Barbara Levenson - Mary Magruder Katz 03 - Outrageous October (2 page)

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CHAPTER

THREE

I carefully parked my car in a real parking place, not my usual ‘Absolutely No Parking’ labeled spot. For once I was early enough to stroll up the steps to the courthouse and arrive in Judge Johnny Lee Custis’s third floor courtroom before nine o’clock.

The third floor courtrooms have bullet-proof glass separating the spectator section from the well of the court. No one has ever discovered why the glass was placed there, since the courtrooms on the third floor are the smallest in the building and never used for high profile cases.

Franco was already seated with his wife in the first row behind the glass.

“Franco, you need to come with me. You’ll be next to me at the defense table.” I said. “Lucinda, you can keep your seat here.”

Lucinda gave Franco a hug and a huge wet kiss as Franco moved through the door. I assumed this was for the benefit of the court personnel.

“Mary, wait a minute.” Lucinda grabbed my arm. “Will I get the bail money back as soon as this is over?” she asked. “If you lose, will Franco be going right to jail? How long do you think the sentence will be?”

“Lucinda, you ask me the same thing every time we’ve been in court. Yes, you’ll get the bail money released. No, I don’t expect to lose. Franco will be going home with you.”

“Oh.” Lucinda said. Disappointment covered her face like a heavy veil.

I made my way out of the public section and began unpacking my briefcase at the defense table. I glanced back at Lucinda and was surprised to see Carlos standing next to her, He waved when he saw that I noticed him. I felt my usual reaction when Carlos appeared unexpectedly. My heart quickened. I could feel its beat and I felt warmth wash over me. I wondered if that euphoric feeling would clothe me forever or would time mellow this relationship. I knew these were feelings I never had for Frank Fieldstone or even for my college boyfriends.

I turned my attention back to the courtroom and was surprised again although this time not pleasantly. Approaching the prosecutor’s table was Assistant State Attorney Fred Mercer, the head of the public corruption unit. Fred never forgave me for proving that Judge Liz Maxwell was not guilty of fixing drug cases. He had been looking forward to prosecuting her and I spoiled his fun when I proved that she was squeaky clean.

“Fred, what a surprise. Your office brought you in on this teeny case? Are you taking over from the misdemeanor baby prosecutors?” I asked.

“Not completely, just to argue a brief motion,” he mumbled.

“Really. I haven’t received any new motions,”

Before Fred could reply, the bailiff called us to order. “All rise. The Honorable Johnny Lee Custis presiding. Turn off all cell phones and pagers or they will be confiscated. No talking or gum chewing. When your case is called come forward quickly or another case will be called. Be seated and have a pleasant morning,” the bailiff concluded with a flourish.

Judge Custis was a large black man with a laid back approach. He was always cordial, never raised his voice, and best of all, he had been a public defender before becoming a judge.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” Judge Custis said as he heaved his large frame into an even larger leather chair. “I’m going to call the trial docket cases first and then move on to the arraignments. The first case is
State vs. Franco Hernandez
. Are both sides ready to proceed? I’ve already called the jury pool to send a panel up here.”

Fred and I both stood. “Yes, your honor, the defense is ready,” I answered.

At the same time Fred spoke in a shaky voice. “Your honor, Fred Mercer, Division Chief of Public Corruption, for the state. Unfortunately, the state is not ready to proceed, and we are requesting a brief continuance.” Fred looked down at his notes, unable to meet the judge’s gaze.

“Judge,” I said, but was immediately interrupted by Judge Custis who tipped back in his chair, hands behind his head.

“The state is not ready again? How many continuances have there been, Madam Clerk?”

The clerk was already shuffling through the court file. “Let’s see, Judge, there was one in July, two in August and one in September, all requested by the state, over defense counsel’s objection,”

“I believe I told you the last time you were here in September that there would be no more continuances granted to the state. Doesn’t your file reflect that?” the judge asked.

“I wasn’t the prosecutor here on that occasion, your honor. It was the regular division prosecutor,” Fred said.

“Doesn’t matter. Your file should have that notation. You prosecutors are fungible anyway. Just like dollar bills. Some are more wrinkled than others but they all have the same value.” The judge chuckled at his own joke.

“Judge, I’m sure the reason that the state is never ready to go forward is their lack of an essential witness who is the alleged victim in this case. I tried to subpoena him for a deposition and he never showed up. I believe that their witness is permanently unavailable, like long-gone,” I said and smiled at Judge Custis.

“Is that correct, Mr. Mercer?” Judge Custis asked.

“Well, he’s not available right now, or, I mean, this week, your honor.”

I interrupted. “He’s never available. That’s exactly my point. But there’s more to this, Judge. My client is charged with bribing a police officer and/ or city official. The man at the towing yard is just an employee of the towing service. He’s not a police officer or even an employee of the city, let alone a city official. My client paid him the fee to release an automobile. If the tow yard employee asked for a payment that was more than the standard release payment, that’s not my client’s fault. He paid the amount requested. So even if this itinerant employee ever did show up, the state still couldn’t meet its burden of proof. Therefore, your honor, I move for an immediate dismissal of this case.” I watched Fred’s scowl spread over his face.

“And I am granting defendant’s motion based on the state’s failure to ever provide the essential witness. Further, Mr. Mercer, the speedy trial rule will be kicking in shortly, and you’ll be out of court anyway. Next case,” Judge Custis shuffled through his files.

“But, Judge.” Fred’s whines sounded like an injured cat.

“What part of ‘dismissed’ don’t you understand, Sir?” The judge’s usual smile disappeared and was replaced by a small frown.

“Thank you, Judge,” I said as I picked up my briefcase and motioned Franco to follow me from the courtroom.

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CHAPTER

FOUR

Lucinda and Carlos were waiting in the lobby outside the courtroom. After giving instructions to Lucinda to retrieve the bond money, and cautioning her and Franco to stay out of trouble and removed from further domestic calls to police, I turned to Carlos.

“What a great surprise to see you here. You never said a word this morning about attending Franco’s hearing,” I said.

“I feel responsible for my various cousins taking up your time, besides, I love watching you in action. It makes me remember how you represented me when we first met and I conned you into helping me close a real estate deal. Watching you do your legal stuff turns me on.”

“Well, please try to remember some of my legal advice. Don’t pull anymore of those sort of legal deals of yours. Lying to clients isn’t a good idea, and selling them land you didn’t really own is an invitation to jail.”

“That only happened once,” Carlos said.

“Once that I know about.”

“I do listen to you, but I enjoy more looking at you.” Carlos pulled me close and kissed me.

As I pulled away, I saw people staring at us. They were probably thinking that I was saying goodbye to someone on his way to prison. I really didn’t care. Carlos has erased most of my inhibitions.

“Let me walk you to your car,” Carlos said as he slipped his arm around my waist.

“I have to make sure that the order of dismissal in Franco’s case gets signed, so I can’t leave yet. Why don’t we just meet at my house this evening? I’d really like to go out to dinner to celebrate the end of Franco’s case. Maybe we could meet at that bistro on the Miracle Mile.”

Carlos looked away. “No can do tonight. I have a dinner meeting with some new investors. How about tomorrow night instead?”

“Can’t you postpone the meeting? Or maybe I should go with you to make sure you have legal advice right next to you at the table.”

“I can’t change these plans and I promise not to do anything that you wouldn’t approve. You go have a nice evening and we’ll do something together tomorrow.”

“Well, if that’s your final answer, I guess I’ll just have to look for another dinner date for tonight.”

“I’m sorry Mary. I may be late tonight so I’ll go back to Pinecrest. I don’t want to wake you.”

“Is everything okay, Carlos?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” Carlos walked away without his usual goodbye kiss.

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CHAPTER

FIVE

In a few minutes I was on my way back to the office to share the court victory with Catherine. She hugged me and screamed her congratulations, Then raced to her desk to phone Marco with the good news that his brother would not be a state prisoner.

A minute later Catherine walked into my office with the mail. “You look disgusted. What’s the matter?”

“I really feel like going out tonight and Carlos has some dumb meeting. What are you doing tonight?”

“Oh, Mary, I’m sorry. Tonight is the meeting at school for the soccer parents and I have to go.”

“Okay, I understand. No one wants my company for dinner tonight.

Undaunted, I reached for the phone again and dialed

“Boutique de Luis. How may I help you?” The sensuous voice of Celia Martin, a.k.a. Chicky answered.

Chicky is Carlos’s sister who returned from her stint as a club bum in Buenos Aires to help Luis Corona open the Corona family shop in Coral Gables. Carlos’s father is Argentine and his mother is Cuban. But if you think that’s a mixed up family, mine is more so.

My father is Jewish and my mother is Southern Baptist. That’s the Magruder Katz in my name.

Angelina, Carlos’s mother, is ecstatic to have her baby girl home again, and credits me for getting Chicky back. She’s sure that if I hadn’t freed Luis from the clutches of the U.S. government after his arrest last June, Chicky would still be spending her youth dancing the tango in smoky Argentine bars. Much to my surprise, I really like Celia who is nothing like her mother.

“Chicky, it’s me, Mary. Is this a busy time? Can you talk?”

“It is busy, but I can always make time for you. We’re having our sale of last year’s things and getting ready for our winter lines. I thought you were going to stop in and try on some of these sale creations.”

“I meant to, but I’ve been so busy. Today I finally got Franco’s case dismissed. That’s why I’m calling.”

Well, you don’t need me to pat you on the back. You are the best. I’m sure everyone of your clients tells you that. Never mind about the sale. I’ll pick out some things for you and put them away. You’ll try them on whenever.”

“I wasn’t calling for praise. I want to go to dinner somewhere fun tonight to celebrate. Can you go?”

“With you and Carlos?”

“No, no Carlos. Just us girls. He’s tied up on some business dinner.”

“Oh, I’d love to have a girls’ night out, but I can’t.”

“Bet you’ve got a big date.”

“I’ve got inventory here. That’s my date, and I can’t leave Luis to do it alone or it’ll be all screwed up.”

“Okay. Chicky, turned down by another member of the Martin family. Happy inventory.” I clicked off.

I wandered out to Catherine’s desk. “No one wants to have dinner with me. Should I change my deodorant?” I asked. “Sam would probably go, but he tends to bark at the other diners.”

“What about your friend Lucy? Have you tried her?”

“No. Brilliant idea! Why didn’t I think of that?”

“That’s why you pay me the big bucks.” Catherine went back to her typing and I went back to the phone.

Lucy has been my best friend since third grade. She and her husband, Steve, and their three kids live in Miami Beach a few blocks from where we both grew up.

“Lucy, it’s Mary. I know this is last minute, but could you possibly get away to have dinner with me tonight? I got rid of that case against Franco, Carlos’s cousin today. I’m dying to go out for a leisurely dinner with much wine. I’ll even pay.”

“Why aren’t you going with Carlos? Don’t tell me you split with him.”

“No, he’s tied up in a business meeting tonight.”

“Dinner sounds great. Steve is working late and to be honest, I wasn’t all that thrilled about pizza with the kids, but can you come over to the Beach? I’ll have to get a sitter and it’s a school night. They all have to be home early.”

“Sure, I like coming to the Beach and driving down memory lane.. I’ll pick you up around seven.”

So, the die was cast setting up the dinner that changed my life..

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CHAPTER

SIX

High Pines, Vermont, October 26
^th
One year Ago

Dash Mellman and Tom Brousseau went back to Dash’s law office as soon as they could extract themselves from the villagers who assembled at the community church for the lavish funeral of Carolyn Brousseau.

The cold rainy afternoon was an appropriate backdrop for the sober crowd at the church. Several dignitaries spoke about the Brousseau family’s place in Vermont history. Tom opted not to be one of the speakers. This caused much whispering among the gathered audience while the choir sang a group of Carolyn’s favorite hymns selected by the Vermont Symphony conductor. A goodly number of cars, SUV’s and trucks made the trip from the church to the family plot in the cemetery that overlooked Old Main Street and the hills beyond.

The mood was melancholy, not because of Carolyn’s demise, but because the village gossip mongers had finished chewing over the facts about a murder in their home town, and craved new revelations. Some of the facts were actually facts, others grew from rumor and guesswork. Dash was asked whether it was true that Mafia figures from Boston were tied to Tom. Someone started a story that Carolyn had a secret “boyfriend” who was staying with her.

Most of the gossip centered on Tom and his lack of mourning for his mother. Throughout the days of planning for the funeral and the actual service, Tom maintained a business-like appearance. New Englanders are known for reticence. Tom’s demeanor ran more to lack of emotion.

The crowd returned to the church for a potluck meal put together by the caring committee. Hot casseroles and coffee took the chill off the wet group, many of whom slipped into the kitchen to savor several bottles of scotch and bourbon.

The Brousseau house was still surrounded by yellow evidence tape and sealed off. Dash, Tom and Sheriff Jimmy Parsons did a quick walk-through to identify any missing property. Tom claimed he couldn’t remember any particular items among the hundreds of souvenirs, figurines and bric-a-brac that covered the tables and shelves in all the rooms.

It was 4:30 by the time Tom and Dash arrived back in Dash’s office. Dash took a bottle of scotch out of his desk drawer and poured two shot glasses. He handed one to Tom.

Tom downed the scotch without even taking a seat or removing his wet raincoat. “Why did you insist that I come back here with you?” he asked.

“We need to discuss how you want to handle the house. Do you want to sell it? Will you want me to hire some folks to oversee the upkeep? And then there are the financial matters, the insurance policies and the stock certificates and bonds. Will you be returning to Boston?”

“I guess so, since I don’t seem to be under arrest.”

Tom’s sarcasm was as thick as the rainclouds still visible through the sheets of water covering the office windows. Dash thought about Tom’s interview with Sheriff Parsons. Jimmy had been brief, zeroing in on questions regarding Tom’s last visit to High Pines, and his relationship with his mother. Tom answered in terse sentences as if words needed to be conserved. He said he hadn’t been back to High Pines in nine months. Nothing he said incriminated him, but on the other hand, nothing he said erased the sense that Tom knew something more.

Dash realized that Tom was shifting uncomfortably and eyeing the door.

“Look, Dash, I know half the people here think I actually killed my mother. I don’t know who did this or why. I can’t figure out if anything is missing. Mother’s jewelry was kept in the safe deposit box along with the stock certificates and deeds that you and I found when we went through everything yesterday.”

Dash thought this was the most he had heard Tom say in the last three days

“I think people in High Pines knew that you and your parents didn’t get along too well. I know they shouldn’t mind each other’s business, but this is such a small village that it’s bound to happen.”

“No, I didn’t get along with my parents. Dad kept pushing me to go into the business, but he ended up selling the mill anyway. He just couldn’t stand the thought that his only offspring wanted to be an artist. Mother was of the ‘old school’. She went along with whatever Dad wanted. She never approved of my friends or lifestyle, never called me anything but Thomas. She acted like we were part of some royal family. If it hadn’t been so damn annoying it might have been funny. I couldn’t wait to get out of here and get a life.”

“That’s why Jimmy questioned you. He has nothing to go on, not a clue, so of course he turned to you, hoping to uncover some theory. And then there was the disappearance of Bridey. Whoever came in must have known the dog.”

“People came and went from the house all the time. The handyman that found Mother walked right in. There was the housekeeper too. And you came and went on many occasions. Did Jimmy question you or anyone else?”

“I don’t know who he questioned. He’s trying to do his job.”

“You know that a lot of people hated our family. When the mill closed, they blamed Dad for selling out to a foreign company. I can’t blame the workers for being angry. There aren’t many places for jobs in this state. Taxes are high so businesses don’t want to locate here, and the winters are long and hard. If Jimmy doesn’t have the brains to figure out that there are plenty of suspects right here in the Upper Valley, and he wastes all his time trying to make me the murderer, then he should be voted out of his job, and you can tell him I said so.”

Tom began buttoning his drenched raincoat and moving toward the door.

“Wait, Tom, I’m not your enemy. Don’t walk out. We haven’t even gone over the details about your property here. I don’t even know how to reach you.”

“Here’s a card with the post office box to forward any papers. I’ll think about the house. In the meantime, I’ll take care of hiring a property manager. The house is mine, so I’ll take care of it. I don’t need any help from anyone in this village.”

Tom threw the card down on the desk and slammed the front door as he left

Dash realized that Tom had a volatile temper triggered by what appeared to be hatred for his family and High Pines. It hadn’t taken much to unleash those feelings. Tom was the perfect target for Jimmy Parson’s suspicions. Dash decided that the sheriff wouldn’t look any further to solve this murder. He sighed and settled comfortably into his chair, propped his feet on the desk and retrieved the bottle of scotch from the drawer.