by J. W. Lucas
I stepped up to the clerk’s counter, introduced myself and told the woman I had an appointment with Attorney Petrone. She nodded, pointed to the chairs, and told me to take a seat. Five minutes later a young woman came out of an office and said, “Mr. Richardson?” I raised my hand in acknowledgment.
“Come in please,” she said, motioning me to come hither. As I went to her. I heard one of the lawyer types mutter “Christ,” as he slapped his folder against his lap.
County Attorney Dan Petrone looked every bit the image of a seasoned prosecutor; grey pinstripe trousers, a white shirt, and dark blue tie were his trademark wardrobe. He greeted me with a firm handshake and I took a seat in front of his desk. “I spoke with Lindsey this morning; she told me the Judge is holding his own. Any update?”
“I know what you probably know already. He apparently had a good night, and they were planning to take him off the respirator this morning,” I explained.
“Yeah, she said that. She also said that you’re with the Justice Department?”
“Yes, I was a Deputy US Attorney; currently I’m working with Justice as a consultant.”
“And you know her and the judge from law school?”
I didn’t expect a voir-dire but thought I best go with the flow. I nodded the affirmative.
“After she called me this morning, I must admit that I Googled you,” he continued, “You’ve been a busy man. That human trafficking case you did in Boston got a lot of publicity.”
“Fifteen arrests I read, white collar, blue collar, street hustlers. Man, that was some fine work.”
“I also read that you recently came into a lot of money.”
I shifted in my chair, but didn’t respond, just nodded the affirmative. Damn Google.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to give you the third degree. Judge Moran is a highly respected jurist and has been a mentor to me. We’re a little laid back here in Vermont, especially in this County. What happened to him is a shock to all of us. Lindsey said she has retained you, but I’m not sure why.”
He left his question open-ended, and I waited a moment before I responded.
“Lindsey is very frightened Dan, and she feels she isn’t getting any answers from anyone about who could have shot him and why. I know it’s only been two days, but, she feels that the local sheriff may be out of his league on this one.”
“I have to agree with her on that. The man is an ass,” he said bluntly.
“That seems to be what I’m hearing Dan. Let’s stop the dance and tell me straight up. What the hell is happening in Ethan Falls?”
He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands on the desk, not speaking. After a few moments, he looked up and said “We’re a District court here Daryl. I have two assistants who work part-time. We have two judges on the circuit who sit three days a week. We do traffic cases on Mondays and Thursdays, arraignments, and a few dozen criminal trials a year. Serious felony cases are bound over to the Superior Court. The public is very committed to maintaining its independence from the State whenever possible.”
“We’re unique in that the towns in the County got together and established a Business Manager position to coordinate our matters with the State. In truth, he’s a lobbyist but refers to himself as the County Executive. I won’t lie to you; he brings a lot of politics into our lives.”
“Judge Moran is a Senior State judge. He referees complex civil litigation cases. I don’t track his docket, but I can tell you he stays busy and steers clear of the local politics.
“Ethan Falls is out of the way, but the Attorney General thinks that it’s a better venue for the lawyers in contentious matters to get them into a calmer environment to work out their differences, you know, get them away from their home turf so to speak. That’s why they provide space here for the Judge.”
I nodded my understanding.
“The Judge getting shot is a shock to all of us. The girls in the Clerk’s office are scared to death. They don’t feel safe coming to work here. I called the Sheriff and asked for more support here, but he didn’t want to hear it.”
“I have one deputy screening people and one bailiff who doesn’t even carry a gun! What the hell is wrong with that man?” he said angrily.
“How can that be in this day and age?” I asked incredulously.
“He cries Budget cuts! Budget cuts my ass. He’s a controlling son-of-a-bitch who thinks he owns this County and no one will dare challenge him,” he said, almost shouting.
If nothing else I had managed to raise County Attorney Dan Petrone’s blood pressure to the ceiling.
“Dan, have you brought your concerns to the County Exec?”
“Sure, I have. And you know what? He tells me that the Sheriff complains to him that I’m not supporting his arrests with a stronger prosecution. Hell, Hunter says he’s leading his department in a war on drugs in the community and on the highway, but most of his department’s drug arrests are borderline civil rights violations. They’re doing raids, seizing drugs, money, and cars for what he calls drug trafficking, and then screams at me when I won’t support his forfeitures.”
“He’s been by-passing my review of the search warrant applications and from what I’ve seen of them after the fact he must be putting pressure on the Judges to issue them because most of them are pure bullshit probable cause. That’s one of the problems with the system.
“Problems? I don’t understand.”
“District Judges are appointed, so am I. The Sheriff is elected, and our so-called County Exec is too,” he explained. “Campaigns are expensive. The Sheriff and his business associates are heavy contributors to the candidates he feels he can work with, especially the Exec.”
“What do you mean business associates?” I pressed.
“The Sheriff reportedly has interests in car and equipment dealerships, towing companies, and owns a piece of a survivalist school just outside the town limits. Personally, I think it’s a front. They’re all heavy contributors in the campaigns.”
“Dan, you said you’re an appointed official, and that campaigns are expensive. Are you one of the Sheriff’s preferred people?” It was a pointed question, and I hoped that he wouldn’t reach across the desk and take a swing at me.
“No way in Hell would I associate myself with those people!” he answered as his face reddened. “I’m in my sixteenth year as the District Attorney, and my supporters are the everyday people that live in the county. I go out and talk to people. I don’t need to spend money on TV, radio, and newspapers. I’ve been very successful sticking to my beliefs in pursuing the interests of justice, and hopefully my re-appointment next Fall will carry me over to my twenty-year retirement. The bottom line is that I won’t be a party to violating anyone’s civil rights. Hunter is an ass.”
I had a lot more questions, especially about the qualifications of the judges, but my visit to the Court was to try to find out what happened to the Judge. I needed the conversation to get back on track.
“Dan, what happened the other evening?”
“From what I was told the Judge was the last to leave, a little after six. That’s his routine. Billy Barnum, he’s the building superintendent, was in the lobby. He and the Judge chatted briefly, and the Judge went out to his car. Billy told me he locked up and left about ten minutes later. He lives just down the street, so he walks to work. When he went outside, he saw the Judge on the ground and thought he had fallen. He ran over to him and saw he was bleeding, ran inside called 911, and went out again to wait for the ambulance.”
“Did anything unusual happen during the day? Anyone with anger issues?”
“No, it actually was a light docket and I was able to get out of here a little early for a change. I left about three.”
“Have you been interviewed by the police?”
“No, I got a call at home from one of the ambulance crew and they told me what happened. I drove back here but by the time I got back everyone was gone except two deputies who were in a cruiser. It w
as pouring out, and I got soaked when I went over to talk to them. They said the Judge was alive when they put him in the ambulance. That’s all they knew.”
“Do you know if they did a search, look for witnesses, suspects; cars in the area?”
“I don’t know that. As I said it was pouring rain and the two deputies were in one of their cars drinking coffee when I got here.”
“Have the police been back to follow up?”
“I don’t know what happened that night. I came back here to the office and called the Sheriff’s Department. The dispatcher told me the Sheriff wasn’t in and put me through to his phone mail. I left a message for him to call me as soon as possible and left my cell number. I didn’t hear back after about a half hour, so I called the Department again and got the runaround. I told the dispatcher it was urgent the Sheriff calls me, and she said she would try to track him down. After that, I went home.”
“Did he get back to you?”
“Yeah, about nine o’clock. He said he was aware of the shooting and that Johnny Carpa was heading up the investigation. He’s the Detective Captain.”
“Is he any good?”
“He’s the Sheriff’s cousin. Read between the lines. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“Isn’t Carpa investigating the murder of the young girl a few weeks ago?”
My question startled him. “You know about that?”
“Yeah, I saw an article in the local paper. It sounded like the case was stalled. Not much information coming out of the Sheriff’s Department,” I explained.
Dan Petrone thought for a moment before he spoke “Daryl, this isn’t Boston. Susan Peterson’s murder was the first ever in Ethan Falls since they started keeping records in the late 1800’s. From the start, I was pushing Carpa to share his progress with me so that I could have a foundation to build a prosecution on when they made an arrest.”
“And?” I asked.
“Nothing. The more I pressed the more he brushed me off onto the Sheriff. I asked about autopsy results, forensics, DNA. I’ve received nothing. It got to the point the Sheriff said I was obstructing the investigation and if I didn’t back off and let his department do their job, he would file a complaint with the Exec.”
I leaned back in my chair and shook my head. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
After a minute I spoke, carefully choosing my words “Dan, I’m shocked to hear of this disconnect between your office and the Sheriff’s Department. I didn’t come here to get in the middle of a turf war, or to take sides. My job is to try to get some answers for Forrest and Lindsey Moran.”
“I understand Daryl, and I can appreciate your position. But I hope you can see my side of this. I’m at wit’s end; I have an unsolved murder and now an attempted murder. I can use all the support I can get.”
“Dan, did you bring your concerns about the Sheriff to Judge Moran?”
“I did. He listened and said he understood and confided in me that he also had concerns. I asked him if he thought we should push for the State Police to take over the Peterson murder,” stopping short.
“And?” I asked,
“He said he had a visit from the Peterson girl’s father, Eddie. He’s a decorated war veteran. Vietnam, a Marine, a couple of Purple Hearts, Silver Star from what I’ve been told. Apparently, Eddie is on the brink of snapping over the lack of progress and was pressing for the State or FBI to step in.”
“Did the Judge say how he responded?”
“He told me that he believed something had to be done, that he had spoken with the County Executive but that he couldn’t disclose anything further.”
I thought back on what Lindsey had said about the Judge seemed to be out of sorts lately. “Dan, can you remember when you spoke with the Judge?”
He thought for a moment and answered, “About two, maybe three weeks ago, why?”
“Um nothing, I’m just trying to put a timeline together in my mind.”
I looked at my watch and reminded myself that I had to be back at the hospital by one-thirty.
I stood up and said, “Dan, I’ve taken up enough of your time, and when I came in I saw the lineup out there waiting to speak with you.”
“They can cool their heels. Today is our pre-trial docket. Plea bargains to keep the wheels of justice spinning,” he said with a resigned smile.
We shook hands and stepped out into the waiting room. Two young lawyers leaped to their feet, the female half of the pair looked like she was ready to rumble.
“Mr. Petrone! We’ve been waiting almost an hour, this is unacceptable,” she said in an accusatory tone. Before she could finish Dan Petrone turned and snapped at her.
“Miss, this Court has many pressing matters before it, and if you’re inclined to negotiate some consideration for your client, you’ll sit down and conduct yourself in the proper manner I expect from an officer of the Court.”
Her young male cohort tugged on her sleeve and pulled her back into her chair. Two more senior looking attorneys in the lineup looked at each other and exchanged wry grins.
I walked out to the parking lot thinking that I really wanted to speak with the building superintendent, but it would have to wait until tomorrow.
I glanced around and couldn’t see any trace that a violent crime had taken place. I’m used to seeing discarded crime scene tape, medical supply wrappings, remnants of burned out road flares. Not here though. Mr. Billy Barnum certainly kept a clean yard.
I fired up the Challenger and made my way back onto Main Street. Toward the end of the village green, a sign on a sidewalk vendor’s cart caught my eye, “Chez Dog.” I couldn’t remember the last time I had a hot dog and pulled into a parking space to grab a quick lunch.
A Sabrett skinless beef dog, a generous ribbon of Grey Poupon topped with sauerkraut, and a Coke was a culinary masterpiece for seven dollars. I took a seat at a nearby café table on the sidewalk and noshed, with nary a drop of mustard or sliver of kraut staining my shirt. Thirty minutes later I was on the road heading back to the Medical Center.
As I drove out of town, I thought I hadn’t made much progress for my clients on my first day. Then it dawned on me, I never had a real client before! I laughed at myself and glanced in the rearview mirror to see a dark colored late model Taurus coming up fast behind me. The tinted windshield and fender mounted antenna gave it away. An unmarked police car. It closed to about ten feet on my tail and backed off. I glanced at the speedometer, saw I was doing forty, checked the mirror again and saw the Taurus make a quick right turn onto a side road. “Son-of-a-bitch,” I thought. He grabbed my plate number.
The Challenger is registered in my name; the address is a condo that I had bought in Boston.
Working for the government as I do, especially in the criminal division which is heavy into undercover work, all our work and personal cars are entered into the motor vehicle database and programmed to alert our office and identify the date, time and agency that may run our plate. I suspected that my Taurus encounter was with the Abbot County Sheriff’s Department.
Thirty minutes later I pulled into the Medical Center parking garage and to my luck, I found a parking space with ease. A few minutes later I was sitting in the lobby with some time to kill, enjoying a melody from the computerized baby grand.
Chapter Five
Lindsey came walking toward me across the lobby and I couldn’t help but notice how energized she looked.
“Hello, my friend,” she said as she bounced onto a couch across from me. “I just left Forrest, he’s conscious and recognized me right away. He’s weak, but he put his hand out to me and squeezed mine. He really can’t talk much yet and seems to drift off to sleep a lot, but he’s breathing on his own.”
“That’s great progress Lindsey. Not out of the woods, but it sounds like he’s on the right path.”
“I think he is. How did you make out with Dan Petrone?”
I looked at her and knew that I had to choose my words car
efully so as not to dampen her spirits. “Dan was very accommodating, and he asked me to tell you that you and the Judge are in his thoughts.” I fibbed on that one, but figured Dan had that on his mind but was too distracted to speak the words.
“Thanks, Dan is one of the good guys.”
“He is. He really didn’t have much information for me, told me that the building super, a Billy Barnum, found the judge in the lot and called 911 after he saw he was hurt.”
“Billy is a character, and he’s been there forever. Thank God he did what he did.”
I nodded and continued, “Dan said he spoke with the Sherriff and learned that the Captain, Carpa I think his name is, was assigned the case.”
Lindsey gave me a blank stare and said “Oh! I was hoping he was going to say that the State Police were taking over the investigation since a judge was involved.”
“Well, at this point it’s still a County matter due to some political issues, but that may change.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, not understanding.
“Just that Dan said some things about his working relationship with the Sheriff’s Department, and his thinking is the Judge getting shot and the Peterson girl’s murder might be too overwhelming for the Sheriffs to manage.”
“What he was saying Daryl is that they don’t know what they’re doing,” she said seeing through my veil of diplomacy, “and a murderer is loose in the County and he may be the person that shot my husband.”
I thought for a moment how to respond but was rescued by a voice that called out, “Oh Mrs. Moran, there you are!” A man dressed in green scrubs and a surgical cap walked up and nodded hello.
“Daryl, this is Dr. Mongello, He’s the surgeon who operated on Forrest. Doctor, this is our dear friend Daryl Richardson.”
I recalled that I once heard that surgeons don’t shake hands, to protect their tools of the trade. I was also glad that Lindsey didn’t tell him that I was a lawyer. That’s the last thing a doctor would probably want to hear. I nodded as cordial a greeting as I could muster.