The décor of an aging bachelor: Gruber must have furnished the place himself.
He walked over to the hallway that led to the back of the house, then turned around to check out the living room from a different angle, trying to visualize the scenario the night of the murder. “The police report says the intruder—”
“Skunk Burns,” the officer interrupted, still not looking up from the magazine.
“The intruder,” Thane continued, “came through the front entrance. Gruber had been working part-time for a security firm and they figure when he came home from his shift he saw the hot-wired system and tried to catch the prowler himself instead of calling it in.”
“Fool,” Gideon said, causing the officer to finally shoot a look toward the men.
“Hey, show some respect for the dead,” the policeman said. “He was a brother officer.”
Gideon looked at him. “Sorry. I meant Officer Fool.”
The policeman’s face twisted up, but he didn’t press the matter. Thane pointed down the hall.
“Gruber goes back to his office and takes one in the back of the head. They figure that’s when the intruder ran out.”
Gideon walked over and stood next to Thane, lowering his voice so the cop couldn’t hear him. “Without that?” Gideon pointed to a small decorative pyramid on the fireplace mantel that reflected what little light made it into the dim room.
“What is it?” Thane asked.
“That’s real crystal, with gold inlay. Real pricey piece. I’m surprised a guy like Gruber had the taste to have something like this, let alone be willing to cough up the cash for it. Betcha it was a gift or something.”
“You sure it’s worth something?”
“Yeah, I’m sure—and if I’m sure, you know damn well Skunk’d be sure. He wouldn’t have left without that little beauty. Don’t care how scared he mighta been. Besides, he come in that front door, that’d be one of the first things he noticed. He wouldn’t have just walked past it to go on down no hallway.”
Thane made another note on his pad. “That might be something I can use.”
“Oh yeah,” Gideon said. “Defense almost ready to rest now.”
Gideon followed Thane down the hall and into the office, a small room cluttered with furniture and equipment which had a total resale value of probably twenty-five bucks. The particleboard desk, which looked more appropriate for a junior high student, was falling apart at the joints, its plastic writing surface curling up from the rest of the desk, and atop this squatted an ancient computer with a dusty screen.
The one spot of color was the blood.
There was a large, fading stain in the center of the mud-colored carpet, as though a bowl of punch had overturned during a party. Thane felt the blood drain out of his face, which surprised him. He figured his time at Forsman would have deadened him to this kind of shock—but here he was, getting wobble-kneed at the sight of this blood stain.
“Gruber, meet Skunk,” Gideon said. “Skunk, meet Gruber.”
“You really think Skunk could have killed somebody?”
“Sure.” The big man shrugged. “Under the right circumstances.”
Thane finally looked away from the stain and glanced around the room. “Doesn’t make sense. Why would Skunk even be in this room? One glance says there’s nothing here worth stealing. And if he heard Gruber coming, he wouldn’t try hiding in here: he would have run for the back door.”
Gideon chuckled and sized Thane up. “Whoo-ee. Baby, would you lookit you. Thinking more and more like a criminal every day.”
Thane frowned—but it was true, even if he didn’t like to think about it. It had begun in Forsman, and now that sort of thinking came to him effortlessly, almost by instinct. He walked over to the desk and looked at an open racing form, red circles identifying each race’s horse of choice. “Do you think your time in Forsman changed you?” Thane asked.
“I never was what you’d call a good egg, if that’s what you mean.” Gideon smiled, but Thane didn’t respond. “You think maybe you’re different from when you went in?” Gideon continued. “You’d have to be. Everybody is.”
Thane finally looked up at him. “I thought maybe I wouldn’t have changed much because I was innocent.”
“Hell, that’d be worse. Besides, nobody leaves Forsman innocent. I don’t give a fuck who it is.”
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
Thane sat at his kitchen table, jotting sporadic notes on his legal pad. The clock on the wall read six, and the morning sun was just starting to awaken. Thane was already on his third cup of coffee, which was mixing badly with the adrenaline already surging through his veins.
The past five months had been tough, although it wasn’t anything new for Thane. The newspapers had savaged him for taking the case, but the furor had subsided after a couple months. But now that the start of the trial was upon them, the hostility was ramping back up.
Times had also been challenging for Thane and Hannah as a couple, not just emotionally, but also financially. In a way Thane was fortunate because Stone was just as anxious as he was to get this case over with and off the front page. Joseph had been gracious enough to pay him for the rest of the month, even though he had left on the fifth, which had helped. Plus, the salary that Thane had earned during his four months working for Joseph was more than Hannah usually cleared in a year at her bookstore, which gave them at least a little cushion.
But there were new expenses that ate up some of the small savings they had built up. Thane had brought Gideon on as part of his legal team. He felt confident the big man could be helpful at some point along the way, and he also hoped it might increase the odds of Gideon staying out of prison: he was a little surprised Gideon hadn’t already killed anybody at Bernie’s Burgers. Thane wasn’t able to pay him much––not that Gideon was being well-paid for mopping up the fast food restaurant––but it was still an additional expense.
There was another source of money that Thane wasn’t ready to tell Hannah about just yet: Angelique Arvand, a reporter for a gossip site with a questionable reputation and deep pockets, had given Thane her card one day when he was coming out of his new office and offered at least a modicum of financial support to tide him over in exchange for a full exclusive interview. The deal was that Thane would not only discuss this trial as soon as it was over, but also address questions about his own conviction and release. It wasn’t something Thane wanted to do, but he also didn’t want to bankrupt himself and Hannah by taking on this case, so he agreed.
Hannah stood behind him, looking out the window at the trash-covered alley while sipping her tea and nibbling a piece of toast and jelly. She remained resolute that he shouldn’t have taken this case, but was no longer trying to talk him out of it. She had expressed her feelings as directly as possible, but once he said he had to do this, she hadn’t brought it up again. Thane knew she was struggling, searching for the elusive balance between articulating her anger and not letting anything come between them again.
She put her teacup in the sink, then walked over and stood behind him, putting her hand on his shoulder. He appreciated her willingness to offer a physical connection, rather than tossing out empty platitudes of encouragement he knew she didn’t feel. He didn’t want to share his fears with her, because he knew he had no right to expect any sympathy for what he was facing. But he had always turned to her when confronted with adversity, and with her hand on his shoulder, he was overwhelmed by his need to talk.
“I’m not blind to what I’m doing here,” he said. “Being responsible for somebody’s life. Nobody should have that right. Whether somebody lives or dies, having it be up to you. That’s not something I would have ever considered doing.”
“These are unique circumstances,” she said after a moment.
“They are. But I understand that doesn’t justify it. I know it’s wrong: it
’s not even a question. And yet, that’s what I’ve done.” He reached up and put his hand over hers, turning to look at her. “I’m sorry I’m putting you through this. I really am.”
“I know you’re sorry,” Hannah said, “and I want to understand, but you don’t exactly open up to me like you used to.” She squeezed his hand, which he took as reassurance that she wasn’t totally giving up on him yet.
“You said in the bookstore a few months ago that you used to know who I am,” Thane said. “Well, I’m not sure who I am anymore either.”
He rose from his chair and stepped around behind her, putting his arms around her waist and holding her close so she couldn’t see the anguish in his eyes.
“I’m doing things I never would have done before,” he continued. “Is it all just for revenge? And if so, do I have the right? A large part of me feels I do, but I’m scared maybe that just means there isn’t much of the old me left.”
“I wish you hadn’t taken this case.”
“I feel it’s my last chance to get our life back on track. I’m hoping it will bring me full circle.”
“By beating Stone? How does that get anything back on track? All it’s doing is dragging you backward.” She worked her way around so that she was facing him. “I don’t understand how—” She stopped when she saw the moisture forming in his eyes, then pulled him forward and embraced him.
“Here’s their case, far as I can tell,” Thane said. He stood next to a four-by-five chalkboard he had nailed onto one of his office walls, figuring it covered more holes than it created. “A bus driver says he let Skunk off less than half a mile from Gruber’s that night, about an hour or so before the time of the murder.”
Kristin sat up straight in one of the side chairs across from his desk, sporting a maroon pantsuit and a silk white top, most likely the best-dressed occupant in the building, if not the entire block. Gideon slumped low on the sofa behind her, his stained T-shirt and frayed blue jeans firmly positioning him on the opposite end of the sartorial scale.
“Can’t believe the driver remembers Skunk,” Gideon muttered.
Kristin’s hand started to shoot up as if still in class. She caught herself, and quickly pulled it back down. “They wouldn’t put him on the stand if he wasn’t sure.”
“Maybe, but I don’t want to assume anything,” Thane said.
A chalk line was drawn down the middle of the blackboard; one side labeled Prosecution, the other Defense. So far only the prosecution side had a numbered list under it. (1) Bus Driver, (2) MO, (3) Patrol Guards, and (4) Phone Call. Thane looked over the list, then turned to his team.
“Second,” Thane continued, “the intruder had the same MO as Skunk’s prior break-ins: the way he bypassed the security alarm, the way the locks were picked, what was taken, everything. Third, the rent-a-cops said the suspect had a pronounced limp.”
“But they didn’t see his face,” Kristin added. “They only saw him in the light from a distance for a second, so they can’t describe him at all, apart from the limp.”
“Which ain’t a bad description,” Gideon said.
“But they didn’t see his face,” she repeated curtly.
“And finally,” Thane said, “a phone call from Gruber’s house to where Skunk worked.”
Gideon shook his head in disgust. “Stupid fuck.”
“It all seems fairly circumstantial,” Kristin said to Thane.
“It’s got me convinced,” Gideon said as he slid down even lower on the sofa, stretching his legs out in front of him.
Thane picked up the piece of chalk and moved to the Defense side of the board, looking at the blank side for a moment before turning to his team.
“All right, so what do we have?”
The ensuing silence answered his question. Finally, Kristin jotted a note on the fresh legal pad balanced on her leg, talking as she wrote. “No fingerprints at the scene.”
Gideon chuckled. “He’s a thief. He wore gloves.”
Kristin continued ignoring Gideon as Thane thought about it. Deciding it was better than nothing, he started to write it on the board, but Gideon rose from the sofa and lumbered over, taking the chalk from him. He wrote in large letters, ‘black con named Skunk says he didn’t do it’. He then tossed the piece of chalk to Thane and flopped back onto the sofa.
“Don’t mean to rain on your parade, counselor, but that’s what you got.”
For the first time during the meeting, Kristin turned around and looked back at Gideon. Any demurral she had been showing was now on its way out the cracked window.
“That’s the spirit,” she said. “Let’s gas him ourselves.”
“Lookit, I can rah-rah all you want, Barbie, but that don’t change shit.”
“I don’t even know why you’re here.”
“Cause if you got a criminal trial, who better to help than a criminal?”
“Maybe somebody who knows what they’re talking about.” Kristin glared at him a moment longer before starting to turn, but whipped back around and pointed a finger at the big man. “And you call me Barbie again, I’ll show you what a two-inch spiked heel can do.”
Thane walked between them and held a hand up toward each. “Cool it, guys. Kristin, I need Gideon to give me a different perspective on this case—and to be my bullshit detector where the crime is concerned. He’ll see things you and I would miss.” He then turned toward Gideon. “And Kristin’s right. I’m the last guy who’s going to take anything Stone says at face value. He had strong evidence against me, too.”
“He needed it,” Gideon said, “cause you’re white and you’re a lawyer. Skunk’s black. Once you charge a black man, you’re nine-tenths the way home. And putting a black man with four burglary convictions under his belt in front of a jury, well, there’s your other nine-tenths. Stone can phone this one in.” Gideon leaned back, then looked at Kristin. “And yeah, I was making a joke about the other nine-tenths. I’m not that stupid.”
Kristin looked at the blackboard again. “So Mr. Burns doesn’t have any sort of alibi for that night?”
Thane shook his head. “He claims some guy called saying he had a job for him at Armor Park, which is where he got off the bus.”
“At 8:30 p.m.?”
“Yeah. He says the guy told him to not give up on him, because he might be late. So Skunk says he waited until almost midnight.”
“What kind of work do you interview for like that?” she asked.
Gideon guffawed. “Not ‘work.’ A job. You know, something illegal?”
Kristin ignored him and scribbled on her notepad as Thane set the piece of chalk on his desk. He looked over the board again, then picked up the eraser and removed Gideon’s pessimistic summation.
“I’m not ready to write off Skunk yet. Look, I’ve got to go meet with the judge before we start jury selection. Kristin, I want you to review Gruber’s phone records for the few months before he was killed. See if anything jumps out at you. Not sure what it’d be, but just keep your eye open for anything unusual. Gideon, I want you to look through the police reports that describe the crime scene.”
Gideon sighed and slowly lifted his slumping frame off the sofa. Kristin shot up quickly, again in sharp contrast to her colleague. “Why can’t he look through the phone records and I read about the crime scene?” Kristin asked.
“Like I said before,” Gideon said. “I’m the criminal. I’m pretty sure I’ve been at a lot more crime scenes than you. Besides, you’re the junior associate around here.”
“How do you figure?” Kristin said.
“‘Cause I’m betting I’ve also spent a hell of a lot more time in a courtroom than you.”
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
Judge Charles Reynolds’s office was immaculate, a direct reflection of the precision and order he demanded in his courtroom. Thane sat in a nav
y blue leather wingback chair across the desk from the fifty-five-year-old judge, watching as he read through a motion submitted by the prosecution. Reynolds looked like a Marine drill sergeant, with his gray hair cut military-style and his long-sleeved white dress shirt looking starched enough to crack nuts against, his pursed lips twitching while he read Stone’s motion.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand your point, Mr. Stone,” Judge Reynolds said.
“Your Honor,” Stone replied, “the media will turn this trial into a circus, given Mr. Banning’s presence. The past few months have already seen too much publicity about a case that hasn’t even started. Now that it’s about to actually begin, the coverage will only amplify.”
Thane looked back over his shoulder at Stone. “And how would that be my fault?”
“Judge Reynolds, there is no doubt in my mind Mr. Banning is only taking this case because of me,” Stone said, not taking his eyes off the judge. “That’s borderline legal malpractice.”
Reynolds rubbed his temples as he considered this, then looked silently across his desk at Thane. Finally, he flipped his reading glasses up so they rested on the top of his head.
“I have to tell you, Mr. Banning, I do not allow bedlam into my courtroom. A courtroom should be solemn, like a place of worship—not a World Federation Wrestling exhibition. This case, unfortunately, has all the makings of a center stage grudge match, and that concerns me.”
Contempt: A Legal Thriller Page 9