Witness for the Defense (16 page)

“Now…are you paying attention?”

There was nothing I could do other than to listen to what the thugs had to say. If they were friends of Martinez, I knew what they were capable of.

“Yes, yes, I’m listening.”

“Leave our homie alone.”

“But I could end up in jail.”

“Be patient, ese.” The pressure to my head lessened.

“I don’t understand.”

“Damn it, attorney, you don’t have to,” the second voice shouted. I cringed, expecting my face to be bounced off the wall again. “Just do what we say, and before your case ever gets to trial that kid will disappear.”

“How can I be sure?”

“Because I’m a fortune-teller.” The second voice was doing most of the talking now.

“Are you going to hurt him?”

“Your ass is on the line, and all you worry about is what we might do to some drug pusher,” he said, and they both laughed. “We won’t have to do shit to him. He’s so damn scared he’ll run like a rabbit as soon as he’s cut loose.”

My face was hurting so badly, I couldn’t respond.

“And if you don’t do what we say, there’s no telling what will happen. Including,” the first voice said, and I felt something cold and sharp against my throat, “what we’ll do to that pretty little bitch of yours. Get my drift, SA?”

I’d no intention of letting these small-time punks dictate my future conduct. But I also knew it wasn’t the best time to argue. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Good,” he said, and the pressure against my lower back stopped. I quickly zipped up.

“If you turn around before we walk out the door,” the first voice said, gripping my hair tighter for emphasis, “you’re history.”

“All right,” I said, and he let go.

Before the door closed, I became light-headed and my knees buckled. I found myself on the floor with my head inside the urinal, blood running freely down my cheek and into the drain. I crawled to the sink and pulled myself up to rinse the blood from my face.

My first thought was to call the police. But what would I tell them? They would look upon anything I said with suspicion, thinking I was lying and faking a swollen nose to bolster my position in court. And I wouldn’t blame them. What had just happened didn’t make any sense. I had no idea what those hoods were up to. Why would they want me to prolong my case? How could it possibly benefit them?

Just as I began to wonder what could possibly happen next, the door burst open. Panicked, fearful they had returned, I quickly glanced around the room for something to protect myself with when someone grabbed my shoulder from behind. Cocking my arm, I spun around and saw Sarah with both her hands cupping her face. Her eyes were darting back and forth between me and the mural of my blood above the urinal.

Chapter 17

“I understand why I should terminate my cross of Miles,” Sarah said. “But why stipulate to the admission of the transcript into evidence? Let’s force Patterson to call Kellogg to the stand.”

We were waiting for Judge Brown to take the bench. I’d finally convinced Sarah not to call the police, and now I was asking her to do something both of us could later regret.

“It isn’t worth it.”

“Are you sure?”

“No, but since I’m not contesting the fact that I asked Kellogg to OR the kid, what do we have to gain? There’s no denying any of it. It’s in the damn transcript. Besides,” I said, getting to the real reason, “I don’t want to give Kellogg the satisfaction of testifying against me.”

“Is this the Hunter Dobbs that never gives an inch to anyone?”

“Maybe you’re having a positive influence on me, after all,” I said, half smiling, Sarah didn’t seem to hear me. She was busy looking to the rear of the courtroom. “It looks like they’re gone,” she said, referring to the four Hispanics.

I touched my nose which—fortunately—didn’t look half as bad as it felt. “I wouldn’t doubt if two of them were the restroom bandits.”

Sarah grimaced. “I still think we should inform the police.”

“Maybe you’re right,” I said, not wanting a chance like this to pass. “After all, they said they’d take care of my bitch attorney if I didn’t cooperate. They didn’t say they’d do anything to me.”

“There you go again, joking,” she said. Hearing the edge in her voice, Patterson glanced at us. It was killing him not to know what we were so busy talking about.

“Actually, I’m not really worried about those hoods as much as you might think, because I intend on doing exactly what they asked.”

“I’m not so sure that’s wise.”

“Stalling may be best, but for a different reason than they had in mind. The more this case ages, the better chance we have that Miles will end up telling the truth.”

“But we don’t have to wait. A jury won’t believe him anyway.”

“That’s not what you were saying back at the cafe.”

“I was trying to make a point,” she said. “You didn’t seem to be taking any of this seriously.”

“Well, you convinced me. Between the kid’s and Kellogg’s testimony, we’ll have an uphill battle. And that’s not even taking the attorney factor into account.”

“Attorney factor?”

“As far as the public is concerned, all attorneys are crooks. Especially defense attorneys. Hell,” I said, “they think we suborn perjury all the time. They’ll be thankful one of us finally got caught.”

“Do you really think so?”

“You bet. I’ll be guilty before the trial even starts. Don’t you think Patterson knows that? Why else do you think he’s so damn cocky? If he had a chance at the jury right now, he’s sure I’d be convicted.”

Sarah was silent.

“That’s why stalling makes so much sense. Sooner or later that kid is going to be released, and when that happens,” I said as I saw Judge Brown in the back hallway say something to his bailiff, “he will either run—in which case he won’t be testifying at the trial—or he won’t be under Martinez’s control. And if the latter should ever happen, I think the kid will eventually tell the truth.”

“You are expecting an awful lot from an eighteen-year-old drug dealer.”

“He’s really not such a bad kid.”

“And that’s the kind of thinking that got you in this predicament in the first place,” she said, and the judge entered the courtroom.

“Before we continue with your cross of Mr. Miles,” Brown began, “have you had enough time to review a copy of the transcript, Ms. Harris?”

“One minute.” Sarah turned to me. “Are you sure?”

I wasn’t. But I didn’t much like the alternative. “Let’s go as planned.”

“The defense will stipulate that the transcript may be used in lieu of Judge Kellogg’s testimony.”

Brown narrowed his eyes as they became fixed on Sarah.

“For preliminary hearing purposes only,” she explained. “However, if this matter should ever proceed to trial, I’d expect Mr. Patterson to make sure Judge Kellogg is available.”

Brown looked at Patterson. “Do you agree with that stipulation?”

I knew Patterson didn’t know what to make of it. But he wasn’t about to let the opportunity pass. “Of course,” he responded.

“So ordered,” Brown said. “Ms. Harris, you may now continue with your cross of Mr. Miles.”

“No further questions,” Sarah announced and sat down.

Patterson jerked his head toward us as the words came out of Sarah’s mouth. He scrunched his face and looked at the judge, who appeared even more mystified.

“Well then,” Brown said, sitting forward. “Do you have any re-direct, Mr. Patterson?”

“Ah…no, Your Honor.” His eyes were glued to Sarah, trying to make sense of it. “No questions. The witness may be excused.”

Caught off guard, the bailiff jumped out of his chair and rushed to the witness stand to escort Bobby back to lockup.

“Leave him where he is,” Brown said, holding his hand up for the bailiff to stop. He then turned to the still stunned D.A. “Do you have any further witnesses?”

“None.”

“Any affirmative defense?” Brown asked Sarah.

“No, Your Honor.”

“Then I have no other choice,” Brown said, and I stood. I knew the routine by heart. The defendant stands while the judge orders him to superior court for trial.

“Mr. Dobbs,” he said and took an audible breath. “I believe for purposes of the preliminary hearing there is reason to believe that a crime was committed and that you have likely committed it. Therefore, I am binding you over to superior court for trial. Your arraignment will be on October 24, 1998 in Department A. Bail to remain.”

As soon as Brown concluded, the D.A. started to walk away. “Mr. Patterson,” the judge said, “earlier I asked you to bring Mr. Miles’s file.”

Bobby was still sitting in the witness stand. He didn’t have a clue as to why he was still in court. Neither did the rest of us.

Patterson pulled a file from his briefcase. “I have it.”

“Then please tell me why this young man is still in custody.”

“I guess,” Patterson began, like he was stating the obvious, “because he’s unable to post bail.”

“Brilliant,” the judge scowled. “Why don’t you explain to me why his bail is set at fifty thousand?”

“Judge Kellogg set the bail.”

“Only after your office requested that amount, am I correct?”

Patterson thumbed through the file. “It would appear that way.”

“Why does the District Attorney’s office feel an eighteen-year-old who, at worst case, sold a couple of marijuana cigarettes to a friend, warrants such highball?”

“I really don’t know,” he said. “I’m not familiar with this case.”

“Well, you should be,” Brown barked. “He’s your primary witness in the case against Mr. Dobbs, isn’t he? You should be completely familiar with it.”

Patterson stood dumbfounded.

“You are aware what the defense is, aren’t you?”

“I know what they would like us to believe,” Patterson scoffed.

“Well, what if there’s just a smidgen of truth to the proposition that someone like Mr. Martinez or one of his friends put this young man up to framing Mr. Dobbs?”

“That’s up to the defense to prove.”

“On the contrary, sir, your office has the responsibility to seek the truth, am I correct?”

“With all due respect, I feel this court is going beyond the—”

“I don’t care what you feel,” Brown growled and turned to Bobby. “How long have you been in custody?”

“Almost two weeks.”

“I’m surprised at your office, Mr. Patterson. I have seen cases like Mr. Miles’s reduced and sent out for diversion. Six months’ worth of counseling and his case would be dismissed.”

The D.A.’s teeth were clenched, he was so angry “As I already informed the court, I’m not that familiar with his case.”

“Well, I know enough about it,” Brown said, turning to his clerk. “The defendant in case number MA118799 is released on his own recognizance,” The judge turned to the smiling young man. “Mr. Miles, you should be out of custody within the next twenty-four hours. Be sure you make all your future court appearances. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

The judge walked from the bench, but before he left the room, he gave me a parting glance. I had a good idea what he was up to. With Bobby out of custody, he would be free of Martinez’s control. The judge wanted to make sure I was playing on a level field.

Chapter 18

Sarah and I hurried up the long walk to the Bartons’ yellow Victorian house. A late October wind gusted around us. As I leaned into the punishing gale, I couldn’t help noticing how the ailing structure was sorely in need of repair. The doorway was heavily framed, topped by an elegantly carved wooden header. Like the rest of the house, though, its veneer was thinned by age and the elements of the rough northern coastal seasons.

We had to try to interview Danny before Jared’s trial began. Hopefully McBean hadn’t told either him or his mother not to talk to us.

A small cowbell attached to the inside front-door knob announced our presence. As we stepped in, a loud creak from the wooden floor groaned from our combined weight. The inside of the house was much smaller than it appeared from the street. It was built for smaller people during a simpler, yet more elegant time.

A middle-aged woman dressed in a flowered print dress eyed us from a position behind a glass display case filled with lime-green dishware. Her smile was warm and real. “May I help you?” she asked.

As we slowly made our way forward, we looked for any sign of the boy. What at one time must have been the living room was now filled with rows of tables stacked with used clothing. Here and there small pieces of furniture, priced as antiques, served as resting places for ladies’ hats of all sizes, colors, and eras.

Sarah was the first to speak. “Is this the Barton residence?”

A light shade of red flickered across the woman’s face. I had the feeling she was embarrassed her living room was being used to house discarded clothing reeking of mothballs. “The second floor is,” she said, waving her hand at the stairs located off the front doorway.

“Is Danny here?” Sarah asked.

“Why, yes…” she stammered. “Who are you?”

“This is Hunter Dobbs, and my name is Sarah Harris. Are you his mother?”

The woman glanced over her shoulder out a small window behind her. “What’s this all about?”

I stepped closer. “We represent Mr. Jared Reineer.”

“Jared Reineer,” she said, and her face abruptly tightened. “Lieutenant McBean never told me anyone else would want to talk to Danny.” Her right hand, which was resting on the counter, began to tremble.

“We were wondering if that would be possible,” Sarah asked.

The trembling became more noticeable. “Are you supposed to?”

“That’s entirely up to you,” I said, knowing full well we shouldn’t talk to a minor without a parent’s permission. “We only want to ask him a few questions.”

She nervously looked around the room, as if searching for someone to tell her what to do.

“We understand how traumatic it must have been for the two of you,” Sarah said, and placed her hand on top of Mrs. Barton’s. “We aren’t here to upset him. And we have no objection to your being present.”

“I don’t know.” She turned and looked out the window again. I followed her gaze through the sheer white curtains and saw a young boy out back cramming a rumpled cardboard box into one of several trash cans.