“I haven’t met with Mr. Harris yet, but if he agrees to my representation, I’ll be taking the case pro bono.”
Jenna laughed. “You? You’ve never taken a pro bono case in your life.”
“Let’s say the case intrigues me, and I believe Harris is innocent. If I still believe that after I meet with him, then I’ll take his case. An innocent client might be a refreshing change for me.”
“That’s an understatement, Dade. You’ve never had an innocent client, even if you did manage to convince a jury the scumbags you represent are honest citizens.”
Marcus rose. “Let’s make a deal. If Harris is innocent, you let me buy you a drink when the hearing is over. If he’s guilty, I’ll let you in on a little secret in your Denova case.”
He could see the wheels turning inside her mind. The Denova case was the biggest drug bust in years, but Jenna wanted to nail Ken Denova for the murder of William McKinley, a small-time drug dealer turned snitch.
“No deal. Innocent or guilty, I’ll let you buy me a drink only if you tell me about Denova.”
Marcus grinned. He’d been positive she would take the bait. “Deal.” He walked to the door. “I’ll let you know what I decide.”
4
Marcus read the indictment against Harris as he waited for the deputy to bring him in. Parish was right—most of the evidence was circumstantial, except Harris couldn’t remember anything about the night Turner was killed. That was never good. Alibis were the nectar of free men; faulty memories were their downfall.
He rose as the door opened, studying the man shackled in chains. If he’d ever felt pity for anyone, Martin Harris would have elicited that emotion. Unfortunately for Harris, that was one emotion Marcus didn’t possess.
Harris took the seat across the table and lowered his eyes to his lap. “Appreciate you coming, but I don’t have any money to pay a lawyer.”
The deputy stepped outside and closed the door behind him. Marcus took his seat. “Money isn’t an issue, Mr. Harris.” He passed across the letter of representation. “Read that and sign it.”
Harris scanned the letter, signed his name, and passed it back. “I might be guilty, you know, Mr. Dade. Can’t remember a damn thing about that night.”
Marcus placed the letter inside his briefcase and picked up the indictment. “Guilt is not an issue, either. Your arraignment is set for tomorrow morning at nine. I’ll plead you not guilty and ask for bail. Odds are that will be denied, or if it’s granted, there will be a huge cash bond. Anyone who can help you out with that?”
Harris shook his head. “Don’t mind staying here. At least I have a bed and three meals a day.”
“Turner was killed with a thirty-eight. Do you own a gun?” Marcus asked.
“Pawned it three months ago at Drop and Go.”
Marcus jotted down the information. Jenna had said Harris couldn’t remember where he pawned it. Hopefully, his memory was returning and he would remember what he did that night. “That’s a good start. You said you couldn’t remember where you were the night Turner was killed. Have you had blackouts before?”
“When I drink a lot.”
“And were you drinking that night?” Marcus asked.
Harris hung his head. “Yeah.”
Marcus tossed the notes inside his briefcase, closed it, and stood. “Where do you normally drink or hang out?”
Harris’s ears turned slightly red. “Sometimes in the cathedral courtyard, sometimes under the pedestrian bridge.”
Marcus had read the recent stories of the homeless. If Harris had been hanging out there, then someone had seen him. The problem would be getting them to talk. “Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Marcus left the jail feeling rather pleased with himself. He’d never actually had an innocent client, and Harris really was a rather pathetic example of what love could do to a person. He whistled softly as he entered his office. Parish might have been better off letting him serve out his time. As Harris said, a bed and three meals a day counted for something when a man had nothing.
Helena glanced up from the report she was printing, sending a silent message as her eyes darted to the woman seated in the waiting room. “Mrs. James Turner has been waiting to see you. I told her I wasn’t sure how long you’d be.”
Mrs. James Turner. The victim’s wife. This case is getting more interesting all the time. He walked to the waiting room. “Mrs. Turner?”
The woman was pretty in a flashy kind of way. Her hair was a little too blond, and for a woman her age, her dress was a little too short. Mr. Turner had made a lot of money over the last few years, and she’d clearly enjoyed spending it. Something in her eyes and the way she held her body excused most of that. She was a woman who had lived in fear for a long time.
Marcus stuck out his hand. “How can I help you?”
She picked up her purse. “Could I talk with you for a moment, please?” Her eyes flicked toward the front and Helena. “In private.”
“Of course. Follow me.”
Marcus ushered her into his office and waved her to the seat Warren had vacated earlier. The difference in their stance was notable. Where Warren had been calm and assured, Mrs. Turner was fidgety and nervous.
He dropped his briefcase on the couch and walked to the bar he kept stocked for his more anxious clients. “Would you like a drink?”
“Scotch on the rocks would be wonderful.”
A woman after his own heart. He poured two glasses and handed one to her on his way to the desk. “Now, what did you need to speak with me about?”
“I’d like to hire you to represent Martin Harris,” she blurted out before lifting the glass to her lips and downing it quickly. “I won’t be able to pay you until the estate is settled, but after that, I’ll pay you whatever you ask.”
The honest thing to do, of course, would have been to simply tell her he was already representing Harris, but he couldn’t see the fun in that. “Isn’t Mr. Harris the man accused of murdering your husband, Mrs. Turner?”
“Yes, but he’s innocent, and James… well, James wasn’t what everyone thought he was.” She lifted the glass to her lips again, seeking the last few drops of scotch.
“Would you like another?” Marcus asked.
“Please.”
Marcus refilled her glass, more to give himself a moment to think than because he felt she needed it. Either Mrs. Turner was aware that Warren had killed her husband, or she had killed her husband and Warren was covering for her. He decided to push just a little. Warren wouldn’t have cracked under pressure, but she would.
“Exactly why are you so sure Martin Harris is innocent?” he asked, passing the now-full glass to her.
Her hands shook slightly, and she lowered her head. “Because I killed James.”
“Do you still have the gun?”
“I threw it in the bay.”
“Whose name was it registered in?”
“James’s, I think. He bought it for me.”
Marcus pushed back his chair. “I’ll check into this, Mrs. Turner. Give me a call tomorrow, and I’ll let you know what I’ve found out.”
5
Marcus dropped the Harris letter of representation on Helena’s desk. “Walk that over to the DA’s office and pick up a copy of the evidence for me.”