“And who did he claim the bag belonged to?”
Townsend stares at Bill and draws a long breath. “He claimed that the police planted the bag.”
“Did he? Why would he say that?”
“A lot of criminals say that. It’s their first reaction. They claim they have been set up and they don’t own the goods. It’s not true though.”
A lot of people that Townsend arrests make the statement.
“But Carlos López stated he didn’t own the drugs, and it was a setup?”
“Yes.”
“And he stated that the police planted the bag?”
“That’s what he stated.”
“That’s very interesting, Detective Townsend.” Bill writes notes on his pad, prompting two of the jurors to do the same. “No further questions.”
Chapter 19
Like a fashion show of tedious detectives for the courtroom, Chettle parades the other cops that were present during the raid for the rest of the afternoon. She asks the same questions, time and time again, solidifying the facts in the jurors’ minds.
By the time Judge Windsor has called an end to day one of the trial, most of the jurors feel like they were present at the time of the raid. They know more about the raid then they do their own children.
After the jurors file out of the courtroom, Chettle lets her guard down and smiles. She’s winning. She knows that. And what a win it would be – to take on the formidable Bill Harvey and walk away with success in court. She’ll be celebrated in the District Attorney’s office like a hunter returning with a winter’s kill. Her win will show them all that he’s beatable.
But she knows that she shouldn’t be celebrating yet. This is Bill Harvey, after all.
Glancing across at his desk, she notices that he isn’t packing up. He isn’t making notes. He isn’t even talking to his client.
Bill Harvey is sitting stoically, pen in hand, staring into nothing.
“Given up, Bill?” Chettle remarks.
The question snaps him out of his thoughts.
“No.” He smiles. “Quite the contrary. I’m working hard.”
“I’m not sure your client would agree.” She gestures towards a nervous Carlos López talking to his supporters in the courtroom seats behind them. “It certainly doesn’t look like you’re working hard.”
“Not all work is on a piece of paper, Shannon. Not all work can be defined as a new document.”
“Most of it can,” she retorts as she places another heavy file in her bag.
“Once, a writer used to sit at his desk every day and stare out the window. His wife would walk past every morning and say the same thing, ‘Not working today?’ And he would always reply, ‘I am. I’m doing the most important work there is.’”
Chettle shakes her head, slightly confused. “And what was the most important work there is?”
“Thinking.” Bill smiles. “Nothing is more important than taking some time out to think.”
“You’re lucky you have the time to do that. I don’t have the capacity to take some time out to think. I’ve got too much to do. I have to think on my feet.”
“And that’s why you’ll lose this case.”
Chettle stops.
His confidence strikes fear in her heart. Only moments earlier, she felt like she was going to be popping open the champagne bottles soon, but now, suddenly, she feels like she’s being beaten.
She doesn’t say another word to Bill; instead, she snaps at her team to pack up quickly and hurriedly follow her out the door.
“Bill, how’d we do?” Carlos questions once the prosecution team has exited the court. His supporters aren’t far behind them, but he has stayed to talk about the next steps with the head of his defense. “Tell me we did well. I felt like we did well. I thought you did well out there, and I can tell that Mexican juror isn’t going to say I’m guilty. There’s something in his eyes that says that he has my back. The man that was sitting on the back left of the jury box is a proud Mexican. I can sense these things.”
“We’re doing fine.” Bill is cold in his answer as he tidies his desk.
“Fine? What does that mean? Are we in front? Do you think that they think I’m innocent yet?” Carlos tugs on Bill’s arm. “I need more information than just ‘fine’. I need to know that in two days’ time, I’m going to be found innocent.”
Bill turns slowly and looks at Carlos. “Carlos, I don’t think that today is going to matter much.”
“I don’t understand, Bill. You’re going to have to spell it out for me.” His voice is frantic. “All this courtroom stuff is over my head. It’s all about the law, not about whether I’m actually innocent. You people are more concerned with the way something is written on a piece of paper than whether or not that briefcase was mine.”
“When we return to the courtroom tomorrow, we’re going to make a play,” Bill states slowly. “That play is going to change the entire course of this trial. If it works, nobody will remember what happened today.”
“And if it doesn’t work?”
“Then I hope you’re right about your Mexican friend sitting in the jury box.”
“That doesn’t fill me with confidence, Bill.” Carlos looks at the table in front of him. “I don’t want to go back to prison. That’s not where I belong.”
“Carlos—”
“You don’t understand, Bill. I help people out here. It’s my life’s purpose. I can make a difference in many people’s lives. Out here, I’m somebody’s angel. They look to me to save them. In prison, I’m just another drug dealer, and I don’t know if I can make it through prison this time. I only just made it out with my life last time.”
Bill nods. “Then let’s hope our play works.”
“What are you going to do?”
“You should focus on getting some rest.” Bill sighs. “I’ve got work to do to prepare for tomorrow.”
Bill looks down at his notes and studies them for a while before closing his briefcase. Carlos doesn’t leave. He can’t. He needs more information.
“Where are you going?” The fear in Carlos’ eyes is clear.
“I’m going to have to talk with Mr. Roberto Miles.”
“Miles? No. You can’t do that. That’s too dangerous. You shouldn’t talk to him. Lewis didn’t appreciate your chat, and Miles will like it even less. Leave him alone; he’s got nothing to do with this case.”
“We need him in court.”
“What for?”
“For the play that I’m talking about.”
“I really don’t understand. Why would you need Miles? He has nothing to do with this case.”
“Lewis is due on the stand tomorrow, Carlos. The prosecution has subpoenaed him to testify that the two of you were together at the time of the raid. I think that’s what they want. They want him on the stand to send him a message that they’re after him and they’re getting closer by the minute. They want him making statements under oath. That’s going to be our opportunity to blow this case wide open.”
“So why do you need Miles?”
“Because they’re all connected.”
“He’s dangerous Bill. He’s not the man you want to cross. He’s not the type of man you want to make mad.”
“Nor am I, Carlos.”
Chapter 20
“Mr. Roberto Miles.” Bill Harvey holds out his weathered hand as a welcome greeting.
Roberto Miles stares down at the hand, slowly raising his eyes to meet Bill’s. “And who are you?”
“I’m criminal defense attorney Bill Harvey. I’m representing Carlos López in the current drug trial.”
“The drugs weren’t his. The cops planted it.”
“I’ve heard that.”
Roberto Miles stands eye to eye with Bill Harvey, two tall men standing on the steps of a pleasant house in Montebello, ten miles east of Downtown L.A. If it weren’t for the two Bentleys, the Dodge Challenger, and the Chevy Impala parked on the lawn, this house could be mi
staken for a picture of suburban middle-class bliss.
That, and the strong smell of marijuana pouring out the front door.
“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be writing reports about why the police planted drugs at my friend’s apartment? Isn’t that what you lawyers do? Or are they paying you off as well?”
“My job isn’t to write reports about the police on the take. My job is to investigate. And my investigations have led me here.”
Roberto Miles stands on his front step thinking; thinking so hard that Bill can almost see the thoughts cluck through his head. Dressed in a short sleeve black shirt, with the buttons done all the way to the top, Roberto doesn’t look like he’s going to the opera. With the smell of marijuana almost soaked into his clothes, it’s clear how Roberto was planning to spend the rest of his evening.
A mix of 1960s American and classic Mexican styling, the large two-story house sits on top of a hill, at the end of a dead-end street; the perfect place to watch for any approaching cars. The garden was once a flowering maze of shrubs and bushes, but without the diligent care of the previous owners, the greenery has struggled to survive under the blaze of the Californian sun.
The current owners have been much too busy growing other plants.
“Are you a cop?”
“No. Like I said, I’m a lawyer, and I’m Carlos’ lawyer. I’m on his side. I’m trying to get him off the drug possession charges, but to do that, I need your help. I need to talk to you about his case.”
“You’re on his side?” he confirms.
“Yes.”
Slowly, the thoughts continue to thump through his head, but eventually, he smiles. “Why didn’t you say so? Any brother of Carlos is a brother of mine!”
Roberto places his arm around Bill’s shoulders, leading him into the dark house. Despite the sun just setting on the horizon, the blinds are drawn closed, and from the damp smell, it seems like the inside of this house hasn’t seen a touch of daylight in months.
He’s guided into the living room, where two men are fixated on the flickering television in front of them, computer game controls being punched in their hands.
“No!” screams one man. He stands up from the sofa, throwing the controller down in disgust. “I was duped, man. That should’ve been a foul! I should’ve been going to the free throw line. You cheated, man!”
The other man on the couch giggles like a little schoolboy, under the effects of smoking too much greenery.
“What’s he doing here?” a shrouded man in the corner of the room, sitting by himself in an old armchair, calls out.
“This is Bill, a friend of Carlos.” Miles pats his hand solidly on Bill’s back. “You know him?”
“Yeah, I know him, and I don’t trust him.”
Miles’ hand reaches for his right hip, where he’s carrying a weapon under his shirt.
Bill holds up his hands in surrender. “Juan Lewis, it’s good to see you again. I’m just here trying to get information to help Carlos get off these charges. Nothing sinister. I’m here trying to help Carlos. That’s all.”
Two of Miles’ well-built friends step in from the next room as soon as they hear raised voices.
“Are we good?” Miles asks Lewis, his hand still on his right hip.
“Whatever.” Lewis shrugs. “Let him in. The guy’s harmless.”
“He doesn’t look harmless,” Miles comments, looking Bill up and down. “He looks like he can handle himself. So, are we good?”
“Yeah, we’re good.” Lewis stands up and walks confidently across the room. He’s still well-dressed, flashy, and moves with a grace that isn’t usually associated with a drug house. He heads to the table on the opposite side of the room where he picks up a joint and takes one, long, deep puff.
Miles waves to the two heavies, and they exit the room slowly, keeping their eyes locked on Bill.
This isn’t a friendly house.
The two younger men who were playing the computer basketball game turn off the television, and scamper out of the room. They know their place, and it isn’t in the middle of a discussion between the two heavyweights of the East L.A. drug trade. With his head held high and his shoulders drawn back, Lewis strolls back across the room to lounge into the armchair, his long legs crossing over each other. Miles sits near him in another armchair, gesturing for Bill to take a seat on the couch.
The couch has seen more drugs than a police evidence department, and he wonders if he’ll get high just from sitting on it. Carefully, he sits on the couch as the two powerful men stare at him, intently.
They don’t trust him. Even though he’s trying to help their friend, they don’t have confidence in him.
Miles opens, staring directly at Bill. “What do you want?”
“I want Carlos to get off these drug charges.”
“It’s all a setup,” Miles adds quickly. “All of it. Carlos hasn’t touched drugs for years. He even tells us to get out of the game. Doesn’t he, Juan?” Lewis doesn’t respond. “I know it wasn’t him. It couldn’t have been. He’s a good man.”
“If he has been out of the game, why are they after him?” Bill directs the question at Miles.
“You know why,” Lewis snaps.
“You’re due to appear tomorrow for the prosecution, yes?” Bill calmly asks an agitated Lewis. If it weren’t for the puff of marijuana, he would hate to see how tense he would be right now.
“I’ll be there in court. I don’t have a choice. They said they would lock me up if I weren’t in court tomorrow. So, yeah, I’ll be there, but I won’t like it.”
“Once the prosecution has finished questioning you, I’ll be asked if I wish to cross-examine you. This will be my opportunity to ask some questions that may help establish that Carlos is innocent. After we met last time, I sent you a list of questions. You never responded with your answers.”
“I know the questions.” Lewis uncrosses his legs, leaning forward on his knees. “And I know what I’m going to say. I don’t need your help.”
“Tell me what you want from me.” Miles leans forward as well. “Why are you here?”
The tension in the room is palpable.
Bill takes a moment to respond, looking at Lewis, and then back to Miles.
He had planned to question Miles alone, but with Lewis present, he can’t ask the questions he wants.
He has to change his plan.
And he has to change it quickly.
“I was hoping that Lewis would be here. Not you, Roberto.”
Miles’ eyebrows rise to ask a question, looking across at Lewis.
“How did you know I was here?” Lewis grills him.
“I’m a lawyer. I investigate. That’s what I do. That’s what I do really well. And that’s why I’m here.”
“Are you saying that you were following me?” As a man who has lived his life as a criminal, Lewis never trusts a tail.
The last time he had a tail, the person went missing for five years. And the police only found his bones because developers began building on the site of an old empty car yard. ‘Mauled to death by dogs,’ the Los Angeles Coroner reported.
They weren’t wrong.
“I wasn’t following you, Lewis. I only assumed that you would be here.”
Lewis doesn’t believe him.
His cold stare is only matched by Bill’s unflinching focus. To break here, to show one moment of nerves, would be suicide in this house.
He would go missing as well, and this time, Lewis would make sure that nobody would ever find the body.
“For Carlos’ sake, I need to go over the questions that I sent you, so there are no surprises in the courtroom. This is for the freedom of your cousin. This isn’t about you, and this isn’t about me. This is about Carlos. This is about your family.”
Lewis maintains the stare, waiting for a moment of unease from the attorney.
When it doesn’t come, he exhales slowly, leaning back in his chair, and he looks across at Miles. Mi
les offers a small nod.
“Ask your questions.” It’s not a request; it’s a demand.
“The prosecution is going to ask very direct questions about your relationship with Carlos, and whether you have anything to do with supplying drugs. They’re not going to sugarcoat any of the questions, so I need you to appear calm and honest in the face of their accusations.”
“Of course.”
Thinking on his feet is a skill that Bill Harvey has always possessed. He has to. His choice of words has saved his life many times over.
“These questions will act as a warning shot for them. They’re warning you that they’re onto you and your operations. They want you to know that they’re looking at your drug dealings and they’re not far away from catching you. They’ll use this opportunity to pressure you on the stand to try and get you to slip up. Don’t be surprised if they ask you very straight questions, one after the other. They’re trying to catch you out.”
Lewis laughs out loud. “They’re a very long way from catching me. I know what questions they’re going to ask and my answers are already prepared. I’m ready for what they’ll throw at me tomorrow. I have a lot of very powerful friends, and they’ll always make sure that I’m one step ahead of the law.”
The statement catches Bill off guard. He’s too confident. Too poised.
Something isn’t right.
“And if these powerful friends don’t help you out?”
“Then they’ll find out just how nasty I can be.” Lewis grits his teeth. “It’s like I told my friend Carlos that morning when I was meeting with him in his apartment – if he just does what I ask, then nothing bad will come of it.”
“Tell me why you needed Carlos to be an alibi before the raid had even happened?”
“I’m not telling you anything about that.”
Lewis glances at Miles, and Miles drops his head.
“You just said that you were in the apartment that morning telling Carlos that you two were together all day, but that was before the raid. Either you knew about the raid, or you needed an alibi for something else. If you weren’t at the diner meeting with Carlos, where were you?”
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