Which is exactly what happened seven days later when the case was called for arraignment and only Thaddeus showed up.
“Mr. Murfee,” said the red-faced judge, his lower lip trembling, “I am not hearing good things. Where is your client Hermano Sanchez?”
That evening, back home, he told his estranged wife what had happened. It was time for their every-other-day catch-up call. He had been convincing his wife that he was done with drinking. The calls had been increasing.
“Repeat that again, please,” Katy asked. “Go slow.”
“I paid this guy’s bail. Of course he left town and I haven’t seen him since. I’m sure he’s back in Mexico.”
“That seems like a good thing to do, helping someone out like that. So what happened in court?”
“Judge Trautman found out I was the one who paid the bail with my own money. Now the court is after me for the other fourteen grand plus Trautman is having me appear in the morning on contempt charges.”
“But I don’t get it,” his wife exclaimed, “you were only helping!”
“Katy, a lawyer is not allowed to make a client’s bail. It’s unethical. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he jerked my license to practice law.”
“Can he do that?”
“In a heartbeat.”
She went quiet.
“I was an idiot,” he said. “I laid my license on the line for a guy I’ll probably never see again.”
“You trusted him to show up. He owed you that. Owes you that.”
“Then I lied to this judge. In court, this morning.”
“You lied? What for?”
He swallowed hard. “I did. He asked me where the money came from that I used for the bail.”
“And you told him it was your own, of course.”
“That’s just it, I didn’t.”
“Go on.”
“I told him a Mexican man I’d never seen before dropped it off at the office.”
“Is that true?”
“Purely a figment of my imagination.”
“You lied to the judge?”
“I was scared. And the courtroom was packed with other lawyers, Thaddeus haters. I couldn’t stand to have him torture me again. So I lied and came up with this dog-and-pony story about a Mexican mystery man.”
“You’ve got to go tell him you made a mistake.”
“Judge Trautman doesn’t do mistakes. He sends people to jail.”
4
The next morning he appeared before Judge Trautman at ten o’clock sharp. The courtroom was packed with the local bar and browsing reporters and sundry onlookers and gossips. To Thaddeus’ dismay, the judge called his case first.
“Mr. Murfee, yesterday I asked you to bring me a copy of the receipt your office gave to the man who paid the bail in this case. Did you bring that to me this morning?”
“No, Your Honor, I didn’t.”
“May I ask where it is?”
“It doesn’t exist.”
“How could that be? This was a transaction required to be in writing.”
“I made it up about the Mexican man with the money. I posted the bail myself.”
“Out of your own money?”
“Out of my own money.”
“Then you compounded that sin by coming in here and lying to the court about the source of the bail?”
You could have heard a pin drop. Every eye, every ear, was riveted.
“Since you put it that way, yes, that sin was compounded.”
“Very well. I am going to make a referral to the district attorney’s office and recommend to them that you be charged with perjury, which is a felony. And I’m also suspending you from practice. Effective immediately.”
“Judge, I have other cases, I represent other—”
“Return the client fees. They can all find other lawyers. They’ll have to.”
“Can’t you give me a lead time of thirty days to put my affairs in order?”
“Mr. Murfee, from the looks of things, your affairs are never going to be in order. And giving you another thirty days to wreak havoc on the public with your law license isn’t going to help. You, sir, are formally suspended. Starting now. Madam Clerk, call the next case on the docket. Good day, Mr. Murfee.”
He kicked himself back across street to his office. It was snowing again and slushy along Aspen Street. A four-wheeler blasted past, spraying a slurry of water and ice against his trousers. He stepped up on the curb and shook his fist. “Damnation!” he screamed. Where was your head at! Thaddeus cried inside. Making bail for a client? Where was my thinking? I knew better than that, five years practicing law, that’s a rookie mistake. No, not even a rookie would be that dumb. You allowed your heart to get involved in your law work and that’s a no-no. You cannot afford to have feelings for your clients!
The shame was overwhelming. He suddenly wanted to flee. But he couldn’t leave. That would make him a fugitive. He was going to be charged with perjury. And he was guilty. Brother, he was very guilty. He could actually wind up in prison over this.
He checked his watch. 10:35. Too early for the noon AA meeting, too late for the ten o’clock. A deepening scowl settled across his face. He hurried inside the bank building and repeatedly punched the elevator button, wild with anxiety. He just needed to go inside his office and shut the door.
Fortunately for Thaddeus, the district attorney, John Steinmar, had a heart. He called Thaddeus over to his office, told him he had reviewed the file, and he had declined to prosecute for perjury. He was going to instead go with a misdemeanor obstruction of justice. Reason? Thaddeus was already on probation for the drunk driving charge. If he got convicted of a felony while on probation he would lose his law license permanently and do some serious time in the penitentiary. District Attorney Steinmar wasn’t comfortable with that happening, especially since he was up for reelection and he hinted that a sizable donation to his reelection campaign would help keep his thinking clear about it. Thaddeus got the message.
He returned to his office and told Christine she was to issue a check for ten thousand dollars to the District Attorney’s Committee to Reelect. Then he went inside his office and shut the door. Following which, he shut his eyes and tried to understand what had happened to him in the past year.
An hour later he was no closer to an answer than he had been at the outset. He sent out for sandwiches and ate alone in his office, chewing a tuna sandwich and slurping coffee out of Styrofoam as he considered his next move. Law practice was definitely out. Then there was the problem of money. What he had was tied up in a conservatorship Katy had obtained from the court when he couldn’t stay sober and was drunkenly burning dollars. Truth was, he was $1,500 away from being flat broke. He received $5,000 a month out of the conservatorship and that was all but gone. Income from clients went right back out for overhead. Thank heavens Christine had been paid Friday and today was only Tuesday. As of five o’clock he would owe her for two days. He would use the rest of what he had to give her severance pay and then it was all gone, all of it. He was actually going to have to get a job. But where? Doing what? A twenty-nine-year-old lawyer with no license? No law firm would touch him, not even for a paralegal position, not while he was disbarred.
Later that night, Katy would share with him by telephone, “From what my law friends tell me it’s not much of an offense to bail someone out of jail. That’s just an ethical violation.”
“But then I lied to the judge.”
“Hell, honey, every lawyer lies to the judge. That’s why they call it court. You’re appearing in front of a king in his royal court. You have to lie or face the consequences.”
“What might those be?”
She made a slicing noise, as one drawing a finger across her own throat. “Off with his head!”
“But I got caught.”
“That’s because you’re so damn honest. I’ve warned you honesty and lawyering are mutually exclusive. But you still insist on law practice even when you don
’t have to anymore. There’s enough money for the rest of our lives and Sarai’s life in the conservatorship.”
“But I believe in helping people through law. It’s what I do.”
“It’s what you did, you mean. You’ve been officially retired for one year.”
He felt a stab of pain. He was going to hate not practicing. It defined who he was, for better or worse. He could think of no higher calling than helping people when the law threatened. He loved to interject himself into the middle of a dispute and say “No” to the process and turn it around in his client’s favor. That was something worth doing with his life.
She drove home her point. “It’s worth repeating. Law and ethics don’t mix well, especially for someone like you, who actually believes in a thing called justice. But you wouldn’t listen. See? I’m not so dumb after all!”
“Nobody ever said you were dumb.”
“Then why aren’t you here with me instead of two thousand miles away? I miss you.”
His face brightened. “Yeah?”
“Sarai and I need you to come home. You’ve lost your license for a year, you have nothing holding you there.”
“I’d drive you nuts, being around all day not working. You’d be trying to go to med school, I’d be bitching and moaning about how bored I am. I don’t think so.”
“Take Sarai to the park. Take her to the zoo, the Shedd Aquarium. She’d even go with you to those damn Bulls games. She’s great company.”
“Except she won’t speak.”
“Having you around full time might change that. We won’t know if we don’t try.”
“I hit a wall in Chicago. I couldn’t stay sober there. I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”
“Take your time coming home. Drive. Go down through the South. See the magnolias, it’s like summer down there. Work on a shrimp boat for a couple of weeks.”
“I think I need to just do something mindless for a while. Like drive a truck.”
“Get real!”
“I am real. I’m thinking North Dakota. Oil Fields. Driving a truck up there.”
“I hate fracking. Think of something else.”
“I’ll work on it. Call you tomorrow.”
North Dakota? Where had that come from? He’d never been. But it represented a place where he had no history, a place where he could start over. But would it just be a geographic, the kind they warn about in meetings? Probably so, but so what? At least he’d be sober. That—sobriety—was one thing he wasn’t sure Chicago could help him with. He flipped open the laptop and started clicking away.
It was a year and he knew nothing about North Dakota. It was time to start reading.
5
During the twelve-month ban from law he spent a good portion of that time in North Dakota, driving a Ford F-250 with a monstrous diesel engine. He towed a fifth wheel flatbed and delivered drilling supplies to the oil fields. It didn’t require a CDL and he didn’t have to join a union. He lived in a man dorm, a rented house with seven other men, two to a bedroom. Housing was extremely scarce and he considered it a huge piece of luck that he had found a place to crash while he put in his sixteen-hour days. He earned enough to support Katy and Sarai long-distance, plus they were keeping half of his conservatorship money each month. So the bills were paid and they were keeping up with Katy’s med school tuition.
For a while, his outlook was improving and he began to have hope again. Sometime in the future he would complete his suspension and get his license back. That kept him going even on those cold, dark days in North Dakota when the wind howled like a banshee, his face and hands chapped from overexposure, and the snow blew in crazy circles around his truck as he made his way from delivery to pickup to delivery. He drank gallons of coffee, puffed away on e-cigs to help pass the time in the cab of his truck, and slept like a baby at night. Life was better than bearable; at times it was actually good.
At Katy’s spring break, Thaddeus flew to Scottsdale from North Dakota while Katy and Sarai flew from Chicago to meet him. They spent a week relaxing poolside at the Phoenician. Sarai swam and spent hours slathered in sunblock at Surge, the interactive spray at the end of the Oasis pool complex. She squealed down the waterslide and enjoyed the falling buckets of water and misting turtles and water cannons.
In the afternoons when the sun would damage skin, they kept her inside their suite and encouraged her to play video games. She still refused to speak. The psychiatrist explained that the kidnapping had significantly altered her emotional health. PTSD was the official working diagnosis. The video games held her interest more than anything else. Thaddeus and Katy cheered her on to repeat the words and phrases the games delivered. It was a glorious day when the first word was uttered, and her parents held each other and wept. Sarai looked at them quizzically and went right back to the console.
At night the parents made love and talked for hours while relaxing at the in-room spa. They sipped coffee and devoured fresh pastries. Mornings saw Thaddeus working out while Katy babysat, then they would trade off and Katy would have her turn.
Then the mother and daughter returned to Chicago. Thaddeus returned to North Dakota and kicked it into high gear. The time flew by as long as he kept up the eighteen-hour days. He received his license back six months later. His shiny new bar card was inspected and admired. He was free to practice again.
6
He took a week driving from North Dakota down to Flagstaff. He enjoyed the mountains and high plains and laid his plans. Just outside Flagstaff he found a house on five acres that backed up to national forest. Ponderosas dotted his land and flowed into the refuge provided by the two million acre forest. He took to dining out with other Flagstaff attorneys, particularly those who weren’t engaged in the practice of criminal law and might therefore need to make a referral here and there. There were plenty of steak and lobster dinners, Mexican restaurants, and a lunch date almost daily. Money wasn’t a problem so he was free to spend; besides supporting Katy and Sarai, he had managed to squirrel away $75,000 in North Dakota and now was when he would need it. He hated to admit it, but he held a special gratitude for fracking, though he knew Katy would violently object.
Lunch with Shep Aberdeen was productive. Shep was a stout, muscular man from Durango who practiced criminal law and raised white-faced cattle. He was medium height with brown hair kept long in back, rimless spectacles, and a mouthful of teeth that produced a refrigerator-white smile. He twiddled his thumbs when his hands weren’t busy animating his conversation. Perched on his middle finger, right hand, was a turquoise ring almost as large as your palm. They had met and become friends through various CLE seminars. Thaddeus found Shep to be a likable guy and there had been an immediate affinity. More than once they had referred cases back and forth, and Shep was game to pick right back up where they had left off.
“Still think Trautman booted your ass on a bum rap,” Shep said over mushroom burgers and tea down at Kathy’s Kafe. “A public censure would have been more in line with the severity of the crime, which was bullshit to begin with.”
“Agree,” said Thaddeus between bites. “But Trautman has hated me since my DUI.”
“Little bastard. He just can’t stand the idea that someone might be having more fun carousing around in the bars than him staying home with his Bible. He suffers from short man syndrome and he’s a ruthless dick besides a wild-eyed religious zealot.”
“Thanks, but how do you really feel? Anyway, technically he was right to jerk my license. It sure as hell could have been a lot worse.”
“Thank goodness the DA’s office gave you a break.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. It could have been worse.”
Shep took a swig of iced tea and leaned close conspiratorially. “Just watch your back. Little bird told me that Trautman’s going to try to get you on something else and see you do time. Evidently he’s not through with you, Thad.”
“Thanks. I’ll watch my step.”
7
&nb
sp; In the summer, Katy came out with Sarai. She had a summer internship with Indian Health Services. On the Navajo reservation, she began meeting new people with whom she had everything in common as she was from there herself. And she began running into family members, people to whom she was related by blood but had never met. One of those was a grand-niece named Turquoise Begay. She was fifteen and attending the small animal clinic in high school. Turquoise came to the medical clinic with an STD. Katy treated her and prescribed medicine. The girl began calling her and it appeared she had found a long-lost older sister.
They became confidants.
And Katy took up her cause. She promised the girl she would protect her. She was related by blood and she was a patient and Katy would save her.
Gonorrhea was a family disease on the reservation; a family disease because it was passed around inside the family.
At least that was the story given to the caseworker by Turquoise.
8
Angelina Steinmar lived in a residential neighborhood northwest of downtown Flagstaff. Her husband was the district attorney and she worked for the Department of Children and Family Services (DCFS). People referred to the husband-wife team as double-dippers: both on the public teat.
A young girl named Turquoise had been treated by the Indian Health Services clinic for gonorrhea. She was a minor, so the DCFS was notified and Angelina responded, facilitating an intervention.
Defending Turquoise (Thaddeus Murfee Legal Thriller Series Book 5) Page 2