Trial by Blood

by William Bernhardt

  Filled to the brim. With enough drugs to stock a pharmacy. Except some of them didn’t look like they came from a pharmacy.

  “We’re going to need photos in here too.”

  Enriquez nodded and made a note.

  Some of the drugs were the normal OTC items you’d expect to find in anyone’s bathroom—Aleve, Tylenol, Band-Aids, Q-Tips. A small bottle of Just For Men. Touched up his sideburns and eyebrows, perhaps? Several bottles of prescription medicine. And several bottles that were not marked.

  That was what attracted his attention most.

  He carefully removed one of the unmarked bottles and poured a pill into his hand. He couldn’t be certain without testing, but he’d spent enough time on the street to recognize Molly when he saw it. Ecstasy. MDMA, for the sophisticated.

  Beside the Ecstasy rested a small bottle containing a yellowish liquid. He opened the lid and took a whiff.

  Again, impossible to be certain without chemical testing, but he thought it was morphine.

  “Something else to bag and tag, sergeant. Every single bottle. After you’ve photographed it in situ.”

  The lieutenant did as instructed, using his phone to take the shots.

  Was Coleman in pain? Or was he a functioning drug addict? There were probably thirty problems with that theory already evident to Kakazu’s trained brain. Coleman held down a job. He functioned. That did not sound like someone on the brink of an OD. This cabinet suggested he was an experienced user. Maybe he needed a little something to get him through the day. Maybe he micro-dosed more than he should.

  It was a puzzlement, to quote his favorite musical, one he noted had played here only a few months ago. He couldn’t be sure—but he didn’t believe it was any kind of OD. That didn’t explain what had been done to the body. Someone else had been in this room last night, someone other than Coleman. Who?

  And something about this room troubled him. Something he hadn’t nailed down. What was it?

  Why was the bathroom door open? All the other evidence suggested Coleman kept a meticulous office. Maybe he had gone in to get something. Or did he go in for a shower? Entirely possible, given the hour.

  And what happens when you take a hot shower?

  He went back to the medicine cabinet and stared at the mirror. Was he imagining it, or could you see something there? Just barely. The faintest traces of...letters.

  On a sudden impulse, he reached into the shower stall and turned on the hot water. Then he closed the bathroom door. And waited.

  Steam filled the small bathroom. And a few minutes later, he had what he wanted. The mirror fogged up. And the letters emerged.

  At the bottom of the mirror, someone had scrawled five letters.

  OSSIE.

  “Enriquez!”

  The lieutenant rushed into the room. “Yes?”

  “Call downtown. Get the DA on the line, then start lining up a judge. I want an arrest warrant within the hour.”

  Enriquez appeared amazed. “Yes, sir. I mean—really? That was fast. Who are we arresting?”

  “The murderer.”

  “How do you know who did it?”

  Kakazu removed his phone and took a photo of the mirror. “Because the victim told me.”

  Chapter 9

  Dan didn’t know what to think of Judge Fernandez. He had no prior experience with the elderly jurist. He was usually on the criminal side of the courthouse, not here in the civil division. To him, civil suits were mostly businesspeople arguing over piles of money, delaying payment or welshing on agreements. Didn’t interest him. But this case was different. A big pile of money was involved, to be sure. But Ossie had much more than that at stake.

  Judge Fernandez was of mixed descent—part Hispanic, part Hawaiian. How did he ever end up on the Florida bench? He was said to be on the conservative side, pro-business, not the person you wanted to approach for a handout. He had no idea how that would play out in this case—the normal dichotomy of liberals and conservatives didn’t have much relevance. If no one found any forensic evidence, it would simply be a matter of whether people believed Ossie’s story. He knew he had to do more than convince the court Ossie was the real deal. He had to make the jury want to rule in his favor, to feel they were doing the right thing by helping a young kid who deserved it and would do good by it.

  He told Ossie to stay home. All they would cover today were preliminary and administrative matters, and courts typically preferred that the lawyers handle those without clients hanging around. When clients were present, everything took longer because lawyers tended to put on shows to impress the people paying their bill. Better to save Ossie for later. Let Maria buy some decent clothes for him. Let Jimmy spread some positive gossip. What people said about first impressions was true—you only get one. They would make it as good as they possibly could.

  The plaintiffs’ team was represented by two lawyers from Dan’s former firm, Friedman & Collins. He knew them well enough to call them by name, but he’d never spent any time with them. Linda Caldwell and Richard Drake, both senior partners. That meant the Coleman family was spending major moolah on this litigation.

  He spotted people he believed to be members of the family in the gallery. They didn’t sit at counsel table, but they were present. The oldest man was confined to a wheelchair. That had to be Zachary Coleman, the man who made the millions. He looked weak, feeble, unhappy. The oxygen tank under his chair reminded one and all that he was dying of COPD. On the bench nearby were two adult men with a middle-aged woman who seemed to chatter nonstop. She was probably married to one of the men, but she seemed to address both equally so he couldn’t be sure which. His impression was that she wasn’t there so much because the lawyers wanted her as because she refused to stay away.

  He decided to plant some seeds and see if he got a reaction. He approached Linda Caldwell, the friendlier of the two opposing lawyers.

  “Hey, Linda. Long time no see.” Scarf tie. Jade-colored pendant. Three rings on three fingers of her left hand.

  “I’m surprised to see you, Pike. Are you still practicing?”

  He tried not to roll his eyes. “Yes, there is life after Friedman & Collins.”

  “Making ends meet?”

  “Making twice what I did at your factory.” Not quite true, but it sounded good. “You should consider going out on your own.”

  “Leave the most prestigious firm in the city? No thanks. It’s all downhill from here.”

  “Might come a time when you want to be your own boss.”

  Drake inserted himself in the conversation. “Except that’s not what you did, is it, Pike? Word on the street is that you’re a hired gun for some weird disembodied voice—and you don’t even know who he is.”

  “I know the cases he brings me are worthwhile. That’s all that matters.”

  Drake smirked. “Fighting for truth, justice, and the American way, are you?” He lowered his voice. “Because this case looks like a bunch of relatives squabbling over the patriarch’s portfolio.”

  “This case is about my client establishing his identity. To him, it has little to do with money and everything to do with family.”

  “Oh, I’m sure,” Drake said, grinning from ear to ear. “It’s just the principle of the thing.”

  “Yes, actually. That’s exactly right.”

  “Whatever. Your guy is a desperate grifter who thought he’d take a shot at a fortune. Like that guy who claimed Howard Hughes left him a bundle because he gave him a lift one night.”

  “My client was abducted as a child. Held captive for years.”

  “And then magically appeared in time to get in the will before the old man clocked out? Please. Total con man. Did you get the DNA report, Pike?”

  He tugged a file out of his backpack. “Yeah. Compares Ossie’s DNA to the rest of the Coleman clan. They say Ossie could be a member of the family.”

  “The operative word being ‘could,” Caldwell replied. “The expert couldn’t eliminate the possibi
lity, but the commonalities aren’t sufficient to prove unquestionably that he sprang from the Coleman bloodline.”

  “We’ll have to rely on something other than DNA.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  “Yeah. Good lawyering.”

  “You know...” Drake lowered his voice. “This is all very preliminary, but I have been authorized to offer your guy a little...settlement package.”

  “How little?”

  “Ten thousand bucks.”

  He tried not to laugh. “That’s not a settlement offer. That’s go-away money.”

  “Frankly, that’s all you’re entitled to. You don’t have much of a case.”

  He smiled and offered a little salute. “We’ll see. My partners are gathering evidence as we speak. Let me know if you ever have a real settlement offer. If you wait too long—it will no longer be an option.”

  That sounded sufficiently ominous, even though he hadn’t a clue what it meant. This conversation was going nowhere, so he grabbed the opportunity to get away from these smug losers. Had he been like that, back in the day? Thank God he got thrown out of that firm. That wasn’t who he was at all.

  Was he?

  Or is that who he was then, but now—?

  The bailiff entered the room and brought the court to order. A few moments later, Judge Fernandez took his seat at the bench. He pushed on a pair of reading glasses, stared at a stack of papers, then called the case. Hunched slightly. Almost completely bald. Liver spots on his hands.

  “I note that both parties are represented by counsel. Are there any motions or discovery issues we should take up at this time?”

  Drake took it upon himself to answer. “No, your honor. We’ll be sending the normal motions, but we’re ready to proceed when the court is ready. We’d be good to go to trial today.”

  The corner of the judge’s mouth turned up slightly. “Nice bravado. But I think we’ll give the parties time to do a little discovery first. My docket is relatively open though. Would anyone object to this case being set down four months from now?”

  Four months? For a civil case, that was the equivalent of being tried tomorrow morning. Was there a reason the court was fast-tracking this? The publicity? Or was someone pushing his buttons, encouraging him to resolve this fast. Like before Grandpa kicks off?

  He made a mental note to ask Garrett to investigate whether Judge Fernandez had any ties to the family.

  “I’ll have my clerk issue the usual deadlines,” the judge continued. “But I see no reason why we can’t handle this expeditiously. I assume that’s in everyone’s best interest. Ossie Coleman has been a source of controversy for too long. Let’s see if we can give the family some peace.”

  He didn’t know what to make of that completely unnecessary speech. He didn’t like it, though.

  After the schedule was agreed upon, the clerk issued a form and all parties signed it. He would’ve liked to speak to the family members in the gallery, but he knew their lawyers wouldn’t approve. Jimmy was setting up interviews. He’d wait until it could be done in the court-approved manner.

  He was surprised to find Jazlyn waiting outside the courtroom doors. Her lips were pursed and she looked tense.

  “I assume this is not about the birthday party.”

  “No. Though Esperanza loved your gift. Where do you get all this Hello Kitty stuff?”

  “Japan.”

  “Of course you do. Look, this is really none of my business, but an arrest warrant just came through the office and it concerns you.”

  “DA Belasco has finally decided to lock me up for beating his lawyers in court too often?”

  She gave him a look he chose not to describe. “No, it’s about this Ossie Coleman business.”

  “Why would the DA be involved? This is a civil case.”

  “It was. I mean, it still is, but it’s about to be criminal, too. One of that kid’s uncles has been murdered.”

  He felt a hollowness inside his chest. “You’re kidding.”

  “Sorry, no.”

  “Does the family know?”

  “I doubt it. This just broke.”

  She must be right. They wouldn’t be sitting around in the courtroom if they knew a family member had been murdered. “As if this case couldn’t get any weirder. Who did it?”

  “That’s the thing. The police think your client did it. Ossie—or as they say, the man-who-would-be-Ossie. Some officers have already left to pick him up.”

  “That makes no sense. Why would Ossie want to kill his uncle?”

  “Come on, Dan. The only question is why he didn’t take out the whole family.”

  “Motive is not proof of guilt, and that estate has more than enough money to go around. Why do they think it was Ossie?”

  Jazlyn tightened her lips. “Apparently, just before he died, the victim ID’d Ossie as his killer. In writing.”

  Chapter 10

  Ossie heard the sirens well before he saw the cop cars on the street.

  Why? He hadn’t done anything. His roommate had a drug problem, but that wouldn’t cause a commotion like this. All the other kids in this home were completely non-dangerous. He couldn’t imagine them trespassing across an old man’s lawn—and he doubted those sirens were about trespassing.

  His cell phone buzzed. He pulled it out.

  It was that lawyer. He felt an icy chill in his chest. “Yeah?”

  “Ossie? Dan. I don’t have time to explain, but the police are coming to arrest you.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m on my way, but they’ll get to you before I do, so listen up. Do not resist. And do not say a word. No matter what. They will try to provoke you. They will try to get you to say ill-advised things. You ignore them and keep your lips shut tight. I’ll do the talking when I get there.”

  “What’s the charge?”

  Short pause. “Murder.”

  “What the hell?”

  “It’s Harrison, your uncle.”

  His voice flatlined. “Harrison? Damn.”

  “That’s an example of exactly why you should keep your mouth shut.”

  “They’ll let me hang before they’ll let me have a piece of their money.” Ossie pulled back the curtain. One cop car was parked outside, blocking the driveway. Another was parked across the street. Two uniformed officers were crossing the lawn.

  They had guns.

  “Gotta go.”

  “Ossie!”

  He shoved the phone into his pocket. Downstairs, he heard the doorbell ring. He knew Marjorie would let them in.

  He listened carefully. Sounded like she was asking for a warrant, but of course they had one. They would be up here in seconds. He had to time this just right.

  As soon as he heard the police enter the house, he shoved open his bedroom window and crawled out onto the roof. The angle was sharp. He had to be careful—and be quiet. He didn’t want anyone to know he’d skipped out until he was far far away.

  Fortunately, it was just a two-story house. The eave of the roof was maybe fourteen feet off the ground. If he swung wide he could avoid the hedges. He got down on his knees and slowly lowered himself off the edge.

  A cop appeared in his bedroom window. “Hey, kid! Stop right there!”

  He swung his feet out and let go.

  He fell hard and didn’t quite miss the hedge. His ankle twisted on the rock wall separating the hedge from the lawn. It hurt. He fell on his butt, rolling a bit to avoid the pain. He rolled too far—his head smashed against the trunk of the front-yard elm.

  “Ow!” He shouted before he thought about it, before he could stop himself. Damn it all, this escape was not going well. He scrambled to his feet, ignored the soreness, and hobbled away as quickly as he could manage.

  “Kid, I’m ordering you to stop!”

  He kept running.

  “You are under arrest. Any attempt to flee will constitute resisting arrest!”

  Keep moving, he told himself. You’ve got a big lead. Yo
u can make it.

  Across the street, he knew the mismatched fences between two yards left a narrow alley. He could cut through that to get to Glenwood. Once there he could hop a fence—if he could hop a fence—and cross into the Wilcox strip mall. Then he had his choice of shops to disappear into. If kept a low profile, he could wait them out. As soon as the heat was off, he’d figure out what to do next.

  What could he possibly do next?

  He didn’t know, but this was not the time to dwell on it.

  Keep moving!

  He made it to Glenwood, but he could hear footsteps close behind him. Given the circumstances, he had to assume his pursuers moved faster than he did. He knew better than to look back to check. He couldn’t afford to lose time.

  He saw the fence and launched himself toward it. He pushed himself upward and grabbed the top of the fence—

  He felt a strong pair of hands clutch him around the waist. He tightened his grip but wasn’t strong enough to resist. The cop pulled him downward. They both fell onto the grass in a tumble.

  Ossie tried to scramble to his feet, but the cop grabbed his foot, holding him back. He twisted and shook but he couldn’t get free.

  “You’re only making this hard on yourself,” the cop grunted through clenched teeth.

  “I won’t let you put me in another cage.” He tried to yank his foot loose, but he couldn’t do it. Worse, he heard another cop approaching in the distance.

  If he was going to do anything, it had to be now.

  He pretended to lose balance and fall. Once he was close enough, he grabbed the cop’s hand—and bit it.

  The cop screamed. His grip loosened just long enough for Ossie to escape. He turned back to the fence—

  And the second officer threw him to the ground.

  The second cop stood over him, sweating, pinning one arm behind his back. He held a taser pointed downward like a gun.

  “You ever been tased, boy? You wanna see what it feels like?”

  “Let go of me!”

  “You got a hell of a nerve, boy. That nice lady back there trusted you.”