Such Wicked Friends

by Rod Hoisington

“I hope they’re keeping the contents properly under wraps.”

  “You’re thinking about the photos,” he guessed. “The envelope might have nothing to do with the shooting.”

  “You could be right, Chip. The shooter certainly didn’t want it—he left it behind.”

  “And no one reported hearing a shot.”

  “I don’t doubt it. Outside you had the roar of the waves. Inside they were partying it up. Even if she’d been shot while I was parking my car, I might not have heard it. Did they arrest the husband yet or anything else super lucky for me? Anybody see him running around the courtyard waving a gun and screaming?”

  “They can’t locate him. Apparently, he wasn’t in their apartment yesterday at all. The only stranger anyone remembered was a pizza delivery boy walking away from the building. Did you see him as you walked up?”

  She shook her head. “Man or boy?”

  “Sounds like a boy the way they described it. The usual. Nothing special. Had on a red cap, a thin polyester blue jacket and carrying a pizza.”

  “You mean carrying a pizza box.”

  “Okay, a pizza box. Excuse me, Sherlock. I made the wild assumption there was a pizza inside the box.” He saw her holding a smirk. “Oh, I see what you’re getting at. The box could have been a prop.”

  “Did anyone see him inside? You said they saw him walking away from the building. Pizza delivery guys carry pizzas to customers, not away from them.”

  “Good point. I’ll mention it to Jaworski. They’re checking every tenant to see who ordered pizza last night. They dumped everything from your phone. That’s routine, of course, to find out who called you and who’s in your directory. Apparently, you received a text shortly after your aborted 911 call.”

  “I remember that now, but I didn’t read it.”

  “From Martin. Something like, if anyone asks where I was tonight, please say I was with you.”

  “You’re joking.”

  He shrugged. “That’s what the report said. They’ll want to talk with him. It could be innocent.”

  “Well, of course, it’s innocent. Cripes, I stumble over a dead body, and now both of us are involved.” She folded her arms across her chest and then unfolded them. “I’m pretty sure Moran is going to file an official ethics complaint with the bar association. All those hours and years getting my law license, and then I stop thinking for an instant and pick up that damn envelope. Now I’m at risk to lose it all. I put my life right back in Moran’s pudgy little hands.”

  “And he’s lost too many battles with you to pass this up. He’s sharpening his guillotine right now. Good luck tomorrow with Little Bonaparte.”

  “One day you’ll slip and call him that to his face.” She gave out a small sigh. “I drank the first glass too fast. I’m feeling a slight buzz. At least I’m beginning to settle down.” She stood and moved over to the counter.

  He also got up. He took her arm and turned her around to face him. “You need to get your mind off the murder.” He pulled her close, standing tall and straight with his ex-marine officer confidence. She felt his long arms wrapping her in and his delicious scent was warm and dizzying. His lips brushed softly against her neck. In a low whispery voice he said, “I should stop talking.”

  She peered up into his steely gray eyes. “What are you going to do next?”

  “I’m not completely certain. Several possibilities come to mind.”

  “I’m open for possibilities.”

  Chapter Six

  At nine, the following morning Sandy presented herself as requested at the offices of State Attorney Lawrence Moran on the third floor of the Park Beach County Courthouse. All attorneys practicing in his judicial district were familiar with the offices and the personnel. State attorneys prosecute the criminal cases, and the private attorneys facing them represent the accused. They all know each other. The familiarity did little to lessen her sense of uneasiness in confronting Moran.

  In a just world, she would have no continuing connection with the courtyard murder; her name would be a mere footnote on an incident report. Yet, she’d inadvertently connected herself by touching the dreaded envelope. In a just world, her carelessness would warrant a scolding from the state attorney at most. State Attorney Lawrence Moran didn’t operate in a just world. He was a bully with far too much power. The merciless Moran relished those opportunities where he could severely penalize minor offenders on any letter-of-the-law technicality.

  No one called Moran “Little Bonaparte” to his face, of course, though there were valid comparisons to the other tyrant, such as being under average height with a round face. Unlike Napoleon, Moran wasn’t a great commander. He was a bully with the power of the state behind him. Such power made any fight with him unfair.

  There are twenty judicial circuits in the State of Florida, each with its own individually elected state attorney. In their Judicial District, such state prosecutors have tremendous control over life and liberty. Moran was one of the twenty. His jurisdiction included Park Beach and the surrounding counties.

  He’d been elected to the office; it wasn’t as though he rose up through the ranks on his superior ability. He simply had run an effective campaign. As state attorney, he had a staff of well-qualified assistants such as Mel Shapiro to prosecute cases.

  Moran had a special reason for wanting to handle personally anything involving Sandra Reid. Twice she’d set back his political ambitions with her cleverness. The first time, when she embarrassed him publicly by exposing the frivolous murder charge he brought against her brother. And again, when he trumped up a conspiracy to commit murder charge against her. In that episode, she forced him to admit his misjudgment in an embarrassing letter to the bar association. He’d never forgive. She was a constant small sharp rock in his shoe. She knew he was eager to come down on her with his considerable power. However, since first encountering her a year ago, he’d become more cautious. He’d learned Sandra Reid could strike back.

  Too early to tell how the murder of Margaret Frome would play out. The manila envelope she’d touched might be entirely irrelevant to the state’s prosecution. She knew her best hope would be for the murderer to confess or have strong evidence of his guilt discovered; her careless touching of the envelope would thereby be unimportant.

  Importance or relevance didn’t matter to Moran. She’d made a punishable error, which he might be able to inflate to the level of a serious violation. He intended to file a formal complaint with the bar association ethics committee. She had handed him an opportunity to retaliate. She wasn’t innocent, and she felt the guilt. She’d screwed up.

  “Ah, there she is, the meretricious Miss Reid.” He greeted her without getting up from his desk.

  “Let me think,” she replied. “Meretricious isn’t a compliment is it?”

  “I understand you now have your license and are presently trying to impersonate a lawyer.”

  “Yes, my dream is to be exactly like you. Of course, I’d need to get used to the townspeople at my door with torches and ropes.”

  She should have kept quiet. Exchanging personal barbs with a state attorney was never a good idea although irresistible for her. She bit her lip and promised herself she’d stay silent for the rest of the meeting. The less said the better. She recognized this situation as a trap. Everything said this morning could end up quoted in a proceeding before the Florida Bar Association.

  “You just received your law license. Didn’t take long for your incompetence to assert itself. Obviously you’re in over your head when it comes to the law.”

  She dearly wanted to come back with a rejoinder to take him down. However, a display of contriteness was called for. Even though it would be wasted on him, she had to get a statement on the record. “First off, Mr. Moran, I want to apologize for possibly screwing up some of the state’s evidence. I’m ashamed to say I stopped thinking. Unconscionable for a lawyer to do such a thing. I realize that, and I know I should be reprimanded.”

  �
��Merely reprimanded?”

  “Okay, severely reprimanded.”

  “You aren’t going to get off that easily if I have anything to say about it, and I do. How does disbarment grab you? You’d be better suited for other jobs. Such as dealing with irate customers in some complaint department.”

  “I realize this incident is serious, yet does it actually rise to the level of disbarment? I went back to the law books and find that obstructing justice is a criminal offense. What I did by touching the envelope doesn’t rise to that definition at all. At the most, it might fall under tampering with evidence, which is a mere misdemeanor. I don’t have your experience in these things, however I believe you’ve charged me incorrectly. What I did might be a misdemeanor, yet isn’t a felony.”

  “Well, then I’ll just have to arrange things so it does rise to that level.” He started making notes on a yellow pad. “You have an ethical obligation to avoid dishonesty....”

  She interrupted, “No dishonesty in this. I could have kept quiet about the entire thing, and you’d have never known.”

  “...and to promote justice, not thwart it.”

  “I had no intention of destroying evidence. I picked up the envelope carefully to check for an address on the other side. As you know, the victim had phoned Martin Bronner to engage his services. Mr. Bronner’s name on the other side would indicate she intended him to have it.”

  “You just handed me another nail for your coffin. If some other ignorant lawyer had touched that envelope they could claim they were emotionally upset because of the scene.”

  “That is exactly what I’m claiming.”

  “Except you see in your case you had a definite interest in the envelope. That envelope could have been favorable or unfavorable for your client, and you picked it up in furtherance of that interest. He started writing. “I’d better make a note of that point. Now, go on. Say something else I can use against you. Why didn’t Martin keep the appointment himself?”

  “He handles the civil. I take the criminal.”

  “And just how did you know there would be a crime?”

  “We didn’t. You see, he takes only squeaky-clean stuff I take the rest. Martin was uncomfortable because of what she’d told him on phone.”

  “So you’re setting up a partnership with him?”

  “Just sharing office space because we’re co-counsel in a lawsuit. At least it started that way, now we’re good friends and I like it there.” She assumed he was aware of their Banks versus Olin lawsuit. The thought that she might succeed and receive a sizable fee probably didn’t thrill him. Best to stay away from that subject.

  “Miss Reid, I have here the police report and the report from ASA Shapiro. Is there anything you’d like to add?”

  “I haven’t read either of those reports, so I can’t answer your question. I can say that the situation couldn’t be simpler. I’ve explained why I was there and admitted it was stupid of me to have touched the envelope.” No point in acting tough, he had her hooked. “I want to apologize sincerely if my actions have caused you any problems.” Anything beyond that would be begging, and they’d have to pull out her nails to get her to do that.

  “This is absolutely killing you isn’t it?” he said, reading her mind. “Sitting there pretending to be repentant. What else do you have to say?”

  She started to make the point that she’d freely admitted touching the envelope but could have remained silent. That point wouldn’t lessen his vindictiveness, so why give him anything else to twist into an attack on her. When you have yourself in a hole, stop digging.

  He didn’t wait for her answer. “I’m notifying the Florida Bar Association of your blatant contempt for the legal standards you swore to uphold when you were granted a license to practice law mere weeks ago. I’m requesting an emergency suspension to protect the public from any further serious harm and to prevent you from accepting any new clients.”

  “And then what?”

  “And then what?” he mocked her. “Surely, you’re not asking the State Attorney for legal advice?”

  “So, when is all this happening? You have a large staff. A big fat indictment of me shouldn’t be any problem for you.”

  “Maybe I’ll wait a while and see where this case goes.”

  “You mean if you positively screw up and lose you can blame the failure of the entire case on me.” She shouldn’t have said that.

  He’d had enough of her. “Considering your attitude I’ve just this minute changed my mind. The sooner I save the public from your antics the better.” He stood. The meeting was over. “I’m starting proceedings against you immediately.”

  “Mr. Moran, I’m willing to submit to an official reprimand. In fact, I deserve it.” On dangerous ground, she should shut up, yet she couldn’t hold back. “But I’ll not sit still for an attempt to disbar me. If you persist, I’ll find a way to make you look ridiculous—again.”

  He struggled to hold on to his composure. “And if I’m successful in getting you suspended, all society will be grateful.”

  She couldn’t resist. “Society is already grateful you didn’t go into brain surgery.”

  “Just keep talking, Miss Reid. I’m getting all this down.”

  Chapter Seven

  Martin Bronner had met Sandy back when he was preparing a lawsuit on behalf of a widow for the wrongful death of her straying husband. Hubby got himself shot while sneaking around outside the house of a depraved woman who had intended the bullet for some other equally wicked man.

  Sandy was intimately connected with the shooting episode and convinced Martin they should join forces in Banks versus Olin. He realized it was a super-sweet case and rightfully one-hundred percent his. Nevertheless, he needed her aggressive style and knowledge since she was already familiar with the cast of evil doers involved in the case. He agreed to let her join him and to split the fee.

  Later, he went a step further and offered her office facilities and desk space until she was able to be on her own. He was happy with the office sharing arrangement. He’d be the first to admit the office was unlikely to attract notable clients without her. When it came to crimes and criminals, he recognized his shortcomings.

  They had worked diligently and believed they had prosecuted the case well. Both sides in the lawsuit had recently completed arguments and they expected Judge Perry Allen to issue his final decision within thirty to sixty days.

  If Martin and Sandy won the judgment, they could legally go after defendant Olin’s three million dollar condominium in Palm Beach. When they sold that valuable property, they would be paid their fee. Each would go to the bank with possibly two or three hundred thousand dollars. Not too shabby for a couple of rookie lawyers.

  Martin projected the appearance of an experienced lawyer yet had the limited legal abilities of one straight out of law school. He came to the law late after years of “screwing around” in Asia and Europe. He had spent his own money abroad, he was quick to tell you, not his father’s.

  He was from money, as they say. His father had specialized in estate law ministering to the wealthy who had retired in Park Beach. When Martin returned to the States and finally took up the law, he was starting fresh with few clients. Considering his family money, he didn’t need to rely on the law practice for income.

  Consequently, he wasn’t concerned about receiving the lawsuit money, nevertheless the victory would mark him as a successful lawyer. His father’s approval would also be valuable, however his father was suffering the early stages of Alzheimer's and might never appreciate the accomplishment.

  A real reward for Martin was working together on the lawsuit with Sandy and having her around. Their friendship had recently taken on a new element; it happened in the spring of that year.

  He had plans to attend the annual weekend music festival in Sarasota. He was taking his father who was becoming less of a companion with his progressive Alzheimer’s. He knew that Sandy liked all music including classical; did she want to com
e along on the drive over to the west coast of Florida? He thought it would be pleasant for the three of them to spend some time together. She accepted enthusiastically and the overnight trip went well.

  They enjoyed the walk around the charming old downtown section, the open-rehearsals and the concerts. She and his father got along wonderfully. His father’s cleverness was evident that weekend, and he entertained her with lawyer anecdotes his son had long since grown tired of hearing. In return, she recalled episodes working as a field investigator for the law firm in Philadelphia.

  Martin looked at her all through the weekend as though she was far more than a mere friend. It was wonderful for him to observe her being carefree away from the office. She was one of those free spirited independent women with high standards and ascendant ambitions who championed her own causes. He didn’t want to risk making her feel uncomfortable, so he forced himself to avoid fixing his gaze at her.

  A strategy began to form in his mind. On the last night, he asked if he could choose where they would dine. He knew of a nearby resort hotel with live music and dancing. It would be the perfect setting for what he had in mind.

  The celebrated resort restaurant he chose for their last evening was unashamedly posh and overpriced, but he had insisted. He had a discussion at the table with the sommelier who, in an attempt to educate him, declared that the wine Martin had in mind for the occasion didn’t exist. Martin politely disagreed. After a flurry of reciprocated French, and after the sommelier made a hurried phone call to the owner, the requested wine was located. The deflated sommelier then apologized for having confused, according to his excuse, two similar French provinces. Martin assured him no apology was necessary. After that incident, their table received attention like paparazzi around a celebrity.

  “That was fun,” she declared. “Has to be the highlight of the evening.” She was mistaken.

  He surprised her with a dance and with what came later. He escorted her majestically to the center of the floor and waited for the appropriate measure in the music. Then in perfect time to the beat, he began to guide her in circles and swirls. He held her at arm’s length, and she glided as though her feet were off the floor. She flowed with him. They were as one. He anticipated when she was about to balk or starting to stumble and would make a slight dip or turn that perfectly covered her misstep and transformed it into another clever dance move. At one point, he noticed her looking down at her feet and quickly performed a turn, and the force threw her head back gently in an elegant manner.