Black Mark, page 12
“I know you are, buddy,” I said. “And I’m sorry for pushing you. I’m just trying to help.”
“Thanks, Mick. I appreciate it.”
I stood up. “I’ll let you get some rest. Hang in there.”
I clapped Elliott gently on the shoulder and left.
The drive home passed uneventfully. I passed the time half-listening to the radio and mulling over what Elliott told me, trying to figure out what it meant. I couldn’t believe that son of a bitch took money from a dealer. After all those years of getting his life back on track, too. But then, what could he do? Betts had protection, so Elliott would be putting his life on the line if he tried to stop him. He couldn’t go to the police for the same reason. Maybe he could have ignored it; let the dealing happen, but not taken any money. But are any of us that pure? With the money going to help keep the computer club alive, this way, some good came of it.
Would I have stood by him if I’d known? Definitely. Sure, I was pissed at him, but more for holding out on me than for what he did. And I still owed the guy my life. Besides, I was already in it up to my neck, and it was too late to change that now. I just hoped we could come up with some way to move the investigation forward.
TWENTY
SECONDS OUT
The next few days felt like a decade. After my meeting with Elliott on Friday, we couldn’t do anything until the following week. I called Casey a couple of times on Saturday morning to run some ideas past her, but she kept telling me to save it for Monday. I’d say yes reluctantly, then call her a few minutes later with another suggestion. Eventually, she switched off her phone. I spent the rest of the weekend wrapping up my work on Kristen’s civil case. I didn’t find anything else useful in the documents, but it was almost interesting enough to keep me occupied, and I needed the money.
On the Monday morning Casey had me research grounds for bail in murder cases, so we could argue for it at the arraignment. I spent three days digging and the results weren’t promising. I only found bail granted in seven murder cases in the last five years, and each time the charges were lower and the defendant had no prior record. Still, we had something to take to the arraignment.
Elliott’s surgery would take place on Friday, so the DA’s office agreed to set the arraignment for Thursday, with Elliott appearing by video conference. Casey scheduled the press conference for straight after. She fed Joe Gorman at the Willamette Week some inside information for a lead-up piece, in return for a couple of friendly questions at the conference. The Willamette Week was a free local newspaper with a staunchly liberal perspective. Although its coverage was sometimes skewed, it had broken some big stories in recent years and was widely read. Plus, Gorman was an outspoken critic of the Portland Police Bureau. It would be a good place to start, especially if Gorman’s lead-up piece could get some of the network news crews to show up.
We visited Elliott on Thursday morning to prepare him. He looked more energetic, his voice was clear and strong, and he didn’t need the morphine pump at any point in the hour-long meeting. We walked him through the arraignment process and how the video conference would work. He took it all in, a look of quiet determination on his face, and I felt encouraged when we left.
Casey headed back to her office to prepare for the arraignment. I stopped by Bunk Sandwiches and grabbed a pork belly Cubano for lunch, then went home and changed into a suit and tie. Looking at myself in the mirror was like looking back in time. For years, this had been my uniform. Unlike a lot of lawyers, I’d never been too picky about where I got my suits. Being a big guy, it took me a while to find a brand that would fit across my shoulders without expensive alterations. Once I did, I’d buy two or three a year in neutral dark shades and rotate the older ones out. I had fun with my ties, though. I liked to go for something colorful. It was my way of brightening up what was often a very dark place to be.
Today, given the circumstances, I wasn’t in the mood for levity; I chose a charcoal-gray suit and one of my plainer ties. I put them on, adjusted my cuffs, and left.
The arraignment was taking place at the Multnomah County Justice Center. The Justice Center was an ugly postmodern building in downtown Portland, close to the river. As the home of the Portland Police Bureau, it had been at the epicenter of the Black Lives Matter protests since they started. In the early days, demonstrators had smashed their way into the building and ransacked the lobby, overturning metal detectors and other security equipment, lighting fires, and spray-painting anti-police slogans on the walls. The protesters still gathered outside every night, but temporary chain-link fencing and a heavy police presence kept them from doing further damage.
Despite the heavy security, all the ground-floor windows were still boarded up. But then, these days, so was most of downtown Portland. Another reminder that we had to be careful with the information about Elliott’s shooting.
When I arrived at the courtroom, a technical team was setting up the video conference equipment, but otherwise the room was empty. Justice Center Courtroom 3 was used for arraignments and other preliminary hearings, and was specifically designed for criminal cases. The room had light blue walls and a raised bench for the judge. To one side, there was the clerk’s desk. The defense and prosecution tables sat in the middle of the room, with the jury seating to the left and a small public gallery behind where the lawyers sat. The technical team had set a monitor on a stand to the left of the defense table, with a webcam on top. On the other side of the judge’s bench, the defendant’s stand had a steel door in the back and was surrounded on three sides by bulletproof glass. There were nine small holes in a square pattern in the glass to allow attorneys to confer with their clients.
I took a seat at the defense table. A moment later, a short, harried-looking woman in a baggy pants suit bustled into the room and dumped an armful of files on the prosecution table. She patted her pockets, pulled her phone out of one, then looked at me and did a double-take.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Hello, Nicole,” I replied. “Nice to see you.”
Nicole Astert was Chief Deputy District Attorney for Multnomah County. She headed up the major crimes team. During her rise to the chief deputy role, she’d become known for over-charging cases to bully defendants into taking bad plea deals. Over the years, we’d gone up against each other many times, and I’d come to conclude she didn’t have a decent bone in her body. Nevertheless, I was surprised to see her. Normally one of the deputy district attorneys on her team would be first chair on a homicide case. For Nicole to be there meant this case must be the DA’s top priority.
“No, really. Why are you here, Ward? You’re not a lawyer anymore.”
“Why do people keep saying that to me?”
“Because it’s true.”
“I hadn’t forgotten,” I said. “I’m on the defense team.”
“Oh good. That’s going to make winning this case even more fun.”
Before I could reply, Casey walked in and sat next to me. She looked me up and down.
“You clean up well,” she said with a smile.
“Thanks.” I jerked a thumb over my shoulder at the prosecution table. “You see who we drew?”
“Could be worse,” she said, loud enough for Nicole to hear.
Nicole ignored the comment, but her face reddened.
The court clerk came in and opened the door to the public gallery. It filled up quickly, with several reporters in the crowd, including Joe Gorman. Detectives Buchanan and Malone sat in the front row, so I waved. Buchanan pretended not to notice, but I was pleased to see Malone sneering back at me.
A technician turned on Elliott’s monitor, then ran through some quick tests to make sure Elliott could see the courtroom and hear what was being said. As usual, an awkward few minutes passed before the judge entered and the proceedings began. I sat back in my chair, readjusting to the experience of being back in a courtroom. An arraignment was no big deal, but it served to remind me of so many past battles. It wasn’t a good feeling.
When the crowd was settled, the bailiff told us to rise, and the judge entered. The case had been assigned to Judge Eric Obrecht, which was no surprise. Judge Obrecht had been the presiding judge in the criminal courts for several years, which made him responsible for assigning major criminal cases. He had a reputation for saving the highest profile cases for himself, especially in an election year. He never let politics get in the way of his job though, and was known for being even-handed. All in all, we could have done worse.
Judge Obrecht instructed us to be seated, then addressed Elliott’s monitor.
“Before we proceed, I would like to confirm that the technology is working. Mr. Russell, can you hear me?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Elliott replied.
“And can you see the proceedings?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Good. In that case, let us begin. Mr. Russell, it is charged by indictment that in violation of section 163 of the Oregon Criminal Code, on or about the fourteenth of June, you willfully and with malice aforethought murdered Malik Betts.”
Judge Obrecht then had the clerk read the special circumstances alleged by the prosecution: murder for hire, and murder in furtherance of a broader criminal enterprise. When he was done, the judge looked at Elliott’s monitor again.
“Mr. Russell, do you understand the charges against you?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“And how do you plead?”
“Not guilty, Your Honor.”
“All right.” The judge looked at some papers. “Since the charge is aggravated murder, bail will be denied. Ms. Raife, do you have a comment?”
Casey stood up. “Yes, Your Honor. I realize that bail is rare in a murder case, but it can be granted. Just last year, bail was granted in the Willie Mitchell case, on the grounds that the prosecution lacked clear and convincing evidence. The circumstances in this case are highly unusual. Mr. Russell is gravely injured and cannot safely be held in custody. And as in the Mitchell case, the prosecution lacks any evidence to support the aggravated murder charge, let alone to meet the clear and convincing standard required.”
Nicole Astert was immediately on her feet. “Your Honor, Malik Betts was found executed in Mr. Russell’s backyard. How much evidence do we need?”
“And Mr. Russell was the one who called the police!”
The spectators stirred and Judge Obrecht banged his gavel. “All right, calm down, everyone. Counselors, please approach the bench.”
Casey and Nicole walked up to the judge’s bench. I followed a few steps behind Casey, hoping the judge wouldn’t send me back. He didn’t.
Judge Obrecht leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “Before we go any further, I will remind you that this is a court of law, and I expect decorum. Are we clear?”
Casey and Nicole both nodded.
“Good. Now, Ms. Astert, please explain why you think I should deny bail in this case.”
“Your Honor, while Ms. Raife is correct that bail has been granted in some murder cases, it cannot be granted in an aggravated murder case as a matter of law. Moreover, Malik Betts was shot between the eyes, execution style, which is typical of murder for hire—and compelling evidence of a broader criminal enterprise.”
“But you don’t have any evidence connecting my client to this alleged criminal enterprise,” Casey countered.
“Oh, come on, we found his body in your client’s backyard! And besides, Mr. Russell is clearly a flight risk.”
“Your Honor, calling my client a flight risk is absurd.” Casey gestured at the monitor. “Look at him. He’s lying in a hospital bed, paralyzed from the waist down. How the hell is he going to flee?”
“All right, that’s enough,” Judge Obrecht said. “Ms. Astert, I’m not convinced by the aggravated murder charge. We will have a pretrial hearing to determine whether it can proceed. For now, though, the law is clear. Bail is only granted in murder cases in extraordinary circumstances, and this one doesn’t rise to that level. While I agree Mr. Russell is not a flight risk, the aggravated murder charge compels me to deny bail at this point. If the charges are reduced after the pretrial hearing, or other evidence emerges, I will reconsider.”
Judge Obrecht leaned back and we returned to our seats. I flashed Elliott an apologetic look.
The judge banged his gavel again. “Bail will be denied in this case. My clerk will be in touch with preliminary hearing and trial scheduling. This hearing is adjourned.”
We all stood as Judge Obrecht rose and left. I waved to Elliott again, as the technician switched off the monitor. We waited for the crowd to leave, then walked out of the courtroom. Casey put a hand on my arm.
“Remember what I said at the hospital?”
“Yeah, we’re good.”
Outside, there was a crowd of reporters waiting on the steps. They were arranged in a rough horseshoe shape around the top of the steps. A TV cameraman stood at the front of the crowd and his colleague held a boom mike over his head. The other reporters all held microphones, smart phones, or other recording devices. Several members of the public milled around too, clearly curious about what was happening.
As we emerged, Casey tapped me on the shoulder.
“Meet me at my office in an hour.”
I made my way around the crowd to the bottom of the stairs. Nicole Astert was walking right in front of me.
“Hey, Nicole,” I said, “you might want to hang around for this.”
She stopped and turned around. “What are you talking about?”
“Wait and see.” I smiled and nodded at Casey as she approached the crowd of reporters. Nicole stood next to me, an angry frown on her face.
As soon as Casey made it to the top of the steps, she was bombarded with questions. She held up her hands and waited for the noise to subside, then she began to speak.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she began, “thank you for being here. I know you have a lot of questions, but before we begin, I’d like to make a short statement. As you know, my client Elliott Russell has been charged with the murder of Malik Betts. You also know that Mr. Russell is in the hospital, having been shot at the time of his arrest. Given everything this city has endured in the past month, we urge you to reserve judgment on his shooting. However, I can assure you that my client did not kill Malik Betts, and the truth will come out in this case. We will show that the police have consistently ignored evidence that would’ve led them to the guilty person. Instead, they chose a narrow-minded pursuit of my client that resulted in him being arrested and shot while a killer walks free.”
Casey paused as the crowd bombarded her with questions. It was impossible to make out a single voice in the din.
I turned to Nicole and smiled. She scowled at me and stomped off, clutching her pile of files to her chest.
Casey waited for the noise to subside, then she raised her arms again, beckoning the reporters to be silent.
“I’ll take a couple of questions now,” she said.
Again, there was a flurry of waving arms and shouting voices.
“Joe Gorman,” she said, “you first.”
I saw the look in her eye and Gorman’s nod. His payback for getting the crowd of reporters to be there.
“Ms. Raife,” he said, “your client was running for City Council. Do you think his shooting was politically motivated?”
Perfect. Gorman got to grind his personal axe, and he made Casey’s point for her. The two of them should have been on Broadway.
“We don’t know the motive for this shooting yet,” Casey replied, “and as I said, in the circumstances, we must be cautious. But we will be exploring every angle. Next?”
“Why was your client in hiding?” a woman I didn’t recognize yelled before anyone else could speak.
Casey didn’t even blink. “Mr. Russell was not hiding from anyone or anything. He was going about his lawful business when he was stopped by the police and shot. Are there any more questions?”
Another flurry of shouts and waving arms followed. Casey pointed to a TV news reporter standing next to a cameraman. “Mr. Hardy?”
“Why would the police shoot your client if he was innocent?” Hardy asked.
“That’s what we intend to find out,” Casey replied. “No more questions.”
She marched down the steps, her forceful manner enough to part the crowd before her. I couldn’t help but admire her performance. She had done a masterful job of getting our story out and then leaving before anyone could poke holes in it.
I watched her go. When she was out of sight, I texted her. Nice job. That will keep them guessing.
Her reply came back immediately. For now. But if we can’t back it up, they’re going to hit us with both barrels.
TWENTY-ONE
GIFT HORSE
To kill time before meeting Casey, I went to the Red Star and had a beer. Normally after a hearing like that, I’d head straight to the Lotus to yak it up with other lawyers, but I figured Casey’s press conference would be the talk of the bar. She wanted me to keep a low profile, so that’s what I did.
Casey’s office was just around the corner from the Red Star. When I got there, she looked up from her pile of paperwork.
“What did you think?” she said.
“Bravo, maestro.”
“Thanks.” She sat back and sighed. “I just hope Elliott isn’t bullshitting us.”
“Speaking of Elliott, we should call him.”
Casey called the hospital and asked the duty nurse to take the phone to Elliot’s room. While we waited, she laid her phone on the desk and hit the speaker button.
Elliott answered a moment later. “Hey, Casey.”
“Hello, Elliott, you’re on speaker. Mick is here too.”
“How are you feeling?” I said.
“Okay, I guess.” His voice was strained, as though every word took enormous effort. “Disappointed about bail, but it was inevitable. What happened when the judge called you to the bench? I couldn’t hear.”
