Lenny Schultz was a forty-year-old low-life who looked as if he had hit rock bottom twenty years ago and just settled there. A two-bit drug dealer with an oily ponytail, his job was catching quarters thrown his way by any passers-by who happened to have spare change and a twinge of guilt for how good they had it, especially after looking at Lenny in his rusted out wheelchair. Even though he had the character of a weasel, the wheelchair wasn’t a prop. He’d been paralyzed from the waist down for the past ten years, his drug distributor having taken umbrage when Lenny decided he wasn’t going to pay for product he thought was bad. He saved himself fifty bucks and spent the rest of his life on two wheels.
After a couple of hot showers, Lenny looked almost respectable for the trial. The wheelchair didn’t hurt either. He testified that he had stationed himself to panhandle at the liquor store across the street from where Thane had waited, and he called 911 the night of the murder. The recorded call was played at the trial, where Thane and the jurors heard Lenny telling the dispatcher that there was a couple arguing and the man appeared to be forcing the woman into the alley. When asked for more details, Lenny’s description of the man matched Thane, not just physically, but also the clothes he wore that evening.
Lenny’s taped voice grew emotional as he cried out to the 911 dispatcher that the man was stabbing the woman, and that Lenny was getting the hell out of there, at which point he yelled to send the cops and then hung up. During his testimony in the courtroom, Lenny identified Thane as the man he saw, leaving no doubt in the eyes of the jury that he was the murderer. Thane didn’t know if Lenny thought testifying would give him a chip later on if he got in trouble with the police, or if the actual murderer resembled Thane, or if maybe Lenny was stoned out of his head and thought Thane was the guy he saw. Whatever the motivation, Lenny’s testimony was all the jury needed to convict him.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Thane placed an armful of legal reference books on a rotting bookshelf, the wood creaking in outrage. The few furnishings that were present in his recently rented office were one step away from the dump, and several pieces should have already made the trip. His desktop was a labyrinth of deep scratches and missing chunks, as though somebody had taught shop class behind it. A rat-gray couch was shoved against one end of the room, and two chairs were positioned across from the desk, mismatched in every way except their identical musty smells.
He’d landed in this office after looking into several safer neighborhoods, but these were the safest digs he could afford with what was left of his last paycheck. The small room off the main hallway would be a reception area. It was smaller than Joseph’s private bathroom, but he wouldn’t be hiring a receptionist, and he wasn’t expecting a line of people waiting to meet with him, although apparently he already had his first unexpected visitor. He heard the door off the hallway open and a familiar voice muttered:
“Jesus Christ.”
Thane stepped away from the books, waiting until Stone charged through the front room and into the office, slamming the door behind him. This time there was no pretense of professionalism in the DA’s voice. “So you want a piece of me? Is that it?” Stone said. “Screw what’s best for your client—you’re just trying to even the score.”
“You seriously think this case could come close to evening the score?”
“Step away from this. You’ll only lose again.”
“Yeah, too bad I was innocent the first time.”
Stone waved Thane off as he would a homeless man begging for money. “You were innocent, huh? In all my years of prosecuting, I’ve never heard that one before.”
Thane moved away from the bookshelf, taking a couple of steps closer to Stone. It was the first time the two men had been alone in the same room, and Thane wondered if he would be able to restrain himself from violence, since he knew that would only benefit Stone. “I was innocent and you knew it.”
Stone just stared.
Thane came within two feet of Stone, but the DA didn’t flinch.
“You figured something out near the end of my trial,” Thane said. “You learned something. I don’t know what, but suddenly you couldn’t look me in the eye anymore. Even during your closing argument. Before, you couldn’t stop looking at me, glaring at me, like you were putting on a show for the jury. What happened? What did you learn?”
Stone broke eye contact. “That’s ridiculous.”
“No, you learned something, but by then it was too late. There’d been too much press, too much publicity for you to suddenly admit you were wrong. Not during an election year. You got to be DA thanks to me: what say we go for governor this time?”
A board creaked outside Thane’s office, perhaps someone walking down the hall, stopping to see if the new tenant was going to be trouble.
“Don’t take this case,” Stone said. “Get on with your life.”
“The life you tried taking from me?”
“Just move on. Please. You won’t find the justice you’re looking for here.”
“You seem to be taking all this personally,” Thane said.
“I take every murder personally. My job is to keep the community safe from killers. Whenever someone gets hurt or killed, yes, I take it personally.”
“I spent five years in prison. I took that personally, too.”
Stone stared at Thane for a moment longer, then turned his back on him and strode toward the door.
“You take this case, I’ll make you wish you were back in Forsman. I’ll eat your fucking lunch.”
He yanked open the office door and a young woman carrying two cups of coffee fell into the room, apparently having been eavesdropping. She lurched into Stone, splashing coffee on his white shirt.
“Goddamn it!” Stone jumped back and glared at the young woman, dressed professionally in a navy blue shirt and jacket, and looking as out of place in that office as he did. “Who the hell are you?”
The young woman didn’t appear the least bit flustered, and she didn’t apologize. “I’m Mr. Banning’s associate, and if you hadn’t done your Incredible Hulk impersonation on the door, this wouldn’t have happened.”
Stone pushed his way past the woman. “Fuck you,” he muttered as he left the room, his footsteps echoing as he marched down the hallway. The young woman watched him leave, then turned toward Thane.
“He seems nice,” she said. “Think he’s single?” She walked over and held out the two cups. “One’s black, one has cream. I didn’t know how you liked yours.”
Thane looked quizzically at the two cups of coffee, then at the woman. “And you are again?” Thane asked.
“Kristin. Kristin Peterson. Your associate.” She held the cups of coffee up a little higher. “Pick one before they get cold.”
He hesitantly took one of the cups, watching her warily. With one hand now free, she brushed back her blonde hair, which had fallen over her eyes when she’d catapulted into the room.
“I didn’t realize I had an associate,” he said.
“That’s why I stopped by. To let you know. I’m in my senior year at USC Law and I’ll be graduating in seven months. I’m currently twelfth in my class. I should be ranked higher, but I refused to sleep with my Torts Prof last semester. I’m thinking of suing his ass. I’m Editor of Law Review, and am looking to specialize in—”
“Ms. Peterson—”
“Kristin.”
“I don’t need an associate.”
A tinkling laugh sprang out of her. “You’re kidding, right? You’re taking on the murder case of the year, going up against a District Attorney who says he’s going to eat your lunch, and you’re working out of an office that looks like it used to be a crack house before it went downhill . . . and you’re saying you don’t need an associate?”
“All right,” Thane said. “Maybe I do, but as you so diplomatically noted in your assessmen
t of my office, I can’t afford one. Especially a twelfth from USC. I’m likely not going to have income for a while, even after the case starts, seeing as how my client isn’t exactly solvent.”
Kristin walked past Thane and took a seat across from his desk, occupying the chair as if it were her office. She leaned back, ignoring the wobble from the chair’s uneven legs, and took a long sip of coffee. “Mr. Banning, do you know what the market’s like for new graduates?”
He glanced around his third-world office. “It has to be better than working in an all-but-condemned building in a high-crime neighborhood.”
“There are thousands of us out there, all applying to the same practices, all with the same resumes and the same training, all trying to get the same crappy jobs.”
“So you figured why not go to a barely solvent single practice. You sure you’re ranked twelfth?”
Kristin looked at him and smiled like they were old friends. “Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I’m confident I’ll get my share of job offers at some pretty good firms, but let’s be honest here: an entry level shit job is a shit job, no matter how much marble lines the lobby. I’m not exactly a corporate ladder sort of gal.”
“I have to tell you, I’m still having trouble linking the pieces here.”
“Here’s the deal: I’ll work part time for you for free once the case starts. We can think of it as an internship. Trust me, you’re not going to get a better deal than that. And you’re going to need help.”
“And what do you get out of this?”
“Exposure. If we win, I can go to any law firm in the city after I graduate and move directly into the corner office.”
“It’s far more likely I’m going to lose,” Thane said.
“Then I still win, because this case is a media magnet. I’ll be famous just from working on it. You’d be amazed at how much cache that sort of thing carries in some firms. None of my other classmates will have anything quite that interesting on their resume.”
A two-column photo of Thane was once again front-page material for the Times that morning, accompanied by an editorial expressing outrage that he was risking a man’s life solely to piss off the District Attorney. Talk radio hosts didn’t have to worry about finding fodder for their four-hour shifts: callers were already overloading phone lines to offer their two cents on the issue.
“People don’t remember if you win or lose,” Kristin continued, “they just remember they saw you on TV. Any stigma that comes from working for you will be nothing compared to the options I’ll have once this case is over. No offense.”
“None taken. I guess it’s not an option to say I’ll get back to you on this?”
Kristin smiled. “Why go through the motions? After all, what have you got to lose?”
“Aren’t you worried about working for someone who got away with murder?”
“Please. I put myself through college working as a Hooters waitress. I can take care of myself. Besides, I’m on your side. If you were going to off anyone, I’m guessing it would be that little ray of sunshine who just left.”
She stood and set her cup of coffee on the desk, having looked first at the rough state of its surface. “I’m assuming I don’t need a coaster.” She extended her hand. Thane wasn’t surprised at the strength of her grip.
“All right then, Twelfth, we’ll see how it goes, assuming you don’t find an even gaudier legal media circus to attach yourself to.”
“You know, I just don’t see that happening,” Kristin said with a grin.
Bernie’s Burgers was packed with the after-school crowd when Thane walked in. Music blasting from the speakers shook the stack of plastic cups with each beat of the bass, but somehow the high school kids at the front counter were even louder. It was a brightly lit space, even by fast-food standards. Maybe Bernie thought kids would gravitate toward it like moths to a streetlight.
Thane saw Gideon behind the front counter, leaning on a mop next to the deep fry machine. He wore a stained white apron and a paper white hat that looked like it was five sizes too small for him. Thane caught his attention as he walked toward the counter.
“Got a minute?” Thane said.
“Sure, but one crack about this stupid hat and I’m going to hurt you.”
“I have to check something out, and it’s something you might be able to help me with. What time do you get off?”
“Eight.”
“I’m afraid I have to go this afternoon. Never mind. Not a problem.”
“Hold on a second,” Gideon said. “I can take a break.”
“I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“Nah. Wait here.” Gideon took his mop and walked over to a jittery, spike-haired teenager standing next to the milkshake machine. He was sporting a stained, short-sleeved white shirt, a plaid clip-on tie, and a dirty name tag with ‘Shift Manager: Reggie’ written on it.
“I got an emergency I gotta take care of,” Gideon said. “I’ll be back soon as I can.”
“You can’t just leave, man. That’s not how it works. You haven’t even mopped the floor once today.”
Gideon gave Reggie a doomy glare and stood as straight as he could, casting his long shadow over the boy-manager. He clenched his jaw, lifted the mop parallel to the ground, and snapped the handle in half as if it were a Bernie’s crispy cinnamon breadstick. The crack of the wood echoed through the restaurant, and every head turned to stare.
“Can’t. Mop’s broke.”Reggie’s body stiffened as rigid as his spiked hair. Even his breathing halted for a long moment.
“Oh. Okay, then,” he finally squeaked. “I guess if it’s an emergency and all . . .”
“Thanks, dude. You’re all right.”Gideon turned and walked back toward Thane, his adolescent coworkers gingerly stepping aside to let him pass. He grabbed a large bag of fries and a couple of pieces of Bernie’s Bodacious Berry Pie before joining Thane.
As they walked toward the door, Gideon snatched the white paper hat from his head, crumpling it into a ball and tossing it over his shoulder where it landed in a booth packed with gawking teenagers.
“You employee of the month yet?” Thane asked.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
Thane pulled up in front of Detective Gruber’s house. Yellow police tape still stretched across the driveway, four days after the murder. A baby-faced policeman leaned against one of the columns on the front porch, standing guard against reporters and crime scene fanatics. Thane opened his car door and started to get out, but Gideon stayed where he was, eyeing the young cop.
“You coming?” Thane asked.
Gideon grunted in displeasure, but finally opened his door, hesitantly. “You didn’t tell me there was going to be cops here. I don’t exactly get on real good with them.”
“Today’s the day we start fresh—the both of us. Come on.”
The policeman standing watch straightened when he spotted them approaching. He was new enough to the force that he hadn’t yet perfected that classic cop glare: he squinted at the two men, but it only made it look like the sun hurt his eyes.
“I’m Thane Banning,” Thane announced himself. “Defense counsel.”
“Like I don’t already know that?” The young cop turned and spit off the porch. He then looked over Gideon with a skeptical eye. “And this is . . . ?”
“I’m his daddy,” Gideon said.
“He’s my associate. Stone said he’d leave word I was coming.”
The cop studied Gideon a bit more, but didn’t spit again. Finally he stepped to the side and resumed leaning against the porch column. They walked past him and up to the front door.
“We gotta work on your delivery,” Thane asked Gideon, who only shrugged in response.
Thane started walking into the house, but Gideon grabbed hold of his arm and directed him to the left side of
the front door, pointing out a small metal security box that had been pried open.
“Look here.” Somebody had twined a couple of twist-ties around one of the alarm circuits. Gideon pointed at one of the thin wires. “Skunk always used these thingamajigs to bypass the main alarm. Kept it from going off when the door was forced open.”
“How do you know?”
“Ah, he was always yapping about how easy it was to bypass security systems. Said a trip to a grocery store and you pretty much had everything you needed—even for the fancy alarm systems.”
Thane leaned over and took a closer look. He was amused that all of the elaborate circuitry and wiring that filled the box could be circumvented by something from the produce section.
“That must be part of Skunk’s MO that Stone says implicates him.” Thane turned to go inside, but stopped when Gideon didn’t follow, still staring at the alarm box.
“What do you see?”
“Skunk said he strips all the plastic off the wire, not just the ends. But these only have the ends stripped, just enough to hook them to the circuit.”
“That make a difference?”
Gideon shrugged. “Probably not, but as much of a mess as ol’ Skunk is, I always got the impression he was damn precise when it came to thievin’. I’d bet a Bernie’s paycheck he’d call this sloppy work.”
They entered the house and encountered another officer sitting in a chair, an old issue of Guns and Ammo in his hands. He glanced up at the two men and wrinkled his nose, then turned his eyes back to the magazine.
“The DA said you guys wasn’t to touch nothing. If I catch you doing otherwise, I’ll haul you in.”
Thane looked around the living room. Ugly didn’t begin to describe the furnishings. There was a sofa and two side chairs, each covered with a dirty cream-colored fabric displaying hunters and Springer Spaniels holding limp ducks in their mouths. The heavy smell of cigar smoke wafted up from the filthy gray carpet and any furnishing not made of metal. Dust covered all of the side tables except for a couple of circles that looked to be the circumference of a beer can. A pile of magazines sat on a small coffee table positioned between the two chairs. Atop the pile was a copy of Hustler, turned in a different direction from the rest of the magazines. There weren’t any pictures on the wall or much in the way of decoration, apart from a couple of shiny knickknacks on the mantel and a battery-operated singing fish mounted on the wall. The only item in the room that looked as though it couldn’t be dated back to the early eighties was a seventy-two inch wall-mounted TV.
Contempt: A Legal Thriller Page 8