minions, maybe—would slip a word to one of his favorite media contacts. Or maybe Kellogg would do it himself; he was never above getting his mug in the papers. Especially as a crusading jurist, trying to save the image of the bench and bar from a horrible breach. Some good reporter could get two weeks’ worth of column material out of a P.D. getting tossed into the can for conjuring up tailored testimony.

Kellogg appeared bored as he stacked and un-stacked the files in front of him. I could tell he was playing for time, heightening the suspense. Revenge is sweet, unless you happen to be the target. Then it just plain sucks.

Sarah was the first to speak. “The defendant is ready.”

Kellogg looked down at Patterson. “Read the charges.”

“The defendant will waive formal reading,” Sarah interjected.

“That’s your prerogative, Counselor. But I would like to hear them.” Kellogg turned to me. “You may be seated, Mr. Dobbs.”

Kellogg wanted to give the appearance that he was being fair and harbored no ill will. Then, when Patterson asked for bail, he’d ream me—and get to blame it on the D.A.

Patterson read the complaint slowly, enunciating every word. It seemed to take an eternity. Everything seemed to be in slow motion.

When he finished, Patterson faced me. “Hunter K. Dobbs,” he said, “to the charges as read, what is your plea?”

“Not guilty,” I said without the slightest hesitation.

“Now, Your Honor,” Sarah said to Kellogg, who was already leaning back in his chair, expecting what would happen next, “we would like to be heard as to bail.”

As if swatting a pesky fly, Kellogg waved at Sarah to proceed.

“I know the court is aware Mr. Dobbs has been a practicing attorney in this county and a respected member of the legal community for nearly ten years.”

Kellogg glared at Sarah. “I don’t need to hear about his family tree. Just tell me why bail of $50,000 should not be increased.”

“Because the charges are totally false, and anyone who has worked as closely with Mr. Dobbs as this court and the District Attorney has knows it.”

“Counselor—” Kellogg said, and Sarah cut him off.

“These allegations are based on the word of two inmates, and each has an obvious motive to lie—”

“Your Honor,” Patterson said.

“If you would allow me to finish,” Sarah scolded the D.A., then turned back to Kellogg. “One of the two informants is accused of murder and has a serious criminal history since he was thirteen years old. To place such a high bail on such weak allegations would be a travesty.”

“Are you finished?” Patterson said to Sarah, but Kellogg felt it was his turn.

“Your personal opinions are not relevant here,” the judge said. “These are very grave charges.”

“But that doesn’t make them any more truthful,” Sarah shot back.

Kellogg slapped his hand on the bench. “You don’t appear to have any more respect for this court than your client does.”

Sarah paused, taking a deep breath as she glanced at my pale face. Slowly, she turned back to the judge. “I apologize if the court feels I am being disrespectful, because that has never been my intention. It’s just I feel strongly that—”

“I don’t want to hear anything more from you,” Kellogg said, and turned to the D.A. “What’s your position?”

“What I’ve been trying to say,” Patterson said, “is that my office has reconsidered, and we do not oppose an OR release for Mr. Dobbs.”

Kellogg lurched forward in his chair. “Well, I do,” he bellowed. “Mr. Dobbs is accused of breaching a trust he is sworn to uphold. And for purposes of bail, I have to assume that the charges as read are true and have a basis in fact.”

“No one realizes that more than Mr. Patterson,” Sarah interrupted. “If he feels they do not justify bail, then I believe the court has to consider that.”

“And I have,” Kellogg said. “Because of Mr. Patterson’s position I will not increase bail at this time, but I will not lower it either. Bail will remain set at $50,000.”

And that’s what you get for telling a judge he’s a drunk.

“Payback’s a bitch,” Howard Millings said as he pressed my inked thumb onto a small card alongside the prints of my other fingers. I was in a small room in the police department, completing the booking process. It was an ordeal everyone who has been arrested for a felony must go through. Howard had asked specially to book me. He was waiting for me in lockup when I left the courtroom.

Howard and I became friends right after I hired on with the P.D.’s office. My first assignment in Superior Court was in Sarah’s father’s courtroom where Howard was the bailiff. Harris didn’t treat him much better than those of us who appeared in front of him. Like myself, Howard was an avid Forty-niners fan. That is, until they let Joe Montana go. Howard, like many of the Montana faithful, changed alliances and rooted for Kansas City. Since Montana had retired, Howard had changed back to the Niners. I was a fan, but Howard was one of the faithful. A lifer.

He was also a walking history book. A cop for over thirty years, he had the inside scoop on just about everyone and everything. He knew where all the skeletons were buried among the city’s elite. Who was banging whom and how much they enjoyed it.

Howard waved my booking card in the air so my fingerprints would dry faster. “I never thought Kellogg would be so petty,” I said.

“I hear you as much as called him a sloppy drunk in front of the whole courtroom.”

“That’s not entirely correct.”

“If I know Kellogg,” he chuckled, “I’m sure that’s the way he saw it.”

Howard placed the card into an envelope with my name in bold type on the front. “So who’s going to spring you?”

“Damned if I know.” I’d been wondering the same thing myself. Sarah promised she would make sure it was taken care of, but when you’re in jail, cut off from the world, you quickly realize the only person you can count on is yourself.

“Do you need to make some telephone calls?”

I didn’t want to. I was too embarrassed to call anyone.

“You better,” Howard persisted. “Once I drop you off at the main jail, you’ll be fair game.”

“Cavity search?” I asked, cringing at the thought.

“Yep, the whole ball of wax.”

Howard placed the telephone in front of me. “Start calling.”

The first person that came to mind was my mother’s brother, who had raised me since I was ten. But Joe Calabrese was not just an uncle—he was my best friend—the father I never really had. I loved him dearly.

I reached for the phone, then hesitated. I couldn’t do it. This would break his heart. His life revolved around his “successful attorney nephew.” He was in his mid-sixties and retired in Palo Alto. He’d help me, all right, but I wasn’t sure I could handle breaking the news to him.

As I held onto the phone, it rang. I almost jumped out of my skin. Howard laughed as he picked it up and plopped his feet on the large metal green desk. “Yeah, he’s here.”

What now? It was probably his sergeant asking him what we were still doing in the booking room.

“No shit, Judge Harris,” he said and grunted. “Well, you better hurry up, I can’t keep him here much longer.”

Howard slammed down the receiver and shook his head. “I thought you and Judge Harris never got along.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That was the bail bondsman. He’s writing a bond for fifty grand right now.”

Thank God, I thought. “But what was that about Judge Harris?”

“He’s the one springing you.”

“No, he must have meant his daughter,” I said. “She’s my attorney.”

“No shit! Sarah’s your attorney?”

“Do you remember her?”

“Remember?” he said and howled like a wolf. “How could anyone ever forget that face—that luscious body. What a package.”

I smiled. Same old horny Howard.

“You and her wouldn’t be…?” he said and rapidly pumped his fat overweight pelvis in the chair. It wasn’t a pretty sight.

“Please,” I said, holding my hand in front of my eyes. “Our relationship is strictly business.”

“Right,” he said and laughed, until he noticed I wasn’t. He then swiveled in my direction and, with a serious expression, said, “I just thought that maybe you and her…” Howard’s face began to redden. It had been quite a while since the two of us had had a talk like this.

“I know you better than that. You weren’t thinking, you were hoping.”

Howard stared into the distance as if he was trying to remember. “I never knew you kept in touch with her.”

“I haven’t.”

“I can remember you and Judge Harris used to really go at it,” he said, smiling at the thought.

“Seems to be ingrained in my nature.”

“Hey, don’t kick yourself around the block for what you said to Kellogg. He’s a drunk and everyone knows it. I can’t believe no one has stood up to him before.”

“Because look where it gets you.”

“This is nothing more than a pimple on the tip of your nose,” he said. “I respect you for what you did. I’m sure those punks are lying, and it wouldn’t surprise me if the D.A. doesn’t know it, too.”

“They are lying.”

“Don’t have to convince me. I was there when that idiot Martinez tried to claw his way through the glass. Remember?”

“How could I forget?”

“Matter of fact, you better call me as a witness.”

“About what?”

“Hell, there’s no doubt in my mind that the reason Martinez was so pissed was because you wouldn’t do whatever it was he wanted.”

“You’re not going to be well thought of if you testify for a defense attorney.”

“Who gives a shit? You’re getting a raw deal and everyone knows it.”

“I’m glad to hear someone believes in me.”

Howard placed a pen in his mouth and immediately withdrew it, like he was smoking a cigarette. “Are you going to tell me what Judge Harris is doing bailing you out?”

“Sort of puzzles me, too,” I said.

“See much of him?”

“Until just a few days ago, I hadn’t seen him since he retired.”

“Yeah,” Howard said as he casually placed his feet, one at a time, back on the desk. His shirt was stretched so tight that the buttons on his huge gut were about to pop. “I haven’t seen or heard from the old fart since he was booted off the bench.”

“You mean since he retired?”

“Call it what you want. But I’m sure he was forced off.”

An alarm went off. “I never knew that.”

His voice fell to a whisper. “Not many do. It was kept pretty hush-hush.”

“What was?”

He saw how curious I was and straightened in his seat. “Nah, I’m probably talking out of school.”

“Come on,” I said. “Don’t clam up on me now.”

He thought for a moment to find the right words. “It was just rumor, mind you.” Howard glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening. “But it had something to do with a child.”

“His own?”

“Got me. All I know is he resigned because of it.” He was whispering again. “And he got divorced about the same time.”

I was as close to speechless as I’d ever been. “You’d think I would have heard something.”

“Hell, we both know the guy was hard to get along with,” Howard said, shaking his head. “But, I never imagined he’d be into little kids.”

“Do you know the details?”

BOOK: Witness for the Defense
5.7Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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