Bill Harvey Collection

by Peter O'Mahoney

  Right now, he was positioning for the best deal.

  “You’re lucky they’re only charging you with possession. With this amount of drugs, they could have charged you with the intent to distribute; however, I imagine they don’t have enough evidence to push that forward. They’re taking you for possession because that’s their strongest chance.”

  “I’m supposed to feel lucky?” Carlos grimaced. “I didn’t even have the drugs on me. How can they charge me with possession when they weren’t in my possession?”

  “Drug charges can fall into many different groupings when they reach the court. Actual possession is precisely what it sounds like: the actual possession of narcotics, involving hard evidence which is found by law enforcement officers on the person. In that sort of case, the question is less whether the defendant may be found innocent or guilty, and more whether the officers had sufficient probable cause to justify conducting a search. The concept of constructive possession is less straightforward, and that’s what we’re looking at here. It doesn’t involve the presence of tangible physical evidence on the person. Instead, constructive possession involves two key components which can be used to point to the possession of narcotics: the defendant must have knowledge of the drug’s physical whereabouts, and the defendant must have the ability to exercise authority and control over the drugs in question. That’s what they’re saying with your case.”

  “That’s stupid. The law is stupid.”

  “That’s your opinion, and maybe the jury feels the same, but the prosecution is sure on this one. They found the briefcase in your apartment and are arguing you had knowledge of it being there and that you could exercise control over the drugs. They’re going to bring you down unless we broker a deal with them.”

  Carlos wiped the thin layer of sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist. “What’s the deal?”

  “The police want you to testify that the case belonged to Lewis. They have made that very clear. Like you said, they’re not after you. They were tracking Lewis that morning, and when they saw he entered your apartment, they raided the place. Our problem arises because they didn’t see you or Lewis leave the apartment. You didn’t walk out the front or back door. When they went through the front door of your apartment, they thought that they’d pinned the case on your friend. And when they found out that neither you or Lewis were there, and there was no further evidence that the case belonged to Lewis, they were left with no option but to charge you with the crime. But that gives rise to another question. Where did you go?”

  “We went to the diner that we always frequent; El Mejor. We were there from ten in the morning until late in the afternoon. We drank coffee, ate tacos, talked about life. That’s what we did all day. Nothing unusual.”

  “Interesting.” Harvey turned from the window and quickly scrawled more notes on his pad. “If you give up Lewis as the owner of the briefcase, then we can get you a very good deal. We might even be able to get you off completely. But you have to testify against your cousin and state that the briefcase belonged to him.”

  “Like I said, that’s not going to happen. Lewis and I are tight. He’s my family from Mexico. We would never do that to each other. I couldn’t sleep at night if I did that to my family.”

  “That’s the only deal on the table. They’ll put the squeeze on you until you give up who the drugs belonged to. They’re not after you, Carlos. They couldn’t care less about you. All they want is the person who is dealing the heroin on the streets. They want to bring the whole house down. They want you to turn over on Lewis.”

  “You know that I can’t do that.”

  “And there’s no chance you’re going to plead guilty?”

  “None. I’m innocent. The drugs weren’t mine. I’m not going to prison for a crime I didn’t commit.” Carlos was firm. “I’m not pleading guilty. Never. I didn’t do anything wrong. Your job is to get me off the charges. That’s why I’m paying you the big bucks.”

  Harvey drew a large breath, filling his lungs with the cool, air-conditioned air. His job would be a lot easier if everyone just told the truth.

  But then, if everyone just told the truth, he wouldn’t have a job at all.

  Watching Carlos closely, Harvey leaned on his hefty oak wood desk and let the silence sit in the room. The way a man reacted under the cloak of silence said a lot.

  Carlos looked comfortable.

  In fact, he seemed too comfortable. He was either very confident of his innocence, or he was overly confident in the judicial system.

  Either was dangerous.

  “We can take this to court, but I wouldn’t recommend it. The odds are very much against us. Firstly, we need to explain to the court how $50,000 worth of drugs ended up in your apartment. Do you have any reasonable explanation that might convince a jury?”

  “The postman dropped them off?”

  “No.” Harvey shook his head, in no mood for jokes. “Does anyone else share the apartment with you?”

  “No.”

  “Any regular visitors?”

  Carlos shook his head. “None that I would blame the crime on.”

  “We will have to fight for lack of intent or lack of knowledge for the possession. I could explain that you picked up the suitcase by accident. Have you done any recent travel by plane or bus?”

  “I flew to New York last month.”

  “Too long ago. No jury will believe that you picked up a suitcase by mistake and then took a month to open it. No, that won’t work. But… how about a taxi ride?”

  “Yeah, sure. I take taxi rides all the time.”

  “Right. That might be our best option. You picked up a briefcase out of the boot of a taxi and, clearly, you picked up the wrong one. How long before the arrest did you catch a cab?”

  “I think it would have been the night before.”

  “Perfect. We will have to check the surveillance footage around your apartment building and make sure that the prosecution can’t disapprove our theory with the footage. Otherwise, we might have the smallest of chances.”

  “That’s getting better. I knew you would be worth the money.”

  “Now, they’ll bring up your connection to Juan Lewis in court. He’s the man they’re actually after, and as your alibi for the time of the raid, I have no doubt that they’ll subpoena him and get him on the stand under oath.”

  “He’ll say whatever he needs to say.”

  “I’m going to need to talk to him.” Harvey’s statement was firm. “The prosecution is going to subpoena your cousin to the stand as a witness, and we need to make sure that he’s ready for their questions. They’re going to go after him, and his responses are going to be very important for our case.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Carlos stared at him for a while, waiting for a response. “But if you have to talk to him, be careful. My cousin has a mean temper; he snaps very quickly. Even talking to him is dangerous.”

  “Carlos.” Harvey grinned, closing the folder in front of him. “That’s just how I like it.”

  Chapter 5

  “New tattoo?”

  Lifting the sleeve of his black t-shirt, Private Investigator Jack Grayson revealed the new tattoo on his left shoulder. “Got it last week. It’s always been my life motto—it said, ‘No regrets’.”

  “I really hope that in twenty years’ time, when the tattoo removal person is using a laser to burn that off, they see the irony of that tattoo.”

  “Ha!” Jack slapped his hand down on the table, laughing heartily. “I was going to get a tattoo that said ‘No Fear’ across my back, but the thought of it hurting scared me too much.”

  This time, it was Harvey’s turn to laugh loudly. “The tattoo I love the best is one that says, ‘Trust No One’ because you’d better have put that one on yourself.”

  Jack laughed loudly again. The two chuckling men in the small café captured all the other customers’ attention. Jack Grayson was used to the attention. When he walked into
a room, most heads turned.

  The café was narrow and busy; filled with office workers looking for a moment of escapism. The smell of freshly roasted coffee filled the air, almost strong enough for a customer to consume a caffeine hit on the smell alone. The lighting was dim enough to provide a contrast to the sunshine outside, and the air-conditioning was working overtime to keep the place cool.

  “I was at a restaurant last night, and the waitress screamed, ‘Anyone know CPR?’ I yelled out, ‘Yeah, I know the whole alphabet,’ and everyone laughed… well, except that one guy.”

  “That’s a good joke.” Harvey laughed again. “But is that a touch of gray hair I see?” Harvey tilted his head to look at the first few strands of aging hair on Jack’s head. “You need to dye that hair, or somebody might start taking you seriously.”

  “Don’t even start, Harvey.” Jack ran his hand over his temple, brushing over his short black hair. “I saw a few strands the other day, but I’ve never used hair dye in my life. I wouldn’t even know how to use it.”

  “It’s pretty simple. Just go to the drug store, buy a packet of hair dye, and follow the instructions on the box.”

  “I’m not good at following instructions. You know that.”

  “That’s true. You should go and see a professional. Don’t do it yourself. I would hate to see you walk in here next week with half your face dyed a different color.”

  “I need to protect this face. It’s all I’ve got. You’ve got your smarts and your money, all I have is this pretty little smile.” Jack grinned as he tried to find a comfortable position on the wooden chair.

  The café chair wasn’t big enough for him. Most chairs weren’t. As a six foot four, broad, and muscular man, Jack Grayson filled most things out.

  Including his t-shirt.

  But then, if he didn’t buy his t-shirts two sizes too small, they wouldn’t be as tight around his biceps.

  “You’ve had more than your fair share of women.” Harvey made the obvious understatement. “Give the rest of the male population a chance for once.”

  The twenty-something waitress placed two coffees in front of them, never quite taking her eye off Jack Grayson. In most situations, Harvey was used to getting female attention, but when Jack was in the room, he didn’t stand a chance. Confidently, Jack winked at the girl and watched her walk away with a spring in her step.

  “Ok, Harvey, what have you got for me?” He swirled the coffee in his mug.

  “As you probably know, Judge Andrew Hardgrave was murdered a month ago.”

  “I read that in the news. He was your mentor, wasn’t he?”

  “He was. A great man. We met ten years ago when I was a baby-faced lawyer, and he took me under his wing. I didn’t have much of an idea of what I was doing, but he showed me the ropes. I think he saw a lot of himself in me, and he could see that I wanted to make a difference. We met so many times, and I learned so much from him. Plus, we got along really well on a personal level. We were good friends. We had the same sense of humor.”

  “None?”

  Harvey smiled. “What’s the difference between a snowman and a snowwoman?”

  “What?” Jack started to laugh.

  “Snowballs.”

  “Ha!” Jack laughed hard, slapping his hand back on the flimsy wooden table. If he hit it too much harder, it would crumble under the weight of his large hands.

  “That was Hardgrave’s favorite joke. He told it to me every year after he came back from his annual ski trip in Canada. He always had tears in his eyes when he tried to tell that joke.”

  “It’s a good one.” Jack calmed down, still chuckling slightly.

  “We used to have dinner once a month, and Mary would cook the greatest turkey in the world. Oh, that was good turkey. I’ve never had better. Mary was his second wife; his first wife died of cancer over a decade ago. Hardgrave had mentioned to me that he did a lot of things in his past that he wasn’t proud of, but he was determined to redeem himself. He tried hard to make a difference in the world.”

  “And no one has been arrested for his murder yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “What have the police got?”

  “A connection to my client, Carlos López.”

  “Really? And you’re still defending him?”

  “I have to keep him close. He’s a reformed drug addict that spends all his time volunteering at a drug rehab center, but who knows what happened. The closer I am to López, the closer I am to the Hardgrave case. I won’t let Hardgrave’s case go cold. I won’t let my friend’s killer walk free.”

  “What’s in the López case?”

  “Drug possession charges. A briefcase full of heroin was found in his apartment when the cops raided it.”

  “Why were the cops raiding the place?”

  “The apartment that Carlos lives in is owned by his cousin, Juan Lewis, and—”

  “The drug dealer?”

  “You know him?”

  “Of course I do. Everyone around East L.A. knows him. His reputation is about as big as they come in those parts. He’s rich, he’s mean, and he loves women.”

  “Along with Hardgrave’s daughter, apparently. Lewis and Michelle Hardgrave were an item for many years. That’s how Hardgrave is connected to Lewis.”

  “Why were there drugs in López’s house if he’s clean?”

  “He claims that the cops planted the drugs. He claims that the police were trying to set up Lewis, and take him down. Lewis and López were supposed to be in the apartment at the time of the raid, but they’d slipped out the laundry room window an hour earlier.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know yet, but I’m working on figuring that out.”

  “And if the police did plant the drugs, why plant it at López’s place? Why not Lewis’ house?”

  “Lewis spends a lot of time at the apartment, and the cops thought it was one of his drug houses. It wasn’t.”

  “Well, they messed that up.” Jack groaned. “And so, you want me to look at Carlos’ business? Get the inside word to see if he’s still involved in the drug trade?”

  “No. I don’t think the briefcase full of drugs belonged to him. I feel he’s telling the truth when he says that he had never seen that briefcase before. What I want from you is to sniff around Juan Lewis and Roberto Miles. See how deep their connections to Hardgrave go. See what the word is on them.”

  “You want me to be hunting around the case with Judge Hardgrave? Not working the López case?”

  “There isn’t a lot we can do with the López case. It’s fairly black and white. We’ll only be able to get him off on a technicality, or if he makes a deal with the prosecution to sell out Lewis or Miles.”

  “He won’t do that. Lewis and Roberto Miles are both dangerous men, and you would have to be crazy to try and cross them. I don’t think for a second that anyone is going to cross Lewis or Miles. Nobody would be that stupid. It would be far better to do prison time than cross them.”

  “Then the answer is yes—I want you to look into the Hardgrave case. See what you can uncover. Do you have much on?”

  “Not a thing. Work is drying up. Most people do their investigations online these days. An hour on Facebook could tell you more than a week’s worth of following someone.”

  “I don’t have a Facebook account, so I’m going to need you.” Harvey handed a folder to Jack. “But this is going to get heavy. These guys are dangerous, so I need you to remember what your tattoo says, ‘No Fear’. That’s how I want you to go into this one.”

  “But I didn’t get that tattoo. I chose the other one that said, ‘No Regrets’.”

  “Really? I don’t think that was the right choice.” The smile on Harvey’s face grew. “You should’ve chosen the other one. I bet you’ll regret that decision one day.”

  Chapter 6

  The smell of Mexican spices and overcooked meat filled the air.

  Bill Harvey caught a waft of the cooking, and his stomach
instantly rumbled. He loved that smell. It reminded him of a time when he first moved into a small apartment in Downtown L.A., and his neighbors cooked all afternoon, and then fought all night. When he was missing his hometown, the nightly routine comforted him.

  Walking into the El Mejor diner where Lewis and Carlos were known to frequent, Bill Harvey placed his bowler hat on the bench, cautiously sitting on a sticky and squeaky stool.

  He always thought it was odd where people felt most comfortable. Despite the ability to afford even the most high-end restaurants in town, Juan Lewis spent most of his time at a diner where all the meals were under ten dollars. It was cramped, the tables weren’t cleaned properly, and there were ten-year-old coffee cup stains on the counter. The radio was humming in the background; the chatter of the locals was constant.

  But this was more than just another diner serving Mexican food.

  This was a community. A place where people felt safe to be themselves.

  That should never be underrated.

  “What’ll it be?” The woman behind the counter had a clear Mexican accent and a cheeky grin. Her round cheeks glowed, her eyes smiling at her new customer.

  “This is a nice diner.” He looked around. “I quite like the feeling in here.”

  “It’s a Mexican diner, sweetheart. If you want hotdogs and bacon, go around the corner to a place called Dogs and Hots. You’ll only find good Mexican food here.”

  “Let’s start with coffee before we make this a date.”

  “Smooth, and handsome.” She grinned. “I like you. You’ve already added a little bit of sunshine to my day.”

  She poured the drip coffee into a mostly white mug without taking her eyes off his.

  “Tell me…” He read the nametag on the lady’s large chest. “Louise, what do you know about Carlos López?”

  “Carlos? Why are you asking about Carlos?”

  “I understand he comes here a lot.”

  “That might be correct, but you didn’t answer my question.”

  “Do you spend a lot of time here, Louise?”

  “Work is my life, mister. I spend all my time here. This is where people respect me, and I feel comfortable. Out those doors, I’m just another overweight Mexican woman. In here, I’m the woman everyone wants to talk to. I’m the center of a community in here. This is where I’m somebody.”