Fugitive: A Novel

by Phillip Margolin

  Kate was five seven, with a dark complexion, large brown eyes, and long, curly black hair that made her look faintly Middle Eastern. She usually dressed in jeans and man-tailored shirts that showed off her athletic figure. When Amanda returned from her meeting with Karl Burdett, she poked her head into Kate’s office. The investigator had her feet up on her desk and was immersed in a police report.

  “How would you like to work on the case of the century?” Amanda asked casually.

  Kate looked up, her expression blank. “I’ve gotta pass, Amanda.” She held up her police report. “I’ve pledged my life to helping a dipsomaniac insurance executive avoid conviction for his fourth DUI and I won’t rest until he’s back on the highway endangering the lives of all of Oregon’s citizens.”

  “Gee, I hate to interfere with your mission, but I’m going to pull rank and insist you give my case priority.”

  “Okay, if you insist. But you’ve got to square it with Ernie. This guy is repeat business and he refers a lot of his alcoholic buddies to the firm.”

  “I’ll talk to him.”

  Kate put her feet on the floor and swiveled her chair in Amanda’s direction. “So, what’s this big case you want me to work on?”

  Amanda told the investigator about her meeting at the airport with Martha Brice and the editor’s recent phone call. Kate knew about Charlie Marsh because of his book, but she only had vague memories of Sally Pope’s trial, so Amanda brought her up to speed on the old case.

  “I’m flying to New York tomorrow morning to meet with Marsh,” Amanda said. “While I’m gone I’d like you to go through the file and start organizing it for trial. Burdett indicted Sally Pope on a conspiracy theory, so, to get a conviction, he had to prove that Marsh murdered Congressman Pope. That means he’ll be presenting many of the same witnesses he used in Pope’s trial. See if you can have a trial book ready by the time I get back.”

  AS SOON AS Kate finished her work in the drunk-driving case, she carried a mug of coffee and her laptop into the conference room. She sighed when she saw the mass of materials piled high on the long table. Then she booted up her laptop and went to work.

  Kate spent the first few hours typing a synopsis of the police, lab, and autopsy reports, witness statements, and trial testimony into her computer. Then she organized the digested materials into categories. When she was through, she went back to the reports and made a list of those that dealt with different time periods or subjects.

  One category had to do with testimony concerning the murder weapon. The initial mention of the ivory-handled .357 Magnum was in a statement by Mickey Keys, who said he’d first seen the gun in Texas when Charlie was given the weapon as a gift. He told the police that Charlie played with the gun in his hotel room but never took it out, because he was on parole. The literary agent said that Delmar Epps, Charlie’s bodyguard, got a kick out of toting the weapon in public when he was guarding Charlie. Keys remembered seeing Epps with the gun in the limo on the way to the Westmont.

  In Tony Rose’s report of his run-in with Charlie at the Dunthorpe seminar, Rose told the police that Epps had flashed the gun when the bodyguard was manhandling him. He remembered it because of the fancy grip.

  When Kate put Rose’s report on top of a stack of items that were pertinent to the Dunthorpe seminar, a photograph caught her attention. She pulled it out of the center of the pile and studied it. The photo showed Charlie and his entourage as they were about to enter the mansion in Dunthorpe. Kate was glad she’d found it, because it put a face to the people about whom she’d been reading.

  Charlie sported a great tan and looked like a poor man’s John Travolta circa Saturday Night Fever in his white jacket, white slacks, and black silk shirt. Gold chains graced his neck and a gold Rolex encircled his wrist. His smile was warm and he appeared to be relaxed and in control. Standing to Charlie’s right was a grinning Mickey Keys. Keys wore a navy blue blazer, tan slacks, and an open-necked, emerald green sports shirt that went perfectly with his styled red hair.

  Slightly behind Charlie was a massive black man with a shaved head, who Kate assumed was Delmar Epps. On Charlie’s left was a young woman who was looking up at Charlie with adoring eyes. Several things about her were odd. Her head was as devoid of hair as the guru’s bodyguard’s, and while everyone else in Charlie’s entourage was dressed in expensive, stylish togs, the girl was wearing a peasant dress and blouse. To Kate’s eye, the woman seemed out of place, like a gypsy who had wandered into a night club full of partying movie stars.

  A thought occurred to Kate. Epps had testified that he’d left the .357 Magnum in the limo when he’d gotten out at the entrance to the Westmont on the night of the shooting, but no one had corroborated that assertion. What if Epps did have the gun when he left the limo but lied so no one would think he fired the fatal shot? If Epps was carrying the revolver when he left the limo, how could Marsh have gotten it?

  Kate studied a photograph of the weapon. Then she went on the Internet and discovered that the Ruger weighed over two pounds. The gun also had a six-inch barrel, so it would be a bit unwieldy. Epps had been fighting with the security guards shortly before the fatal shot was fired. Kate remembered a witness testifying that Epps had knocked down a guard with a karate kick to the head. All that jumping around could have dislodged the gun if the heavy, cumbersome weapon was stuck in Epps’s waistband, and anyone in the crowd around the combatants could have picked it up.

  Kate found a few photographs that showed both the area on the side of the turnaround where Epps had been fighting and the area between the turnaround and the pro shop where their client had been standing. There wasn’t that much space between the two positions. If the gun had dropped out and had been kicked back toward Marsh, he could have rushed forward and gotten it.

  Kate tried to remember who had been with Marsh. Werner Rollins had testified that he’d joined Marsh and Gary Hass after he’d decked the guard with whom he’d been fighting. Epps said that he had moved back so he could protect Marsh. Rollins had testified that he saw Marsh fire the shot that killed Arnold Pope Jr.

  If Epps and Rollins had lied to the police so they could cut deals, any of the other men standing with Marsh could have fired the shot.

  CHAPTER 26

  Amanda had returned to New York a few times since graduating from law school at NYU, and she had mixed feelings about the city. Manhattan was a wonderful place to visit. It had the best restaurants, great shopping, terrific museums, cutting-edge art, the theater, and a buzz in the air that let you know that big things were happening. But you didn’t go to the theater or eat at a four-star restaurant every night when you lived in the city. At heart, Amanda was an Oregon girl. After the initial excitement of a visit wore off, she would miss Portland with its easygoing pace, snow-capped mountains, and gentle, green hills. This, however, was her first day in New York in some time, and she found herself intrigued by the bustling crowds and longing for a real pastrami sandwich when the limo that had picked her up at the airport whisked her past the Carnegie Deli on the way to her meeting with her client.

  World News was hiding Charlie Marsh in a corporate condo near Columbus Circle. The driver phoned ahead to alert Dennis Levy that Amanda was on her way. As she rode up in the elevator, Amanda wondered if the real Charlie Marsh would be anything like the Charlie Marsh of her imagination: a swashbuckling bandit who had dramatically cast away his penchant for violence so he could bring enlightenment to mankind. Many people who had been won over by his vivid transformation from evildoer to saint never believed he was guilty of the congressman’s murder. Amanda had been enthralled by his autobiography, but she’d learned enough about the failings of career criminals from her father to maintain a healthy skepticism about the guru’s claims.

  The door to the World News condo opened as soon as Amanda knocked. A skinny kid, who looked like he was barely out of adolescence, peeked through a gap in the door and anxiously scanned the corridor beyond Amanda’s shoulder as if he was expe
cting a SWAT team to charge in behind her.

  “Miss Jaffe?” he asked nervously.

  Amanda nodded. “And you must be Dennis Levy.”

  “Come on in,” Levy said, stepping back enough so Amanda could slip sideways into a large living room with an amazing view of Central Park. Several locks snapped shut behind her. A moment later, Amanda felt the freezing cold air that was blowing through the apartment like a hurricane.

  “What’s with the air-conditioning?” she asked Levy as she fought an impulse to wrap her arms across her chest.

  The reporter, who was bundled up in a heavy sweater, jerked his head toward a slender, blond-haired man in a dark blue warm-up suit, who was perched on the edge of a sofa, channel-surfing on a huge flat-screen TV.

  “He says he hates heat and anything else that reminds him of Africa.”

  Amanda’s idea of what Marsh would look like was based on his author photo on the back of The Light Within You and dim memories of the fugitive on television shows. Marsh looked nothing like the confident, dynamic spokesman for self-awareness she remembered. He was emaciated and his skin had the leathery look common to people who spend too much time in the sun with too little sun block.

  “Charlie, your lawyer’s here,” Levy said.

  When Marsh heard his name, his head swiveled toward Amanda but his body and the remote stayed pointed at the television.

  “I can’t get over all these channels,” Charlie said. “Did you know you can get porn in your own home for free in high definition?”

  “Yes, Mr. Marsh, I’m well aware of that,” Amanda said, smiling involuntarily. Her client’s wide-eyed awe reminded her that he had been in exile for twelve years.

  Marsh turned off the set and stood up. “How come I didn’t get your father?”

  Amanda took no offense. “He represented Mrs. Pope, your codefendant. It would be a conflict of interest if he represented you, too.”

  Marsh inspected Amanda. “You look young. Do you have enough experience to handle a case this big?”

  “Do you think a major publication like World News, with all its resources, would ask me to represent you if they didn’t think I was up to the job?” she answered calmly.

  “Yeah, point taken. But you can consult with your father, right? I mean, he can be involved in the case even if he can’t be my lawyer?”

  “I always consult with my father when I have a complex case. And he consults with me when he has one. So you don’t have to worry. You’ll be getting two lawyers for the price of one.”

  “Okay. Just checking. Don’t get upset. It’s my life on the line here.”

  “I’m well aware of that. Look, Mr. Marsh, you’re the client and what you say goes. If you aren’t comfortable with me as your attorney you’re perfectly free to hire someone else.”

  “No, no, that’s okay. I’m sure you’re good. I was just hoping I could get your dad because he got Sally off. But you’re okay, too.”

  “Now that that’s out of the way, there’s a lot to discuss, so we should get started. Where’s a good place to talk?”

  “We can do it right here,” Dennis Levy said. Amanda heard the eagerness in his voice and decided that she couldn’t put off setting guidelines for the reporter.

  “Mr. Levy, it won’t be possible for you to sit in on my conferences with Mr. Marsh.”

  “Hey, you don’t have to worry, I’m on Charlie’s side. And don’t forget, the more authentic the book I’m writing, the better it will sell, so everyone benefits.”

  “That may be, but Mr. Marsh will lose the right to assert his attorney-client privilege if a third person is present during our conversations. That means the DA can compel you to tell a jury everything Mr. Marsh thought he was telling me in confidence. I can’t permit that.”

  “You don’t understand. This is going to be a huge story. We’re talking prizewinning journalism here. And you’re going to get more publicity from this than you can handle, so why don’t you cut me a little slack?” Levy smiled conspiratorially. “Who’ll know what went on in this apartment if no one talks?”

  “I’d know,” Amanda said, “and I wouldn’t lie if I was asked whether you sat in on our conferences. You’re a reporter. I understand your desire to cover a story like this, but Mr. Marsh’s life is at stake, and I won’t do anything to jeopardize it. You may not be present while we talk. Is that understood?”

  Levy’s face had turned bright red during her lecture.

  “Okay, okay, but will you talk to me about things that don’t jeopardize the case?”

  “Of course, and I’ll try to keep you in the loop as much as possible,” she said, to mollify Levy, “but Mr. Marsh is my priority.”

  “Hey, Dennis,” Marsh interjected, “can you do me a favor?”

  “Sure, Charlie,” Levy said, eager to please his meal ticket.

  “I’m starving. Can you run out and get me a cheeseburger with bacon? I haven’t had a good burger in twelve years.”

  Levy looked upset at being cast in the role of errand boy but he held his tongue.

  “And fries. I want fries and a Coke.”

  “Okay,” Levy said grudgingly.

  “How about you, Amanda?” Charlie asked. “Is it okay if I call you Amanda?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then you can call me Charlie. So, how about it? Are you hungry?”

  “I’ve been craving a hot pastrami sandwich on rye ever since I drove by the Carnegie Deli.”

  “Done. You got that order, Dennis?”

  “LEVY’S A REAL pain in the ass,” Charlie said as soon as the front door closed behind the reporter.

  “He’s just excited about his story.”

  Marsh cocked an eyebrow. “You haven’t been trapped with him twenty-four-seven for the past few days.”

  “Point taken,” Amanda said as she walked over to a table that stood next to one of the picture windows overlooking the park. Marsh took a seat on one side and Amanda took a pen and a legal pad out of her attaché case.

  “So, what’s going to happen to me when I land in Oregon?” Marsh asked. He was trying to act cool but his body language told Amanda a different story.

  “I’ve cut a deal with Karl Burdett, the DA.”

  “Didn’t he prosecute Sally?”

  Amanda nodded. “And he’s still the DA. Karl has promised me he won’t arrest you when you land. You’ll be able to surrender voluntarily at the bail hearing.”

  “Okay, that’s good. And I’ve got the dough to post bail.”

  “There isn’t an automatic right to bail in a murder case, Charlie. The judge can order you held without bail if Burdett convinces him that there’s very good evidence that you murdered Congressman Pope.”

  “But I didn’t. I’m innocent.”

  “Then why did you run?”

  “Delmar grabbed me as soon as the shooting started and dragged me to the limo. He was doing his bodyguard thing. We peeled out and he started driving all over the place to lose anyone who was pursuing us. When we finally stopped we were miles away from the country club and I’d had time to think. I’m an ex-con; Pope hit me because I was screwing his wife; and I ran from the scene of the crime. How’s that going to look? Guilty, guilty, guilty was the only answer I could come up with. I was certain I’d be the fall guy if I turned myself in, especially after they arrested Sally. So I went to Canada, got myself some false ID, and took a tramp steamer to Batanga. The rest is history.”

  “I’m curious, Charlie. You know you’re facing the death penalty, right?”

  Marsh nodded.

  “Then why did you come back? You were safe in Batanga.”

  Marsh laughed. “Amanda, I’d be safer strapped into an electric chair than I was in that mosquito-infested hellhole.”

  “Why don’t you explain that to me?”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not.”

  “I get that you had a bad experience over there…”

  Marsh snorted. “You don’t know the half
of it.”

  “It could be important for the bail hearing. You fled the country once and Burdett will argue that’s evidence that you’ll be a flight risk if the judge sets bail.”

  “Believe me, I am never going back to Africa; not ever. You won’t even catch me watching a Tarzan movie.”

  “The judge isn’t going to take your word that you won’t flee, without an explanation.”

  Marsh spaced out and Amanda let him think. When he looked at her, his jaw was set.

  “I’m going to do this just once, so take good notes and never ask me about Batanga again. But, before I tell you about Batanga, I have something I need you to do for me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I brought something with me from Batanga that I want you to hold for me. When we get to Oregon I want you to put it in a safety-deposit box.”

  Amanda frowned. “What exactly is this thing?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “We’re not talking drugs here, are we?”

  “No. You won’t be breaking any laws, but you will be doing something important for a lot of innocent people. I can’t say any more. Will you do it?”

  Amanda hesitated. She needed to gain Marsh’s trust if she was going to be an effective advocate for him. On the other hand, she wasn’t going to aid and abet a criminal enterprise.

  “You swear you’re not asking me to commit a crime?” she asked, knowing full well how ridiculous it was to ask that question of a criminal who had earned his living as a con man.

  “Yes.”

  “All right. Give me the item.”

  Charlie went into his bedroom and returned shortly with a box wrapped in brown paper and bound with twine. Amanda put it into her large handbag.

  “You ready to talk about Africa?” she asked when the box was out of sight.