Final Verdict

by William Bernhardt

  “Which is still not the same as granting permission. This was an unauthorized search.”

  “It was done in plain sight and without objection from the owner of the premises. Frankly, your honor, Detective Kakazu had no way of knowing he was about to discover a corpse. But he had to act appropriately when the corpse fell into his lap.”

  The judge nodded. “Sounds like we might have a technical, teeny-weeny Fourth Amendment violation. But not much of one.”

  “I disagree,” Dan said. “If Detective Kakazu had not improperly opened that freezer door, we wouldn’t be here today.”

  “I don’t know that that’s true,” Jazlyn said. “The police were already investigating the defendant in connection with another—”

  “Which is not relevant, since you haven’t brought charges for that crime,” Dan said. “Let’s not muddy the waters.”

  Jazlyn’s voice rose. “Let’s be realistic for one moment. This defendant is surrounded by murder. When you have corpses falling all around you, it’s going to attract interest. It was just a matter of time before the police learned about this second murder.”

  “You might never have learned about it,” Dan said. “You still haven’t found the rest of the body.”

  “Which suggests that it...probably is not in a state to be found.”

  “Your honor,” Dan said, “the bottom line here is that the police had no probable cause with respect to the freezer. My client did not waive his rights. This is cut-and-dried fundamental constitutional law.”

  “I can’t agree with you there,” Judge Smulders said. “I might feel differently if your client had posed an objection. But he didn’t. Are you familiar with State v. Bingley?”

  Dan stopped. “Uh, do I know...”

  “It’s a case. Precedent.”

  “I know, but—”

  The judge cut him off. “The facts are similar to those in the present case. The defendant admitted the police to his home but did not specifically give them permission to search the safe in his library. He didn’t waive any rights, but he didn’t assert them either. He allowed the police free rein to poke around and only posed an objection after the police found the counterfeit bills in the safe. The court ruled that Bingley had implicitly waived his rights by asserting no objection to what the police did in his presence and with his knowledge.”

  “But your honor,” Dan said, trying not to sputter, “that was not a murder case. When the stakes are life-and-death, a higher standard should be applied.”

  “No,” Smulders said firmly, “the law is the law. Regardless of the charge. If your client had stopped Kakazu or asked him to leave, the officer would have complied. But he said nothing. He cannot complain now about the inevitable consequences.”

  “But your honor—”

  Smulders raised his hand. “I’ve ruled, counsel. Will there be anything else?”

  No one spoke.

  “Very well.” The judge banged his gavel again, then left the courtroom.

  Dan slumped into his chair. “That was a complete disaster.”

  “True,” Sweeney said, his eyes dark. “You were.”

  “I’m sure you’re disappointed.”

  “I’m disappointed in you.”

  “Now wait just a minute.”

  Sweeney shifted around to face him. “Let’s be candid for a moment. You don’t like me. Fine. I can live with that. I’m not that crazy about you myself. But you took this case. You made a professional obligation.”

  “I am a professional.”

  “A professional leaves no stone unturned. A professional takes every legitimate step to benefit his client. Did you research this motion? The judge came up with the controlling precedent, not you. You didn’t seem to know what he was talking about.”

  “I didn’t mention that case because it didn’t help us. And our usual brief writer—” He stopped short. Sweeney didn’t need to hear about Jimmy. “Frankly, there were no cases that helped us but I still made the motion, because even though the odds were against us, I had to try. Because I’m a professional.”

  “Only losers make excuses.”

  “Suppressing evidence is always an uphill—”

  “You’ve done it a million times. I know that for a fact. You said you’d go all in on this case. But you haven’t. You’re keeping your cards close to your vest. Playing both ends against the middle, leaving yourself room to bail if the proper justification presents itself.”

  “That is simply—”

  “Don’t BS me. You think you’re the only one who knows how to make observations? I can read you like a book. You’re keeping your distance. Taking the case, but trying to remain above the fray. And that is not how you win cases.”

  The marshals moved forward, ready to return Sweeney to his cell.

  Sweeney drove a finger into Dan’s chest. “Commit to the case, Pike. Or get the hell out of the way.”

  Chapter 20

  Tulip’s eyes filled with sweat. She felt as if with each step, she staggered a little more. She had lost all track of how long she had been walking, stumbling, trying to find some trace of civilization—without success. The water ran out a long time ago. The food ran out after that. She didn’t know where she was and she didn’t know where she was going. She hadn’t seen a soul since she confronted the man who dragged her out to this wasteland—the man she had to kill.

  It was self-defense, she kept telling herself. She had to kill him before he killed her.

  But in killing him, she may have killed herself. He could’ve have shown her the way out of here.

  She remembered a story she’d learned in Sunday School all those years ago, about people who wandered in the desert for decades. Forty years. She wouldn’t last that long. She wasn’t sure she’d last another forty minutes. And she wasn’t expecting any manna from heaven, either.

  She’d had fantasies, delusions about miracle rescues. The helicopter that spots her from above. A tourist shuttle full of drunken gamblers. A family in an RV that stumbles across her during a potty break. “Hey, Dad, there’s a lady lying in the sand...”

  But none of that happened and, at this point, she’d given up all hope that it would. The chances that she would survive this ordeal seemed slim to none. At times she wondered if she even wanted to survive. She knew her skin was ruined. There wasn’t enough moisturizer in the world to heal the damage. Her stomach hurt. All the time. Sure, she had eaten too little for too long, but there was more to it than that. Maybe something happened during the fight. That bastard had kicked her several times in the gut.

  Her throat was parched. Baked, might be the more accurate word. It hurt. Fortunately, she didn’t have to speak. There was no one to speak to except herself, and she didn’t do that aloud. It might be comforting to hear a voice, even if it was only her own. But she would have to live without that comfort. Like so many others.

  How had she gotten herself into this mess? What choice led her to this disaster? She had openly rejected anything resembling a conventional life. She didn’t want to be a drone. She didn’t want to work nine-to-five, to spend her days in some cubicle hating every moment.

  She also rejected the other alternative. Finding a husband. She had nothing against women who married and actually admired women who were good homemakers, good mothers. But she knew that wasn’t for her. She didn’t want to be limited. This world was full of possibilities and, one way or another, she had been determined to find them. She had one life. She wanted to make the most of it.

  That had certainly turned out well, hadn't it?

  When Kit invited her to the meeting, she obediently complied. Conrad Sweeney was a big attraction. For years he had been the Big Kahuna in St. Petersburg. The most famous citizen. The most respected philanthropist. Now people were saying he was involved with human trafficking. And porn. She knew she should be repelled, but in a perverse way, it made meeting him more exciting. Beat working in a cubicle.

  She thought that was why Kit invited
her. He cared about her. He wanted her to succeed.

  Now she wasn’t sure she could make it to the next day.

  She wiped the sweat from her eyes again. It stung and it made it harder to see, which was difficult enough already. She could barely trust her vision. The monotony of the landscape, the relentless sun, the shimmering heat waves rising from the sand, all conspired to make sight the least trustworthy of her senses.

  Was that a road ahead? She strained, trying to bring it into focus.

  Was that shimmering surface paved? Had she finally found some sort of...path? To people and civilization and water? Food? A chance to survive?

  She put all her strength into her legs, quickening her pace, trying to move faster. She had to know. Was it real or just another mirage? Was she seeing what was there or what she wanted to be there?

  She put a foot down and the sand shifted beneath her feet. She tumbled hard. Her head slammed against the sand and all at once the world was spinning, even more than it had before.

  Sand burned against her cheek, but she couldn’t seem to move, not even to alleviate the pain. She writhed but that seemed the most she could manage. Squirming. Helplessly.

  Had she finally reached the end of the struggle?

  She felt her consciousness fading. She tried to fight it—but how? The light was dimming, and at first, she welcomed it. The dying of the light. Peace at long last.

  No, she told herself. You are not a quitter. You are a survivor. You are a woman. You have refused to let men control you. Refused to let others determine how you should live your life. She would not...would not...

  But the darkness was overpowering. Hard as she tried, she wasn’t able to beat it back. Her eyelids were closing, even as she tried to force them open.

  Maybe she had fought long enough. Maybe she should let the warm nothingness wrap around her like a soothing blanket. Maybe it was time to let her eyes close once and for all...

  “Hey Dad, there’s a lady lying in the sand...”

  Chapter 21

  Dan untethered himself from his kitesurfing gear and splashed his way back to the shore. He almost felt guilty about taking personal time so close to the start of the trial. But he also knew this time wasn’t entirely for himself. When he was in the water, he found a serenity never equaled anywhere else. The water let him clear his head. Sometimes he got his best ideas and devised his snazziest trial tactics while skittering across the surf.

  But it hadn’t worked today. No fault of the environment. The sun was bright and the wind was absolutely perfect. But he couldn’t pretend he’d had any brilliant insights.

  Maybe he was tiring of this routine. Maybe it was time to take a sabbatical.

  Or maybe he didn’t get brilliant insights because there weren’t any brilliant insights to be had.

  He splashed saltwater on his face, trying to snap out of it. Why did life always have to be so complicated?

  As he approached the beach, he noticed a slender woman holding a cell phone. She seemed to be waiting for him.

  She was talking aloud, and not to him. No one else was nearby.

  She was talking to the phone. In an extremely animated manner.

  Wait a minute. Was she live-streaming?

  “Here he comes, cyberbuds. The Corporal of the Courtroom. The Florida Felon’s Friend. The man some call the trickiest defense lawyer since Clarence Darrow.” She paused. “And judging by my view of the man in a swimsuit, he’s pretty damn cut, too.”

  Dan hesitated, wondering if he should walk away. He wasn’t prepared to meet anyone, much less appear in someone’s vlog.

  She strode right up to him, holding the phone at arms’ length so it covered the both of them.

  “Daniel Pike,” she said with enthusiasm. “We meet at last.”

  Black hair, buzz cut on the left, flipped from the part to shoulder-length on the right. Mid-thirties. Black skinny jeans, gray T-shirt, black leather jacket. “You’re going to get your shoes wet.”

  “No problem. I believe in sensible shoes.” She turned toward her phone. “As all women should.”

  “If you’ll excuse me—”

  She took a step forward, blocking his path. “Whoa there, Big Boy, I have thirty thousand followers who want to meet you.”

  “You’ll need to find another form of entertainment. And grow up.”

  “Hey, don’t @ me.”

  “I have work to do.”

  “Does that work involve kitesurfing?”

  “In a way...”

  “I got some great footage. You look good out there.” She gave the phone some side-eye. “And I’m not just talking about your surfing style, either.”

  He didn’t like being video-ambushed. And he especially didn’t like being the target of her smarmy asides. “I don’t have time for social media influencers.”

  “Hey, I’m a lawyer. I’ve come all the way from Seattle to talk to you.”

  “That may have been a mistake.”

  She did not move. She didn’t lower the phone, either. “It’s very important.”

  “It can’t be too important, since you’re broadcasting the conversation live.”

  “My followers demand that I keep them up-to-date on the latest and greatest, right?” She winked into the phone. “Hashtag Kenzi. Hashtag Splitsville.”

  He tilted his head. Something rang a bell. “Your name is Kenzi?”

  “As if you didn’t know. Kenzi Rivera, at your service.”

  “And just what services do you provide?”

  “That depends on you.” She winked, then immediately looked at the phone. “What do you think, KenziClan? Are you shipping us yet?”

  He did not have the time or patience for this. “Sorry to disappoint your legion of fans. But I really can’t—”

  “Even if I have information about Freddie Lombardi?”

  Dan pulled a face. “Never heard of him.”

  “I think you know him by his most recent alias. Ray Carvel?”

  He stopped in his tracks. “What about him?”

  “I hear you’re looking for him.”

  “Already met him.”

  “I mean, looking for an address. To serve a subpoena.”

  “If I force him to testify, I probably won’t like what he says.”

  “That all depends on how you handle it. Sometimes a little quid pro quo is more effective than threats and legal maneuvering.”

  Seemed dubious, but he supposed he had an obligation to his client to pursue every possible lead. “Spill. What do you know?”

  “A lot more than you.”

  He took a step forward and got right in her face—even though he knew it put him squarely in the camera frame. “Stop messing around. If you actually know something, I want to hear about it. Right now.”

  Kenzi offered a mock shiver. “KenziClan, am I the only one who had a little moment there when he started getting tough with me? I can just imagine what he’s like behind closed doors.”

  “I am not remotely interested—”

  “What do you think, KenziClan? Should I pursue? Vote now.”

  “What is this KenziClan?”

  “That’s what my fans call themselves.”

  “I wasn’t aware lawyers had fans. At least not the good ones.”

  “Ooh. Burn.” She dropped her voice. “Could you speak a little louder? And look into the phone when you deliver your zingers.”

  “I’m not putting on a show.”

  “You do in the courtroom. This is just a different courtroom. Of popular opinion. Loosen up.” She dropped her voice again. “Don’t be a spoilsport. You’re trending. You were barely on the radar, but in the last two minutes you’ve hit the Twitter Trending Top Ten.”

  “I don’t care about that.”

  “You should. Opinions are formed online these days. This is how you reach jurors before they become jurors. Also how you find future clients. It’s branding.”

  “There’s more to practicing law than branding. You should
spend more time with your clients and less time with your social media manager.”

  Kenzi laughed out loud. “What an arrogant so-and-so. FYI, Boomer, my clients love me. And my social media manager is my teenage daughter.”

  She had a teenage daughter? She must take care of herself and visit the gym regularly. And take care of her complexion. And...

  He realized he had been staring and looked away.

  “I’ll tell you what I know about Lombardi, my friend. But I expect something from you in return.”

  “What? Skinny Girl popcorn?”

  She glanced again at the phone, tapping it several times. “Fifty-seven percent of those watching this livestream event want us to go out to dinner.”

  “They’re going to be disappointed. I’m seeing someone.”

  “Oh, boo hiss.” She made a sad face for the camera. “Pity. Your approval ratings will go into freefall now.”

  “Your fans would rather I cheated on my girlfriend?”

  “No. They’d rather you sent a text dumping her, then went out to dinner with me.”

  “That is not going to happen.”

  “Fine. Then my backup request is that you come to Seattle and testify for me.”

  He didn’t like being confused, especially when he knew his state of bafflement was being broadcast live into cyberspace. “Do you have a criminal case against Carvel too?”

  “Perish the thought. I don’t do criminal. Way too grimy for me. I handle divorces.”

  “Of course. Nothing grimy ever happens in family court.”

  “Not to me. I only represent women. Wronged women. Women who need help to make sure they aren’t railroaded by the system.”

  That sounded somewhat familiar. “Is Lombardi getting divorced?”

  She touched her nose with her free hand. “Ding ding ding. Now you’re onboard. She’s dumping that deadbeat daddy. She wanted an architect, not a mobster.”

  “I don’t see how I can help you.”

  “If you talked to him, you can testify about what he said. His business dealings and assets.”