One and Done (Sam Johnstone Book 2)

by James Chandler

  “Yes, ma’am,” Davonte said.

  “Thank you, Mr. Blair.” Downs moved the file aside. “Does the State have a recommendation for bond?”

  Sam and Davonte sat at their table while Cathy rose and stepped to the podium. “Your Honor, as the court knows, Mr. Blair has been charged with first-degree murder. While the State is still trying to determine whether to seek the death penalty, this is the most serious crime on the books. A young man has lost his life. Mr. Blair does have a prior record, albeit a minor one. For that reason, we would ask that the court allow no bond, and order him held until trial.”

  Downs had been taking notes. She thanked Cathy, then looked to Sam and asked, “Mr. Johnstone, does the defendant care to respond?”

  “Your Honor,” Sam replied, putting down his writing materials and walking to the podium. “As the court well knows, my client is presumed innocent until proven otherwise. Mr. Blair denies this charge and looks forward to the opportunity to defend himself. He is a college student athlete and a promising basketball player. His family is here today, and they provide him with the support and backing he needs. His mother has informed me she intends to rent an apartment to be on hand until this matter is over. His criminal record is such that it merits no discussion. My client would be amenable to curfew, and given his lack of a criminal history, we believe that curfew, combined with an electronic monitoring device he would gladly pay for, would be sufficient to ensure my client would appear for all further hearings on this cause and would present no threat to the community. We would ask that you set a reasonable bond, and we feel a bond in the amount of one hundred thousand dollars with the conditions I’ve outlined would be sufficient.”

  “Thank you, counsel,” Downs said, while completing the bond form in front of her. “Having heard and considered the arguments of counsel, this court is going to hold the defendant in lieu of one million dollars, cash only.” She looked up and waited while the audience quieted. “The primary considerations are the nature of the allegation and the defendant’s limited contacts with Custer. Mr. Blair, you are remanded to the custody of the detention center pending trial.”

  Sam had prepared Davonte for the prospect of a high cash bond. To his credit, Davonte didn’t flinch. “Davonte, I’ll be over to see you tonight. Hang tight. We’ll move for a modification when you get bound over. Could be a week or so.”

  “I’ll be out tonight.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Mom will have me out tonight.” Davonte winked at Sam and was led away. When he was out of the courtroom, the spectators rose and left as well, eager to discuss the events they had just witnessed.

  Sam remained behind, gathering his materials and thinking about what Davonte had said. “I should’ve charged more,” he said aloud.

  “I’m sure you got plenty,” Cathy said. He hadn’t noticed her walk up. She smiled. “I hated having to make the overhead every month when I was in private practice. What a pain in the ass.”

  “Yeah.” Sam shook his head. “Just out of curiosity, what’s the big downside to prosecuting?”

  “Answering to the public,” Cathy said. “I can deal with the long hours, relatively low pay, bureaucracy, and all of that. But . . . you know they’ve already figured out I’m prosecuting? I had people camped out in front of my house all night. Lights, noise—I could hardly get Kayla to sleep.”

  “That’s unfair. How old is she?”

  “Nine.”

  “Assholes—they couldn’t care less.”

  “I mean, I’m not unsympathetic to the cause, right?” She poured water from a pitcher into a plastic glass and drank deeply from it. “I’m a woman, a member of a historically disenfranchised group and all that. But how does it help your cause to keep me awake all night? I have the gay supporters on one side of the street and the black supporters on the other. I’m in the middle, just trying to live my life, raise my kid, and do my job, you know?”

  “That’s not good enough for the zealots,” Sam said. “But for the record, you do a great job, from what I can tell.”

  “Thanks.” Cathy tossed the cup in a wastebasket and shouldered her bag. “I appreciate it. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to kick your ass,” she added. “But I appreciate it.”

  “I should have charged way more,” Sam said to her back as she left.

  “Why is that?” This time, it was Veronica. He hadn’t seen her since he’d tried to talk with her weeks prior. She had apparently entered the courtroom while he was talking with Cathy.

  “Uh, just talking smack,” he said. “How . . . how are you?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. She was policing up the pitchers of water and cups on the two tables. “Hand me that pitcher?”

  “Sure,” he said, then added, “Are you okay?”

  “I’m okay. How about you?”

  “I’m fine. Better,” he added.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really,” he said.

  She looked at him for a moment. “Look, I’ve got to get this done and get back in chambers with the judge.”

  “I understand,” he said. It was awkward. “Can I call you?”

  She continued to stare at him, but she was not weighing her options. “Not yet. I’m not ready,” she said, turning. “Take care of yourself, Sam.”

  “I promise,” he said to her back as she left the courtroom.

  Outside the courtroom, the press was ready with cameras and microphones. “Mr. Johnstone, how are you feeling about the bond set by the judge?”

  “The charge is first-degree murder. The court has a balancing act to perform. Obviously, the amount is more than we would like, but we are not going to question the court’s judgment.”

  “Are you confident your client, as an African-American, can get a fair trial in this community?” Penrose asked.

  “I am,” Sam said. “My client is not guilty of this charge. I believe any jury, anywhere, would acquit him.”

  “What do you say to the parents of the young gay man who was killed, allegedly by Mr. Blair?”

  “That I’m sorry for their loss and hope that law enforcement can find out who did this,” Sam replied.

  “Cathy Schmidt says the State has arrested the right man, and that justice will be served.” Another reporter stuck the microphone in Sam’s face.

  Sam stood quietly, looking at the reporter. “What’s the question?” he asked.

  “What is your response?” she asked impatiently.

  “I believe the prosecutor is mistaken.”

  “Will justice be served?”

  “I believe it will, and I believe that in this case, justice will be best served by the acquittal of Davonte Blair—if the State does not drop the charges before the trial. Now, if you will excuse me,” he said, and side-stepped the reporters, quickly leaving the courthouse and ignoring the shouted questions.

  “How did it go?” Paul asked Sam after he got back from the hearing. They were passing in the hallway between their offices.

  “Fine,” Sam said. “I think Judge Downs is starting to get in the swing of things. She set it at a million. I did a quick interview with the press.”

  “Cash?”

  “Yeah. Davonte did well. Didn’t move a muscle, kept his cool,” Sam explained. “I was happy with how he handled himself.”

  “I’m glad you spoke to the press—they’ve been calling all morning,” Paul said. “I guess you can move Daniels for a modification when he gets bound over, huh?”

  “Davonte says his mom will make that bond.”

  “Seriously? We should’ve asked for a bigger fee!”

  “That’s what I said,” Sam replied. “I don’t know whether he is full of it or not. Sharon obviously has money, but I don’t know if she’s got that much lying around. I almost worry about him getting out. I don’t think he realizes just how serious this is.”

  “Well, we’ll see,” Paul said, stepping around Sam. “I gotta go see Daniels. I’ve got an easement I’m trying to get d
one for the Scott family. They’ve got a land-locked parcel and the other party is being dick-ish.”

  “No surprise,” Sam said under his breath. He walked down to his office, dropped his briefcase, and sat down. After checking his email, he looked desultorily through his in-box. Starting the day with an initial appearance on a first-degree murder charge was going to make everything else seem unimportant, but it all paid the bills and had to be done. He was going through his correspondence when he came across an unopened envelope with no return address—only the word “PERSONAL” and his misspelled name typed in all capital letters on the front. He slit open the envelope and blew into it, then extracted the folded piece of paper and read: MR. JOHNSTON, YOU ARE A THIRD-RATE LAWYER. YOU DEFEND KILLERS! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU? WE WANT TO LIVE AS WE PLEASE! WE NO EVERYTHING YOU DO AND EVERYWHERE YOU GO. WE ARE WATCHING YOU.

  “Well, that’s pleasant,” Sam said. He pushed the button on his office intercom, summoning Cassie. “The least you could do if you are going to threaten me is to spell my name right.” When Cassie arrived, he asked her, “Where did this letter come from? There’s no stamp or return address on it.”

  “Someone just dropped it through that old mail slot in the front door. Why? Is there a problem? I didn’t open it because it said ‘personal.’”

  “You did the right thing. Nothing to worry about. Just some fan mail.” He faked a smile. “Please take these with you,” he said, handing her a stack of signed letters to mail. “And close the door, if you would.”

  Late that evening, Sam was finishing the installation of a home security system in his townhouse when his phone rang. It was an unfamiliar area code, but on a whim, he answered it.

  “Yo, Sam, I just wanted to tell you I bounced,” Davonte said.

  “Wow. Not sure the last time anyone in this jurisdiction made a million cash bond,” Sam said. “Can you meet me in my office? I think we probably need to talk.”

  “Sure. But right now, me and Damon and Reggie got some pizza ordered. Gonna catch up.”

  Sam was thinking there was no way the college would allow Davonte in the dorms. “Where are you staying? You’re going to need a place.”

  “Naw, man,” Davonte said. “I’ve made myself eligible for the draft and hired an agent. He’s gonna front me some cash to get my own crib. Me and my boys gonna live there.”

  “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” Sam said. “But let’s talk tomorrow. And Davonte?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You should know I received a letter this morning,” Sam said. He read the contents aloud and waited for a reaction. Hearing none, he continued. “Looks to be the result of my representing you.”

  “You gonna quit?” Davonte asked.

  “Of course not, but keep your head down,” Sam cautioned. “Be quiet and be aware of what’s going on around you. Kaiden and his family have a lot of supporters here in town, and emotions are running high.”

  “I got it, Sam,” Davonte said. “But I got my boys here now to take care of me. Now, we got some catching up to do.”

  “See you tomorrow—and Davonte?”

  “Yeah?”

  “A possession or use charge would result in your bond getting revoked,” Sam reminded his client. “I doubt even your mom has enough money to get you out if that happens.”

  “Got it, boss.”

  15

  The next morning, Sam, Paul, and Davonte were in Sam’s office. “You got through the night okay?” Sam asked.

  “I got my protection.” Davonte nodded to the front of the building. Reggie and Damon—much to Paul’s consternation—were cooling their heels in the waiting room.

  “Yeah, about that,” Paul said. “I want you to leave them home when you come to meet with us. They make my other clients uncomfortable.”

  “Because they’re black?”

  “No, because they sprawl over two or three chairs watching videos at full volume like a couple of assholes,” Paul said. He and Davonte stared hard at each other until Sam spoke up.

  “Okay,” Sam said. “Davonte, leave them home or outside. I’m sure they’ve got something else to do. Frankly, we’re probably not going to be meeting a lot here the next couple of months. It’s the Christmas season, so the courts will slow down. Paul and his family will have things to do. We’ll get back into the swing of things in January when Paul and I will start getting ready for trial. We’ll need your input from time to time, but by and large this will be a lawyer deal for a while.”

  “So, no time for me, huh?”

  “Jesus Christ, didn’t you hear what he just said?” Paul exploded. “You spend your life trying to be offended! Just do what we tell you.”

  “I ain’t your boy, dude. I’m your client.”

  “Right, and we don’t need you,” Paul said. “Remember that.”

  “Gentlemen, we need to focus here,” Sam said. “Davonte, we need to start working up a defense. Now, there are essentially three strategies we can use. The first is that someone else did it. That’s—”

  “That’s the one,” Davonte said. “End of story.”

  “No, that’s not the end of story,” Paul said. “Let the man finish.”

  “I didn’t do it,” Davonte insisted. “Therefore, someone else had to. That’s like, logical—right?”

  “Perhaps,” Sam said, looking at Paul and trying to reassure him. “The second defense is, ‘I did it, but I was not in control at the time.’”

  “What, like, I was crazy or something?” Davonte asked.

  “Something like that, yeah,” Sam said.

  “But I wasn’t. I didn’t do it. I keep telling you that.”

  “The third way,” Sam continued, “is that you did it, but you had justification.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like self-defense,” Sam said. “Like maybe he was assaulting you, and you—”

  “That little faggot?” Davonte waved his hand dismissively.

  “Seriously?” Sam asked. “You seriously are going to use terms like that when your life is literally on the line?”

  “What?”

  “Davonte, what you just said is homophobic as hell,” Paul said. “Surely you know that?”

  “I don’t know what that word means, but I ain’t queer,” Davonte said.

  “Jesus Christ!” Paul exploded. He turned to Sam. “It’s going to be impossible with this guy.”

  “What are you talking about, man? ‘This guy?’” Davonte said, standing. Paul stood as well, and the two men again squared off.

  “Just a minute,” Sam said, putting a hand on each man’s chest. “At this point, it is safe to say neither of you is going to roll over and show his belly, so this is getting us nowhere. Sit down.” He waited until they had complied. “Let’s go back to our discussion from a few days ago in the jail. Davonte, you said you saw Miles leave after that little party, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You said you never saw him after that?” Paul asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “You ever touch him or any of his stuff?”

  “No. Why would I?” Davonte asked.

  “But you two got in a fight before he left?”

  “No, man. We had a little argument, but that’s all.”

  “Over what?” Paul asked.

  Davonte looked at Paul and then Sam. “You know why. I’m sure your kid told you. Over money. I owed him a little money.”

  “How much?” Paul asked.

  Again, Davonte looked at Sam before answering. “I don’t know. That’s what the argument was about.”

  “According to Ronnie, you owed him a lot.”

  “No sweat.” Davonte shrugged. “He ain’t gonna testify, man.”

  “Why not?”

  “He knows better.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Paul burst out. “Sam, he’s either threatening a witness—who just happens to be my son—or he is suborning perjury!” He sat back, folded his arms, and c
rossed his legs.

  “If he does testify, it won’t hurt me.” Davonte shrugged again, then looked at Paul and Sam in turn. “I’m just sayin’.”

  Sam looked at Davonte for a long time before he continued with his questions. “So, you never fought?”

  “No.”

  “How’d you get the bruises and scratches on your hands Detective Polson mentioned in his affidavit of probable cause?”

  “Playin’ hoops, man,” Davonte said. “I told Polson that.”

  “How do you explain that the college’s surveillance video shows you following Miles across campus the night he disappeared?”

  “Coincidence, man. It’s a small campus.” Davonte looked at Sam and then Paul. “Be cool. Those two won’t testify against me.”

  Sam sat back and looked at Davonte for a long moment. “You’ve said that twice now. Davonte, we can’t count on that. We have to believe they will testify. I’ll come back to that in a minute. Now, Davonte, you said you didn’t see Kaiden after he left the room.”

  “That’s right.”

  “But that’s not true, is it?” Seeing Davonte’s look of surprise, he continued. “According to the affidavit of probable cause, Detective Polson pinged your phone and subpoenaed your phone records. They show your phone in the area where Miles’s body was found on the night he disappeared. How do you explain that?”

  “Someone took my phone, man,” Davonte said.

  “You have got to be shitting me!” Paul said.

  “Hold on, Paul.” Sam held his hand up toward Paul and looked to Davonte. “Davonte, are you telling me that someone just happened to take your phone on the night that Miles disappeared, and they just happened to be in the vicinity of where the guy’s body was found, with your phone?”

  “Yeah, man.”

  “This is bullshit,” Paul muttered.

  “What’s your problem, man?” Davonte’s eyes narrowed.

  “My problem is you are a damned liar.”

  “Whoa, mother—”

  “Gentlemen, I’m going to remind you, we’re all on the same team here,” Sam said.