Silenced Witness

by Larry A Winters

  “It’s not official. Not yet. But I have a reliable source telling me Hazenberg’s been in contact with Lockwood, and that Lockwood traveled first class last night on a flight from Los Angeles to Philadelphia. I wouldn’t be surprised if Hazenberg were signing Lockwood’s engagement letter right now, while we’re sitting here.”

  “Stanley Lockwood….” Jessie understood now why Warren looked like a wreck. The case was going to be high-profile, and there was a real chance the DA’s office could lose.

  “Handling this trial would be a full-time job, Jessie. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

  Warren studied her. His stare was so penetrating that for a moment she questioned her own resolve. “And if I tell you that’s not a problem?” she said.

  “Well, I’m not going to tell you you’re wrong. I said I’m trying to be a good boss. I never said I was a saint. This is going to be a big trial with a lot of publicity. Obviously, I’d like to put my best prosecutor on it.”

  Hearing him call her his best prosecutor took some of the sting out of the conversation, but not all of it. She still felt rattled, off-center.

  He leaned forward. He looked concerned again, as if he’d read her thoughts. “We don’t need to decide this right now, Jessie. Hazenberg hasn’t even been arrested yet. Take the rest of the day. Think about whether you really want this case at this time. Sleep on it. Then we can talk again tomorrow.”

  8

  Okay, Hal Nolan thought, time to make some money.

  He and Kristina entered Philadelphia police headquarters. The cool kids called it the Roundhouse because it was, well, round. Hal had never given much thought to architecture. He considered himself more of a people person.

  And the Roundhouse was full of people. Mostly full of cops, but there were other people, too. One of them was Louis Mulford.

  “That’s him,” Hal said when he spotted the man in the building’s lobby. “Walk with me. Try to look casual.”

  Kristina shot him a look. After six years of marriage, it was a look with which he was very familiar. Arched eyebrow, slight frown. The look said, Are you serious?

  Hal was serious.

  Mulford was a janitor and longtime employee of the PPD. When he pushed his mop and bucket past Hal and Kristina, Hal discreetly pushed a one-hundred-dollar bill into his hand. Kristina gave him another look, but did not comment.

  “Cost of doing business,” he whispered to her as they walked past the janitor.

  “We’re in the business of bribing government employees now?”

  This time he was the one giving her a look. “He’s a janitor, not a congressman. And it wasn’t a bribe. It was a gift.”

  “Really? What’s the occasion?”

  “Why does there need to be an occasion? He’s my friend.”

  “Oh, I see that.” She rolled her eyes.

  “This is how business is done, Kristina. Friends in high places.”

  “It’s everything I imagined in law school and more.” Somehow her voice was melodious even when dripping with sarcasm. “What happens now?”

  They watched Mulford disappear into the depths of the police station.

  “Now we wait.”

  “There are easier ways to get clients, you know. Billboards. Internet advertising. Legitimate referrals….”

  Hal smiled brightly as a pair of uniformed officers approached them. “You the lawyers for Sheridan?” one of them said. He looked young, with a light blond crewcut and pimples on his chin. The nameplate on his uniform said Gastaldi.

  “That’s exactly who we are, Officer Gastaldi,” Hal said. “And may I say it’s good to meet you.”

  He extended his hand, another hundred-dollar-bill folded tightly against his palm. Gastaldi shook his hand and the bill disappeared.

  “Right this way, counselors.”

  “You have a lot of friends all of a sudden,” Kristina whispered as the two uniformed officers escorted them to an elevator, down several hallways, through a bullpen of detectives that looked like something from a TV cop show. Gastaldi opened the door to an interrogation room—also straight out of a cop drama—that managed to appear both bland and intimidating. In it, a man sat at a table, handcuffs on his wrists.

  Gastaldi stood to the side of the door and gestured for them to enter. “Mr. Sheridan, your lawyers are here.” To Hal, he said, “Knock if you need me.”

  “Will do.”

  Hal and Kristina were no strangers to police stations and their procedures. As partners in a law practice comprised of two lawyers—themselves—they had by necessity become jacks of all trades. But criminal defense had always been their bread and butter.

  The door closed behind them—a moment that always threatened to send a shiver down Hal’s spine—and they were alone with their potential new client.

  Hal took a step forward. “Hello, Mr … Sheridan is it?”

  “You don’t know my name?” The man was muscular, rough-looking, early or mid forties, medium height but very solidly built. Like a slab of muscle. Sinuous black tattoos snaked from his neck down into his shirt and emerged again from the cuffs of his shirt. His hands were ridged with callouses and scar tissue.

  “Why don’t you tell us?” Hal said. “Easier to help you if we know who you are.”

  The man stared at them for a long moment. “Yancey Sheridan.”

  “I’m Hal Nolan. This is Kristina Nolan.” Two chairs faced Sheridan at the small table. Hal pulled one out for Kristina, then sat in the other one. “How are you doing today, Mr. Sheridan?”

  “You from the public defender’s office?” Sheridan said.

  Hal shook his head. “We’re not public defenders.”

  “I just assumed, because of your stupid-ass question. How am I doing? I just got arrested for rape. How do you think I’m doing?”

  “Well,” Hal said, managing to hold his pleasant smile in place, “we’re here to hopefully improve things for you.” He drew a folded sheet of paper from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, unfolded it, and placed it on the table in front of Sheridan, where it immediately refolded itself as if recoiling from the man. Hal quickly smoothed it out.

  “What’s this?”

  “An engagement letter.” Hal pulled a pen from his pocket, hesitated for a brief second as he imagined it being stabbed into his eye, and placed it on the table within reach of Sheridan’s handcuffed wrists. “Sign at the bottom and we’ll be official.”

  Sheridan did not look at the letter or the pen. “You got the same last name. Nolan. You married? Brother and sister? What?”

  Hal started to answer, but Kristina cut him off. “We’re law partners. That’s all that should be important to you.”

  Hal forced what he hoped sounded like a friendly chuckle, hoping to take the edge off of Kristina’s voice. “I’m sure Mr. Sheridan just likes to get to know the people he does business with. It’s fine. We are husband and wife. Married for six wonderful years.” He moved to touch Kristina’s hand, but she jerked it away and scowled at him.

  “I didn’t call you,” Sheridan said. “I didn’t call any lawyers.”

  “We understand that,” Hal said. “But we’re here. Why don’t you tell us briefly about why the police arrested you.”

  Sheridan leaned back, making the handcuff chains jingle. “Not much to tell. Met a girl at a bar. She acted like she was into me, let me buy her drinks, smiled at me, touched my arm and all that. But then she didn’t want to go home with me. You know how it is. So I followed her home. Outside her place, I convinced her to let me up, and we had some fun in her apartment. I thought that was that, but the bitch must have called the cops on me because the next day I got arrested. She says I raped her.”

  “But you’re saying the … what happened at this woman’s apartment … it was consensual,” Hal said. He could feel Kristina’s disgust radiating beside him and hoped it wouldn’t be obvious to Sheridan.

  “Yeah. Consensual.”

  “She consented,” Hal said.<
br />
  “Like I said, I convinced her.”

  “Okay, but how did you convince her, exactly?”

  Sheridan looked down at the engagement letter. “How much is this going to cost me?”

  Hal cleared his throat. “Well, Mr. Sheridan, we’ll need you to pay us a retainer of $10,000. We’ll need that today, upfront. Our hourly rate is three-hundred an hour. Each. What we’ll do is draw against the retainer as we work, until it is exhausted, and then we can discuss another retainer or we can invoice—”

  “Are you out of your mind? I can’t afford that!”

  Hal felt a burn in his face and neck. He cleared his throat again. “Well, we can be flexible, work with you on a payment plan. What can you afford?”

  “Couple hundred, maybe,” Sheridan said. “If you give me some time to make a few calls.”

  Hal swept the engagement letter and pen from the table and stood from his chair. Kristina rose with him. “Excuse us for a minute,” he said. He knocked on the door.

  “You’re leaving?”

  “Just going out into the hall to run some numbers.” He smiled reassuringly. “Be right back.”

  Officer Gastaldi opened the door. Hal and Kristina stepped into the hallway and shut the door behind them.

  Gastaldi looked confused. “That’s all the time you want with your client?”

  “There’s been a mistake,” Hal said. “A miscommunication. That man is not our client.”

  Gastaldi’s eyes narrowed. “Sounds like your mistake, not mine.” Translation: You’re not getting your hundred bucks back.

  “I understand. Sorry about the inconvenience.”

  “What about the rapist?” Gastaldi said.

  “Probably more of a situation for the public defender’s office. We should get going now.”

  Two uniformed cops walked them back to the lobby. “Friends in high places, huh?” Kristina said under her breath as they walked.

  “Believe me, my friend and I are going to have a discussion.”

  Back in the lobby, the janitor, Louis Mulford, materialized on cue, expecting the second half of his finder’s fee. Hal had promised him one-hundred upfront, and one-hundred after he signed the client. But instead of pushing cash into the man’s hand, Hal said, “Let’s talk outside. Now.”

  Mulford took them to a door that opened on an outdoor area with a couple dumpsters. There was no one there, but cigarette stubs on the ground suggested it was an area where cops snuck their smoke breaks. Kristina leaned against the wall while Hal took Mulford aside.

  Mulford said, “I believe you owe me another hundred, friend.”

  “Actually, I want my first hundred back. The lead was bullshit.”

  Mulford’s expression darkened. “We had a deal, Nolan.”

  “Yeah. The deal was you find me a client. As in, a person who can pay me for my legal services. Not some loser rapist without a penny to his name.”

  “You said you needed clients and you’d pay me for access to them. I got you a client. I’m not giving you that hundred back and I’m not leaving till you give me the rest of what you owe.” The janitor crossed his arms over his chest.

  A car pulled into the lot. It had no police markings, but it was a black Ford Police Interceptor, the standard unmarked car of the Philadelphia Police Department. The Ford pulled to a stop as close to the building’s door as the driver could manage. Then the driver cut the engine. Two people emerged from the front seats, both wearing plain suits, an older man and a younger blonde woman. Plainclothes detectives, Hal assumed. The woman walked to the rear door, opened it, and hauled a handcuffed man out of the vehicle.

  Mulford clammed up at the site of the detectives. He stepped away from Hal and toward the dumpsters, as if using them for cover. With his janitor uniform, maybe that would work. Hal didn’t much care. He figured the original hundred dollars was gone, as well as the hundred he’d given Gastaldi, but if he could escape now, at least he wouldn’t have to give Mulford another hundred.

  Kristina tapped his shoulder. “Hal, that’s Oscar Hazenberg.”

  “What?”

  “They must be bringing him in through the back to avoid the media.”

  The media? Then the name clicked in Hal’s head. Oscar Hazenberg, the suspect in that murder where the guy had his dick cut off.

  Kristina turned to Mulford. “See that guy those detectives are bringing in?”

  The janitor nodded warily.

  “Get us in to see him,” Kristina said, “and we’ll triple your fee.”

  9

  Jessie was in her office when Leary walked in. “Got a second? Darla called me.”

  “What?” She had been thinking about the Hazenberg case, and her meeting with Warren. Now she tried to change her focus to Leary. “Darla?”

  “Darla Gabor.” A note of irritation entered his voice. “From Grannis House. She wants to know if we’ve made a decision on the food.”

  “I’m going to do that tonight. As soon as I get home.”

  “Will you?” Leary walked around her desk. He looked at her computer screen, where a file from the Edley murder investigation was open on her screen. He looked at her, and when their eyes met, she felt a stab of guilt.

  “Mark….”

  “Or will you be devoting all of that new spare time to prosecuting Oscar Hazenberg?”

  His tone of voice was one of a detective asking a suspect a question. She didn’t like it. “Don’t interrogate me, okay?”

  “Then just be straight with me.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you taking the Hazenberg case?”

  “I haven’t made up my mind.”

  “I think you have.”

  She glanced at her computer monitor. Then back to Leary. Didn’t he understand? “What this man did … he needs to be put in prison where he can’t hurt anyone else. This might be a death penalty case—”

  “See? You’re pretty decisive when it comes to everything other than our nuptials.”

  “I just told you. I haven’t decided.”

  “Uh-huh.” He started to walk out of her office.

  “Leary, I love you. I want to marry you.”

  “Just not as much as you want to try murder cases.”

  “I never said that.”

  At her doorway, he turned back to look at her. “It doesn’t matter what you say. It matters what you do.”

  10

  Mulford met them in the main lobby of the Roundhouse ten minutes later, inconspicuous as ever in his coveralls and janitorial paraphernalia.

  “Well?” Hal said.

  Mulford frowned. “Hazenberg already has a lawyer.”

  Damn. Someone beat them to the punch. “Who is it? Rennells? That bastard always gets the jump on me.”

  “No one local. The guy flew in from the west coast. Apparently he’s some kind of big deal. Gets interviewed on the cable news channels. He’s probably sitting in the back of a stretch limo on his way here right now.” The janitor shrugged and started to turn away.

  “Then we don’t have much time, do we?” Hal said.

  “Much time for what? I told you. He’s already lawyered up.”

  Mulford tried to walk away. Hal stepped into his path. “We just need a few minutes alone with Hazenberg. Kristina and me. You can arrange that, right?”

  “I’m a janitor, not a desk sergeant. I don’t exactly run the show around here.”

  “You seem to have some sway with Officer Gastaldi.”

  “Officer Gastaldi is just a kid looking for a few extra bucks to help him keep up with his high-maintenance girlfriend. He can get you in to see a guy like Sheridan, but Hazenberg is way above his pay grade.”

  “But a guy like you, I have a feeling has some friends at every pay grade.”

  A small smile touched Mulford’s lips. “I am quite friendly.”

  “See what you can do. Like Kristina said, we’ll triple the finder’s fee.”

  “Even if he turns you away?”

  Hal wasn’t
exactly in a position to be throwing money around, but in this case, the risk seemed worth it. “Right.”

  Mulford nodded and disappeared from the lobby.

  “What did he say?” Kristina asked. She had hung back while he spoke to the janitor. Now she stood at his side.

  Hal leaned closer to her. “Hazenberg already has a lawyer on his way here. I asked Mulford if he could get us in a room with Hazenberg before his lawyer shows up. He’s going to try.”

  “And then what?”

  “And then we poach the client.”

  Kristina gave him a skeptical look. “You’re joking.”

  “Don’t underestimate yourself. You’re persuasive.”

  “I’m also ethical. If Hazenberg already has a lawyer—”

  They heard a door open. The blonde female detective they’d seen outside walked into the waiting area. When her gaze locked on Hal, he felt his stomach drop, but he forced himself to meet her gaze as she walked over.

  You belong here just as much as anyone. Well, almost as much.

  The detective regarded him with undisguised suspicion, then turned a similar stare onto Kristina. “You’re the two lawyers from Lockwood’s legal team?”

  Lockwood? As in Stanley Lockwood? He was the fancy lawyer? Holy hell!

  Hal tried to cover his shock by nodding decisively. “Yes. We work with Stan. He’s on his way, but he sent us ahead to get started.”

  “I’ve seen you around the courthouse,” the detective said. “You’re from Philly, not LA.”

  Hal started to stutter a response. Kristina, seeing him floundering, spoke up. “We were retained as local counsel. I’m Kristina Nolan. This is Hal Nolan. We’d like to speak to Mr. Hazenberg immediately, please.”

  The detective did not move. “Strange that Lockwood wouldn’t want to make the initial introduction himself.”

  “I can call him if you’d like,” Kristina said.

  Hal felt a cold sweat break out across his skin as the detective seemed to consider. Then she shrugged. “No need. Follow me.”

  As the detective led them through more of the Roundhouse’s corridors, rooms, and elevators, Hal mentally prepared himself—or tried to. Somehow, he needed to convince Hazenberg to dump a world-famous defense attorney and retain Kristina and him instead. And he needed to do it quickly, before the cops got wise to their scam and threw their asses out of the building. No big deal for a couple superstar lawyers, though, right?