Such Wicked Friends

by Rod Hoisington

  When she returned to his cubicle, Jaworski was looking at a printout of his report. She asked, “How did that officer get there so fast?”

  “You made an interrupted 911 call. You dial 911 and hang up in this town the cops are going to respond. And your smartphone has GPS. Not actually that accurate, but the zone cop got lucky. You were the only thing moving in the area.”

  “Did anyone hear the shot?” Her thoughts were actually on the envelope. Why had she impulsively picked it up? “Were there any witnesses?”

  “Not your concern. I will say we prevented anyone from leaving the community room until we could interview them. Drinking crowds aren’t the most alert witnesses to have at a murder scene. We’ll be all night taking statements over there.”

  She wouldn’t soon forget the young woman sitting there in the half-dark, the shocking bullet hole and the envelope. Something was unusual about that envelope. “A large manila envelope was on the victim’s lap.”

  “Yeah, I saw it. The ME guys took it with the body. They’ll check it for prints.”

  “Did you look inside?”

  “Why? You know something about it? What was inside?”

  Damn, damn, damn. “Eddy, there’s something else I have to tell you.” She could hardly get it out. “I touched that envelope.”

  “Touched it?” He turned to her quickly.

  “Actually, I picked it up. Never opened it. I believe I handled it by the edges, but I was shaken. I don’t think my prints are on it. Can’t say for certain. I put it right back down.”

  “For chrissake, Sandy.” He rolled himself back from the desk and stared fiercely up at the ceiling fan. “I should pick you up and shake some sense into you. What about her handbag, did you take her handbag?”

  “Never saw a handbag. I’m telling you everything. She probably didn’t carry one. She said on the phone she’d give her husband an excuse—say she’s just going down to the community room. Carrying her handbag might have aroused his suspicions.”

  “Just sit there. Don’t say another word. Let me think.” After a moment he said, “Maybe in the morning you could come back, we could get an assistant state attorney over here and discuss this whole thing. I can’t believe you did that. From what they say about you, you’ve dealt with police and crime for most of your adult life. You know the routine.”

  “Totally stupid. I stopped thinking for a moment.”

  “You’d better keep quiet now, counselor.”

  “Eddy, I just remembered something that was bothering me about the envelope.”

  “Shut up. You know the routine. You’ll make it worse for yourself. I need to check with my lieutenant.”

  “I saw blood on the underside when I turned it over.”

  The detective pretended to ignore her. He began talking on the phone.

  She went on, “If the envelope was in her lap when she was shot, there might be blood on the top. No way could blood spatter be underneath on the bottom. The bottom of the envelope and the area of her clothes it covered should have been clean.”

  “Shut up.”

  All of it was coming to her as she spoke. “That means the envelope was placed there after she was shot. Since there was blood on the bottom, the killer must have set it down on the blood that was already on her slacks.”

  The detective hung up and gave her a weak smile. “You can’t leave. Do you know Mel Shapiro? An okay guy. Heard all the buzz tonight on his scanner. Already on his way over here.”

  Assistant State Attorney Shapiro strode in right on cue. He was tall, showed some early baldness and wore at-home casual—loafers no socks. “I’m missing the end of a good old movie on TV. Bette Davis was about to rip her cheating husband apart with a tongue-lashing. What’s happening, Jaworski? Oh, hello there.”

  She stood to introduce herself, but Shapiro spoke first, “I know you—Sandy Reid. They say don’t make eye contact with her, and if she attacks play dead. You okay? You’re tight with Detective Goddard, aren’t you?

  “I was until tonight. Chip’s not going to react well to this escapade.”

  “She’s the one who found the body, Mel.”

  “Good for her. I understand she called 911.”

  “She touched the body checking for a pulse.”

  “Ah, just like a good Samaritan.”

  “Then she picked up a manila envelope that was on the body.”

  “I’d better sit down.”

  She said, “It probably made no difference. Let me explain....”

  “And you were just admitted to the Florida Bar, weren’t you?” Shapiro said. “People do dumb shit like that all the time. Usually they aren’t criminal lawyers.”

  “Well, just listen. Martin got a call from the victim, this afternoon. Martin Bronner, my partner, not my legal partner. We share an office.”

  “Yes, I know. You two are looking good on that multimillion-dollar wrongful death lawsuit you’re handling. That takes brains. Are you sure I’m talking to the same gal?”

  She went on giving them the full story. “I thought the envelope might contain the questionable photos she mentioned to him on the phone. She said she wanted legal representation. I turned it over to see if it was addressed to him.”

  Shapiro said, “And if it was so addressed, you might have walked away with it for safe keeping, and we’d never have known about it.”

  “No, of course not. I was thinking about the photos. I wanted to spare her family the embarrassment of having them show up on You Tube or taped inside some cop’s locker. I didn’t try to open it. My prints might not even be on it. My heart told me to do it. My head cleared immediately and I put it back.”

  “You’ve got moxie, that’s for sure. Where’s the envelope, Jaworski?”

  “Medical Examiner.”

  “Why the ME?” she asked.

  “Any physical evidence in contact with the body is the responsibility of the ME. Even law enforcement officers cannot touch anything in contact with the body until the ME says okay. Did you miss class that day?” Shapiro said. “Where’s her phone?”

  “Crime lab. She surrendered it voluntarily. Her hands are clean. No residue.”

  “Sandy, when you’re operating in the judicial district of State Attorney Lawrence Moran, who everyone knows has it in for you and has tried to nail you to the cross for over a year, you might consider stepping over any dead bodies and keep on walking.”

  “I know what Moran is going to say.”

  “Do you know what he’s going to do? I mean after he screams with joy and breaks into hysterical laughter. Finally, sassy Sandra Reid is within his grasp. His nightmares about you have turned into dreams.”

  “I’m not sassy, well maybe. Though not so much anymore. On the phone, the victim told Martin she was deathly afraid of her husband. Have you talked with him?”

  “This isn’t your case,” Jaworski interrupted. “We’ll handle the investigation, thank you very much.”

  Shapiro said, “You’d better hope this is a simple domestic shooting and hubby confesses immediately. Because if this goes to trial, the envelope might be crucial State’s evidence. The judge will throw it out because you tampered with it.”

  “I touched. Not tampered.”

  “We’ll say touched. The defense will say tampered. And the judge will say fagetaboutit. You may have jeopardized an entire murder case. I have to phone Moran right now.”

  “Yeah right. Get Moran involved and he’ll screw up this case somehow before he hangs up. He could screw up a two-car funeral.”

  “I have to involve him, Sandy. Some of us actually have restraints on our actions and operate under legal rules and regulations. He took out his phone.

  She couldn’t overhear his conversation with Moran. He was frowning and was avoiding looking at her. After he hung up, he turned to Jaworski. “Arrest her—obstructing justice.” That’s all he said. He walked to the elevator shaking his head without looking back at her. Jaworski reached for the handcuffs hanging f
rom his belt.

  Chapter Three

  Sandy sat in the small room off the courtroom in the county courthouse awaiting her arraignment. She rested her cuffed wrists in her lap. The arresting officer, Detective Jaworski, waited beside her. He looked at his watch. “Your arraignment is scheduled for ten. They’ll be calling us in soon.”

  Her first night ever in jail trying to sleep on the paper-thin mattress next to an odorous toilet with no privacy wasn’t surprising to her. She’d visited a couple of new clients there since getting her law license—she knew the setup. Chip had brought her a cup of so-called coffee earlier that morning, so that particular urgency had been resolved.

  Fortunately, she didn’t feel as lousy as she looked. She’d slept in the suit she wore to meet the victim in the courtyard. She needed some time in front of a mirror but didn’t have one. She’d confess to killing Jimmy Hoffa if they would just give her back her handbag with brush and lipstick. She never wore much makeup, so her face might be acceptable assuming there weren’t any cameras out there in the courtroom. Fortunately, she wore a no-fuss cropped pixie hairstyle, yet the jail air was damp, and she didn’t know how she looked. And she’d sell her soul for a toothbrush.

  “You don’t happen to have a mirror in your pocket do you, Eddy?”

  “Left it in my other pants.”

  “Geez, I look awful. And I’ve got to stand before a judge and look like a respectable lawyer.” She shook her head slowly. “I do look horrible don’t I?”

  “Let’s put it this way, you looked better last night.”

  “Geez.” She raised her cuffed hands and tried to fiddle with her hair. After a minute she gave up. “Screw it.” She looked at the back of her hand. “Eddy, did you make a note of the blood spot on my hand in your police report?”

  “What blood spot?”

  “Remember, last night you said I could go wash my hands. I thought you meant because of the blood spot.”

  “I never saw any blood on your hands. Cuffed you in the car, and tested your hands with my GSR kit. Maybe I missed it. So what? You said you touched the body.”

  “Yes, I guess that was it.” Perhaps she was making too much of it. “Have you identified the body?”

  He nodded imperceptibly.

  “And you’ve spoken with her husband?”

  “I’m not discussing the case with you.”

  “Do I get my phone back?”

  “Yeah, we’ve already checked it. You get all your personal stuff back—assuming the judge grants you bail.”

  “Why wouldn’t he?”

  “You tell me, you’re the lawyer.”

  “Who’s the judge?”

  “He’s the one in the black robe.”

  “I started worrying about it last night. I don’t want it to be Judge Allen.”

  “You don’t like him?”

  “I’ve got an important lawsuit pending before him. Who’s out there? Is Moran out there gloating? Go take a peek.”

  He opened the door a crack to look into the courtroom. “The judge isn’t out there yet. Don’t see Moran. Mel Shapiro’s there and Martin Bronner. I see Chip Goddard standing at the back. I heard he sat outside your cell all night.”

  “He was in and out. He’d leave then think of something else to scold me about and come back.”

  Jaworski said, “You know, Moran keeps pressure on the Chief because you and Chip are quite friendly.”

  “Whether we’re quite friendly or over-the-moon friendly is none of Moran’s business. Anyway, Chip doesn’t tell me about police business. We have better things to do when we’re together.” That wasn’t entirely true. Chip would discuss police activities he thought she needed to know and trusted her to be discreet.

  “You living with him yet?”

  “You tell me what the crime lab found in the manila envelope, and I’ll tell you all about my sex life.”

  He didn’t even look at her.

  “Yeah, yeah, you can’t discuss the case. Well, keep those photos secure. Don’t let them be passed around. None of that ‘boys will be boys’ shit.” She motioned toward the door with her head. “Take another peek.”

  Jaworski opened the door slightly. “You’re not going to like this. It is Judge Allen.”

  “Geez.” She raised her cuffed hands to her face. “I’m dead.” Her shoulders sagged as she looked down.

  “A big deal, huh?”

  “Yeah, losing my share of two or three million dollars is a big deal. Would ruin my whole day.”

  The bailiff opened the door and motioned to them. Jaworski reached down to help her up.

  “I can’t go in there,” she muttered and stood up beside him.

  He took her arm. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. They walked in solemnly. She took her place before the judge. She stood erect with her head high, trying to appear both confident and contrite at the same time. Her stomach was churning with the onset of nausea. Everything is different when you’re the one in the hot seat.

  Judge Allen was presently considering the lawsuit she and Martin had brought on behalf of Juanita Banks for the wrongful death of Juanita’s husband. The legal process had gone well for them; they expected Judge Allen to issue his final decision shortly. A very high award was possible if he ruled in their favor.

  As her attorney, Martin stood beside her. Judge Allen looked up and for the first time saw the pair standing before his bench. This time not in their role as sharp aggressive attorneys for the plaintiff, but as the abject accused and her apprehensive attorney. The judge touched the frame of his glasses unconsciously with one hand as though they needed adjusting. Of course, he recognized them.

  Hanging high on the wall behind the judge’s bench she noticed the huge golden plaque depicting the Goddess of Justice blindfolded and holding the scales of truth and fairness. She wished the judge were blindfolded so he couldn’t see how she looked. She wanted to send him a telepathic message: Hey Judge, I can explain everything. I just spent the night sleeping in these clothes. In truth, I’m an exceedingly straightforward, well-adjusted woman. This isn’t actually me.

  Martin leaned over and whispered he’d cover her bail regardless of the amount they asked for.

  ASA Melvin Shapiro read off the obstructing justice charge. She pled innocent. Shapiro informed the court that the accused had placed the State’s position in a murder case in serious jeopardy. The situation was of such gravity that State Attorney Moran would be seeking disbarment. Accordingly, the State requested bail of one hundred thousand dollars.

  She realized Shapiro was required to take that position and say all that. Martin requested release on personal recognizance. After all, he argued, the accused is an upstanding local lawyer. For a moment, she was afraid the judge was going to teach her a lesson. However, he maintained his blank expression and ordered her released without bail pending trial. She looked up at the Goddess of Justice and smiled. Nevertheless, she wondered about the effect this episode would have on Judge Allen’s pending decision in Banks versus Olin.

  When the cuffs were removed, she pulled Martin aside. “I’m sorry. I might have messed up our lawsuit. Of all the rotten luck to have Judge Allen see me here at this arraignment.”

  “I’m sorry I got you into this, Sandy. Too soon to worry. By rights, he should judge the suit on its own merits and put this episode completely out of his mind.”

  “I haven’t seen myself in a mirror, but I suspect that’s asking a lot. Cross your fingers. Tell me again about the phone call.”

  “The woman phoned just after lunch yesterday. Just before you came to the office. She wanted a divorce. However, the husband was holding those sex photos of her and some men.”

  “Did she want us to hold on to the photos or something? I don’t get that part. She had the manila mailing envelope on her lap when I found her. I assumed the photos were in there.”

  “I don’t remember her saying anything about that. Anyway, the husband threatened to take the pictures publ
ic if she proceeded. She finally found where he hid them, and now she could go ahead and divorce him. She sounded sexy on the phone.”

  “How does sexy sound in case I need to fake it someday?”

  “Oh, I’ve always thought your slight Philly accent was sexy. However, hers was low and slow with a southern drawl.”

  “So, this troubled woman phoned you yesterday afternoon, asked for legal assistance and mentioned a couple of off-center issues. So, you pass it over to me because you intend to be a lawyer who doesn’t deal with any conflicts. How’s that going to work for you?”

  “I’m not so different.” He adjusted the already perfectly tied knot in his powder-blue silk tie. “Most lawyers don’t do the Perry Mason bit. Nevertheless, I should never have asked you to go in my place. All of it just put me off. Tackling the dark edge of life never seems to bother you.”

  “And you'd never met her, didn't even get her name and yet you agreed to meet her in a secluded courtyard after dark. Lawyers don’t do it that way. You first meet with clients as they’re loaded into an ambulance or better yet, you press your card into their hand while they’re lying in the street. Seriously, why didn’t you set up an appointment in the office?”

  “She was afraid of her husband, she told me. He's not only cheating, he’s engaged in some sordid activity she wouldn't discuss on the phone. He watches her every move, so she didn't dare come to the office. She begged me to meet her last night—wanted me to advise her. She told her husband she was going down to the community room on the ground floor. Instead, she’d meet me in the courtyard.”