Michael Mcgarrity - Slow Kill

Although he tried to seem impassive, Kim Dean knew that his fear showed through. Whenever an inmate looked at him, he averted his eyes. His face felt like a frozen death mask, his upper lip was wet with sweat, and he was constantly swallowing, rubbing his nose, or fidgeting with his hands.

A big Hispanic guy with tattoos on his arms and the back of his neck kept eyeing him, as did a black Cuban who grabbed his crotch and smiled wickedly every time Dean glanced in his direction.

He sat by himself at a table in the communal area of the living pod and stared at the wall-mounted television tuned to a Spanish language station no one else was watching. Clusters of inmates were playing cards or talking in tight-knit little groups.

All the metal tables, fabricated with attached benches, were secured to the floor, as were the beds in the cells, the sinks-everything that ordinarily could be disassembled or dislodged was bolted, welded, or fastened down. The stairs to the upper-level cells, the security grates covering a high row of frosted windows, and the bars on the cell and pod doors were gleaming steel.

Four young, tough-looking inmates-kids really-stood in front of the lower tier of a semicircular wall of cells singing rap in low voices, flashing gangbanger signs, and laughing. Two older inmates who were mopping floors and cleaning tabletops moved slowly across the room.

The guy wielding the mop, a small, stoop-shouldered man who looked like a character from a Dickens novel, appeared to be perfectly content with his task. In fact, everyone in the pod seemed completely at ease, like it was no big deal to be locked up. It only served to make Dean more apprehensive.

He kept glancing at the glassed-in guard station and the locked pod door, hoping someone would come to fetch him to meet with his new lawyer, Scott Ingram.

Ingram had called hours ago to say he’d spoken with Howard Stubbs, the inexperienced lawyer Dean had fired, and would be out to see him as soon as he’d received and reviewed the arrest affidavits, warrants, and charges, and talked to the district attorney.

He was about to return to his cell, which Dean figured was the safest place to be if he never fell asleep, when a guard appeared and motioned him to approach the pod door.

“Is my lawyer here?” Dean asked.

The guard nodded as the door slid open. After being patted down and cuffed, he was walked down the main corridor and deposited in an interview room where Scott Ingram waited. Neither man spoke until the cuffs came off and the guard left the room.

“You took your time getting here,” Dean snapped.

Ingram smiled indulgently at Dean. “I’m sure you wanted me to be well prepared before we talked.”

“Are you a good criminal defense attorney?”

“I’m very good at what I do,” Ingram said.

“Has anyone tried to contact you on my behalf?” Dean asked.

Ingram looked down his hawkish nose as he sat at the table. “Do you mean Claudia Spalding?”

Surprised, Dean nodded. “How do you know her name?”

“Because Stubbs told me about the phone call he made at your request, and I’ve learned that the DA is sitting on a pending murder arrest warrant for her, waiting for the receipt of more information from California.”

“Dammit,” Dean said.

“Have you talked to anyone about the charges since your arraignment?” Ingram asked.

Dean sat down across from Ingram. “Nobody.”

“That’s good. But time may be running out on you to enter into a plea agreement.”

“I don’t want that. I want you to find a way to get me out of here, now.” He bit a hangnail off his thumb and spit it out.

“I’ve already informally approached the judge on your behalf in that matter. Any official request I make to ask him to reconsider setting bail will be rejected. You’re to be held without bond.”

“Can’t you do something? Tell him I’ll surrender my passport, sign over the equity in my house and business to a bondsman. Plus my cash. I can put together almost a million dollars.”

“I don’t think if you had three million in cash and assets the judge would let you out.”

“Do something, dammit.”

Ingram sighed sympathetically and leaned forward. “Getting you out of jail isn’t an option. In fact, as I see it, you don’t have many options.”

“What are they?” Dean asked.

“As things stand right now, you can cooperate with the prosecution and get the murder charge reduced and most of the other charges dropped. But if the cops develop sufficient probable cause to get an arrest warrant for Claudia Spalding, you may wind up on the short end of the stick.”

“How so?”

“She may decide to testify against you. That means the DA will have her, instead of you, in his pocket. He’ll go after you full-bore, using Spalding as his star witness. He won’t even think about negotiating with you. He’ll try you on all the state charges. Once that’s done, the DEA can step in and file against you in federal court.”

“That’s double jeopardy.”

Ingram shook his head. “No it isn’t, Mr. Dean. The criminal codes in this country are complex, and the federal government has drug laws on the books that aren’t duplicated by state statutes.”

“Claudia wouldn’t do that to me,” Dean said.

Ingram raised an eyebrow. “Has she been in touch with you to offer aid?”

Dean shook his head. “I want you to call her.”

“I tried that under the pretext of asking her to make a sworn statement on your behalf. I spoke to one of her employees, who told me she refused to take my call. That should tell you something, Mr. Dean.”

“Shit!”

“It could get worse,” Ingram said. “From what I’ve learned, Claudia Spalding has the financial wherewithal to hire a team of the best defense lawyers, private investigators, and expert witnesses money can buy. I’m sure if she’s arrested, a motion to separate her case from yours will be filed and most likely granted. That will put us in an adversarial relationship with her. Are you prepared to go that route?”

“Can’t you do anything to keep that from happening?” Dean asked.

“Certainly I can argue against it, if that’s really what you want. But I don’t see how it serves any purpose. Actually, I’ll use the very same tactic on your behalf, if you’re willing to cooperate.”

Dean started nibbling at another hangnail. “So where does that leave me?”

“We can go to trial and I’ll mount the best defense possible. We can dispute the circumstantial evidence, bring in psychologists to testify that Spalding manipulated and used you, call on medical doctors and pharmacologists to challenge the cause of death findings, file motions to have witness statements excluded, pound away at any evidence collection screwups, and do everything possible to place the preponderance of blame on Mrs. Spalding.”

Dean peeled the hangnail free and picked it off his tongue. “Can we win?”

“You never know. But whatever the outcome, you’ll most likely still be in jail-maybe even prison-while you’re awaiting trial on the other charges. Plus, by then you’ll have to ask for a public defender to represent you.”

“Why not you? I can pay your fee.”

“Now you can,” Ingram replied. “But you won’t be able to hire a private attorney in the future if the DEA and local cops can trace the money you made on drug trafficking back to your business and personal accounts. If they succeed, your assets will be frozen, confiscated, and disposed of. And believe me, they’re doing everything possible to make sure that happens.”

Dean sagged in his chair, head lowered, eyelids fluttering. “This wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.”

“Do we go to trial or do I call the DA?” Ingram asked.