by Tim Green
When Jeff Board woke later that night, he remembered right away what had happened. His nose was still sore as hell, and it had swollen to twice its normal size. He had been enraged that the police wouldn't arrest Cody Grey immediately. They told him the best they could do was to take him in early the next morning. To Board, that was like adding insult to injury. He wanted Cody Grey to have just as miserable a night as he was having.
His room was dark and quiet except for the steady hum of the air conditioner. Something had woken him, though. He thought it was a noise, probably one of his cats, but he couldn't be sure. He rolled on his side with a heavy sigh and whimpered a little bit.
He didn't see or hear anything, but it felt as if someone was standing next to his bed. He shot up from the covers with a burst of adrenaline. His heart was in his throat. Then he saw stars. The first blow came from above. He heard the crunch of bone and flesh, and it knocked him back down on the bed. His left eye had been smashed shut. He tried to rise and throw himself away from his assailant. He got to the other side of the bed when he caught another blow in the back of his neck that knocked him off the edge of the bed. He was whimpering on the floor and scrambling on all fours for the door. It was open, and he could see light from the street spilling into his living room. He thought he could make an escape, but the dark figure cut him off. Whoever it was kneeled down in front of him. Board instinctively covered his head.
The figure grabbed him by the hair and pushed his head facedown against the floor. Board started to cry like a baby. Then he felt the cold barrel of the gun pressed against the side of his head. He cried out with a desperate scream and tried to get away. There was an explosion of white light, and it was over. The figure beside him got up and looked down at the steady trickle of blood flowing from the dead man's brain. It was rapidly soaking into the carpet. The killer scuffed his feet where he stood, then quickly left the room. Only Board's limp body and the smell of hot powder and blood remained.
Detectives Bortz and Zimmer got the call from a squad car that had been sent to investigate a burglary. A neighbor heard screams and saw a man running from Boards house. The uniformed officers knocked on Boards door. There was no answer. Both men noticed a bloody footprint on the back stoop. When the neighbor who'd made the call assured them that Board had definitely come home that night, the officers went in. They found him facedown on his bedroom floor with what Alice Vreland would call blood pudding glopped everywhere. In the middle of the mess were footprints that looked as if they came from sneakers. The prints, which led down the stairs and out the back door, were photographed and sent into the lab for analysis.
The neighbor, an elderly man by the name of Boris Hauffler, had been letting his dog out for a late-night pee when he heard a scream and Board's back door slam. The dog barked frantically. Hauffler flipped on a floodlight and saw a man running from Board's house. Hauffler described the man as about six-foot-two or -three, dressed in dark clothing, with short dark hair.
Bortz had a computer check run on Board and came up with the assault complaint from eight-fifty earlier that evening. The alleged assailant was Cody Grey, the Outlaws defensive standout.
"You believe that?" Bortz said, looking down at Zimmer, who stood a full foot shorter than him.
Zimmer looked up at his lanky partner and shrugged, saying, "This guy's got a bad reputation already. He's been in trouble before."
"Nothing like this," Bortz replied. He knew his chubby partner was prejudiced against professional athletes anyway. He hated sports and the people who played them.
Zimmer shrugged and said, "Let's get a picture of Grey and show it to the old man. We get a positive I. D. along with the motive from the earlier assault, and we can get a warrant by morning."
"You know those funny looking footprints?" Boitz mused. "They looked a hell of a lot like turf shoes to me." 'Turf shoes?" Zimmer said.
"Yeah," Bortz replied. "The kind football players wear."
"This could be a big one," the shorter man replied. "A real big one."
Chapter Nineteen
Cody woke up with a terrible hangover. His head pounded, and he cursed himself soundly. His clothes and his boots lay in a heap beside his bed. Next to him the king-size bed was undisturbed. He had slept alone. Downstairs he heard voices. The beginning of last night came back to him with a wave of clarity. How he'd gotten home or much of anything that had happened after the Green Mesquite, he couldn't remember. He did remember losing it, though. He remembered bashing Board around and Jenny deserting him. He remembered heading for a watering hole called Chester's off the main drag downtown. That was about it.
He was suddenly nauseous, and he rolled quickly from the bed, despite the splitting ache in his head. He hurried to the bathroom where he immediately began to puke. It hurt his swollen knee to press against the tiled floor, but the painful knot in his stomach and the pounding in his head almost drowned out the throbbing in his knee. When he'd coughed and spit out the last bit of bile and saliva, he looked up to see Jenny standing there in the doorway. Her face was drawn with shock.
"The police are here," she said in a whisper. "They're here to arrest you."
Cody had half expected it. The police were right behind her. Then there were two detectives standing in his bedroom. They stared at him solemnly. They both wore gray suits. One was tall and thin, the other short and chunky, a regular Mutt-and-Jeff combination.
The taller of the two said, holding out a folded piece of paper, "Cody Grey? We have a warrant for your arrest."
"You guys are a little anxious this morning, aren't you?" Cody said, rising to his feet.
Zimmer, the short one, began reciting Cody's rights. Cody knew the routine. He'd been through it before a couple of times. He'd never been convicted of anything, but he had been atTested. It didn't make him feel any better. He only hoped he could get things over with so he could make the twelve o'clock team meeting. Otherwise he'd have to have Marty call and explain it for him. The team would fine him a thousand dollars for sure.
"You can go ahead and get some clothes on if you want," said the taller one in a courteous way.
Cody went to his closet and pulled on a clean sweat suit with a T-shirt and some turf shoes.
"You wear those shoes last night?" Zimmer asked casually.
"No," Cody said. "Why?"
"Just wondering," Zimmer said mysteriously. "Those the only pair you have?"
"No," Cody said, wanting the questions to stop. His head was pounding. "Do you mind if I take a painkiller... for my knee?"
The tall one looked at the short one.
He nodded, and the tall one said, "Okay."
Cody took a Butazolidin from his black bag and washed it down. It might not make his knee feel like new, but it would wipe out even the worst hangover headache in about twenty minutes. Cody forced a smile and then started past the two detectives toward the bedroom door.
The shorter one took out a pair of cuffs and took Cody's wrist in his hand as he passed by. Cody pulled back.
"Hey," he said, "come on. You don't need those. I'm coming. I'm not going to make problems."
"Sony," the shorter one said, taking his wrist again and slapping the metal band around it with a sharp click, "it's not my choice, Mr. Grey. Rules say homicide suspects have to be cuffed."
Cody went limp as the short detective finished the job with another sharp click. Cody's mouth hung open.
"What do you mean, 'homicide'?" he said with a disbelieving laugh. "I didn't kill anyone! He wasn't dead. I knocked him around a little. He's not dead."
"Someone blew his brains out," the tall one said, leading him out into the upstairs hallway. "We've got two dozen witnesses who say that's exactly what you promised him."
The tall detective led Cody downstairs and walked him outside into the midmorning sun. Eight plainclothes investigators waited outside the door.
"What are you doing?" Cody said as they began to stream past him and into his house.
"
We have a search warrant too," the tall one said.
Cody turned back, looking desperately up the stairs. Jenny was standing at the door with a confused and horrified look on her face. The shorter one was talking to her, and two other men were standing beside her now too.
"Mrs. Grey," Cody heard the detective say, "we'd like to get a formal statement from you. Officers Remo and Courtney will drive you down, if that's all right."
"All right," Jenny said. She was in a daze.
"Jenny!" Cody called out to her as the taller one regained his hold and began to tug him toward the police car. "Call Marty. Call him. Tell him 1 . . . Just tell him!"
'They'll be as neat as they can, Mrs. Grey," was the last thing Cody heard the short detective say to Jenny.
Zimmer jogged down the stairs, took Cody's other arm to help get him into the backseat, then shut the car door.
Marty took an early morning run. When he got back, he showered and poured some orange juice. The phone rang just as he was taking the first bite of his bagel with cream cheese. It was Jenny.
"For what?" he asked incredulously.
"Murder," she said flatly.
"Murder?"
Jenny was quiet for a moment, and Marty's spirits sank.
"I can't really talk. They're right here. He beat Board up at the Green Mesquite. He was drunk, Marty, and that guy just appeared and started goading him on. Cody said he would kill him. Everyone heard it. I took a cab home and went to bed in the guest room. 1 think I heard him come in about two-thirty--"
"Okay. Don't say anything more. Have they questioned you?"
"Well, a little, but nothing on the record. They asked me to come down and make a formal statement."
"Don't say a thing to them, Jenny. Don't say even one word until I can get there. I don't want you to say one word until I get there, not anything. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Because it could be very important and you have a right to have me there." "Okay, Marty," she said. "I won't say anything."
"Is the officer who's taking you down right there?"
"Yes, I can get him," she said, and he heard her calling out to the officer.
"Hello, this is Officer Remo," came a giuff voice.
"Officer, this is Maity Cahn. I represent both Mr. and Mrs. Grey. I don't want you to try to question either of them until I am at the station, is that clear?"
"Clear," the officer said.
"All right, officer," Marty said in a very businesslike tone, "I am making a note that we had this conversation at 8:27 A. M. I also want you to radio the car that has taken Mr. Grey and tell the arresting officers that I have formally told them that they are not to question him until I am present, is that clear?" "Fine," Remo replied.
"Thank you, officer," Marty said, "now I'd like to talk with Mrs. Grey again." "Marty?" Jenny said. Marty had never heard her voice so uncertain. "Everything's taken care of," he said. "I don't think you have to go down with them, but you might just as well go and get it over with. I'll be there soon. I've told them they're not to ask you a single question."
"I hope 1 didn't say anything already," Jenny fretted. "I think I might have said something about when Cody came home. They seemed to know everything. 1 don't know. ..."
"Don't worry about what you've said," Marty told her. "Just don't say anything more. Are you okay?"
"Yes," she said, "I'm all right. I'll see you there."
"Good," Marty said. "First I've got to see a friend of mine who's the best criminal lawyer in town, then I'll be down there."
"No," Madison said flatly. "I won't represent him."
"Madison, forget that he's an Outlaw," Marty implored. "This is about a client who needs me. I represent him, Madison. I have to get the best. You're the best. I know I can get you to take it, Madison, and I have to. This is this man's life, and he's a friend. He's a client."
"No," she said flatly. She was sitting on her enclosed porch at the back of her house. Jo-Jo was splashing around in the pool with his friends, and Lucia was fussing about, cleaning up after the breakfast she'd served them on the porch. Madison wore a white terry-cloth robe over her bathing suit. Abby was napping at her feet. It was a beautiful Saturday morning. Marty didn't blame her for not wanting to drive down with him to the police station. That was why he had come in person rather than call her. He suspected she would say no, especially considering their recent discussion and her comments about Cody Grey's character. But he knew he stood a much better chance of convincing her to change her mind in person than he did over the phone.
"And I don't want you to take this personally, Marty," she continued. 'You know if I was going to do this for anyone in the world it would be you, but I can't."
"Why?"
"Because, Marty, I already have one violent, dangerous football player in my life, and he's ruining it. I don't want another one, not even as a client. I can't represent him without prejudice. I remember Cody Grey from Joe's days with the team. Even Joe used to say he was incredibly violent and had a hot temper, and that was Joe talking. I think he probably did it, Marty. He said he was going to do it, for God's sake!"
"He didn't do it," Marty insisted. "I know him. He's not really like that."
Madison rolled her eyes. She truly felt sony for Matty. He was so naive sometimes.
"Madison," he said, reaching across the table and taking her hand. He looked into her eyes and pleaded, "I need you. I need your help. Don't do it for him, Madison. Do it for me. Please."
Madison thought for a long while. She looked out at Jo-Jo and the boys screaming and splashing. She didn't want to leave. She didn't want this case.
"I have a capital murder case right now, Marty," she said. 'You know I never do two murder cases at once. It's too much."
Marty could see she was weakening.
"Do you want me to get on my knees, Madison, because I'm begging you," he said earnestly.
"No," she said, shaking her head. "I don't want you to beg."
Madison pursed her lips. She thought about how Marty had been there for her through her bad times, when she'd needed him. This would be the second case in two months that was being forced on her. But in the first, she might be able to clear an innocent boy. Maybe in this case she could do some good as well. Even if Cody Grey were convicted, if nothing else, Marty would feel more at peace with himself if he knew that his client had the best representation he could get. Madison let out a long sigh.
"All right," she said, getting up from the table and calling her son onto the porch.
. The boy ran up to her and stood dripping on the flagstone. "Jo-Jo, I have to go down to the police station to help one of Marty's friends. I know I said I'd be here all day, honey, but this is an emergency. There's a man who needs my help. Is it all right with you if I go?"
Jo-Jo was thinking. "Can my friends stay?" he asked.
"All right, dear," she said, kissing his forehead, "but tell them that they have to listen to Lucia, and if they don't, they won't be able to go to the movies with us tonight, is that a deal?"
"Okay, Mom," he said with a grin. She tousled his hair before he scampered back out to his friends. They immediately began screaming and hollering again.
"I'll get dressed." She turned to walk away. Marty stood and stopped her by taking her shoulders in his hands.
"Thank you," he said, then kissed her on the cheek.
When Madison came down the stairs wearing slacks and a blazer and carrying her briefcase, Marty knew she was all business from there on out. They got in Marty's car because she wanted to be filled in on all he knew and to think while they drove.
"Marty," Madison asked, "have you talked to the team yet?"
"No," he replied. "I haven't spoken to anyone but you."
"Well," she said, "when we get there, you should probably give someone a call and get them to use their weight to get a judge to arraign Cody today. A call from a judge will get the cops busy, and we can get bail set today. If we don't push it, the
cops will drag out their reports, and he'll have to stay overnight in jail. They don't do arraignments on Saturday afternoons. He's got a game tomorrow, doesn't he?"
"Yes," Marty said, "that's a good idea. I'll call. They'll be able to pull some strings. The guy Cody backs up can't even play, so they'll need him out there. They'll do it."
"Good," Madison said, "now tell me what the wife said to you."
Marty recounted his conversation with Jenny.
"Do you think if she told them that he didn't come in until two-thirty that it will hurt us?" Marty asked.
"We don't know when the murder took place," Madison replied. "But we don't have to worry about the wife. The prosecution can't force her to testify against her husband. She has spousal immunity."
"What about what she's already said?"
"Come on, Marty," Madison chided him, "remember evidence? The D. A. won't be able to get her statement in. It's hearsay. Only she can recount what she said if it's being offered as a statement of truth, and they can't force her on the stand because she's his wife."
'That's good," Marty replied.
"Bet your ass," Madison said. "You should have told her to just stay home, though. They couldn't bring her in unless she was under arrest."
"I didn't know," Marty said.
"It's not your fault," she replied, "I don't know how to do tax returns. You did good by telling her not to talk and by telling the cop that no one was to question her. A lot of times a suspect starts blabbing before the lawyer can get there. The Miranda warning is great in theory, but in truth, most people just can't shut up when a cop starts asking them questions. But after you put the police on notice, even if they ask him something and he says something he shouldn't, they could never get it into evidence at the trial."
"I did pretty good then, huh?" Marty said, looking over at her with a smile.
"For a tax lawyer, I'd say you were sensational," she replied, returning his smile. "By the way, I want you to sit second with me on this if it goes to trial."
"Madison," he replied, "you know I can't do that. I don't have any trial experience."