Defending Innocence (Small Town Lawyer Book 1)
Page 2
I wrapped the dish in a towel and drove over. Mazie lived on the far edge of town, right on the marsh, with a distant ocean view obscured by clouds of mosquitoes. She’d come down in life since high school, when we had dated. I’d gone off to college, and she’d followed the same sad path so many did: pregnant by some loser, a mother before she was twenty, and it never got better from there. I couldn’t blame Jackson for being troubled.
I parked on the dirt road out front. Their rental was vinyl-sided hurricane bait, hardly more than a trailer. I made a mental note that if we had any big storms this season, I’d invite them to stay on an air mattress in our living room. At least we were a little ways inland.
She answered the door in a flurry, distracted, tying on her waitress apron.
“You just go on through to the kitchen,” she said, heading back into what must’ve been her bedroom. “I’m running late. There’s coffee on the counter. Help yourself.”
From the room down the hall I heard thrash metal, muffled only slightly by the closed door. Jackson was evidently home. His taste in music didn’t blend well with the modern country playing on the kitchen radio. I reached out to turn the radio off, thinking that even muffled metal might be better than the clash of both songs playing at once, but stopped before touching the dial. It wasn’t my house; I should mind my own business.
Mazie walked in as I was putting her casserole dish away. Seeing her gave me déjà vu. She’d waitressed during high school too, and even though that place no longer existed, there was only so much variety in waitress uniforms.
As I closed the cabinet door, she said, “Aw, you didn’t have to do that.”
“Looks like you’re in a hurry,” I said. “Didn’t want you to take the time. It was delicious, by the way. Thank you much.”
“You’re very welcome.” With a little smile she added, “That boy of yours is too dang skinny anyway.”
“Well, you sure are helping him fill out.” I saw her glance at the clock; her hectic face got slightly calmer, so I figured she must have a little time. “Why don’t you set here a moment? I can pour you a cup.”
“That’d be nice,” she said. “Especially since I’ll be pouring other people’s coffee all day long.”
When she got close enough, sitting down on the other side of the Formica counter, I could see she looked exhausted. The kitchen faced the ocean, and the morning light wasn’t kind.
“Everything okay?” I asked. “I know my boy comes around a lot. You let me know if it’s too much.”
She waved that off. “No, it’s fine,” she said. “He was here this morning, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
I must’ve looked a little embarrassed, because she added, “I’m a mother. We worry. Good parents, I mean, not just mothers. I know what it’s like.”
I shook my head at the strangeness of parenthood, wishing for about the millionth time that Elise were still here. When she was sober, she was one of the best mothers I’d ever seen. That line of thought wasn’t anything I’d share with Mazie, so I said, “Yeah, by the time you start getting the hang of whatever phase they’re in, it’s over and they’re in a new one.”
A flick of her eyebrows said, “Ain’t that the truth.”
“So what phase is yours in now?”
She exhaled, a sound of pure frustration. “When his bike was in the shop, that boy racked up so many parking tickets I’m still paying them off. Had to take extra shifts to keep the car from getting impounded.”
“Surely he doesn’t make you pay them all?”
“No, he pays what he can. Thank the Lord he’s got that job at the hardware store.”
“Oh, I thought—wasn’t he at the burger place on the beach?”
“Last summer, yeah. When winter came he got in with the hardware store, and it just worked out better. But, you know, to get there on time he’ll drop me off and then park wherever and run on in. He ain’t working today, otherwise we would’ve had to leave ten minutes ago.”
“Any chance Karl could help out with the tickets?” Karl was the loser who’d gotten her pregnant way back when.
She gave a bitter laugh. “You kidding me? Him?”
“I mean, even if it ain’t his car, it’s still his son. And, I thought, he owes you big time for raising Jackson.” I wasn’t privy to details, but Karl didn’t seem like the kind who’d pay regular child support.
“Forget it,” she said. There was anger in her voice that I’d never heard before. “I ain’t seen him since last week, and he was about as bad as he’s ever been. I’d do double shifts the rest of my life before I’d ask for money from him.”
I figured that meant Karl had fallen off the wagon again. I was trying to think of something to say when Jackson came out of his room. Or so I inferred from the fact the thrash metal stopped and I heard a door slam.
As heavy steps shook the cheap flooring, Mazie called out, “Baby? Don’t leave without breakfast. Come on in here. I got a few minutes to make you something.”
Jackson loomed in the doorway. He was tall, and nearly as skinny as Noah. He wasn’t a bad-looking kid, although the black eye he was sporting didn’t enhance things any. I’d seen enough crime-scene photos to know the greenish color meant the injury was at least a few days old. I wondered what had happened. Noah hadn’t mentioned anything, but then I wasn’t exactly his confidant.
Jackson grunted hello, went to the cabinet, and grabbed two packs of Pop-Tarts from a box. He was wearing what I assumed was a band T-shirt. It was covered with skulls and said, if I was reading the spiky font correctly, “HateSphere.” I couldn’t help but notice scabs on his knuckles and scrapes on the back of his hands. A whole catalog of photos popped up in my brain: impact injuries, possible defensive wounds. I remembered the fights young men around here got into. When I was his age, sometimes it seemed like we’d fight just for the lack of anything better to do.
As Jackson left, kissing his mom on the top of her head but ignoring her insistence that he should eat something real, he trailed a faint stink of cigarettes.
The door slammed. Mazie looked a little ashamed. I got the feeling something was up. She tossed the last of her coffee down and got up without meeting my eye.
We went out. As she locked the front door behind us, I said, “You know, if Jackson’s ever in trouble, I’d gladly talk to him. I know sometimes kids his age talk easier with folks who aren’t their parents.”
“We’re fine,” she said. “Or, I mean, as good as we can be.” She headed down the steps, still talking as I walked with her to her rusted-out car. “When Karl came by last week, things got a little rough. He’d been drinking.” She rammed her car keys into the lock and pulled the door open. “Jackson had to defend himself. And me, a little bit.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “No boy should be getting a black eye from his own father.”
She turned and looked up at me. “I know you’re sorry,” she said softly. The sunlight caught her eyes, which in high school had been a brighter shade of blue. Life had worn every part of her down. She looked away. “I gotta go. Another day, another parking ticket paid off.”
She got in and slammed the door. I waited until the engine turned over—it sounded like I wasn’t the only one with car trouble—and then walked back to my Chevy.
As I put my seat belt on, I realized she hadn’t used hers. Maybe she was past caring, or maybe it was just broken. I wished I could toss some money her way to help out. But it’s true what they say about putting on your own oxygen mask first.
Before I shifted into drive, my phone rang. It was Roy.
“Hey there,” I said. “I’m on my way. I read those depositions last night, and I think we got what we need to bring the insurer to the table. Have you and the client talked settlement numbers yet?”
“Oh,” he said, like he had completely forgotten about the insurance case. “Yeah, thanks. Sounds good. Hey, you won’t believe what I heard this a.m.”
“What’s that?”
“Huh,” I said. I was glad Mazie was already gone.
“You a gambling man? I got fifty bucks says Karl’s the floater that washed up yesterday.”
I said, “Wouldn’t that be something.” Some people have a poker face; I have a poker voice. I didn’t want him to hear anything from me but semi-interested politeness. “Well, anyway, I’ll be in shortly.”
I hung up, wondering about Jackson’s injuries and the anger in Mazie’s voice.
3
Tuesday, June 11, Later That Morning
I passed through our tiny historic downtown, which had more charm than I could afford, and headed out Sea Island Causeway with my windows down. The smell of the tidal marsh was a constant, so strong with salt and muck and life that you’d catch a whiff as soon as you exited the airport in Charleston. Back when we could afford to travel sometimes, that smell was how I knew I was home.
I tried not to think about Karl. With his motorboat being found on the island, the way the currents ran made it more than reasonable to think the washed-up body was his. I figured he must’ve gone out boating and fallen. Liquor and boats weren’t a good combination.
I knew what it was like to lose people. If the father of her child was dead, I didn’t want Mazie to get the news from anyone but a friend. That pretty much left me. I reached for my phone. As hers rang, though, I reminded myself there wasn’t any actual news yet. Her phone went to voicemail, and I hung up.
Seagulls squawked as I turned into the little six-car lot that showed, along with a sign, that the gray bungalow beyond it was a lawyer’s office and not some old-timer’s home. The sign didn’t have my name on it and never would. This was Roy’s territory. If the sign didn’t make that clear enough, the point was repeated by the “ROY 1” vanity plates on the steel-blue BMW 760 parked out front.
This morning a silver Mercedes was parked beside it. A client, I supposed. I hoped the day would come soon when I’d have clients who drove cars like that.
Roy had mentored me when I was in law school, back when older partners like him wrote briefs longhand on yellow legal pads or dictated them to their secretaries. He’d just made name partner at that point, making the firm’s name Benton & Hearst. Now old Mr. Benton had died, and Roy reigned supreme. Our long-ago connection was the official reason he’d taken me on: a desire to help someone he still saw as a kid, despite my thinning hair flecked with gray.
The unofficial reason, which was as tangible as the humidity but not something he’d ever admit, was that witnessing my daily humiliation—my ancient Chevy, my phone that never rang—made him feel all the more successful himself. Sixteen years in Charleston, appearing on the news to announce wins against major criminals, and I was still his underling.
As I walked in, I smelled coffee. Roy’s secretary, Laura, always made a fresh pot when clients were expected. From his office I heard laughter of the back-slapping type—this client must be a long-standing one, or an old friend—and then a man I recognized came out, followed by Roy. It was councilman Henry Carrell, dressed for his reelection campaign in navy pinstripes. I couldn’t imagine he wore suits like that when he was down at the marina renting out yachts, or whatever his day-to-day activities were.
“Morning, Leland!” Roy said. “Let me introduce you two. This is my old friend Henry Carrell. He operates Blue Seas Yacht Charter.”
“Morning, Henry,” I said, heading over for the obligatory handshake. I told Roy, “Everyone knows Henry. We went to high school together, although we were a couple years apart.”
“Oh yeah!” Henry was doing a kind of double-pistol thing with his hands, a Hey, buddy gesture, although he didn’t actually look like he remembered me.
“Oh,” I said, “best of luck in your council race. Not that you need it.”
They laughed, though I wasn’t sure what the joke was.
“I tell you what, Leland,” Roy said. “You want people to take you seriously around here? You got to either get rich or get yourself elected to something. Henry here did both.”
Henry smiled and said, “No, but—you interested in politics? Give me a call if you are. I got to get going right now, but I’m happy to talk.”
“Well, Leland sure ain’t interested in business,” Roy said. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s a damn good lawyer or he wouldn’t be under my roof, but he’s got all the business skills of a French poodle. A client shows up, he just sets there in his basket, like, shivering.”
Another round of laughter. Then Henry asked, “You’re the ex-prosecutor, right? Handling criminal defense now for Roy?” I didn’t know whether he meant to salvage my dignity or if he just wanted my vote. “I hope I don’t need you,” he went on, “but I might. I employ some sailors, obviously, and sometimes they do stupid shit ashore.”
Roy laughed.
“And not just sailors,” Henry said. “Roy got one of my Warton brothers off on a careless driving charge a year or two ago. I take it that’s your bailiwick now? Or one of them?”
“Glad to help with anything,” I said.
“Oh,” said Roy. “Speaking of Wartons, you wouldn’t have heard yet, but they found Karl’s boat run aground on St. Helena Island, no one on board. I hope he just got drunk and forgot to tie it up, because otherwise, I got to wonder about that body they found.”
“My God,” Henry said. He looked horrified.
Roy seemed to catch the look on Henry’s face, and he changed tack. “I’m sure Karl’s fine,” he said. “I watch too many cop shows, that’s all. He still work for you?”
“Not since he fell off the wagon again. I still got his brothers doing their thing. Those boys are like idiot savants with woodworking and anything mechanical.” His phone rang. “Oh,” he said, looking at the screen. “Sorry, I got to take this. Great seeing y’all.” He did his hand-pistol thing again, to both of us, and answered his phone on his way out the door.
I’d barely settled into my office when Roy appeared in the doorway. He was still in a sociable mood. Anyone else would’ve taken the hint from the Redweld folder I was setting on my desk next to the open laptop, but he didn’t do hints. I knew from the way he slouched against the doorframe that he was here to shoot the breeze.
“You know what I heard about Karl’s body?” he said. “Or I guess we’re still saying ‘the’ body? His head was so bashed in, some kid thought it was a half-deflated ball washing to shore. Like a volleyball, you know? Even swam out to get it, but had to stop on account of the smell.”
I cleared my throat.
“They said it ain’t clear yet what happened,” he continued. “So that’s the Basking Rock mystery: Did some killer rip his face off, or did the fish have it for dinner? I don’t know how his brothers are going to identify him. They’re supposed to go in and do that this morning. And I’m not sure Karl had enough teeth left for them to use dental records. You know how the Wartons are. More arrests than teeth.”
“You know, Roy, I actually—”
“Aw, don’t tell me you’re busy. You ain’t gonna get busy for real until you start spending time getting to know folks. Good folks, I mean.” Something in the look he gave me made me think he meant people unlike Mazie.
“I do mean to get to that fundraiser,” I said.
“Well, good. But I still ain’t seen you at church. People got to see you as part of the community if you want them to think of you when they need a lawyer.”
“Yeah, that’s a fair point.” He was masterful at the social side of business, but I wasn’t getting much of a chance to learn from him. I did most of the legal work while he was out glad-handing people. It being his firm, he pocketed 75 percent of what he billed clients for my time.
“Speaking of socializing,” he said, “you seen that Grant woman lately?”
“Oh, now and again. He
r son’s friends with mine, so, you know.”
“I saw your car outside the diner yesterday,” he said. “You talk to her? She hear about the body yet?”
“She wasn’t working, I don’t think.” My shrimp place was one of her two jobs. “I was just picking up dinner.”
“Classy joint,” he said, in a tone that meant the opposite.
“Yeah. Anyway, is there something you need? I actually do have a couple things I’d like to get off my desk.”
He looked irritated that I wasn’t joining in his lurid speculation, but he wasn’t one to hold a grudge. He moved right on. “You have time to do a bit of research for me? Insurance question. Henry’s got some liability concerns about sailing to the Caribbean. He’s had some clients ask him what he’s covered for. You know, if a business gives a cruise as a bonus for employees and something happens. He didn’t say it straight out, but I think he might be concerned about that drug cartel stuff—there’ve been some news stories about that out of the Dominican Republic, visitors getting caught up in the violence and whatnot, and Blue Seas sails there.”
“Sure,” I said. “What’s the ETA?”
“Oh, end of the week. ’Scuse me.” He leaned out the door and said, “Laura, can you pull Blue Seas’ current liability policies and give them to Leland? Thanks.” He leaned back in and explained, “I’d do it, but I got a client waiting to beat me over on Kiawah Island, so I got to run.”
I nodded. He headed off to his golf date. There were half a dozen courses on Kiawah Island, and he was so skilled at the game that he could dial back his performance just enough to make every client believe he’d played his best and just barely lost. It was, he’d told me several times, what all clients want: a lawyer good enough to challenge them, but not be better than them.