Hounded (3 page)

I had called ahead to make sure he would be available, but when I get there, the desk sergeant tells me that Pete has been called into the captain’s office.

“He said he’d be available,” I say.

“Well, he ain’t.”

The sergeant has no idea how long the meeting will last, and has no intention of making any effort to find out. It’s another demonstration of defense attorneys being less than revered by police officers, even though I consider us to be quite lovable.

After a half hour, I decide I am not going to wait anymore, even though I basically have no place to go. “Tell him I’ll see him tonight,” I say.

“Do I look like a message taker?”

“Now that you mention it, you don’t look bright enough. But do your best.”

I call Laurie, and she tells me that she is going to meet with her therapist friend that evening, after regular office hours. She would need me to watch Ricky.

“I was going to talk to Pete tonight at Charlie’s,” I say.

“That’s not going to work.”

“Laurie, if I can’t go to my favorite sports bar, drink beer, and talk drivel with my friends, then the entire system is breaking down.”

“You can bring Ricky,” she says. “Be good for him to get out and spend some time with you.”

“Bring Ricky to a sports bar?”

“It’s a restaurant,” she points out. “Buy him a burger and come home early. You’ll have fun. Just try not to swear, drool, or leer at women.”

“You’re taking all the fun out of it.”

“You like hamburgers?” I ask.

We’re on the way to Charlie’s and Ricky has been quiet. He seems uncomfortable with me, and I’m certainly uncomfortable with him, so I come up with the only question I can think of.

“They’re okay,” he says, without enthusiasm.

“Charlie’s has the best hamburgers.”

“They’re okay,” he repeats. I think he’s still talking about hamburgers in general and not those at Charlie’s. I’m afraid if I ask him to confirm that, the conversation could get bogged down.

“What do you like?”

“Fried chicken.”

“Good. Because their fried chicken is even better than their hamburgers. It’s not greasy, you know?”

“I guess.…”

That’s pretty much the extent of the conversation. I’m careful about what to say, because I’m afraid he’ll starting asking me questions about his father. I cannot imagine what this kid has gone through, or how he can manage to cope with it.

Laurie calls me on the cell. Just before she left the house, Pete called to talk to me, and she told him I was on the way to Charlie’s. He said he’d meet me down there. Then, “How’s it going with you and Ricky?”

“Good. He likes fried chicken; grease doesn’t seem to be much of a factor. Hamburgers are okay.”

When I get to Charlie’s, Vince Sanders is already sitting at our regular table. Vince is a friend, but not exactly a ray of sunshine. Exposing Ricky to him could legitimately be called child abuse.

Vince stares at us as we walk to the table, his mouth open in shock. “Vince, this is Ricky Diaz,” I say, with an emphasis on “Diaz.” Vince is editor of the local paper, and the murder of Ricky’s father was on the front page, so he should be able to put two and two together. “Ricky, say hello to Vince Sanders.”

“Hello,” Ricky says.

“Hey, kid. You want something to drink?”

“Sure. What is there?”

“You got a fake ID?”

“Vince…,” I say.

“I just figured maybe a light beer,” Vince explains.

Pete comes into the restaurant and walks toward the table. He looks stressed about something, but makes an effort to brighten up when he sees Ricky there. “Hey, Rick, how’s it going? These guys treating you okay?”

Ricky nods happily when he sees Pete, offering up a smile that had so far been reserved for Laurie. I guess Vince and I don’t bring out the best in kids.

Pete leans over and whispers to me, “You and I need to talk.”

“You got that right.”

I’m not sure when we’re going to have that talk, since we clearly can’t do so in front of Ricky. So instead we just watch some sports and order hamburgers. Ricky orders a chocolate milk, which causes Vince to cringe and ask, “What is that? Milk, like with chocolate in it?”

The door opens and two men come in, both of whom look familiar to me. Pete sees them as well, and he seems to tense up as they head toward our table. He stands up and says to me, “Come on.”

“Come on where?”

“Follow me. Vince, hang out with Ricky for a few minutes.”

I get up as well, and we take three steps toward the door when the two men reach us. By now I recognize them as two of Pete’s colleagues on the force. “Hey, Pete,” one of them says. “We need to talk with you.”

“So talk.”

“Let’s do it outside.”

Pete nods and starts to follow them. I’m sort of frozen in place, which is generally my default position in life. “Come on,” Pete says to me.

“What’s going on?”

“You need to be there,” he says, clearing up absolutely nothing in the process.

I follow them outside, and there are three uniformed patrolmen waiting for us. One of the detectives who had entered the restaurant starts reciting the Miranda warning, signifying an arrest, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone there to arrest.

Then I realize that they are talking to Pete, and he doesn’t seem at all surprised by it.

“What the hell is going on?” I ask, but for the moment no one answers me.

“I’m sorry, Pete, but we need to cuff you.”

Pete nods his assent to this, and puts his hands behind his back to facilitate them doing so.

“What are you charging him with?” I ask.

“What is your role in this?” the detective asks me.

“He’s my attorney,” Pete says.

“So what is the charge?” I repeat.

“Pete Stanton has been charged with the murder of Danny Diaz.”

“I know you understand the system,” I say to Pete, before they take him away. “But it’s a different system when you’re on the other side. So do not say one word without me present, okay? Not one word.”

He nods. “Got it.”

“I’ll follow you down there.”

He shakes his head. “No, there’s nothing you can do tonight. I’ll get processed, and that takes time. And you can’t leave Ricky with Vince; he’s been through enough.”

It is Pete’s attempt to lighten the situation, but the strain in his face makes that impossible. Having said that, he is right about my inability to do anything tonight. “Okay, I’ll be there first thing in the morning.”

They put Pete into a waiting squad car, and I go back into the restaurant. Vince and Ricky seem to be engaged in an actual conversation, and when I get there, Vince says, “Hey, this kid knows more about sports than you do. Of course, this napkin knows more about sports than you do.”

“Thanks, Vince. Ricky, we have to leave.”

“We do?” Ricky asks, clearly not relishing the prospect. “Where’s Uncle Pete?”

“We do. Uncle Pete had to go. We’ll see him later. Vince, call me … we need to talk.”

He nods; Vince is no dummy and can sense something is wrong.

Ricky says, “Goodbye, Uncle Vince.”

Uncle Vince?

Ricky is quiet again on the way home, which gives me time to think, and that turns out to give me time to get angry. I’m sure they have what they consider good reason to arrest Pete, but there is no way he’s guilty. He’s as good a cop and human being as anyone I know, and him being put in cuffs and taken away is not how he deserves to be treated.

As we pull up at home, Laurie is arriving as well. She gets out, and I can see by her face that she knows what’s happening. “I was listening to the news on the radio,” she says, not wanting to reveal more in front of Ricky.

We go inside, and while she is getting Ricky ready for bed, I take Tara and Sebastian for a walk. When Laurie and I have something serious to talk about, we often do so while strolling in the park with Tara. It’s a little jolting that Ricky’s presence prevents that, but nothing I can’t deal with.

By the time I get back, Ricky is in bed, and Laurie is waiting for me in the den, two glasses of wine already poured. “Were you there when it happened?” she asks.

“I was. They took him right out of Charlie’s.”

“Did Ricky witness it?”

“No, the actual arrest was outside. Ricky doesn’t know what happened.”

“Good,” she says, obviously relieved. “Now tell me everything you know.”

“That won’t take long. I don’t know a thing.”

“You have to represent him. You know that, right?”

“Of course.”

I haven’t had any interest in taking on new clients for a very long time, the inevitable result of substantial personal wealth, and very substantial personal laziness. But I do not have to be convinced to help Pete; he is as good a friend as I have ever had.

“In fact, let’s get it started.” I call Hike Lynch, the lawyer who helps me out when we actually do take on a case. He is an outstanding lawyer, but as downbeat a human being as there is in the hemisphere. Fortunately, I get his machine, and his message is, “This is Hike. Assuming I’m not dead, I’ll call you back. If I am, I won’t. Whatever.”

I assume that he’s alive, and leave word for him to be at the office for a meeting tomorrow at noon. I then call Sam Willis and tell him the same, and for good measure I throw in Willie Miller.

I also call Edna, but don’t reach her either. I leave a message for her about the meeting. I feel guilty that I never called to ask how the tournament came out, but with all that has been going on, it just slipped my mind. I say on the message that I want to hear all about it, and to some degree I do. I just have a lot of other, more important stuff to worry about right now.

I leave it up to Laurie to call Marcus Clark, for a couple of reasons. For one, she is the only person who can understand the few words that he says. But more importantly, like everyone besides Laurie, I am scared to death of Marcus. I actually think he could beat me up, or much worse, through the phone.

Everybody we reach agrees to meet at my office at noon. It’s going to be a long night tonight; I basically have no idea why Pete was arrested, or what any of the facts are. We’re going to have to hit the ground running; the first days of an investigation are usually the most important. But I can’t get started until I have information, and that won’t happen until tomorrow at the earliest.

“We’re going to be really busy,” I say to Laurie. I then add, pointedly, “Both of us.”

She knows that I’m talking about the situation with Ricky. My role in this is obvious, and so is Laurie’s. She’s my lead investigator. Ricky’s presence is going to be difficult to accommodate with all this going on.

“We’ll make it work, Andy.”

“So which one of us can’t attend the meeting tomorrow? One of us has to be home, and we can’t bring him with us. Taking him to a sports bar to meet Vince is shaky enough; having him sit in on a meeting about defending the man charged with killing his father would be a bit much.”

“We’ll have to arrange some kind of child care. Andy, these next few months can affect his entire life.”

“Okay … then why don’t we have the meeting here instead of my office?” I ask.

“That’s a great idea. Thank you; I’ll make the calls.”

I shake my head. “I’ll take care of it. I won’t be doing much sleeping anyway.”

Pete’s a big boy who can take care of himself, but I still feel for him. He’s in a position that is as scary as it gets, and no one is immune to the fear.

I know what he is feeling, but I don’t know what he is thinking. Most importantly, I don’t yet know what he knows.

It is definitely going to be a long night.

I’m out of bed at six a.m.

I should be tired, because I’ve slept very little, but I’m not. I’m anxious to get started; it’s not a feeling I’ve had concerning work in a very long time.

Laurie and Ricky are both still asleep. So I head out to the jail, and on the way I call Hike to give him his first assignment. I ask him to find out who has been assigned to the case in the prosecutor’s office. A police captain getting charged with murder does not happen every day, and the media is already all over it, so I assume it will be one of the senior people. But I’m going to need to deal with them very soon, so I have to know who it is.

I’m not unfamiliar with the jail or the process, but this time it’s a little different. Defense attorneys rank just below terrorists in the eyes of most law enforcement officers, and the ones who man the jail are no exception.

So the desk staff delights in making things as difficult as possible, with today being a notable exception. Once the sergeant hears that I am Pete’s attorney, I am treated almost like a human being. He doesn’t go so far as to offer me coffee, but he does tell me where the vending machine is. It’s a machine I’m already familiar with.

Within ten minutes, I’m brought into a room to talk with Pete. It’s record time; I don’t think I’ve ever gotten to see a client in under an hour before. The other departure from protocol is that Pete is not cuffed or restrained in any way; he’s simply sitting at a table in a private room, waiting for me. There is an armed guard who brings me there, and one stationed outside the room, but it is still a sign of deference and concern for Pete that even I appreciate.

Usually, in first meetings like this, I can see the fear etched in the client’s face, often accompanied by bewilderment, and sometimes embarrassment. I don’t see that in Pete; his attitude is one part concern, three parts determination.

He gets to one area of the concern right away. “How’s Ricky doing?”

“Good,” I say. “Seems like a terrific kid, and pretty much likes everyone except me.”

“You’re an acquired taste.”

“So I’ve been told. Talk to me.”

“Are you my lawyer?”

“No, I’m here because I have a jail bridge game with the inmates, been doing it for years. I asked to talk to you because one of the players got paroled, so we need a fourth.”

“I need to formally hire you, to pay you.”

He is technically correct; there is no lawyer-client confidentiality until he hires me. “Okay, give me a dollar.”