Cold City Streets (10 page)

The morning had been busy, and Sherry Turner was glad Crown Attorney Ray Strong called her in for a meeting before lunch; he’d held onto the note for a few hours before getting back to her.

“
Sit down, Sherry, please,” he gestured as she entered. “Close the door there, would you?” Ray had thinning red hair and a neatly trimmed moustache. He looked serious, his creased face fatigued. He gestured to the chairs ahead of his desk, and she took the one to the right.

“As you probably know, I’ve been working on improving my ability to communicate my ideas to the staff because of my medical condition.” Ray referred to a heart attack a year earlier. “However, my ability to remain tactful has been, frankly, sorely tested today.”

“What’s the matter, Ray?”

Did she actually say that? He’d only known Sherry for a few months but surely she wasn’t that naïve.

“What’s the matter? What is the matter? Well now, let me see: was it the part where you had a meeting with a defense counsel in a case involving this office outside of court and without letting this office know in advance? Or was it the part where you inadvertently validated that defense counsel’s claims by saying you’d kick them up the hill to me?”

“Ray, I –”

“Don’t ‘Ray’ me. Whose fucking side are you on, anyway?” His face flared red. “Do you know how important this case is to the deputy justice minister? It’s the partner of one of his best friends, the best man at his wedding. Do you know how much fucking heat is going to come down on us if we manage to blow this despite having a murder weapon and a fucking career drug dealer twenty yards away holding it?”

His anger surprised her, even though she’d heard about the old ‘Ragin’ Ray’, from before his bypass.

“Look, it wasn’t like I sat down to help her…”

“Oh, then that’s okay then,” he said snidely. “Can you let me know when that helps us out? We have prosecutions backed up a mile long and it gets harder every day for us to get a win. If we get a win, the department looks good, and the minister looks good. And when the minister looks good, the government looks good. We get more budget, and can prosecute more scumbags. And then the public feels safer. So I have a hard time seeing this as a sensible move, counsellor.”

“Unless she’s right.”

Ray considered praying to a higher power. “Unless she’s…” He took a deep breath and calmed himself down. It wasn’t like he had cause to fire her, after all. She hadn’t technically given anything away. He just needed her to find some perspective. “Sherry, how many times were we right last year?”

“I… Sorry? I don’t get the question.”

“Just as it sounds. We handle... what, seventy thousand criminal cases a year, or thereabouts? How many times were we right? Not how many did we win; how many were we in the right?”

“Well… I guess I’d like to think…”

“And there you have your answer. It’s not about right or wrong. It’s about the equal administration of justice. We don’t get to say if it’s right or wrong; that’s the judge, the jury. We look at what we’ve got and we do our jobs. And we’ve got a drug dealer, a dead businessman, and a murder weapon. You get what I’m saying, Sherry?”

“I do.” She looked embarrassed.

Ray saw the look and realized he’d gone over the top. “Look… don’t get me wrong, it’s important you don’t do something like that again. But I get it, okay? It’s a tight legal community and you two went to school together. I know all that. Just talk to me first, okay?”

She nodded. Then she added quietly, “I told her we could meet today…” Sherry wasn’t foolish enough to think Ray was just being difficult. He was protecting the department, protecting its ability to do its job. “There’s always the chance that as long as I’m talking to her she’ll tip her hand…”

“You think she’d do that?”

“She might. We’re pretty tight.”

“And you wouldn’t feel bad about that?”

Sherry shrugged. “We’re both playing the game, I guess, trying to get an advantage. I mean, I love Jessie to death but she wouldn’t be calling me during office hours if she didn’t want something.”

“I’m glad you see that now.”

“I do, Ray. Really.”

He thought on it. “Then go meet your friend,” he urged. “Just play it carefully, okay?”

The look on Sherry Turner’s face suggested her meeting with her boss had not gone well. That, and she carried two double-doubles from Tim’s –Tim Hortons double cream, double sugar coffee – when she walked through the clinic’s front door.

“What about me?” Rhonda complained when she saw what Turner had brought.

“One’s yours,” Sherry offered. “I’m off caffeine.”

Jessie heard the front door bell and walked out to see who it was. “You’re visiting early. And off caffeine? I find that hard to believe.”

“Yeah… well it’s been as difficult morning.”

That didn’t sound good. “He didn’t buy the stuff about the body?”

“You know what Ray is like; he’s a straight-shooter, and Justice wants to go ahead with this. The deputy minister was personal friends with your victim.”

“YOUR victim,” Jessie corrected as she walked over. “Not ours. My guy is innocent.”

Sherry handed her the coffee. “Yeah… I don’t think anyone’s going to buy that, either.”

“What about the lack of fibers…”

“He’s hung up on the gun. Your guy elected a jury trial and that’s the kind of evidence that wins a conviction. You really think people are going to see past that, Jess?”

“Maybe, maybe not. He wouldn’t change the plea, though. I told him that acquiring new counsel this early probably gave him a chance to do so without the judge having a problem with it. But he insists he wants public vindication.”

“Even if true, you’d be more likely to survive skydiving without a chute than you would be to get Ray to drop this one. He thinks it’s in the bag.”

“So the double-double was just to placate me from bad news?”

“That and to apologize. He only let me meet with you to see if I could pump you for information on your defense.”

Jessie gave her an uncomfortable look.

“Hey, I’ve been there,” Sherry said. “Anyway, I’ll tell him it was a waste of time. I know what you’re like when you think you’re onto something…”

“Not ‘think,’ ‘
know.
’ This whole thing should be tossed by the end of the prelim.”

“You don’t believe that’s going to happen…”

“No. But I have to give it a shot. In the meantime, I’m missing something from Ray’s disclosure package: the victim’s cellphone and credit card statements aren’t in there.”

“Police didn’t enter them into evidence. And yes, we asked. They said neither was an issue in this case, as they didn’t need to know his earlier movements.”

“That’s convenient.”

“Would you keep looking if you found a career criminal fifty yards from a murder scene holding the murder weapon? And then there’s the story…”

Jessie frowned. “Story?”

“About your guy. You haven’t read the papers yet?”

Jessie looked past her towards Rhonda. “Mom?”

Rhonda fished the papers out of the stack of mail on the edge of her desk. She got up and walked over, then handed them to Jessie. The tabloid had tattooed an all-caps headline across a picture of her client: “TRIGGER HAPPY.”

Then, in smaller type underneath, it read “Accused killer told shrink he once shot classmate.”

She flipped to the second page.

“
A very angry young man,” was plastered across the first part of the story, which ran across the top of both pages two and three. “The man awaiting trial for allegedly killing an oil executive once shot a school classmate with a stolen gun over a playground dispute,” the story began.

Jessie momentarily checked to be sure her jaw hadn’t dropped open. “Oh shit,” she said to no one in particular.

This was bad. This was very bad.

“Mr. Kennedy is very busy today,” the secretary repeated for the third time. “As I said Mister…”

“Tate, Cobi Tate.”

“As I said over the phone, Mr. Tate, Mr. Kennedy is one of the city’s busiest individuals, between his political role and keeping an eye on his businesses. You’ll need an appointment to see him.”

“Is he even in his office? I just need a few seconds…”

She stood up behind the reception desk. “Absolutely not without an appointment. However, if you’d like to wait, perhaps he can fit you in before the end of the day.” She gestured to the group of a half-dozen tastefully decorated waiting room chairs.

Cobi grudgingly took a seat. She probably wasn’t lying. She could have just had security escort him out. Unless she wanted to avoid a scene. He leaned forward and examined the modern waiting room.
Guess we’re going to find out.

The front of the twenty-fifth floor PetroMas office was empty but for the two of them; every few minutes, the elevators just beyond the glass front doors would ping and someone would get off at their floor then disappear through some other door.

An hour passed. Then two, three, four. The secretary took a lunch break and returned and there was still nothing.

The end of the day approached. Cobi had had enough.
Might as well try some leverage
. He approached the secretary again.

“Yes, Mr. Tate?”

He leaned forward on the reception desk. “Since you don’t seem inclined to let me meet with your boss today – or maybe, ever – I have to figure he doesn’t know about the new developments in the Paul Sidney case. That’s okay, I guess; we can just subpoena him as a hostile witness and put him on the stand. I bet he’d prefer to go that route. Yeah, that’s what we’ll do. It was nice talking to you, miss. I’m going to go now.”

Cobi turned on his heel and walked out of the office, towards the elevators, even as the secretary frantically punched the intercom on the phone system. A moment later, she came running to stop him from catching a car. “Mr. Tate! Mr. Tate, I had a chance to talk to Mr. Kennedy just briefly, and he says he can give you ten minutes.”

“And I only had to wait four hours,” Cobi remarked.

She smiled as if he hadn’t said anything at all. Then she led him back into the office waiting area, to the door behind her desk. She opened it. “If you’ll follow me...”

The secretary took him down a narrow corridor into the executive lobby, which was twice the size of the public area by the elevators, the décor a tasteful blend of steel, glass and light-colored wood tones. A corridor lay beyond it, leading to a series of large, plush offices. The last on the left – the top corner of the building – had a nameplate on the door that read, “Peter Kennedy, CEO.” She knocked and a voice called for them to enter.

“Thank you, Whitney.” Kennedy stood behind his ornate teak desk and took a half-step around its corner and reached out a hand for Cobi to shake. “Mr. Tate. I understand you’re with the legal aid group.”

“Sir.” Cobi wasn’t sure why he addressed the man so formally. He had that air of discipline and authority, like Cobi’s father; maybe that was it.

“Would you like a coffee or a drink, Mr. Tate?”

Cobi shook his head, and Kennedy dismissed the receptionist. “If you change your mind, Whitney can get you anything you like.”

“No, that’s fine. This is quite an office.” The carpet was deep blue plush, and the book shelves matched the teak desk. A spectacular,  sweeping panorama of downtown and the river valley filled the windows.

Kennedy appreciated that. He gestured to the chair ahead of his desk. “I must say the view is one of the few perks of the top job. Of course, I pledged during my last election campaign to step away from the company’s day-to-day as soon as elected, and that’s what I did. I strictly use the office for other business, mostly personal. Now, I understand you’d like to discuss Brian’s murder and the case against Mr. Sidney.”

His deliberate tone delivered impeccable surety and confidence. Kennedy wasn’t like the old man after all, Cobi decided. Instead, he reminded him of the neighborhood dealers he’d run into, back in the day.

“We believe we can defend him against the charge,” Cobi said. He wanted to see if Kennedy could be shaken.
How much of that confidence is just a front
? “There’s evidence that Mr. Featherstone’s body was moved after the fact, then dumped on Mr. Sidney’s street.”

Kennedy frowned. “I don’t remember hearing anything about this from the police. Are you sure?”

“No, sir, not sure. But there’s strong evidence.”

“I see… Well, that’s certainly interesting. Very curious… and how do you think I might come into this?”

“We’re trying to figure out what your vice-president was doing in Northeast Edmonton at midnight. Both of his homes were a long way from there.”

“If it’s true, it’s very interesting,” Kennedy commented. “Certainly, he wouldn’t have been there for any nefarious purpose; Brian wore his beliefs and convictions pretty openly.”