Phillip Margolin - Fugitive

“How did he react?”

“Not well. He tried to get the marriage annulled but Arnie stood up to him. It was probably the only time in his life that he showed any backbone. That’s when I fell in love with him.” She shook her head. “I have to admit, it took me by surprise. I went into the marriage for the money, but Arnie was this big, sweet kid, and I really started looking forward to having a baby.”

“Did Arnold Sr. mellow when the baby was born?”

“Not one degree. Senior is relentless when he wants to get his way. When Arnie wouldn’t file for divorce, he poisoned him against me by spreading rumors that I was sleeping around; rumors that had no basis until Senior got to me.”

“How did he do that?”

“By beating down Arnie until I came to despise both of them. Senior couldn’t control me. I was too tough for him. So he wrecked our marriage by constantly making Arnie choose between us. Arnie was so whipped he sided with his father rather than face him like a man. That’s when I started sleeping around. I just wanted to wake him up and that was the only way I could think to do it. I never enjoyed the affairs. They were just a way of fighting back. I wanted him to stand up to someone, even if it was me, but he didn’t have the guts.”

A tear rolled down Sally’s cheek. “Until the night he died, that is. That was the first time in a long time that he acted like a man.”

Frank’s client looked down at her lap, where her clenched fists lay.

“I know I hurt him-and there were times when I despised him-but I really loved him.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper. Her suffering brought back the pain Frank had felt when Samantha died.

“Do you want some water?” he asked.

Sally shook her head but she still couldn’t speak. Frank waited patiently. When she was calmer he asked a question he hoped would take her mind off her husband.

“Does anyone know where Marsh is?”

“There are rumors that he’s somewhere in Africa-a country that doesn’t have an extradition treaty with the U.S.-but the rumors haven’t been confirmed as far as I know.”

Frank made some notes. “I think this is enough for today,” he said when he was through. “I guess I don’t have to tell you that you shouldn’t discuss your case with anyone but me or my investigator-and I mean anyone. No one but me, or someone who works for me, can use the attorney-client privilege to prevent being compelled to testify against you. If a reporter, detective, anyone, approaches you about the case, just tell them your attorney has directed you to refrain from commenting. That’s it. Just cut them off.

“Meanwhile, I’m going to let Karl Burdett know that I’m your lawyer and you’re off-limits. I’m also going to try to find out what the evidence is that has him believing he can convince a jury beyond a reasonable doubt that you’re guilty of murder.”

A week after Sally Pope hired Frank, she was charged with murder and conspiracy to commit murder. Two days after Sally’s arraignment and release on bail, Frank was cross-referencing phone calls made by a heroin dealer in a federal narcotics case when Herb Cross stuck his head in the door. A few years back, Cross, a slender, bookish African-American, had been mistakenly identified as a robber by a white convenience-store clerk. He told Frank he had an alibi but Frank’s investigator was new and inept and had failed to locate any of the people Cross swore could clear him. Frustrated by the investigator’s incompetence, Cross went off on his own and located the men. After the DA dismissed the case, Frank refunded Cross’s retainer, fired his investigator, and offered Cross the job.

“I’ve been through the discovery in Pope ,” Cross said. “You busy or do you want to go through it now?”

Frank rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He pointed at the paperwork that covered his desk.

“This has to be the most boring case I’ve ever worked on. I can use the break.”

“Pope isn’t boring,” the investigator assured him. “I’ve got everything spread out in the conference room.”

Frank brought his coffee across the hall to a long table covered with photographs, police reports, and files.

“Give me the Reader’s Digest condensed version,” Frank said as he took a sip from his mug. “I’ll go through everything myself, later.”

“Okay, well, Burdett has Charlie Marsh pegged as the shooter.”

“Because?”

“They found a fancy, ivory-handled.357 Magnum at the scene. It’s a custom job, very distinctive, and it belongs to Marsh. A waiter at Marsh’s hotel saw him playing with it earlier in the evening and his agent, Mickey Keys, saw the gun in the limo that took Marsh and his entourage to the Westmont.”

“Was Marsh carrying it?”

“No, Keys told the police that Marsh’s bodyguard, Delmar Epps, liked the gun and carried it in his waistband when Marsh was in public. Epps was playing with it in the limo but Keys doesn’t know what happened to the gun once Epps got out of the car.”

“And the Magnum is definitely the murder weapon?”

Cross nodded. “The lab made a positive match. The bullet that killed the congressman was fired from Marsh’s gun.”

“Are Marsh’s prints on the weapon?”

Cross shook his head. “Someone wiped it down.”

“Did someone see Marsh shoot the gun at Pope?”

“They have a witness.” Cross handed Frank a crime scene photo. “Marsh was standing in a group on the other side of this turnaround.”

Frank wasn’t a member of the Westmont but he’d been there several times. He guessed that the police photographer had been standing under the portico at the main entrance and had shot across the turnaround toward the pro shop. Even though it was a night shot, Frank could see the side of the turnaround closest to the entrance with enough definition to make out a section of a flower bed that had been trampled underfoot. But the light from the club entrance faded out midway across the turnaround, leaving the far side in shadow. The pro shop, which was about twenty-five yards back from the road on the side away from the club, was almost impossible to see.

“Where was Marsh supposed to be standing?” Frank asked.

“See the road leading from the main street?” Cross asked, pointing at the far side of the turnaround.

Frank nodded.

“He was a little bit in from where the road bends toward the parking lot, sort of a straight line to the edge of the pro shop.”

“Okay, I’ve got it.”

Frank studied the picture. “There’s not a lot of light on that spot. How do they put Marsh with the gun?”

“Several witnesses will testify that they saw a muzzle flash from the area where Marsh was standing, but the key witness for the state is Werner Rollins. He’s an ex-con and Burdett is holding him on an outstanding warrant. Rollins is an acquaintance of Marsh who was at the seminar with another ex-con, named Gary Hass. A fight broke out after the congressman hit Marsh. Rollins got into it with a security guard. He ended up in the group on the other side of the turnaround. Then he took off when Pope was shot. The police picked him up a few hours later. He’s cut a deal with Burdett and he’s going to testify that he saw Marsh shoot Pope.”

“What does his buddy, Hass, say?”

“He’s not in custody but they do have Delmar Epps. It looks like Epps drove Marsh from the scene. He was also involved in the fight. Word is they’re cutting a deal with him, too.”

“What does he say happened to the gun?”

“He says Hass opened the limo door when the car stopped. When Epps realized the limo driver wasn’t opening the door he thought there might be trouble-a fan, paparazzi-so he says he got out to deal with Hass and left the gun on the seat.”