Chapter 27
Legal Counsel
Joel Roberts perked up when his secretary advised him that Congressman Bartlett was on the phone.
“Well it’s your lucky day?” Congressman Bartlett advised.
“Really? How’s that?”
“I just got a call from Margaret. Fred Fuller has been arrested for the San Bernardino Bank USA robbery and murder and he wants me to recommend a good criminal defense lawyer.”
“Oh, really? That is good news.”
“I don’t like this one bit. Fred is a decent kid and he doesn’t deserve this?”
“Yeah, that’s true, but the important thing is we can control the fallout now. We can make sure none of this blows back on you.”
“You’re right, I know, but it still stinks all the way to Fresno.”
“Maybe I can get him to plead out for a reduced sentence. He’s young, if I can arrange for him to get out in five or ten years it wouldn’t be so bad. We could make it up to him.”
“Yeah, perhaps,” the Congressman conceded. “Anyway, you should go volunteer to represent him before another firm comes along looking for a high profile murder case to take on pro bono.”
“Right. I’ll get right on it. Where’s he being held?”
“The U.S. Marshal’s office in LA.”
“Alright. I’m on my way.”
A strong, cold wind was blowing off the ocean as Joel left the office. He looked up at the fog laden sky and could see a dim outline of the sun, but there was no warmth filtering through. He was cold through and through and he felt like crap. But he knew it wasn’t the weather that had him feeling this way. He was about to violate at least a dozen rules of professional conduct, not to mention committing the crime of obstruction of justice. But he kept telling himself it was for good reason. Congressman Bartlett was a great man and his political career should not be derailed by a drunken campaign staffer.
By the time he made it to LA a few hours later, he had convinced himself he was doing the right thing and was feeling much better. He walked into the U.S. Marshal’s office and told the woman sitting at the reception window that he wanted to see Fred Fuller.
“You his lawyer?” she asked.
“Not yet, but I probably will be before the day is out.”
“Good luck with that.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s guilty obviously, got a witness who says he was already talking about running. Only guilty men run.”
“Who told you this?”
“I don’t remember. Forget I mentioned it. Take a seat. I’ll get someone to take you to see him.”
Suddenly Roberts felt nervous and sick to his stomach. He took deep breaths trying to calm himself. A few minutes later he was escorted into a small room split in two by a transparent partition. Fred and Roberts sat across from each other and talked through small holes in the glass.
"Fred, I can't believe you're in here,” Roberts said stiffly. “What in the hell is going on?"
"I don't know. They think I robbed Bank USA and murdered a guy named Harvey Hamlin."
"Did you know this guy, this Harvey Hamlin?"
"He was the branch cashier."
"Do you know anything about any of this?"
Fred hesitated, not knowing whether to level with him or not. He decided to be cautious for now. "No, not much. When I got to the bank that night, everything seemed normal, other than it was darker inside the bank than usual."
He explained to him about the nightlight, Sam being late, finding the vault open, and closing it. He didn’t mention the million dollars he later found in his trunk.
“Well, if what you say is true,” Roberts said, “we should be able to successfully defend you. It won’t be pleasant though. This looks to be a high-profile case, and the media will be all over it.”
“Wonderful,” Fred moaned.
"Should I contact your parents about financing your legal defense?" Roberts asked.
"No. They don't have any money, but I've got $5,000 in savings I can give you."
"That will be fine for now,” he said even though that was a tenth of his usual retainer. “Let me go see if I can get you bailed out of here. It won’t be easy because of the murder charge and some talk about you trying to flee the country."
"What?” Fred gasped. “What are they talking about?”
"Someone at the front desk just told me a bizarre story about you and some bank teller being on your way to Canada when she got bitten by a rattlesnake and died. What's all that about?"
"My girlfriend and I went camping out in the Mojave Desert, but we weren't going to Canada,” Fred lied. “If we were going to Canada, why would we be camping out in the Hackberry Mountains?"
"It didn't make much sense to me either," Roberts admitted.
"They just don't have any idea who robbed the bank, so they decided to pin it on me."
"Well, everyone knows Whitehead wants to be Governor someday, so the publicity of a trial like this would be very attractive to him. But don't worry. We'll figure out a way to get you out of this mess."
“I hope so. . . . I can’t spend the rest of my life behind bars,” Fred said desperately. “I’d rather die.”
Uncommon Thief Page 27