Read Witness for the Defense Online

Authors: Michael C. Eberhardt

Witness for the Defense (5 page)

BOOK: Witness for the Defense
10.22Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

I sighed deeply and gave her a “you’ve got to be kidding” look.

She angled her head. “Unless I know everything, I won’t be able to help.”

I slowly nodded while massaging my forehead. “I understand.”

“First of all, who is he?”

“One of the meanest and slimiest gangbangers I’ve ever had the misfortune of representing.” I slumped in my chair. “I can’t understand why he’s so determined to take his loser of a case to trial. From the outset, the D.A.’s offer had been two concurrent first-degree murders without special circumstances; if he and his buddy accepted, they would be sentenced to twenty-five years to life, which meant they would stand a good chance of seeing the outside before either of them died of old age. That sure beat the alternative: having the starring role in an upcoming execution. I kept trying to pound the risks of trial into his head, but he’d never budge. ‘A life sentence is as good as being dead,’ was always his response.”

“Why did you feel Martinez was forcing Miles to lie?” she asked.

“It didn’t take me long to figure it out.” I then went on to tell Sarah what had happened when I confronted Martinez in the attorney interview room.

When I walked in, he had been lying on a wooden bench on the other side of the wire-mesh window which separated us. His hands were folded behind his head like it was a sunny day and he was sunbathing on the beach.

I opened my briefcase and spread his file on the counter. He didn’t move a muscle, not even a twitch; nothing to acknowledge my presence.

“You alive, Martinez?”

His lips were the only thing that moved. “Trial starting tomorrow?”

“Looks like it.”

Martinez muttered something unintelligible in Spanish, closed his eyes again, and turned his head away as if to tell me to leave. After my confrontation with Kellogg, I wasn’t in the mood to put up with his arrogance. I threw his file back in my briefcase and snapped it shut. With the sound, his eyes opened and he sat up.

“Did you talk to that kid?” he asked. “Tell me what he had to say.”

“He’s lying.”

Martinez leaned into the glass. A tattoo of a spider and cobweb behind his left ear was barely noticeable under his dark greasy hair. “That’s your opinion.”

“Maybe so, but I’m not going to put him on the stand if he’s not telling the truth.”

“But he is.”

“Tell me exactly what it took, Martinez. Did you tell him you wouldn’t hurt him, kill him, or what… ?”

His face shut down completely. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit. That kid is scared to death.”

“Is that what he told you?”

“He didn’t have to. I know what goes on in there, and believe me, so does the D.A. If that kid ever takes the stand, they’ll rip him apart.”

Martinez began to pick at the dirt underneath his fingernails. Suddenly, he jerked his head up and glared at me. “Man, you’re a real piece of work.”

“Sure am,” I shot back. “And I’ve had it with your stupid games.”

“Shit, man, you’re my lawyer. You’re supposed to look out for me.”

“That’s why I’m not calling any of your lying buddies to the stand.”

“You will if I tell you to.”

I merely laughed.

“You’re an asshole, Dobbs.” Martinez then paused as if he was actually trying to control his anger. “You know I’ll be convicted without him,” he said in a lower tone.

“That’s why you better take the gift the D.A.’s been offering.”

“I ain’t copping no plea, man.” Martinez glared at me, putting on a show of disgust. “All I know is any good lawyer can win this.”

“Well then, I guess I’m just not good enough, because in my opinion, you’re going down in flames.”

“Then, I want another lawyer.”

“Sorry,” I said with a dismissive shrug. “You don’t get to pick and choose public defenders.”

His eyes blazed with venom. “Man, why don’t you get the hell out of here?”

“Fine by me.”

As I rose slowly to leave, he stiffened. “You better hope they convict me.” He clenched the edge of the counter with both of his chubby hands. “Because you’re the first one I’m coming after when I get out of here.”

I forced myself to suppress a smile. If he ever did get out, he’d be encased in a six-foot wooden box. “Is that supposed to scare me?”

He was standing now. We were face-to-face with only a half wall and glass between us. “It better, asshole.”

This time I did smile. His pitiful life was in my hands and he decided the best way to make sure he didn’t end up in the electric chair was to threaten me—his lawyer.

“You’ll get a fair trial. But that’s all you’re getting.”

His face turned beet red and he jumped onto the counter and started viciously kicking the glass partition. Leaning against the metal door, waiting to be let out, I couldn’t help but wonder how far he’d go.

“You’re going to ruin your new white tennies.”

Martinez kicked the glass several more times and it began to crack. Luckily, the wire mesh kept it in place. I began to get concerned. It was like watching a deranged animal. He began to pull on the cracked glass, piece by piece. In a matter of seconds the glass was covered with his blood.

“I’ll kill you,” he yelled just as the door behind him burst open. Three deputies rushed in. It wouldn’t have surprised me if they’d been waiting outside to see how badly Martinez would injure himself.

Sarah’s mouth was open.

“The last time I saw him,” I concluded, “three deputies grabbed him by the hair and threw him head first onto the concrete floor. Blood gushed from his mouth and nose.”

Sarah looked shocked. “How badly was he injured?”

“Later on, Howard Millings, one of the deputies, told me he was fine. All he needed was a couple of stitches.”

Sarah shook her head and made a few more notes.

“Enough business for now,” she said and looked at her watch. “How about something to eat?”

After the long drive and interview, I was beat and not in the mood for a leisurely lunch. But she had been nice enough to spend most of the morning with me, so I acceded.

“Where to?”

“I’ll meet you at my father’s place,” she said, pushing past me to tell the receptionist her plan. “I’m sure the two of you are anxious to see one another again.”

“You’re right,” I mumbled to myself as I followed her out the door. “I can’t wait.”

Chapter 5

Located twenty miles north of Ukiah, Judge Avery Harris’s farm was acres upon acres of Christmas trees in various stages of growth. A gravel road led to a large two-story house perched on top of a grassy knoll, with a smaller one-story cottage next to it.

I knocked on the screen door of the house, but received no answer. While walking to the smaller dwelling, I saw the flash of something shiny reflected from the middle of a field. I tried to make out what it was—and it happened again. Then, off to its right—another flash. I had no idea what was causing it. Probably some old pie tins to keep the birds away? But birds couldn’t harm a pine tree. At least, I didn’t think so. I wasn’t exactly up on pine tree lore.

At the side of the main house was a late-model Blazer parked under a corrugated-steel shelter. To its right was a black ‘56 Chevy two-door. I hadn’t seen one up close since I’d sold my red one over ten years ago. I looked through the open passenger window. The interior was a mess, cotton stuffing bulging out of the seats, dirty clothes and loose trash strewn about the floor. It was obvious someone had been living in it. Even with the doors closed, there was a hint of a funky smell.

From the rear of the property came the sound of running water. I made my way to a stream and found an old wooden bench with a fishing pole resting against it. I hadn’t touched a pole in years. To be more exact, I’d handled one only once, when I was eight years old. My father, for the first and last time, had taken me fishing on a similar stream. After he baited and threw in both our lines, we sat on an old log for about an hour without a nibble. Then, without saying a word, he reeled in. Storming off to his car, he told me to get inside. While driving back to our house, the only thing he said was that there were no fish in that crappy little stream, and that waiting around was a waste of his valuable time. Once back at the house, he spent the remainder of that Sunday drinking his daily case of beer while flipping from one football game to another. So much for quality time with Dad.

“Hunter,” a familiar voice yelled. Sarah hurried toward me, wearing a pair of tight-fitting Levi’s with a white pullover sweater and tennis shoes. “I’m sorry,” she said, half out of breath, “I decided to stop at my apartment to change into something more comfortable.”

“Don’t apologize. I haven’t been here that long myself.”

“So how do you like the place?” she said, waving her hand to show off the tall redwoods surrounding the property.

I knew she wanted me to say how the magnificent beauty of the place impressed me. But she had no idea I was raised in a very similar setting—memories of which continued to haunt me.

“I haven’t seen this much green since the last time I went to Golden Gate Park,” I said, uninspired.

Her smile faded somewhat, but her enthusiasm was still present in her voice. “Sometimes I have to force myself not to take all of this for granted.”

I smiled and nodded my head.

She quickly glanced around the property, shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun. “Have you seen my father?”

“Not yet,” I said. “And I don’t think he’s in the house. I knocked on the door….”

“He must be trimming trees,” she said and reached for me. “Let’s go find him.”

Hand in hand, Sarah led me off into the field in the same direction the reflections had come from. The smell of Christmas morning surrounded us as we walked through hundreds of small pine trees. “Be careful of your clothes,” she said. “The branches have sap on them.”

As we pushed our way through, the mystery of the flashes was solved. Up ahead, I could see an arm swinging a long metal object repeatedly at the ground.

“Dad?” Sarah yelled.

“Right here,” a deep voice responded. A voice I’d never forget.

“Someone would like to say hello,” she said and led me over to the next row of trees.

Judge Avery Harris had the same unsmiling mouth and arrogant look in his eyes. Farm life had changed him a little physically. His five-foot-ten frame wasn’t burdened with the large belly that used to hang over his belt. His face had more color, and the salt-and-pepper beard that seemed an affectation with his black robe somehow fit his redefined role.

“Good to see you, Judge Harris. You’re looking well.”

Without responding, he turned away, sizing up the next tree.

At least he didn’t kiss me on my cheek. “I never knew Christmas trees were trimmed with a knife,” I said, just to say something.

He wiped the long blade on his dirty overalls. “It’s a machete, son.”

“But I thought they had machines to do that.”

“Nope,” he said and whacked his way around the tree in a matter of seconds. Small branches flew everywhere.

“How many times a year do you have to do this?”

Always a man of few words. “Once, maybe twice,” he said.

“But there must be thousands Do you have to do all of them yourself?”

“Not with his bad heart,” Sarah said and glared at her father. “Where’s Jared?”

“A few rows over,” he said and moved on to the next tree.

“Who’s Jared?” I asked.

“He was in my father’s platoon in Vietnam,” she said. “He’s been helping trim trees the last few weeks.”

“Is that his Chevy I saw up at the house?”

“That’s what he usually lives out of,” Sarah said, frowning at the thought. “But since he’s been working here, Dad’s letting him stay in the guest house.”

The judge stopped measuring the next tree. “Sarah tells me you managed to get yourself into a bit of trouble.”

I should have known better. It didn’t take him long to get to the point. In his mind just the accusation made me guilty. “I believe I’m innocent until proven otherwise.”

The old man laughed. “I believe we’ve had this kind of discussion before.”

His attempt at humor caught me off guard. In all the years I’d known him, he’d never directed even the hint of a smile at me.

“Well, I hope it’s not too serious,” he continued, glancing at his daughter. His show of concern had to be for her benefit.

“Just a misunderstanding that I’ll be able to straighten out,” I said.

His face turned stony again. “Like hell you will!”

“What?” I said, unsure of what he’d meant.

“You’ve never been very good at keeping your feelings to yourself, Dobbs.” He lifted the blade of his machete and jammed it into the dirt. “You let Sarah handle it. She knows what she’s doing.”

Sarah smiled at my bewildered look, then turned to her father. “Hunter’s staying for lunch. How about you?”

The judge shrugged. It had to be painfully obvious to Sarah that there was no love lost between us. “Give me a few more minutes,” he said and turned to attack his next victim.

As Sarah and I walked back to the house we heard the sound of sirens coming from the main road.

“Wonder what that’s all about?” she said and stepped up her pace.

By the time we reached the driveway, she got her answer. A black-and-white patrol car swerved off the highway and raced directly at us.

“That looks like the lieutenant.”

“Who?” I asked, trying to catch up.

The car slid to a stop, too close for comfort, and Sarah grimaced. “One of our county’s finest.”

I waved my hand in front of my face, trying to clear the cloud of dust which had been kicked up. A tall, middle-aged man, with brown hair and mustache, jumped out from the passenger’s side and marched toward Sarah. The driver, a short muscular cop, was close behind.

“Miss Harris,” the lieutenant said as he adjusted his brown herringbone coat so that it squared with his loud blue and green tie. “Where’s Jared Reineer?”

“With my father.”

“Where exactly?” the uniformed cop said and pulled his revolver from his holster.

“Wait just a minute!” Sarah snapped.

The lieutenant gave the young cop a disgusted look. “Jamison, holster that weapon and call for backup.”

BOOK: Witness for the Defense
10.22Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Inherit the Dead by Jonathan Santlofer
FG 3 - The Wedding Blitz by Leah Spiegel
The Vault of Dreamers by Caragh M. O’Brien
The Testimonium by Lewis Ben Smith
The Alpha's Domination by Sam Crescent
Our Kansas Home by Deborah Hopkinson, PATRICK FARICY
Great by Sara Benincasa