Horse shrugged. “It’s the Keys. Down there, everyone and his brother does some drugs. Unless you’re a dealer, the authorities don’t care.”
“But if he was on probation, any drug-related arrest would be a violation, and he’d be in prison.”
“His lawyer, still Richard Barlow, got the arrests reclassified as something else. Drunk and disorderly, Something like that.”
“Do you think he was dealing?”
“Small time, maybe. He had no other visible means of support.”
“So, where’s the connection to David Shepard?”
“My guess is they got together in the slammer. David and Tom Jackson were both guests of the county at the same time.”
“That’s consistent with what David said. Anything else to put them together?”
“Nothing definite. They both lived in Marathon at the same time from May ’til September. That’s when they left the Keys and landed in Matlacha. If you need any more on that angle, I’ll go down to the Keys and see if anything shows up on the radar screen.”
“Maybe later,” White said. “But it seems that Jackson has had some very effective representation on his drug charges. I’d like to know more about his lawyer.”
“I thought you might,” Horse said as he picked up another file and started reading. “Richard Barlow. Lawyer in West Palm Beach. Got his degree from Nova University. Went there on the G.I. Bill after he served in Vietnam.”
“What kind of a lawyer is he?”
“Mainly immigration,” Horse said. “But there’s something unusual about his practice. He only seems to handle immigration from southeast Asia, Burma, Thailand, Cambodia.”
White shrugged. “I suppose that’s reasonable for someone who served in Vietnam.”
“Maybe. According to my source, he also has a guy working for him, a Cambodian you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley.”
White’s eyes widened. “Didn’t the guy you met at the Shipwreck Bar said the man with the Porsche was Asian.”
“And you think one oriental is about the same as another?”
“It would fit. What do you have on the Cambodian?”
“Nothing. My hunch is the guy may be some kind of enforcer for Jackson’s father.”
“He makes sure that the good counselor gets paid?”
“At least. But my gut tells me there’s something more.”
“Like what?”
“When I was at the Shipwreck Bar, a guy I met said that the guy driving a blue Porsche came down there about once a month and took Shephard and Jackson somewhere. When they came back, they were flush with cash.”
“Anything else?
“Ah’m not sure, but Ah think there’s more to the lawyer’s business than just immigration.”
“See what else you can find out.”
“Ah’m waiting for some people to return my calls.”
“What did his father do in Vietnam?”
“He was part of a unit that trained the Montagnard’s.”
White released an audible whistle. “Those suckers were vicious killers. They operated outside any chain of command. It was pretty much every chieftain for himself.”
“And they controlled most of the poppy production in that part of Asia,” Harris said.
“I thought about that when I found out about Tom Jackson’s heroin arrest.”
“Look into it,” White said. “And….”
Horse and Harris waited.
“What do you think about the story of the boat and the package pickup?”
“It sounds to me like they were taken to Everglades City. That fits the driving time-line.”
“That’s what I was thinking. And what about the boat.”
“It sounds like they could have had the pick-up anywhere along the coast. Or maybe from a boat anywhere within a hundred miles of shore. Possibly even on the south side of the Keys. They’re all reasonable places to pick up packages of cocaine. I don’t think those facts are going to be very helpful.”
“What do you have on the owner of the Porsche?”
“Not much. I checked with the Department of Motor Vehicles. There are three hundred and fifty-four late model blue Porsches registered in Dade County. No obviously Asian names, but that may not mean anything. Sixty-three of the cars are registered to corporations. I’ll see what I can do to narrow the list.”
White nodded. “Keep on it. It’s our only lead.”
13.
White, David Shepard and Graham Brochette finished the sandwiches Grace Matthews had ordered so they could eat while they prepared for the probable cause hearing. White gathered the wrappers, crushed them into a ball and threw it into the wastepaper basket in the corner.
“It sounds like we’re going to be trying my case now,” Shepard said.
White swept the crumbs from the table with one hand and added them to the trash. “To some extent, we are. We’re going to try to make the State show that they have sufficient evidence to justify your arrest. We don’t have to argue any of our defenses, but they have to convince the judge they have enough evidence against you to justify a trial.”
“So what are we trying to get out of this?”
White stopped stuffing files into his briefcase and sat on the edge of the conference table. “First of all, I want to know how all of this happened. Somebody set you up. I want to know who, and I want to know why. I also want to know if you and Tom Jackson are the only targets, or if there is more to the State’s case. By making them disclose the basis for their warrant, we may get some clues about who’s behind the plan to have you arrested.”
“And you think you can find this out at today’s hearing?”
“I hope so. You see, in a trial we’ll be focusing on evidentiary issues. In a probable cause hearing, there’s more opportunity to make the prosecutor disclose his theory of the case. And Paul Parker isn’t likely to have prepared for the probable cause hearing as carefully as he’ll prepare for a trial. He may let something slip.”
At precisely two o’clock the bailiff called the court to order, and Judge Stanley Mitchell took his place behind the bench, waving the parties to their seats as he took his own.
“All right. What do we have here?” the judge asked impatiently.
White stood and waited while all those present turned to look at him. “Your Honor. The defendant contends that his arrest was improper because it was made incidental to an unlawful search.”
“How so?” Judge Mitchell inquired in a tone bordering on boredom. In his twenty years on the bench, he had heard it all and nothing surprised him.
“My client was arrested when the police discovered what they thought to be cocaine in his home. However, the only basis on which they were in his home was that the court had issued a warrant to search for cocaine.”
“Did I authorize the search warrant?”
“No, Your Honor. Judge Carlin signed the warrant.”
The judge wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “Go on.”
“It’s the defendant’s position that the search warrant was improperly issued because it wasn’t based on sufficient evidence to establish probable cause.”
“What evidence was offered in support of the warrant application?”
“The warrant was issued solely on the basis of the affidavit of Officer David Grey. In his affidavit, Grey stated that there was cause to believe that there was cocaine in the home being searched. The basis for that statement was that Paul Parker had informed Officer Grey that there was cocaine at the residence.”
When the judge didn’t ask anything else, White picked up a copy of a case opinion and read:
“If an affidavit offered in support of a request for a search warrant contains intentional false statements or statements made with reckless disregard for the truth, the trial court must ignore the questionable material and consider whether the affidavit’s remaining content is sufficient to establish probable cause. If the false statement is necessary to establish probable cau
se, the search warrant must be voided and the evidence seized as a result of the search excluded.”
This is from your honor’s opinion in State v. Davidson. White started to state a citation to the source of the published opinion when he was interrupted by the judge. “I’m familiar with the opinion, Mr. White. As you clearly know, I wrote it.”
The judge turned to Parker. “Do you have anything to say.”
Parker had to know that his only hope was to divert the judge from the search warrant.
“Your Honor, the question regarding the warrant is moot,” Parker said as if the law was so clear that no argument was necessary. “The police officers found something exactly where the informant said they would find it. That alone is sufficient to establish the informant’s credibility.”
Judge Mitchell glared at the State’s Attorney. “You’ll have your turn. But,” Judge Mitchell said, turning his attention to White, “I don’t see a problem yet.”
White, who had remained standing during the judge’s exchange with Parker, said, “The problem, Your Honor, is that Officer Grey got his information from Paul Parker, but Mr. Parker got his information from an anonymous tip that was phoned to him.”
Judge Mitchell quickly turned to Parker. “It that true.”
Parker stood slowly while avoiding looking at the judge. After a long silence, he said, “Yes, Your Honor.”
“And you don’t know who this tip was from?”
White took his seat, suppressed a smile and watched as the judge’s questions headed just where he had hoped the judge would go.
“Ah… No Sir.”
“So, you had no basis for determining the credibility of the witness.”
“His credibility is established by the fact that his information was accurate.”
“Nice try, Mr. Parker. But that argument doesn’t work in this court.” Judge Mitchell sat up straighter and said, “The court finds that the drugs were seized pursuant to a legally insufficient search warrant and are, therefore, inadmissible as evidence.”
White stood and began to make an argument.
“Save it, Mr. White,” the Judge said. “Without the drugs, the State has no case. The charges against your client are dismissed.”
Shepard looked at White with a dazed expression. “What just happened?”
“The evidence against you got tossed.”
“You mean I’m free?”
“Don’t get too excited, David. Only the State charges had to be dismissed. The federal rules of evidence are a little different from the state rules. You’re still facing federal charges if the government wants to bring them.”
“But isn’t that my dad’s decision?”
Brochette, who had sat through the hearing in the first row of the gallery was now standing with his son and White. “I am sorry. But since you are my son, I will have to recuse myself from anything having to do with you and any charges that may be brought against you.”
“What does ‘recuse’ mean?”
Brochette shook his head. “It means that the decision is going to be made by someone other than me.”
Shepard turned his back and walked away. “That sucks!”
“But it’s the law.”
14.
Early mornings alone on the deck overlooking the river were Lucius White’s special, private time. The river, flat and glassy, was a natural tranquilizer. The sky was overcast, and rain was in the forecast. Wisps of fog rose from the water surface. Only the occasional cry of a seagull that had ventured upriver from the Gulf of Mexico broke the silence.
White leaned against the deck railing thinking about what little they knew about David Shepard’s case. He never expected it to be easy. No case involving two kilograms of uncut heroine could be. But the complete lack of progress was wearing on him. The facts that they had weren’t coming together in any meaningful way, and he knew that his client was still not telling him the whole truth. So far they were only feelings born of experience and instincts. He couldn’t put his thoughts into words, but he couldn’t put them out of his mind.
Sherlock lay protectively at White’s feet, listening for the sound of food. White’s thoughts were interrupted by Sherlock’s tail thumping happily against the deck. When he looked up, Leslie was standing in the doorway. She was wearing a light negligee and, as he could see from the silhouette revealed by the light coming from behind her, nothing else.
“Could I interest you in a little something to start your day?”
White’s consideration of the facts of David Shepard’s case were swiftly replaced by more carnal thoughts. “What did you have in mind? Something lustful, I hope.”
“I meant breakfast. Something to eat!” Leslie said in a tone meant to deflect White’s leering suggestion.
“You’ll need to narrow it down a little more than that.”
“I won’t dignify that with a response,” Leslie scolded, laughingly, “because my mother always taught me to be kind to the ill-bred.” White rolled his eyes as Leslie continued. “What I had in mind, you dirty old man, is ham and eggs.”
“With a side of Leslie?” White asked hopefully.
“Not in this lifetime, you uncouth SOB.”
“I don’t recall you objecting last light.”
“I was obviously suffering a temporary lapse in good judgment. And the fact that I was horny as a gazelle might have had something to do with it.”
“So that’s all I’m good for, trimming your horns?”
“Do you have a problem with that? You should always go with your strong suit,” Leslie said gayly as she turned and headed for the kitchen, giving a pronounced shake of her ass for good measure.
“On that note, I think I’ll take a cold shower. Then I’ll make breakfast.”.
#
The telephone was ringing when White came out of the shower.
“Lucius,” Horse said when White answered. “My scanner just picked up a Sheriff’s call that I think we need to follow up on.”
“What’s it about?”
“The dispatcher just sent a car to check out a site where a body is supposed to have been buried. The dispatcher said something about the drug dealers from Matlacha.”
“David’s alleged partner?”
“The call didn’t mention names. But I figure it’s worth looking into. I’m heading to the site now.”
“Call me when you get there.”
“Will do.”
White hung up and immediately dialed the number of the State’s Attorney. Paul Parker answered on the first ring.
“Paul. It’s Lucius White.”
“Imagine my surprise.”
“Do you have something you’d like to share with me?”
“I don’t know yet. But, yeah. We got a tip that may involve your client’s partner. How did you know?”
“A little birdie told me.”
“You seem to know a lot of birds.”
White ignored Parker’s comment. “So, what do you have?”
“I got an anonymous call this morning. He said we’d find Jackson’s body in a pit off State Road 80 out toward Alva.”
“I thought you still had him in custody?”
“He was bailed out yesterday morning. His hearing was just after Shephard’s.”
“With Judge Mitchell?”
“No. Adams.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Keeping defense attorneys informed about everything that happens around here isn’t in my job description.”
“Who issued the bail bond?”
“Someone from the east coast. Fort Lauderdale, I think.”
“Didn’t that strike you as suspicious?”
“I… Hold on a second, Lucius. I’ve got a call from the radio car.”
White was considering the news about Jackson’s bail when Parker returned.
“It was a good lead, Lucius. The deputy just called to confirm fresh digging at the site.”
“Mind if I take a gander?”
“Mind? Hell yes, I mind. But I can’t keep you from looking. Besides, Horse is already there.”
“I’ll meet you at the site.”
#
White pulled his truck off the edge of the highway behind a row of Sheriff’s cruisers. A minute later, Paul Parker arrived at the scene and pulled in behind him. In the middle of the field, fifty yards off the highway, two patrol officers stood beside what appeared to be a small mound of freshly turned earth.
Parker was getting out of his car when another cruiser arrived and stopped behind him. A burly lieutenant with an unlit cigar in his mouth and a scowl on his face called to Parker. “What the fuck is he doing here?” the lieutenant demanded, tilting his head toward White.
“Easy, Jack,” Parker said. “He’s got a right to be here.”
“Well, just keep him the hell out of the way.”
“He knows the rules, Jack.”
“Just make sure he obeys them,” the lieutenant snarled.
White leaned against his truck and watched Parker and the lieutenant march across the field. As they neared the group of deputies, the lieutenant began shouting something at Horse. White couldn’t hear what was said, but the gestures being exchanged had international meanings. Parker spoke briefly with the deputies before signaling for Horse to follow him. As they approached his truck, White heard Horse suggest that the lieutenant perform an unnatural and physiologically impossible sex act. Parker chuckled and walked to the side of White’s truck. “Jack sends his regards.”
“I heard,” White said. “It’s so nice to be loved.”
Parker shook his head.
“What do you have?”
“Not much more than when we talked. It’s a shallow grave. We’ve only scraped the surface away far enough to know we’ve got one body. We won’t know any more until the coroner and the boys from the crime scene unit get here.”
“Is it Jackson?”
“Probably, but we’ll have to use fingerprints for identification. Most of the face is blown away. It appears that he was shot in the back of the head.”
“Any indication that this is where he was killed?”
“Not really. He was tortured too much for it to have taken place here,” Parker said as he surveyed the scene one more time before returning his attention to White. “If you know something else, I’m open to suggestions.”
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