Witness for the Defense (13 page)

Even though Sarah was having a hard time saying it, I had a good idea of what she was driving at. Our current arrangement didn’t make much sense for either of us. I had my specialty, she had hers. She felt uncomfortable being the lead attorney on such a notorious case, and it seemed strange for me to be her assistant.

“Do you want me to take over?”

Sarah crinkled her eyes as she picked at the rest of her doughnut. She was embarrassed by what was happening. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

I wanted to tell her that that was exactly what was bugging her and to quit hemming and hawing around. But just admitting her anxiety was tough enough. She didn’t need me to rub salt in the wound.

“Look,” I said, “consider it done. You’ll represent me and I’ll take over full responsibility for Jared’s case.”

Sarah looked me straight in the eye. “Are you sure?”

All that anxiety, and I had the power to make it vanish. “Actually, I figure I’m getting the better of it.”

She gave me a puzzled look.

“You have an S.O.B. like me for a client. I only have Jared to deal with.”

Sarah nudged me with an elbow and we both took a deliberate sip of our coffee while pondering what had just happened. Then suddenly she dipped her napkin into her water again—she’d found a stain on my menu, too.

“For chrissake,” I sniped and grabbed my menu back. I was embarrassed I’d ever picked such a filthy place. “Let’s go.”

I placed a five-dollar bill on the counter and the waitress snapped it up. “Keep the change,” I said, but she was already on her way back to the kitchen.

Sarah rose from her stool and I did the same. As we walked to the door, she looked out the dirty plate-glass window which fronted the building. “It looks like it’s turned cold out there.” She grimaced and we stepped outside. A chilling breeze stirred the branches of the pine trees surrounding the diner.

“I wish I wouldn’t have left my coat in the car,” she remarked. As we pushed against the wind, her silk blouse clung like cellophane to her chest. She was right about one thing. It was definitely cold out.

“First thing tomorrow the two of us are going to Boonville and interview that boy’s father.”

“Sorry, but I have to be in San Francisco for the Jessup prelim,” she said, and snuggled into me, burying her head deep into my chest.

I was amazed at the warm glow that radiated throughout my body. It seemed so natural having Sarah that close to me. I had been wrong about her. She wasn’t at all like her father. And was I thankful for it. But my newfound feelings had to be tamed. Our relationship had to remain professional.

“Isn’t Jessup the attorney who’s accused of embezzling his client’s trust account?” I said, trying to take my mind off what I was really thinking.

“The same one I appeared for in Kellogg’s court,” she said.

“What’s going to happen to him?”

“Three years formal probation and restitution.”

“And the state bar?”

“License suspension for two years with a probationary tail.”

I opened the driver’s door. “Is that what I have to look forward to?”

“Nah,” she said. “Your case is much more serious. You’ll get the guillotine for sure.”

Chapter 13

It was late afternoon by the time I arrived at the jail to tell Jared I’d be taking over as his attorney. I’d waited for more than fifteen minutes when the jailer informed me someone was with him. I didn’t know who and he wouldn’t say. The first person that came to mind was McBean. I knew he was a snake, but not even McBean would be dumb enough to interview Jared without his attorney’s permission. I was about to insist the jailer tell me who was in there when the buzzer on the door to lockup sounded. The door opened and Avery walked out toward me.

The thin, middle-aged jailer tossed a clipboard on the counter. “Sign in, and don’t forget to put down your bar number.”

“Where’s Sarah?” Avery asked, approaching me.

“As far as I know she’s at her office.” The jailer angled his head like he was trying to hear what we were saying. I signed the sheet and slid the clipboard across the counter. “She wants me to be lead counsel. I’m here to see what Jared thinks.”

Avery seemed stunned by the news.

“Sort of a trade-off,” I said. “I’ll be responsible for Jared’s case in exchange for her handling mine.”

Slowly a smile appeared on his face. “Jared’s case should be right up your alley.”

“And with the suspension and all, it’s not like I’m real busy right now.”

This was followed by an uncomfortable silence. Avery didn’t like talking about the charges pending against me. I had the feeling he thought there might be some truth to them. But I had to remember that he’d been a prosecutor before he was appointed judge. To him, the term “presumed innocent” was a technicality our liberal-minded forefathers—a bunch of longhaired rebels—had invented for their own advantage.

“I hope you left him in a good mood,” I said, breaking the silence. “Because what I’m going to tell him won’t make his day.”

“You’re wrong,” he said. “Jared knows Sarah doesn’t do much criminal. He will be relieved to hear you’ll be in charge.”

Realizing he’d no idea what I was referring to, I told him how they were trying to connect his former captain to the missing Boonville boy.

“What evidence could they possibly have that implicates Jared?”

“Whatever it is, they’re keeping it to themselves. I’m driving to Boonville tomorrow to see what I can find out.”

Concern masked his face.

“I’m sure there’s nothing to it. But I don’t trust McBean. He knows his case is weak, and he’ll do anything to make it appear Jared has something to do with it. If he ever does, I want to make sure it’s not a product of his imagination,” I said.

He nodded. “Like the Gummy Bears.”

Avery then arched his back like it was bothering him.

“You’re getting a little old to be playing kung fu, day in and day out, on poor defenseless trees.” As soon as I said it, I wished I hadn’t. I didn’t know him well enough for such a personal remark. “I mean, whipping that big machete around all day would make even a teenager sore.”

Avery placed his hand on my shoulder as he walked toward the exit. “Don’t be so damned intimidated by me, Hunter. It’s been years since I was on the bench. Relax, would you?” He patted me once on the back and walked out the door.

Jared was leaning back against the wall. We were in an interview room no bigger than a closet. I’d just informed him I’d be taking over.

“Fine with me,” he said. “Avery says you’re one of the best.”

I paused for a moment. First Avery treats me like an old friend and now I hear he complimented me. I was dumbfounded.

“Let’s just say I’m not lacking for experience.”

Jared looked around like he was afraid someone else might be listening. “Actually, I’m relieved. I wasn’t really sure Sarah could handle it.”

“You’d be surprised.” I knew I was. “She’s a very good attorney.”

“I’m sure,” he said. “But I’m still here and they don’t have shit.”

It was a defendant’s typical attitude when an attorney substitutes in on a case. They blame their past attorney for being in their current predicament and believe the new one will be able to set matters straight.

I wanted to make sure he understood.’ “Just because I’m your attorney from here on out doesn’t mean the charges will miraculously disappear.”

He scowled. “Maybe not, but I have the feeling you’re a whole lot more familiar than Sarah is about what the cops will do to get a conviction.”

Especially McBean, I wanted to say, but that was a long story and I only had about ten minutes left. I still had to discuss the missing boy.

Jared leaned closer, his lips nearly touching the glass that separated us. “Except for that candy wrapper, they don’t have shit, do they?”

“How about the boy’s description of you and your car?”

“Too vague. It’ll never hold up,” he said with an air of confidence. “They’ll need a hell of a lot more than that.”

“They’re working on it. McBean’s trying to connect you to a similar kidnapping right now.”

Jared lightly stroked his salt-and-pepper beard. “That will never happen.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because I didn’t do anything. Not to the Barton kid or anyone else.”

I angled my head to help eliminate the glare off the glass. I wanted to watch Jared closely to see what his reaction would be to my next question.

“Do you know anything about a boy who disappeared just west of here?”

Jared sighed. “Is that what they think?” he said, shaking his head. “Just like that Unabomber fella, I’ll end up getting blamed for everything before they’re done with me.”

“Maybe,” I said, “but you haven’t answered my question.”

His look became more intense. “You’re wrong. That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“The missing boy is close to Danny Barton’s age,” I said. “They’ll do everything they can to connect the two.”

“Including planting more evidence.” Jared raised his voice. “Because that’s what it will take before they’ll ever get enough probable cause to arrest me for another trumped-up charge.”

His remark took me by surprise. How did he know what that term even meant? “Probable cause?”

“Do you think I’m just some ignorant transient?”

Before I had a chance to answer, something occurred to me. Something that none of us had ever addressed before. “Why do you think McBean picked you out of all the people in this county to plant that candy wrapper on?” I asked.

He assumed the conspiratorial look of a wise old hippie. “That’s simple,” he said. “I was a thorn in the cops’ side.”

“But why?”

“I don’t fit in around here. They were constantly hassling me, hoping I’d leave.”

“McBean would?”

“No, the patrol types.”

Jared went on to explain that when he’d first come to town, he’d lived out of his car. Whenever he’d park it somewhere to sleep, the cops would roust him.

“They’d bug me every time they saw me,” he added. A look of sincere gratitude crossed his face. “Thank God, I ran into Avery when I did. I didn’t even have enough money for gas.”

“Why? Couldn’t you find any work?”

“If my freedom is going to depend on you,” he said, “you should get to know me better.”

I gave him a puzzled look.

“I’m a bum,” he added matter-of-factly. “Working on Avery’s damn tree farm is the first time I’ve worked in one place for more than a few days.”

“But why?”

“Post Vietnam syndrome. Can’t handle the mainstream.”

“Then you have been diagnosed with a mental problem?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry,” he said and smiled. “I may be a little off center, but that doesn’t mean I molested some kid.”

“More than one,” I said, mostly to myself.

Jared’s interest was piqued. “So that’s it,” he said as if he’d figured something out. “McBean thinks I’m responsible for that Boonville kid’s disappearance.”

I’d never mentioned where the boy was from. How in the hell did he know? “Boonville?” I said.

“Don’t look so worried, Counselor. It’s been in all the papers.”

“Of course,” I said, relieved.

Jared rolled his eyes upward and slowly closed them. After a few seconds, he lurched forward. “I have to get out of here,” he said. “And I’m sure all this bullshit about that missing boy won’t help.”

The jailer opened the door and informed me that our time was up.

“Hunter,” Jared whispered, “I’m entitled to a speedy trial. They don’t have shit. What I need from you most is to get the trial started as soon as possible.”

I bobbed my head in agreement. The sooner that happened, the less time McBean would have to fake something else. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Thanks.”

I watched as the jailer led Jared down the hall. He wasn’t the same bewildered and scared Haight-Ashbury reject I’d met just a few days before. He seemed more at ease, confident he’d be found not guilty. At times overly confident. But I had enough experience to know—the innocent normally were.

Chapter 14

On a narrow two-lane highway winding through miles of old-growth redwoods, the drive from the Harris ranch to Boonville took a little more than a half hour. After reading old newspaper clippings at the library, I had found out little about Gary Cosgrove’s disappearance other than he was last seen walking home on September 26, 1998, the day after the attack on Danny Barton. By the following evening, when no one had heard from the boy, his father had put up a ten-thousand-dollar reward for any information leading to his son’s whereabouts—dead or alive.

On the outskirts of Boonville, I approached a large, corrugated-steel building overgrown by weeds and shrubbery. Directly above the solid steel-door entrance,
COSGROVE AUTOMOTIVE
was spray painted in red. I pulled onto a gravel driveway that separated the automotive shop from a small stucco house hidden behind a huge stray redwood. An old wooden plank with the words worms for sale in faded black letters was tacked to the center of the tree.

Parking on the side of the driveway closest to the shop, I noticed a man on the porch next door, rocking back and forth in a weathered wooden chair. He was watching my every move.

“How are you?” I called out. Except for his heels lifting with each roll, the man didn’t move a muscle. I waved at him anyway, then walked to the metal building to find Otto Cosgrove.

The front door was padlocked shut. After pounding several times, I gave up and walked to the rear of the building. Except for several dying cars hidden amongst the weeds, it was deserted, too. I decided to see if the man on the porch could be any help.

“You sell worms here?” I asked, pointing to the sign as I plodded over the thick gravel driveway.

Without a break in his slow rock, the frail old man, heavily wrinkled by age, tilted his head and peered over his wire-rimmed glasses. “You sure don’t look like a fisherman.” He smacked his lips and nodded toward the sign. “I’ll bet you never even fished with a worm before.”

“As a matter of fact, you’re right,” I said and placed my foot up on the wooden stoop like I was about to shoot the bull with an old friend. “But I’ll bet there’s nothing better.”