Read Online Clifford Irving's Legal Novels - 01 - TRIAL - a Legal Thriller by Clifford Irving - Free Book Online
Authors: Clifford Irving
Tags: Fiction, General, LEGAL, Thrillers, Crime, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Murder, Thrillers & Suspense
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light tan jacket. No tie, no rings or jewelry. Her thin hands were steady on the sheaf of papers in front of her. She didn't pick at her thumbs anymore.
"Mr. Blackburn," she said, "I'm looking to settle this case. So let's get down to it."
Five years with Lou Parker and the State of Texas, he thought, and she's a gunfighter.
He nodded at the file on her government metal desk. "What have you got?"
What she had, she said flatly, was a good case. She had motive, opportunity, and possession of the murder weapon.
"Any
Brady
material?" Warren asked.
Brady
material was evidence that might help a defendant or impeach the credibility of a prosecution witness — so named because of
Brady v. Maryland,
wherein the Supreme Court reversed a conviction because the prosecutor had withheld information that might have proved the defendant innocent. You could squeeze more juice from a week-old cut lemon than
Brady
material from the Harris County district attorney's office. Their attitude was: you find it. There were lies of commission and lies of omission, Warren thought. And the state protects its minions.
"Not a thing," Goodpaster said.
The motive for the murder was money. The victim's family would testify that when he left the house that morning, Dan Ho Trunh had more than fifty dollars in his wallet, and it had been established that during the course of that day he had been paid at least ninety dollars in cash for electrical repair work he had done. His wallet had not been found.
As for opportunity, an hour after the murder Hector Quintana had been picked up within a mile of the crime scene. If he had an alibi, it had not yet surfaced.
Warren coughed, said nothing.
Ballistics confirmed that the murder weapon was the same .32-caliber Diamondback Colt clutched in Hector Quintana's hand when he ran out of the Circle K on Bissonet. They had traced the gun and discovered its most recent recorded purchase was five years ago, from a pawn shop in Dallas. The buyer had given phony I.D.
"And when Quintana walked into the Circle K the gun was empty, right?"
Goodpaster nodded. "He was drunk, the police offense report says. Maybe too drunk to think of reloading."
"They gave him a Breathalyzer test?"
"They could smell the booze on him." For the first time since Warren had been in the office, Goodpaster allowed herself to look other than solemn. She said smugly, "Whether Quintana was drunk or not, I could care less. He's not under indictment for D&D or armed robbery of a convenience store. This is capital murder."
Warren leaned back in the wooden chair, making a steeple of his hands. "But you have no witnesses."
"What makes you think so? We have a witness who saw him at the crime scene, and two days later she picked him out of a lineup. Sorry, Mr. Blackburn."
He did not reply, but his face answered her. Goodpaster reached into the file and plucked out a stapled sheaf of papers. She tossed them across the desk to the unhappy defense attorney.
===OO=OOO=OO===
A few days later, once again, Hector Quintana glared at Warren through the metal mesh. The rich brown Indio eyes were eloquent with anger and desolation, but the dark flesh had begun to take on some of the pastiness common to men who saw the sky through sealed grilled windows and breathed artificially chilled air night and day. The eyes would change next: any liveliness would blur. The desolation would remain, but the anger would turn to ennui.
He was doing okay, Hector said. He was working in the kitchen as a dishwasher.
"Don't talk to anyone about the case," Warren warned him. "Jails are full of snitches."
"No one asks me why I'm here." Quintana sounded a little bewildered at that.
"That's jail etiquette. You didn't tell me," he said quietly, "that you'd been in a lineup."
"What is a lineup?"
"The police make you stand with a bunch of other guys facing a mirror. Then they make you stand in profile. Each of you holds up a number."
"Oh," Quintana said wearily, unconcerned.
"Mr. Blackburn," she said, "I'm looking to settle this case. So let's get down to it."
Five years with Lou Parker and the State of Texas, he thought, and she's a gunfighter.
He nodded at the file on her government metal desk. "What have you got?"
What she had, she said flatly, was a good case. She had motive, opportunity, and possession of the murder weapon.
"Any
Brady
material?" Warren asked.
Brady
material was evidence that might help a defendant or impeach the credibility of a prosecution witness — so named because of
Brady v. Maryland,
wherein the Supreme Court reversed a conviction because the prosecutor had withheld information that might have proved the defendant innocent. You could squeeze more juice from a week-old cut lemon than
Brady
material from the Harris County district attorney's office. Their attitude was: you find it. There were lies of commission and lies of omission, Warren thought. And the state protects its minions.
"Not a thing," Goodpaster said.
The motive for the murder was money. The victim's family would testify that when he left the house that morning, Dan Ho Trunh had more than fifty dollars in his wallet, and it had been established that during the course of that day he had been paid at least ninety dollars in cash for electrical repair work he had done. His wallet had not been found.
As for opportunity, an hour after the murder Hector Quintana had been picked up within a mile of the crime scene. If he had an alibi, it had not yet surfaced.
Warren coughed, said nothing.
Ballistics confirmed that the murder weapon was the same .32-caliber Diamondback Colt clutched in Hector Quintana's hand when he ran out of the Circle K on Bissonet. They had traced the gun and discovered its most recent recorded purchase was five years ago, from a pawn shop in Dallas. The buyer had given phony I.D.
"And when Quintana walked into the Circle K the gun was empty, right?"
Goodpaster nodded. "He was drunk, the police offense report says. Maybe too drunk to think of reloading."
"They gave him a Breathalyzer test?"
"They could smell the booze on him." For the first time since Warren had been in the office, Goodpaster allowed herself to look other than solemn. She said smugly, "Whether Quintana was drunk or not, I could care less. He's not under indictment for D&D or armed robbery of a convenience store. This is capital murder."
Warren leaned back in the wooden chair, making a steeple of his hands. "But you have no witnesses."
"What makes you think so? We have a witness who saw him at the crime scene, and two days later she picked him out of a lineup. Sorry, Mr. Blackburn."
He did not reply, but his face answered her. Goodpaster reached into the file and plucked out a stapled sheaf of papers. She tossed them across the desk to the unhappy defense attorney.
===OO=OOO=OO===
A few days later, once again, Hector Quintana glared at Warren through the metal mesh. The rich brown Indio eyes were eloquent with anger and desolation, but the dark flesh had begun to take on some of the pastiness common to men who saw the sky through sealed grilled windows and breathed artificially chilled air night and day. The eyes would change next: any liveliness would blur. The desolation would remain, but the anger would turn to ennui.
He was doing okay, Hector said. He was working in the kitchen as a dishwasher.
"Don't talk to anyone about the case," Warren warned him. "Jails are full of snitches."
"No one asks me why I'm here." Quintana sounded a little bewildered at that.
"That's jail etiquette. You didn't tell me," he said quietly, "that you'd been in a lineup."
"What is a lineup?"
"The police make you stand with a bunch of other guys facing a mirror. Then they make you stand in profile. Each of you holds up a number."
"Oh," Quintana said wearily, unconcerned.
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