Contempt: A Legal Thriller

by Michael Cordell

Gideon sat on the end of the sofa, tilting his head at Thane. “You have any idea how much that shit was worth? Somebody’d have to hate Skunk a hell of a lot to give up all that just to frame him. What do you think he done to make somebody that mad? Skunk can get on a guy’s nerves, but not enough to do all this. Don’t make no sense.”

  “I know,” Thane said. “But do you honestly believe he would hide all that outside his apartment, where somebody else could come across it? Maybe he’s the patsy. Being set up to take the fall for the real murderer. So help me out here: who would know enough about Skunk’s habits to set this up?”

  Gideon just shook his head again. “Yeah, right, okay. Framed. Sure.” He stroked his chin, gazing up at the ceiling. “As far as who would know how he operated, that narrows it down to . . . the basketful of cops who arrested him, the prosecutors who locked him up, any judge who ever met him, and every convict at Forsman who spent more than three minutes listening to him brag about shit. But as for people who’d want to frame him—I’ve got nothin’.”

  “Look, we can talk about this later. We’re due in court in two hours,” Thane said. “And I don’t want you guys looking like we’ve already lost. Kristin, follow up on those phone records. We’re not beaten yet.”

  She didn’t move, but instead slid lower into the sofa, sulking. She stared at her shoes until Thane added:

  “You find something, you can talk to the press.”

  She thought about it for a minute, then shrugged and made a beeline for Thane’s file cabinet. “Where are those phone records we subpoenaed?”

  “Officer Novak,” Thane began, addressing the fresh-faced young cop in the witness box. “I thought the police searched the defendant’s apartment after he was arrested.”

  Novak slouched nonchalantly in the hot seat. His blond hair was almost translucent, and a pronounced case of acne speckled both cheeks.

  “That’s right,” Novak said, “we did search the apartment. But then we went back later and searched the hallway ceiling outside his apartment.”

  “The hallway ceiling? Did you search anyplace else?”

  “Didn’t have to. We found the stolen items. Nothing else to look for.”

  “Lucky you,” Thane said. “How’d you know to look there?”

  “District Attorney Stone received a call telling him where to look, and he passed it along to us.”

  Thane looked back at Stone, then glanced at the jury before returning his attention to the Officer. “And who was it that called him?”

  “I believe it was an anonymous tip.”

  Thane nodded his head. “But of course.”

  “Objection, Your Honor,” Stone said.

  “Sustained. Please curb the sarcasm, Mr. Banning.”

  Novak leaned forward, puffing out his chest. “A lot of cases get solved through anonymous tips. People have info, but they don’t want to get involved. Maybe a neighbor saw him put it up there. In any case, it turned out to be good intel, so I got no complaints.”

  “Well then—that’s good enough for me. Was everything accounted for?”

  “Yes, as far as we can tell.”

  “The DVD player, the wallet, everything else?”

  “Yes, it was all there.”

  “Including the missing computer disk?”

  Novak started to answer, then glanced over toward Stone, as if the DA could offer direction. Not receiving any, he shrugged nonchalantly. “There wasn’t any computer disk found. We don’t even know if one was taken. You’re the only one saying that.”

  Thane raised his eyebrows to convey surprise, then looked over at the jury. He then turned back to Novak. “So hardly anything else around the desk was disturbed except for a box of disks, the contents of which were scattered across the room. The disks were numbered and all still there except for one, and you’re saying I’m the only one who says maybe it was taken? Now, I’m not saying it’s a fact, but are you trying to tell me that L.A.’s finest aren’t even making note of it? Really?”

  Novak squirmed a little. “I’m sure the detectives investigating the case are taking the missing disk into account, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s not relevant.”

  “How long have you been on the force, son?” Thane asked.

  “It’ll be a year next month.”

  “Then with all due respect, I don’t think whether or not you believe the disk is relevant matters much at all.”

  “Your Honor!” Stone yelled.

  Thane looked at the judge and smiled sheepishly. “I did say ‘with all due respect’, Your Honor.” Before Judge Reynolds could admonish him, Thane was already back in his seat. “No further questions.”

  Novak started to respond when Stone stood and glared him back into silence. Then he turned to the judge. “The Prosecution rests, Your Honor.”

  “In that case, court will resume tomorrow at 9:00 a.m. at which point the Defense will present its case. Until that time, this court is dismissed.”

  Thane and his colleagues stepped out of the courthouse and into an L.A. sun that overwhelmed even the lights rigged up behind the TV cameras. Staking out the foot of the steps, as always, a swarm of reporters buzzed amongst themselves.

  Thane leaned over to Kristin and nodded toward the pack. “You interested in saying a few words on behalf of our firm?”

  “Are you serious? Because if you’re just messing with me . . .”

  “Keep it brief—but when they ask what we have planned for tomorrow, just say we still believe the absence of the lone computer disk is more relevant than the prosecution is willing to admit, and we intend to pursue that as we continue to present our case.”

  “Got it.”

  She started off down the steps, but Thane grabbed hold of her arm. “And I’m serious: keep it brief. Don’t get into specifics.”

  “Do we even have specifics?” she said as she started down the steps.

  A chuckle slipped from Gideon’s lips. “Go get ‘em, counselor,” he called out.

  Thane looked over at him. “I’m going back to the office. Stick close to her, all right? If it looks like she’s turning this into a reality show, reel her in.”

  “Gotcha.”

  As Gideon started down toward Kristin, Thane called out to him. “Give her a little time in the sun, though. I want her to get something out of this.”

  Gideon nodded and plodded down the steps, ignoring the reporters, who edged around him warily, no doubt remembering their last encounter.

  While the press’s attention was focused on Kristin, Thane slipped by them unnoticed. He reached the bottom of the steps and looked back: he could already hear her going to work on the press mob, working them like an old pro. She was going to be a top-notch lawyer one day, if her ambition didn’t yank her off the rails.

  He turned to head down the sidewalk when a fist drove into his gut, dropping him to his knees. He tried to stand, but a dead-eyed Russell McCoy clamped a huge paw onto the back of his neck. For a moment, Thane wished that Hannah was by his side, stroking his head and yelling at McCoy to stop.

  “My daughter was everything, you son of a bitch, and you took her from me. It’s time you started feeling some of that pain.”

  McCoy cocked his leg like a field goal kicker preparing for a fifty-yarder, but before he could strike, Gideon appeared out of nowhere. He slammed his shoulder into the man’s chest, the two of them crashing against the side of a parked news van, leaving an impressive dent in the metal.

  Before either man could get their bearings, two nearby cops sprung into action. One wrestled McCoy into a full-nelson, while the other stood hand-on-revolver in front of Gideon, who looked electrified by his first taste of blood in quite some time. Thane managed to get to his feet and staggered over to grab hold of his friend’s flexed arm, but Gideon didn’t acknowledge him, instead snarling at McCoy like an angry Rottwe
iler.

  “Come on, Gideon, let’s get out of here,” Thane said, but the big man didn’t move. “Let’s go. You don’t need to be breaking parole over something like this.”

  Gideon continued to eye McCoy, who was also refusing to back down. Kristin joined them, cautiously putting her hand on Gideon’s other arm as though it were a live wire. Her touch seemed to at least bring him back to earth, but he didn’t immediately lower his fists. Finally, he grunted and turned to leave with them, but not before glaring down a couple of reporters who had been lurking on the sidelines and trying to follow Thane.

  “She was only thirty-three,” McCoy shouted. “You’re going to hell for this, Banning. You’re going to burn in hell.”

  Thane didn’t look back, but nodded slightly and muttered to himself, “You’re probably right.”

  After assuring Gideon and Kristin that he was all right, Thane broke away towards the City Coroner’s office, one hand pressed to his ribcage as he walked up the steps. The building’s bright yellow façade, with the ornately landscaped flowerbeds outside the front entrance, stood in stark contrast to the grisly work done inside its four walls—like putting a smiley face sticker on the lid of a casket.

  He was directed to the rear of the building on the first floor, where medical records dating back seventy-five years were kept in immaculate order by Earnest Privey, a small man in his sixties who probably stood no more than five feet when he wore dress shoes, and maybe a second pair of socks. Privey did a double take as Thane approached the front desk, then skitted over to the counter as Thane handed him a request slip.

  “Figured I would have seen you before now,” he sniffed as Thane walked up.

  “Why’s that?”

  “I know you’re not a criminal lawyer, mister, but in a murder, pretty much everybody wants to see the coroner’s report. Just one of those things you do first off.” Privey’s voice was bored, yet strangely condescending at the same time, like a stern teacher delivering orientation to a group of boisterous youngsters. “You got the form?”

  Thane handed the triplicate paperwork over. Privey ripped the back page off and handed it back to him, rolling his eyes.

  “This is your copy,” he sighed, then turned and skidded over toward the medical files, glancing at the form while he walked. He was partway down one aisle of records when he stopped abruptly, holding the form at arm’s length in order to re-read it more carefully before turning back toward Thane and eyeing him quizzically.

  “Just bring me the record,” Thane said.

  Privey looked at the form again, then changed directions toward another aisle, looking rather stunned. His haughty demeanor suddenly appeared diluted by this unexpected curve ball.

  “Huh,” he said to himself, as if it were unusual to catch him by surprise.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-SIX

  The usual buzz in the gallery ramped up as a bruised and bandaged Skunk hobbled into the courtroom, his limp even more pronounced than usual. Gideon let out a low whistle, and Thane and Kristin leapt up to help Skunk into his seat. “What the hell happened?”

  “Ah, you know the drill,” Skunk said. “Yoder and a couple of the other screws played a pretty mean game of Kick the Skunk.”

  Thane eased him into his chair. Kristin put her arm around his shoulders in a quick half-hug, but even this touch made him wince in pain.

  “I’ll get you some water,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion.

  “Skunk, I am so sorry,” Thane said. “I really am.”

  “Damn, Banning—you don’t got to apologize to me. You kidding? Any other public defender woulda bolted by now, and I’d be sitting on death row.”

  “You didn’t deserve any of this, no matter which way this falls.”

  “Yoder’s a thug. We always knew that. You just showed the rest of the world. ‘Sides, yesterday was his last day at Forsman. He’s finished.”

  “I’m going to make things right. I promise.”

  “The bruises’ll heal. They always do. Just don’t let them send the juice through me. That’s all I’m asking. I ain’t ready for that.”

  Everyone stood as Judge Reynolds entered the courtroom. As he sat down, his eyebrows shot up when he spotted Skunk’s bandages, and he looked over his reading glasses at Thane, who simply stared back at him. Reynolds shook his head knowingly, looking disgusted.

  “Is Defense ready, Counselor?”

  “Yes, Your Honor. Defense calls Drew Chamberlain.”

  A tall, fit man in his early thirties rose and strutted to the witness box, wearing a dark suit tailor-fit to his toned body and a teal tie that was probably that month’s “power color.” His blond, tussled hair was full of product and looked as though it could house a family of birds without anyone knowing, yet he still managed to look professional.

  “Please state your name and occupation to the court,” Thane said.

  “Drew Chamberlain. I’m a literary agent for Henkler Publishing.”

  Several members of the gallery exchanged glances.

  “As an agent,” Thane said, “people come to you with books they’ve written, or ideas for books, and you decide if you want to publish them, is that correct?”

  “That’s the simplified version, but yes.”

  “And was one of those people who contacted you Detective Ted Gruber?”

  “He called me a couple of times, the first call being two or three months before his death.”

  Thane handed a piece of paper to the Bailiff. “Defense offers Exhibit One, the phone records of Ted Gruber. Mr. Chamberlain’s phone number has been highlighted on the page.” Thane turned back to his witness. “Did Detective Gruber have an idea for a book?”

  Chamberlain looked at the jury. “He said he wanted to write about the dirty side of the court system, station politics, that kind of thing. Said it was ‘dynamite stuff,’ if memory serves.” Chamberlain spoke with a bemused expression. “This is so strange, you know, I feel like I’m in the plot of a book myself. A true-crime courtroom drama.”

  “And did you follow up with him on the book idea?” Thane pressed on.

  “No. To be honest, it sounded like he had a grudge to settle. I’m interested in publishing great stories, not helping people carry out vendettas. After the second conversation, I asked him to quit calling.”

  “And we can assume, Mr. Chamberlain, that Detective Gruber would have called other publishing houses once you turned him down?”

  “Objection,” Stone said. “Calls for speculation.”

  “Sustained.”

  “Then let me rephrase. In your professional experience, do most would-be authors submit their ideas to just one publisher, or do they make the rounds once they’ve been rejected?”

  “Most authors make the rounds,” Chamberlain said. “Any writer who accepts the first rejection isn’t going to get very far in this business.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Chamberlain. No further questions.”

  Stone rose, but did not move from his table. He looked at the witness, then looked over toward the jury, finally offering up a slight shrug of his shoulders.

  “Mr. Chamberlain, did you ever actually meet with Detective Gruber?”

  “No, sir.”

  “And perhaps a more relevant question is, do you have any idea what in the world any of this has to do with a murder trial?”

  Chamberlain let the first hint of a grin slip out. “No, sir, I can’t say I do.”

  “Yeah, me neither,” Stone said as he retook his seat. “No further questions.”

  Thane’s next witness was Lee Song. The Korean storeowner scooted his way to the witness stand, hopping up into the seat and wringing his hands. He looked guiltily over toward Stone a couple of times, but the DA ignored him, conferring with Winston. Song also glanced once at Gideon, but just long enough to see the big man
glaring hard at him.

  Thane leaned against the far corner of the jury box. “Mr. Song, you own a store across the street from Armor Park, is that correct?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t see nothing. Nothing.” Song spurted the words quickly, as if they had been perched in his throat for hours.

  “I understand. And I appreciate your desire to make sure we know that. But Mr. Song, is it true you told my associate you thought you recognized the defendant as someone sitting in the park near your store the night of the murder?”

  Song’s eyes flicked to Gideon and back. He blanched, lowering his eyes before he answered.

  “Yeah, but I realized I was wrong.”

  “That’s fine. Did District Attorney Bradford Stone visit you just a few hours after you spoke with my associate?”

  “Objection,” Stone said with an edge to his tone.

  “Your Honor,” Thane said, “I’m simply trying to establish a timeline. There was a contradiction in what the witness told my associate and what he’s saying now. I want to know precisely when he changed his mind.”

  “Objection overruled. But proceed carefully, Mr. Banning. Very carefully.”

  “As always, Your Honor,” Thane said. “Mr. Song? Did Mr. Stone visit you early the morning after you spoke with my associate?”

  Song fidgeted. “Yes, Mr. Stone visited my store.”

  “Did you call Mr. Stone? Did you call anyone after talking with my colleague?”

  Song shook his head sadly, then sighed. “No, sir.”

  “Mr. Song, I’m not trying to get you into trouble. But just so I make sure I understand this correctly, you told my associate you recognized the picture of the defendant, then Mr. Stone came to visit immediately after, and now you’re certain you didn’t see anything. Do I have that correct?”

  Stone leapt to his feet so forcefully it made Song jump. “Your Honor, this is outrageous!”

  Reynolds rapped his gavel four times, his face growing red. “Counsel to my chambers. Right now!”