The Defendants: Crime Fiction & Legal Thriller (Thaddeus Murfee Legal Thriller Series Book 1)

by John Ellsworth

  “Good morning!” he cried, determined to keep the upper hand with the more boisterous voice. “How can I help you?”

  Pepper spoke. “Special Agents Pepper and Henrici, Chicago FBI. You’re Fletcher T. Franey?”

  “I am. Please have a seat.”

  “We’ll stand. This should only take a few minutes.”

  “How can I help you?” Franey stood to his feet too, though he couldn’t have explained why.

  “Let me cut to the chase, Attorney Franey,” Pepper said in her most commanding voice. “Two weeks ago you had a conversation with the Attorney General. He asked you to review some records for him. Recall that?”

  “Let me see,” Franey was immediately treading water, attempting to discern from their faces and their body language and their words just how much he could play hide-the-ball with them. Was he under investigation here? The sudden thought frightened him. He felt his bowels loosen and immediately wished he were near a restroom. “I do recall that. We talked, yes.”

  “And you reviewed records for him, yes?”

  “Let me see,” Franey tried again. Then he gave it up. These people were the real thing. Martha Stewart had done 21 months for lying to them, not for the insider trading they were investigating her for. He decided to cash in his chips. “He asked me to review Victor Harrow’s records in the courthouse. Yes, that was it.”

  “And did you do that?”

  “I spent two days going through courthouse records.”

  “What did you learn?”

  “Everything Vic Harrow owned was mortgaged to the hilt. He owned nothing free and clear of liens.”

  “How did you know what all he owned?”

  “I obtained his—the AG instructed me to obtain his…tax return.”

  “The AG instructed you to obtain Vic Harrow’s tax return?” Pepper’s tone was incredulous, although it was mostly a damn good drama job. She was leading Franey right down the merry path where she knew she could lead him. She had known two weeks ago where she could lead him and she had rehearsed this conversation several times.

  “Yes, he instructed me.”

  “Were you aware that it would be illegal for you to obtain someone else’s tax returns without their permission? I assume you never had Victor Harrow’s permission to obtain his tax returns?”

  “I never did. No—Yes, I was aware it was illegal. But I thought since it was the AG telling me to do it that I had a legal duty to comply.”

  “Wait,” said Gio. “You’re telling us you believed the Attorney General of the State of Illinois had the legal authority to direct you to violate federal law?”

  “Yes,” he managed through a voice husky with fear. “I did think that.”

  “Seriously. Where did you go to law school, Mister Franey?”

  “Creighton.”

  “Is that an ABA law school?”

  “Far as I know.”

  “Was it an ABA law school when you attended?”

  “Far as I know.”

  “At Creighton did they teach you that state officials had the right to violate federal law and to encourage citizens to violate federal law?”

  “Not really. Not exactly.”

  “Not exactly? Tell us which course came close to authorizing state officials to violate federal tax laws.”

  “None.”

  “So you are telling us the AG directed you to violate federal law. And that you followed his instructions?”

  “I guess I did.”

  “You guess you did, or you did?”

  “I did. I obtained Victor Harrow’s federal tax returns. We wanted to see what he was depreciating so we would know what all he owned.”

  “Who is ‘we’?”

  “Me and the Attorney General.”

  “So you and the Attorney General conspired to violate federal law?”

  Franey suddenly sat down in his high back lawyer’s chair. He slumped forward on his elbows. “Shouldn’t I have a lawyer representing me now?”

  “Mister Franey,” said Pepper. “You have the right to have a lawyer present during any further interrogation. You are being questioned for your role in a possible violation of federal law. Everything you say can and will be used against you in court. If you can’t afford a lawyer one will be provided for you. Knowing these things, do you wish to continue answering our questions?”

  “I do. I don’t. I don’t know. Can I cooperate and make a deal?”

  “You can cooperate if that’s what you choose. We’re not here to make any deals today. We’re here to get the truth and move along. No arrests will be made today.”

  “Bleah,” said Franey weakly. He realized that he sounded like a cartoon character, that he didn’t have any strength left to resist. They had him dead to rights. He wondered if lawyers were still in demand in federal penitentiaries. He wondered if he could write appellate briefs for inmates and avoid getting raped. Then the tears came to his eyes. His cheeks were suddenly wet and he reached for his pipe but only succeeded in knocking it to the floor as his teared-up eyes made everything double. He saw the pipe fall, hit the floor with the bowl down, and a live ember spark up and begin smoldering on the gray industrial carpet. Finally. He had managed to keep it going. He pulled a handful of tissues from his divorce client tissue box. He removed his thick glasses and wiped his eyes, dabbed his cheeks. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Okay,” said Pepper. “Here’s how it works.” She went on to explain how she would dial a secret Chicago number and be connected to the FBI’s computers and servers, how she would conference Franey in on his phone and merge the calls, how she would then take him through a series of questions and he would give his answers. The questions would be exactly the same—well, almost exactly the same, she said—as the questions he had already answered. His job was to be forthcoming and truthful in his answers. He was to leave nothing out and to volunteer information he considered pertinent if it were left out or unasked by her. Anything less and he would be looking at obstruction of justice charges, not to mention perjury, falsifying federal documents, conspiracy, and the rest of the laundry list of federal crimes one can commit without even being aware. Especially a small town lawyer like Franey, who knew about wills, divorces, and deeds, and Marlin City Laws, but knew zip about federal criminal laws, racketeering, RICO, FISA courts and all the rest, of which Pepper and Gio were confident masters. In the end he agreed and the questioning began all over again. Except this time he was plugged in directly to the FBI computers, which recorded every word, extracted keywords, massaged his statements into database artifacts, cross-referenced it all, and made it instantaneously available to all other FBI and NSA and CIA agents worldwide. The entire process took only one hour, then the agents left and Franey went home, defeated, intending to read about extradition laws in Columbia, S.A. He had heard Columbia was friendly to American fugitives. It was the next best thing to cutting a deal, at this point.

  17

  While the FBI agents were taking Franey’s statement, Ermeline Ransom was across the street having her first day in court, such as it was. Although Chris Susmann had brought her the decent clothes to wear to court, leaving the orange jailhouse jumpsuit in her cell where she had changed, the court appearance turned out to be much ado about nothing, as far as Ermeline was concerned. First she waited around for half an hour after the custody hearing for Jaime. Thank goodness Chris had come through on that. Outside of her own mother, Ermeline couldn’t think of a better place for Jaime to bide his time while mom waited in jail than with Chris Susmann and Buddy Susmann and their two kids. The Susmanns went to the same church as Ermeline; their daughter and Jaime did Sunday School together; they had the same teacher in half-day kindergarten; and the mothers were similar disciplinarians and love dispensers. Her son would never go without, and Ermeline was grateful and thankful to Chris and Thaddeus for making that happen at the last minute. Plus Chris had an inner strength—probably from serving in the army—that Ermeline had always wished for he
rself. The last two days had been frantic for Ermeline and she had alternated between crying and glumly sitting alone and silent in her cell, watching the spiders and dust mites pass through her vision. Three times a day she was fed; all three times were Silver Dome food, so she had no complaints. Charlie Altiman and the jailer even allowed her to choose from the daily specials. Now the courtroom was about half full of people she didn’t know, so they weren’t from Orbit, she was quite certain of that. No, these were press people, from the local TV stations and radio stations and there was even an AP representative there, though Ermeline wouldn’t have known that. Something was definitely in the air, though, and she assumed it was only about her and the Victor Harrow charge of First Degree Murder. She couldn’t have known that the AP was following the FBI agents who had come to town that day. She couldn’t have known that while the agents stopped in at the Silver Dome for early lunch the AP reporter had diverged and come to the courthouse, as much to stay out of the way of the agents as to snoop around. But now the AP reporter found herself watching an appearance by a young woman actually accused of murdering the man the FBI agents were known to be inquiring about. The AP had its sources, even inside the FBI, and when the AP reporter found herself in that courtroom at that exact time she said a silent prayer. Serendipity was alive and well, at least in Orbit.

  At long last Judge Prelate told the clerk to call the next case and the clerk announced the case of People of the State of Illinois v. Ermeline Ransom, Defendant. Ermeline stood up when she saw Thaddeus stand up, and he motioned her to join him at counsel table. She took her place beside him and looked directly at Judge Prelate. Judge Prelate had his glasses up on his forehead and was squinting while he read from the case file before him. Finally he looked up and the glasses slid down to their proper perch on his nose. “Counsel,” he said, “have you been given a copy of the complaint in this case?”

  Thaddeus spoke up, strong and firm. “I have, your honor, and I have discussed it with my client. We waive its reading in open court.”

  “Very well. And you do represent Ermeline Ransom in this matter?”

  “I do, and I’ll be filing a written entry of appearance later today.”

  The Judge smiled. It had been a busy morning for Thaddeus Murfee and he knew that. “Very well.”

  At which point Rulanda Barre, the Special Assistant Attorney General who had been directed by the Attorney General to prosecute Ermeline Ransom, spoke up. “Your Honor,” she said in an equally strong voice, “the State requests that the conditions of release continue. That no bail be set.”

  Thaddeus pondered this for several moments. “Your Honor, I will also be filing a motion today to set conditions of release. I’m wondering—could we have that heard first thing in the morning?”

  “I don’t know about first thing, Mister Murfee, but we can certainly come back in the morning for a hearing on Ermeline’s conditions of release if that’s your preference. Counsel?” he added, looking over at AG Barre.

  “Tomorrow morning would be too soon for the State, Judge,” she said. “I was hoping to have at least a week so that I could become more familiar with the defendant and her connection with the community, so that I could participate in an informed discussion of her conditions of release.”

  “Nonsense,” said Judge Prelate with a broad smile at the Special Assistant Attorney General. “You’ve had plenty of time to find out everything there is to know about Ermeline by talking with our sheriff and DA. We’ll hear the bail motion in the morning. We’ll start at eight sharp. Madam Clerk, please issue the order.”

  “Yes, your Honor,” both attorneys said in unison.

  “And preliminary hearing will be set one week from today. Assuming there’s no indictment between now and then. Same time next week.”

  Thaddeus felt himself warming to the coming fight. This was going to be a knockdown-dragout and he knew it. Already SAAG Rulanda Barre had tried to draw blood and the judge had quickly dispossessed her of that notion. Now they would go toe-to-toe in the morning. Thaddeus was determined to get reasonable bail set for Ermeline, something she could afford and, if she couldn’t afford anything, he would ask for release on her own recognizance—unheard of in Murder One cases, but hey, this was Orbit and everyone knew everyone and Judge Prelate himself wasn’t out to get Ermeline, he had already proved that. Thaddeus was already drafting the bail motion in his mind.

  The court continued the case to the following morning, ten a.m., and Ermeline left the courtroom in the custody of deputy sheriff Dale Harshman. There were no handcuffs, nothing to indicate she was even in custody, except an official hand on her elbow, guiding her along the aisle and out the doors.

  “Counsel,” said Rulanda to Thaddeus. “Would you like to meet and discuss this afternoon? I owe you discovery anyway.”

  “What time?”

  “Two good?”

  “I’ll be there. Thanks.”

  After the Franey statement, the two agents dropped in at the Silver Dome for an early lunch. They both ordered salads and iced tea. They asked if Bruce Blongeir were available. They knew Bruce to be Victor Harrow’s son-in-law, the ex-basketball coach who had been given Bruce’s Juices (the package store) as his prize for marrying Marleen Harrow. Bruce had then parlayed the package store into ownership of the Silver Dome Inn. The agents were simply asking to see the owner. It raised no eyebrows, not even Cece’s quivering antennae. “No,” she told them. Where might we find him, they asked. “He’ll be out at his father-in-law’s bus, on the east end. Can’t miss it. Purple monster. Says ‘Harrow and Sons’ on the side. Can I get you anything else?”

  * * *

  Bang Bang’s office was actually a converted three-stall automobile paint shop in Skokie. The undercoat pits had been filled in and a new floor poured. Four steel desks ringed the walls and Bang Bang himself occupied the furthest from the anonymous steel front door. There was no sign on the place and there was no phone number to call. Nothing to identify it from any of the other fifty-some structures in the office park. But it was here that most of Chicago’s mob business got decided, planned and staffed. There was a small galley kitchen off to the east side where a gofer made coffee and refreshments.

  Bang Bang was wearing his blue navy pinstripes, two-toned Allen Edmonds, and a fat diamond on his pinkie. His goatee was freshly trimmed, every graying hair was in place on his head, and, for once, he wasn’t hungry. It was barely 9:30; too early to even think about lunch. Eating was his main addiction anymore, since he had learned he was impotent. It was the diabetes that had really taken hold and done it’s damage down below. Anymore his one solace was the food, and the food he preferred was killing him. It was a bitch and he wasn’t happy about his life. Now he had some jerkwater lawyer down in Bumtown Illinois interfering with the scheme he had masterminded on Victor Harrow. Another bug to be squashed. Johnny Bladanni sat beside Bang Bang’s desk, just waiting. Bang Bang liked Johnny, always anxious to do the big guy’s bidding, ready to kill or be killed on a moment’s notice—just be sure it paid enough and he would literally do anything asked. “Just squash this lawyer Thaddeus Murfee,” he was told that morning. “Don’t bring me his head. Just make sure it don’t work no more when you’re done. Got me?”

  “How much?”

  “Ten large. Five now, five when you bring me the news clipping.”

  “Done. Could you make it fifteen?”

  “Johnny, whattayou take me for? Have I ever screwed you? Are you calling me a homosexual?”

  “I ain’t callin’ nobody nothin’. I’m just negotiatin’ on price. Fifteen I’m askin.”

  “Ten and be damn glad you got it. This economy everybody’s gotta pull their weight.”

  “Just askin’. I’ll report back.”

  “In person. No phones.”

  “No phones.”

  “Now get outta here. I got real work to do.”

  18

  The law library was an archaic, under-served mess. Under-served because there
was no real law librarian; the Northeast Reporters were actually the books of Judge Prelate; he merely lent them to the Hickam County Law Library, kept them there. All Illinois judges received the reporters by law as part of their budgets, for the legislature wanted judges immediately updated on all cases coming out of the courts of appeal and the Illinois Supreme Court. Judge Prelate was in that respect different from most other Circuit Court judges: he actually read the books, actually took them home with him and read the cases front to back, before shelving them in the law library.

  Special Assistant Attorney General Rulanda Barre looked around her makeshift office in the Hickam County Law Library. What a dump, she thought. Compared to the vast law library she had enjoyed at the University of Illinois Law School, this was a sad joke. Compared to the computerized legal research on her laptop that gave her instant access to every law in the civilized world, every case decided in every Western country, this dump was totally unnecessary. They should bust up the bookcases for kindling and pass it out to the poor. Unnecessary? For that matter, so was Orbit. Farthest thing from her mind was coming to Podunk and prosecuting some floozy for killing her John. At least that’s how she viewed the case at this point. All it represented to her was a minor irritant while she made ready her bid for the AG’s job when her boss Attorney General Robert Amistaggio ran for Governor in 2016. She would be running for AG and she was counting on her long history of wins of criminal prosecutions to so impress the electorate that it would be as if she were running unopposed. And, come to think of it, another murder conviction under her belt could only help her Won-Loss record, on which voters put tons of weight. 63-0? Maybe this case could generate some publicity in this part of the state and her name would be remembered for sending Victor Harrow’s killer to the death chamber. Lethal injection of a local woman would make great headlines for surrounding counties too, and her name would be right up there at the top of the story.