16 Souls

CHAPTER TWO

Boulder, Colorado–August 14^th, 6:00 pm

The four lane leading from Broomfield to Boulder was nearly at a standstill, the GPS reporting an accident miles ahead. Judith quietly chafed at the delay as she reviewed the irritating sequence that had delivered Marty Mitchell to her legal care in the first place.

She recalled clearly closing the door to her designer-wrought office that day three months ago and pacing around irately, grateful there were no inside windows to broadcast her agitation to the three other lawyers who shared the downtown Boulder office.

A glance at the elaborate brass wall clock had confirmed she had a half hour before the client she did not want to represent walked in. If he was anywhere near as uncooperative and distant as he’d been on their only phone call, this was going to be a struggle.

Whatever aggravation she felt paled, however, in comparison to the combination of embarrassment and upset over the judicial clash that had made a mistake on her part far worse. Never in her years as a lawyer had she crossed swords so directly — or been insulted so thoroughly — by a sitting judge. The raw memory of dealing with Judge Gonzales came back in high definition clarity, churning her stomach with a toxic cocktail of mortification along with an unmistakable whiff of victimization.

Her supreme effort to maintain lawyerly restraint had failed. She’d expected a quick explanation to the judge would spring her from her obviously misguided acceptance of what had turned out to be a major criminal defense case, an assignment to a corporate lawyer cynically engineered by her firm’s senior partner. But Judge Gonzales, it seemed, had for some reason developed an affinity for the idea of a big corporate lawyer playing defense counsel, and had decided not to release her. Originally, Judith had asked the district attorney to join her in a hearing in Gonzales’ chambers, explaining that she wanted off the case. But when Grant Richardson had refused, she requested an ex parte hearing anyway, and was surprised when the judge granted the request. Now a rising tide of panic was building as Judith realized the judge was actually enjoying her discomfort, and worse, was absolutely delighted at the prospect that the poised and polished female attorney before him might actually lose control. Within the calculating side of her mind she knew an explosion would play right into his hands, but uncharacteristically the emotional side had seized control.

“Judge Gonzalez,” Judith had begun, her words metered through gritted teeth.

He cut her off, his voice dripping with feigned concern.

“You have something more to say, Counselor?” The bushy eyebrows arched up in false surprise. “I was very appreciative that you offered your services as a pro bono lawyer, and I accepted, and I do not see any reasonable grounds for releasing you from this obligation.”

“I and my firm made a mistake, sir! I should never have volunteered.”

“So, why did you?”

“Because my senior partner thought it was the appropriate thing to do and I really didn’t understand the scope of this criminal case.”

“Well, now you do. And I need you.”

“Judge, I’m not competent to try a criminal case!”

“Colorado does not agree with you. You passed the same bar exam as all the criminal defense attorneys in the state, and you raised your right hand and took the lawyer’s oath, right?”

“Yes, of course… but I’m trained primarily in corporate law.”

“And in Colorado, a lawyer is a lawyer and every one of us is expected to either have the expertise, or be able to study and acquire the expertise. No, you volunteered and I am not letting you off the hook.”

“I can’t do this, Your Honor.”

“Are we having a failure to communicate? Or didn’t they teach you about your pro bono responsibilities for this sort of thing at Yale Law?”

She forced herself to ignore the reverse snobbery. “This… this is a murder case!”

“Yes. I believe we’ve established that. Is there some point you’re trying to get to? I’m a busy man.”

Judith took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on the overstuffed contents of the judge’s office. The thought of insulting this condescending toad was almost seductive, but she dismissed it. Having her defend a crazy airline captain who’d made a stupid decision that resulted in a loss of life would have been bad enough, but running it up into a criminal charge of second degree murder and expecting her to defend him — she was in no way competent to try such a case. Conviction would be a foregone conclusion. And that without even considering the massive disruption in her corporate practice. Her partners would be furious. Her other partners, she reminded herself.

“Judge,” she began again, only slightly more controlled. “You’re charged by state law with trying to assist the accused, not condemn him! Your DA is trying to convict this airline captain of second degree murder and send him away for a very long time.”

“That’s right, but it’s only second degree, counselor. You needn’t worry about the death penalty.”

“Your honor, please…”

“Okay, hold it! This defendant is wobbling close to the precipice of diminished capacity. He’s fired or refused every lawyer his pilot union buddies have hired, and while the law says he can do so, the self-destructive nature of this is something I can’t ignore. I’ve already allowed two dismissals of counsel, and agreed that since his airline has him on unpaid suspension, he’s indigent, and lo and behold I ask for a pro bono lawyer and I get one of the best. What better solution could there be than to have the best from Walters, Wilson, and Crandall, PC, ask for the job? How could anyone object to having an AV rated lawyer like you?” His tone was unctuous, as if he had no idea why she was objecting. “After all, you were a prosecutor in Denver once. Correct?”

“A long, long time ago for less than six months! And I was assigned to white collar crime. I never handled anything big like murder.”

He’s obscenely enjoying this! she thought, powerless to stop the play. She was sliding inexorably, helplessly into his trap.

“Goddammit, Judge!”

“Watch your tongue, Counselor.”

“I say again, regardless of the legal theory that we’re all competent to represent anyone for anything, you know I’m not even remotely qualified to defend this case. For God’s sake, I probably couldn’t even defend myself on a traffic ticket! I’m a corporate lawyer, and not even a regular litigator in civil practice, and you… you… want to inflict me on this man as some sort of ridiculous farce of a public defender?”

Gonzalez was leaning forward now, obviously out of patience.

“It’s not your choice any longer, Ms. Winston. And in fact you have only two options. One, refuse to serve, in which case I will immediately file a complaint with our Attorney Regulation Counsel — OARC, for violating rules Rule 1.16, Rule 1.1, and Rule 1.3, or two, take this case precisely as you volunteered to do and do a competent job of being a lawyer, which… oh, by the way… includes being an officer of the court, which includes being competent to represent a criminal defendant.”

“I would think as many times as that attitude has been struck down in this country, it would be judicial misconduct to appoint an unqualified lawyer!”

“Thank you for accusing me of judicial misconduct! But guess what? I’m the judge, and this judge can, and will, throw your posterior in jail on contempt if you sass me like that one more time.”

She couldn’t keep her jaw from dropping slightly. “My… posterior? Did you say…”

“You’re in my chambers, Winston, you’re pissing me off big time, and we’re off the record. I can say anything to you I decide to say. But relax. I’m just a common street judge retained by the people. Worse, I’m not a member of your waspy, yuppie club. You, on the other hand, are legal royalty, aren’t you? The chosen one? The Ivy League lawyer pulling in a half million a year helping corporate fat cats screw those same unwashed and sometimes undocumented people who keep me on the bench? No wonder you don’t want to take three or four months out to try a criminal case and get your hands dirty.”

“Good Lord, is that what this is about? Some sort of class discrimination?”

“No, Winston, it’s about public service. Pro bono publico. Not about attending some annual auction for the untouchables and buying a case of Chardonnay for Christ. You know what? Newsflash, lady. You take the same oath the criminal bar takes, and yet you shoulder few, if any of the criminal defense responsibilities. I, for one, have had enough of it!” He was rising from his oversized chair now, his squat frame and overabundant girth failing to provide the towering image that was playing in his head — the omnipotent state district judge about to put the entirety of the fancy corporate lawyers in their place.

“So, make your choice, Judy. Make your head go up and down and say, ‘Yes, your Honor, I will faithfully represent this defendant I’ve agreed to represent.’ Or, prepare to fight a professional misconduct charge.”

She’d hated herself all the way back to Boulder for caving in, and for a moment had considered storming into the firm’s home office in Denver to call an emergency conference. But setting it up by phone on the drive back worked better, and she was loaded for bear when she finally pushed through the doors of her Boulder office. She aimed herself like a runaway train at the plush teleconference room.

It had been Roger Crandall who’d screwed her. The supposedly revered senior partner who had called her in and, she thought, gently rebuked her for falling short of the fifty hours of annual pro bono work. It had been his idea to suggest she take a criminal case that was undoubtedly going to get tossed before trial. That assurance made her nervous, but so did Crandall, and in the end it was just another item on the daily agenda to inform the court that she would take the case as defense attorney.

The first few minutes of the conference call were spent on her impassioned and outraged soliloquy, followed by ten minutes of silence while her two senior partners departed the Denver side of the videoconference, allegedly to answer other calls. A thinly disguised ploy, she figured, to let her cool down while they undoubtedly discussed the liability of having excitable women as lawyers. The thought was anything but amusing.

The two men returned to the other side of the screen, one the perpetrator, the other his cheerful accomplice.

“Okay, now we need you to calm down a bit, Judith, and look at this logically.”

“What?” She was coming forward in her chair, already irritated at what they’d probably said in the hallway.

“I mean, really now, just take a breath. I know you’re furious, but we need logic.”

The impeccably dressed senior partner on the other end of the video connection glanced at the other greying male and toyed with the pen in his hand before looking back at her — or at least at the image of her playing on their corresponding screen. The furnishings of a typically opulent corporate law office were visible in the background through the glass wall behind the men, and she knew they were looking at a much more tranquil scene framing the front range of the Rockies visible behind her in their satellite office.

Judith let out a long breath.

“Okay, gentlemen, I’m breathing. But I’m also seething, because you tricked me! This was supposed to be a grand gesture that would evaporate with this stupid prosecution. but it isn’t evaporating! I’m getting the clear impression that neither of you is ready to throw this firm’s might behind getting me out of this stupidity.”

Jenks Walters, the firm’s cofounder chuckled. “Well, the way I see it, other than risking a humiliating defeat at the appeals court trying to get you out of this with the media watching, our choices are rather limited. Essentially, we could offer the judge a job at the firm, or we could have him killed. The first solution would get us a lawyer who hasn’t practiced law in twenty years, and I’ll bet a sensitive part of my anatomy he’d be a bastard to work with; and, the second option would put us all in prison.” He jerked around toward Roger Crandall and arched his eyebrows. “You see any advantage in either of those, Rog?”

Crandall’s sharp features and humorless expression didn’t change as he stared through the electronic ether to meet her eyes.

“Here’s the deal, Judith,” Crandall said, his words typically crisp, fired at the screen like small, verbal bullets. “I pushed you to do this thinking it was, indeed, going to go away. Gonzales was asking for help, and…”

“Whoa! Wait!” she said, coming forward in the chair she’d finally sunk into. “He came to you?”

Roger Crandall shook his head. “No, we saw each other at a civic function, I’ve tried cases before him many times, and he was lamenting his inability to get good counsel for this airline pilot.”

“You are aware he thinks we’re Gucci-clad fat cats, right? You know he loathes us?”

“That’s his official attitude. That’s the kind of class nonsense that gets him reelected.”

“So, what, he’s a drinking buddy of yours and a member of the country club?”

“No, Judith, he’s a hardworking judge and he was obviously worried about this defendant, and, quite frankly, talking way out of school, worried about Richardson.”

“So, you volunteered me? Seriously? Without discussing it? I mean, hell, Roger, I am a partner even if you’re the king.”

“Judith, I did not volunteer you. I told him I might be able to arrange something, and I took a look at our pro bono commitments thinking I could peel away one of our brightest associates, and guess who I found hadn’t been holding up her end for the last two years?”

“Goddammit, you lied to me Roger.”

“I did no such thing. And I am not about to support any attempt to use the appellate courts to overrule Gonzales’ decision not to release you. The appellate judges will not look kindly on our making a big deal out of a case that is already a national embarrassment for Colorado and a narcissistic overreach by the DA.”

“Narcissistic is hardy the word for it, Rog,” Jenks Walters snorted. “Trying to convict an airline pilot who had to make a tough choice is a gross abuse of power.”

Crandall ignored him.

“My point, Judith,” Crandall continued, “…is that it does not serve Walters, Wilson, and Crandall well to give Judge Gonzales the chance to show to the world that we are, in fact, the type of unresponsive, elitist fat cats he wrongly represents we are at election time. If we go crying to the appeals court, even if they grant the motion, we look bad.”

“What are you saying?” Judith asked, her voice close to betraying her rising desire to scream.

“I’m saying,” Roger continued, “…as clearly as I can, that the best thing for this law firm is for you to suck it up and defend the guy. Period.”

“How? Would you tell me that? He’s guilty as sin of murder in the second degree. He made a conscious decision. He knew if he did what he did that people would die. It may stink and be unprecedented to be going after an airline pilot making a tough call in flight, but the DA is technically, legally correct.”

“Give Roger an opportunity to explain,” Jenks interjected, earning a none-too-kind sideways glance from his partner over the lack of need for a champion.

Roger Crandall returned his gaze to Judith Winston. “It does not hurt to show that we are lawyers first, and corporate lawyers second, understand? We all took the same bar exam and it had did have a section on criminal law.”

“Dammit, Gonzalez said the same thing, but that does not…”

“You’re perfectly capable of handling this, Judith.”

Just for a second — an interval so short the other two lawyers could not have noticed — Judith felt the full blown emotions of a drowning person, suddenly overwhelmed, her sense of self-esteem flattened by a visceral terror of failure and that same evil little voice somewhere in the back of her consciousness telling her she was faking it and they were going to find out! And just as quickly, as if addressing those very fears, Roger Crandall continued.

“You’re sharp as hell, Judith, or I promise you wouldn’t be here. We’ll get you some help… get you tutored on criminal defense… even get you an experienced second on the case, but in the end, it will help our image to have you rise to this challenge. And, if you lose, well, hell, who could be expected to win something this twisted up? And we might ace it on appeal, you never know. I doubt anyone really wants to put that poor flyboy in prison.”

“Other than our buffoonish DA you mean,” she snapped.

“Go easy on our poor old district attorney,” Jenks chuckled, leaning into the picture again. “Fact is, Grant’s a politician, not a real lawyer, and he’s all wrapped up in running for God.”

Judith’s head snapped forward as the car’s automated system slammed on the brakes to avoid colliding with the pickup that had suddenly stopped in front of her. She forced her mind back to the present, glancing at her watch, relieved to see the traffic jam was finally breaking up ahead.

Finding Marty Mitchell’s address on the northern perimeter of Boulder was almost too easy with the GPS on her phone. Judith parked in front of the house and rang his phone again with the same lack of response. The sun was riding low in the west, but over an hour away from descending below the front range, and the house was bathed in natural light, obscuring whether any lights were on inside. She walked to the front door and rang the bell, hearing the sound echo inside, but nothing stirred. He had talked of owning a very loud dog, but she could hear nothing from within.

Predictably, the doorknob refused to yield to her perfunctory effort to turn it, and she re-closed the screen door and moved to what was probably the living room window, shielding her eyes to peer inside at a well-kept interior, with photos on the coffee table and nothing seemingly out of place.

She pulled out her phone and punched in Marty’s number again, keeping her ear to the window to see if she could hear a ring tone from inside, but there was nothing. Worried about neighbors misunderstanding what she was doing, Judith glanced around before deciding to circle the house, grasping the knob on the backdoor just to make sure all was secure and giving it a shake.

But the backdoor latch had apparently not seated, and without a deadbolt in place, the door suddenly swung open.

Judith moved inside cautiously, calling his name, listening in vain for a response. She checked the two bedrooms, finding the beds made with military precision, the bathroom towels ready for guests. She stopped for a second passing a floor to ceiling mirror and looked at herself, aware of the extra ten pounds she was always fighting to keep off, yet mostly pleased with the trim and disciplined woman she saw. Trim and disciplined was what any professional woman had to be, and the last thing she ever wanted anyone to know was how much effort it took, and how often the polished and unshakeable attorney they saw doubted herself.

The kitchen was neat and clean, except for a closed, half-eaten jar of peanut butter — a spoon set neatly beside it. She almost missed the several envelopes in the middle of the kitchen table. Each had a name on the front of it, but no address, or stamp, or return…

A sudden suspicion gripped her like a rising gorge, a sick feeling that she knew where this was going, where it had to go given what she was seeing. Each envelope was sealed, but she ripped open the first one and removed three pages of printed verbiage, trying to slow her reading to comprehend that it was a goodbye. Essentially a suicide note, with no indication of where or how.

Judith pulled one of the kitchen chairs and sat down hard, her mind racing. She opened the other three envelopes one by one, finding different messages but no additional clues. He had, however dated the signatures, and when she focused on the date, it was the 13th, one day ago.

How the hell can I find where he went? she thought. He could be anywhere! Think, dammit!

Suddenly her plan to help him feel better with a more optimistic assessment of his chances with his upcoming trial seemed so pathetically short of the mark. He’d needed that assurance before, and now…

There was something she was missing. The feeling was practically shouting at her, quite audible over the pounding of her heart and her breathing as she tried to figure out what to do. Calling the police would be essentially useless, or maybe not. She didn’t even know what car he drove, let alone his license plates… but they would.

She placed her cell phone on the table and stared at it, trying to visualize where his phone was, the one she had bought to give him some peace and privacy. That was an iPhone, just like hers. Maybe the cell company could locate it.

Holy crap! I can’t believe I forgot!

She toggled on her phone’s screen and moved to the note page, thumbing through the various things she’d typed until she found the one that mattered: The ID and password for the “Find My iPhone” function. She hadn’t told him about preprogramming it, and in truth, it was because she didn’t trust him. If the court had decided to put an ankle locater on him, she wanted a second way to find him if he fled. Maybe, just maybe, she thought, it would tell her where he was.

Judith worked to control her breathing as she togged on the appropriate app and carefully entered the information. The depiction of a compass rotated back and forth for almost a minute as her heart slowly sank.

It would have been too easy, she concluded, failing to recognize at first when the screen shifted to a map with a little green dot in the middle.

She leaned in, trying to interpret the map and the image. It was apparently a satellite depiction, but she had to zoom in and out several times to finally recognize where his cell phone was claiming to be, and as the recognition dawned, she looked up through the front windows of the house to see the big mountain itself.

Oh my God!