Black Mark, page 5
“Then I’ll have to make sure those plans never make it to court,” Casey replied. “Anything to be concerned about on the laptop?”
“No,” Elliott said. “It’s mostly work stuff and my campaign files.”
“How about your social media?”
“That’s clean too. Has to be, otherwise my campaign would be over in a heartbeat.”
“Good.” Casey looked at her notes. “You say the police didn’t identify Betts at the scene?”
“Not before we left,” I said. “But they will soon enough.”
“Yes, they will. Elliott, Mick said you have a history with Betts. Tell me about it.”
“Okay.” Elliott took a deep breath and rubbed his face. He told Casey about Betts shooting his brother and about having been arrested on his way to take revenge. Tears welled in his eyes, but this time he managed to hold them back. Without missing a beat, he told Casey about his recent fight with Betts at the Coalition meeting.
“And that made the media?” she said.
“Yeah, front page of the Metro section in The Oregonian,” he replied. “Probably the TV news too.”
“So, the police will find out about it soon enough.” Casey pursed her lips and made some more notes. “Now for the obvious question. Who’s setting you up?”
“Shit, I don’t know. I haven’t seen Betts since the fight at the Coalition meeting. Maybe he screwed over some business partner or something.”
“Then why frame you?” Casey said. “Why not just dump Betts out in the woods?”
“That’s obvious. Whoever killed Betts wants me out of the picture too. Or they figure if I take the fall, they get away with it.”
“Do you think it’s a gang thing?”
“I doubt it,” Elliott replied. “That was all a long time ago.”
“Are you sure? If there’s one thing I know, it’s that gang members hold grudges.”
“Maybe,” Elliott said, but he didn’t look convinced. “What about the cops?”
Casey shook her head. “I’m no fan of the boys in blue and we all know about Andre Gladen and George Floyd, and all the others, but this isn’t their style. If they wanted you locked up, they’d just pull you over and plant drugs on you.”
“No, hear me out. Ever since I organized the BLM protests, they’ve been on my case. Coming to my office with bogus noise complaints. Stopping me as I’m leaving work. Mick saw a cop mime shooting me Friday night and I almost got in a fight with Chief Walker.”
“All true,” I said, curious to get Casey’s take.
“I don’t doubt it,” she replied. “But there’s a big difference between fucking with you, and killing Betts and dumping his body in your yard. What about your work with NNC—could that have a connection?”
“Unlikely. We do community programs and housing policy advocacy. Nobody gets killed over that.”
“Well, think about it some more. We’re going to need something to go on.”
“I will. Anyway, now you’ve heard all this, what’s your take? Am I in trouble here?”
Casey put her pen down. “It’s complicated. Do you want the good news or the bad news?”
“The good news. I could use some.”
“Without the gun, the police don’t have any evidence connecting you to the killing. Unless they come up with something else, it’s going to be very hard to convict you of murder.”
“All right, what’s the bad news?”
“The bad news is it won’t take the cops long to find out about those clashes with Betts. It’s enough probable cause for them to arrest you.”
“What?” Elliott snapped. “I’m going to be arrested?”
“Yes.”
“But you said they don’t have enough to convict me?”
“They don’t. But probable cause for arrest is a much lower bar. Betts killing your brother and you fighting with him is enough.”
Elliott put his head in his hands. “Shit. What happens now?”
“Buchanan knows I’m representing you,” Casey said. “Once they decide they have probable cause, he’ll get a warrant, then contact me and make arrangements for you to surrender yourself. You’ll be taken into custody, then arraigned, typically the next day.”
“What about bail?”
“It depends on what they charge you with. If they go with aggravated murder, it’s unlikely. With a lesser charge, we might be able to swing something.”
“So how long until they lock me up?”
“I’d guess a few days. A week at the outside.”
“And I’m supposed to just carry on with my life until then?”
“Pretty much, yeah.” Casey sighed. “I know this is a lot to take in. But like it or not, your life changed forever when someone buried Malik Betts in your backyard. There’s no going back to how things used to be.”
Elliott glared at her. “I fucking knew this day would come,” he muttered. “All right, I’m guessing you don’t work for free. How much is this case going to cost me?”
“That depends. I won’t know for sure, until we know how deep it’s going to go. But you can assume somewhere between one hundred and two hundred thousand dollars as a ballpark figure.”
“And I gotta come up with that money right now?”
“No, but to get started I’ll need a retainer of ten thousand dollars.”
“Damn, that’s more than I was expecting,” Elliott said.
“Do you need a payment plan?”
“No, I’ll find a way to cover it. I’ve got some savings, and NNC has litigation insurance. It covers criminal defense. We should be able to tap into that. Not sure it’ll cover two hundred K, but it’s enough to get started. If we keep the tab on the lower end of your estimate, I might even keep my house. What does my ten grand get me, counselor?”
“Please, call me Casey. You’ll get the best defense I can give you. First, we go through your movements for the past week or so. That way, once we get the time of death, we can work on establishing an alibi. I’ll hire an investigator to look for witnesses—and other potential suspects. I’ll work on legal research and preparation for arraignment, specifically focused on trying to get you bail. But the real work starts once we get the initial round of discovery from the prosecution. Then we know what they’re basing their case on and we can figure out how to attack it.”
“All right,” Elliott said, “when do we start?”
“Can you be here tomorrow, at nine? I need to get some things off my plate so I can focus on your case. That’ll take me the rest of the day today.”
Elliott stood up. “Yeah, nine is good. Mick, you want to meet me here again?”
“I won’t be here, buddy,” I said.
I looked at Casey and she gave me a brief nod. “Mick isn’t part of the defense team,” she said. “The meeting tomorrow will be just the two of us.”
“But there must be something he can do to help?”
“Casey’s right,” I said. “You need a lawyer, and she’s the best. I need to step back and let her get on with it.”
“Okay, I guess,” he replied. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Casey.”
Elliott walked out, his shoulders hunched, as though a ton of bricks was pushing them down.
I meant what I said about him being in good hands with Casey. And besides, the last thing Elliott needed was a failed lawyer like me. But that didn’t stop me feeling like the world’s biggest asshole.
EIGHT
A LITTLE HELP FROM MY FRIENDS
Monday morning, I called my old friend Tony da Costa and asked him to meet me for breakfast at City State Diner. City State was a short walk from my apartment. They served a mean Bloody Mary, and the interior paid homage to classic diner style, with everything from chrome-edged black Formica tables to hipsters in trucker hats perched at the bar. Tony was already there when I arrived, seated at a table in the back.
“Hey, Mick,” he said as I sat down. “How are you doing?”
“Good to see you, Tony.”
Tony was a private investigator I’d hired regularly back when I was practicing, and we stayed friends after I was disbarred. He was about five ten, thin as a rake, and he moved like a whippet. He claimed he’d been a boxer as a kid in Mexico. He didn’t look big enough, to me, but he sure was quick and his nose looked like it had been broken more than once.
A waitress appeared before we could get past our greetings. I hated slow service, so that was another reason I liked City State. I went for a Bloody Mary and eggs Benedict. Tony ordered coffee and the smoked salmon hash, with a side of fresh fruit. The waitress took our orders and left with a cheery smile.
“Thanks for coming,” I said.
“Always happy to eat a good breakfast,” he said. “What’s going on?”
“I need your help.”
“Is this related to our case?” he asked. Tony had persuaded one of his lawyer clients to hire me to do document review on a construction defect case at a new strip mall on the west side. We had a meeting with the lawyer tomorrow morning, and I hadn’t started yet.
“No, that’s not it. Something else came up over the weekend.” I looked around the crowded diner. “You want to take a walk?”
Tony raised his eyebrows. “Sure, let’s go.”
He left, gliding between the tables like a dancer. I told our waitress we’d be back soon and followed Tony outside. He was leaning against the wall by the door, hands in his pockets.
“Come on,” I said, and headed around the corner onto Couch Street. Tony walked alongside me. Apart from the occasional cyclist, there was no one around.
“What’s going on?” Tony said.
“It’s about Elliott. He’s in trouble.”
Tony stopped. “What?”
“Keep walking,” I said, “it’s a long story.”
We set off again. As we walked, I told him the whole thing: finding Betts’s body, the planted gun, the history between Betts and Elliott, and our meeting with Casey. Tony knew Elliott well and he had to be just as shocked as me by what had transpired.
“Man, there’s only one way we can help him,” he said when I’d finished. “Get his ass across the border pronto.”
“He won’t go.”
Tony shrugged. “Force his hand. Go back to his place to finish the fence. Find the gun, call the cops. While you’re waiting for them to show up, call Elliott and tell him he’s got no choice now. Tell him my cousin has a taco bar in Sayulita. He’s always looking for reliable staff.”
I laughed. “You’re a sick bastard.”
“Am I right, or what? You’re missing something obvious here.”
“What?”
“Elliott did it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“Jesus, listen to yourself. This guy admitted to you he was going to shoot Betts the night he got arrested!”
“Yeah, but that was ten years ago.”
“If you killed my little brother, I’d spend the rest of my life hunting you down.”
“No way. Look at how far he’s come. He wouldn’t throw all that away.”
“You better hope you’re right. Because if he’s guilty, by helping him you became an accessory after the fact.”
“Yeah, I know.” So now both Tony and Casey were on my case about accessory liability. I knew I should get rid of the gun; that way there would be nothing to tie me to the crime. And I knew helping Elliott was risky. He could be convicted of murder, regardless of whether he did it. And if he was, I could be convicted of being an accessory, which meant spending a long time locked up in a dark place.
Our drinks were waiting for us when we got back to the table and our food came as we sat down. I took a long pull on my Bloody Mary. Nice and spicy, and a healthy belt of vodka to give it an extra kick. Perfect.
We made small talk while we ate. I got the sense Tony didn’t know what to say about Elliott’s situation. I was happy to let it ride. Hearing Tony say I should stay away from the case made me feel better about leaving Elliott in Casey’s hands. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I should be doing more.
Tony ordered more coffee when we finished eating. I thought about another Bloody Mary, but I had a big day ahead, so I decided against it.
“Anyway, let’s talk about this construction case,” I said.
“Right, that.” Tony put his coffee down and scratched his head. “You found anything in the documents yet?”
“Not yet, but I’m going to hit it hard today. Anything in particular I should be looking for?”
“Anything that could light a fire under the defendants.”
“Yeah, I can do that. They’ve hit us with a ton of documents, but if it’s there, I’ll find it.” It was the oldest trick in the book when big businesses got sued by the little guys. Bury the plaintiffs in paper. The plaintiff’s attorneys worked on contingency, which meant they didn’t get a penny unless they won the case. Meanwhile, the defense attorneys got paid by the hour, and the defendant’s insurance was footing the bill, so they were perfectly happy to spend their days stuffing bankers boxes full of paper. They thought they were being clever when they gave you a thousand pages in response to a single document request. But sometimes they got sloppy and let critical information through in their rush to build a bigger pile of paper. And a trained eye could find those nuggets.
“Thanks, man. We’re meeting at Kristen’s office at nine tomorrow.”
“Sounds good,” I said. Kristen Campione was the plaintiffs’ attorney in the case. “See you then.”
I stood up and drained my Bloody Mary. We shook hands and I went home.
Back at my place, I pulled out the boxes of documents Tony had given me and dumped them on the floor by my couch, then grabbed a Coke from the fridge and pressed it against the back of my neck. It must have been ninety degrees out, and it wasn’t much cooler inside. I popped the Coke and opened a couple of windows. There wasn’t much of a breeze, so I turned on my battered old fan.
I opened boxes until I found the case file Tony had prepared for me. I read through the complaint and answer, along with the summary memo. It was a standard construction dispute. Several small business owners who’d bought premises in a new strip mall were suing the developer. Plaintiffs claimed defective construction, false advertising, and fraud. According to them, the storefronts in the strip mall were advertised as high-end business facilities and priced accordingly. But the actual places were shoddily built, with cheap superficial decorations hiding major construction defects. Defendant’s answer basically said that the buildings passed city inspections—and besides, you bought it already, so tough luck.
I started in on the discovery responses. The defendants had sent a couple of boxes full of everything from emails to supply contracts to a hand-drawn wiring layout sketch on the back of an envelope. Half of one box was filled with copies of invoices for construction materials: concrete, drywall, carpet, windows and doors, and everything else. The documents weren’t presented in chronological order, which was another standard defense tactic. I sighed and grabbed a pencil and legal pad.
I made a quick first pass through the documents to map out the events and key players. First, I turned my pad on its side and drew a timeline. I marked one end with the date construction began, and the other end with the date plaintiffs filed suit. Then, as I went through the documents, I made notes along the timeline. Working in pencil allowed me to erase and move things around as I found new information. Maybe I could have done it faster on my computer, but I felt more connected when I worked by hand. I moved steadily through the documents, my timeline becoming more like a spider’s web with every page.
After a couple of hours, I needed a break, so I stood up and stretched, then called Elliott.
“Hey, buddy, I wanted to see how you’re doing.”
“Just sitting here waiting for the hammer to fall.”
“Yeah, that’s tough,” I said. “How was the meeting with Casey this morning?”
“She told me not to talk to anyone about it so I don’t break the attorney–client privilege. That means you too, right?”
“Come on. You know I’d never say anything.”
“Still, you’re on the outside now,” he said, curtly. “I don’t think I’ll take that chance.”
His tone annoyed me. “What do you want from me? I found you the best lawyer I could.”
“And then you cut out.”
“If I cut out, would I be calling you now?” I took a deep breath. “Look, I can’t help you on the legal side of things. But if there’s anything else I can do, just say it. You know I’ll be there.”
Elliott was silent for a while. I was about to hang up when he spoke again. “I know. I’m sorry. This shit is hard, you know?”
“Hang in there. Call me if you need anything.”
I hung up, feeling better now that we’d cleared the air. Then I looked at the stacks of discovery documents I still had to review and sighed. It was going to be a long night.
NINE
MEET THE NEW BOSS
My alarm shouted me awake at eight the next morning. I rubbed my eyes and sat up, fighting my way back to the land of the living. I’d been working on the document review until 3 a.m.
I stumbled into the bathroom for a quick shower, then dried off, dressed and downed a mug of cold coffee left over from the pot that had kept me going last night. My meeting with Tony and Kristen was at nine, so I had to get moving. I threw my laptop and notes into a plastic shopping bag and drove downtown.
Kristen Campione’s office was on the 24th floor of the 1000 Broadway Building downtown. The building’s copper mirrored façade and staggered sides made it more interesting than most office towers, although the dome on top made it look like a giant stick of deodorant. Kristen’s office suite was decorated in lawyer chic: dark wood door with brass handle and nameplate, shelves of law books lining the walls, and furniture that wouldn’t look out of place in a remake of Gone with the Wind. Kristen’s receptionist showed me into the main conference room, where Tony was already waiting.
