A Sea Oak Mystery Boxed Set

by Adele M Cooper

  “And the jury bought it?”

  “Surprisingly, yes. The thing is I didn’t think Hanford tried a bad case. He will never be an excellent trial attorney, but he was…let’s say better than mediocre during the case. He did an OK job. Brazen is supposed to be a first-rate, grade-A defense attorney. He did all right, but I wasn’t overly impressed with his technique either. He didn’t sway me. I would have voted for second-degree murder. But I’ve covered a lot of trials, and I know a lot of attorneys’ tricks. I didn’t think the jury would accept Brazen’s defense, but they did. I was shocked when they came back in. So was Judge Trulock.”

  “Trulock always believed in justice. Brazen believes in money,” April said.

  Dangler nodded and sipped more of his coffee. “How true. The jury had a list of charges. The most serious was the second-degree charge. They could have chosen first or second-degree manslaughter, but it went down to simple assault. That was the most lenient charge. I can’t remember, but I think they settled on felony assault.” He shook his head. “Sorry, I forget the exact legal term. But I do remember the maximum penalty was six years. Judge Trulock gave the defendant every day of it.”

  “Even so, the defendant must have been relieved. Second-degree murder will get you twenty years to life,” April said

  “That’s right, but if I recall, Mallory didn’t look happy. He looked shocked and angry. Angry at the jury and angry at Brazen too. Guess he was expecting to get off.”

  “Do you happen to recall what Mallory did for a living before he was arrested?”

  Dangler shook his head. “Sure don’t. Whatever it was, it must have been profitable. You gotta take five thousand to Brazen’s office just to talk with him. He charges a lot more for actually defending you.”

  April thought for a moment. “Mark, are the transcripts of local trials online?”

  “I don’t think they’re online, but they’re in the courthouse. You can read them.”

  He gave her an odd look as he took another sip of his coffee. “Why are you asking about an old case, April?”

  “I just wonder if this case has a connection to the murder of Judge Trulock.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t have ironclad evidence. One or two things point to the possibility, but I don’t know what that connection is, if there is one. I might be on a wild goose chase. But since we’re on the subject, are jurors’ names public record?”

  He shook his head. “Not usually. They can tell anybody they served, but I think their names are kept private. Could be wrong. Want to talk to one?”

  “I might like discussing the time of day with him or her.”

  He thought for a moment. “Well, tell you what I can do. I covered a couple of trials when Trulock was the presiding judge. We got along well. I want the guy who killed him nailed. If it would help, I could probably get the names of the jurors and send them to you. Just keep it quiet.”

  “I will. Thank you, Mark.”

  “Give me a day or two and then start checking your emails. You don’t care about the alternates, do you?”

  “Nope.”

  In her kitchen, April handed Clay a bourbon and Coke. She stuck a cooking spoon in a pot of meat, potatoes, carrots, and a whole lot of green stuff and stirred. She smiled at the concoction and nodded approvingly. Clay sipped the drink.

  “Thanks,” he said. “A drink always tastes better when you mix it.”

  She chuckled. “I appreciate that, but, actually, there is no scientific rationale for that statement. The ingredients do not change, and it should taste the same regardless of whoever mixes or even if a machine mixes the drink.” She kissed his cheek. “But as a girlfriend, I’d like to say that’s incredibly sweet. And true. There are some things science can’t measure.”

  She sprinkled salt and pepper into the pot.

  “What exactly is that?” Clay said.

  “It’s April’s astronomical stew. Meaning it’s out of this world,” she said, sipping from her glass of wine.

  Clay looked into the brown gravy with globs of meat, potatoes, and green stuff.

  “It has a lot of green stuff in it,” he said.

  “Which is good for you.”

  “I’m from the South. We don’t put green stuff in stews.”

  “We do now,” she said. “Besides, look on the bright side. The gravy will mask any green stuff taste.”

  “Oh, OK.”

  “Frankly, honey, you should eat more veggies. They’re good for you. I’m guessing you’re more of a meat and potatoes man.”

  “I am.”

  April grinned. “Well, I realize that just because I’m your fiancée now, I shouldn’t be taking over your life…”

  “I feel there’s a ‘however’ coming on,” Clay said.

  April nodded. “Yes. There is an unwritten rule of romance that states fiancées come with ‘howevers.’ I have and should put them to good use. Remember, broccoli is good for you.”

  “So are lima beans, but I hate them too.”

  “Actually, I also hate lima beans, but I can cook broccoli so that it’s very appetizing.”

  “That’s gotta be difficult.”

  “I’m multi-talented, honey.”

  “I’m beginning to believe that,” Clay said.

  “The bread’s in the oven. Would you like to set the table?”

  “Sure.”

  He gathered up the placemats, napkins, and silverware and placed them on the table.

  “By the way, are you going to continue with the biography of Judge Trulock?”

  “Absolutely. I think he would want me to,” April said. “Plus, and I really don’t like to think about this, there might be greater interest in the book because of his murder. The story has made headlines in the region which Trulock, bless his heart, would appreciate.”

  “How true,” Clay said.

  “Bring me the plates,” April said. “I’ll just dish it from here, so we won’t have to put this hot pot on the table.”

  Clay held out a plate and April dished two large spoonfuls of stew onto it. He offered the second plate, and two more helpings of stew were dished out.

  “Put those on the table, and I’ll get the bread,” she said.

  April’s astronomical stew was excellent. So was the warm Italian bread.

  April smiled. “If you make mad, passionate, out-of-this-world love to me, you won’t have to stick the dishes in the dishwasher tonight. I’ll clean up,” she said.

  “Sounds like a good deal,” Clay said. “But actually, I can make passionate out-of-this-world love to you and still clean the dishes. I’m multi-talented.”

  She put her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Something every girl loves,” she said.

  6

  Sherman Jones, a retired attorney and judge, agreed to answer questions if Clay would play a game of chess with him. He complained that all his previous challengers had died, so as a chess buff, he never got to play much anymore. The two sat out on Jones’s patio in the sun. The attorney had a tall glass of iced tea on his side of the board. The chessmen were exquisitely carved in ebony and ivory. He moved his pawn in a traditional first move. Clay edged a white pawn two spaces forward.

  “Judge, I know you were one of the best friends of Judge Trulock,” Clay said.

  “So I was, for fifty years.” He shook his head. “We graduated law school the same year, and he was the best of the class. They’ve all passed away. I miss most of them, and I miss Art the most. I hated to hear of his passing. I’ve never believed in the death penalty, but with Art’s killer, I may have to change my mind. North Carolina used to have the electric chair. I’d enjoy seeing the murderer take the hot seat.” He jumped a pawn with his knight.

  After a few moves, Clay thought, that although the judge was elderly and retired, his chess abilities hadn’t declined any. He was planning something, but Clay had no idea of the specifics of the black chessmen attack. The detective moved his roo
k. “I was just wondering if you had talked to Judge Trulock recently.”

  “We usually talked at least once a week. Which is how I knew a biography of him was being written. Your friend still doing that?”

  “Yes. We can’t let those great stories be forgotten.” Jones chuckled. “I agree completely. In addition to his other skills, Art was a great chess player. He was truly a Renaissance man. Very intelligent, appreciated great art and great music. Brilliant in history. An avid golfer, too. And, of course, there was no better judge in North Carolina. Art had a passionate sense of good and evil.” Jones moved his queen. He appeared to be setting up his troops for a charge. “It might not have been appropriate, but about six months ago he drove up, and we both drank some whisky and celebrated the death of Charles Avril, a criminal defense attorney who was lower than scum. He had retired about ten years ago and was said to be having some medical problems, which we celebrated, too. There were few human beings more worthless than Charlie boy. We had a fine time that day.”

  “So, had you talked with Judge Trulock recently?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was there anything on his mind, or did he seem worried about anything?”

  A black bishop hovered near Clay’s white ivory king. Clay remained puzzled about the type of attack Jones would employ. The black figurines didn’t look like they were in any type of coordinated position. The attacking force looked like three small armies, dangerous but separated, not joined with one another and not ready to engage the enemy.

  “Did he think someone was about to kill him? No,” Jones said. “He was jovial and friendly. The last time I talked to him, Art sounded like he didn’t have a care in the world. He did brag about the biography. He was looking forward to it coming out in print. He was going to buy a couple of copies and put it on his bookshelf.”

  Did he mention any old cases?”

  “He did admit to having second thoughts about a murder case, one of his last cases on the bench.”

  “With a defendant named Mallory?”

  Jones nodded. “Said he was always a bit troubled by the verdict. He didn’t think either attorney tried a particularly good case. Although Brazen did better than the state attorney, but not by much. Juries are like voters. Lawyers always say you can’t predict what a jury will do. But after decades on the bench, Art could read juries very well. He pretty much always knew what a verdict would be. But he told me the verdict in the Mallory trial surprised him. He knew Brazen possessed a number of tricks he could impress a jury with, but in that particular case, he didn’t think the jury liked him all that much. Brazen had to keep his arrogance under control and wasn’t entirely successful in that trial. Art said he had more and more misgivings about the case.”

  “Now? That trial was over long ago,” Clay said. ‘Yes, but he told me he wanted to check a few things. The fact that a man basically got away with murder stuck in Art’s craw. My late friend believed in righteousness.”

  “So do I.”

  “Don’t see much of that in today’s world.”

  “Maybe someone should strike a blow for it. Did Judge Trulock mention what exactly he was checking?”

  “No. I should have asked. But we got to talking about the loss of another old friend. There’s not many from our generation left. When you get to be my age, you send a lot of flowers, and your list of friends diminishes rapidly.

  Jones took a white bishop with his rook. Clay moved to counter, but the black queen knocked a white knight off his space. Clay took a black bishop, but Jones’s queen put the opposing king into check.

  “Thank you for the information, Judge,” Clay said, moving his king.

  A second black rook appeared out of nowhere and checkmated the king.

  “Thank you for the game, Mr Augustine.”

  “It’s been a pleasure, Judge, but I’m glad we weren’t betting on the outcome.

  April had worked the weekend shift so had two days off. She spent the morning at the Cedar Ridge Health Spa, lifting small weights, then jogging around the exercise area on the makeshift jogging path. She toweled off and headed downstairs to the whirlpool. She enjoyed the admiring stares she received from a few men who were exercising. There were no leers, just appreciative looks. She told herself similar looks might be directed at great art. That was probably not true, she thought, but it sounded good.

  She was good at sticking to a schedule. She tried to exercise at least three times a week. She put on her orange bikini, grabbed a towel, and walked toward the whirlpool. She frowned as she saw the scale and wondered if she should risk weighing. After thirty minutes of exercising should be a perfect time, she decided. The blue digital numbers informed her that she weighed one hundred and thirty-two pounds. She smiled with approval. A year before the scale had read a frightening one hundred and forty-five pounds. Too many snacks and not enough exercising. She had gotten careless about her routine. From then on, she made at least three trips to the health club a week. In a month she had lost ten pounds, and her weight had never gotten into the fat zone again.

  She wanted to think about the case, and crowds and noise hindered lucid thinking. She settled into the hot, swirling water and sighed. Although it wasn’t her current beat, she had covered courts and trials before and had picked up a semblance of legal knowledge. She asked herself if the murder of Judge Trulock could be connected to the murder trial of Alden Mallory.

  She could think of only two reasons for law enforcement officials to investigate a concluded trial. Perjury? Did a witness lie on the stand? Possibly. It’s been known to happen. But even if that were the case, the verdict would not be overturned. Double jeopardy is one of the most unshakable foundations of American law.

  The waters bubbled, and a small wave splashed across her face. Jury tampering?

  April took a deep breath. If there were any jury tampering… She needed to check with a state attorney, but she wasn’t sure even jury tampering could get the state a new trial. After all, the defendant was convicted.

  “Ms Longmont?”

  April looked up as a lady in a white bikini walked down the three steps into the pool. She had a pleasant face, wide brown eyes, small nose and mouth. She had seen the woman before at the club but didn’t know her.

  “Yes, I’m April Longmont.”

  As the waters churned around her waist, the woman offered her hand. “My name is Jeanne Bailey. I’m Judge Trulock’s granddaughter.”

  A wet handshake followed.

  “I’m sorry about your grandfather, but I’m very pleased to meet you.”

  There was a slight resemblance to Judge Trulock. During the interviews, he had mentioned his wife had died several years before but had never spoken of children or other family members.

  “Could I talk to you a minute?”

  “Of course.”

  “My grandfather mentioned a reporter was doing a biography of him.”

  April smiled and nodded. Water dripped off her chin. “That’s me. Your grandfather told wonderful tales that are made for a book.”

  “He also mentioned you had a friend, a private detective.”

  “Yes, Clay Augustine. He accompanied me when I interviewed your grandfather.”

  Ms Bailey gave her quizzical look. “Am I correct that a short time ago you and

  Mr Augustine helped police track down the killer of a man named Jerry Barton?”

  “Yes, Clay knew Jerry and became determined to find the killer, and I helped with the investigation.”

  “Then I would like to hire you to find the murderer of my grandfather.”

  April shook some water off. For a moment she didn’t know what to say. She took a deep breath. “Actually, we’re already on the case and don’t plan to quit. While interviewing your grandfather, I gained both respect and admiration for him. Clay and I want to find the man who killed him.”

  A twinkle came to Jeanne’s eyes. A blink of joy. But mixed with the twinkle was a determination, almost a hardness. April thought the l
ady had some of her grandfather’s personality traits. “That’s good to hear, but I’ll still pay. My grandfather wasn’t hurting for money and neither am I. I won’t quit until my grandfather’s killer is brought to justice. I definitely wouldn’t mind seeing him executed. Do you believe in the death penalty, April?”

  “Yes.”

  “So do I. When they execute this killer I want to witness it. I’ll wear a party hat and swing a noisemaker when they stick the needle in.”

  April smiled.

  “Would you consider a flat fee? My family will offer you twenty-five thousand dollars if you find the killer. If your investigation is not successful, we’ll settle for a lower sum.”

  “Clay tells me his investigations are always successful.”

  “Then is the twenty-five thousand acceptable?”

  “Yes, ma’am. More than acceptable. When we find the murderer, would you like us to slap him around a bit before we bring him in?”

  “Being a judge, I don’t think my grandfather would have approved of that. Neither do I.” She gave a mischievous smile. “So don’t slap him around a little. Slap him around a lot.”

  “I’ll see what we can do,” April said.

  She had the determination of her grandfather. It was a good trait to have, April thought.

  At the Winter Springs Courthouse, April gave her credit card to a clerk and was handed the transcript of the State of North Carolina vs. Alden Mallory trial. She was anxious to read it. She wasn’t sure it would offer any clues, but reporting and private detecting were at times akin to a police detective’s work. It involved a great deal of research and interviews and then more research. Going through piles of paper and computer garbage to find a pearl or a clue.

  The smartphone buzzed. She looked at the text. Jim said juror names had been sent. He had included some background on six of the jurors. Three others had moved out of the county. A fourth had passed away two years ago. He turned up nothing on the final juror.