Authors: H. Terrell Griffin
B006JIBKIS EBOK (6 page)
After graduating from law school at the top of my class, I joined an old and very established law firm in Orlando, going to work in its litigation section. I did all the expected things. I joined the Jaycees, the Young Republicans, the Chamber of Commerce, the Kiwanis Club, and worked for the firm like a son of a bitch. I tried a lot of cases and won more than I lost. I rose in the ranks of the various organizations I had joined and became well known in the community. I was active in politics and counted among my closest friends two Congressmen, a United States Senator, the Governor of Florida, and many lesser local office holders. I was representing large corporations and making a lot of money. I had the obligatory foreign car, the large house and a thirty-six foot boat that I kept on Longboat Key and spent as much time on as possible.
While in law school I had made the best investment in my life. I married Laura. She was beautiful and warm and loving. She didn’t really care about all the material things I provided, but simply wanted children and more of me. I kept putting off the children, and not giving her enough of my very valuable time, and finally blew the investment.
Four years before, I had come home late one night after a political meeting and several drinks with the boys. She told me to sit down as she had something important to tell me. She told me that her biological clock was ticking, and that she did not have much more time to have the family she had always wanted. She said that she did not really know me anymore, and although she loved me, she had to do what was right for her. While visiting her brother in Atlanta the year before, she had met a widower, a doctor, who was raising his three year old child alone. They had seen a lot of each other since then, and he had asked her to marry him. He wanted more children, and she had decided to take him up on his offer. She was in love, and thought she could make a better life in Atlanta with him. She was leaving. She wanted no alimony, and nothing of our property other than her automobile. She would appreciate it if I would quietly get us divorced as soon as possible.
My world fell apart. I guess I had been self destructing for quite some time, but Laura’s decision was the terminal event. Laura had been the only real anchor in my life, and as I thought about it, the only person who really mattered. Or at least, without her nothing else mattered much at all.
I was depressed, feeling sorry for my rotten self, and drinking too much. I dropped out of the organizations that had been such a part of my life. I spent less and less time in the office and more and more time on my boat, wondering what had gone so very wrong in my carefully constructed and successful life.
My partners at the law firm were understanding and tried to help. I was unresponsive, and finally the executive committee of the firm decided that it would be in the best interest of all of us if I left. They bought out my share, and I sold the house. With the money in hand, I moved aboard the boat. For six months I hung around the marina and did nothing but drink beer and feel sorry for myself.
By that time I was beginning to run out of money, and I was not too concerned about what I would do when that happened. One day I was sitting on the bridge of the boat drinking my fifth or sixth beer of the morning, wondering what to do about a job, when I heard a man call, “Ahoy, the Miss Laura.” An archaic greeting, more fitted for a fine yacht than my relatively small craft. I turned to see a well dressed man of about fifty coming down the dock. He was wearing a pair of white duck pants, a solid blue polo shirt, and blue Sperry topsiders without socks. He had a gold President Rolex watch on his left wrist and a large class ring from the University of Georgia on his left ring finger. His hair was solid white, cut fairly short, and combed back from a razor part.
“Are you Matt Royal?” he asked.
“Sure am. Come aboard.”
He climbed into the cockpit and up the ladder to the bridge. “I’m Jason Clark. I’m a friend of Laura and Jeff Simmons. I believe she’s your former wife.”
“Yes, she is. How about a beer?”
“A little early for me, thanks.”
I opened the cooler and took out my last Miller Lite. “How is Laura?” I asked, opening the beer can.
“She’s worried about you. She told me that you’ve had a bad time since the divorce, that you’re wasting your life, and that you’re probably the best lawyer in the state of Florida, if not the entire country.”
“Well, I’m not a lawyer anymore. I’m what is known as a boat bum, and very happy about it. Besides, Laura is prejudiced.”
“There are several other people whose judgment I respect, who back up Laura’s assessment. I want you to handle a case for me.”
“Wonderful. I don’t have an office or secretary, and I’m probably not even current with the Florida Bar. Go see my old partners in Orlando.”
“Did you ever hear of Jasonics Corporation?”
“Sure, the medical equipment manufacturer. The biggest in the country. You want them sued?”
“I own Jasonics. I’m a physician and a tinkerer. More tinkerer than physician, I guess. Twenty years ago I invented an artificial heart valve and got rich on it. Since then I’ve patented twenty-seven medical devices that are the heart of Jasonics. I’ve got more money than I’ll ever spend, and I’ve earned every dime of it by hard work and honest dealings.”
The rest of his story was similar to many I’d heard over the years. Five years before, at the age of 46, he got out of the day to day business end of Jasonics. “Then I got sick. My wife was killed in an automobile accident, and I wasn’t too much good for anything. Two years ago, while recuperating, at the suggestion of a friend, I began tinkering again. I came up with an idea for a new laser tool for microsurgery. I fabricated the equipment and took it to a friend of mine, a surgeon, to see what he thought. He tried it out, and told me that it was inadequate for the purpose intended. I gave up on the idea and didn’t think too much more about it.”
Then, two months before, he had discovered that the identical piece of equipment was being manufactured and marketed by Jasonics biggest competitor, and his friend, the surgeon, was on their board of directors.
“Did you confront the surgeon?” I asked.
“Yes. He just laughed and told me to go to hell. He said there was no way to prove he hadn’t invented the tool, and he had gotten the patent on it.”
“Why didn’t you take the idea to Jasonics in the first place?”
“I’m not sure. Although I own the whole company, it was being run by a very competent staff, and I had been sick and out of it for three years at the time. I guess I wanted a proven item to take to the company. Maybe I just wanted to show them that I was still a worthwhile individual.”
“Sounds to me as if you need a good lawyer. How much money is involved in something like this?”
“I don’t know. The money isn’t really important to me. I’ll probably give it all to charity. It’s just that this snake of a surgeon should not be able to get away with this. If there’s any justice in the world he should not profit from his theft.”
“Look, Doc,” I said, “I learned a long time ago that there is a lot of justice in this world, but it usually has absolutely nothing to do with right and wrong. The system screws people every day and calls it justice. The big devour the small, the powerful the weak, and its all called justice. I was a trial lawyer for a long time, and I took advantage of a lot of people. It was a big game. See if you can out-think and out-talk the opposing lawyer. Never stop to think about abstract things, like right and wrong. The system works and will ensure a just outcome. That’s what we used to tell the civilians. Bullshit! The guys with the most money and the best lawyers win. Justice? Crap. It’s all crap. In all those years of trying lawsuits I never tried one that advanced mankind in any way. I won cases that I should not have, and I lost cases I should have won. Right and wrong had nothing to do with it. It was money, and power, and sleight of hand. You would spend thousands and thousands of dollars getting a case to trial. You would have the very best lawyers money could buy on both sides of the case. You would pay five hundred dollars an hour for expert witnesses on a given subject, and of course they would come to exactly opposite conclusions. Interestingly enough, their conclusions would always fit the theory of the case of the lawyer who had hired them. Did you ever notice in criminal cases where insanity is a defense that there are psychiatrists on both sides who examine the same poor son of a bitch of a defendant, and come to diametrically opposite conclusions? The prosecution’s shrink always says the guy was sane at the time of the crime, and the shrink hired by the defense always says he was insane. And they get all this high powered expensive talent into the courtroom where the judge presiding is some low paid clown who has worked his whole life for one state agency or another, who can’t or won’t make it in private practice, and for whom the law is a great mystery. And then the lawyers strive mightily to pick the dumbest people on the drivers’ license rolls to serve on the jury. Christ, the average juror is dumber that the average judge, and that takes some doing. Justice? Bullshit! It’s a term used in the legal business to buffalo the civilians. It’s all bullshit, and I’m glad I’m out of it.” I was running out of breath.
“Will you represent me?”
“Man, I told you. I’m not a lawyer anymore. Get yourself a real lawyer. Hell, I’m probably an alcoholic anyway, and if you know anything about the breed, you know we can’t be trusted to stay sober long enough to find the courthouse, let alone take on major litigation.”
“I checked with the Florida Bar. You are only a year behind on your dues. Two hundred fifty dollars will reinstate you, and you’ll be in good standing. I talked to Vanessa Brice, and she’ll quit her job and go back to work for you with two weeks notice.
“I don’t know whether you’re an alcoholic or not. I know that I am. My sickness came from the bottle. I got drunk and caused the wreck that killed my wife. Jeff Simmons was my doctor, and after he patched me up physically from the accident, he and Laura pulled me together emotionally. Laura said that you are an idealist who got caught up in the legal business as opposed to the learned profession that you thought you were dedicating your life to. She said that you always wanted to mount your charger and tilt at windmills, but were so caught up in being somebody, the ageless hero perhaps, that you forgot why you had gone into the law. I know a lot about Matt Royal, and I’m betting that he can win this case and feel a lot better about himself in the process.”
“It’s intriguing, Doctor, but given my present circumstances, not very practical.”
“I’ll pay all your office expenses plus four thousand dollars per month to you for as long as it takes to finish the case. If you win, I’ll pay you one-third of the gross recovery, less expenses advanced. If you lose, I’ll eat the expenses and you won’t owe me anything. All I ask is that you give me your very best effort.”
“I need to think it over.”
“No. I want an irrevocable decision from you now. If you don’t think you can handle it, we’re wasting each other’s time. I think you can do it.”
I bought the deal.
I went back to Orlando, rented a two room office and some furniture, and got to work. Vanessa, who had been my secretary the whole time I had been with the firm, came back to work, and we dug into the case. I got off the booze and didn’t even miss it. I started working out at a health club and got the old body back in shape, and worked harder than I ever had in my life. Jason Clarke stopped by from time to time, and became a good friend. He really meant what he had said. He wanted to win because he had been wronged. We worked on that crazy case for over a year, and last summer the defendant company settled with us for twelve million dollars. The surgeon was indicted for fraud, and the state revoked his license to practice medicine. Jason paid me three million dollars, less the money he had advanced, and used the rest of the money to endow an alcoholic treatment center outside Atlanta. I paid Uncle Sam his share of my earnings, gave Vanessa a bonus large enough to ensure that she would not have to work again if she didn’t want to, bought the condo, and invested the rest of the money in stocks that gave me a small but safe return. I would be able to live comfortably for the rest of my life.
My cell phone rang at eight o’clock the next morning. It was Logan. “Did you get the pizza?” He asked. He sounded weak.
“Yes. Are you okay? You don’t sound so good.”
“Just tired, Counselor. I’m fine.”
“Where are you?’
“Can’t tell you yet, Matt. You might have to tell the cops at some point.”
There was a small chance he was right. “Okay, for now, Logan. I met with the prosecutor yesterday. She wants you to give yourself up.”
“No way. I’ll rot in jail waiting for the trial. The only way I’m going to get out of this is to find out who killed Connie.”
“I also met with the medical examiner. It may not be as bad as it looks.”
“What did he say?”
“He can’t conclusively say Connie was raped, but he can conclusively say the semen was yours.”
“I told you we had sex that night. When I left you at Moore’s I took my boat back to Bradenton Beach Marina, and Connie was waiting. As soon as I tied up, she jumped in the boat. The place was deserted, and Connie started grabbing at me, telling me she wanted me bad. She didn’t have anything on under her skirt, and she lay back over the engine cover and told me to get on. I tell you Matt, it was erotic. Here this woman is with her skirt up at her waste, no panties, her legs spread, and ordering me to perform. I about lost it right there in my pants. She kept screaming at me to do it.”
“Logan, Doc Hawkins says there was a lot of bruising around her vagina. How could that happen?”
“Matt, she was crazy that night. Every time I got near her she would push her body at mine. I know this sounds terrible, but she liked to have broke my dick a couple of times. It hurt like hell. I would get close, and she would lunge. Finally, it went in, and I came immediately. She did too.”
“Was this unusual behavior, or did you two go at it like this regularly?”
“It was unusual, Matt. Sometimes she liked it rough, but that never turned me on. She wanted me to slap her once, and I refused. Another time she asked me to squeeze her nipple hard enough to hurt. I did and it seemed to turn her on. I think there was something dark down in her mind; something left over from the husband. But she had never been like this before.”
“What time did this happen?”
“As soon as I got to the marina. I left Moore’s about 9:30, and its only a ten minute run up to Bradenton Beach.”
“Did you stay there long?”
“No. It was really weird. The whole sex thing didn’t take more than ten minutes, and she left. She was strange that night. I asked her if she wanted to come to my place, and she just laughed. She didn’t say anything else; just left.”
“What did you do then?”
“I went to Dewey’s.” Dewey’s was a bar on Bridge Street on Anna Maria Island.
“How long were you there?”
“About time for one beer. I ran into my Army buddy, and we left and walked down to Frisco’s where it was quieter and we could talk.”
“The buddy with no name. Why didn’t you tell the cops you had been with Connie that night?”
“Gotta go, Matt. Call you later.”
The phone went dead. I sat at my desk, thinking again about trial strategy. If the state couldn’t prove rape, and I didn’t see how they could after what Bert Hawkins had said, all they had was that Logan had hd sex with Connie on the night of her death and that she was found in his condo. That wasn’t much to hang a murder case on, and I figured Elizabeth Ferguson knew that as well as I did. She must have something that I didn’t know about.
Elizabeth probably didn’t know about the alibi and the nameless army buddy. Given the time of death, I was pretty sure that Logan’s army friend could clear him. If Logan’s times were correct, he would have gotten to the marina about 9:40, had sex and left by 10:00. Dewey’s was only about two blocks from the marina, so he would have been there a few minutes after 10:00. That also fit with Pearl’s memory that Connie showed up at her piano bar a few minutes after 10:00. It would be about a ten minute drive from the marina to Pearl’s bar.
The ME said that Connie was killed between 11:00 and 1:00 with maybe an hour’s grace on either side. Pearl would testify that Connie could not have been killed before 11:00, because she was sitting at the piano bar. If Logan had been with his friend from shortly after 10:00 until 2:00, he was in the bar when Connie was killed.
Logan’s alibi would probably take him out of the picture. He said that he’d been with his army buddy for several hours. If we could place him in the bar drinking from about 10:30 until closing at 2:00 a.m., it would have been impossible for Logan to have killed Connie.
If I could establish the alibi, Logan would be home free. While Elizabeth would have the statement that Pearl gave to Banion, she would not have any way to know about the alibi witness. Elizabeth would know that Connie was alive at 11:00 and dead no later than 2:00. Those were the three critical hours. What did Elizabeth know that I didn’t? She had to have had more evidence than what I had seen in order to even think about charging Logan with first degree murder. She was too good a lawyer to hang herself out on such a thin reed.
The other question that kept nagging at me was that if Logan didn’t kill Connie, who did. I would need to work on that theory a little. One of the oldest defense lawyer tricks in the book is to try somebody else for the crime your client is accused of. I thought the alibi would handle things, but a good lawyer always has plan B. I would have to try to develop another murder suspect.
I knew I wouldn’t know anymore until Logan called again. It was frustrating, and I couldn’t figure out what kind of games Logan was playing. Why not just tell me everything? What was he trying to do by giving me small pieces of the puzzle with each phone call? It didn’t make sense, and I figured it was about time to tell him to defecate or decommode, as they used to say in the Army.
Since I knew I wasn’t going to solve the problem that day, I called my old friend Denny, known for some long forgotten reason as K-Dawg, and we went fishing. Didn’t catch a thing.