The Indictments Read online

  She was indeed getting his attention. Maybe it was those stiletto heels and perfectly shaped legs. Surely, he thought, he was reading into this situation more than it deserved. Some students are simply unaware of the dress requirements for the DA’s office. It would be addressed at the first Prosecution Clinic meeting, scheduled for the next day. Hopefully, that would be sufficient.

  Scott was aware that for new associates or clinic students, the usual first step is to take them on a tour of the office and introduce them to the office staff. He looked across his desk at Jessica. Not in that attire. It would have to wait. Besides, he had several important phone calls to make, and this was an unplanned interruption. This visit would have to be short.

  “Where did you go to undergrad, Jessica?”

  “University of Miami.”

  “Is Miami your hometown?”

  “No, but I live close by. Golden Beach.”

  “Golden Beach?” A broad smile appeared on Scott’s face. “I know exactly where that is. Been there; got one of the town’s famous ‘welcomes’ a few years ago.”

  “You mean a speeding ticket?” Jessica smiled and began to laugh.

  “Right. Five miles over the limit. We were on spring break. I drove down from Tuscaloosa in my old Camaro with some college friends. One was from Miami, but he forgot to tell me that Golden Beach was a speed trap.”

  “Too bad I didn’t know you then; I could have helped. We’re a small town with a tiny police force. I know them all quite well.”

  Knows them all quite well? Scott mused. This student was intriguing. After his encounter with the Golden Beach traffic police, he learned that the town was a notorious speed trap. It was only one mile long, but the “tiny police force” was a major contributor to the town’s economy. Golden Beach was an upscale ocean-front community, where a number of celebrities, including Bill Gates and Ricky Martin, once kept homes. Eric Clapton named his album, 461 Ocean Boulevard, for his Golden Beach home address. Scott wanted to ask her if she knew any of the Golden Beach celebrities, but this wasn’t the time.

  “Jessica, thanks for stopping by. Tomorrow, at the clinic meeting, you’ll have a bunch of clinic forms to fill out, and I’ll need your complete class schedule. That first meeting should answer most of the questions you have about the clinic and your responsibilities. I’ll be assigning you a couple of misdemeanor cases to work on and eventually prosecute. They call us ‘supervising attorneys.’ We have to be present in the courtroom when you try the case, but the trial is all yours—at least as much as you feel you can handle. I can lend a hand when necessary, but I want you to get as much actual experience as possible, and I’m sure you want the same.”

  Scott stood, then reached into a top desk drawer and pulled out a large three-ring notebook. He held it out for Jessica to see. “This is the office policy manual. Read it as soon as you have a chance.”

  He walked around the desk and handed her the binder. “How many days, or half days, will you have for clinic?”

  Jessica rose from her chair and took the manual with both hands. “I have all the time you want, at any time.” She gave him a broad smile and took a small step forward. Their faces were now only a few inches apart. What was obviously a very expensive fragrance filled the air between them, and all he could see was a pair of aquamarine eyes firmly fixed on his.

  Without comment, he walked to the door, and Jessica followed. As she stepped into the hallway, she turned and smiled again. Her high heels made a sharp clicking sound as she walked on the hard surface of the corridor. Scott’s eyes followed her to the exit, and he stood motionless by the door for a full minute. As he returned to his desk, he thought he detected a lingering whiff of her perfume. He wondered if it was real or merely a pleasant memory.

  CHAPTER THREE

  August 22, 2007

  Early the next morning, Scott sent a text message to Jennifer’s cell phone. “See you today at the Library—about 5?” Jennifer Stone was a second year student at Savannah College of Law and Scott’s girlfriend since they met during her first week of law school. She was five feet six, with golden blonde hair, blue eyes the color of daytime sky, and a flawless complexion. The day he met her, Scott was captivated; Jennifer was beauty and magic all in one.

  Now twenty-three years old, Jennifer had experienced her share of boyfriends, but none had been as close as Scott. He stood a bit over six feet with dark hair and bronze skin reflecting his Mediterranean heritage. Scott was handsome by any measure, but to Jennifer he was so much more—intelligent, self-confident, with a wonderful sense of humor. She could not imagine her life now without him.

  It had been a difficult first year in many ways for Jennifer. A tragic event early in her first semester led to a short hospital stay. Scott’s unwavering love was the pillar of support for her throughout those difficult days, and by the end of the semester, they had managed to put it all behind them. They were very much in love from the beginning of their relationship, and it only intensified as they had more time together. Although they had not seriously discussed marriage, it was something both expected in their future.

  Their first date was at the Library, and the plan was to meet there again today. Dinner would follow as an anniversary celebration. This was not the Savannah College of Law Library, but the Library Bar and Grill, just a block from the law school. Once a Chatham County public library, this ancient, granite-faced building, with its twenty-foot ceilings and heart-of-pine floors, was a favorite meeting place and watering hole for Savannah Law students and young adults living in the many nearby apartment buildings. Its huge lounge area, dubbed the “Study Hall” by the law students, offered free Wi-Fi, one dollar premium coffee, and dozens of large oak tables to hold books and laptops for a couple hours of study. Beer and wine were the only alcoholic drinks served, but the grill had a complete restaurant menu, a large dining area, and a reputation for quality that brought in locals and tourists alike.

  Midmorning, Scott received a reply from Jennifer. “Got it. Five. I love you.”

  ****

  Professor Fred Layton, Faculty Director for the Prosecution Clinic, was standing up front in the Thomas Courtroom when Scott arrived, and he waved Scott over. Scott had taken a couple of classes from Layton, and they kept in touch after Scott graduated. Layton was speaking with Will Draper, who served as the clinic coordinator for the DA’s office.

  “Good to see you, Scott. Will tells me he may be losing you to the felony section.”

  “Just temporarily, while I work on the Harrison retrial.” Scott looked over at Will, his boss, and grinned. “But, hey, I like my job in misdemeanors. And I expect to be there awhile.” He paused, then added, “Unless you know something I don’t, Will.”

  “Not really, but I did hear Nick Cox say he expected a couple felony prosecutors to leave soon. The DA doesn’t like to fill those positions from the outside, so whoever moves will probably be from my division, and I don’t have a lot of experienced prosecutors right now. So that temporary job may indeed be permanent.”

  Scott liked what he was hearing. He was quite satisfied trying misdemeanors in the state court, but he would jump at the opportunity to move to felonies. Even counting his two semesters in the Prosecution Clinic, his total time in the DA’s office was just over a year. It usually took two or more years’ experience in misdemeanors before even being considered for the felony division, so he really didn’t expect to move permanently. Still, he was interested and hopeful.

  “You got a lot of exposure and experience from the Harrison trial,” Layton said. “Would you believe that a student came to my office and asked that you be assigned as her supervising attorney for this semester?”

  Scott did not respond.

  “I told her I would run it by the DA’s office, because I didn’t even know if you would be designated as a supervising attorney. But Will said that was fine with him.”

  Scott still did not respond.

  “Don’t you want to know who she is?”
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  “I suppose I’ll find out soon enough.”

  “Jessica Valdez.” He turned and looked at the students assembled in the courtroom. “That’s her in the very back row, the brunette, third seat from the left.”

  Scott looked and saw Jessica in a conversation with another student. “Fine. I look forward to working with her.”

  Scott walked over to the jury box and took a seat with some of the other assistant DAs who had also been assigned as supervising attorneys. He picked up a copy of the syllabus and the list of assignments from a stack of papers on the jury rail. He checked, and yes, Jessica was listed as his student intern. He looked over again at the back of the courtroom where she was seated. She looked up at the same time, waved, then got up and headed his way.

  “Here’s my schedule,” she said, handing Scott some papers. “I have two full days plus a half-day for clinic. Full days on Tuesdays and Thursdays and half a day Friday. And I can put in a couple of hours other days.”

  “Good schedule, Jessica. You’ll get out of the clinic what you put into it.”

  “Maybe we can meet today, right after class. I’m sure I’ll have some questions.”

  “Sorry, Jessica. I have to meet someone over at the Library.”

  “Tomorrow, then. Should I come straight to your office?”

  He paused, somewhat embarrassed. Here was a student, eager to go to work, and he’s not accommodating. “I won’t have much time to brief you tomorrow morning; I have a trial starting at nine. Why don’t you come directly to Courtroom F? It should be an interesting trial.”

  “What type of trial?”

  “DUI. British tourist. Claims he was driving on the left hand side of the road because that’s how they drive in England. Smelled like a broken whisky bottle but refused to blow. Could hardly stand after he got out of the car—claimed he had a leg cramp. Arresting officer said his speech was slurred, but his attorney claims that’s just his accent. Has excuses for everything. I don’t know why he’s fighting this so hard. Since he’s a tourist, we gave him the best deal we could, but he hired Charles Samarkos to take it to trial. Samarkos will cost him much more than any fine he would have received.”

  “I’ve heard of him, Samarkos. Is he expensive?”

  “Very expensive—and very good.”

  Just then, Professor Layton called the class to order, and Jessica moved back to sit with her friend.

  Will Draper was the first speaker, and he briefed the students on the DA’s office and what would be expected of them as clinic students. When he discussed dress requirements for the office, Scott glanced to see if Jessica was paying attention. She was.

  ****

  The Prosecution Clinic was usually a two-hour class, but this first one, for orientation, would be shorter. It ended about 4:30, and Scott walked over to the Library to meet Jennifer.

  The Library was not busy. There were only a few customers—students slouched over laptops with notes and books nearby. Juri, the bartender, waved Scott over as soon as he saw him.

  Juri and Scott had become fast friends, and they especially enjoyed discussing baseball and their favorite team, the Atlanta Braves. Scott had attended the University of Alabama on a baseball scholarship, playing third base during his four years on the varsity. He was voted first-team All-SEC twice and was drafted by the Braves in his senior year. After two years in the minor leagues, he realized that he was never going to make it to the majors, so he applied to law school. Although he never played a day for the Braves, he was in fact a member of one of their farm teams, and Juri always proudly introduced him as, “My friend, the Braves third baseman.” Scott would say, “Now, Juri, you know that’s not true,” and Juri would point to a photo behind the bar, taken of Scott in a Braves shirt the day he signed his Braves contract. Scott wondered where Juri had gotten that photo, since he did not even have one himself. And though he was a bit embarrassed by Juri’s assertion, he never completely corrected him. He was proud to have been offered the contract and opportunity. It was a good two years.

  As soon as Scott arrived at the bar counter, Juri started shaking his head slowly. Scott knew he was about to discuss the Braves; it was always the same look after a loss.

  “We’ve got six, count ’em—six. Six players batting over three hundred, and we can’t even beat a lousy Cincinnati team. That’s five losses out of the last seven and two games out of even a wild card. What do you think is ailing them, Scott?”

  “Hitting, pitching, and fielding.”

  Juri grinned. “Come on, Scott, I mean really, what can we expect out of these guys? Playoffs this year?”

  “Sure, Juri. We usually make it. Last year was a fluke. Should have made it then, and this year, with six, as you say, ‘count ’em, six,’ players over three hundred, we’ll at least make it into the playoffs. Trust me.”

  “I do. It’s just those Braves’ bats I don’t trust.” Juri placed a cold mug of draft beer on the bar in front of Scott. “The mug’s on the house; you pay only for the beer. What brings you over here so soon on a Wednesday afternoon?”

  “Clinic meeting. We got out early. Jennifer’s meeting me here.”

  “Good. I’ve got a new one for her.” Juri never announced he had a new “joke”; it was always a “new one,” and for Jennifer, it was usually a blond joke.

  “Be kind, Juri. This is a special night.”

  “Hi, Scott.” The female voice came from behind him. “Mind if I join you?”

  Scott turned and focused on a familiar pair of aquamarine eyes. Jessica Valdez was standing next to him, smiling. He paused for a moment but did not stammer as he did at their first meeting.

  “Of course, Jessica. Have a seat. I’m just killing some time—waiting for someone.”

  Jessica took a seat on a bar stool next to Scott. Juri noticed and came over.

  “Scott, what can I get for your lady friend?” Juri asked.

  Scott thought the question really was for Jessica to answer. She wasn’t his “lady friend.” When Jessica did not respond, Scott said, “This is Jessica Valdez. She’s a Prosecution Clinic student, assigned to me for supervision. Jessica, this is Juri. He’s a lousy joke teller but a great bartender. He mixes his draft beer with water like the best.”

  “Oh, I’ve seen Jessica in here a few times, but I never had the pleasure of meeting her. You are in good hands with Scott … oops, I don’t mean that. If Scott lays a hand on you, Jennifer will tear his eyeballs out.”

  “Juri, have I told you lately that you talk too much?”

  “Not lately, but many times, and yes, I do. That’s what I do best.” Juri placed a mug of beer in front of Jessica. If she waved it off, he would just slide it over to Scott.

  Jessica smiled at Juri, picked up the mug, and took a sip. She then turned to Scott.

  “Are you and Jennifer … what shall I say, ‘an item’?”

  “We’ve been together for almost a year now.”

  “I know Jennifer. She’s in one of my seminar classes this semester. I met her last year during my first week at Savannah Law.”

  “Your first week … last year?” Scott asked. “Aren’t you a senior?”

  “I am.”

  “You said you started last year.”

  “No, I said my first week at Savannah Law was last year. I transferred here.”

  “From where?”

  “University of Miami.”

  “Didn’t you like Miami?”

  “I did, but it was just too close to home. My dad thought I had a wild streak and that he needed to keep an eye on me. He was a control freak through my high school days. And he insisted that I live at home as an undergrad. He’s an attorney, and I always wanted to be an attorney, too, but I didn’t want to stay under his thumb. I wanted to go away to law school, but he objected—and he was paying the bills. So guess who won that argument?”

  “Not a clue.” Scott smiled.

  “But we struck a deal. I would go to Miami for my first year, and if I still
wanted to go to another law school, I could transfer. I’m sure he thought I would want to stay, but I was determined to get away. So, I studied hard. At the end of the year, my grades were good enough to transfer to a number of law schools. I love Savannah, and Savannah Law was my first choice—so here I am.”

  Juri interrupted. “Here comes Jennifer now.”

  There were brief greetings, and Jennifer took the other seat next to Scott. Scott leaned back so both could hear and said, “Jessica is in the Prosecution Clinic. I’ve been assigned as her supervising attorney for the semester. She just said she’s in one of your classes.”

  “Yes, Federal Courts, a seminar. We had our first meeting last night. I think I will like that class. How about you, Jessica?”

  “It’ll be OK, but what I’m really looking forward to is Prosecution Clinic and working with Scott.”

  Jessica looked intently at him when she spoke, and it seemed deliberate. That was unnecessary, thought Scott. “I took that seminar in my second year,” he said. “Good professor. An adjunct from the U.S. Attorney’s office, John Cooper.”

  “Yes, he’s still teaching it,” Jennifer said.

  Juri stepped forward. “That reminds me of a story.”

  “Now, Juri, how could that remind you of a story?” Scott said.

  “It didn’t. I just want to tell a brunette joke.”

  “That’s a change. You are usually telling blonde jokes.”

  “I’m an equal hair offender.”

  Juri bellied up close to the bar. He had the usual wide grin that was always on his face when he began a joke. “Young brunette goes to the emergency room, says her body hurts wherever she touches it. ‘Impossible,’ says the doctor. ‘Show me.’ So she takes her finger and pushes her elbow and screams in agony. She pushes her knee and screams, pushes her ankle and screams, and so on it goes. Doctor says, ‘You're not really a brunette, are you?’ She says, ‘No, I'm really a blonde.’ ‘I thought so,’ he says. ‘Your finger’s broken.’”