I didn't want to think that the criminal justice system I had been so proud to be a part of at one time could be flawed to the extent of putting innocent people to death. I knew the system was flawed, but had never bothered to contemplate such a serious impact. I closed down my computer and went out onto the balcony.
The sight of the glowing orb of the sun rising over the Atlantic immediately brought back the image of Justin's boat exploding against the black backdrop of the same ocean. This unleashed another wave of guilt. He'd told me about the struggles he was having with the fuel system. On one occasion, I'd even helped him while he did some troubleshooting on the system. When he told me he was planning to take the boat to Miami for repairs I should have asked him if he thought the fuel system was safe enough for the trip. Maybe that question would have caused him to pause and consider the situation more extensively. Maybe the explosion would never have happened. Maybe Justin would be alive today. Come on Jack, Justin once told you he'd been working around boats most of his life. Of course, who knows how much of anything Justin said was true.
Realizing that I was rapidly working myself into a bad mood I decided to wander downstairs and see how the construction project that kept waking me at the crack of dawn was progressing. Maybe I'd learn they're ahead of schedule. That'll improve my mood.
I found three guys outside looking at a set of plans they had spread across the hood of a truck. While they all looked familiar from seeing them around the project, I recalled one had been introduced to me as Rudy. He was the foreman or lead worker or something like that. I walked up and said, "Hi guys, how's it going?"
Rudy turned to me and said, "Oh hi Mr. Nolan. Things are going fine. We'll have the exterior closed up in a couple of days. I'll feel better when that's done, just in case we get bad weather."
I turned and gestured toward the building, "Looks nice, everything you've gotten done. I know there have been a couple of change orders as things went along, but you guys are making great progress." I really didn't have any idea if they were making timely progress or not, but I figured a few complimentary words couldn't hurt anything.
Rudy shrugged and said, "Yeah, a couple of changes along the way." The emphasis he put on the word couple suggested it was an understatement.
One of the other guys, a young black man who was built like a weightlifter, said, "Rudy, why don't you ask Mr. Nolan about the stuff we were talking about?"
Rudy nodded and said, "Yeah . . . sure." I had the distinct impression he really didn't want to talk about whatever it was, but didn't know how to deflect the suggestion. Pointing at the blueprints on the hood he said, "As you can see Mr Nolan, we're framing up the entire two stories of the existing building for the addition downstairs. We could have only framed one story and put some type of shed roof over the addition, but the plans call for us to extend the full two stories. Your architect said it was for the a . . a . . . a . . . "
The young weightlifter interjected, "Aesthetics."
Rudy spit out, "Yeah that. Anyway, I don't see why, as long as we're framing and siding the entire two stories we don't just frame and sheet the floor, so you could enlarge your apartment upstairs."
The purpose of the addition was to give us room to add entertainment to the bar. I had never contemplated expanding my apartment and I said so, "I've never thought about enlarging my apartment." Besides, I didn't even want to guess how much it would add to the already burgeoning cost of the project.
Rudy scratched the top of his head as he said, "You wouldn't have to enlarge the apartment now. We'll just frame in the space, sheet the floor and leave it. You won't even know it's there, but if you ever do want to enlarge the apartment all you would need to do is open a doorway from the existing apartment into the new space. Then you could finish it into anything you wanted to, another bedroom, home office, storage, whatever you wanted."
What he said did make sense, so I asked, "How much would that add to the cost?"
Rudy traced the area on the blueprints and said, "Few hundred bucks for materials. We won't charge anything additional for labor."
I repeated, "Few hundred bucks?"
Again rubbing the top of his head, he replied, "Yeah, five hundred, give or take. That's my best guess without actually costing it out." I couldn't help but think he was saying five hundred but meant two grand.
Moe, Marge and Elena had made most of the decisions regarding the addition since Moe and Marge first hatched the plan. They consulted me, but I knew it was just their way of trying to make me feel like I was a part of the decision making process. In the end, we always did things the way they proposed. I knew that, and based on the expression on his face, I was pretty sure Rudy knew it too. Giving my best imitation of being decisive I said, "Let's do it. Sounds like a good idea. Who knows when the space will come in handy. Thanks for the suggestion Rudy."
Sounding surprised Rudy said, "You got it Mr. Nolan."
I turned and headed back inside feeling like I was really in charge. Well, momentarily anyway.
CHAPTER FIVE
It was about 11:30 a.m. Tuesday and the lunch crowd was just starting to arrive. I had a short list of errands in hand and was coming out the back door when I saw the Ferrari convertible pull into the parking lot. I'm sure there must be more than one candy apple red Ferrari convertible in South Florida, but I'd never seen any other than Elena's. I watched as she parked next to my car, which was in its usual spot in front of the dumpster. The driver's door opened and two perfectly toned legs swung out. As she stood, emerging from the car, I couldn't help but gawk at her natural beauty. Glistening platinum blond hair outlined a flawless face accentuated by high cheekbones and the warmest deep-blue eyes.
She took several long strides, her heels clicking on the asphalt, rapidly closing the distance between us. Before I could speak she threw her hands around the back of my neck and pulled me into her in a fervent kiss. When our lips finally parted she said, "I'm so sorry, Jack. I was a real bitch last night. You didn't deserve that. I'm sorry." Slowly batting her eyelashes she purred, "Maybe, you should punish me, so I learn to be a good girl."
That's it, she thinks she can offer her gorgeous body to me and all is forgiven. Of course, that's worked every other time we hit a rough patch. I raise an issue and she gives it a cursory response before diverting us to sex. The make-up sex is great, but it's not providing any solution to the underlying issues. For once, I intend to resist. At least for a while. "I appreciate your apology, but we really need to talk about some things."
Elena's smug smirk faded into a look of genuine concern. Dropping her hands from around my neck and taking one step back she said, "Okay Jack, what do you want to talk about?"
A car was coming into the parking lot and in a few seconds the occupants would be walking toward the door we were blocking. I didn't really want to have this conversation in the bar, but I knew the danger of going up to the apartment. I just didn't see any alternative at the moment. "You have a few minutes to talk? If so, let's go upstairs where it's quiet."
She reached out and took me by the hand leading me toward the outside stairs, "I drove out here to make things right, if talk is what you want then talk it is."
I knew this was perilous, going upstairs to my apartment, but I was determined to steel myself and resist Elena's not so subtle advances. The view of her climbing the stairs in front of me, shapely calves taut from her 3 inch heels and a perfect ass encased in a tight skirt swaying with every step, dealt a severe blow to my resolve, but I soldiered on. When we got inside the apartment I steered us to the dining table and asked Elena if she would like a cup of coffee. Even though it was approaching the magical hour of noon, I knew alcohol would be a bad choice. My resolve was already precarious enough. She agreed to coffee and I busied myself with getting a pot started.
Once the coffee was started I joined Elena at the table. As I sat down I noticed she had been leafing through the notes I'd made earlier when doing my research on the death penalty. I gathe
red up the notes and my closed laptop and placed them in a pile at the far corner of the table saying, "Sorry about the mess. Let me get this out of our way."
Elena asked, "So, what is it you would like to talk about, Jack?" I wasn't certain if the intensely quizzical expression she wore was tied to her question or brought on by the notes she had been reading. Before I could answer her question, Elena reached across the table and took my hand in hers. Again the purr, "I know I haven't been myself lately, Jack. There's been so much pressure going out on my own, starting my own firm. I'm not trying to make excuses, just explain why I've been such a bitch lately."
Elena is an architect who, after a divorce in New York, had been working for her father in his real estate investment business. Shortly after we met she decided to start her own architectural firm. Her firm would still do work for her father's companies, but also for others. Cap's Place was her first outside client, but of course we weren't paying her anything. I knew she'd been working diligently in identifying potential clients and preparing proposals. I hadn't really focused on the fact that her recent controlling behavior might somehow be the result of her business pressures.
As we talked Elena pointed out that I hadn't been in a committed relationship with anyone since my divorce and that maybe I was just interpreting her caring about me as an attempt at control. I wasn't certain how we got into a "committed relationship." I didn't remember any discussion along those lines, but I let it pass. I did raise a couple of the issues that had been troubling me and Elena explained how I was viewing the situations from the distorted perspective of someone who had been deeply hurt in a previous relationship. I had to admit that walking in on my wife screwing another man had impacted my view of the world. All in all we had a good talk.
Our talk seemed to be winding down when Elena looked at her watch and said, "Oh gosh, I'm going to have to leave in a couple of hours for a meeting later this afternoon and I need time to freshen up."
Confused I said, "Couple hours to freshen up, you look great,"
Standing, she cooed, "I do now, but I won't after we spend the next hour and a half in your bed."
I decided that we had talked about the issues, so make-up sex seemed like the appropriate next step.
It was 2:30 p.m. when Elena left my apartment. I wasn't confident we had resolved much through talking, but our relationship seemed flawless after our time in the bedroom. On her way out the door Elena reminded me of her dad's birthday party coming up Friday night. A fancy bash at some downtown Miami hotel had been planned for Lorenzo Mancuso's sixtieth birthday. I lied and told her I was looking forward to it. Hell, I couldn't remember the time or the location. I improvised, "What time should I pick you up?"
"Come to my place at nine. We'll take a cab or an Uber." Great plan, now all I have to do is figure out a way to get her to tell the driver where the hell we're going.
As I stood at the top of the stairs and watched Elena drive out of the parking lot I couldn't help but reflect on how this would be the first birthday party for a mobster I'd ever attended. Reputed mobster, Jack. Remember, you need to be objective and give him a fair chance. You could be mistaken, just like you are when you think Elena is being controlling, when in reality it's simply an element of a committed relationship.
CHAPTER SIX
PJ called Tuesday evening and told me she had met with the appellate attorney and picked up copies of the trial documents. She asked if I would take a look at the files with her, if she stopped by the next morning. I told her that, thanks to my dedicated construction crew, I would be available any time after 6:00 a.m. We agreed on 9:00 a.m. Evidently, she doesn't have any construction in her neighborhood.
Wednesday morning I was sitting at the end of the bar reading the paper when the back door rattled. Damn, I forgot to unlock the door. I hurried to the door and found PJ balancing a white cardboard records storage box on her hip while pulling her cell phone out of her purse. "Sorry, I forgot to unlock the door. Let me take that box for you."
PJ relinquished the box saying, "Thanks. I was afraid maybe you'd forgotten our date."
"Not a chance. Only forgot to unlock the door."
I set the box on the table at a corner booth and, knowing she doesn't drink coffee, offered PJ a Coke. She declined and started unpacking the contents of the box. All business this morning. I refilled my coffee cup and brought it over to the table.
"So, how did your meeting with the appellate attorney go?"
PJ stopped what she was doing while a pensive look crept across her face. Finally, she spoke, "The meeting went fine." Gesturing toward the files nearly covering the table, "Look at everything I came away with."
"But?"
"I just don't get a real good vibe from this guy. I know better than to jump to conclusions about people, it's just . . . "
I prompted, "Just what? Most of the time our gut reactions to people are the most accurate. What is your gut telling you?"
"Well, this is," picking up a business card from the materials, "Henry Higginbotham III's first death row appeal."
I interjected, "Everybody starts somewhere. That's quite the moniker. Sure sounds like an attorney."
"Oh, he's an attorney all right. So is his father and his grandfather, for that matter. He's two years out of law school, with one year of that clerking for a federal judge. He's been at the Legal Defense Society for one year. This is his first time as lead attorney on a case."
"I thought you said that your boss was friends with this guy and he described him as objective and street smart?"
"Yeah, well turns out my boss was describing the guy who runs the Legal Defense Society. He can only handle a limited number of cases himself and his budget is almost nonexistent, so he hires young lawyers right out of law school."
"So the guy's inexperienced, that's what's bothering you?"
PJ shook her head, "No, like you said, we all start somewhere. What bothers me is that I think the whole death row defense gig is just him getting his ticket punched to prepare for the political career daddy is laying out for him. He as much as told me so."
"Really?"
"Well, let me put it this way. Freeman Robinson has less than three weeks to live and I'm the only investigator assigned to look into the case. Henry Higginbotham spent two hours with me and at least half of that time was allocated to him telling me about himself. His life story and his future aspirations. Or, maybe better put, his daddy's aspirations for him."
"Sounds to me like he was flirting, trying to impress you."
That comment drew a scowl and a curt, "No Jack, he wasn't flirting. He's just self-absorbed."
"So, he doesn't really think this guy is innocent?"
PJ shook her head and rubbed the back of her neck. "No, I think he truly believes that the guy is innocent. I think he just can't focus on anyone but himself for more than ten seconds at a time."
I nodded, "Doesn't bode well for the guy on death row."
A dark cloud enveloped PJ's face, "That's exactly right. From what I've seen in the files this guy's been let down at every step of the way. No one has seemed very interested in his defense, not his original court appointed defense attorney, not the attorney appointed to file his automatic death sentence appeal, and not Henry Higginbotham III. The state is going to put this guy to death, and he may be as guilty as sin, but no one has really ever tried to prove otherwise." The passion in PJ's voice was bordering anger.
Gesturing toward the files I said, "Well, let's take a look at this stuff together and see what we can find."
PJ's face softened into a faint smile, "Thanks, Jack. That's what I need. I could be way off base, I'm not an attorney, maybe I'm being hyper-critical."
PJ accepted my second offer of a Coke.
We spent the next two hours pouring over investigative files and trial transcripts. We were so engrossed in our work that the individual greetings of Moe, Marge, and Dana when they arrived for work didn't even distract us. I did hear Dana yelling about an
empty coffee pot left of the hot burner. Obviously, I was so distracted that I didn't turn it off when I drained the pot.
The early lunch crowd was starting to trickle in, so I suggested to PJ that we relocate our operation to the dining table in my apartment upstairs. PJ carried half of the material in the storage box and I put half under my arm. When we got upstairs I noticed PJ glancing around the apartment. I had a feeling that she was looking for signs to indicate the level of Elena's presence. Maybe some kind of turf thing.
We spent another hour reading documents and independently making notes. Finally, I pushed back from the table and said, "I see what you mean. This Freeman Robinson never really had a defense. Who was his court appointed defense attorney, this Willard Carpus?"
PJ sighed, "From what Higginbotham has learned, Carpus was an eighty-year-old semi-retired attorney in town who was appointed by the court. Trafford County is far too sparsely populated to support a public defender's office. Cases are rotated among the local bar. Somehow Carpus ended up with this one. No more than a year after the conviction Carpus died, so we can't even talk with him."
"I wonder if his firm still exists? Maybe his files are still there? Maybe there would be something there?"
PJ shook her head, "Higginbotham already checked. Evidently, Carpus was a one-man show and after he died his daughter had the office cleaned out. She had all of the files shredded to protect his clients' privacy."
"Geez."
"Yeah, it gets better. Higginbotham talked to some lawyers who knew Carpus and learned that his practice was almost exclusively tax law. At least, in the last few decades. I don't know how any judge could appoint someone like that to defend a guy facing the death penalty."
Driven Be Jack: A Jack Nolan Novel (The Cap's Place Series Book 4) Page 3