Bill Harvey Collection

by Peter O'Mahoney

  “For what it’s worth.” Harvey drew a deep breath. “I’m sorry as well.”

  A moment of eye contact, of a life passed by.

  “Let’s get into it then.” Jonathon clapped his hands. “Let’s start the work. I didn’t do it, so let’s solve this thing and get me out of here.”

  The smile broadened on Harvey’s face.

  There was no doubt that this man was his brother.

  “You’ve been charged with the first-degree murder of Gerard West.” Harvey removed the police file from his briefcase. “First things first, did you know this man, Gerard West?” Harvey slid a photo of Gerard West across the table.

  “Never seen his face before yesterday.” Jonathon shook his head. “Never talked to him.”

  “The police report states that on October 22, at just after 11:00 pm, you strangled the deceased in an alley off Boyd St. in Skid Row. Do you spend a lot of time in Skid Row?”

  “I have an apartment in Skid Row. It’s not great, and it’s not a good area, but it’s all I can afford at the moment. Not too many people are willing to employ an ex-con, and the rent there is cheap. If you avoid the right streets, then it’s not too bad.”

  Understanding, Harvey nodded. “He was wearing your jacket with your DNA all over it. There was also video footage of you around the area at the time of death. They also have witnesses that place you at the scene of the crime.”

  “That doesn’t mean I did it.”

  “No, but it certainly makes you a prime suspect,” Harvey retorted. “What were you doing at 11:00 pm on Tuesday?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You must have been doing something.”

  “Alright.” Jonathon rubbed his hand over his face, ashamed of his checkered past. “I was walking around that night. I felt like I needed another hit, but—”

  “A hit of what?”

  Jonathon looked away from his brother, desperate to avoid eye contact. “Heroin.” He sighed. “But I’ve been clean fourteen months now, Bill. It’s been great. Amazing. But every now and again, I get an urge. The urge to have another hit. It overwhelms me, like I can do nothing else until I get it. My bones ache, my body sweats, and my mind is all fuzzy. It’s hell, man. The urges are getting less and less, but I still get them. The best way for me to deal with it is to go somewhere and get away from it all. I have to get out of that tiny little apartment that I live in or the desire just gets stronger and stronger. So I was walking the streets.”

  “Was anyone with you?”

  “A man named Carlos López.”

  “Carlos López? Small guy, Mexican heritage, black hair?”

  “Yeah. That’s him. I called him because I needed the support. That’s what support groups are for. When you feel like you can’t handle it anymore, you call someone. Carlos has always been good to me.” Jonathon ran his hand through his brown hair. “We were walking around for a while, just wandering, and then we had a coffee at the diner, and after that, I felt alright, so we hugged and then said our goodbyes.”

  “This guy?” Harvey searched a Facebook photo on his phone of the man he spent months defending.

  “That’s him.” Jonathon nodded. “How do you know him?”

  “I defended him against a drug possession charge six months ago. Carlos was innocent, and we got him off because we were able to establish that the drugs belonged to someone else.”

  “I don’t know anything about that, but I can tell you this—he’s a good man, with a good heart. A solid person. He’s one of the volunteers in the recovery support group. And he’s always been there for me when I have needed a hug.”

  “Is that something the support group taught you?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Hugging.”

  Jonathon scoffed, remembering who he was dealing with. “Hugging is amazing, Bill. I know our family was never huggers, but it makes you feel connected to someone. There’s something about the touch, the bond, that people share when they hug. It means something, but I guess by the tone of that question, you hug people about as much as our father did… which is never.”

  “I guess so.” Harvey looked at his hands. They were the same as his fathers. Every time he looked at them, he saw his hardworking father. “What happened after you had a nice little hug and said goodbye?”

  “I walked home.”

  “Which way?”

  “Past the alley on Boyd St. I had walked about ten minutes, then I realized that I had left my jacket at the diner, so I went back for it, but someone had already taken it. Happens a lot around there. If you leave something on the ground for a couple of seconds, it’s gone. So I wasn’t surprised that my jacket had disappeared. When I got back to the diner, I asked at the counter, and they said they saw some guy come in and take it. I guess it was Gerard West.”

  “Would you kill for that jacket?”

  “No,” he snapped. “I didn’t kill him, Bill. I’ve never killed anyone. I wouldn’t be able to do that; it’s just not in me to kill someone. That’s too far, even for me. I’ve seen death before, but I could never be a part of it.”

  The defense lawyer was wary of his younger brother.

  Despite the bond between them, despite the shared blood, this was a man that he didn’t know. He didn’t know if Jonathon was a habitual liar, he didn’t know if he had faced this situation in the past, he didn’t even know if Jonathon was capable of telling the truth.

  Usually, Harvey would rely on his skills to determine if someone was lying. When he first moved to Los Angeles, he spent ten years working as a hypnotherapist, helping people overcome one addiction or another. His ability to read people, even the slightest movement of the eyes, meant that he was successful at everything he touched. From the movements of the body, he would know if somebody was lying, if they were hiding their past, or if they were avoiding their future. As a criminal attorney, those skills have helped him more times than he cared to count.

  But this time, he had a problem, something he hadn’t faced before.

  This time, emotions were clouding his judgment.

  And he didn’t like that one bit.

  “Do you know where Carlos went after he left you?”

  “No.” Jonathon shook his head. “Why so many questions, Bill? All this is in the police report. I have already told this police all this information. I sat in that interview for hours and went through all this. It’s all in the report.”

  “What I need is to build a full picture of the crime. I need to know every little detail of what happened. I need to know the weather, the way the wind blew, the history of every person involved, the clothes the person wore, the graffiti on the wall of the alley—everything. Because it’s in the small details that we will find our solution. The police have looked at the big details and concluded that you committed the murder. If we only look at the big details, we will come to the same conclusion, and you will spend the rest of your life behind bars. Your possible innocence lies in the small details; in something that everyone else has missed. That’s why I’m asking all the questions.”

  “Alright.” Jonathon sighed. “I understand. It’s just… I’ve answered a lot of questions lately. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

  “I would like you to take me through what happened again, in your own words.”

  “Again?” Jonathon didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but the days locked up in prison, just when his life was getting back on track, had brought him to the end of his nerves.

  His patience was well past its use-by date.

  “Jonathon, we have a murdered body in an alley. If you didn’t do it, somebody else did. As you have no alibi, finding that person may be the best way to prove your innocence. That’s where we will start, because if we take the case as it is now to the courtroom, there’s a very strong chance that the jury will see it the same way the police see it. We can fight for your innocence, and we may win, but we may not. Or we can prove that someone else did it, and not have to fight at
all.”

  “You really think I’m innocent?”

  “Are you?” Harvey stared at the man with searching eyes.

  “Yes.” Jonathon didn’t flinch. Didn’t break eye contact.

  He was either as skilled as his brother in manipulation, or he was being truthful.

  Harvey hadn’t decided which one yet.

  “Good. Then take me through what happened for the rest of that night.”

  “After we—”

  “Who?”

  “But we’ve been through this?”

  Harvey didn’t respond, instead staring coldly at Jonathon, waiting for him to continue.

  “Ok, if you think it will help.” Jonathon sighed. “After we, Carlos and I, said goodbye, I went back to the diner, asked for my jacket and was told that it was already taken. Then, disappointed that I had lost the jacket, I walked home to my apartment, watched some late-night television, and then went to bed. That’s it. That’s all there is to it. That’s my entire night in a nutshell.”

  Harvey drew a long breath. “So what we have is two witnesses saying that they saw you, from across the street in the dark, enter the alley about thirty minutes before the time of death. We have your jacket on the deceased, and we have footage of you in the area. You’re big enough, and strong enough, to strangle a man to death. At the moment, it’s all adding up that you’re guilty.”

  “Like I said, the dead guy probably took my jacket after I left it at the diner,” Jonathon argued. “I went past the alley as I was walking. Innocently. Completely innocently. Walking is not a crime. It’s not an offense to walk past an alley. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Would you have noticed if Gerard was at the diner when you went back to retrieve your jacket?”

  “Probably not.”

  “I’ll check the security footage for the diner.”

  “There’s no use. It doesn’t work. I asked after I went back for my jacket, and they said it didn’t work. Places like that can’t afford security. Places in Skid Row don’t have much security apart from the metal bars on the windows.”

  “Is there anything else that you remember about that night that may be able to help us?”

  Jonathon shrugged. “No. Not really.”

  “Not really or no?”

  “No.”

  Harvey scribbled notes on his pad, not sure where to go next. Once he had worked out every possible avenue in his head, he continued.

  “I see that you’ve had some run-ins with the law over the years.”

  “I’m not proud of my past, but it happened. There is no denying that I did some really bad things and generally, I was a really bad person. Really bad. And once you’re labeled a con, nobody wants to employ you. You’ve got to survive somehow, and a lot of the time the only option I had left was to steal something. You’ve got to find money somehow.”

  “To fund your drug habit?”

  Jonathon paused, mouth open. “I said I was sorry, Bill. I know my addiction was horrible for everyone. I know that I hurt our family. I know that I tore our family apart. I know that I really hurt…” He gulped. “I know that I really hurt Mom and Dad. I know that. That was my fault. I take full responsibility for that. It’s part of my recovery to take full responsibility for my actions. I’m sorry that it happened, but there’s nothing I can do to change it now.”

  “Thank you for taking responsibility.”

  Jonathon paused for a few long moments before thinning his eyes. “Do you want me behind bars? Is that what you want? To punish me for what I did? Your chance at revenge?”

  “No.” Harvey was firm. “I forgave you a long time ago, Jonathon. I’m here to help you.”

  “I really regret what I did to our family, but I’m at peace with it. It was my fault, and I made all the mistakes. But I’ve found God now, and I have asked Him for forgiveness. I’ve asked Him to forgive my past, and if you can’t, that’s ok. I’m at peace with myself, and with the Lord.”

  “You weren’t at their funerals.” The bold statement came out of Harvey’s mouth without rhyme or reason. Without thought.

  The sudden turn in conversation caught Jonathon off guard.

  “I…” he stammered, his eyes directed down at the table. “I didn’t think I would have been welcomed at Mom or Dad’s funeral. When I got clean, one of the first things that I did was go and visit their graves. I said sorry to them. I prayed for them. I never meant to put them through that. It was my fault, and one of my greatest regrets. I’m sorry.”

  The cold silence sat over the room as the brothers made eye contact.

  “How’s Ella?” Jonathon broke the quiet.

  Harvey looked down at his notepad, knowing how much pain their youngest sibling, Ella, had been through. She experienced the full ride of emotions—settling into the darkness of depression for most of her early twenties. After the death of their parents, Ella became lost in her own world, unable to deal with being alone. It took her years to recover, and Harvey was unsure of how she would take the news that their long-lost brother wanted to be back in their lives.

  “She’s not as forgiving as me. She wanted to forget about you, and that time in her life tore her apart. She went on the full ride of emotions, and she blamed herself for a lot of what happened. None of it was her fault, but that was the easiest way for her to deal with it.”

  “Is she well now?”

  “Most of the time, yes. She has her ups and downs, but most of the time she is good.”

  Jonathon nodded.

  Again, the silence sat over them, almost smothering them. The wave of emotion threatened to drown them, but as robust men, they resisted.

  After many minutes of awkward silence, Harvey drew another long breath, drummed his fingers on the table, and stood to leave. “We’ll sort this out, Jonathon. One way or another, we’ll sort this out.”

  Chapter 12

  “Detective.”

  “Harvey.”

  “Always a pleasure.”

  “Likewise.”

  The blunt greeting between Detective Matthew Pitt and criminal defense attorney Bill Harvey was matched by the usual equally curt handshake.

  However, this time, ever tentatively, Harvey drew in for a hug, while still holding Pitt’s handshake, but Pitt drew back, surprised by the change in greeting. Awkwardly, Pitt realized what his friend had done, and drew him back into the uncomfortable hug. They patted each other on the back solidly, showing off their machoism.

  “That’s…” Pitt was confused. “That’s a different greeting.”

  “I have been informed that hugging is good for you,” Harvey responded, eyes down, embarrassed about the moment.

  “You need a woman, Harvey,” Pitt retorted. “A new wife. It’s time to move on and fill that void in your life. You’re never going to fill that void with hugs from me. You need a woman to stop you from getting lonely.”

  “I’ve just been told that hugging is good for you. I’m not lonely.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to be here when you are lonely!” Pitt laughed.

  “It’s not that. It’s—”

  “What about your new assistant?”

  “Penny?” Harvey laughed. “No. Too young. She’s only in her twenties. And she’s been through a lot, but despite everything she’s been through, she still seems like a good person.”

  “What about your bookkeeper then? Nicole? She’s a bit younger than you, but not too young. She’s hot, she’s smart, she’s hardworking, and she’s single. You match on one of those things.”

  Harvey laughed. “Not Nicole. She’s not my type. Women with shaved heads and tattoos don’t do it for me.”

  “You have a type? It must be a very rare type because I haven’t seen you with a woman in years.”

  “I like…” Harvey ran his hand through his hair. “Actually, I don’t know what I like. But I do know that Nicole isn’t my type. She’s too physically strong for me. She’d probably tear me apart in a fight. That doesn’t do much for a ma
n’s ego. She does Muay Thai, a form of kickboxing, and she’s a black belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. If we ever got into an argument, I’m sure she would tear me to pieces. She would grab my balls and twist them sideways.”

  “Wow. It does sound like she would tear you apart!”

  “Not my type.” He shook his head. “That’s all I know.”

  Harvey looked around the old parking lot, two levels up, where they had parked well away from the three other cars on their level. Early in the evening, they had done their best to disappear into the shadows.

  When Harvey called for information, Pitt did his best to keep it a secret. Saying the wrong thing could land him in a lot of trouble with his superiors.

  But their relationship was much more than serving a purpose; it was a relationship based on mutual respect, on friendship.

  With all the time that Harvey spent around hardened criminals, he could go beyond their friendship and provide Pitt with snippets of information that may help to solve a crime. He didn’t mind providing leads that didn’t include any of his clients—he figured justice was justice, no matter how the police landed their hands on the information.

  And having his finger on the pulse of the Los Angeles Police Department meant that Pitt could provide quiet leads on certain cases.

  “So why have you called me here, Harvey? It’s hot, it’s late, and I have better things to be doing.”

  “Like drinking beer and watching replays of the ‘84 Superbowl?”

  “You know I love that game, Harvey. I could watch that game all day on repeat. And if you ever want to see a perfect game from a running back, watch that one. Marcus Allen was amazing that day. Amazing. His third quarter was immaculate. There was one play—”

  “I’ve heard this story before.” Harvey smiled. “Way too many times.”

  “You’re always welcome to come to my place and watch the game again.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but your personal commentary, which is always about the next play in the game, isn’t my type.” Harvey laughed. “But I’m not here to chat about that game. I’m here for the case with Jonathon Harvey. There has to be something more to it. There’s not enough evidence for the DA to be pushing so hard on this one. Rumor is that they’re not even going to offer a deal. So what can you tell me?”