A Murder In Passing (10 page)

Chapter Ten

The sign on the door read “Hewitt Donaldson and Associates.” The plural noun barely qualified since Hewitt had only two associates and neither was an attorney. Hewitt claimed he dealt with so many lawyers in the courtroom that he couldn't stand to be around them in his office. Truth be told Hewitt was a lone gun, beholden to no one but his clients and he was very picky regarding who joined that elite club.

Nakayla and I entered his hallowed chambers at ten thirty after successfully overseeing Marsha and Lucille's release from the Henderson County Detention Center and the posting of Lucille's bail by John Lang. Nakayla and I were to gather at eleven for a strategy session with Hewitt and the two women, but I wanted an advance conversation where we could talk freely without concern for the clients' sensitivities.

“Will his Highness receive two humble servants?” I asked the question of the dark-haired woman scowling over the morning mail at her desk.

Without looking up, she snapped, “The only throne his Highness sits on is porcelain and I advise you not to be received there.”

“Good morning, Shirley,” Nakayla said cheerfully.

The woman dropped the mail and flashed a welcoming smile. “Hi, girlfriend.” She glanced at me. “Why's Sam Spade with you? Didn't you get that restraining order?”

“It was invalid,” I said. “Like most of the legal work done in this office.”

“What are you talking about? Every legal service performed comes with Hewitt Donaldson's personal guarantee.”

“Which is?”

“That no matter what happens, he'll still be your Facebook friend.”

“Does he even know what Facebook is?”

“I told him it was the book of mug shots at the police station. Hell, most of them are his friends.”

Hewitt might have been the best defense attorney in western North Carolina, but if he ever had to go against Shirley in a courtroom, she'd turn him into steak tartare. I didn't know if she had a college degree. She wasn't an attorney or paralegal. All I knew was that she ran Hewitt's law practice like a well-oiled machine. She was one of those people born with so much common sense and intuitive insight that she would have been a quick study in any business.

She was also weird. Her hair was so black that it looked like a hole in the fabric of space/time. She wore white makeup and deep purple eyeliner. If I met her on the street, I'd guess her occupation as Queen of the Zombies.

But, if you needed something done and done right, Shirley was unbeatable. I couldn't imagine Hewitt surviving without her. She kept him focused and her quick wit kept him honed for verbal jousting in the legal arena. In short, Shirley was Shirley and anyone trying to categorize her or change her would have better luck teaching a cow to speak French.

“Is he in?” Nakayla asked.

“If you mean that corpulent mass he calls his body, then yes. If you mean the neurological mess he calls his brain, then your guess is as good as mine. He came in all fired up from the bond hearing. So, he might be back there writing his lawyer-of-the-year acceptance speech.”

“Do you want to tell him we're here?” I asked.

“Only if you'll take him away. I was hoping to get some work done this morning.”

“Sorry. The clients are coming at eleven.”

“Well, then I'd appreciate you keeping him tied up till they show.” She hit a button on her phone console. “Hey, Horace Rumpole, wake up. Nakayla and the bionic man are here to see you.”

Hewitt's voice came through the tinny speaker. “I'll meet them in the conference room.”

“Words cannot describe how thrilled they are.” She released the intercom button and swept her thin, pale hand toward the rear of the office. “You know your way to the inner sanctum.”

Nakayla and I took chairs one seat apart at Hewitt's round conference table. He hadn't yet appeared.

The room bore the trappings of Hewitt's personality. The circular table meant no one would be seated at the head. The walls were devoid of the leather-bound legal volumes and framed diplomas that seemed to be the mandatory decor of law firms wanting you to believe they had the Supreme Court Justices on speed dial. Instead, Hewitt had framed classic album covers from the 1960s and 70s that ranged from
The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan
to the Stones'
Sticky Fingers
. I considered the display to be Hewitt's chronicle of his own transformational decade, the turbulent time that shaped him into the firebrand who stood with his clients against all odds. The fact that Lucille Montgomery's case went back to 1967 would be an irresistible force pulling Hewitt into the genesis of his own identity.

He came through the door, shed of his tie and suit coat and with sleeves rolled up near his elbows. He carried a mug of steaming coffee in one hand and a legal pad in the other. “You guys want some java? You got less sleep than I did.”

“I'm coffeed out,” Nakayla said.

“Me too,” I added. “We thought we'd better go over a few things before Marsha and her mother arrive.”

“All right.” Hewitt took the seat with his back to the door.

I noticed he'd filled the top sheet of his pad with scribbling, and I assumed he was mapping out a strategy for building the defense. “Nakayla and I think we should agree on our priorities so that we're not sending them mixed messages.”

“My priority is having the charges dismissed. If that fails, then the only remaining priority is for their acquittal. Do you have another priority?”

“No. Of course not. But this whole business with the missing picture seems like a wild goose chase. It was fine to pursue it when Marsha thought it would divert suspicion from her mother, but now that Lucille's been charged and the murder weapon was in her possession, a more realistic approach seems warranted.”

Hewitt rested the palm of his right hand against his chin and rubbed his broad fingers across his lips while he thought. Then he pushed his legal pad aside and leaned over the table. “Look, we've been through some challenging cases together but never in the courtroom. So, it's good we're talking because there's a difference in our perspective.” He looked at Nakayla. “Before you hooked up with this bozo, you worked for insurance agencies exposing fraudulent claims. That's basically a prosecutorial perspective.” He looked back at me. “And as a Chief Warrant Officer, you worked for the military investigating crimes to reveal a suspect, someone who would be charged and prosecuted.”

“We're all after the truth,” I said.

“No. You might be after the truth, but I'm after the story. And the members of the jury might think they're after the truth, but it's the story that seals the verdict one way or the other.”

“How does that change our investigation?” I asked.

“It means everything is fair game and nothing is too insignificant. I won't lie for my clients and I won't condone their perjuring themselves. But, I will choose what to emphasize and what to marginalize.” Hewitt glanced at the legal pad. “I've already started outlining a possible narrative. As facts are determined and we get discovery from the prosecution, I'll shape that story into the most favorable light for Lucille and Marsha.”

“You think Chesterson will go to the grand jury for an indictment against Marsha?”

Hewitt shrugged. “If I had to bet, I'd say no.”

“You certainly caught him off guard with how the rifle breaks apart.”

“I made a quick Internet search for specs on the Remington fourteen and a half and I knew Judge Mercer collects guns. If he didn't see the possibility for digging a smaller hole, I would have raised it. But Mercer made the point for me, and Chesterson was odd man out. The judge and I knew more about his evidence than he did.”

“Can't Chesterson wait and charge Marsha after Lucille's trial?” Nakayla asked.

“That's the smarter play,” Hewitt said. “Then, if he has a conviction on Lucille, his conspiracy charge is tied to a proven murder.”

“How'd you discover the lack of contact between Lucille and Marsha so quickly?” I asked. “That's what backed Chesterson down.”

Hewitt smiled. “I didn't. I took a chance and believed my clients. I also believed Deputy Overcash moved so quickly for the arrest that he hadn't checked. I bluffed and Chesterson folded. He had no evidence to the contrary.”

“And you kept Marsha's DNA out of the identification pool.”

Hewitt sat back and rested his hands on his stomach. “And that's the first part of our story that I want to protect. If the remains stay unidentified, then the lack of a provable relationship between Lucille and the deceased eliminates motive.”

“But the DNA could definitively prove it wasn't Jimmy Lang,” Nakayla said.

“Yeah, but let's face it. Odds are Jimmy Lang was shot by Lucille Montgomery's gun, crawled into that hollow log either in an attempt to hide or get shelter, and bled to death.” Hewitt's face tightened as he made the grim assessment. “We need to plan that the first part of our story will have to be rewritten. When, not if, Chesterson determines the skeleton is Jimmy Lang, I need to make sure the jury has plenty of other options for the story's ending. Who else stood to gain by Jimmy's death? Who bore him grudges? And, yes, who could have stolen a photograph and a rifle, a rifle that was returned for the purpose of incriminating Lucille in the event Jimmy's body was ever discovered.”

“Okay,” I said. “So our priority is everything you just listed.”

“Yes. As well as what we don't know that we don't know. That's the most crucial because that's the biggest surprise.” Hewitt's eyes narrowed. “And I don't like surprises.”

“All right,” I said. “We'll work all the angles. Are you billing them for our time?”

“What were you planning to charge them?”

I glanced at Nakayla, signaling her to answer.

“We really hadn't gotten to those details. Actually, the odds were we'd be taking it pro bono.” She smiled at me. “It let Sam worm his way into the investigation of the remains.”

“Worm,” Hewitt said. “Bad word choice. But accurate.”

The phone on a side credenza buzzed. “Lucille and Marsha Montgomery are here,” Shirley said through the intercom.

“Thank you. I'll be out in a minute.”

“You still want us to stay?” Nakayla asked.

“Yes. If I sense we're moving into sensitive issues better left just between the clients and me, then I'll suggest you start following leads while we finish. I'll handle informing them that we're unifying your investigation with my legal defense.”

“What's the status with John Lang?” I asked.

“I'm seeing him at noon. I'll advise him he's under no obligation to give the authorities DNA material and that goes for anyone else in his family.” He stood. “Wait here and I'll get the ladies.”

As soon as he left the room, I asked Nakayla, “What do you think? Are we getting in over our heads?”

“Probably. And you're loving it. You who didn't want to go mushroom hunting. How dull your life would be without me.”

When Marsha and her mother came into the conference room, I stood and helped Lucille into the chair beside me. She looked frailer than yesterday. Worry and exhaustion plagued her lined face. Nakayla slid over and Marsha sat on the other side of her mother.

Hewitt took a seat diametrically across the round table. “I've asked Nakayla and Sam to sit in so they can investigate any leads that might grow out of our conversation.”

Lucille gave me a faint smile. “That's fine. Will they find out if that poor man in the log was Jimmy?”

“No, ma'am. The police will determine his identity.”

“But how will they do that unless they use a DNA sample? Marsha told me how that works.”

Hewitt paused a moment. I figured he was assessing how to best sell the first part of his defense strategy.

“Miss Montgomery, I have one duty and one duty only. That's to provide you with the best defense possible.”

“I didn't kill anybody.”

“I know. But our justice system isn't perfect. I wish I could say otherwise. Unfortunately, there are troublesome elements like the rifle and what John Lang says was your rebuff of Jimmy's affections.”

“I never rebuffed his affections.” She looked at her daughter, undeniably Exhibit A in that regards. “Jimmy and I loved each other.”

“I understand,” Hewitt said. “And before June of 1967 you couldn't get married. But when the Supreme Court changed that, the question arises why didn't you? Mr. Chesterson will say Jimmy refused to marry you. That when he finally could, he wouldn't.”

“That's a lie.” Her voice rose with indignation. “I'm the one who didn't want to get married.”

“And the D.A.'s going to ask why. Why wouldn't a black woman in 1967 leap at the chance for the security for her and her child by marrying a white man?”

I heard both Nakayla and Marsha draw a sharp breath. Hewitt's question sounded too accusatory, too judgmental.

Lucille Montgomery laughed. “Oh, Mr. Donaldson, you know better than that.”

“I do.” He smiled, pleased with her reaction. “But there are people that don't and twelve of them might be on the jury.”

“Then they need to understand something. Men can change the law, but a new law doesn't change the human heart. A judge's gavel isn't a magic wand. People who opposed our right to marry didn't change just because the law did.”

“You were afraid for your safety?”

“No. They wouldn't do anything to us. To the contrary, they'd have nothing to do with us. Jimmy and John were trying to make a go of their company. Can you imagine what would have happened to their business if Jimmy had married a black woman?”

“Seems like that would have been Jimmy's decision,” Hewitt said.