Supreme Justice

Chapter Twenty-seven

People assumed that Mary Garrett led a lonely life because she was homely, unmarried, and had no children. They were in error. Mary had a close circle of loyal friends and her share of lovers. Those lovers were always glad that they had gotten beyond the superficial aspect of Garrett’s looks. There had even been proposals of marriage, but Garrett preferred to live alone and valued the freedom her choice provided. The lawyer thought of her clients as her children, and she poured the passion she would have given to a son or daughter into their defense. Each case was a cause, and she protected her charges with the ferocity that a lioness displays when her cubs are in danger.

Mary was concerned about her latest client, Sarah Woodruff. For the third time, she checked her stainless steel Franck Muller watch. Sarah was late. Outside, dark clouds were drifting over the high hills that towered over Portland, threatening rain. On the streets below, pedestrians clutched umbrellas and walked fast so they could reach their destinations quickly and gain shelter from the bitter wind.

Mary had rushed to the courthouse for an early appearance and had not had time to read the Oregonian. While she waited for her client to show up for their hastily scheduled meeting, she glanced through the paper. The Dow was down, the Seattle Seahawks had lost their starting tight end for the season with a torn ACL, the bodies of two men linked to a Mexican drug cartel had been found shot to death in a logging area in the Cascades, and another movie-star couple were breaking up even though they were “still good friends.” Mary sighed. Today’s paper was an echo of every paper she’d read this week.

Mary’s receptionist knocked on her door, then ushered in Sarah Woodruff. She looked pale and drawn, like someone who was not sleeping well, but the primary emotion Woodruff displayed was anger.

“They searched my condo,” she said. “They did it while I was at the station. There are clothes thrown around. They broke dishes. I bet that prick Dietz told them to trash my place.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Garrett answered, with an anger that almost matched her client’s. “I’ll straighten this out and make sure you’re treated with respect, if I have to get a court order.”

Woodruff dropped into a seat and ran a hand across her forehead. “I’m a fellow cop. If they’d asked, I would have let them search. I don’t have anything to hide.”

“That’s what I want to find out,” Mary said. She looked grim. Woodruff’s head snapped up. “Remember I told you that you had to be completely honest with me?”

“I have been.”

Mary pushed a copy of a police report across the desk. “This was written by Officer Dickinson after he interviewed you on the evening John Finley disappeared from your condo. Read it and tell me if you think Dickinson got anything wrong.”

Mary watched Woodruff as she read the report looking for any reaction that would tip her to whether Woodruff had lied during their interview. If it turned out she had, Mary would be disappointed, but she had been conned by clients before. After all, many of the people she represented made a living by bending the truth without being obvious. But she’d slowly become convinced that Sarah Woodruff was innocent.

The judge who’d granted Sarah bail had concluded that the State’s evidence didn’t meet the criteria for denying a defendant release in a murder case. The inability of the State to produce a body was the tipping point for Judge Edmond and a strong component of Mary’s argument for release. Max Dietz had been angry when he left the courtroom because he had lost, and Max hated to lose. But Mary sensed that Max had not laid down all of his cards during the bail hearing. A few sentences Mary had read in the stack of discovery her investigator had received from Dietz had reinforced that belief.

Woodruff looked confused when she finished reading the police report. “I don’t understand, Mary. What was I supposed to see?”

“You were carrying a Glock 9mm when you returned to your condo.”

“Yes. It’s my service weapon.”

“You told Officer Dickinson that you didn’t fire it.”

Woodruff’s features shifted for a second. Her brow furrowed. “I remember him asking about that. I don’t remember firing my weapon.”

“You didn’t say you didn’t remember firing the weapon. You said that you did not. There’s a big difference.”

“Mary, I’d just witnessed an attack on someone I knew. I’d been knocked unconscious. I’d been chasing around the neighborhood. My head was killing me. The doctor at the hospital said I’d suffered a concussion. I think I can be forgiven for being a bit inaccurate.”

“Let’s hope the jury thinks so.”

“Why are you so concerned?”

“For starters, there was a bullet missing from your gun. And do you remember a detective running a cotton swab over the web area between the thumb and forefinger of your hand to test for gunshot residue?”

“Vaguely. I wasn’t thinking very straight. Are you saying they found residue on my hands?”

Mary nodded. “They can prove you fired your weapon.”

Woodruff put her hands on her temples. She squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, she looked panicky.

“I don’t remember firing the gun. Wouldn’t I remember something like that if I’d done it?”

The grilling had been a test, and Mary thought her client had passed.

“Maybe not,” she said. “After my investigator found out about the inconsistency, she talked to the doctor who treated you at the hospital. He’s certain that you suffered a concussion, a traumatic injury to the brain as a result of a violent blow.

“A blow powerful enough to knock you out can cause your brain cells to become depolarized and fire all of their neurotransmitters at once. This floods the brain with chemicals and deadens the receptors in the brain that are associated with learning and memory. The upshot of all this is that a person who suffers a concussion can experience unconsciousness, blurred vision, and nausea and vomiting.”

“I had all of that happen,” Woodruff said.

Mary nodded. “Another consequence of a concussion is short-term memory loss. Memories of things that happen just before and after the impact are obliterated. Some people even have difficulty remembering certain phases of their life. The memory loss is usually not permanent, but it could account for your statement to Dickinson.”

“It has to, because I’ve never lied about what happened at my place. I didn’t kill John, and he was kidnapped.”

“If Dietz tries to convince the jury that you lied about firing your gun, I’m going to present the testimony of the doctor who treated you, and I’ve got a call in to one of the top neurosurgeons in Oregon.”

“Then you believe me?”

Mary wanted to tell Sarah that she couldn’t answer that question because she hadn’t been in her house when the events that had led to her arrest occurred, but Woodruff looked awful and Mary knew she needed moral support.

“Yes, I believe you.”

“Thank you, Mary. I need someone on my side.”

“There’s another thing I want to discuss, Sarah,” Mary said. “Those names you gave me, Larry Kester, Orrin Hadley, and Dennis Lang-they’re all dead ends.”

“What do you mean?”

“No criminal records, driving licenses, social security records. These men are phantoms. It’s the same for John Finley. And my investigator can’t find any more information about TA Enterprises than you did. It’s registered in the Caymans, but we can’t figure out what kind of business it conducts. Can you remember anything Finley may have said that can help us here?”

“I’ve told you everything I know.”

“OK. That’s all I wanted to go over today. I’m filing several motions tomorrow. You’ll get copies when I finish them, and I’ll call you if there are any more developments.”

“Thanks, Mary. Having you on my side means a lot.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t done anything yet.”

Woodruff reached into her purse and pulled out a wad of cash. “Here’s the fifteen thousand you wanted for expenses.”

“Thanks,” Mary said. “Unless you have any questions, you can head back to work.”

Woodruff looked sick. “That’s not going to happen anytime soon. I was officially suspended yesterday afternoon.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Well, you make one person who is,” Woodruff said bitterly. “I haven’t been getting a lot of support from my fellow officers. You’d think some of them would have the guts to wish me well.”

Mary thought of several empty phrases she could throw at Sarah, but she knew none of them would help.