Fugitive: A Novel

by Phillip Margolin

  “What’s your other idea?”

  “Senior got to him just like he got to Jarvis. Tony’s not real big on ethics. He’d have no compunction about lying under oath if he was paid enough. Hell, if I had offered him a quarter million dollars to kill Arnie I bet he’d have done it.”

  Frank was about to say something else when Herb Cross pushed through the courtroom doors, sporting a wide smile.

  “What’s up?” Frank asked.

  “I found the photographer.”

  “Great work. Have you talked to him yet?”

  “No, but I know where he lives. I figured you’d want to come along.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Hey, is this Jack Rodriguez?” Herb Cross asked as soon as someone answered the phone. Cross was calling from Frank’s car, which was parked across the street from a poorly maintained rental home in a rundown section of North Portland. Weeds outnumbered grass in the overgrown postage-stamp front lawn, and the small Cape Cod hadn’t seen a new coat of paint in recent memory.

  “Who’s this?” was the cautious answer.

  “Are you the private detective?” Cross asked, trying to sound as paranoid as the man to whom he was speaking.

  “Yeah,” Rodriguez answered, perkier now that he smelled a buck. “What can I do for you?”

  “Look, I don’t feel comfortable talking on the phone, if you know what I mean.”

  “Certainly. I definitely understand the need for confidentiality. So, where do you want to meet?”

  “Do you have an office?”

  “No, I find it’s better not to draw too much attention to myself.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s right. Mr. Jarvis told me you don’t have an office. I forgot.”

  “Who?”

  Cross heard panic in the PI’s voice.

  “Otto Jarvis, the lawyer. He gave me your number. He said you do really good work.”

  There was dead air. When Rodriguez spoke, he sounded very nervous.

  “Here’s the thing. I just checked my calendar and I forgot about a project that’s going to take me out of town for a while. So I don’t think I can do anything for you right now.”

  “Oh man, that’s disappointing, because Mr. Jarvis said you’re the go-to guy if someone thinks their wife is, uh, you know what I mean.”

  “Not really, and I think you have the wrong guy, anyway, because I don’t know this Jarvis guy. So, good luck with your wife.”

  The moment Rodriguez hung up, Cross called Frank, who was stationed near the back door of the PI’s house.

  “He denied knowing Jarvis, but he got very panicky as soon as I mentioned his name. I figure he’ll be coming out any minute. I’ve got the front.”

  Cross put the cell phone in his pocket and started across the street. He saw a curtain move. He hoped Rodriguez would make a break for it so they wouldn’t have to figure out how to get in his house. He also hoped the PI didn’t have a gun.

  FRANK HAD SWAPPED his suit for a black leather jacket, a black turtleneck, and black slacks, which—along with his thick upper body and broken nose—made him look like a thug. As soon as he heard the back door open and close, he stepped around the corner of the house and into Rodriguez’s path.

  “Where you headed, Mr. Rodriguez?” he asked as the PI skidded to a stop. Rodriguez was skinny and about five foot seven. His long black hair was greasy and unkempt and Frank saw acne scars on his sunken cheeks. The lawyer didn’t think Rodriguez would try to fight but he looked like he might be fast, so Frank clamped a hand on his forearm.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Rodriguez asked, trying to sound tough and failing miserably.

  “Why don’t we tell you inside,” Frank said as Herb Cross walked up behind the PI.

  Frank’s investigator had his hand stuffed in his jacket pocket as if he were holding a gun. Rodriguez’s eyes darted between his captors. While the PI was making up his mind, Herb opened the back door and Frank made the choice for him by pushing Rodriguez inside.

  The blinds were down and a low-wattage bulb in a standing lamp cast a sickly pale light over a disgustingly dirty living room. Soiled clothes, skin magazines, and dirty dishes were strewn around. The smell of stale pizza and sweat made Frank wince. He decided that calling the house a pigsty would insult swine everywhere. The only neat spot was a corner of the room given over to a computer, printer, fax, and telephone. Frank guessed that this oasis of cleanliness served as Rodriguez’s office.

  “How do you live here?” Frank asked.

  “Fuck you,” the PI answered without much conviction.

  Frank shoved Rodriguez onto the couch and stood over him, because he was afraid to sit on any of the furniture.

  “What’s this all about?” Rodriguez asked.

  “We know you took the pictures of Sally Pope with Charlie Marsh,” Frank said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rodriguez said as he folded his arms across his chest and turned his head so he wouldn’t have to look at Frank.

  “Explain how he fucked up,” Frank said to Cross.

  “You made a really amateurish mistake, Jack,” Frank’s investigator said. He handed the PI one of the photographs that had been shot through the windshield of a car.

  “I’ve never seen this before.”

  “Then someone stole your ride. A VIN number is a seventeen-character alphanumeric code specific to each vehicle.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” Rodriguez said, but he was staring at a section of the photo and he’d started to sweat.

  “The VIN is mounted on a strip where the dashboard and the windshield meet on the driver’s side. Yours is reflected in the picture. Like I said, an amateur’s mistake. I traced the VIN back to you, Jack.”

  “You’re in a lot of trouble,” Frank said. “I’m sure you know that Sally Pope is on trial for killing her husband.”

  “What’s that have to do with me?”

  “Do you know the DA’s theory? He thinks your photos were used to lure Congressman Pope to his death. That makes you an accessory to murder.”

  “Bullshit.” Rodriguez hugged himself tighter. “I want a lawyer.”

  “Cops have to get suspects lawyers. I’m not a cop.”

  “Then who the fuck are you?”

  “Your savior, Jack. The man who can keep you from facing a murder charge.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Karl Burdett was in a great mood when he led his trial assistants into the courtroom the next morning. Frank Jaffe was supposed to be a hot shot but Karl felt that he had him on the ropes. True, Jaffe had scored some points with Otto Jarvis, but he didn’t think he’d lay a glove on Tony Rose. If the jurors believed Rose, the case was over.

  “Mr. Burdett,” Judge Hansen’s bailiff said while Karl was swinging his attaché case onto the prosecution table, “the judge wants you in chambers.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I don’t know, but Judge Hansen, Mr. Jaffe, his client, and two other men are waiting for you.”

  Karl frowned. He told his assistants to get his files ready and walked toward the judge’s chambers. He didn’t like surprises.

  “Morning, Karl,” the judge said. She hadn’t donned her robes yet and was wearing a black pants suit and white silk blouse. Even though it was illegal to smoke in a public building, Hansen was on her third cigarette and the room stank from cigarette smoke.

  Karl recognized Herb Cross, who was sitting on a couch against the wall next to a scrawny, unkempt man who looked to be in his late twenties and was wearing a sweatshirt, jeans, and running shoes.

  Judge Hansen pointed at a chair. It was across the desk from her and next to Frank, who was seated next to his client. The only other person in the room was the judge’s court reporter, which meant they weren’t going to have an off-the-record chat.

  “Mr. Jaffe has brought some very unsettling information to me and I’m trying to figure out the best way to handle the situation,” the judge said.

  “What situation? I
don’t know what’s going on.” The DA cast a quick glance at Jack Rodriguez. “If it involves a new witness, Mr. Jaffe hasn’t given me notice as required by the discovery rules.”

  “It does involve a witness but Mr. Jaffe didn’t learn about him until last night. That’s why we’re meeting. However, before we discuss Mr. Rodriguez’s testimony, I want to make certain that I understand your case. You’re not going to argue that Mrs. Pope shot her husband, are you?”

  “No. Charlie Marsh shot him.”

  Judge Hansen nodded. “Okay, so, if I’ve got this right, you’re going to argue that Mrs. Pope and Mr. Marsh conspired to kill her husband.”

  “Right.”

  “Then Mrs. Pope got someone to take photographs of her and Mr. Marsh in compromising positions and sent these pictures to her husband to make him angry and jealous so he would come to the Westmont Country Club where Mr. Marsh could kill him.”

  “That’s our case.”

  “Mr. Jaffe, let’s put Mr. Rodriguez’s testimony on the record,” the judge said.

  “I object to this…this procedure. I really don’t…”

  “Relax, Karl,” the judge said. “I’m taking this testimony in chambers so the press won’t hear it. That would be pretty embarrassing for you. You’ll catch on once you hear what Frank’s witness has to say.”

  Frank turned his chair toward the PI. “The judge swore you earlier, Mr. Rodriguez, and you’re still under oath. Understand?”

  “Yeah,” Rodriguez answered reluctantly.

  “Are you a private investigator?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have I shown you state’s exhibit thirteen, the photographs that were sent to Congressman Pope?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you take the pictures?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please tell us why you were following Mrs. Pope and Mr. Marsh and taking photographs of them.”

  “I got a phone call.”

  “From who?”

  “A man.”

  “Did he tell you who referred him to you?”

  “I do work for the Reed, Briggs law firm every once in a while. He mentioned a lawyer over there.”

  Frank turned to the judge. “If I may, Your Honor, I’m prepared to prove that the Reed, Briggs firm handles Arnold Pope Sr.’s legal work.”

  “Whoa, wait a second. What’s going on here?” Burdett asked, alarmed by anything that could damage his relationship with his largest contributor.

  “Relax and you’ll find out,” the judge told the DA. “Proceed, Mr. Jaffe.”

  “Okay. Now, Mr. Rodriguez, was there anything unusual about the voice of the man who contacted you?”

  “He had a British accent.”

  “Did I have you call a number, last night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who did you call?”

  “You said it was the unlisted number at Arnold Pope Sr.’s estate.”

  “Was there anything familiar about the voice of the man who answered the phone?”

  “Yeah. It was the guy who’d hired me.”

  “You’re certain?”

  Rodriguez shrugged. “Well, I never met the guy but it sounded just like him. He had that British accent. And when I told him who I was he got very panicky and refused to put me through to Mr. Pope.”

  “Did he hang up?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Your Honor,” Frank said, “Derrick Barclay, Mr. Pope’s personal assistant, has a British accent. I made a recording of the call and Mr. Barclay sounds pretty rattled on it.”

  “Very well. Go on.”

  “When you were hired, what were the terms and what were you told to do?” Frank asked.

  “The guy with the accent wanted me to follow Mrs. Pope and take pictures if I caught her doing something she shouldn’t.”

  “How were you paid?”

  “Upfront into my bank account.”

  “Did you ever learn the name of the man who paid you?”

  “No.”

  “Did you have more than one conversation with this man?”

  “Yeah. He called a little after Mrs. Pope was arrested.”

  “During that phone conversation did the man ask for the name of a divorce attorney who wouldn’t mind bending the rules a little?”

  “Yeah. He said he’d heard that I did work for small firms and solos and he said he needed a guy who could use some dough and wasn’t picky about what he had to do to earn it.”

  “Did you give him a name?”

  “I told him about Otto.”

  “Otto Jarvis?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you give the pictures that were sent to Congressman Pope to someone?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What did you do with them?”

  “I sent them to a PO box.”

  “That’s all, Your Honor.”

  “Would everyone but Karl please leave my chambers,” Judge Hansen said.

  “I don’t think…” the DA started.

  “I think it would be better for you if we talked without an audience,” Judge Hansen said. “Mr. Jaffe, you don’t mind if Mr. Burdett and I have an ex parte conference, do you?”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  As soon as they were alone, Judge Hansen took a drag on her cigarette. Then she shook her head.

  “I thought this case smelled as soon as I heard your theory.”

  “Those pictures…”

  “If Mrs. Pope didn’t hire Rodriguez to take them, the only thing they prove is that she was set up.”

  “Marsh could have faked a British accent to make everyone think that Derrick Barclay made the call,” Burdett persisted.

  Hansen leaned forward and fixed Burdett with a hard stare.

  “I’ve heard the tape of Rodriguez’s call and I know how Barclay’s voice sounds. I’ve also heard scuttlebutt around the courthouse that you had no intention of charging Sally Pope until you came back from a meeting with Arnie Sr. Is there any truth to the rumors?”

  Burdett shifted uneasily in his seat. “The grand jury found…”

  “The grand jury will find anything you want them to. We both know that, so don’t give me that shit. I have half a mind to haul Derrick Barclay and his boss in front of a grand jury and ask them about those photographs.”

  The blood drained from Burdett’s face.

  “Now, I’m going to assume you didn’t know that Jarvis was committing perjury before you put him on, but you have to believe that none of the jurors are going to credit his bullshit story about the so-called secret meeting. And Tony Rose is so slimy I’m surprised he didn’t slide off the witness chair. The whole prosecution stinks, and the question for you to ponder is who will be in the shit when the smoke clears.

  “If you go forward, Frank’s going to drag Senior and that little weasel Barclay into court, and I promise you this. If they lie under oath in my court, I will put them in prison along with anyone who was their knowing accomplice. So, here’s my suggestion. You ask for a dismissal with prejudice and I’ll grant it. Otherwise, you’re on your own.”

  KARL BURDETT TOOK several hours before returning to court to tell the judge that he was going to dismiss the case against Sally with prejudice. Most of that time was spent in his office with Arnold Pope Sr. and Derrick Barclay, trying to explain the consequences they would face if their complicity in luring Arnold Jr. to the Westmont was made public and they had any part in shaping the testimony of Otto Jarvis or Tony Rose. Some of the time was spent weathering Senior’s tirades.

  As soon as Arnold Pope stormed out of his office, Burdett drew up a motion to dismiss with prejudice. When the paperwork was completed, Judge Hansen ordered the dismissal in open court. Then Frank and the DA held a press conference at which the prosecutor said that evidence had come to light that raised reasonable doubts about Sally Pope’s guilt. Burdett refused to answer any questions about the evidence, claiming there was an ongoing investigation that could be jeopardized if he disclosed what
he’d learned. At Judge Hansen’s urging, Frank agreed that he would not reveal the evidence that had led to his client’s exoneration, so Frank simply thanked the prosecutor for having the courage to change his mind when justice demanded it. Burdett claimed the high ground by saying that the prosecution always wins when justice is served.

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE it’s over,” Sally said an hour after Frank drove away from the courthouse. They were seated across from each other in Sally’s living room, drinking her scotch. Her son, Kevin, was staying with a friend who had been taking care of him during the trial. “I’m only sorry that the jury didn’t say I wasn’t guilty.”

  “A dismissal with prejudice is the same as an acquittal,” Frank reminded her. “The DA can never charge you with your husband’s murder again.”

  “There are people who will think I got off on a technicality.”

  “Those people would always have questions no matter how the case ended. You’re just going to have to ignore them.”

  “That bastard,” Sally muttered. “I wish there was some way to get back at him.”

  “You’re going to have to ignore Senior, too.”

  “That won’t be easy. I know him. He’ll go after me as long as he’s alive. He can tie up Arnie’s estate, and he swore he’d try and get custody of Kevin.”

  “Senior won’t succeed if he tries either of those ploys. He could face criminal charges if it came out that he bribed witnesses to lie about you and you’d have one hell of a lawsuit.”

  “I don’t want to file a lawsuit. I just want to be left in peace.”

  “I’ll do my best to see that it happens.”

  Sally shifted her gaze from her glass to her lawyer. “You’ve been wonderful.”

  Frank felt uncomfortable. He wanted to look away but felt he would reveal his emotions if he did. Instead, the blush that colored his cheeks served that purpose.

  “It was easy. I believed in you.”

  Sally didn’t speak for several heartbeats. Then she said, “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”