Code Three - 02 - Once a Cop

by Rick Raphael

  "When you get those done, have one of the other girls working on three arrest warrants. The usual forms. The

  charges will be identical for all three. Coercion and con-

  spiracy to coerce and bribe and otherwise intimidate duly authorized officers of the Thruway Authority. The

  warrants and the charges are to be drawn up for the arrest

  of Quentin Shellwood, Paul Quinn and Theodore Hack-more. Have them ready for my signature before noon

  and I'll have the tongues ripped out of the heads of anyone in this office that lets one peep of this out until the warrants are served."

  Harvey paused and looked at the trio of patrol officers sitting with dazed smiles on their faces. "Starting to get the picture now?" he asked.

  Ben nodded silently.

  "That'll do for now, Ruthie. When you get back to your desk, get me the commissioner on the horn." The secretary left the room.

  "Now here's a list of a few gadgets I want you people to draw from the investigation section," Harvey said, jotting information on a pad. "You'll need it when you talk about your new jobs in a little while."

  "Who may I say is calling please?" the receptionist asked.

  "Tell Mr. Hughes that Ben Martin wants to talk with him. Tell him he sent me a wire in Oklahoma City a couple of days ago, just in case my name doesn't ring a bell with him."

  The visiphone screen went blank and Ben waited. When it lighted again the face of a man in his middle forties, sporting a small mustache, stared out at Ben.

  "Ah, Mr. Martin," Hughes said, "nice of you to call. And just where are you making this call from, if you don't mind my curiosity?"

  "I'm downtown at a pay booth," Ben replied, stepping back so that the busy street intersection could be seen over the visiphone.

  "Excellent, Mr. Martin," Hughes beamed. "I just knew you would be a man of discretion and understanding. Now, just what is it you wished to speak about?"

  "Is your offer still open," Ben asked. "I'd like to come in and talk to you about it."

  "It most surely is," Hughes replied, "and I'd be delighted to talk to you about it. I assume then that you are interested?"

  "I'm interested," Ben said guilelessly, "but before I commit myself there are a couple of other details that I'd have to work out with you before we could come to any terms."

  Hughes eyebrows raised. "Matters of money?"

  "Not exactly," Ben said. "I have a couple of friends who I feel would be invaluable not only to me as members of the organization but also invaluable to you as well. They are the other two members of my cruiser who were with me on the night we came down from San Francisco and have almost as much information about the incidents of that night as I do. I think you can see the wisdom of my point,"

  Hughes nodded knowingly. "I see the point quite well and as a matter of real coincidence, we had already made plans to assimilate these good people into our organization at the same time we procured your services. I'm way ahead of you Mr. Martin. Now there is just one little detail I would like to arrange before we get together for our talk."

  "What's that?"

  "You realize, of course," Hughes said smoothly, "that we would be somewhat embarrassed by signing an officer of the Thruway to contract while that officer was still in the service. Therefore, I must insist that you be discharged and have completely severed your connections with the Authority before coming to final terms,"

  Ben smiled. "This time, we're way ahead of you. Our discharges are now being processed and will be ready this afternoon,"

  "My, but you certainly must have been sure of us," Hughes said.

  "I was," Ben replied laconically. "You can't do without

  us and if back out now, even though we might be out

  on our ears with the Patrol, we could still be brought to the stand as witnesses,"

  Hughes smiled and shrugged. "Quite so, Mr. Martin. I can see that you're going to be a big asset to us. You already think our way. How soon can we get together?"

  "I'll be at your office in an hour with my crew," Ben replied. "If we can come to terms, we can wind it up this afternoon,"

  Ben broke off the connection and walked out of the booth. The hot summer sun filtered down through the maze of overhead state and city expressways and the highest level of the Continental Thruway running abreast with the twentieth level of the office buildings piercing the sky. He threaded his way through the pedestrians to an autocab parked at the curb. Kelly and Clay, both in civilian dress as was Ben, waited for him.

  "We go up to Shellwood in an hour," Ben told them. "Let's get a bite of lunch and go over the operation once more before we go into the lion's den."

  They left the cab and strolled along the busy thoroughfare to a nearby restaurant.

  "That transceiver working O.K.?" Clay asked Kelly. "It was a few minutes ago," she replied. "You still there, Mr. Harvey?"

  Hidden under the copper-red waves of her hair, a tiny earpiece was stuck with collodiplast to her left mastoid bone. "Just as though I were walking with you, Miss Lightfoot," Harvey's voice sounded in her ear. "We are monitoring all three of you loud and clear. And we've just had word that Shellwood Electronics is checking on your discharges and have been told they are being processed. The fish has taken the bait."

  "He's there," Kelly told Clay.

  An hour later they were seated in Hughes' office in the massive Shellwood Electronics headquarters building on the outskirts of Santa Monica.

  "You understand," Hughes said, "that the contracts will become effective immediately upon proof of your separation from the Authority. Now here are the contracts we have drawn up for your approval." He shoved three documents across the desk.

  "You will note," he continued, "that the contracts specify that you will accept employment at any place the company desires to assign you and upon the immediate notice of such assignment. Of course, any financial inconvenience brought about by such a move would be borne by the company."

  "What's that mean?" Clay asked.

  "Quite simply," Hughes said, "that we will have immediate assignments for both you and Mr. Martin at our operational offices in Paris. Miss Lightfoot will join our medical staff in London."

  "All three of us out of the country before any trial date, eh," Ben said with a knowing smile.

  Hughes returned the smile. "In the best interests of our organization, you understand."

  "Get those contracts on film," Harvey's voice sounded in Kelly's ear.

  Kelly shoved her contract over to Ben and then took Clay's and pushed it to the senior patrolman.

  "You're the brains of this outfit," she said brightly. "Does the picture look all right to you, Ben?"

  Ben smiled at her and laid the three contracts side by side on Hughes' desk. "Let's see how they compare," he said. He pulled a pen from his pocket and ostensibly went through the contracts rapidly, line by line. When he had finished, the contracts were on microfilm in the pen. "They look fine to me and the money sounds quite acceptable."

  "Do we sign now?" Clay asked.

  "There's just one more slight detail," Hughes said. "I have another document which needs your signature. I think that after you have read it, you'll understand the need for it." He pushed a single printed sheet across to Ben.

  Ben read the document aloud.

  "We the undersigned persons do agree not to testify in any fashion whatsoever against any member of this company or any subsidiary corporation in consideration of contractual employment with this corporation or any subsidiary thereof."

  Typed in below the text were their three names and places for their signatures.

  "Hell," Ben exploded, "if we sign this, then we become parties to a conspiracy."

  "You have a quick mind, Mr. Martin," Hughes said. "I fully realize that this paper wouldn't save anyone from prosecution. But it will assure us that if any member of our organization should be prosecuted on the testimony of any of you, all three of you will then be in the same boat. Just let's call
it a little insurance."

  "Do your company attorneys know about this?" Ben asked.

  "It was drawn up by them," Hughes said haughtily. "But I see no need to drag them into this discussion since we are doing so nicely.

  "Now if you'll just sign both the contracts and this paper," Hughes said, leaning across the desk and pointing to the proper places. "You'll get copies of the contracts after we have certified your discharge papers from the Authority. There is only one copy of this other little paper. We'll hang on to that for safekeeping."

  Ben held the camera-pen over the self-incriminating document.

  "Stand by to assist boarders," Harvey's voice sounded in Kelly's ear.

  The door to the outer office burst open and three men entered. One of them went immediately to the desk and seized the papers.

  "What's the meaning of this," Hughes spluttered. "You have no right in here. Get out and put those papers down."

  One of the intruders flipped open a leather case and held it up.

  "Los Angeles Metropolitan Police," the man said. "You are under arrest, Mr. Hughes." He took the personnel manager by the arm.

  Sixty floors above, in the same building, two other plainclothesmen shoved their way past the receptionist in Quentin Shellwood's private suite of offices. A uniformed Shellwood security guard rushed up to block their path.

  "You can't go in there," he ordered.

  "Want to bet," one of the officers said, pushing the man aside and flashing his identification. The uniformed guard continued to block the way. "I don't care if you are L.A.P.D.," he said, "you just don't barge in on Mr. Shellwood,"

  The other officer displayed a badge and card case. "FBI," he said tersely, "now get out of the way." The guard paled and backed off. The two agents entered the inner sanctum.

  Quentin Shellwood glared up at them from behind his desk.

  "Who let you in?" he bellowed. "Get out."

  The federal agent displayed his credentials. "Will you please come with us, Mr. Shellwood? We have a warrant for your arrest."

  Shellwood's face purpled. "Just who do you think you are," he roared, "ordering me around? And what are you arresting me for ?"

  The federal officer pulled out a warrant. "I have a joint Federal and Thruway Authority warrant charging you with conspiracy to coerce and with bribery. Now will you please come with us?"

  "I will not," Shellwood cried. "I'll see you two in hell before I leave here on some phony trumped-up charge." He reached for the visiphone. The metropolitan officer reached out and clamped a hand on his wrist.

  "Mr. Shellwood," he said softly, "you can come with us in good order, or you can come along in handcuffs. It doesn't make a bit of difference to us. But you are coming. And you'll make no phone calls until you are at headquarters at which time you will be allowed to consult with counsel. Now what's it going to be?"

  The executive glared at the pair for a second and then got up from his desk. "Would it be all right with you gentlemen," he asked sarcastically, "if I call my wife and tell her that I may be late for dinner ?"

  "I'm sorry, sir," the federal agent said, taking Shell-wood by the elbow and leading him to the door. "Perhaps you can contact your wife later."

  Shellwood shook his arm from the agent's grasp. "Get your hands off me," he snarled. "I can walk by myself."

  Flanked by the two officers, the head of the nation's largest corporation walked out of his office before the wondering and stunned gazes of his staff.

  A half hour later at the opposite side of the city, a similar scene was being enacted in the offices of the law firm of Quinn, Reynolds, Chase and Hackmore. Accompanying the two metropolitan and federal agents were attorneys from the offices of the Thruway Authority and the United States Attorney for the State of California.

  While the senior and junior partners of the firm were being taken into custody, other agents, armed with warrants, were moving down the line of vocawriters in the outer office, stopping at each machine to speak thirty-five words into each device. As each vocawriter spewed out its printed text, the agents checked it against a photo copy they carried. Halfway down the bank of machines one of the agents called out. "Here it is."

  The other men crowded around him and compared the copy in his hand against the copy on the machine. It read: "We the undersigned persons do agree not to testify in any fashion whatsoever against any member of this company or any subsidiary corporation in consideration of contractual employment with this corporation or any subsidiary thereof." On both the photo copy and the text from the vocawriter, the tail of the letter "y" where-ever it appeared, was partially snapped off.

  The trial of Kevin Shellwood on the original charges of driving while drunk, attempted bribery, et cetera, opened the following Monday. It lasted less than a day.

  In their individually sealed rooms, the twelve jurors watched the courtroom proceedings through special wide-angle video monitors and viewed and listened to voice and video evidence tapes on their individual screens. Neither the prosecution nor defense could see the jury or gauge the effect their legal maneuverings were having on any one juror. Each of the jurors had been selected from the venire list, sight unseen and had been challenged and questioned in the same manner.

  Now, the prosecution was in its concluding statements. Dumpy John Harvey faced the judge and unblinking video eyes of the jury box. ". .

  . And man has progressed from the primitive law of the jungle. I have no quarrel with Darwin's theory of the survival of the fittest. But there is also no question but that an entire ethnic and cultural group can survive as the fittest rather than any single individual whose claws and morals might be more deadly than those of his neighbor.

  "Our laws are designed for the protection of the masses of humanity and for the preservation of our progress. There can be no doubt in your minds about the evidence presented in this case. We have shown beyond a shadow of doubt that Kevin Shellwood was intoxicated at the time of his arrest. We have given you graphic testimony of the danger to untold lives that he posed in his unwarranted and liquor-laden driving of a three-ton projectile down a Thruway with the velocity of a medium-powered bullet. You have seen pictures and heard his actual voice as he attempted to bribe his way out of his crime. Yet the case of Kevin Shellwood can not stand of itself. In a few days, his father and his attorneys, together with other employees of the rich and powerful industrial empire of Shellwood Electronics, will come before another court and another jury to face additional charges of coercion and attempted bribery. Their alleged crimes are part of Kevin Shellwood's story for both father and son have attempted to set themselves apart from human society; have used money, influence and power to corrupt society for their own ends. They have said in effect 'we recognize no law but that of the clan.'

  "Members of the jury, Kevin Shellwood is on trial here today but at the same time, so are you, as representatives of the people. If Kevin Shellwood is freed of the charges against him, society has signed its own death warrant. The magnificent transportation system that a free people of an entire continent have created for their own benefit and safety will become an open invitation to murder by those with enough money to buy their way out of their crimes. You can have no choice but to find Kevin Shellwood guilty as charged. Thank you."

  Harvey bowed to the judge and went back to his seat.

  At the bench, Thruway Authority Justice James Bell addressed himself to the dozen faces watching him intently on a dozen small monitor screens concealed in the rim of his desk. The faces of the jurors were hidden from all but the judge. He gave his charge to the jury. When he had finished, covers slid down over the video eyes of each juror's room. The jurors could discuss the case over a closed circuit that was unmonitored by any other source.

  Across the big courtroom, Kevin Shellwood slumped in his chair at the defense table and eyed the trio of Patrol

  officers from Car 56 at the prosecution tables. The

  younger Shellwood was flanked by three attorneys but not
Quinn and Hackmore. They sat in the spectators

  section together with the senior Shellwood, freed under fifty thousand dollars bonds pending their respective trials.

  Kelly Lightfoot leaned towards Harvey. "What do you think Kevin will get if they find him guilty?"

  Harvey shrugged. "I dunno. That's up to the judge. My guess is that he'll throw the book at him on both

  sentence and fine and then possibly withhold some of the sentence. But you never know how these things will turn out."

  Kelly looked across the room at the obviously nervous younger Shellwood.

  "I feel so sorry for him," she murmured.

  "So do I," Ben said, "but not for the same reasons. He might have been a good kid at one time and he still

  may turn out all right after this is over. But I can feel a lot sorrier for the people that he might have killed. And when this is over, at least he'll be alive and won't kill himself or anyone else on a highway."

  The crew and Harvey got up and went out into the corridor for a smoke. They had just taken a couple of puffs when a muted buzzer sounded at the door to the courtroom. "The jury's ready," Harvey said, snubbing out the cigarette and hurrying back into the courtroom.

  Justice Bell was re-entering the room and ascending the bench as the Patrol crew walked back into the courtroom. The judge seated himself and then pressed a button on his bench. The twelve panels slid up from the jury videos. On the bench, the judge's monitors showed the faces of the jurors.

  "Have you reached a verdict?" Justice Bell asked. From a speaker over the bench, the voice of one of the jurors sounded. "We have."

  Bell glanced up at the defense table. "The defendant will rise and face the bench." Kevin pushed his chair back and stood up.

  "Members of the jury," the judge said, "how do you find?"

  "We find the defendant, Kevin Shellwood, guilty as charged on all counts."

  Across the room the youth slumped and pressed his palms against the edge of the table. His head was bowed. In the spectator section, his father half arose from his seat but was pulled back down by the two lawyers.