Trial and Terror

by ADAM L PENENBERG

  “Tried that already. No slots available.”

  Summer knew this. Although the federal government was willing to spend hundreds of millions on drug interdiction and border patrols, there was no political will to provide users with tools to escape their addictions. If Cruz stuck around Haze County, it was only a matter of time before he’d end up serving hard time.

  She looked around, and then whispered, “The weather in Costa Rica is wonderful this time of year.”

  “What?”

  Summer couldn’t tell him to flee—she could be charged with aiding and abetting a felon. “The weather in Haze County, for you, could get very hot, very uncomfortable. Wouldn’t you like to get away from it all? Go to Las Vegas or New York or Dallas?”

  “A vacation?”

  “Far away from here.”

  “How far?”

  “Far.”

  Cruz cracked a grin and scratched an armpit. “You know, I’ve always wanted to see Vegas.”

  “I hear it’s so brightly lit, you can get a tan at midnight.”

  “Thanks,” Cruz said. “I owe you one.”

  “No offense, Mr. Cruz, but the best payback is if I never see you again.”

  Cruz wiped his nose with the bottom of his tank top, displaying a belly button stud and a tattoo of a syringe, the needle squirting dots of liquid. He stood, his giggling muffled by his shirt, and left.

  Skirting the law made Summer nervous, although it beat letting Cruz get twenty-five-to-life for stealing cookies. She hoped he had the sense to leave the state before seeking his next fix.

  A buzzing noise from inside her purse. She reached in to pull out her phone. Eddie Brockton calling again. She stared at the number. OK, so he was a sleaze. But what would it be like to work in a glittering office tower, representing freshly scrubbed clients in designer suits and silk dresses, to pick and choose clients instead of being picked on and chosen, to earn five times the money with one-tenth the stress? Cruz wasn’t the only one who could escape.

  She jammed the phone back in her purse while mentally composing her resignation letter to the P.D.’s office:

  Dear Jon,

  I just can’t take it any more. I suffer fighter-pilot fear every time I walk down a deserted street or turn a corner at night alone, afraid a former client is going to beat me, or rape me, or kill me. Just getting through the workday is a personal triumph.

  It shouldn’t be like this. I’m going where the money is. I’m going where the living is easy.

  After what I’ve been through, I hope you’ll forgive me. I did my best.

  She was jarred by a hand on her shoulder.

  It was Rosie: “Gundy’s dead. I just heard the cops found him. He was murdered. Some weird, twisted serial thing.”

  “What?” Summer stuffed the note back in her purse.

  “You think it could’ve been your psycho video-rapist?”

  Summer thought of her run-in with Marsalis in the bathroom. “He had no reason to kill Gundy,” she said carefully. “He won.”

  “Gundy got it the night before the verdict. Marsalis couldn’t have known he was going to get off.”

  “What was the time of death?”

  “Don’t know. Why?”

  “Something he said.” Summer shivered.

  Rosie tapped out a cigarette from a pack of Lucky Strikes. There was no smoking in court buildings, so she jabbed it, unlit, into her mouth. “If the cops want to talk to you, what are you going to say?”

  “I’ll claim attorney-client confidentiality. But you know, I don’t think Marsalis did it.”

  “Shit. Maybe you’re right. Hell. You, me, all P.D.s had better reasons to ice that bastard than Marsalis did.”

  Chapter 4

  Summer was back in Hightower’s court. This time as a defendant.

  She glanced over to Jimi Cruz, his lips purple and crusty, handcuffed and wrapped in a jumpsuit, Haze County Jail emblazoned on the back. He was spitting air, trying to get her attention, but she knew better than to make eye contact.

  She couldn’t help herself. “How bad is it?”

  Levi looked away. “Can’t say until I’ve cross-examined Cruz.”

  “But Raines wouldn’t have initiated this if he didn’t think he could nail me, right?”

  Levi leaned closer, whispered. “You know better than to ask that. Summer, you’re a terrific attorney, but a lousy client. Bragg is right behind us, so shut up and look innocent.”

  Summer resisted the urge to peek back at Chuck Bragg, court reporter for the Haze County Register, who sat a couple of rows back, a spiral-bound notebook poised on his lap.

  Raines addressed the judge. “The charges against Ms. Neuwirth are serious. She knew Mr. Cruz had two strikes against him, yet she encouraged him to flee the state. It’s all in the police report.”

  Levi scowled. “Objection. Sidney knows a police report is not admissible.”

  Hightower peered over his eyeglasses. “Jon, this is a hearing, not a trial; therefore, I will allow the inclusion of the police report. Go ahead, Sidney.”

  Raines paraphrased, “Officer Mobley was involved in a drug sweep. When Mr. Cruz offered to sell him heroin, the officer tried to arrest him. But Mr. Cruz threw the heroin in his face and fled. The officer gave chase, cornering him two blocks down. When he attempted to pacify the suspect, Cruz screamed, ‘I have AIDS,’ and bit him on the arm, drawing blood.”

  “Does he?” the judge asked.

  “Thankfully, no.”

  The judge slid Cruz an oblique glance. “What did the ever-excitable Mr. Cruz do next?”

  “The officer brought him downtown. In the van, Mr. Cruz said—”

  Levi sprang to his feet. “Objection! Let’s cut the hearsay. Mr. Cruz is right here.”

  Hightower reflected. “That sounds reasonable. But Eddie,” he said to the advancing Sprague, who was never more than a half-step behind the judge, “don’t unchain him. Leave him where he is.” He turned to Cruz. “I must emphasize you are under oath. Continue, Sidney.”

  Raines stared Cruz down. “Do you remember the attorney assigned to you three days ago?”

  Cruz grinned. “She’s a babe, Sid.”

  “Could you identify her?”

  “Sure. Blonde, blue-eyed—Hey, Summer, is that blouse teal or aqua?”

  Summer tried not to smile.

  Levi said, “We’ll stipulate Ms. Neuwirth was Mr. Cruz’s attorney.”

  “Thanks,” Cruz said. “Nice tie, dude. Jerry lives.” He clanked a shackled arm in the air.

  Raines broke in. “When you and I met at police headquarters, what did you tell me with regards to your attorney’s conduct?”

  “She talked about the weather. I said Haze County is hot this time of year. It is. Dries out my skin. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find moisturizer when you’re homeless?”

  “What else did Ms. Neuwirth say?”

  “She said I deserved a vacation.”

  “Did you tell her you had two strikes?”

  Cruz eyed his chains and mumbled a stream of curses.

  Raines took it in stride. “What did you say, Mr. Cruz?”

  Cruz looked up, aiming hate at Raines, then looked beyond to Summer, his eyes brushing hers. She could tell Cruz was struggling with himself. But, with a sigh, he fell in line. “Yeah, I told her.”

  Summer’s stomach twisted in on itself. This was bad.

  “What did she say to you?” Raines asked.

  “If I didn’t want to spend twenty-five years in jail, I should get my sorry white ass out of state.”

  “I assume she didn’t use the term ‘sorry white ass.’ ” It pained Raines, a religious man, to say “ass.”

  “You assume right, old man.”

  “So the facts, as you remember them, are that you informed Ms. Neuwirth that you had two strikes, and she advised you to flee.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Do you say so?”

  Cruz chewed imaginary cud. “Sure.
”

  Raines turned to the judge. “I’m done with this witness, Your Honor.”

  Hightower nodded at Levi. “Your witness, Jon.”

  Levi approached, his hands jammed in his pockets. His jacket was crinkly and one of his socks was inside out. But what he lacked in sartorial sense, he made up for with legal presence. For the first time, Summer noticed that Levi’s bald spot resembled a halo.

  He sized up Cruz for a moment, and then plunged in. “If Ms. Neuwirth, as you allege, told you to leave the state, why did you stay?”

  “I didn’t have any money. Thought I’d unload some Mexican tar and hit the road.”

  “Were you under the influence of drugs at the time you first met Ms. Neuwirth?”

  “Yup, but I’d come down by then.”

  “You were in jail for thirty-six hours prior to meeting Ms. Neuwirth. Is this correct?”

  “Sounds about right.”

  “When do you usually begin to suffer the effects of withdrawal?”

  “Put it this way,” Cruz said, “I was seriously needing a fix when I faced that porky judge.”

  “Angiers,” Levi clarified. “When you crave a fix, how is your memory?”

  “I forget the question.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “When I need a fix I can barely remember to piss.”

  “Would you say it would be difficult to trust your memory?”

  Cruz mimicked a British accent. “Damned foolhardy, if you ask me.”

  “Are you suffering withdrawal now, Mr. Cruz?”

  “Nah,” he said. “They put me on methadone, so I’m, like, with the program now.”

  Raines called out. “I object, Your Honor. Whether the witness is receiving treatment or not is irrelevant. Ms. Neuwirth’s actions are at the crux of the matter.”

  “I am merely attempting to ascertain the reliability of the witness’s memory,” Levi said.

  “That has no—”

  “Hold on, Sidney.” The judge held up his hand while scrolling Cruz’s testimony on his computer monitor. He pursed his lips. “Sustained.”

  Levi’s jaw plunged. “Your Honor?”

  “I said sustained, Mr. Levi. If I follow the logic of your questioning, what you are implying is that Mr. Cruz’s memory is better when he is under the influence of heroin than when he is not. This is not, nor ever will be, a compelling argument in my court. Now proceed.”

  Levi took a moment to collect his thoughts, then gestured to Raines. “Mr. Cruz, did the district attorney offer to wipe away your third strike in exchange for your testimony here today?”

  “Objection!” Raines shouted.

  Cruz shook his chains. “Fuckin’ A, man. I would’ve never done it otherwise.”

  Raines continued. “I move the witness’s last statement be stricken from the record.”

  “Oh, Sidney, what a crock,” Levi said. “What did you offer this guy in exchange for his testimony? That he’d walk after a couple of years instead of twenty-five-to-life? For those terms you could get Gandhi to lie for you.”

  Raines shouted, overlapping Levi’s remarks. “This is outrageous! How dare you—”

  Hightower exploded, “Order! The next one who opens his mouth will be held in contempt!” The judge glanced at Bragg, then glared at Raines. “Sidney, what did you offer in exchange for Mr. Cruz’s testimony?”

  Raines made a show of controlling his temper. “My office agreed to drop the drug and assault charge and let him plea to a misdemeanor—six months jail time followed by six months community service and two years probation—for the Neiman’s theft.”

  “You give a guy set to get twenty-five-to-life six months jail time?” Hightower waved his hand in front of his nose like he was clearing away a bad odor. Looking at Bragg, who was furiously scribbling notes, he said, “And the Register says judges are too eager to plea bargain?”

  Cruz faked a sobbing fit. “I couldn’t take it any more, Your Lordship. Commandant Raines said, ‘Vee have vays ov making you talk,’ and I cracked.”

  Hightower curled his lips. “Mr. Cruz, you are out of order!”

  “Why, do I look broken?”

  “Eddie,” the judge said, “get Mr. Cruz out of my sight. I’ve heard quite enough from him.”

  After Cruz was gone, the judge sat with his hands folded. “Sidney, you know with this witness your case is difficult to prove. I’m forced to recommend that the district attorney drop the charges.” He leaned over the front of his bench, eyes on Summer. “However, Ms. Neuwirth, I am penning a letter of complaint to the American Bar Association. Just because there is not enough evidence for a trial doesn’t mean I don’t know you told him to skedaddle. Pull anything like that in my courtroom, you’ll pay big time.” Hightower smacked down his gavel. “Court dismissed!”

  A slap on the wrist. It could have much worse. Summer hugged Levi.

  “Somehow,” Levi said, “I’m oddly aroused.”

  Summer kissed Levi’s cheek and wiped away her own tear. “Thanks for everything, Jon.”

  “Wait till you get my bill.”

  Summer could hear Bragg breathing behind her.

  Raines came over. “You caught a break today, Summer. But remember this: Keep bending the law, and I guarantee it’ll snap back. At least the public won’t have to deal with Mr. Cruz for a while.”

  Summer stumbled out of her seat. “You’re not going to stick to your bargain?”

  Raines fingered his lapel. “Recanting his testimony wasn’t part of our bargain.”

  “Raines,” she said, “you are one evil, cold-hearted son of a bitch.”

  “Easy, easy,” Levi said, pulling Summer away. “Sidney, my office is going to ride shotgun for Cruz all the way to the Supreme Court if we have to. You know as well as I do that coercing a witness can get you disbarred.”

  Bragg said, “I can’t write that fast. Summer, did you call Sidney an evil, cold-hearted bastard, or a son of a bitch?” The smile on his face said it all: scoop!

  Raines pounded his fist into his palm to emphasize each point. “Bleeding heart liberals. Look at this guy’s rap sheet. It’s as long as my arm. Why shouldn’t he stew in the pen for twenty-five years?”

  “A deal is a deal and the law is the law,” Summer said.

  “What do you know about the law, sister?” Raines scoffed. “You think the penal code was designed to protect psychopaths like your video-rapist Marsalis or grubby parasites like Cruz?”

  “I smell a vendetta, Sidney.” Levi explained to Bragg, “The D.A. lost the Marsalis case, a case they should have won, so they concocted this scheme to discredit Ms. Neuwirth.”

  “That is complete, unadulterated”—Raines searched for the right words—“dog poop!” He frisbee’ed his briefcase across the floor.

  “ ‘Dog poop’?” Summer, Levi, and Bragg guffawed.

  Levi maneuvered Summer out of the courtroom, away from Bragg and to a block of elevators. “Stay out of Hightower’s court for a while,” he said.

  Summer thought of the resignation letter she had drafted the night before. But now wasn’t the time. “What do you think will happen to Cruz?”

  “Depends on what Bragg writes; depends on whether the mayor gets wind; depends on whether Raines is getting laid or not. Somehow I doubt he’ll have to do major time. Who’d have thunk a specimen like Cruz would have a conscience? The least I can do is try my damndest for him.”

  They got into the elevator and Levi pushed ‘L’ for the lobby. “One more thing,” he said as the doors hushed closed, “Gundy’s funeral is tomorrow. I have to put in an appearance, but I advise you to stay away. No need to stir things up even more.”

  Chapter 5

  Rosie wanted to spend Gundy’s funeral at a bar owned by a former client she had once defended on a morals charge, but Summer wanted to stay in, cook, maybe watch a movie. That was many martinis ago. Now they were picking Chinese food out of cartons. The DVD was still in a plastic bag, on top of the TV.

  “T
hen what happened?” Rosie wore black nail polish and even blacker lipstick. Her way of mourning for Gundy.

  “Hightower told me I’d better watch myself in his courtroom.” Summer licked hoisin sauce off her fingers. “I’m lucky Cruz hates authority.”

  “You’re luckier that gutter triber likes pretty girls.” Rosie leaned back and lit a cigarette. “How are you getting on these days? You know, the, uh—”

  Summer got up to open a window. “Rape? You can say it.”

  “Fine. I said it.”

  Air streamed in from the outside. “I feel guilty about raping the poor guy, though he had it coming.”

  Rosie laughed, spilling martini on the floor. She soaked it up with a used napkin.

  Summer looked out to the ocean, listening to the waves rumble.

  “Are you still getting your head shrunk?” Rosie asked.

  “I couldn’t see the point,” Summer said, “so I decided to work harder, give myself less time to think about it.”

  “Too close to home? I’m the same way. Mother trouble? Father failings?”

  “Mother trouble.” Summer settled at the table and took one of Rosie’s cigarettes. She broke it in half, sprinkling crumbs. She weighed whether to let Rosie in on the turmoil that absorbed more and more of her thoughts: the rape, her mother’s disappearance eight months ago, job stress, the fear that Marsalis would make good on his threats. Her reticence eroded by good gin, she started talking.

  “From the time I could walk, my mother put rouge on my cheeks, painted my lips, stuck me in clingy dresses and tight pants, the same stuff she wore. She wouldn’t even let me call her ‘Mom.’ It was always ‘Sonia.’ When I was in grammar school, she’d confide in me, tell me all about her affairs with movie stars, her sexual hang-ups, her unfulfilled dreams of stardom.”

  Rosie’s eyes widened over her near-empty glass, but she didn’t say anything. Summer knew Rosie wouldn’t push because that would mean she’d have to talk about her father.

  But Summer needed to tell someone. “It was like instead of being my mom, she wanted to be my best friend. You know, for months after the rape, I felt like I had somehow brought it on myself. But then I had this major epiphany one night when I couldn’t sleep through the nightmares. It was all Sonia’s fault. She drilled into me the ways and means of beauty, taught me how to play the coquettish little whore, the charming schoolgirl, the mature woman. She showed me how to walk, how to flirt, how to trap a man, all before I was ten. Hell, if I did bring it on myself, then Sonia’s the one who brought it on me.”