“You have a lovely home,” Riva said after Nora had showed her around.
“Thank you,” Nora answered graciously. “My family has some money,” she explained. “When I made the decision to stay up here after Dennis died, I decided I’d live as well as I could. It’s an extravagance for a single person, but what else am I going to spend my money on?”
Nora, wearing a demure bathing suit, was on her best behavior, thankfully. We swam, lay out in the sun, tossed Frisbees on her spacious lawn, and had an easy, enjoyable time. She became an instant swimming instructor, coaxing Buck to jump off the edge into her waiting arms, accompanied by shrieks of gleeful laughter.
Late in the afternoon, when Riva had taken Buck inside to use the potty, and Joan was sunbathing a distance away, Nora came over and sat down in the deck chair next to the one I was in.
“Truce?” she asked.
With my wife at hand, she wasn’t going to try anything.
“As long as you behave yourself.”
“I will, I promise. I don’t know what I’ve been thinking,” she apologized yet again, glancing around to make sure Riva wasn’t coming up behind us. “That isn’t me, Luke, it really isn’t. I was just…I don’t know what I was. It’ll never happen again, I swear it.”
I didn’t want to talk about this. “Let’s act as if it never happened and move on, okay?”
“Gladly.” She shifted a bit in her chair. “Can we talk at all about the trial?”
“There’s not much to talk about now. I’m finished, except for my closing. It’s going to be completed within a couple of weeks.”
“You’ve done a wonderful job,” she gushed. “Everything I could have hoped for. I know Bill Fishell’s thrilled, too.”
“It isn’t over yet, so let’s cool it, okay?”
“It is over, Luke,” she assured me. “What could change?”
“Don’t jinx me, Nora, please. It’s one of my pet superstitions.”
“Not this time.”
I hate being hyped in advance. “Juries can be unpredictable, Nora. This could turn not on what Jerome did but who he is—all-American crime stopper—and who Juarez was—scumbag drug dealer. Anyone on that jury could vote that Juarez got his just deserts. That’s what John Q. Jones is going to hammer, you watch. And don’t for one minute underestimate him. I’ve seen him do wonders with cases that looked like worse losers than this one.”
She didn’t want to hear my concerns. “So you’ll remind them not to get confused between fact and sentiment. Juarez was an unarmed man gunned down in cold blood by a peace officer sworn to uphold the law. Use Tom Miller’s authority in your closing, the people here love him. If he’s against Jerome, they will be, too. Hammer that home, and you’ll get your verdict.”
She swept her arm, taking in her property. “I’d bet the farm on it.”
“That’s a chunk of change. Thanks for the confidence.”
“You’ve earned it.”
“Some fancy spread your lady friend has,” Riva commented on the drive home. “It reminds me of Sheriff Miller’s house, the mission style. Law enforcement pays well in Muir County,” she joked.
I laughed. “Their salaries wouldn’t buy the garages, let alone their houses. Miller made his money in a hot market, and hers is from her family.”
“They built their houses at the same time,” Joan piped up from the backseat. She could be a little chatterbox sometimes. “The reason they look like each other is because they used the same architect. He was the contractor, too. Mrs. Ray brought him up from San Francisco. The locals got their noses bent out of shape, but nobody around here could put together that quality of work. Some of our guys who were working on the jobs as subs, like carpenters and plumbers, said you couldn’t believe the amounts of money both of them put into their houses. One of my friends from the reservation did framing for the contractor, that’s how I know.”
“They’re nice,” I agreed, “but they don’t compare to Juarez’s compound. It dwarfs both those houses. You should see that place, honey,” I said to Riva. “What’s left of it. We’ll cruise by there before we go home.”
Joan spoke up again. “That one took a long time to build. Nobody knew what was going on up there. Guys with guns patrolling, it was scary. One time a bunch of us thought about sneaking in? Those guards must’ve chased us a mile. You don’t ever want to mess around drug dudes, they kill for a living.”
“And now your tribe’s trying to buy it,” I said. “It’s a small world up here in Muir County.”
“It sure is, Mr. Garrison. Too small, if you ask me.”
Joan’s remarks about the houses rattled around in my mind. After we had had dinner and put Buck to bed, I dialed Kate Blanchard. “Check on something for me. The name of the contractor who built Tom Miller’s and Nora Ray’s homes. They were done at the same time, five or six years ago. Get the histories for me, okay? How much they cost, how they were paid for, whatever.”
“What’s this about?” I could feel her getting excited over the line, like a racehorse hearing the call to the post.
“Nothing, probably. Get back to me as soon as you can on it.”
“I’ll try to have something for you end of the day tomorrow.”
Agent Dutton, a hostile witness for me, was a cooperative one for the defense.
“Mr. Dutton…” John Q. got into the specifics. “You were one of the senior agents who were assembled outside the perimeter of the Juarez drug-cartel compound in order to raid the premises on the night in question, that’s correct?”
“Yes, sir, that is correct,” Dutton declared. “We were there to raid the Juarez drug-cartel compound, take possession of the drugs that were supposed to be there, and arrest whoever was inside.”
“That was your mission. Confiscate the drugs, arrest those in possession of them.”
“Yes.”
“But the drugs didn’t arrive as they were supposed to, by airplane. Weather wouldn’t permit that.”
“That’s correct.”
I got to my feet again. “Your Honor. The story of the drugs and the airplanes have already been well established. We don’t need to rehash this over and over again, do we?”
John Q. spoke up. “I’m trying to substantiate the patterns and procedures of a correct and legitimate law enforcement operation, Your Honor. The prosecution did so from their skewed perspective. Please allow the defense to try and tell it like it really was.”
“Your Honor—” I started. I didn’t like the pejorative “skewed” or the adverb “really.” Upon such subtle distinctions can trials be won or lost.
McBee put up a hand to silence me. “Let’s move on, shall we?” he told us both. “Keep the personal feelings to yourself, please.” To John Q. he said, “You may proceed along these lines, but don’t take too long, okay?”
“Yes, Your Honor. Thank you.”
John Q. favored me with a smile, a small “gotcha.” Turning back to his witness, he continued, “When you found out that the airplane containing the drug shipment could not come, in as expected, what did you do?”
“We decided to move in anyway.”
“Whose decision was that, Agent Dutton?”
“It was Jerome’s, sir. He was the commander in the field.”
“Did you concur in that decision, Agent Dutton?”
“I certainly did. Every man who was there agreed with that decision.”
“Why was that? If the drugs weren’t going to be there? Wasn’t that the reason for the raid? To intercept the drugs?”
“It was one of the points.” Dutton was aggressive in his clarification. “Arresting Juarez and the rest of them was equally important.”
He swiveled to face the jury. “More important, actually. These drugs coming in that night were one shipment. A huge one, of course, but one of millions of such shipments that come into this country every year. Arresting the leaders of this important gang, and permanently stopping these shipments and the selling of these dang
erous drugs into the communities of America, was a more important reason for this raid. A much more important reason.”
I could have objected, but I’d wait for cross-examination.
“Good.” John Q. beamed. “I wanted to make sure we got that on the record, in its proper form—these were dangerous men inside that compound, wanted men.”
He walked back to the defense table, leaned over to Jerome, and said a few low words. Jerome nodded in the affirmative. Looking at his notes briefly, John Q. came back to the lectern again.
“Now, Agent Dutton. When the decision was made to go in and arrest the men inside the compound, were all the agents present given specific instructions?”
“Yes, sir.”
“By Agent Jerome?”
“Yes.”
“What were they?”
“To take Reynaldo Juarez alive.”
“To take Juarez alive,” John Q. repeated. “Alive or dead, or alive?”
“Alive,” Dutton said firmly. “Not dead. Agent Jerome was clear and forceful on that. Juarez was to be captured and arrested. Under no circumstances was he to be killed.”
“Explain the reasons for that, please.”
“Juarez was one of the leading drug kingpins in the United States. He was a very elusive figure. It was impossible to pin him down. This was one of the few opportunities anyone had ever had to capture him. If he got away, we might never have a chance this good again.”
“But why only alive then?” John Q. asked. “If he were killed, that would stop him, too, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, it would stop him, specifically. But alive, he could give us vital information on drug dealings all over the world. The Justice Department felt he was a key to that. So we had to take him alive.”
“Those were your direct orders.”
“Yes.”
“Agent Jerome was clear on that?”
“Very clear. He impressed upon all of us that if Juarez was killed, the operation would be a failure. He had to be taken alive.”
“So if one of you did kill Juarez, that would have severe repercussions with the Justice Department.”
“Very severe.”
“If, for instance,” John Q. went on, “you had killed Juarez, Agent Dutton, you would have suffered some consequences?”
“Bad ones.”
“Even to the point of being fired?”
“Yes, definitely. This was a command order.” Dutton paused. “I already have,” he said somberly. “We all have, all of us who were there.”
“So if Agent Jerome had killed Juarez, he also would have suffered negative consequences?”
Dutton nodded his head vigorously. “He would have suffered the worst, because he was the team leader.”
“He might have been cashiered. At least demoted.”
“Yes.”
“His career destroyed.”
Dutton looked past John Q. to Jerome, watching from the defense table.
“It was,” Dutton replied softly.
“So from a career point of view, Agent Jerome had everything to lose and nothing to gain by killing Juarez.”
“Everything,” Dutton concurred. “Which is what has happened.”
No one in the courtroom was feeling the oppressive heat now. Everyone was engrossed in Dutton’s exculpatory testimony; except me, and I wasn’t sitting in the jury box.
John Q. waited a moment to let that point sink in deep, then he continued, “There has been testimony given in this trial that Agent Jerome had a personal vendetta against the drug dealer Juarez. In your opinion, knowing Agent Jerome as you do, and having worked with him for as long as you have, could he have let personal feelings supersede his professional accountability?”
I was on my feet, but before the word could leave my lips, Dutton had answered.
“Never,” he said firmly.
“Objection!” I called out, a second too late.
“Sustained,” Judge McBee said immediately. “Strike question and answer,” he instructed the court reporter, and to the jury he said, “That is a conclusion from the witness, not a fact. You are to disregard that answer completely.”
Sure they will, I thought sourly. Score one for your side, John Q.
The old jurist turned to the bench. He knew to quit when he was ahead. “No further questions, Your Honor.”
I glared at Dutton from the lectern.
“Agent Dutton. You’ve just testified that your orders from the Justice Department, as relayed to you by Agent Jerome, were to apprehend the men who were inside the compound, to capture them alive. That they were not to be killed. Is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“None of the men…or Reynaldo Juarez, specifically?”
“He was the focus,” Dutton admitted grudgingly, “but we didn’t want to kill any of them.”
“Okay. You didn’t want to kill any of them, but you really didn’t want to kill Juarez. Yes?”
“Yes.”
“You went into the compound expecting to make a clean sweep, correct. You’d been assured their security was down, which would enable your forces to stroll right in and arrest them all without incident, is that right?”
“You don’t stroll into a drug bust. It’s a dangerous situation.”
“People get killed, don’t they?” I asked, stating the obvious.
“Sometimes.”
“But in this case, you thought you’d catch them by surprise, and escape unscathed.”
I could hear his breath exhaling. So could the jury. “Yes,” he admitted reluctantly.
“That was based on information supplied to you by an informant, is that right, also?”
He gave a curt nod.
“You have to speak up,” I admonished him. “Was it or wasn’t it?”
“Yes. It was.”
He was becoming hostile again, now that it was me questioning him, instead of kindly old John Q. Jones.
“Which turned out to be wrong information, didn’t it?” I asked. “They were lying in ambush for you.”
Another deep breath, another deep exhale. “Yes, they were.”
“With guns ablazing.”
“Yes.”
“You and the others in your party were caught in a tremendous firestorm that you weren’t prepared for, isn’t that right?”
“Yes.”
“Some of the agents were killed, weren’t they? Butchered.”
He closed his eyes, reliving the horror of that night. “Yes.”
“Good friends of yours. Men you had worked with, shoulder to shoulder, for years.”
He shuddered. “Yes.”
“Others were wounded.”
Another involuntary shudder. “Yes.”
I left the lectern and walked right up to him. Talking quickly now, I asked, “And when that happened, Agent Dutton—when you were unexpectedly fired upon with great force, what did you and the other agents do?”
He looked over at the defense table, then stared at me without answering.
“Answer the question, please,” Judge McBee ordered him.
He looked at me hard. “We returned their fire.”
“You shot back at them.”
“Yes.”
“With everything you had.”
He nodded grimly. “Yes.”
“To protect yourselves.”
“Yes.”
“And to kill them.”
“Yes…” He caught himself. “To protect ourselves.”
“And to kill them, so that you could protect yourselves, isn’t that right? You weren’t aiming to miss, were you? You were aiming to hit them. To stop them.”
“Yes.”
“To kill them!” I said, my voice rising.
His voice rose to meet mine. “Yes!”
“And you did kill some of them, didn’t you? Didn’t you kill some of the men inside that compound?”
“Yes,” he snapped righteously. “We killed some of them.”
“D
id you know who you were killing when you started returning the enemy’s fire?”
He stared, not immediately following me.
“When you started shooting at the men inside that compound with everything you had in your arsenal,” I asked, “did you say to yourselves, ‘We can shoot at him and him and him, but not him, because he might be Reynaldo Juarez?’ Did you make that distinction, Agent Dutton?”
He looked at me askance. “You can’t do that. It’s all happening in a split second, you can’t pick and choose.”
I stepped back.
“Of course you can’t,” I said, toning down my invective. “That’s the point, isn’t it? You don’t know who you’re shooting at. All you know is that you’re shooting at the people who are shooting at you.”
He didn’t respond.
“Isn’t that right, Agent Dutton? It’s dark, you’re pinned down by heavy enemy fire, you can’t see a thing. You shoot at whoever’s shooting you. No distinctions.”
A slow nod. “That’s the way it was.”
“You could easily have been shooting at Reynaldo Juarez, and you could easily have killed him. Isn’t that right, Agent Dutton?”
“Yes,” he said woefully. “It is.”
“So all this gibberish about taking him and the others alive—it flies out the window when the shooting starts. Doesn’t it. Agent Dutton? It did in this case, didn’t it?”
“Yes. It did.”
“It was the luck of the draw that Reynaldo Juarez wasn’t killed in that firefight, wasn’t it?”
Dutton gave me a baleful look. “He was hiding,” he said stubbornly.
“You knew that then?” I asked mockingly. “You and the forty or fifty other agents who were pouring as much fire into that compound as you could knew that Juarez was hiding, that he wasn’t returning your fire? You knew that in advance of going in?” I thundered.
Dutton sat back, rubbing his temples. He was so weary from this.
“No,” he admitted. “We didn’t know that.”
“So I’ll ask it again. You were shooting to kill, including Agent Jerome. And Juarez could have been on the receiving end of one of your hollow-point bullets. Yes or no?”
Above the Law Page 43