Brent Marks Legal Thriller Series: Box Set Two

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Angela put down her instruments, washed her hands, and led Brent outside to the patio, where two glasses of red wine presided over a spread of Italian appetizers. Brent sat down under the toasty canopy of the outdoor heater.

  “When you didn’t show up and you didn’t call, I was angry at first, but decided to show you what you’ve been missing.”

  “This is a great way to get even,” said Brent. “And better than any restaurant. I promise I won’t miss the next one.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  There was no time for William to react, although he saw his fate unfolding as if in slow motion. The knife was moving so fast he only saw a gleam of light reflected off it. Then, as suddenly as it was thrust at him, a pair of strong hands pulled him back as his attacker was disarmed by another.

  “Now you owe me, bro,” said Curly as he dragged William to safety while a group of guards pounced on the disarmed aggressor.

  * * *

  Jack started early the next morning, following the cold leads he had developed on Officer Albright. None of the cops in the Metro Division were willing to discuss Albright with him, so Jack went back to Captain Tennyson, who lent him an ear.

  “I’ve got five minutes, Jack. What’s up?”

  “Marty, I’ve been trying to do a background on Albright, but nobody’s talking. I need to know who his buddies are, who his partners are, everything about him, to do my job on this case.”

  “No surprise to me that nobody’s talking.”

  “Me neither, but it seems to me that this goes beyond a code of silence. They’re hiding something.”

  “Then you should go see the Commanding Officer of IAG.”

  IAG was the LAPD’s internal affairs department, in charge of investigating all kinds of police corruption.

  * * *

  Brent focused on the enhanced videos, which he kept watching over and over, frame by frame, to try to catch every detail.

  “You think something is there and you’re just not seeing it?” asked Angela.

  “Exactly. It has to be here; or at least a part of it. Why would Albright pull his gun after he had subdued William? Why wouldn’t he just handcuff him?”

  “Having been in the field myself, you really can’t use hindsight to examine an officer’s actions. We have to act quickly, and sometimes on little or no information.”

  Angela was an FBI agent, currently assigned to the Santa Barbara office.

  “I know, Angie, but look at the way Albright’s moving. Doesn’t it seem like he’s acting more out of emotion than reacting to a dangerous situation?”

  “It’s hard to tell. Play it back for me from the beginning.”

  Angela paid careful attention to every detail of the video, then asked for a playback, then a playback with stops.

  “I can see this video matching both your witnesses’ story and Officer Albright’s,” she said. “There’s just not enough detail to see what happened unless you were there.”

  Brent had to agree. The video would be no turning point in the trial.

  * * *

  The Commanding Officer of the Internal Affairs Group was more receptive to Jack than even Marty Tennyson. Commander Jeffrey Owen was a long time veteran of the LAPD with the most hated job in the department. He had made his way up the ranks of the department the hard way: with effort, integrity and plain old hard work, as opposed to politics. That was part of the reason behind his unwavering incorruptibility.

  Jack waited for Owen in the waiting room to his office, which was spartan in its décor, displaying framed photographs of Owen posing with police chiefs all the way back to Ed Davis. As Jack was shown into his office, Owen glanced up from his reports and greeted him.

  “Marty Tennyson said you had something of interest for IAG.”

  “It’s just a hunch of mine, Commander Owen.”

  Jack knew that Owen was the type who operated on his instincts. In his world, where the police were policing their own, often small, inexplicable insights were the only way to reveal evidence. To Jack’s surprise, Owen looked like a graying Joe Friday from “Dragnet,” with fleshy jowls, furry eyebrows, and a forehead that had never seen a drop of Botox. And he spoke in that Joe Friday nasal tone.

  “I always take hunches seriously in my business, especially when they come from a respected bureau man. So this is about the Albright case?”

  “Yes. I’ve been trying to interview all the officers who worked with Officer Albright, but, not only do they seem to be a tight-lipped group, I have a feeling they’re all holding back something.”

  “As insightful as your intuition may be, we can’t really use it as the basis for a complaint or an investigation. Do you have any concrete facts to back up your feelings?”

  “I have two sworn statements from witnesses on the scene who say that Albright used unreasonable force in dealing with my client.”

  “Your client, the one who is accused of murdering Officer Shermer?”

  “Yes; but the bottom line is that if Officer Albright was acting illegally, my client had the right to defend himself, and that means that Officer Albright would be ultimately responsible for his partner’s death.”

  “So you’re asking me to help you prove your client’s case?”

  “No, sir. That is the context of my investigation, but all I’m asking you is to help me find out the truth.”

  Jack could see from Owen’s furrowed brows that he was processing all the information.

  “That’s all you have? And your eyewitnesses, I understand, were under the influence of alcohol at the time, is that right?”

  “Yes, but too many things don’t add up.”

  “Like what?”

  “We’ve enhanced the video footage. It appears that Officer Albright drew his weapon on my client, even after he had control over him, without attempting to handcuff him.”

  “Hence, your excessive force claim.”

  “Yes, and there’s the question of what they were doing there in the first place. Why is a specialized Metro unit assigned to North Hollywood alone in Sherman Oaks for no apparent reason?”

  “All interesting questions – but not enough for me to launch any kind of inquiry. Tell you what, Ruder, keep me posted. And I’ll ask around and see if I can open some doors for you.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Melinda called from the office on Brent’s home line.

  “Boss, are you coming in soon? Mr. Thomas has been calling from the jail. There was some trouble.”

  “Keep taking his calls and tell him I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  Brent rushed into the office just in time to receive William’s call from the jail. The entire population was on lockdown. William had only minor injuries, but life for a reputed cop killer was not very good in the central jail. The guards had no desire to protect him, and the inmates all saw his reputation as a potential challenge.

  “I found some more cases for you Brent, and it looks like now I’ve been enlisted as a jailhouse lawyer, so I’m not sure how much time I’ll have to work on my own case.”

  “Send me the quotations by mail and I’ll look them up. How’s it coming with Dr. Reading?”

  “Nothing’s happening there.”

  “I’m going to give her the enhanced video to show you. Maybe it will help you fill in the blanks.”

  “Brent, if I can’t remember what happened…”

  “Then we can’t put you on the stand, period. You have to remember, William. It may make the difference between freedom and a lifetime in prison.”

  “And they always taught me in law school that you were innocent until proven guilty.”

  “That’s how it’s worded, but whoever wrote the rules must have had dyslexia, because it’s certainly the opposite in application.”

  * * *

  The wind stung William’s face as he ran. He felt the sweat on his neck and the fear in his heart.

&nb
sp; “Run, William, run!”

  He heard TJ yelling in front of him, and heard the dogs barking behind him. He could see the river straight ahead. Get to the river – the dogs won’t catch your scent. William looked behind and caught a glimpse of a shotgun.

  “There’s the nigger!” he heard someone say in the distance. William ran, hit something hard with his foot, stumbled, struck his knee on a big rock, and fell face first into the dirt. He scrambled to get up, but couldn’t. Must be broken. Got to crawl to the river. As William dragged his body through the dusty path toward the river, the sound of the dogs howling and the men approaching became louder and louder. He struggled as he crawled through the dirt to the sandy riverbank. Then he felt a shooting pain in his knee, like it was on fire, and a firm grip on his ankle, pulling the leg with the broken knee.

  William’s aggressor turned him over. He was a uniformed policeman, with his pistol pointed straight at William’s face. William grabbed the pistol, wrenched it out of the cop’s hands, turned it on the cop and fired.

  “It was me! I did it!” William screamed, and sat up in his bunk, his neck drenched with sweat.

  “Shut up fool! You’ll wake up the whole cell block!” said his cell mate, as he struck William’s bunk with his foot.

  I did it. I shot the cop.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “I’m guilty, Brent. You can’t put me on the stand.”

  Brent looked in disbelief at his client. Usually they professed their innocence and he had his doubts. In this case, it was the opposite.

  “William, talk to Dr. Reading. You can’t base your perception of this entire case on a dream you had.”

  “But it was so real, Brent. I really thought I was innocent, I really did. I’m going to miss everything – teaching Danny to ride a bike, playing ball, Sissy’s wedding.”

  “Now, knock it off. You’re forgetting about intent. You didn’t intend to kill Officer Shermer, did you?”

  “No, but I swear to God, I intended to kill the other one. What is it you said about transferred intent?”

  “Not if you were defending yourself and Albright’s actions were illegal.”

  “That’s just it, Brent. I’m not entirely sure if I was defending myself. Maybe I just couldn’t take any more and I just let loose the animal inside me.”

  “We all have that animal inside of us, William.”

  * * *

  Acting on a tip from Commander Owen, Jack went to a local Los Angeles bar which members of the Metro Division were known to frequent on Wednesdays, their paydays. They used to hang out and blow off steam at the Academy Bar, but ever since a motorcycle cop was killed in a drunk driving incident on a Wednesday night, the bar was closed on paydays and they had to take the party elsewhere.

  The Stars and Bars was similar to other police bars that had been popular with cops and firemen throughout the years. Its walls were lined with badges, uniforms, and black and white historical photographs, and every shelf and table was packed with police memorabilia.

  Seated at the bar were four officers wearing “tuxedos,” which consisted of their uniform pants and white T-shirts. It was the traditional garb for Metro officers on payday. Jack took a seat at the bar and ordered a Corona with lime. When the bartender slid it over to him, Jack popped the lime into the bottle and raised it in a toast to his neighbors.

  “You don’t like American beer?” asked a blond-haired cop next to him. The rest of them chuckled.

  “Not really, actually. I guess that separates us bureau men from you guys.”

  “You a G-Man?”

  “Retired. I’m also ex-LAPD. Jack Ruder.” Jack offered his hand, which the blond cop shook with a smile.

  “I’m a private detective now. Working on the Albright case.”

  The blond cop’s smile faded into disgust. “This conversation’s over,” he said, and stared ahead as if Jack didn’t exist. The cop next to him glared at Jack.

  Jack slid his card to them on the bar. “In case you change your mind and want to talk.”

  “We won’t.”

  “It could get pretty hot for you guys. Better to come clean now.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Just a fact,” Jack said, as he set his bottle down on the bar and walked away.

  * * *

  Brent had an appointment with Gregory Samuelson, a ballistics expert. Samuelson was a nerdy little forensics analyst who had previously served as a police officer for the Los Angeles Sheriff’s department, and worked in the forensics lab before he retired into private industry. He asked for all the police reports, witness statements, and video and audio tapes for his preliminary evaluation. Brent turned over duplicates of the information and Samuelson looked through them to determine what was there. He looked at Brent through his coke-bottle glasses.

  “I can analyze all this data and give you an honest report of what I think happened, all at my regular hourly rate, and then you can decide whether to hire me or not; fair enough?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  After the appointment with Samuelson, Brent went back to the office where Jack was waiting for him.

  “Hey Jack, any luck with the testosterone club?”

  “Very funny. Did you forget you’re talking to an ex-cop?”

  “That’s impossible to forget, Jack. No matter how you try, you can never disguise the fact that you will always look like a cop. I’ll bet your parents knew that you would be a cop when you were two years old.”

  Jack followed Brent into his office and took a seat in the wooden chair in front of Brent’s desk.

  “It can’t be that they’re just covering for Albright. There’s something more,” he said.

  “Anything concrete?”

  “No, still just a hunch, but something stinks over there.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Sarah Thomas sat in the waiting room at Brent’s office, nervously scrolling through images on her phone to pass the time. Finally, Brent opened the door and walked out with Jack.

  “Sarah, hello,” said Brent. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

  “Hello, Brent,” said Sarah as she stood up.

  “This is Jack Ruder. He’s the investigator working on William’s case.”

  Sarah and Jack exchanged pleasantries, and Jack went back to his investigation.

  “Please, come in,” said Brent.

  Sarah took a seat in the office as Brent eased back behind his desk. She looked fragile and worn out, not like the Sarah he had known from the Bar Association meetings with William; but her beauty shone through all the despair.

  “So, how can I help you today?”

  Sarah reached into her purse and pulled out her checkbook.

  “I just came by to give you a check.”

  “Sarah, you could have mailed that. What’s really up?”

  Sarah’s lip quivered, and she tightened up to cut off the oncoming flurry of tears.

  “I’m worried, Brent. William’s convinced that he’s guilty of killing that cop. You’re not going to plead him guilty, are you?”

  “Of course not. He’s working with one of the best psychiatric specialists in the country. I can’t discuss my conversations with William or it will break our attorney-client privilege, but I can tell you that we have not changed our defense.”

  “What do you think the chances are?”

  “That’s something I really can’t predict with certainty, but, with or without William’s testimony, I think we have a solid defense and our chances are good.”

  Tears dropped from the corner of Sarah’s eyes as she reached for a Kleenex from her purse.

  “The kids keep asking when Daddy’s coming home and I don’t know what to tell them. I can’t believe this is happening to us.”

  “You can help William, Sarah. Stay strong, think positively and we’ll be on the other side of this before you know it.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Start planning William’s homecoming.”
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  Sarah managed to break through her sadness with a tiny smile of hope.

  * * *

  Commander Owen had been kind enough to give Jack a list of the tight-lipped members of Officer Albright’s Metro squad. Jack had put that list to good use all day, but it wasn’t until the night shift that his espionage started to pay off.

  As Jack sat in his plain-looking Ford Taurus eating an In-N-Out burger and listening to police dispatcher calls, he heard, “15-Robert-7, requesting Code 7 at Burbank and Coldwater.”

  “Stand by,” crackled the dispatcher, followed by “15-Robert-7, okay for 7.”

  Jack rolled to the location just in time to witness the patrol unit taking off toward Van Nuys on Burbank Blvd. He fell in behind them, following at a long enough distance not to be noticed. Police units are supposed to stay in their reported location for lunch breaks. Why did they check out for a lunch break and go to a different location outside their area? 15-Robert-7 was now off the grid.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “Is there something I can do to help you with this case?” asked Angela, more out of curiosity than anything else, as she sipped on her tea.

  “You mean the FBI or you personally?”

  “Both. Of course, the bureau can’t get involved unless it’s something we’re working on.”

  “That may come to be, actually. Jack seems to think there is something fishy going on with Albright’s Metro squadron, but he can’t quite put his finger on it.”

  “Police corruption? Like the Rampart scandal in the 90s?”

  “Maybe. If we can find something to hang an investigation on, maybe one of them would talk. They all had to know that Albright was a hothead.”

  “What about his family and friends?”

  “Same story. Jack tried, and nobody’s talking.”

  “I’m sure Jack has looked into his background.”