One Life for Another, page 13
The tears slowly tumbled out of Hamilton’s eyes; Steve removed a tissue from the box sitting on the table and offered it to Hamilton as he continued, “Afterward, I’d go home and fight with my wife because I was so mad at myself that I wanted to yell at someone.
She became my victim…” He paused, looking wracked with guilt.
Steve leaned over and put his arm around Hamilton. “I understand. I am very sorry you have had to go through this.”
“But now, I’ve decided that I need to stop gambling, and last week, I went to my first Gamblers Anonymous meeting. They say you have to hit rock bottom before you can begin to get better, and I think this is it. I’ve lost my family, my job, my savings, my self-respect, and now possibly my freedom because of those damn machines.”
Steve nodded encouragingly. “The good news is that if we take the deal today, you won’t have to go to prison or even spend a single night in the county jail. The deal Ms. Turner has offered is this: First, that she will only take into account the current charges, which amount to $52,347 in stolen funds. When Dr. Babbage searched your computer, they found evidence of over a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of embezzlement. If we don’t take the deal, Ms. Turner will amend the charges to reflect the higher number; however, to be clear, if we do agree to plea, then she won’t add any more charges. Second, if you waive your preliminary hearing and plead to the charges as filed, she will even reduce the charge from a felony to a misdemeanor. You will then be placed on what is called a five-year deferred sentence.”
“A deferred sentence?” asked Hamilton hesitantly.
“This means you will be on probation for five years with the understanding that you have to pay back the $52,347 as restitution. The balance must be paid in full before your probation is up. If you pay it all back and don’t violate your probation, then you will never have to spend a night in jail, let alone prison, and the charges will be dismissed. You won’t even have a conviction on your record.”
“Wow. That sounds great,” Hamilton said as he wiped away his last few tears. “I can’t believe I might get through this without a conviction on my record… But how in the world will I pay all that money back?”
“First of all, by staying out of the casinos and going to those meetings. But that doesn’t matter right now, to be honest with you. The first thing you need to worry about is how to solve the problem of these charges hanging over your head. Did you see that movie from last year, The Martian?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Do you remember how Matt Damon’s character focuses on solving the problem in front of him? He knows that there are several problems that have to be fixed before he will get home, but he understands that the most important thing for his survival is to solve the most important problem facing him first—food— before he can even worry about getting on a ship back to earth. That is similar to your situation. You need to solve the problem of having felony criminal charges pending against you. We can do that today by pleading guilty and taking a deferred sentence with the knowledge you will have to pay back the money. Once that is resolved, you can start trying to figure out how you will come up with $52,347. Does that make sense?” “Yes,” Hamilton said.
“Does that mean that you now believe it is in your best interest to take a plea deal today? Should I call Ms. Turner and let her know we will be waiving the preliminary hearing and taking the deal? As I have said before, the final decision is always yours. As your attorney, I am just here to give you advice on what I think is your best option. Should you decide you want to maintain your innocence, I will do my best to fight the state and poke holes in their case.”
“Yes, I understand, and, yes, I want to take the deal,” Hamilton said with a slight nod. “It honestly feels better to have admitted what I did. You don’t understand how much guilt and angst I have felt lying to you and everyone else about the money. Not to mention the feelings I have from hiding my gambling addiction… I want to call my wife and finally tell her the truth.”
“Well, I would recommend you don’t tell her that today. As your attorney—and not to sound heartless or uncaring—it is my job to protect you. Let me talk to your wife’s lawyer, and maybe we can set up a meeting where you can discuss all of this with her. She could use this against you if she chooses. Like The Martian character, let’s just get through this criminal part and worry about the rest later.”
“Okay,” replied Hamilton with his chin to his chest. His crying had stopped, but he still sat motionless, staring at the floor.
As Steve rose from the table, he said, “It’s almost lunchtime. Go get something to eat, and then meet me in Judge McCuan’s courtroom at one thirty. I will call Ms. Turner and let her know what’s up. We can do the plea this afternoon, and you can begin the process of putting your life back together.”
Hamilton finally looked up. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I already feel better just knowing I am going to admit to everything. Knowing I won’t go to prison. Knowing this part of it is all over. The lies, everything. Thank you!”
Steve went to his office and phoned Turner. It was professional courtesy for defense counsel to let the assistant district attorney on a case know as soon as possible if a client was going to waive the preliminary hearing. This was done so the prosecuting attorney could contact their witnesses and let them know they didn’t have to come to the courthouse. Although Steve knew this was the right thing to do, he was a bit hesitant because, deep down, he had been looking forward to seeing Emily again that day in court; however, he knew what was best for the client always came first in this job.
After Turner answered the phone, Steve began with, “I’m calling to let you know that I just got out of a meeting with Jordan Hamilton. He has decided to take the deal. We are going to waive prelim today and go ahead with the plea this afternoon.”
“Wait, I thought he was innocent,” Jennifer said with a smirk that Steve could practically see through the phone line.
“Turns out he wasn’t. Listen, don’t be too hard on him. He has been through a lot. It seems he has a serious gambling problem that has not only cost him his job and put a mark on his criminal record, but also cost him his family. I am handling his divorce, too.”
“All right, all right, calm down. I was just giving you a little grief. I know you are fairly new, but if you can’t handle a prosecutor giving you a hard time about your client, then you won’t make it long in this business. See you in court.”
That afternoon, Hamilton plead guilty to the embezzlement charges filed against him. As part of the deal, the state reduced the charge to a misdemeanor so he would not be a convicted felon. He was given a five-year deferred sentence with orders to pay back the fifty-two thousand dollars and reform himself.
After court, Steve pulled Turner aside and asked her if she would kindly give him Emily’s cell phone number. He explained that he had asked her on a date back when they all went for drinks at The Empire Bar and that she had told him she never mixed business with pleasure. Now that Hamilton’s case was over, he hoped she would reconsider his offer.
Turner said she didn’t feel comfortable giving him her number without Emily’s consent, but she did agree to pass his number on to her. She also told Steve that she would tell Emily she thought he was a catch and that she should jump on the opportunity to go out on a date with him. Steve appreciated her willingness to help.
Steve was glad Hamilton’s case had resolved in a manner that worked out well for his client and now gave him an opportunity to date Emily; most importantly, it closed the file, which meant he now had more time to focus on Scottie’s case.
He spent the rest of the day wondering what Deputy Blackburn would have to say at their meeting the next day.
CHAPTER 22
When Steve walked into the Monkey Tree Diner in downtown Tulsa, Booger was already seated at a table in the middle of the restaurant. On either side of the investigator were groups of well-dressed men and women discussing office drama while munching on their strawberry pecan spinach salads and chicken Caesar wraps. A tile outlay depicting a jungle scene graced the wall behind them. Steve sat down, opened the menu and flipped through it.
“Have you been to this building before?” Steve asked.
“I know the BOK Tower, never eaten here. I remember when they first built it they used a famous architect—what was his name?”
“Minoru Yamasaki of Yamasaki and Associates.”
“Yeah, that’s it. I remember hearing he was the same gentleman who built the Twin Towers in New York and our little building here is an exact replica of those, just shorter. It didn’t mean much at the time; didn’t mean much until the real ones were gone. But now I’m kind of proud of our city to have it. You notice the tourists taking pictures outside?”
“It’s become quite the draw for visitors,” Steve said. “Not sure if they consider it a lasting tribute or a spectacle. Something to visit I guess.”
Booger scanned the menu, slightly frowning. “A lot of vegetables and smoothies and things here.”
“Sir, I wouldn’t ask you to a place that lacks animal protein,” Steve promised. “They have the juiciest burger in town.” To the waitress who approached their table, he said, “I’ll have the kale salad with a blueberry, strawberry, and almond milk smoothie.” “I’ll take the cheeseburger, ma’am, medium rare, with French fries. No kale. Please and thank you.”
After their waitress left, Steve asked, “What do you think Deputy Blackburn will tell us this afternoon?”
“I doubt much. I would bet my left arm he will tell us that he is 100 percent sure Ashley’s murderer is sitting on death row. I don’t expect him to be very receptive to our alternative theory.”
Out of nowhere, a large older gentleman stopped by their table and slapped Booger on the back in an aggressive yet friendly manner. The man had just placed his finely tailored suit coat on the back of a nearby chair. His tie hung down perfectly over his round belly, which stuck out between his suspenders. “Booger!” he boomed. “How the hell are you?”
“I’m good. How have you been, Jim? How is Wilma?”
“I’ve been great, and Wilma is good too. She is still spending too much of my money too fast, but what the hell. I love her.
What are you up to?”
“I’m here with a young man who hopes to follow in your footsteps.” Booger rose and gestured for Steve to do the same. “Steve Hanson, meet James Ferguson.” He turned to Mr. Ferguson. “I’m working with Steve on a capital habeas case. So far, it looks like he cares as much about finding justice as you and some of the other true heroes in your profession.”
Steve stood and extended his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Ferguson.”
Steve had recognized the man as soon as he had walked up behind Booger. Jim Ferguson was known throughout the Tulsa legal community as an incredible trial attorney. Everyone knew that if you ever got into trouble, and Ackerman couldn’t take your case for some reason, you hired Ferguson. Although some less-informed people might put one above the other, no one doubted they were the top two attorneys in their field.
Ferguson shook Steve’s hand firmly. “Well, kid, if Booger here thinks that highly of you, then you are top-notch in my book. Here’s my card. If I can ever help you with something, don’t hesitate to call. Us good guys have to stick together.”
“Thanks,” Steve said. “I just might take you up on that someday.”
“I heard you are taking on the Southern Hills Slasher pro bono,” Booger said.
“That’s a fact. His wife just so happens to be my cleaning lady. We have him, his wife, and his kids over for dinner every year at Christmas. I know these people.” Ferguson’s jovial tone turned grim. “It is the perfect example of racist cops going after the little guy. Four golfers are found dead on the course, all hacked up with a garden tool, and they go after the Mexican immigrant who works at the course. I’ve known that man for many years, and there is no way he is a murderer, but those lazy cops are trying to pin it on him rather than do a thorough investigation to find the real killer. You know—with all the anti-immigrant sentiment brewing—going after a Mexican on a criminal charge is like picking the low-hanging fruit.”
“You really don’t think he did it?” Steve asked. “From everything I have read in the paper, it looks like they have a lot of evidence against him.”
Ferguson shook his head. “I obviously can’t get into all the details, but let’s just say I think the police have failed to do a thorough investigation. I plan on putting a lot of time and money into the case to get to the bottom of it. Anyway, I have an important motion hearing this afternoon on the matter, so I need to get a quick bite and get out of here. Great seeing you Booger! Take care.” Ferguson walked back to the table where he had left his jacket.
Steve turned to Booger. “That brings something to mind that I have been meaning to ask you. Why does everyone call you Booger?”
Booger settled back into his chair with a grin. “Young man, the best way for me to explain it to you is with a joke I heard awhile back.”
“Over a hundred years ago, there was a traveler who made his way into a wee Scottish village on the western coast of Scotland. As the traveler enters the town, he sees a wee sign that says, ‘Welcome to Sheamustoun.’ He doesn’t think much of the sign and eventually works his way down to the docks where he finds a small pub. The traveler goes into the pub, sits down at the bar, and orders a pint.”
“As he is drinking his pint, he notices the bar is a beautifully handcrafted piece of wood with ornate carvings running up and down it. The traveler gets the bartender’s attention and asks who made the bar. The bartender responds by saying”—Booger switched to the most perfect Scottish accent, which he continued to use for every Scottish character in the story— “‘Aye, a made this bar wi’ ma ain hans, that’s why am known as Sheamus the Barmaker aboot toon.’
Booger continued, “the traveler thinks that is nice and settles into drinking his pint. He then looks out the window and sees the most majestic, well-built pier he has ever seen in his life. He turns to the gentleman next to him and asks if he knows who made the pier. The gentleman responds, ‘Aye, a made that pier wi’ ma ain hans, that’s why am known as Sheamus the Pier Builder aboot toon.’ The traveler next notices an amazingly crafted ship docked at the end of the pier, and he asks who built the ship. A gentleman sitting at the end of bar says, ‘Aye, a made that ship wi’ ma ain hans, that’s why am known as Sheamus the Shipbuilder aboot toon.’
“At this point, the traveler asks why they all have the same first name. Sheamus the Barmaker responds, ‘This toon is known as Sheamustoun, an’ aw through history aw wee boys wur named Sheamus. Then, at a point in the wean’s life he gits a title based on whit he did to be known aboot toon so we dinnae get mixed up speakin’ aboot him.’
“The traveler then notices a man sitting in the back corner of the pub, keeping to himself and clearly trying to avoid the conversation. The traveler yells to this gentleman, ‘Sheamus, what are you known for?’ The man angrily finishes his beer, slams the glass down on the table, storms over to the traveler, and shakes one finger in his face”—which Booger acted out as well— “while saying, ‘Ye shag wan sheep!’ and stomps out of the pub.”
Steve began to laugh, as did the group of young professionals seated near them who couldn’t help but here the joke. Once he regained his composure, Steve asked, “That was hilarious, but what does it have to do with why they call you Booger?”
“Well, one day in the second grade, I ate a booger that I had just picked out of my nose. Anthony Anderson saw me and told everyone in my class about it. Before long, all the kids were calling me Booger, and the name has stuck ever since. At this point, to be honest, I kind of like it,” he said with a shrug. “No one else I have ever met is called ‘Booger.’ Since we are now friends, you should call me Booger, too.”
“Okay, Booger,” Steve responded with a mix of awkwardness and joviality. “I’m glad you’ve changed your diet from boogers to burgers. Let’s finish lunch and get on with our investigation.”
After lunch, Booger and Steve spent a few hours back at Steve’s office, going through reports and discussing what they had learned on Saturday. On the drive to Claremore, both men agreed there was something Walters seemed to be trying to hide from them. The question to be answered was whether it was the affair with Scottie or something more. They also made a game plan for their meeting with Deputy Blackburn.
They arrived at the Rogers County Sheriff’s Office a little before 4:00 p.m. Steve approached the receptionist who sat behind a bulletproof glass wall with a two-way intercom system in the middle of it. Steve pushed the button and said, “Hello, we have a meeting with Deputy Blackburn at four.”
The receptionist led them back to Deputy Blackburn’s office.
Blackburn stood and approached them with an outstretched hand as they entered. “Nice to see you both again. Please, come in.” “Thank you for taking the time to see us,” Steve said.
Steve looked around the deputy’s office as he sat down. Deputy Blackburn showcased several awards on the walls from his service in the Rogers County Sheriff’s Office, and a degree from the University of Oklahoma hung on the wall behind his desk. The bookshelf to Steve’s left contained various knickknacks and a few photos. Steve noticed there were no pictures of a wife or family. He also noticed the desk was clean, and everything seemed to be in its place. Another section of the bookshelf was devoted to University of Oklahoma football memorabilia; there were a few team pictures and a game ball on the shelf.
