by Dan Decker
It took every last minute to complete the research and put out a final draft. In the end, I managed to get it filed with the court at precisely 4:59 PM.
I ground my teeth when I noticed a glaring typo on the first page as I was closing down the file on my computer.
Fifteen minutes more and I would have found that, I thought, angrily wishing that I had not agreed to let Penny into my office in the first place.
I walked out of my office while stretching, intending to talk with Ellie, a ritual I usually observed after meeting a deadline. It was not until I saw her empty desk that I remembered she was out sick, and Denise had filled in for her today.
Denise had already left, so I walked around the office, wondering if anybody else was around for a chat, but both of my partners’ doors were shut, and everybody else had gone home.
An unusual occurrence so early in the day.
Ellie usually worked as late as me. Perhaps this was something that occurred all the time, and I had just not noticed because I mainly worked with her, occasionally pulling in a paralegal when I needed additional help.
I had more work to do, but I needed to eat. I had skipped lunch to get the motion done, only to have Penny barge in and steal the time I desperately needed to make sure that I’d got everything done right.
If there’s one typo on the first page, I thought, there are others. This is not up to my usual standard.
I went out, picking up a sandwich at the drive-through at Jimmy John’s before returning to my office to eat. While I inhaled my sandwich, I logged into my computer and did some internet searches.
It did not take me long to find a story about the case.
The victim’s full name was Max Marcus Moyer, and the accused’s full name was Mason Charles Harwood.
Mason Harwood, I leaned back in my chair and wondered if I should even get involved in this case. You pose an intriguing problem, Mason Harwood.
I had never come across a case where the true killer was pulling somebody’s strings behind the scenes, and the person who did the deed was merely a patsy.
Assuming Penny is telling the truth.
I closed down the internet browser and opened up some other paperwork I needed to get done by the end of the week. I tried to work on that but couldn’t get the question out of my mind.
Penny had given me a question, a nagging riddle.
I had to find the answer.
Could somebody else be responsible for Max’s death aside from Mason Harwood?
I drummed my fingers on my desk, slid my keys into my pocket, and went for a drive.
5
I had not been out driving long before I decided to do some investigation. I had hoped that the drive would help clear my head, but all it had done was make me mentally turn over the information I had got from the newspaper report.
If I’m going to be obsessed about this case anyway, I thought, I might as well get paid.
I used the hands-free feature of my car to reach out to my private investigator. Winston answered on the first ring.
“Mitch! How ya doing?” I heard papers rustling in the background and a chair sliding back on a hard floor. I imagined him leaning back at his desk at home while kicking his feet up, his cowboy boots dangling in the air.
He seemed excited to get my call, making me think he was low on work. Hopefully, he would be more than happy to help with my quick request, thinking it might lead to additional business for him.
“I’m good, Winston. How’s things for you?” I thought about asking him a personal question, but the truth was I didn’t know anything about the man outside of his professional status. I didn’t even know if he was married or had a girlfriend. This was due in part to Winston’s direct manner. He didn’t usually like small talk and wanted to just get to the heart of the matter right away.
“Never been better. What do you need?”
“I need you to track down somebody’s address. They were just released on bail this morning.”
I gave him Mason’s full name and the other pertinent information I knew. It was only a couple of moments before Winston rattled off an address as I memorized it.
“Bill this to me personally,” I said. “I don’t have a case number.”
“No charge,” he said, “just remember me the next time you need a PI.”
“I always do.” It was a rare case that I didn’t involve Winston.
Once I was off the phone, I punched the address into my car’s navigation system and took the next turn, following the instructions that the GPS gave me. Thirty minutes later, I was outside Mason Harwood’s home.
I parked.
His home was nicer than I had expected and in a pricey neighborhood. I’d been nervous about leaving my Porsche on the street, but now I had no qualms. A couple of children walked up to the house, following a middle-aged woman who looked like she was carrying a heavy mental load. She moved slowly, her footsteps shuffling forward.
I shook my head as I opened my car door, wondering what I was doing.
It’s the question. It always pushes me forward.
The woman must have noticed my approach because she turned and grimaced, looking me up and down as her eyes narrowed.
She unlocked the front door and motioned to her children. “Quick, into the house.”
I hung back as the children disappeared inside, trying to decide my best approach to this complicated situation. She would not be in a sharing mood, and I had come for information she had.
“What do you want?” She asked as she pulled the door shut behind her after the kids were inside. The hostility in her tone was unmistakable.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” I said, “I don’t mean to bother you, but I’m just wondering if Mason Harwood is around?”
“What’s it to you?” She was practically foaming at the mouth now, but there was something else there too. I could see it behind her eyes.
Fear, anger, embarrassment.
“I’m doing an investigation—”
“We don’t want any of your kind here.”
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
“Who do you work for? CNN, MSNBC, Fox News?”
I almost chuckled, surprised that she thought the major networks would be interested in this little case. They only came out for the gruesome or sensational stories that would attract eyeballs to their websites and viewers to their shows.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I believe you misunderstood my purpose. I’m not a reporter.”
“Then who are you?”
“I’m a lawyer.” She snorted, but I barreled on. “I’ve been asked to look into a matter. I just want to pose a couple of questions to your husband, Mason Harwood.”
I didn’t know if she was his wife, but it was a reasonable guess, so I had run with my assumption. I held my breath, wondering if she was going to deny any relation or knowledge of the man.
While I awaited her response, I checked the house number just to make sure I had the right place. It was the correct address.
“Go away.” She moved towards the door.
She didn’t deny it.
“I’m happy to do that, ma’am. I just thought you might be interested in what I have to say and the purpose of my investigation.”
“I don’t have any interest in anything you might say. I hate lawyers. I hate lawyers.” She repeated it with an emphasis on the word hate the second time, dragging it out and pausing while looking back at me, as if hoping I would spontaneously combust.
It took considerable self-resolve not to step backward when I saw her glare.
I took a step forward instead. She was still far enough away that I would have plenty of warning if she charged or went to throw something.
“I don’t blame you, ma’am, a lot of people in my profession are downright scoundrels, but that is also true about doctors, pharmacists, and especially dentists.” That last bit about dentistry slipped out. I didn’t have anything against them. I just hated going; it seemed like I always
had cavities. I could see the dollar signs in my dentist’s eyes whenever I walked in because I always needed a new crown, a root canal, or something.
I’m not giving up my daily bottle of Coke. It doesn’t matter how many cavities I get.
“I think you will want to let me talk to him. I just need to ask a few questions.”
“He’s got nothing to say.”
“Ma’am, I believe your husband might have been set up.” There are certain moments when I speak without thinking and then afterward wonder if I said something I shouldn’t. This was such a moment.
She looked angry. “He already scheduled an appointment with the detectives for tomorrow. He’s going to confess. He’s only out on bail because some generous benefactor who chose to remain anonymous wanted him to be able to say goodbye to his children.”
“I understand, ma’am.”
Is that what Mason told his wife?
Generous benefactor? Anonymous? What is Penny Moyer playing at?
“Do you?” The woman frowned and let out a heavy sigh. I feared she might collapse. She looked ready to faint. “Do you really know what it’s like?”
I have a better idea than most,” I said, “I can help if you let me.”
“What can you do? What can anybody do? Can you get my husband off for murder?”
I hesitated. “There might be some mitigating circumstances that—”
She sputtered. “Mitigating circumstances? That’s the best you can offer me?
“You said it yourself. He is planning to confess. Maybe there is a reason why. I’m not offering anything. As I said before, I’m here investigating on behalf of somebody else.”
The anonymous benefactor.
“Don’t come here and give me false hopes and then try to yank them away. There’s something you’re not telling me, or you wouldn’t be here. Spit it out.”
“My apologies. It was not my intention to give you any such feeling of hope, one way or another. I know all too well how dangerous these situations can be.”
“And who are you representing?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“I spoke in haste, I suppose, I am not necessarily representing anybody other than myself at the moment. Somebody wants to hire me, and it relates to your husband’s case.”
“Are you just some nosy attorney who wants to get some work? Is that what this is?” She shook a fist angrily at me. “Couldn’t you even wait one day until after my husband got out of jail before you come pounding on my door?”
The words rang a little close to true, but I would not be dissuaded so easily. I had done nothing illegal or unethical. I had not offered my services. I had not even come here intending to sign Mason as a client, whatever Penny wanted.
I just wanted to ask a few questions.
Everything was aboveboard.
“What do you have to lose by talking to me?”
“Excuse me?”
“If your husband confesses, he’s going away to prison for a long time. You have nothing to lose by letting me ask a few unobtrusive questions. I just need to know some of the circumstances around the situation. As I said before, there is a chance that the police have got something wrong—”
“A chance?” The woman was practically screaming. “A chance?”
“Yes, a chance,” I said over the top of her before she could go on. “You’re probably right, chances are that I won’t be able to do anything, but right now, you’re looking at a situation where your husband is definitely going to prison, probably for a long time because he won’t be able to cut a deal with the prosecutor because there isn’t anything the prosecutor needs to know.” I paused for dramatic effect and held her eye. “Unless we find something else that would be of interest to them.”
I let these words sink in before going on. “If the hunch I have is correct, and it is based on credible information,” the credible part was disputable, but I was trying to persuade her, “there might be something more we can give the prosecution to negotiate a better plea bargain.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’m not gonna tell you anything at this point because I don’t want to give you any more false hope. This is purely exploratory.”
“Exploratory. False hope. This is about the craziest thing I’ve ever heard, on the worst day of my life.”
She slammed the door.
Well, at least I gave it a shot, I thought, staring at the door and wondering just how far my curiosity would push me. How far would my ethical and moral compass allow me to go?
It would be inappropriate to ring the doorbell at this point because she would just perceive it as harassment. That was something the bar would frown on. I had not had any trouble with them, and I did not intend to start.
I had just turned to go when the door opened behind me.
“Do you really think there’s a chance?” Her voice was so quiet I almost did not hear it. I spun around to make sure she was really there.
“I don’t know what the odds are, but you have nothing to lose and everything to gain by letting me talk to your husband to see if I can come up with anything that might be useful to the situation.”
The woman nodded and opened the door, beckoning for me to enter.
6
As I stepped into the front room of the house, I could scarcely believe that I had talked my way inside.
“Feel free to make yourself at home. I’ll be right back with my husband.” The woman disappeared up the stairs.
It felt a little weird as I walked into the home, almost as if I was somehow doing something unethical, but I couldn’t think of anything I had done wrong.
Somebody looking at this from an outside perspective might think I was here to offer my services to Mason, but that was not what I was doing, despite Penny’s insistence that I should secure Mason as a client.
No, I was here to investigate the matter to see if I would take Penny on as a consulting client. There was a big difference between that and coming to solicit Mason.
And just to make sure there was no issue down the road, I would do a memo to file as soon as I got back to the office, memorializing everything I had done.
I have not done anything unethical. And I don’t intend to start today. I just need to keep a level head, and everything will be fine.
Penny’s suggestion had just gotten into my head. It was difficult for me to set it aside.
I could not offer my services to Mason, not unless I was going to offer them for free, something I could not afford to do.
The best I could give any client at the moment was a discounted rate, and even that was limited by the fact that my partner Veronica had recently chastised both Tony and me about our inability to bring money in on a regular basis.
Her words had been aimed more at Tony than me. I suspected she had included me, so Tony didn’t feel like she was singling him out, but I sometimes took on the occasional pro bono matter. Veronica always complained when I did.
The last time she had gone so far as to threaten to leave the firm. While I did not want to see that happen, I was preparing myself for the eventuality.
It would be a blow to not have her around, not only because of her professional candor and insight into issues but because she added spunk to the partnership that I would sorely miss.
Tony was a hard worker but boring.
Veronica kept our partnership meetings interesting. She was a high-powered woman with a lot of drive and sometimes had a dark sense of humor. I was keenly interested in finding a way to keep her around.
There was nothing I could do to make her stay if she wanted to go, especially if things continued as they had.
Tony had not had a big payday in almost ten months, so Veronica and I had been carrying him through all of that, which meant, in turn, that we each took less home than we were accustomed to.
In the end, when he had a big case successfully close, it would all work out.
In the meantime, it was difficult for Veronica to make ends
meet month-to-month. It was easier for me to go without because I only had to take care of myself. It also didn’t hurt that I had a sizable savings account for rainy days.
Veronica had a young family and was a single working mom. While I had never been in her shoes, I couldn’t fault her for her perspective.
If I took another case, it would have to be a paying matter, no two ways about it, so offering free legal services to Mason was out of the question.
If I decided to take on Penny, I would represent her interest as best I could after making sure she understood the limitations on what I could do about the situation.
It’s not like Mason couldn’t afford to pay me, I thought as I looked around the man’s home. He was well enough off that he should’ve hired a high-powered attorney instead of going with a public defender.
Why didn’t he?
Why does he want to confess instead of fight?
I shook my head as I studied the family photos along the far wall. They were happy by all outward appearances. It was terrible that this was going to affect each one of his children.
Judging by the pictures of high school graduations, it looked like two of the kids had already left the house. It was just the two younger ones still at home.
Why is there such a disparity between the ages of the children? I wondered as I spotted a photo with just a picture of Mason and the two older children.
I studied the most recent family photo, which featured all four children and his wife.
I had not thought much about the age of Mason’s wife earlier, but now that I compared her to him, she was obviously younger than Mason by at least a decade, possibly two.
It was a safe assumption that this was a second marriage for Mason. The younger kids were theirs, but the older kids were his.
I nodded as I stepped forward to get a closer look at the photos while I waited for the wife—I needed to learn her name—to return with Mason Harwood.
There were no pictures of his former wife anywhere in this room from what I could see. Not even in the photographs of his children’s high school graduations.