A Murder In Passing

by Mark de Castrique

  “Only if you’ll take him away. I was hoping to get some work done this morning.”

  “Sorry. The clients are coming at eleven.”

  “Well, then I’d appreciate you keeping him tied up till they show.” She hit a button on her phone console. “Hey, Horace Rumpole, wake up. Nakayla and the bionic man are here to see you.”

  Hewitt’s voice came through the tinny speaker. “I’ll meet them in the conference room.”

  “Words cannot describe how thrilled they are.” She released the intercom button and swept her thin, pale hand toward the rear of the office. “You know your way to the inner sanctum.”

  Nakayla and I took chairs one seat apart at Hewitt’s round conference table. He hadn’t yet appeared.

  The room bore the trappings of Hewitt’s personality. The circular table meant no one would be seated at the head. The walls were devoid of the leather-bound legal volumes and framed diplomas that seemed to be the mandatory decor of law firms wanting you to believe they had the Supreme Court Justices on speed dial. Instead, Hewitt had framed classic album covers from the 1960s and 70s that ranged from The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan to the Stones’ Sticky Fingers. I considered the display to be Hewitt’s chronicle of his own transformational decade, the turbulent time that shaped him into the firebrand who stood with his clients against all odds. The fact that Lucille Montgomery’s case went back to 1967 would be an irresistible force pulling Hewitt into the genesis of his own identity.

  He came through the door, shed of his tie and suit coat and with sleeves rolled up near his elbows. He carried a mug of steaming coffee in one hand and a legal pad in the other. “You guys want some java? You got less sleep than I did.”

  “I’m coffeed out,” Nakayla said.

  “Me too,” I added. “We thought we’d better go over a few things before Marsha and her mother arrive.”

  “All right.” Hewitt took the seat with his back to the door.

  I noticed he’d filled the top sheet of his pad with scribbling, and I assumed he was mapping out a strategy for building the defense. “Nakayla and I think we should agree on our priorities so that we’re not sending them mixed messages.”

  “My priority is having the charges dismissed. If that fails, then the only remaining priority is for their acquittal. Do you have another priority?”

  “No. Of course not. But this whole business with the missing picture seems like a wild goose chase. It was fine to pursue it when Marsha thought it would divert suspicion from her mother, but now that Lucille’s been charged and the murder weapon was in her possession, a more realistic approach seems warranted.”

  Hewitt rested the palm of his right hand against his chin and rubbed his broad fingers across his lips while he thought. Then he pushed his legal pad aside and leaned over the table. “Look, we’ve been through some challenging cases together but never in the courtroom. So, it’s good we’re talking because there’s a difference in our perspective.” He looked at Nakayla. “Before you hooked up with this bozo, you worked for insurance agencies exposing fraudulent claims. That’s basically a prosecutorial perspective.” He looked back at me. “And as a Chief Warrant Officer, you worked for the military investigating crimes to reveal a suspect, someone who would be charged and prosecuted.”

  “We’re all after the truth,” I said.

  “No. You might be after the truth, but I’m after the story. And the members of the jury might think they’re after the truth, but it’s the story that seals the verdict one way or the other.”

  “How does that change our investigation?” I asked.

  “It means everything is fair game and nothing is too insignificant. I won’t lie for my clients and I won’t condone their perjuring themselves. But, I will choose what to emphasize and what to marginalize.” Hewitt glanced at the legal pad. “I’ve already started outlining a possible narrative. As facts are determined and we get discovery from the prosecution, I’ll shape that story into the most favorable light for Lucille and Marsha.”

  “You think Chesterson will go to the grand jury for an indictment against Marsha?”

  Hewitt shrugged. “If I had to bet, I’d say no.”

  “You certainly caught him off guard with how the rifle breaks apart.”

  “I made a quick Internet search for specs on the Remington fourteen and a half and I knew Judge Mercer collects guns. If he didn’t see the possibility for digging a smaller hole, I would have raised it. But Mercer made the point for me, and Chesterson was odd man out. The judge and I knew more about his evidence than he did.”

  “Can’t Chesterson wait and charge Marsha after Lucille’s trial?” Nakayla asked.

  “That’s the smarter play,” Hewitt said. “Then, if he has a conviction on Lucille, his conspiracy charge is tied to a proven murder.”

  “How’d you discover the lack of contact between Lucille and Marsha so quickly?” I asked. “That’s what backed Chesterson down.”

  Hewitt smiled. “I didn’t. I took a chance and believed my clients. I also believed Deputy Overcash moved so quickly for the arrest that he hadn’t checked. I bluffed and Chesterson folded. He had no evidence to the contrary.”

  “And you kept Marsha’s DNA out of the identification pool.”

  Hewitt sat back and rested his hands on his stomach. “And that’s the first part of our story that I want to protect. If the remains stay unidentified, then the lack of a provable relationship between Lucille and the deceased eliminates motive.”

  “But the DNA could definitively prove it wasn’t Jimmy Lang,” Nakayla said.

  “Yeah, but let’s face it. Odds are Jimmy Lang was shot by Lucille Montgomery’s gun, crawled into that hollow log either in an attempt to hide or get shelter, and bled to death.” Hewitt’s face tightened as he made the grim assessment. “We need to plan that the first part of our story will have to be rewritten. When, not if, Chesterson determines the skeleton is Jimmy Lang, I need to make sure the jury has plenty of other options for the story’s ending. Who else stood to gain by Jimmy’s death? Who bore him grudges? And, yes, who could have stolen a photograph and a rifle, a rifle that was returned for the purpose of incriminating Lucille in the event Jimmy’s body was ever discovered.”

  “Okay,” I said. “So our priority is everything you just listed.”

  “Yes. As well as what we don’t know that we don’t know. That’s the most crucial because that’s the biggest surprise.” Hewitt’s eyes narrowed. “And I don’t like surprises.”

  “All right,” I said. “We’ll work all the angles. Are you billing them for our time?”

  “What were you planning to charge them?”

  I glanced at Nakayla, signaling her to answer.

  “We really hadn’t gotten to those details. Actually, the odds were we’d be taking it pro bono.” She smiled at me. “It let Sam worm his way into the investigation of the remains.”

  “Worm,” Hewitt said. “Bad word choice. But accurate.”

  The phone on a side credenza buzzed. “Lucille and Marsha Montgomery are here,” Shirley said through the intercom.

  “Thank you. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “You still want us to stay?” Nakayla asked.

  “Yes. If I sense we’re moving into sensitive issues better left just between the clients and me, then I’ll suggest you start following leads while we finish. I’ll handle informing them that we’re unifying your investigation with my legal defense.”

  “What’s the status with John Lang?” I asked.

  “I’m seeing him at noon. I’ll advise him he’s under no obligation to give the authorities DNA material and that goes for anyone else in his family.” He stood. “Wait here and I’ll get the ladies.”

  As soon as he left the room, I asked Nakayla, “What do you think? Are we getting in over our heads?”

  “Probably. And you’re l
oving it. You who didn’t want to go mushroom hunting. How dull your life would be without me.”

  When Marsha and her mother came into the conference room, I stood and helped Lucille into the chair beside me. She looked frailer than yesterday. Worry and exhaustion plagued her lined face. Nakayla slid over and Marsha sat on the other side of her mother.

  Hewitt took a seat diametrically across the round table. “I’ve asked Nakayla and Sam to sit in so they can investigate any leads that might grow out of our conversation.”

  Lucille gave me a faint smile. “That’s fine. Will they find out if that poor man in the log was Jimmy?”

  “No, ma’am. The police will determine his identity.”

  “But how will they do that unless they use a DNA sample? Marsha told me how that works.”

  Hewitt paused a moment. I figured he was assessing how to best sell the first part of his defense strategy.

  “Miss Montgomery, I have one duty and one duty only. That’s to provide you with the best defense possible.”

  “I didn’t kill anybody.”

  “I know. But our justice system isn’t perfect. I wish I could say otherwise. Unfortunately, there are troublesome elements like the rifle and what John Lang says was your rebuff of Jimmy’s affections.”

  “I never rebuffed his affections.” She looked at her daughter, undeniably Exhibit A in that regards. “Jimmy and I loved each other.”

  “I understand,” Hewitt said. “And before June of 1967 you couldn’t get married. But when the Supreme Court changed that, the question arises why didn’t you? Mr. Chesterson will say Jimmy refused to marry you. That when he finally could, he wouldn’t.”

  “That’s a lie.” Her voice rose with indignation. “I’m the one who didn’t want to get married.”

  “And the D.A.’s going to ask why. Why wouldn’t a black woman in 1967 leap at the chance for the security for her and her child by marrying a white man?”

  I heard both Nakayla and Marsha draw a sharp breath. Hewitt’s question sounded too accusatory, too judgmental.

  Lucille Montgomery laughed. “Oh, Mr. Donaldson, you know better than that.”

  “I do.” He smiled, pleased with her reaction. “But there are people that don’t and twelve of them might be on the jury.”

  “Then they need to understand something. Men can change the law, but a new law doesn’t change the human heart. A judge’s gavel isn’t a magic wand. People who opposed our right to marry didn’t change just because the law did.”

  “You were afraid for your safety?”

  “No. They wouldn’t do anything to us. To the contrary, they’d have nothing to do with us. Jimmy and John were trying to make a go of their company. Can you imagine what would have happened to their business if Jimmy had married a black woman?”

  “Seems like that would have been Jimmy’s decision,” Hewitt said.

  “Really? A woman’s got no say in a marriage proposal?”

  I witnessed one of those rare events—like an eclipse or double rainbow. Hewitt Donaldson blushed.

  “Of course she does,” he said.

  “And to go into a marriage with no income and a five-year-old child to feed was not my idea of a marriage that could endure. Folks would look the other way if a white man was dallying with a black woman on the side. That’s been going on since before Mr. Jefferson and Sally Hemings. But to desecrate their holy ideal of the racial purity of marriage? Well, that wasn’t crossing the color line, Mr. Donaldson, that was blowing it up.”

  Lucille’s words rang true but I wasn’t sure how they fit with what John Lang said about his brother. Maybe that’s why Jimmy pulled ten-thousand dollars out of the bank and left his job. To show Lucille he couldn’t lose what he no longer had. If that were the case, how angry would she have been? Her explanation was far from exonerating.

  Hewitt saw the same problem with her story. “Miss Montgomery, I have no doubt as to the truth of what you’re telling me, but you know people, how they like to gossip and think the worst.”

  “Yes, sir, I do.”

  “Then did Jimmy Lang tell you he was leaving town? That he was taking his money and going away?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You loved each other, but he didn’t even say goodbye?”

  Tears spilled down the old woman’s cheeks. “He didn’t. It pains me to this day. Maybe it pained him too. That’s why he couldn’t bear to tell me.”

  “Who did tell you?”

  “His brother John.”

  “And if that skeleton belongs to Jimmy?”

  “Then he didn’t leave me. That’s why I want to know.”

  Hewitt shook his head. “Not now. I can’t advise you to do anything that would jeopardize your defense. After we get through the trial and you’re acquitted, then we’ll do everything we can to help identify those remains.” He stated those final words to Marsha and kept staring at her until she nodded her agreement.

  Lucille had brought a small black clutch purse with her. She unsnapped it and pulled out a folded piece of paper. The white color had yellowed with age. She passed it over to Hewitt.

  “The day Jimmy disappeared, he was supposed to pick me up when I got off work at the cafeteria.”

  “Was that his normal routine?” Hewitt asked.

  “No. I usually rode with a co-worker and paid her something each week for the gasoline. Both of us had a child in a church daycare which made it convenient. But this day Jimmy said he would be by because he had some place special to take me.”

  “Did he say where?”

  “No. Just that it was time for a new beginning.”

  “A new beginning,” Hewitt repeated. “Was he going to tell you he was leaving?”

  “I didn’t think so at the time, but then he never showed. At the end of the day, I had to get a ride home.”

  “And what’s this?” Hewitt unfolded the paper.

  “A letter to my grandmother from Miss Julia Peterkin. It came with a copy of the photograph Miss Ulmann took on the site of the Kingdom of the Happy Land. Miss Peterkin and my grandmother were friends. They’d made arrangements for us to have our picture made.”

  “The one that was stolen?”

  “Yes.”

  Hewitt read the letter silently and then aloud. “Lang Syne Plantation, Fort Motte, South Carolina, November 3, 1932. Dear Loretta, I hope this finds you, your daughter, and your granddaughter well. Enclosed is a framed print of the photograph of descendants of the Kingdom. Doris Ulmann was determined to see that you received a copy. She is quite pleased with it and with the stories you shared. She is a dear friend but I am very worried about her. She continues to suffer from the stomach ailments that plagued her last summer. And she is still under the spell of that insufferable gigolo John Jacob Niles. I tell you that man is aiming to take her for every penny. He knows the value of her work and I’m convinced he’d sell every last photograph if it meant liquor money. Doris will hear nothing against him. I only tell you because you met him that day. I’m sure you quickly sized him up for the no good leech he is. It pains me that he has separated her from me for I am concerned not only for her health but for her safety. The man will be her ruin, if not her death. Sorry to trouble you with my concerns. If I ever decide to pick up the pen again, I’d like to set a story in the Kingdom. I hope you will grant me the opportunity to be inspired through your memory of those days. With gratitude, Julia Peterkin.”

  Hewitt scanned the letter one more time and then handed it back to Lucille. “You brought this to show me that the Ulmann photograph existed?”

  “Yes, sir. And prove it has value. And that this John Jacob Niles knew it.”

  “Okay,” Hewitt said. “But I don’t see the relevance.”

  “Miss Ulmann died in the summer of 1934 after she took sick in Asheville. Miss Julia said John Jacob Niles tried to
steal her estate. Miss Julia said he could have even caused her death.”

  “How does that relate to 1967?”

  “Not just 1967, Mr. Donaldson, but Friday, July 14, 1967. That’s the day Jimmy disappeared. And when I finally got home that evening, Miss Ulmann’s photograph was gone. John Jacob Niles was the only one still alive outside the family who knew about it. If he killed Miss Ulmann, he wouldn’t think twice about killing my Jimmy.”

  Hewitt nodded. “Then Sam and Nakayla will look into it.”

  “We certainly will,” I said. I looked to Nakayla for confirmation but she turned sideways in her chair and scrutinized Lucille like she thought the woman might be carrying explosives.

  “July 14th,” Nakayla said skeptically. “Jimmy was picking you up at the school cafeteria?”

  Lucille smiled. “I see nothing gets past you. Not the school cafeteria. The camp cafeteria. During the summer break, I worked at Camp Quail Cove. They served the boys three meals a day and I worked the breakfast through lunch shift.”

  “Where is it?” Nakayla asked.

  “Between Flat Rock and Tuxedo, but it stopped operating in the eighties. I think it’s now a gated community.”

  “Quail Cove Estates,” Marsha added. “It borders the Kingdom of the Happy Land.”

  “That’s right,” Lucille said. “The Bell family let the camp use their trails for hiking and horseback riding.”

  “How about hunting?” I asked.

  “Oh, no,” Lucille replied. “The only weapons allowed in the camp were bows and arrows and they were only used under strict supervision.”

  “What time were the meals served?” Nakayla asked.

  “Breakfast was from eight to nine, lunch noon to one, and dinner from five to six.”

  Nakayla looked back to Hewitt, satisfied with Lucille’s explanation.

  The lawyer gave Nakayla an appreciative nod. Her catch of the summer date was something both he and I should have noticed.

  “You mentioned John and Jimmy were expanding their business,” Hewitt said. “Was there anyone who stood to lose if they were successful?”