“You are damned lucky you didn't end up in Leavenworth.”
“She’s damned lucky she’s not dead.”
“Do yourself a favor,” Sam said.
“What’s that, sir?”
“Whoever your lawyer ends up being, don’t say shit like that to them.”
Tommy laughed. “Sure, sir.”
“Tommy, do you draw a disability check from the Veterans Administration?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I ask you for what?”
“They tell me I suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder and traumatic brain injury. Sometimes I get really pissed off and I guess it scares people. But I’ve always been that way. I think it’s bullshit, but I’ll take the money.”
“IED?”
“No. Mortar landed in the compound—right outside my hooch. Knocked my ass out!” Tommy grinned. “They told me later I staggered around like a drunk for two days before I could get medevac’d.”
“Not good. Been seeing your counselor?”
“You seeing yours?” Tommy bristled.
Sam met his stare. “I’m not charged with murder.”
Tommy looked away, then back at Sam. “When I can.”
“What does that mean? You are supposed to make those counseling appointments—it’s important.”
“Gotta pay the bills, man. My boss don’t care if I’m nuts. He only cares whether my ass shows up on time. Besides . . . C’mon, sir, sitting in a small room with a bunch of rear echelon motherfuckers, talking about what’s bugging us? I ain’t got time for that.”
Sam nodded in understanding. “You been drinkin’?”
“I like to have a few beers, sure. Like anyone else.”
“Taking your meds?”
“Yeah. Pretty regular. Sometimes I forget, and some days I don’t like the way I feel when I do.”
“You need to take them no matter what,” Sam advised. “How much trouble you been in with the law since you been out?”
“No more’n anyone else.”
“Been convicted of any crimes of violence?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Like?”
“Assault. Had an aggravated assault that got dropped to a simple, and a DV.”
“These all separate incidents, or what?”
“Well, the assault was a bar fight. The aggravated assault and DV happened when I came home and found Becky—that’s my soon-to-be ex-wife—alone with our neighbor. I beat his ass with a three wood I kept in my closet for just such an occasion, and apparently I slapped the shit out of her.”
“Ugh.”
“I’d do it again tomorrow. Bitch deserved it. Can’t say I blame him too much, as Becky is really hot, and his old lady is a hag. But it happened and I admitted to it. We got the aggravated pled down to simple assault and I did thirty days right here for that. She left with my kids, got a no-contact order, and filed for divorce. That’s how I came to know Emily, er, Ms. Smith.”
“Any other convictions?”
“Just minor stuff.”
“How minor?”
“DUI. Possession. Drunk and disorderly.”
“Awards?”
“All the usual shit: Bronze Star, Purple Heart, stuff like that,” Tommy said. “We don’t give awards like the Army.”
Sam smiled. “Does anyone around here know about your awards?”
“Hell no, sir,” Tommy said. “As far as I can tell, the only guys talking about combat and fruit salad are those drunks down at the American Legion, most of whom never left the States. Mr. Johnstone, I want you to know—”
Sam interjected, “First, call me Sam.” He held up his hand. “Second, don’t tell me anything important right now. I am not your attorney, so anything you tell me could be asked about by the prosecution. I just wanted to get some background from you today.”
“Are you gonna represent me?” Tommy asked.
“I doubt it. I want to see if we can line up an experienced criminal defense guy for you—someone who understands Wyoming juries and has maybe done a murder case or two. It’s one thing for me to represent veterans who have gotten themselves into minor scrapes, but this is another thing entirely. Besides, my boss would fire me, and defending a murder charge costs hundreds of thousands of dollars, which I don’t have, and which I doubt you have.”
“Sir, I need you,” Tommy said. He was standing now, gesturing with his arms.
“Not so sure. There are plenty of capable attorneys in the public defender’s office,” Sam said. Then, seeing Tommy's reaction, he continued. “I know that a lot of people disparage the public defender’s office—call them ‘pubic defenders,’ ‘public pretenders,’ and all that shit. But the truth is, no one spends more time in courtrooms, and no one tries more cases than those guys and gals. If you can find a guy who has spent his career as a public defender, you find a guy who is not only a believer but very likely a damned good trial attorney.”
“But they’re not gonna believe me.”
“It doesn't matter, Tommy—that’s not their job. Their job is to defend your rights, and they will do that whether or not they believe you.”
“It matters to me.”
“I hear you, and I appreciate that. But I have a landlord, a car payment, and several bartenders and liquor store clerks who depend on me to bring in a little bit of money every month. I can’t take on something like this and still pay the bills.”
“I did not kill Emily . . . Do you believe me, sir?”
“Tommy, I don’t . . . It doesn’t . . . Tommy, like I said, it isn’t important.”
“Sir, I need help,” Tommy said. “If you don’t help me, they said they’re gonna stick a needle in my arm and put me to sleep like an old beagle.”
“Let me see what I can do.”
The newspaper on Paul’s desk featured the headline: “Sam Johnstone to Defend Marine Accused of Killing Lawyer.” Paul tossed the paper on the desk in front of Sam. “I told you I did not want you to take this case,” he said. “What part of that didn’t you understand?”
“Paul, this is bullshit. I’ll admit I went and spoke with the guy, but he’s a fellow vet, and I haven’t agreed to do anything,” Sam said. “All I’ve done is look at the situation and try to determine if I can help a fellow G.I.”
“I want you to stay away from this case, Sam. I told you that. The phone has been ringing off the hook all morning, and Monique says the calls are running about five-to-one ripping us for defending a killer. This could ruin me.”
“I understand,” Sam said.
“Then how the hell could you do this to me? Let somebody else do this one, somebody who knows what they’re doing. Someone who can defend a murderer.”
“I’m not so sure this guy did it,” Sam ventured.
“Right. Because the police arrest the wrong guy all the time. Have you seen the evidence against him?”
“It happens, Paul. And no, I haven’t.”
“Sure it does. And who knows whether the cops got it right this time. But guess what? It doesn’t matter, because you’re not taking the case.”
“Paul, I can never thank you enough for the opportunity you’ve given me. But I’m going to have to look at this matter, and if I think this guy needs representation, and if I think I’m the right guy to do the job, then I’m going to take it.”
“Why? Why in the world would you stick your toe into that swimming pool full of shit? You’re off to a good start here, have a future and an opportunity to do good things for people. Why throw it all away?”
“Throw what away?”
“Well, to begin with, your affiliation with this office. Your clients here. If I find out that you're talking with Olsen, you’re done. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” Sam said, his decision made.
“Good. So I have your word that you will not pursue this any further?”
“No, I can’t give you that.” Sam shook his head. “I can't tell you that I will not represent Tommy Olsen.�
��
“Sam, I can’t have this. I’ve explained to you why.”
“I understand. And I can respect that. But I’m not sure I can respect myself if I turn my back on a disabled veteran who needs help.”
“Leave it to the public defenders, Sam,” Paul said. “They’re the experts.”
“I know,” Sam admitted. “Paul, you will have my letter of resignation by tomorrow. And Paul?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks again, for everything.” Sam extended his hand. “I’m sorry. This is just something I think I might have to do.”
Paul took Sam’s hand and shook it firmly. “I know. But Sam, I’m not gonna lie. I’m thinking very soon you’re going to look back and regret your decision.”
“Tommy, sign here,” Sam said. They were back in the small jail room. Sam had used one of Paul’s forms to craft a representation agreement.
“What’s this?”
“It’s a representation agreement. I need you to sign this before I will agree to represent you. It lays out all the terms of my representation, to include my fee, who pays costs, under what circumstances I can back out, and stuff like that.”
“I’ve been thinking, Sam. I can’t ask you to do this for me. I can’t afford to pay you. I already filled out an application for the public defender like you said. I think I’m supposed to see the guy tomorrow.”
“This county has well-qualified public defenders who know their stuff. Nothing wrong with them representing you at all,” Sam said.
“Then why do you want the job?”
“I don’t know, Tommy. Maybe because I served my country and you did the same. Maybe I’m a little worried about you.” Sam indicated the spot for Tommy to sign. “And maybe I’m a dumbass.”
Tommy took the pen. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Well, I’ve never tried a murder case,” Sam allowed. “But I’ve been in and around courtrooms for a while now. Besides, I’ve got something going for me that few others will or would.”
“What’s that?”
“I actually believe in you.”
Tommy looked steadily at Sam. “Yeah, okay. But how in the hell am I ever gonna pay your fee?”
“Well, I’ve got a little income, some VA disability, and some money from other things I’ve done. Let’s agree that, like it says here, you give me some money upfront, and then you sign a promissory note for the balance—a big one.”
“This how they teach it in law school? What if I don’t get out?”
“Well, I guess I will have made a bad investment. But let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“If.”
“Yes. If we come to it,” Sam said, pushing the documents in front of Tommy, who signed as best he could, given his hands were chained together.
“Now, let’s get to work,” Sam said.
26
Days later, Sam was in the courthouse, dropping off business cards with his phone number on them.
“Hey, Sam, I heard Paul let you go,” said Fricke. Sam did not like anything about the janitor. Nothing he could put his finger on—just an immediate, visceral dislike. He was already regretting using him to get to Tommy.
“Yeah? Where’d you hear that?”
“I hear stuff. People tell me stuff.”
“I’m sure.”
“So, since you took on Tommy Olsen—”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“I told you. People tell me stuff. Anyway, you gotta be looking for some office space, right?”
“So, you’re like a realtor, or what?”
“I know a guy.”
“Oh, you know a guy. So, this ‘guy’ you know—what’s he got?”
“Well, he’s got a little office—about 650 square foot is all. But the price is right, especially for a guy like you who might not even get paid.”
“How did you—? Never mind. Where is it?”
“Just across the street from the courthouse.”
“That’s the high rent district. I thought you said the price was gonna be right?”
“Not across that street. This street.” Fricke jabbed his thumb over his shoulder.
Sam knew the area. Tattoo parlors, bars, and thrift stores. “Is there a storefront?”
“No, it’s upstairs. Above the thrift shop. It ain’t much, but—”
“I’ll take a look at it. Who has the key?”
“I just happen to have one with me.”
“I’m shocked.”
Sam looked around the place. It wasn’t much. A realtor would describe it as “modest.” Three tiny rooms: an entryway that could serve as a reception area, a small room that could serve as an office, and a slightly larger room that could become a conference room. The restroom was downstairs, and there was no kitchen.
But the price was right.
“I’ll take it,” he said to Fricke. “Get me the lease and let me look at it.”
“Lease? We don’t do business that way around here, Counselor. Around here, a man’s word is his bond,” Fricke said, showing his yellow teeth.
“Here’s thirty dollars.” Sam flashed three tens in Fricke’s face. “Go to the stationary store and buy a lease form, have the landlord fill it out, and get it to me. Keep the change and buy yourself a drink, and we’ve got a deal. No lease, no deal.”
Fricke thought for a couple of seconds, then snatched the tens from Sam’s hand. “Deal, Counselor,” he said.
Sam’s investigation had been fast and furious. To date, the evidence against Tommy seemed solid, but Sam was determined to speak with every potential witness he could identify. Last night, he’d gotten ahold of one Gus Hadley, Emily’s neighbor, and had wrangled an interview.
“So, Gus,” Sam said, looking around for a place to sit, but afraid to do so lest something crawl up his pants leg, “what can you tell me about Emily?”
“Well, lawyer-man,” Gus said, eyeing Sam closely, “let me ask you something: what’s in this for me?”
“Well, you can talk to me here and now, or I will go file a subpoena and you can meet me at a time and place of my choosing, at which point I’ll put everything you say on the record.”
“I get it. Ain’t gotta go getting all huffy on me.” Gus was sitting on a pile of clothing covering what looked like an old recliner. Looking up at Sam, he reached down, grabbed a can of beer, and spat tobacco into it. “Now, I ain’t a snoop, so I don’t spend my time watching what goes on, know what I mean? But I get paid to upkeep this here place, so I keep my eyes open as necessary. That Emily, she was a good looker. She had lotsa guys callin’ on her. Some young, some older; some lookin’ rich, some not so much. One great big guy. The day ’fore she died, I seen a young fellow call on her. Wearing a costume, but I could see he was thirty or so, mebbe six-foot, one-eighty—good shape, you know what I mean?”
“Sure.”
“Yeah, so he come up in a big truck, jumped right out, walked on up to the door, and went right in.”
“Then what?”
“Then nothin’. I tol’ you, I ain’t nosy.”
“So, when was the next time you saw Emily?”
“Never did.”
“Did you see my client leave?”
“Nope.”
“So, you don’t know what time my client left—is that right?”
“Well, I know it was before six o’clock in the mornin’, ’cause that’s when I get up to pee. Truck was gone then.”
“So, fair to say you saw a costumed man you think was my client go into the apartment at around 10:30 p.m., and he was gone at 6:00 a.m. the next day?”
“Yep.”
“But you didn’t see him leave?”
“No, but his truck was gone. Why would he leave without his truck?”
“I hear you,” Sam said. “But you’ll agree you don’t know when he left, right?”
“’Course I will.”
“And what time did you go to sleep that night?”
“What night?”<
br />
“The night you think you saw my client go into Emily’s house.”
“I know what I seen, Mister.”
“Okay. So, you saw a guy who looked like my client go into her house, and at some point, you went to sleep, right?”
“Yup. Right after Bonanza. I watch Bonanza every night.”
“So, that comes on at—what?—about 10:00 p.m.?”
“Yup. Ends at eleven. That’s when I go to bed.”
“So, on that night you went to bed at eleven?”
“Yup. Right to sleep, too.”
“You a light sleeper?”
“Not really.”
“So, you don’t know anything about what happened at Emily’s place after eleven for sure, and really after the guy you think was my client arrived—because you’re not nosy, right?”
“Well, yeah. But I know what I seen.”
“And you’re convinced it was my guy?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“How so?”
“’Cause that picture them cops gave me, I recognized him.”
“You recognized him from a line-up?”
“No. They just showed me the one picture of the guy, but I recognized him right away ’cause he came around here the day after she was kilt lookin’ for her.”
“Are you sure?”
“Oh, yeah. It was the guy. Same truck, same fella. All upset, though.”
“About what—if you know?”
“I don’t. I just figured he was alley-cattin’ around,” Gus mused. “Maybe she’d blown him off, you know? She had lots of boyfriends.”
“You’ve said that twice, now.”
“What?”
“That she had a lot of boyfriends.”
“Well, she was a looker, that girl.”
“Did you ever go out with her?”
“Well, no.”
“Did you let him in the house?”
“Who?”
“My guy.”
“Nope.”
“You sure?”
“Sure, I’m sure. Why would I? He coulda been some nut or broken-hearted Romeo or somethin’.”
“Did you ever ask her out?”
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