The Chi Rho Conspiracy

by Rene Fomby

“Says here you’re not his lawyer. He’s got a court appointed lawyer.”

  Harry nodded to her. “Yes, I think that’s right. I just wanted to take a look at the case files so we can see whether it’s a case we want to take on.”

  “Can’t just hand out criminal case files to any Tom, Dick or Harry walks in here,” she said. “You want a copy of the files, you’re gonna have to take it up with his attorney, or else file a proper motion to substitute.”

  “Okay, fair enough,” Harry agreed. “But can you at least give me the contact info for his court appointed?”

  “You can use the terminals, just like everybody else. Second floor, down the hall. Next!”

  The guy behind him started to muscle forward, but Harry held his ground “Wait, wait! I’m new around here, so I don’t know a thing yet about how your computer systems work. I don’t even have a user ID or password. Could you at least just scribble down a name or number? I promise I’ll figure out the terminal thing just as soon as I can and not bother you again.”

  Giving him a look like he had just recently had a run-in with a rabid skunk, she reluctantly scribbled a phone number down on the paper he had handed her and pushed it back through. Harry grabbed it gratefully and, with a cheerful but poorly received wave, headed toward the elevators. He should probably call the number from there, he decided, on the off chance that the lawyer he needed to talk to was already somewhere in the courthouse. Looking down at the number, he pulled out his cell phone and gave it a try.

  54

  Houston

  The court appointed looked completely frazzled and put out by Harry’s request. “Look, I barely got that file myself, just the other day. Things are still pretty backed up here from the hurricane. So I couldn’t tell you much of anything about the case.”

  Harry was confused. “You just got the file? He’s been locked up on this case for almost four months.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s got an ICE hold on him, so even if he gets out, those ice holes will just throw him in another cell until they’re ready to ship him back to Mexico. So, no rush on that one. I got other clients with needs that take priority over a child molestor.”

  “Alleged child molestor,” Harry pointed out. “Okay, then, is there any chance I could get a look at the file, see whether it’s something my firm might want to take on?”

  “Look, I’m pretty busy with my paying customers. Why don’t you call my office and have Clarise email you what I got. It all comes to us electronic these days, anyway.” Fredo’s lawyer pointed toward the elevator. “I got a hearing in five minutes up on eleven. So call Clarise and see if she can sort it out. I gotta go.”

  Just then the elevator dinged and he jumped in, jabbing at the eleven button even though it was already lit. Harry walked down the hall and took a seat on a metal bench, pulling out his phone and redialing the number he had snagged from the court clerk well over an hour before.

  “Law office,” came the monotone greeting from whoever handled the phones there.

  “Yeah, this is Harry Crawford again. I just talked to your boss over at the courthouse, and he told me to get in touch with a lady named Clarice?”

  “Hold,” came the brief reply, followed by bad elevator music. After a long wait, a voice Harry assumed was Clarice came on the line.

  “Make it quick. I’m busy here. What do you need?”

  “This is Harry Crawford. I’m an attorney here in Houston. Anyway, I just talked to your boss over at the courthouse about getting my hands on a case file you guys just received. He said to contact you, and you could email me a copy.”

  “Awfully nice of him. What’s the perp’s name?”

  Perp. Harry immediately knew he was going to take on the case, just to make sure Fredo saw some semblance of justice. “It’s Alfredo Herrera. Wanted for sexual assault of a minor.”

  “Oh yeah, I know the case. Meskin freakin’ raped a little girl. Hope he gets the gas chamber. What’s your email?”

  Harry rattled off his Gmail address, then got off the line as fast as he could, just in case any of whatever that nest of snakes was selling was somehow contagious.

  55

  Houston

  “Did I hear you right? You’re taking on a rapist? Of a little girl?” Annabelle was aghast, her fork coming to a sudden stop halfway to her mouth.

  “Alleged rapist,” Harry explained. “And it happened over twelve years ago, so who knows what really went down?”

  “I can’t believe it. I thought you were going into civil practice. And now you’re taking on rapists? What’s next? Murderers?” She pushed her plate back. “All of a sudden I’m not hungry.”

  “Don’t be that way, Annie. And, just for the record, I already have handled a murder case. And that turned out pretty well for my client, by the way.”

  “Well, that was before you started dating me,” she shot back. “Before we decided to live together. I just think you need to consider how I feel about things, is all. I mean, if we’re going to share a future together, maybe we should talk these things over together, figure out what’s best for the both of us for a change. And not just for you.”

  “I hear what you’re saying, Annie, but it doesn’t work that way.” Annabelle had stalked off down the hall toward the bedroom, and Harry rose to follow her. “A law firm is a business, and I have to treat it that way. Take cases that make sense for me, for building the business and creating a client list for the future. Maybe things will gel pretty quickly on the civil side, and I can just blow off the criminal cases. But the reality is, civil cases usually drag on for years before you see any money. Plus, criminal is what I know. Figuring out how to handle all the motion practice and calendars in the civil world, that’s gonna take some time. And, in the meantime, I need to make money.”

  Annabelle turned away from him, pouting. “And taking on pro bono cases from stupid Mexicans is going to change that?”

  “No, but I’ve got to start somewhere. Nobody in this town knows a damn thing about me, and I can’t afford to blow five or ten grand a month to hang some big billboard ad out on the tollway. Taking on a few freebie cases is a great way to get my name out there, and figure out how to work the system down here at the same time. And, by the way, where somebody was born shouldn’t make a hill of beans worth of difference as far as justice is concerned.”

  She turned back to face him, and he could see tears starting to flood down her cheeks. “I just don’t know why you have to be so boneheaded about working for one of the big firms in town. My daddy knows a ton of people. He could get you a job in a heartbeat if you’d only ask.”

  Harry hung his head, uncertain of exactly how best to respond. He hated to see her crying, even if he suspected ninety percent of it was just for show. But whatever that percentage was, it almost always seemed to work. “We’ve been over that too many times already, Annie. I’m just not cut out for the big firm shuffle. I’ve seen all too well what that has done to my sister, and I don’t want that kind of life for you or me. So I have to give this a shot, see if I can make it work. I don’t want to look back thirty years from now and say ‘what if.’ And Sam’s willing to give me a boost in the right direction to make that happen. If she’s willing to back me up with this, then maybe you should, too.”

  “Sam!” Annabelle’s eyes flared briefly, choking off the tears. “That’s all I hear around here these days. Sam Sam Sam! You don’t think I notice all those Skype calls every Monday morning after I leave for Barbri?”

  “Look, Annie, Sam’s my law partner, that’s all. And partners need to talk to each other, so I can keep her informed about what I’m up to. After all, it’s her name on the masthead, too, and it’s her money right now that’s paying my bills. So, look, I’ll talk to her and get her take on the new client. If she says to drop it, I will. Otherwise, this guy needs a fair shake, regardless of what went down twelve years ago. And I’m gonna make sure he gets it.”

  “Well, you can just go
sleep in Sam’s bed, then. I bet she’d love that. I bet that’s the only reason she doesn’t have some other man in her life. She’s waiting for you. Get her a little boy toy to hang on to every word she says. And make sure to throw a little money into the mix, just to keep him in line.”

  “No, I—” And that was all Harry could get out before she stepped quickly into the bedroom and slammed the door in his face.

  56

  Houston

  Sam chuckled, shaking her head slowly at him on the small laptop’s screen. “Well, Harry, if that was your first fight, I’d say you and Annabelle are getting along pretty well together. When all is said and done.”

  Harry had moved his laptop out to the picnic table in the backyard, close enough that he could still get a good wifi connection for Skyping, but far enough away that he wouldn’t be bothering Annabelle. Or, to be more honest, far enough away so she couldn’t listen in on their conversation.

  “You know, Sammie, it wasn’t the fight that has me bothered. It was that ugly little green-eyed beast in the room. The jealousy.”

  “And does she have any reason to be jealous?” Sam asked.

  “No, no way! You and I are just friends. You know that, Sammie.”

  “I know that relationships can often look like many different things, depending upon one’s perspective. And Annabelle is clearly concerned that we may be way too close for comfort.”

  “But that’s just plain stupid!” Harry stopped and looked back at the house, suddenly remembering that Annabelle’s bedroom window was not all that far away. He had to remember to keep his voice down, or else she might realize something was going on and come outside to investigate.

  “What a woman feels in her own heart isn’t stupid to her,” Sam suggested. “And I don’t know that I wouldn’t be reacting the same way if the shoe was on the other foot. After all, she doesn’t really know me, does she? Doesn’t know the history of our relationship together.”

  “Like there’s anything to know, Sam. We’re just friends. And law partners.”

  “Right.” Sam stared off screen for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “Look, why don’t we just crank back a little on the Skyping for a while. And the texting, and using your personal Gmail account, just in case she’s checking that sort of thing. We can email back and forth using our secure company account, something she won’t have any visibility to. Just for a while, until she gets to feeling a lot more comfortable about your relationship together.”

  “Sam, I can’t let her interfere—”

  “It’s not interfering, Harry. We can still touch base with each other anytime we need to. We just need to keep everything a little more—discrete. Under the table.”

  “I don’t know. It feels like we’re trying to hide something.”

  “And we are,” Sam agreed. “But hiding something doesn’t make it wrong, Harry. You know that. We lawyers have to hide stuff all the time. It’s almost the definition of what we do.”

  “Okay, okay, you’re right. As always. But look, I have a lot of cases I’m working on right now, and I have to admit I’m actually pretty lost on what to do next. This rapist case, that’s all old hat for me. I just need to learn the system down here in Harris County, figure out who to lean on to get things done, and the rest is just water off a duck’s back. But the civil stuff, every time I respond to a notice or a motion, or send something out myself, I’m worried sick I may have screwed something up. You know how it is—on the criminal side, the DA can’t let me wander too far afield, or else any conviction he gets will be tainted by ineffective assistance of counsel. So I get a lot of under-the-table advice on whatever I do wrong. But that’s not the way it works on the civil side. Those one-eyed pirates are only too willing to sit back and watch me fail. So I desperately need your help right now. A lot of help.”

  “Yeah, I remember very clearly what it was like when I started out three years back, working the criminal beat. And I do have a big edge on you as far as civ pro goes, from all the time I spent as a gofer at Truman. So I’m here if you need me. Just try and keep things on the downlow for the time being. By the way, don’t you have something coming up pretty quickly on the burn case?”

  “I do, Sammie. I’ve got mediation on that case starting bright and early next Monday morning. Although I’m not quite sure why we’re dropping over a thousand bucks on what promises to be just a complete waste of time.”

  Sam’s fingers got busy on the keyboard in front of her. “Hey, I used to feel the same way. How is having another strange person going back and forth—darting from one room to the next, just trying to make us meet in the middle—going to be any different than pounding it out with the other lawyer in the first place. But then my side closed out a few mediations with an outcome pretty far north of our expected number, and I had to rethink, open my mind to all that. Look, I’m sending you a couple of files that might help. One is a breakdown of the McDonald’s coffee case from a plaintiff’s viewpoint, showing how to argue the damages to judges and juries. The mediator is a bit of both, so it might give you some good ideas on how to sway him.” She paused. “Is it a him or a her?”

  “A her. Former district judge.”

  “Right. Then try to think of her as being me when I’m in a particularly cantankerous mood and refuse to listen to any of your brilliant ideas. You’ve always known how to play me like a cheap violin. Same strategy might work with her.”

  “Gotcha.” Harry made a notation on the small yellow legal pad he’d drug out of the house along with his laptop, then quickly checked his inbox. “I see you sent three files. What’re the other two?”

  “Just some high-level process overviews from my mediation class back at Baylor. Remember, this isn’t a trial, so you don’t have to prove causation. Just keep the pedal down on damages. The mediator won’t put any time into the meat of the case, so pound her hard and early on about what the hospital did to your client, show her the pictures, and sell the pain and suffering like it was bottled water at the Alamo in August. You’ll do just fine.”

  “Thanks. For the files, and the advice, but mostly for the moral support. I’m feeling a little naked right now, and you’d think Annabelle would be a great go to for help in that area, but anytime I bitch to her about what I’m doing, she just uses it as yet another excuse to tell me I need to get a job. Probably working for her dad.” Harry gave Sam a wry smile. “But enough about my problems. How did things work out on your trip to Turkey?”

  “I guess you could say it went over better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick, but not a whole lot better. They want me to set up yet another round of meetings, this time with the bankers in Istanbul, but my impression is that it’s all just a big runaround. For whatever reason, at the end of the day, I get the feeling they have no real intention of closing the deal.”

  “So where would that leave you?”

  “Frankly, Harry, I don’t have the answer to that one. I’ll tell you one thing, though, this whole billionaire thing isn’t what it’s all cracked up to be. I’ll take being a thousandaire any day of the week.”

  For perhaps the first time since he had known her, Harry actually thought Sam sounded a little worried. Even more so than the night they were facing the last day of trial on the triple murder, and didn’t have a clue on how to save their client.

  “Well, selfishly, Sam, I’d love to have you back here in Houston. Sooner rather than later. I think you and I could really turn this town upside down.”

  If Annabelle will let us. “I think that’s the future, for sure, Harry. I know I’d be a lot happier with Maddie growing up as a normal, healthy American girl, instead of living this jet-set ex-pat lifestyle, surrounded by nannies and sycophants. In fact, I’m finally beginning to understand why Luke hid all of his money from me all that time. Like they say, money doesn’t buy happiness, it just buys you a bucket load of new things to worry about. And, chief among those, worrying about whether that knife someone’s h
olding in their hand is meant to cut you off a slice of birthday cake, or wind up being plunged straight into your back.”

  “At least you don’t have to worry about me, as far as that’s concerned,” Harry suggested, with a slight sparkle in his eyes. “As you may recall, I had your back when you were just a nobody, Sam Tulley,” he joked. “Just a pissant small town lawyer, barely scraping by.”

  “There is that,” she agreed, finally showing a little sparkle in her own eyes. “At the end of the day, I can always rest easy, knowing I have you in my corner. And you know, Hare, that really means the world to me. That’s something you and I need to make sure we never lose.”

  Harry stole a quick peek toward Annabelle’s silent bedroom window. “Don’t worry about that, Sammie. We got a friendship that will last a lifetime. Or maybe even longer. Nothing’s ever gonna change that.” Or at least I hope not…

  57

  Houston

  Monday morning rolled around almost before Harry knew it, and as he dragged his trial case into the office suite set aside for the mediation, he could only hope he had prepared well enough not to totally blow this thousand-dollar exercise. Sam’s files had helped tremendously, and, in the end, at worst he would just be back at square one, with a slightly better idea of where the other side was in terms of numbers.

  The receptionist settled him into a small conference room and offered him a pot of hot coffee, then promptly disappeared. He was just setting out his files at the far end of the conference table when the mediator arrived, all fake smiles and bon vivant.

  “Mr. Crawford!” she offered, thrusting out a hand in greeting. “Good to finally meet you. Harrison, is it?”

  “Just Harry, Judge,” he told her, giving her hand a firm shake.

  “Oh, none of that, Harry,” she demurred. “It’s just Martha today. We’re all just friends, trying to see if we can move the rock in this case a little further along today. Are you comfortable, by the way? Did Elise explain how to use the wifi?”