Supreme Justice

by Phillip Margolin

  "Three years ago, we investigated a gang- and drug-related murder. The victim was killed by a hollow-nose Smith and Wesson 140-gram bullet fired from a .38 Special. According to IBIS, the bullets that killed Finley and the bullet that killed the victim in the gang slaying were fired from the same gun. When I went down to the evidence room to retrieve the gun it wasn't there."

  "Where is it?" Pike asked.

  "That is a mystery. It was introduced during the trial, but we don't know what happened after the conviction, although I now have a strong suspicion. According to the log sheet, the gun was returned to the evidence room after the trial, and there is no record of it being taken out after that. The verdict was appealed, so I thought the gun might still be in the court of appeals, but they don't have it. What's important here, though, is that Sarah Woodruff was one of the officers who worked on the gang slaying, and the log sheet showing that the gun was returned has her signature on it."

  "You think Woodruff logged in the gun but stole it?" Pike said.

  Lasswell nodded.

  "Then killed her boyfriend, again?" Pike asked gleefully.

  "Right now, she's our prime suspect," Lasswell said.

  "I'm already working the case with Arnie," Dietz told Stamm. "I'd like to prosecute."

  "I know you would," Jack Stamm said. "That's why I called you in here. I wanted you to hear this from me, not secondhand. I'm giving this case to Monte."

  "But--" Dietz started.

  Stamm held up his hand. "You want to redeem yourself. That's natural. But you're too emotional about Woodruff."

  Dietz cast a quick glance at Arnie Lasswell. Had the detective complained about him to Stamm?

  "I want someone with an open mind handling the case," Stamm continued. "Monte is going to be lead counsel, and you're not going to be involved. I know that's harsh, but I've given this a lot of thought, and that's how it's going to be."

  Anger darkened Dietz's complexion. "If that's your decision . . . ?"

  "It is," Stamm said.

  "I was preparing for a trial," Dietz said. "If you don't need me anymore . . ."

  "Sure, Max," Stamm said. "And don't think my decision affects my high opinion of your work as a whole. I just don't think you're the best person for this case."

  Dietz was too furious to speak, so he just stood up and left the room.

  Stamm turned his attention to Pike. "Tread carefully, Monte. This blew up in our faces the first time through. I do not want to find myself on national television apologizing to Sarah Woodruff again."

  Max Dietz stomped back to his office with his shoulders hunched and his fists clenched. A pulse beat in his temple. When he'd shut the door and slumped onto his chair, he closed his eyes and took long, deep breaths to get his emotions under control. He knew he had to do something if he didn't want his career to unravel completely, and he couldn't think in his present state.

  When he was relatively calm, Dietz took stock of his situation. He had been in Stamm's doghouse ever since the debacle that was the first Woodruff case. Convicting Sarah Woodruff of murder would save his career, but he wasn't going to get that chance. Max had once been the heir apparent to Stamm's throne. Now Pike was Stamm's new golden boy. What could he do about that?

  A sudden thought jolted Dietz upright in his chair. He knew something Pike and Arnie Lasswell didn't. He knew about the China Sea. He hadn't told anyone about Tom Oswald's information. If anyone had gotten the bright idea that it was Brady material, he would have been forced to tell Mary Garrett what he knew, and Garrett would have argued to the jurors that John Finley was killed by drug dealers or spies.

  But what if Finley had been killed by drug dealers or spies? What if Monte Pike indicted Sarah Woodruff and took her to trial, and it turned out that drug dealers or government assassins had killed Finley? Monte Pike wouldn't look like such a hotshot then, would he? The little prick would suffer the same humiliation Dietz had suffered, and Max would be the smart one again.

  Dietz pulled out a legal pad and started to jot down ideas. He needed information, and the only people who could provide information in a situation like this were insiders. Dietz wrote the names of contacts in the FBI, the U.S. Attorney's office, and . . . Dietz grinned.

  Max had met Denise Blailock four years ago while they were working on a joint task force investigating Miguel Fuentes, the advance man for a Guatemalan cartel that was trying to make inroads into the local heroin trade. The DEA agent was pale and plain with washed-out brown hair, but she had a nice smile and a body that had attracted the DA's attention the minute she'd entered the conference room.

  Dietz's second wife had walked out on him two months before he met Denise, and he hadn't been laid since. When the task force meeting broke up, Blailock and Dietz had dined at a local steak house. During a dinner of T-bones and scotch, Dietz learned several important things about the federal agent. First, she was totally devoted to her career in the Drug Enforcement Administration. Second, as a result of a brief, savage, and regrettable teenage marriage, the only serious relationship she was interested in was the one she had with her job. Third, she was a strong proponent of recreational sex, in which the couple had engaged after dinner at a motel by the airport.

  Dietz and Blailock had seen each other occasionally since their first tryst, the longest stretch being a week in Las Vegas the previous winter. Dietz dialed DEA headquarters and asked Blailock if she was doing anything after work. Over dinner, the DA filled in his friend on the downward path his career had taken since the Woodruff fiasco and his plan to restore his fortunes. Blailock told him that she'd never heard of the China Sea or the incident in Shelby, but she promised to poke around.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Mary Garrett had been expecting a call from Sarah Woodruff ever since she'd read about John Finley's murder. The first words Sarah spoke were tinged with panic.

  "Mary, Arnie Lasswell is here--at my house--with another detective. They have a search warrant, and they want to question me."

  "Don't say a thing, and put Arnie on the line."

  "Hey, Mary," Lasswell said. The two knew each other because the detective had investigated a number of cases Mary had defended.

  "What's up, Arnie?" Mary asked.

  "We have a warrant to search your client's house and car in connection with John Finley's murder. We'd also like to talk to her."

  "Can you tell me anything else, like why she's a suspect?"

  "Monte Pike is running the show. You'll have to ask him."

  "What happened to Max?"

  "I guess Jack wanted to try someone new this time around."

  "OK. Look, I'm coming over. I don't want anyone talking to Sarah, understood?"

  "Gotcha. I put her in the kitchen with a cup of coffee."

  "OK, and be gentle during the search, OK? Make sure nothing is broken or torn. You guys screwed up the first time. If Sarah is innocent this time, too, you won't want to put the bureau and the DA's office in an even worse light."

  "She's a fellow officer, Mary, and I am sorry for what she went through. I'll be gentle as a lamb."

  It took Mary twenty-five minutes to get to Sarah's house. When the uniform at the front door let her in, she saw a team of police officers working their way through the living room and heard drawers and closet doors opening and closing on the floor above. Arnie Lasswell came down for a few minutes and laid out the ground rules, which included staying in the kitchen with her client and staying out of everybody's way.

  Mary made small talk with Sarah for a few minutes, then called Monte Pike on her cell phone. She'd had two cases with Pike, which ended in pleas, so she had not had a chance to see the young DA in action, but Mary's impressions of the prosecutor were positive. Mary thought that Pike saw law as a game like chess and didn't take his work personally. He was definitely smart and honest; he worked hard, but he had a good sense of humor.

  "Monte, it's Mary Garrett," she said when they were connected.

  "Yeah, Arnie said
you were coming over to make sure his boys don't steal the silverware."

  "With the mayor cutting down on overtime, I hear the rank and file are getting desperate."

  Monte laughed. "So, what can I do for you?"

  "How about you tell me why you're sifting through Ms. Woodruff's lingerie."

  "Why did I think that would be your first question? God, I hate being right all the time."

  "And?"

  "I'll tell you some stuff but not everything. A grand jury hasn't even been convened--and it may never be--so I'm going to keep some info close to the vest. I will tell you that Ann Paulus, the neighbor who called 911 in the first case, saw Finley go into your client's house. She's pretty certain it was the evening of the murder."

  "Why only pretty certain?"

  "That's for me to know and you to find out until I'm required to give you discovery. But I will tell you she heard arguing and what she thought might have been a shot or two. And that's it for now."

  "OK. Will you give me the courtesy of telling me if you indict Ms. Woodruff?"

  "Sure thing."

  "Will you let her surrender herself?"

  "I guess she's entitled to a little leeway in light of the mess we made last time."

  "Are you certain you're not stepping in it again?"

  "Unlike some people who shall remain nameless, I don't shoot first and ask questions later."

  "What are you thinking about for a charge?"

  "You want to know if I'm going for a lethal injection?"

  "Yes."

  "I don't know enough to answer that question right now."

  "Fair enough."

  "Honestly, Mary, I sincerely hope this search is an exercise in futility. I don't enjoy making life difficult for someone who's already had one awful experience with the justice system. But I'll go after Ms. Woodruff full-bore if I believe, beyond a reasonable doubt, that she murdered John Finley."

  As soon as the last police car was out of sight, Mary got down to business.

  "Monte Pike is in charge of your case, and he isn't a loose cannon like Max Dietz. This guy is very bright and very methodical. He didn't tell me much, but he did tell me that your neighbor, Ann Paulus, will testify that she saw Finley go into your condo around the time he was killed. Was he here?"

  "Yes. The bastard broke in."

  "Why would he do that?"

  "He said he was on the run."

  "From whom?"

  "He wouldn't tell me. He said I would be in danger if I knew."

  "If he was on the run, why did he go to your place?"

  "He came back for his duffel bag. He said there were passports and ID in different names he could use. He'd hidden the bag in my house just before he was kidnapped."

  "Pike told me the neighbor heard an argument and possibly shots."

  "There was an argument, but I didn't shoot John, even though I was tempted. When I caught the bastard sneaking around my house, I thought he was a burglar. I fired a shot into the floor at his feet."

  Mary had seen an officer digging something out of the floor in the hall. She made a note to ask if it was a bullet.

  "When I saw who it was, I went ballistic. The son of a bitch ruined my life, Mary. I'm pushing papers, my chances of making detective are slim and none, I was humiliated and forced to stand trial. I let John know what I thought of him. That's when he explained what happened and why he couldn't help me right away. I calmed down a little after that and told him to take the duffel bag and get out. When he left, he was alive and well."

  "What did Finley tell you?"

  "He said he was a navy SEAL with contacts in the CIA. After he left the military, he freelanced for the Agency on occasion, and they took him off the books so anyone who checked on him wouldn't know about his background. TA Enterprises was created to purchase and refit the China Sea and to provide money to finance the operation that almost got John killed."

  "Tell me about that."

  "John told me that the China Sea was anchored in the Columbia River near Shelby. On the night he was kidnapped, she had just returned from a rendezvous at sea where she'd picked up a cargo of hashish from a freighter from Karachi, Pakistan. John guessed that the hashish was going to be sold to pay for covert operations that couldn't be financed from budgeted funds because they were illegal.

  "John told me that a crew member named Talbot murdered the rest of the crew. John killed him in a gunfight, but he was wounded. My house was the only place he could think of, so he drove here. He still had a key. He'd just finished hiding the duffel bag when two men broke in and attacked him.

  "John thought that Talbot didn't know that the CIA was behind the smuggling operation and thought John was just another drug dealer. He thought Talbot cut a deal with a Mexican named Hector Gomez to steal the hashish. John's kidnappers worked for Gomez. They took him to a deserted spot and were going to kill him, but a team of government agents rescued him. Everything that happened on the ship was kept quiet so the people who were going to buy the hashish wouldn't get alarmed and back out."

  "Why didn't John come forward earlier?"

  "He couldn't stop my prosecution without blowing the deal. After he sold the hashish, he insisted on helping me. That's when he made that video."

  "If I can corroborate your story, I might be able to convince Pike to drop the case against you."

  "God, Mary, I hope so. I can't go through another trial."

  Woodruff had been fighting to keep her composure, but she suddenly burst into tears and buried her face in her hands. Mary felt helpless as she watched her shoulders shake with each wrenching sob.

  "I didn't do anything. You have to believe me. If anyone killed John, it would be the drug dealers or the CIA. I just wanted John out of my life."

  "Well, he's back in it. Hopefully, he won't be for long."

  Chapter Thirty-five

  A rap on her doorjamb brought Mary's eyes up from the memo she was writing. Mark Gilbert, her investigator, dropped into a chair.

  "I thought you might be interested in this," he said as he handed Mary a rolled police report written by Tom Oswald of the Shelby, Oregon, police department.

  "You told me Miss Woodruff said Finley's ship was the China Sea and it was docked in Shelby, so I decided to see if I could find out anything about it, and sure enough this cop wrote a report. It's pretty interesting. I think you should give him a call."

  As soon as Mary finished Oswald's report, she swiveled toward her phone and dialed Shelby PD. Ten minutes later, she turned to face her investigator again.

  "We're meeting after his shift tonight."

  "Do you want me to come along?"

  "No, I think he'll talk more freely if it's just me. You know, he said something interesting as soon as we were connected."

  "What's that?"

  "He said he'd been expecting my call."

  "I wonder why."

  "I didn't want to push him. I'll ask tonight."

  "One more thing," Gilbert said. "I still have informants from my days as a cop. I've been trolling for information, and I came up with some interesting stuff. A few days after Finley was kidnapped, two men were found on a logging road. They'd been murdered. The men worked for a Mexican drug cartel. One of them was wearing a leather jacket."

  "Like the kidnapper Sarah described."

  "There's a rumor on the street that Finley had a quarter million dollars with him when he left the ship and that's why the kidnappers were following him."

  "Finley told Sarah that he was rescued by government agents. They must have taken the money when they killed the drug dealers."

  "Makes sense. Tell me what happens tonight," Gilbert said.

  "Will do."

  If Mary hadn't run a MapQuest search, she might have missed the bar, which stood on an empty lot away from a run-down gas station on an otherwise unpopulated stretch of highway. There were no streetlights on this part of the road. A quarter moon and the neon beer signs in the tavern window provided a little lig
ht. A pickup and a beat-up Chevy were parked in the gravel lot that fronted the tavern. The isolation made Mary uneasy, but her hand gripped the handle of a .38 Special she carried in the deep pocket of her belted Burberry trench coat.

  When Mary opened the door to the bar, she was hit by the smell of stale beer and sweat. The inside of the tavern was almost as dark as the outside, and it took a moment before her eyes adjusted to the gloom. Two men were perched on stools, nursing drinks at opposite ends of a scarred, liquor-soaked bar. The bartender and the two men turned and stared when the door opened. Mary didn't waste any time on them. She scanned the tables and found the only other customer nursing a beer in a booth in the back.

  "Officer Oswald?" Mary asked as she sat on the bench opposite the policeman. Oswald nodded, and he didn't stare. Garrett was well known to people in law enforcement. Mary pointed at his beer.

  "Can I get you a refill?'

  "Sure."

  When Mary returned from the bar, she placed a cold beer in front of the officer and took a swig from her bottle.

  "Thanks for meeting me. As I said on the phone, I'm representing Sarah Woodruff."

  "The cop who's charged with murder."

  "Right. A ship called the China Sea came up in our investigation, and my investigator found your report. I'd appreciate it if you can tell me what happened the night you answered the 911."

  "The ship was docked near a warehouse, and the night watchman reported shots," Oswald said. "We found five dead men on the ship and a lot of hashish in the hold."

  Mary nodded. "That's in the report. What I don't understand is why there aren't any other reports. I mean, there were five dead men. I assume that's not run-of-the-mill in Shelby."

  "Yeah, well this whole deal wasn't run-of-the-mill. We don't usually get invaded by Homeland Security, either."