by Parnell Hall
“Of course not,” I said. “Your son and I are discussing the case in front of you. Feel free to jump in if you like.” I turned back to Junior. “What’s her take on it?”
“It’s absolutely absurd, her father never killed anyone, it didn’t happen.”
“That’s pretty emphatic. How would she know? She was just a child at the time.”
“She’s grown up now. She knows what’s what.”
“That she does,” I said. “Well, I was just about to give your father some advice on the case. You wanna stick around and hear it?”
“You got a lot of nerve,” Millsap senior said.
“It makes up for a lack of brains,” I told him. “Look, here’s the situation. I feel bad about the position you’re in. I’d like to help you out. So here’s a friendly tip. If I were you, I’d hunt up the ADA, see if he wants to plea-bargain.”
Millsap couldn’t have looked more shocked had he been run over by a Mack truck. “Plea-bargain? Are you nuts? Who wants to plea-bargain?”
“You’d be surprised,” I said. “The ADA can’t be all that happy about the case. I bet if you played your cards right, you could get him to offer manslaughter.”
“They won’t talk manslaughter. They’re pushing for murder.”
“They’ll never get it.”
“I’m glad you’re so sure. They got this witness who saw the fight.”
“He’s a bad witness. You’ll eat him alive.”
“He did okay in front of the grand jury.”
“Of course he did. You weren’t there. Just the ADA holding his hand. On cross-examination the guy’s dead meat. A jury hears his account, they won’t get murder.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Don’t hope. Make it happen. Get the ADA to agree to manslaughter, three to five.”
“Even if I wanted to, he wouldn’t go for it.”
“Yes, he would. You don’t know how bad this witness is.”
“If he’s that bad, why shouldn’t I fight it out?”
I turned to the younger Millsap. “If you have any influence with your father, maybe you can get this through his head. His client’s sweating a murder rap. He should be apprised of his options. I’ll tell him myself if I have to, but I’d rather it came from his lawyer. So ask him if he’d like to plead it out three to five manslaughter, right now, bang, it’s all over, and the case never goes to trial.”
The older Millsap frowned. “That’s a strange way to put it. What are you getting at?”
“Just ask him,” I said, and walked out.
50.
IT MADE THE FRONT page of the New York Post. DELAYED JUSTICE was the headline. Underneath was a picture of Balfour and a picture of Jenny in a bikini. The paper justified the leg art by pointing out that they had both been suspects in a recent murder. The fact she had been practically a toddler when this crime occurred was somehow glossed over.
BALFOUR COPS PLEA the sub-headline read.
The lawyer for Joseph Balfour, who was indicted last week in the 1990 murder of Fletcher Headly, today reached an agreement with the district attorney’s office to plead his client to a lesser charge. Balfour entered a plea of guilty to a count of manslaughter stemming from the death of Headly and was sentenced to three to five years in the state penitentiary. With good behavior, Balfour could be eligible for parole in as few as eighteen months.
The plea effectively disposes of one of the most unusual murder cases in recent memory. Headly’s murder took place on June 15, 1990. Balfour was arrested on that date and charged with assaulting Headly. However, through a bizarre case of miscommunication between the police force and the medical community, it was not known that Headly had died. As a result, when Headly failed to appear in court to press charges, the assault charge was dropped. No one at the time knew Balfour was actually guilty of murder.
With one exception: Philip T. Grackle, a man with a history of blackmail and extortion.
Grackle made a point of obtaining sufficient evidence to convict Balfour of the crime. In short order, he obtained: Balfour’s arrest record; Headly’s death certificate; and a signed statement of a witness to the altercation between Balfour and Headly. On the strength of this evidence, Grackle had been extorting money from Balfour for years.
It was also on the strength of this that the police originally arrested Balfour for the murder of Grackle, a charge they have subsequently come to realize was without foundation. However, on the basis of the conclusive proof that Balfour had killed Headly, the prosecution went ahead and had the grand jury indict him for murder.
Yesterday afternoon Balfour pled guilty to the lesser charge.
The article was continued on page 12.
I didn’t turn to page twelve.
I hopped in my car and headed for the office of Millsap & Millsap.
51.
MILLSAP SENIOR WAS SMILING all over his face. “Manslaughter,” he said. “I thought you were nuts with that manslaughter stuff, but damned if it didn’t work.”
“You’re mighty happy.”
“Well, who wouldn’t be? Yesterday I’m facing countless legal hassles, and suddenly they all went away.”
“Yes, they did. But you weren’t that happy with the prospect when I laid it out. I wonder what changed your mind. Your son wouldn’t be having problems with his client, would he?”
“What makes you say that?”
“The famous Millsap family rivalry. How’s Junior doing this morning?”
“Pulling his hair out, last I saw. And trying to calm his client down.” He shook his head and grinned. “It wasn’t a pleasant sight.”
“Well, I guess I better go let the boy off the hook.”
“Hey, you’re not going to put me back on it, are you?”
“Never fear.”
“You sure you wouldn’t wanna let him twist in the wind a little?”
“I think he’s suffered enough for one case, don’t you?”
“You weren’t around when he was gloating before.”
“Maybe not. But look at it this way. If he can’t control his client, she could get us all in trouble.”
“Good point. Go straighten him out. Can you make him feel dumb while you do it?”
“I think that’s a given.”
The door flew open and Jenny Balfour burst in. She was a fright. She had been crying, and mascara was running down her cheeks. Her hair was a tangled mess. Her frumpy smock was as attractive as body armor.
“You son of a bitch!” she yelled. “You did this. You set my father up and let him take the fall.”
Jenny lunged for me.
Millsap junior tried to stop her. He might as well have thrown himself in front of a speeding truck. Jenny pushed him backward as if he weren’t even there.
I suppose I could have helped him make a goal-line stand. Instead I stepped out of the way and let Jenny push him over. She fell on top of him, twisted free, and staggered to her feet with some of the steam knocked out of her.
“You have a right to be angry,” I said in a preemptive strike. “I was coming to tell you about it. I got something to say. Then you can be as mad as you like. But physically assaulting your attorney is not the way to go.”
Her eyes blazed. “You put my dad in jail.”
“Who told you that?”
“Everyone keeps giving you credit.” She snorted. “Credit. How do you like that? As if you’d done something good.”
“Yeah, it is ironic,” I said. “Junior, can we use your office?”
The younger Millsap had recovered his balance, if not his composure. “Could you what?”
“I need to talk to Jenny alone. Your office seems a good place, since you don’t happen to be in it.”
He couldn’t quite believe I’d asked him that. His face was so red I couldn’t see his freckles. “No, you may not use my office. No, you may not talk to my client alone. No, you may not whatever else you might be asking for. Haven’t you meddled in this case enough?�
��
“Fine, I’ll butt out,” I said, and walked out the door.
He stopped me before I got to the elevator. Actually, it was a dead heat between him and Jenny. Neither looked happy.
Moments later, I ushered Jenny into his office. “Sit down,” I said, closing the door.
“I don’t want to sit down.”
“All right,” I said. “Stand up. Stand up the whole time. Don’t sit down no matter what you do.”
She frowned at me. “What the hell are you up to?”
“Just trying to show you if your purpose is to defy me, you can’t manage it a hundred percent. So I’m going to sit down behind this desk and pretend I’m a lawyer for a minute. I suggest you sit in that chair.”
“Why?
“Well, the desk between us would make it harder for you to scratch my eyes out.”
“You’re not funny.”
“I know. But I’m not the bad guy, either. Let’s have a little talk. When we’re done, if you still think I’m the bad guy, slap me in the face again and our relationship will end the way it began.”
“Start explaining, damn it. My attorney says copping a plea was your idea.”
“It seemed like the right move.”
“Are you nuts? Are you crazy? You don’t even know the facts.”
“I know more than you think.”
“You couldn’t. Or you wouldn’t be so stupid.”
“Hey, don’t sell me short. Trust me, I can be pretty stupid.”
She threw her hands to her head. “Stop. I’m going nuts. Nothing makes sense. Tell me, please. What the hell is going on?”
“Okay,” I said. “Here’s what it’s all about. Basically, it’s all about you. Two years ago you were hospitalized for a car accident. Broken bones, facial cuts and bruises. Grackle had that hospital record attached to a police report of a John Doe. Just the way he had your father’s arrest record attached to the police report of the death of Mr. Headly. The inference was obvious: The John Doe died in your car. But there was another possibility. The gentleman in question had put you in the hospital; your father had beaten him to death.”
Jenny started to protest.
I put up my hands. “Please, let’s not argue it now. Or we’ll never get done. Just let me lay out the facts for you. Your dissenting opinion is noted.
“Okay, why was this such a good possibility? First of all, because your father has a history for violence—and, please, let’s not argue that either. And second of all, because your family has a history of protecting each other.” I rubbed my forehead. “Which is what drove me nuts from the beginning. Everyone’s being blackmailed, and everyone’s payin’ it. Why? These are a bunch of stand-up people. These are the type of people who’d tell the blackmailer to go to hell. So why are they such wimps? Mommy’s payin’ off her dirty pictures. Daddy’s payin’ off his manslaughter rap. And you’re payin’ off your dancing gig. How can that be?
“Well, it has to do with these Balfours protecting each other. Daddy’s payin’ off the dirty pictures. Mama’s payin’ off the manslaughter rap.
“And who’s payin’ off the homicide rap when you went to the hospital? Could it be you? Could you be protecting your father? Could that be the source of your blackmail? Could your job at Midnight Lace have nothing to do with it?”
“You’re so off base,” Jenny scoffed.
“Maybe. But these are just suppositions. I’m throwing out possibilities. Of course, some of them are going to be wrong.”
“They’re all wrong.”
“Not entirely. Here’s the way I piece it together. A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, a young girl fell on hard times and posed for some pictures she probably shouldn’t have. That girl was your mother. Those pictures fell into the hands of a man by the name of Headly.
“Now, Headly was not your everyday, ordinary blackmailer. He had his own philosophy: Don’t blackmail the victims, blackmail their loved ones. So Headly took the pictures of your mother and blackmailed your father. Bad move. Your father paid Headly off. But as soon as he destroyed the pictures, your father confronted Headly. They had a fight in a bar. Your father beat Headly senseless.
“Your father was arrested, but Headly managed to crawl off into a back alley, where he collapsed and died.
“This evidence was put together by a Mr. Grackle, who proceeded to blackmail your father.
“These facts are very well known. It is, in fact, the crime your father has just confessed to.”
Jenny let out a soft moan.
I nodded sympathetically.
“What’s killing you,” I said, “is the fact he didn’t do it.”
52.
JENNY’S MOUTH FELL OPEN. She blinked at me.
“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” I told her. “And you know it better than anybody. It never happened. Oh, they had the fight all right, and Headly beat it before the cops got there. But Headly didn’t crawl off to die. Headly hightailed out through the back alley and started home. When what should he happen upon but a John Doe. Some poor vagrant son of a bitch cashed in his chips in the alley. Well, Headly’s a clever sort, and Headly has it in for your dad, and Headly knows the cops just picked him up. So Headly sets the stage to frame him on a murder rap.
“I don’t know how much staging was required. Headly had to kick the guy around some to make it look like he’d been in a fight. But the main thing Headly did was drop his ID on him. Nothing major, you understand, and certainly nothing with a picture on it. But just sufficient he’d be taken in and buried under that name.
“So what happens then? Headly takes the evidence of his own death, and makes your mother jump through hoops. And why not? She’s never met him before. She has no idea he’s the guy who’s supposed to be dead. Your father was the one payin’ off the porn pictures. But he’s not gonna deal with your father. What could go wrong?
“Well, for one thing, a man by the name of Starling, a man you subsequently knew as Grackle. He found out, and what a sweet deal that was. Here’s a man takin’ money on the theory he’s dead. Starling shakes him down for a cut not to say he’s alive.
“This very nice arrangement goes on until two years ago. What happens? Your mother gets elected to the city council. It’s too good an opportunity to pass up. Headly gets greedy. He still has the porno pictures. He goes to Grackle, says, ‘Hey, I’m tired of payin’ you the vig every month. But here’s something better. The husband who thinks I’m dead. This would be a neat time to shake him down.
“So Grackle makes a pass with the pictures. Your father is dumbfounded. Where the hell did these come from? He thought he’d killed the man who had them. And he thought he’d bought the pictures back. Of course, Headly kept a set, and Headly wasn’t dead. So Grackle moves in on your dad. Which might have worked.
“Except for you.
“Time has passed. The little girl has grown up. She’s noticed that certain things about her family life are strained, to say the least. She’s investigated. She’s followed her mother. She’s followed her dad. She’s seen Headly. She’s seen Grackle. She’s seen Headly meet Grackle.
“Which brings us to the night of August third.
“She meets with Headly. She’s young, pretty, full of the naive arrogance of youth. She thinks she can make him stop just by asking him to.
“Big mistake.
“Headly isn’t taken in by her charm. Headly beats the shit out of her. Her father, in a murderous rage, finds the man who beat up his daughter. It’s the man he thought he killed. He loses it. In a blind fury, he kills him again.”
Jenny was practically jumping out of her chair.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s absolutely ridiculous. Farcical. I feel like a fool just saying it. It’s too stupid. It simply can’t be. You needn’t make that argument. I’m in complete agreement.
“It didn’t happen.
“Here’s what did.
“As I say, the daughter found out everything, confronted the man. Who
laughed in her face. Taunted her. Perhaps even showed her the blackmail photos. The ones of her mother.
“The girl was outraged. She followed Headly that night. Followed him in her car. Followed him until he parked his. Followed him until he was crossing the street.
“She gunned the motor, ran him down.
“The car went out of control, slammed into a light pole.
“The girl sustained cuts, bruises, and a broken arm.
“The girl had her cell phone. She called her father. He raced to the scene. Imagine his shock at finding the man he was supposed to have killed years ago. There was no time to dwell on that. He searched the body, removing any means of identification. He dressed it in rags, dumped it in the bowery, just another John Doe.
“He took his daughter to the hospital, told them she had been in a car accident. But he didn’t report it to the police. He had the car towed, had the body work done the next day.
“He did a good job. No one suspected a thing.
“Except Grackle.
“Grackle put it all together. Probably even ID’d Headly. Not to the police, just for himself. Went down, took a look at the body, said, ‘No, I don’t know him,’ while dollar signs flashed in his head. He proceeded to clean out Headly’s bank account and start blackmailing you.
“Of course you were a kid, you had no money to pay, but, no problem. Another of the men on his hook was Darien Mott, owner of Midnight Lace. Easy enough to get you a job there to get the money to pay off. You’ve been dancing to Grackle’s tune ever since.”
Tears were streaming down Jenny’s face. “You see? You see now? You see why I have to go to the police? You see why I have to confess?”
“Actually, I see why you don’t.”
“What?”
“You’re young, you’re emotional, you haven’t thought this through. Your father’s caught a good deal, light sentence, he’ll be back before you know it. You’re free of a blackmailer. So is your mom. The Grackle killing is as good as closed. The police know Darien Mott did it, they just don’t have enough evidence to convict. But Mr. Mott is no longer a factor in your life.