The Price of Candy

by Rod Hoisington

  “Martin, you make a great appearance. You’ll look lovely in front of a jury. You’ll be dynamite with opening statements and closing arguments. You’ll make a great front man, but down in the trenches they’re going to eat you alive. So for plea bargaining and negotiations you better let me handle it. For example, right now I’m going to say to you that I insist on receiving the full fifty-percent and you can take it or leave it. And Martin, you’re going to hesitate, hem, haw, and then say that you’ll take it.” She stared at him.

  Martin Bronner turned away. He stood and buttoned his suit jacket all in the same automatic motion. He walked around the conference room table rubbing the back of his neck. He sat back down frowning. He then spoke the beautiful words Sandy needed to hear, “Okay, I’ll take it.”

  Sandy wanted to dance around the room, but contained herself. If successful, and it looked good to her, her share of the sizable fee would set her up in her new law career. Maybe not a total pot of gold but certainly a rainbow.

  Martin also was smiling. “Sandy, a minute ago you joked that I’d look lovely in front of jury. Forgive my boldness, but I think you’re lovely and I’m not joking. I’d like to know you better if you’ll permit me that honor. Excuse me, I’m not normally so forward.”

  “Thank you, Martin, that sounded very nice. One other little thing. You mentioned you traveled to UK and HK. Is HK Hong Kong?”

  He nodded. “Interesting place. The Promenade, the Cultural Centre, the Liu Man Shek Tong, and other famous landmarks. After we win the suit I’d like to escort you there.”

  Bronner made a slight bow and said goodbye. Kagan came out of his office when he heard him leave. “You don’t take any prisoners, do you?”

  She said, “I would’ve settled for much less. He has a Harvard look and a Vassar personality—not that there’s anything wrong with that. I find it rather pleasing.”

  “I know his father, as you might expect. We both have been in the local bar association for years. He’s inactive now, of course.”

  “Would you recommend Martin for my co-counsel in this Banks suit?”

  “I don’t know where he’s been hiding, but I’ve no objection. His father was out of my league. He had national connections and was part of the Country Club set. That never was my crowd. I was just a small-town attorney and the town outgrew me.”

  “Any regrets? You’ve a spotless reputation in Park Beach. I consider myself fortunate that we connected.”

  “All eighty-year-olds have regrets. But I’ve had a pleasant life. When I retire, you’re welcome to take over this office and all that’s in it.”

  “Thanks, Jerry. That’s very generous of you and it’s comforting to have such a nice offer in my back pocket. However, my thinking changed abruptly today. The Banks suit is going to make me a famous lawyer. And worldly gentlemen such as Martin Bronner are going to escort me to exotic places like Hong Kong.”

  “Don’t pack your bags quite yet. Moran may have your career blocked for two or three years.”

  “Thanks for bringing me back down to earth. I’ve been trying to think of ways to force his hand...haven’t found it yet. Is Nita still out front? I know where I can buy her an inexpensive swimsuit. Juanita Banks is going to swim in a Florida motel pool and go home with a tan.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  The national media had not yet discovered that Sandy was involved deeply in both the Privado Beach affair and the felony murder case against Abby. That was fine with Sandy; she’d prefer to keep it that way. The TV and print media were pretending to create news out of all the circulating rumors and speculation. They had most of it wrong or at best backwards, and were overlooking certain important angles. Moran’s dramatics added to the confusion. He had overreached with the media. They were already expecting more than he could deliver.

  She enjoyed watching Moran tangle himself in such a public relations problem. Her own problems remained: getting him off her back so she could proceed with the bar exam, become licensed as an attorney, and move on with her life. She was certain that he intended to keep her under the conspiracy charge and in limbo until the last possible minute. Reaching the last minute in a criminal trial could take years.

  His problem: manipulating the media. Her problem: Moran on her back. Both had been crisscrossing each other in her mind for days when it occurred to her that the two problems were linked. Then, surprisingly, the two problems came together in her mind like two sides of Velcro.

  Amazingly simple. At the peak of the media frenzy, she leaked word to Moran that she had prepared for a national interview with Renaldo Gitano, the ace reporter from CNN. The media had it all wrong, she exclaimed; she and Gitano would straighten them out in sensational fashion.

  Her bluff worked. In a near panic, Moran called her to his office and pleaded for her silence. He realized her revelations would be a disaster. It would appear to the media that she was the center, the source of inside information. She was where it’s at—what was that State Attorney babbling about? Between what Sandy had developed on her own and what Goddard and Triney had fed to her, she knew more than he did about Abby, Toby, and Kidde. Moran couldn’t risk the embarrassment of having details exposed, losing control, and having the media asking him to confirm or deny her comments. Would she please reconsider?

  She told him she’d have to decide. Then she let him sweat for twenty-four hours, which was twelve joyful hours longer than a nervous Kagan advised. Sandy then negotiated successfully the immediate withdrawal of all charges against her. Just when he began to recover from making that painful concession to her, she added to his distress by insisting he provide her with a glowing letter of recommendation to the Florida Bar Association, which also must explain his error in charging her with conspiracy. It killed Moran to not only release her from his grasp, but also substantially advance her career.

  With the threat of jail removed, she could devote prime time to finding poor Jamie. Abby’s indifference to the plight of her daughter let Sandy to believe that she had taken Jamie to some friend or relative. Kevin had been working tirelessly checking out everyone that he could remember was acquainted with Abby. He seemed to be unraveling with frustration.

  U.S. Representative Frederic Kidde, the politician who didn’t want to be connected to the beach scene, who was afraid the voters would blame him for leaving the deceased Betty Jo, and who also had exercised bad judgment in not coming forward immediately when he learned she was abandoned, would soon be political history. Unfortunately, the media kept their foot on his neck until the next circus came along. By then his political career, his reputation, and his way of life were devastated.

  One of the biggest disappointments in the life of TV reporter Renaldo Gitano was he could never piece together the relationship between the congressman and the dead stripper. How they had met and how they came to Florida. There had to be a dynamite story there if he could just uncover it. The anticipation of such a story energized him for months. He was convinced gold was to be discovered in there somewhere.

  Gitano tried vigorously, but after weeks of digging developed only one solid lead. He located a woman who had driven from Baltimore to Jacksonville at that time and reportedly had given Betty Jo Hodges a short ride. The woman obviously knew something, yet adamantly refused to discuss what had happened. He was at a loss to understand the woman’s attitude. Reportedly, as soon as he mentioned the name, Betty Jo, the woman slugged him with her bare fist and pushed him off her front porch. No one else seemed to know anything.

  No one knew except the congressman himself and Sandy Reid. Only she understood that Freddy Kidde had sacrificed everything to the unrequited passion of a woman he’d casually encountered. Freddy had trusted her and she’d never reveal what had happened on that trip to Florida.

  Three days after their first meeting with Nita Banks, Sandy met with her lawyer Martin Bronner in his office near the Park Beach courthouse. They worked late on the draft of the Juanita Banks wrongful death papers. Afterward
s they walked around the corner to the Windward bar for drinks. She called them drinks, Martin referred to them as cocktails. The after-work crowd had left and they sat at a quiet table near the front. She asked him if it was too late in the evening to order a Bloody Mary, now her favorite.

  “Ah, you’ve discovered the timeless joy of the Bloody Mary. Appropriate anytime, early morning or late at night. Ideal if you want a little blast first thing in the morning or before the official five o’clock cocktail time. Tangible proof there is indeed a God.” He motioned to catch the server’s attention. “I told my father all about you. He’d like to meet you, perhaps join us for a cocktail sometime.”

  “Fine. How’s he doing?”

  “He’s in the early stages of Alzheimer’s. He should be around for awhile.”

  The waitress appeared. She ordered a Bloody Mary. He ordered a Tanqueray Martini, straight up, with an olive, and a drop of olive brine.

  When it came, he sipped it and made a slight frown. “This is made with vodka,” he whispered.

  “Then send it back.”

  “No, this is a neighborhood bar, not the Four Seasons. As of now, I’m the only one annoyed. If I send it back, two people, the waitress and the bartender, will be embarrassed. Next time I’ll be more definitive when I order.”

  She began to like him. He was a bit dramatic at times, like when he explained why the Bloody Mary was one of God’s finest creations. The most outlandish statements seemed charming coming from him, such as when he told her all women, without exception, are beautiful. It came naturally to him. He was somewhere in between a strict by-the-book ex-marine like Chip, and a loosely-tied nature lover such as Kevin. Martin was more likely to get excited about a string quartet performing somewhere. Sounded okay to her, she hadn’t been to a concert since Philadelphia. Chip would never think of it. For an uptight guy Martin Bronner wasn’t bad.

  They met again in his office the next afternoon. His modern office was sized for the three lawyer firm his father once ran. The ambiance was upscale, with studied décor, and spoke of high fees. On this afternoon, a guitar concerto by Rodrigo was soft in the background. One wouldn’t know from appearances that Martin Bronner, Esquire, had no lucrative client list. The father’s personal office space was the largest and nicest in the suite of rooms and although fully equipped was now never used. Martin was supposed to use it, but he saved it in the hope that his father would enjoy occasionally coming downtown and sitting at his former desk. Perhaps recalling some old memories. His father had come by only once since retiring and seemed uninterested about any of it.

  Martin had just come back from getting two takeout coffees from the café across the street. Sandy was reviewing his final draft of the complaint. They’d run it by Jerry Kagan and then meet with the judge. Her phone buzzed, she knew it was Kevin. Had she forgotten about the search for Jamie?

  “Kevin, what I want desperately is to go back and search Ruth Towalski’s house and garage from top to bottom. Other than somehow putting the screws to Abby, I’ve run out of ideas.”

  While dealing with Moran and Nita Banks, she’d been uncomfortable interacting with Kevin. He’d taken to calling her daily, once in the middle of night, regarding Jamie. He seemed to be coming apart and she had no answer for him. Although she sympathized with him, he was difficult to be with and she didn’t care to have any additional dates.

  There was plenty of frustration to go around. They had pressed poor Triney for more cooperation, but he could do nothing further regarding the unreported kidnapping. Both Chip and Triney were willing to lend police resources unofficially. However, she believed it was too late for manpower. Too late to have police fan out through neighborhoods interviewing people who might have noticed a girl on a blue bicycle. Too much time had passed.

  “Where are you now, Sandy?”

  “I’m in Martin Bronner’s office.”

  “Well, why are you there? I’m really worried,” he couldn’t speak without his voice cracking. “If Toby kidnapped her, he had to stash her someplace. Now he’s dead and it’s possible no one knows where he took her. Could be Jamie’s dead as well.”

  “She’s not dead. I don’t think Toby would kill her.”

  “Not unless the bastard attacked my baby and everything went terribly wrong. Jamie’s a little tiger when she gets pushed. She’d fight to the death.”

  “Don’t even think about that. Even though they didn’t get along, it’s possible Toby left Jamie with his mother. She has that new expensive TV which might indicate her involvement. Even if she did know of the blackmail, it might not have any connection to the kidnapping. I searched around her house some, but not every crevice and couldn’t look in the garage at all.”

  “Will someone please explain to me why a search warrant for that house is out of the question?”

  “I already asked about that, the sheriff’s not willing to stick his neck out. Says there’s no probable cause for a search since there’s no reported kidnapping.”

  Kevin said, “The police just aren’t connecting the dots. Maddening.”

  “Because they don’t connect the two situations. The sheriff is investigating the murder of Toby, but not the unreported kidnapping. You know, maybe I’ve been approaching this wrong.”

  “Something we’ve overlooked?”

  “How about this? We stop asking the sheriff to search Toby’s house because of a missing girl, and start telling him to search Toby’s house because of their murder investigation.”

  “And if they do search because of the murder, they might find Jamie. Why aren’t they routinely searching the house anyway if they’re trying to find his murderer?”

  “Of course, they’d search a suspect’s house. But Toby was the victim, not the murderer. Let’s pursue this. Hold on.” She called Triney and asked him why they hadn’t searched for clues in the house where the murder victim lived.

  “We’ve tried that. Ruth Towalski won’t permit a voluntary search of her house. A warrant must name a specific item to be searched for,” he explained. “You can’t go on a witch hunt. The judge said searching the victim’s house for just any kind of possible evidence that might lead to his killer isn’t permitted. You need probable cause.”

  Talking with Triney on this subject, and hearing the sound of his voice gave her a strange feeling of having this identical conversation with him before. Had they already talked about searching for evidence of who had shot Toby? Had they talked about the shooting of him before?

  “Triney, this is going to sound strange.”

  “Oh, oh. Here comes the soft soap. Go ahead, get on with it, Sugar.”

  That had to stop, it was just encouraging him. “Before I get on with it. Could I ask you to please not to call me Sugar? It sounds very nice coming from you, but I had a disastrous relationship with a man who called me that. It brings back bad memories.” That was a total lie.

  “Of course, I’m sorry Sandy. I didn’t intend to sound familiar.”

  She knew exactly his intention. “Thank you. Sorry I had to mention that. Okay here’s what I need. Could I look at the file on the Toby Towalski shooting?”

  “No way. You’re really a troublemaker. You’ve too much time on your hands? You going to solve that murder too?”

  “Okay, don’t show me the file. If I come out there, will you thumb through it and just talk out loud? Come on. I was threatened with a knife and ended up scared to death with blood all over me. You owe me something.”

  “Okay, but I have somewhere to go in an hour. Get yourself out here now.”

  She relayed the message to Kevin; they’d meet at the sheriff’s office. She said goodbye to Martin.

  “Will you be at liberty for cocktails later?” Martin asked as she was at the door.

  “You’ve got work to do.”

  Within twenty minutes, she and Kevin were sitting across the desk from Triney. He had just opened up the casebook on the Toby Towalski murder when his phone rang.

  “Yes sir.
Yes, Sheriff, I know. Of course I know who she is. Yes, I’ll take full responsibility.” He hung up. “The sheriff ordered you out of the building as soon as possible. He says trouble follows you around and he doesn’t want deputies seen talking to you. So make it quick. What do you want to know?”

  “The sheriff will feel differently after I solve a murder for him.” She pointed to the casebook. “I had a deja vu feeling about something...something you told me about the case. Do you remember speaking to me? Telling me something?”

  “Yeah, I think I did. I told you the bullet lodged in his back.”

  “That wasn’t it.”

  “Oh, yeah. I said Toby’s killer used a revolver as we found no casing.”

  “Something like that. Keep talking.”

  “Let me look here...yeah, the county lab tech says it’s an old .32 long, an obsolete caliber for a revolver.”

  She was so excited she jumped up. “Bingo, Triney. Bingo. That’s it. How about this? You say the slug that killed Toby was obsolete. It wouldn’t fit a modern revolver. Now I remember...Ruth told me her husband collects antique firearms. You see where I’m going with this, Sherlock?”

  “You just made that up, didn’t you? You are a sneaky one. I must admit it’s a good try. In fact an excellent try.”

  “I swear she did tell me. It’s true. So, an obsolete bullet might have come from an obsolete gun. There’s your probable cause to search Toby’s house.”

  “You’re not kidding, are you? Okay, it’s damn good. Moran will go for it because the warrant will state we’re specifically searching for an antique revolver.”

  She thought, and the specific item you might find is a 10-year-old girl, however they don’t need to know that just now. Aloud she said, “Go get that search warrant of Towalski’s house. Remember I told you I’d make things up to you. Well, I’ll give you another tip because I know where that gun is hidden. It’s in the garage. Be sure to look in the garage first.”