The Attorney (21 page)

"I don't know. Maybe they think we know where she is."

"Maybe Ontaveroz doesn't know she and her father are on the outs," says Harry. "They think Jonah knows where the girl is, he might share that with his lawyers."

"Does he? Know where she is?"

"That's why he hired us," I tell him. "To find her."

"Why hire a lawyer to find somebody?" "Same question we asked him. He wanted to put the legal squeeze on Suade."

"He found another way of doing that," says Avery.

"Why kill her if he wanted to find his daughter? Doesn't make any sense you kill your only source of information," says Harry.

"Your man Ryan's a little obtuse if he hasn't seen that."

"Maybe Hale went to see her, when he got there just lost it," says Avery. "Or maybe he wasn't as interested in finding his daughter as he was in keeping Suade quiet. She was making a lotta noise about incest."

"He had no reason to talk to her. That's why he hired me."

"Yeah. But you didn't fare too well," says Avery. "By the way, you left your prints in Suades office," "I was wondering when you were going to get around to that."

"We knew, the day after the murder, that you were there," says Avery.

"Brower told us. Why didn't you mention it?"

"I knew sooner or later he'd get around to it, or you'd figure it out."

"What did you talk about? You and Suade."

"What do you think?"

"Did she know where the daughter and the kid are?"

"If she did, she wasn't telling me."

"I suppose that's when you got your glimpse of Suade's press release.

Did she give you a copy, or did you steal it?" When I don't answer, he says, "We know you had it. We know you shared it with Hale in your office. Brower told us. Next time you hold a meeting with one of your clients, you'll have to remember to keep all the cops out."

"That's before somebody did Suade."

"Somebody? I'm guessing she gave you the release," he says.

"Strikes me as the kind might get off twisting a knife into Hale.

Show it to him and let him stew for a day, knowing he couldn't do a thing to stop it. "Course, in retrospect, it was a mistake. Some might call it fatal. Excuse the pun," says Avery. "Still you shouldn't blame yourself, and you oughta thank Brower. You'd be a suspect in a murder case, except he puts you at the scene earlier in the day, before other people saw her alive."

"Man's a prince," I tell him.

"And its a real interesting concept," says Avery. He's turning for the door now. "This Mexican drug dealer. Just one problem."

"What's that?"

"How you gonna prove he even knew about Suade?"

it's the Biggest problem we have, and the only available defense other than the bald denial that Jonah did it--the information from seemingly reliable sources that the drug dealer Ontaveroz had been looking for Jessica.

This morning Harry and I are in court. Over our objections, Jonah has waived his right to a preliminary hearing. This allows the state to go to trial by way of a grand jury indictment.

Still Jonah is adamant. He is insisting on his right to a speedy trial, to take his chances.

We've warned him that he may not like the result. What is driving him is the obsession to be out of jail, so that he can look for Amanda. He doesn't have a clue as to where he would start, but for some reason, in his mind, the four walls of his cell are now keeping him from Mandy. To make things worse, the judge has denied a rehearing on bail. Harry and I are beginning to feel like oranges in a squeezer.

The business before us is a pretrial motion. Jonah's not here.

Such motions do not require the attendance of the defendant.

Murphy is now our investigator of record on the case. He has acquired three articles from Mexican newspapers, all of them in Spanish, that at least allude to the existence of Ontaveroz by name.

There are no photographs, but the articles retyped in English by a qualified translator and attached to our brief provide details on a man you wouldn't want to meet across an ocean, with God on your shoulder, in a two-minute dream.

Most of the pieces deal with attempts by the Mexican Judicial Police to find him. So far, he is believed to have killed at least three of their agents.

Ontaveroz is believed to have participated in the murder of a number of business competitors, and at least two political assassinations.

Harry says these were probably business, too, like motor-voter laws, only down there they lean out the window--ballots by bullet.

Harry has prepared subpoenas for the DEA, FBI, and Justice demanding that they produce information, notes, records, anything in writing regarding Jessica's plea bargain that sent her away to state prison. We are hoping that these may lead to Ontaveroz, at least some reference to the man by name. If Ontaveroz knew about me, my guess is he knew about Suade. The problem is, how do we prove it?

"So'd ya bring the doughnuts, Mr. Madriani?" Frank Peltro is looking down at me from the bench, face like an Irish bartender, made-to-order smile, everybody's best friend. The only things that give him away are the eagle eyes under heavy, gray, hooded brows.

"Not me. Your Honor."

"You were supposed to bring the doughnuts," he says. "I gotta cageful of angry people back there waiting for arraignment. Gotta deal with 'em in ten minutes. No doughnuts, there's gonna be hell to pay." All of this with a smile on his face. "So what am I supposed to do?" he asks.

"Have the guards pass out Quaaludes," I tell him.

"That's no answer," he says. "They already got those. They want doughnuts." The court reporter is obviously not taking any of this down, not until Peltro gives her the okay. He's been on the bench long enough to know how to stay out of trouble with the humorless tight asses on the Commission for Judicial Performance.

"Can I tell 'em you'll bring doughnuts for lunch?" he says.

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On how enlightened and reasonable the court is in the matter pending."

"Sounds like a felony to me," says Peltro. He looks at the DA.

Avery is laughing. Ryan is ignoring him.

"I think you're in trouble, Mr. Ryan. I need doughnuts for an angry mob.

What are you offering?"

"Nothing," says Ryan. "I'm fine. I've been taping all of this." Peliro laughs deeply, something from the belly. Santa Claus on the bench. "Now I am in trouble. Mr. Bailiff, you can put Mr. Ryan there in the cage.

And tell them that he ate their doughnuts." The bailiff doesn't move, but is laughing, his gut bouncing up and down above his gunbelt.

Peltro takes one last look at Harry's brief, points and authorities, now that the tunis over. Then looks down at Harry and me and says, "Who's gonna argue this mess?" I rise, and step to the podium, front and center.

Peltro nods to the court reporter.

"I read your brief," he says. "There's no need to go through all the arguments. Maybe we should just focus on the problems." This is not a good beginning.

"As I see it," he says, "you want to bring in evidence, but you've got no evidence."

"That's not exactly true, Your Honor. We do have two federal agents."

"Did I miss something?" he says. The judge flipping pages.

Looking at the motion, tracing lines of print with his finger. "I thought you couldn't identify them," says Peltro.

"We can't right now. We're working on it."

"Can you produce them?"

"Given time, I believe we can."

"Your Honor, they've refused to waive time. The case is scheduled for trial." Ryan is on his feet, sensing where I'm going, demanding a speedy trial and requesting a continuance at the same time.

"DA makes a point," says Peltro. "Are you asking for a delay in the start of trial?"

"Not at this moment. Your Honor."

"That doesn't sound good to me," says the judge.

"No," I tell him.

"That sounds better. Unless your client waives time, I'm not gonna be allowing any continuances." He looks down at the bench blotter in front of him, the one with a slice of acetate over it the size of an army blanket. He holds up some pages on the giant calendar underneath it so I can no longer see him. "My next opening ..." Voice lost behind a wall of paper. "My next, ah, available date for trial's not till late September," he says. "And I'm not available then on account of I'm going down to La Paz. Gonna be on the back of a friend's Grady White with my pole over the stern searching for yellowtail. That means your man's in the bucket at least five months, maybe more, pending trial." He drops his calendar, raises those bushy eyebrows. Looks at me over the top of half-moon cheaters. The spectacles make him look even more judicial.

"My client would reconsider waiving time," I say, "if we could come to some accommodation on bail."

"Why? So's he could meet me in La Paz?" says Peltro.

"No, Your Honor." Now Ryan is laughing.

"We've already been through all that," says the judge. "I don't think under the circumstances the court can take the risk. Your client wants to look for his granddaughter. I'm sympathetic," he says. "Got two of

'em myself," he says. "Don't know what I'd do if somebody took 'em. But you, yourself, acknowledge there's a good chance the child could be down in Mexico. So you know where he's gonna go if I let him out."

"He could have gone down there before he was arrested. He didn't"

"He may have second thoughts now," says Peltro.

"I'll guarantee that my client won't leave the county."

"You gonna tie yourself to his leg?" he says.

"You could take his passport," I tell him.

"He doesn't need a passport to cross into Mexico," says Ryan.

"Not at the border."

"I am aware, Mr. Ryan. Let's get back to issues more germane," he says.

"I appreciate your good-faith effort to assure your client's appearance, Mr. Madriani. And I'm sure you would try. But there are compelling forces," he says, "stronger than you and me. And I'm not sure in the end that they would not overtake us in this case, notwithstanding your intentions. My ruling on bail stands.

"What else is here?" he says.

"Witness list. Your Honor. We'll need some accommodation in getting our evidence together," I tell him.

"I hope you're not asking latitude to argue facts not in evidence.

Cuz that's not gonna be happening."

"No, Your Honor." Ryan is wheeling back in his chair, enjoying it as I twist on the spit, savoring the aroma as the judge roasts me and the state gets ready to barbecue my client.

"Then what are you asking?" says Peltro.

"Some relaxation of the time for the defense to file its witness list"

"What he's asking for is trial by ambush." Ryan kicking back in his chair, casual, feeling he has a colleague on the bench gonna do his fighting for him.

"No, we're not, Your Honor."

"Mr. Ryan, you'll be given your opportunity." He nods toward me to go ahead.

"The defense is at a severe disadvantage," I tell him. "My client has a right to a speedy trial, but no opportunity to develop a defense. There is evidence that we have good reason to believe exists, but that we cannot get before the trial starts."

"That's their problem. Your Honor. Then they should waive time."

"Mr. Ryan!"

"Sorry, Your Honor." The judge starts pawing through the pages of our motion, points and authorities by the pound. Harry has done his usual stellar job.

"You want to be able to argue this man, Ontaveroz?" he says.

"That's correct, Your Honor."

"Where's the nexus? What's the connection with your case?" says Peltro.

"My declaration. Another affidavit from my investigator," I tell him.

"Attached there to the motion." Peltro starts to read.

"Your Honor, even if this is true, this is the defendant's own his own investigator, telling us secondhand what they were told by a witness whose credibility we have no way of testing." The judge's hand is in the air, telling Ryan to shut up.

Ryan's rolling his eyes toward the ceiling, like maybe we're gonna argue the man on the grassy knoll next.

"Tell me again how you found these people. These two agents," says Peltro.

"Through my investigator."

"Has he dealt with them before?"

"He has. And he's found their information to be reliable."

"Can he testify from firsthand knowledge that they are agents of the federal government?"

"Your Honor."

"Mr. Ryan." He looks down at the prosecutor, an expression that says he is no longer joshing.

"How do you define firsthand?" I ask the court.

"Has your investigator seen some credentials with their pictures and names?"

"I don't know. But he's dealt with them before, and they've given him information that I believe could only come from federal law enforcement sources."

"Or somebody with a fertile imagination," says Ryan. He's now testing the outer limits.

"They showed me a picture of the man they called Ontaveroz."

"How do you know that's who it was, aside from what they told you?" says Ryan.

I don't answer.

"Do you have this picture?" he says.

Peltro looks up but doesn't stop Ryan from doing his work.

"No, Your Honor." I ignore Ryan. "They showed it to me.

They didn't allow me to keep it."

"That's very convenient, Your Honor, but it ignores the real issue."

Ryan squares himself to the bench and closes the center button on his coat, girding himself for forensic combat, or jail if he's not careful.

"Your Honor, being charitable"--he says it as if the word might curdle in his mouth--"even assuming that these two mythic figures exist, these federal agents, and assuming that what's contained in counsel declarations is accurate, that this man Ontaveroz exists, and that he knew Jessica Hale ..."

"It's more than the fact that he knew her." I'm not going to allow him to understate what little evidence we have. "She carried drugs. That was the basis for her arrest and incarceration. Possession of drugs.

Transportation. That is verifiable," I tell the court.