“Perhaps a better one.”
She shook her head and sipped more of the coffee. “I have no nostalgia for another age. I like my life right now. I enjoy being a business owner. I like being around fine clothes and fine jewelry.”
“When did you open the shop?” Clay asked.
“About five years ago. I had to save up for years for the initial investment. It’s always a big chance and a big challenge to open a business. About 40 percent of all new businesses in the state fail within five years. This is my fifth year, and I’m still doing well.”
“Congratulations.”
“So why are you asking questions about six-year-old trial?”
“The judge in the case was murdered recently,” April said. “I’m wondering if it might be connected to one of the cases he tried. It’s a long shot, but I’m just asking a few questions.”
“Oh, that judge. I had forgotten his name. I saw a notice in the paper of a local judge being shot but didn’t connect it to the case.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I hope you don’t think I sound cruel, but in this life, you have to take care of yourself. I learned that the hard way. If you don’t like an extra-physical relationship, then leave or get a divorce. It’s that simple.”
“Thank you for your honesty,” Clay said, getting up from his chair.
“Come back anytime. We have many wonderful gifts you can buy your sweetie here.” "I’m sure she would love them.”
“When you have a discount sale,” April added.
They left the room and walked out of the shop. It was a typical sunny day, but a hefty breeze blew cold sea spray on them. Saltwater droplets splattered on their clothes. After observing the strong personality of Ms Harris, Clay didn’t doubt that she had smacked a few guys around herself. Before entering the shop, he had had one or two ideas in mind to try when talking to her. Such as running a bluff to see how she would react. But shortly into the interview, he changed his mind. She’d call his bluff and raise. And if you’re running a bluff, you don’t have any more cards.
He noted that the Mallory trial was six years ago. It was five years ago when she opened her business. He wasn’t making any allegations, just noting the two facts were intriguing.
“That’s a tough woman. She admits she hit a few guys,” April said. “I wonder if she shot any.”
Clay nodded. “She may be good-looking, but I would not want to come home to her every evening. I prefer staying as far away from her as possible.”
“You don’t like tough women?”
He laughed, leaned over, and kissed her cheek. “No, I like tough women. I like you, and you’re tough. You’re just not mean. Besides, there’s a sweetness in you, a kindness. That toughness is below the sweetness and comes into play only when needed. In Ms Harris, there’s no sweetness beneath the meanness.”
“She came out in favor of the defendant at the trial. You think the defense attorney was really that persuasive or was there something else that influenced her?”
“Something else like money?”
“It can be more persuasive than a closing argument.”
“At times, it sure can,” Clay agreed.
April tapped a finger on her cheek. “The trial was six years ago, and she opened the shop five years ago. It takes money to open a shop. She wasn’t making that much money at her nine-to-five job. How did she get the funds to go into business for herself?”
“Maybe she worked very industriously, saved money, and invested. Was the stock market doing well six years ago?”
“Not that good.”
They wandered down the sidewalk, watching the beach walkers trudge through the sand. Their hands clasped as they strolled. The ocean was peaceful. It rolled onto the sand as if caressing the earth.
“You know, I wonder if the murder trial of Mr Mallory might have been a good investment for her,” April said.
“Great minds must think alike. I was wondering about that myself,” Clay said. “Of course we have no evidence of that.”
“No, not yet. And it’s not an allegation, not yet anyway. I was just…wondering.”
“Me, too. Wondering.”
April patted his arm. “Here’s something else to wonder about. If you were on trial for your life, how much would a not guilty verdict be worth to you?”
“I’d say at least six figures if I had the money.”
“If the man hired Brazen as a defense attorney, he had to have had money.”
“True. And if he got perhaps a quarter million from his first wife’s death, then he might have had a little to spare, even if he paid Brazen a good fee. I’m reading the transcripts. I’m about three-quarters through. I didn’t think Brazen argued that good of a case. He was adequate, but nothing more. He wouldn’t have persuaded me.”
“But what if you had an extra hundred thousand in your pocket?”
“That is a lot of persuasion. Once the deal was made, Mallory would have to pay off, even if he didn’t get a not guilty verdict.”
“Think so?”
“Yes. Ms Harris, it seems to me, is intelligent and cunning. If Mallory was planning to pay after the verdict and reneged, she had leverage. She could walk into the state attorney’s office and say she felt guilty and had to tell the truth that Mallory had offered to bribe her. That would invalidate the trial. Mallory would face both murder and jury tampering charges in his next trial. And Ms Harris’s testimony could nail shut both cases. I don’t remember the penalty for jury tampering, but it’s a very serious charge. Mallory would have been in prison until his hair turned gray.”
“Would be worth money to get out of that, if he had a hundred thousand to spare. But we’re speculating. I don’t see how we could prove that.”
“Oh…we might find some evidence,” Clay said.
She looked at him. “Clay, you have a devious mind, and I mean that in the best possible way. But how would we get any evidence?”
Clay smiled. “I have a friend, Slippery Jim, who is a cyber-techno-hacking expert.”
“Slippery Jim?”
“His nickname. He takes pride in it.”
“How could a hacking expert help us?”
“Being the expert he is, bank records are open to him. I’m thinking he might find the computer records of even an account of, say, six years ago. That could reveal if there were any unexpected and six-figure deposits into the account. I would have to check with Jim to see if that is possible, but I think he could do it.”
“And if her bank account shows a six-figure deposit?”
“Then, my dear, we have what might be called a clue.”
“So we do. How quickly can you get in touch with Slippery Jim?”
“Might take a day or so. He doesn’t usually answer his calls. He waits for the message and then decides if he wants to make a callback.”
“That’s rather an odd trait.”
“Slippery has a few…. idiosyncrasies.”
“I hate to say this, but you can work on tracking him down tonight. I was expecting a romantic dinner and evening, but I have that annoying nine-to-five job. The regular night reporter got sick, and I’m filling in.”
“We can make the reservations for tomorrow,” Clay said. “A romantic dinner and a romantic evening.”
“Sounds good.”
He smiled. “Since I’m free tonight, I will interview the other juror who took Mallory’s side in the case.”
“Want to drop by for a nightcap about ten and tell me what he said?”
“I sure would. Hey, with any luck, we might get a second clue.”
“We’re rolling,” April said.
9
As Clay drove west toward a somewhat well-known Western saloon, Carli Newman left her office at Madison Advertising and walked into the small parking lot of the firm. As she approached her car, she was accosted by Rollo Eberdine. Her scream was cut off when he put his fat hand over her mouth. As she struggled, he raised his arm to slap her, but Manatee grabbed the arm and almost yanked
it out of the socket. He landed a punch in Rollo’s gut. Rollo staggered like a drunk then sprawled on the asphalt.
“I told Clay he was too soft with you,” Manatee said.
He opened the car door for Carli and told her not to worry. Rollo would never bother her again. As she drove off, Manatee hauled Rollo up and dumped him into the trunk of his car.
Ten minutes later he drove into one of the heavily wooded sections of the county. He unlocked the trunk and dragged Rollo out, tossing him onto the ground. Small amounts of blood rolled down Rollo’s arms after being bruised from the asphalt. At first, Rollo was indignant, not frightened. He huffed as if exhausted but finally spat out words.
“Who are you? You won’t get away with this!”
He would have said more, but he began panting. The panting interfered with his speech. Manatee walked closer to him.
Rollo sneered. “My father knows how to deal with people like you. Low-class thugs. He’s dealt with some in his business.”
Manatee smiled. He stood about two feet away from Rollo. “Fat boy, your father never dealt with anyone like me. I resent your remark. I am not a low-class thug. I am a high-class thug. If you’re not a friend of mine, I cost a lot to hire.”
His fist smashed into Rollo’s face. A tooth flew out and plunked into the sand. Blood flowed from his mouth. Manatee yanked his shirt. “Clay Augustine gave you a warning. You ignored it. In the real world, fat boy, you only get one warning then you get pain and regrets.”
Rollo’s eyes widened in fear. For the first time, it dawned on him that danger was in the form of the grinning tan man with the trim mustache and white goatee. A man who was smiling, but was danger personified. Rollo managed a faint cry for help before another fist slammed into his mouth.
Thirty minutes later Manatee returned Rollo to his house and deposited him on the front steps. In what Clay would later think was a gracious act, Manatee actually phoned 911 and said he saw a man fall down in front of his house and didn’t get up. He urged an ambulance be sent. The county obliged and in five minutes a green and white Winter Springs ambulance drove to the scene. Three EMTs jumped out. They transported Rollo to the local hospital. The EMTs later said he was moaning and crying the entire time. That fact was later relayed to
Ms Newman who simply replied, “Good.”
Lee Brittle enjoyed hanging out in the Lonesome Tree Saloon, which was about two miles inside the western border of Winter Springs County and surrounded by ranch land. Thousands of Black Angus steers roamed the grasslands. Ranch and western pictures hung on the wood walls. On the large painting behind the bar, three cowpokes steered brown and white cattle toward an unknown destination. The riders looked content, if not happy. A pair of extra-large longhorns hung above the picture.
Clay smiled at the bartender. “My name’s Clay Augustine. Is a man named Lee Brittle in the establishment?”
“I ain’t the information center,” the bartender said.
Clay held up two twenties. “When you fix me a bourbon and Coke, this is your tip if you tell me where Brittle is.”
When the bartender brought back the drink, he pointed to a booth against the far wall. An orange light hung above the booth. Due to the dim light, Brittle was surrounded by orange and black shadows. Clay thanked the bartender and he sipped the drink. It was better than expected, but, to be honest, his expectations had not been high.
“Mr Brittle. Wonder if I might talk to you for a minute or two.”
“Why?”
Brittle was a thin man with a sallow face. With his brown, leathery skin he had the look of a man who worked in the sun. He drank a beer.
“Because I’d like to ask you a few questions about the Mallory trial six years ago. I believe you were a juror.”
Brittle showed no interest in the conversation.
“Why do you want to ask me about that? And why should I answer?”
Clay slipped his hand into his pocket and brought out a one-hundred-dollar bill. “Because I will pay for five minutes of your time.”
Brittle looked at his watch. He was one of the few people who still wore one.
“Five minutes?”
“Five minutes.”
“Sit down. Your time begins now. I’ll take the money now, too.”
He snatched the bill and jammed it into his shirt pocket.
Clay sat down. “I understand you were one of the two jurors who wanted a not guilty verdict.”
He nodded.
“You didn’t believe Alden Mallory was guilty?”
“Nope. Got involved with a feisty woman and he was a feisty guy. I’ve known women like that. Known men like that too.”
“The other jurors didn’t agree with you, including two who thought Mallory was a murderer.”
He shrugged. “What they thought didn’t matter to me.”
“I read the transcripts, Mr Brittle, and I thought the state had a fairly substantial case against Mallory.”
“I don’t care what you think, either.”
“I was surprised by the verdict.”
“Not my problem. Your time is running out. You only got three minutes left, unless you want to fork over another hundred.”
Clay sipped some of his drink. His first impression of the liquor was wrong. The drink wasn’t better than expected. It was as bad as he originally thought it would be.
“OK, I’ll cut to the chase. I’m working on a theory, Mr Brittle. It’s a theory that says although Richard Brazen has a quality reputation as a defense attorney, it wasn’t his skill that got his client off with only six years. I’m wondering if there wasn’t a bit of jury tampering. Bribery, that is. You know why I wonder about that?”
“No, and I don’t care.”
“Maybe you will in a minute or so. One of the jurors who also wanted a not guilty verdict was Charlott Harris, a tall redhead you may remember.”
“Nothing comes to mind.”
“Ms Harris wanted to open a dress shop. Five years ago she did.”
Brittle showed his empty, bland expression, but Clay was ready to run his bluff.
“To open a business takes money. I have a friend who is a grade-A hacker. The CIA could use him. He can hack into anything, including bank accounts. Turns out that five years ago
Ms Harris had a financial windfall. A company deposited twenty-five thousand dollars in her bank account. I fail to see what she did to earn that money. My friend assures me the company was a dummy corporation, so the money was untraceable.”
Brittle said nothing but his eyes sparkled with curiosity. He raised his eyebrows, too. Clay wondered if he sold his vote for a lot less. Now he probably felt cheated.
“Of course the question arises as to what Ms Harris did for the money. She was working at a relatively low-paying job at the time. She was certainly not doing anything worth twenty-five thousand. Perhaps she did a great favor for a rich man, so I wondered if he was appreciative.”
“Maybe she slept with him. If she was a redhead, she could charge for it.”
“No, I think she may have done other types of favors. In fact, I wondered if the defendant or one of his representatives met with two of the jurors before the trial and offered a deal. He wanted a not guilty verdict but said a lesser plea would be acceptable instead of a hung jury. If there was a second trial, there might not be a chance to tamper with more jurors. It’s always something of a risk. So you and Ms Harris, when boxed in by the other jurors, agreed to a lesser count. For the sake of unity, you would agree to felony assault. Ms Harris knew what she wanted out of life, and this was her chance. Her juror vote came high. I wonder if they got you for a cheaper price.”
The eyes burned with anger. Brittle had lines chiseled in his brown cheeks. The lines cut deeper now.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You might want to think twice, Lee. The penalties for jury tampering are severe. Authorities are beginning to snoop around that six-year old trial. Eventually, they will drop by h
ere and walk into Ms Harris’s shop. The first one of you who tells the truth will get a good deal. The other one hangs, figuratively speaking. Ms Harris, as you well know, is a very smart, determined woman. She will realize in about two seconds that the jig is up, and she’ll plea out and tell authorities what they want to know. They will promise her immunity because she can hand them a much bigger fish, the killer of a judge. They won’t care if she walks. Be better for you if you took their deal first or just went in and confessed. First, you can tell me who bribed you and what his connection was to Mallory.”
“Your five minutes are up.”
“Don’t be stupid, Brittle,” Clay said.
“Your five minutes are up. Fork over another hundred or leave. I ain’t telling you nothing.”
“You’re blowing your one chance.”
Brittle pointed toward the bar. “Tough people come in here. The bartender uses two tough people as bouncers. Leave now, or I’ll call them over here.”
Clay shook his head and left his drink on the table. Perhaps I need to brush up on my communication skills, he thought.
A smiling April held up the Blue Apron instruction sheet. She turned on the stove.
“Steak and Green Peppercorn Sauce with kale and roasted potatoes, and green peppercorns are known for their bright, tangy flavor,” she said.
“Good. I hate my peppercorns to be stale and untangy,” Clay said.
She turned on the faucet. “OK, I am going to wash and dry the produce. If you would take the potato and cut it in half, then cut crosswise into pieces.”
Clay grabbed the potato. “Got it,” he said.
While April stuck the kale under the running water, Clay sliced the potato in two, then sliced the two halves. He placed the pieces on a sheet pan.
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