Redress of Grievances (32 page)

The memory
of Parker Collins leaning over her desk flew through Harriett's mind creating
an involuntary shiver along her spine. "I don't know, but let's get out of
here, and I don't want you jogging anymore for a while. And no arguments. You
might be eighteen, but I'm still your guardian."

Chapter
Thirty-Three

AN
UNSEASONABLY COLD wind escorted Wayne through the front entrance of Larabee
Premier Motors in Scottsdale, Arizona. His flight to Phoenix had been less than
pleasant, as the plane had encountered turbulent weather somewhere over New
Mexico. On more than one occasion, sudden air pockets had left his stomach
several hundred feet higher than his body, and he had been thankful when they
had finally landed. At least he could stop at a bar in the airport and not
worry about hitting his mouth.

Now
fortified by his bourbon on the rocks, Wayne ambled toward a reception island
located near the rear of the showroom floor. He stopped on his way to the desk
to admire a white Mercedes Sportster with a red leather interior. Tearing
himself away from the pricey vehicle, he grinned at the well-dressed woman
seated behind the reception desk.

"How
may I help you today, sir?" she smiled pleasantly.

"Is
Mr. Larabee in?" Wayne asked.

"I'm
sure he is." Pressing a button on the intercom, the woman spoke to whoever
picked up on the other end. Replacing the receiver on its holder, she smiled up
at Wayne. "Mr. Larabee is in the service area. If you would like to take a
seat, he'll be with you in just a few minutes."

"Thanks,"
Wayne smiled. "I'll just look around and hope my numbers come in on the
lottery."

Tapping
a folder against his thigh, Wayne meandered through the showroom admiring the
vehicles on display. He's heard that Mercedes were good cars, but they would
never be in his price range. Only people like Alexis Dunne could afford such a
ride and feel comfortable driving one.

"Excuse
me," a low voice said.

Wayne
turned to look into the round face of a clean-cut man with obviously styled
hair. It was cut to project the image he needed to convince customers that he
was hip, but could still be trusted. He wore black dress pants and a matching
vest over a dazzling white dress shirt, complete with cufflinks.

Extending
his hand, the man introduced himself. "I'm Thad Larabee. Loretta said you
were looking for me. What can I show you today?"

"You
own this dealership?"

"Yes.
At least part of it. The other part belongs to the bank." Larabee laughed
easily.

"My
name is Wayne Graham, Mr. Larabee. I'm an investigator for an attorney in
Austin, Texas. I need to ask you a few questions about a case she is working
on."

"I'm
not aware of any litigation involving either me or my company." The hint
of a frown passed over Larabee's face.

Looking
around the showroom, Wayne leaned toward Larabee slightly. "The case is a
personal one and kind of sensitive. I think you'd be more comfortable if we
continued this conversation in your office," Wayne said pointedly.

"Of
course," Larabee nodded. Pausing at the receptionist's desk and
instructing her to hold all of his calls, Larabee led Wayne down a long paneled
hallway and into a glass enclosed office. Wayne dropped his folder on Larabee's
desk as he pulled an upholstered chair closer and waited for Larabee to assume
his position behind the desk. As he sat, Wayne noticed a family picture sitting
on the front corner of Larabee's desk. Larabee was dressed casually and
smiling, as was the woman Wayne assumed was his wife. They were propped up on
their elbows in front of a stone fireplace, two young children, a boy and a
girl, beamed into the camera as they nestled against their parents.

"This
your family?" Wayne smiled.

"Yes,"
Larabee answered as he took the picture from Wayne, smiling affectionately at
it before replacing it on his desk. "Now what is this visit about, Mr.
Graham?"

"How
old are your kids?"

"Jacob
is ten and Heather is six, but I'm sure you didn't come here to inquire about
my family."

Opening
the folder now on his lap Wayne said, "No, I didn't. Do you know a woman
named Sharon Taggart?"

Larabee
seemed to think for a few minutes, mentally searching for a recollection of the
name, before shaking his head. "No, I don't. Sorry."

"You
went to high school in Dallas, didn't you?"

"Well,
actually it was in Highland Park, just north of the downtown area."

"While
you were in high school, did you know a Parker Collins?"

"Yeah."
Larabee seemed to brighten at the memory. "He and I were on the school
football team together for a couple of years."

"Have
you been in contact with him recently?"

"I
left the Dallas area right after I graduated and haven't been back. My parents
moved to Arizona, and I followed them to attend college. I haven't really seen
anyone from back then in fifteen or twenty years."

"Were
you ever at the Collinses' house, you know, for parties or anything like
that?"

Larabee
shifted in his chair and began to look slightly uncomfortable. "I might
have been a couple of times. It was a long time ago."

"Yes,
it was. Mr. Collins is a State Senator from the Dallas area now."

"I
figured Parker would end up doing something like that. He was a very popular
guy when I knew him."

"Yeah,
I heard that everyone, especially the boys, enjoyed being invited to his home
when his parents were away."

Spreading
his hands in a sign of resignation, Larabee said, "You know how teenage
boys are. If we had the chance to sneak a few alcoholic drinks we did."

"That's
true," Wayne chuckled. "Not to mention getting a little pussy every
now and then, too, right?"

Larabee
eyed Wayne closely and leaned forward in his chair. "What is this really
about, Mr. Graham? If you have a question in mind, why don't you just spit it
out, and stop beating that poor bush to death?"

"Can
I assume that you did know Sharon Taggart then?"

"I
knew Sharon
Collins,
Parker's sister. Apparently she's gotten married
since then."

"Mrs.
Taggart has been arrested for homicide. She claims she was sexually molested by
her brother and his friends when she was a small child. Do you know anything
about that, Mr. Larabee?"

Larabee
pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk and lifted out a bottle of Crown
Royale and two glasses. As he spun the top from the bottle he glanced up at
Wayne, "Would you care to join me?"

As
Wayne took a swallow of his drink, enjoying the feel of it coating his throat,
Larabee leaned back holding his own glass. "I wondered if that would ever
surface."

"Want
to tell me about it?"

For
the next hour, Thad Larabee recounted what he knew about what had gone on
inside the Collinses' home almost twenty years earlier. To Wayne, the man
seemed relieved to finally tell the story. Despite that, Wayne couldn't feel
sorry for Larabee. What he told Wayne involved more than mere youthful
indiscretion, and even though Larabee wouldn't face prosecution for what he
did, the incident had obviously troubled him. As he told his story, he glanced
repeatedly at the picture of his own daughter.

Wayne
left Larabee Premier Motors with the names of other male classmates. As he
drove back to the Phoenix Airport, he called Harriett on his cell phone to let
her know she had at least one pervert who corroborated her client's story. If
he was lucky, he could be in Tampa, Florida late that evening in search of
pervert number two.

Chapter
Thirty-Four

"I
DON'T BELIEVE I let you talk me into this," Harriett said as Nick held the
door into the lecture hall open for her.

"It's
because you're a sucker for a sob story," Nick said with a smile.
"And you owe me big time for agreeing to help with the jury
selection."

"I
know, but I have a million things to do. Opening arguments are in four
days."

"No
one knows that better than I do, Harriett. That's why I arranged for you to do
this before the case goes to court. You need a break from the case right
now."

"Do
they know I can't answer any questions about it?"

"Yes.
These aren't first year law students."

As
Harriett followed Nick down an aisle toward the podium at the front of the
room, she glanced around. The room resembled every law classroom she had ever
been in, with elevated seats that gave it the feel of a small auditorium. The
front of the room was arranged in the same manner as a miniature courtroom.
Students presenting a case could be easily observed by other students in the
audience. She had almost forgotten about giving the presentation that day and
was dressed in slacks and a tweed jacket over a gray turtleneck sweater. When
Nick called to see if she was ready, it had taken her a few minutes to remember
where she had put her notes. She opened her briefcase and scanned the few pages
she had hastily thrown together, hoping it would be enough to fill the hour and
a half Nick had allotted her. As she slipped her glasses on, Nick bent down
next to her.

"I'll
make a brief introduction, and then they're all yours," he said.

"Are
you staying or throwing me to the wolves?" she asked with a smile.

"I'll
be around. Try to leave about thirty minutes for a question and answer session
at the end."

"No
problem."

The
low buzzing of voices stopped when Nick stepped up to the microphone.

"Ladies
and gentlemen," he said. "Today, I have invited a respected member of
the bar whose specialty is criminal law, and who, incidentally, happens to be
my law partner, to speak to you. Harriett Markham has been practicing criminal
law for twenty years and has an impressive record of victories on behalf of her
clients. After Ms. Markham completes her remarks to you, she has agreed to
address any questions you may have. Ms. Markham," Nick said, looking back
at Harriett.

Harriett
walked to the podium and placed her notes on it. She had never been comfortable
using notes for anything other than preparation, believing that juries
instinctively didn't trust an attorney who didn't know his or her case well
enough to present without the crutch notes provided. Stepping to one side of
the podium, she looked at the students and smiled slightly.

"I
wish Mr. Lazslo hadn't put in the part about practicing law for twenty years.
It makes me feel over the hill," she said to scattered laughter.

"How
many of you are considering specializing in criminal law?" she asked.
Surveying the room, she saw half the students raise their hands.

"And
of those who plan to practice in that area, how many would rather put the bad
guys away?"

Most
of the same hands went up.

"I
hope you realize how difficult it is to do that. As prosecutors, you must prove
your cases to a jury beyond a reasonable doubt. I, on the other hand, get to
spend my time discrediting your witnesses and excluding your evidence. I only
have to deal with one or two clients at a time," she said, sliding her
hands into the pockets of her slacks. "You, however, may be juggling
dozens of cases in various stages of preparation at any given time. If I'm good
at my job, my clients will be paying me substantially more than you'll be
earning. Anyone want to change their minds about putting the bad guys
away?"

There
was a low buzz of conversation among the students as they considered what she
had said.

"Conversely,
if you lose a case you are defending your client may hate you and threaten you
or sue you because he or she thinks you didn't represent him or her very well.
Every defense attorney hopes to be able to defend in a case in which lives are
at stake and to be able to carry that case to a successful conclusion on behalf
of his or her client. I'm sure you already know that ninety-five percent of all
criminal defendants are guilty. However, they must be defended as zealously as
the innocent five percent. Any attorney unwilling to put forth his or her best
effort only for the innocent should consider another profession."

Nearly
an hour later, Harriett reached the end of her prepared remarks.

"To
be a successful attorney does not mean making thousands of dollars on every
case, although no one objects to making money. However, the happiest and most
content attorneys are those who truly love the law and take seriously their
oath to assist their clients to the fullest capacity within the confines of
those laws and the canons of legal ethics. I would be glad to answer any
questions you might have at this point, and I will attempt to answer them, even
if they are beyond the scope of my remarks," Harriett concluded.

Picking
up a glass of water from the podium, she took a drink as she waited for the
first question. As she set the glass down, she pointed to a young woman in the
fourth row.