Sedona Law 2 Read online

  Uvalde was immediately arrested and is currently in police custody.”

  Vicki set down the tablet and sighed.

  “So this is the case we’re taking on?” AJ asked.

  “Well, this is what we are talking about this morning,” I answered.

  “Do you think he’s guilty?” AJ inquired.

  Landon surprised us all by blurting out a vehement, “Yes.”

  We all waited for him to elaborate.

  “Clifton is my great-uncle on my mother’s side,” he went on. “He was like a father to me and my cousin Brook. We want his killer brought to justice.”

  “Well, he’s innocent until proven guilty,” Vicki said.

  “You don’t believe he’s guilty?” I asked her.

  She hesitated and took a deep breath. “I don’t know. After last night, I just don’t know.”

  “Then who do you think is the killer?” Landon asked.

  Vicki shrugged. “None of our business if we don’t take the case.”

  I turned to Landon. This was getting into privileged information, and since breakfast was largely finished, he didn’t need to be here for this.

  “Thanks, Landon,” I said as I stood and offered my hand.

  “Absolutely.” He stood, shook it, and gathered his things to go. “I’ve got to meet a design client this morning, but let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. Anything at all. Like totally, I know people say that, but I really mean it. I want this killer brought to justice.”

  “We will let you know, Landon,” I said with a nod.

  He pecked AJ lightly, dropped a five on the table, and left.

  “Could we defend a guilty client?” AJ asked after he was gone.

  “Sure,” I said with a shrug. “Our job then would be to make sure he gets a fair trial. But, based on our conversation last night, my bet would be that he intends to plead not guilty.”

  “Well, there was Harmony…” Vicki reminded us.

  “There was that,” I said as I pursed my lips.

  We all thought for a few minutes.

  “So we are all in agreement? We’re taking the case?” I asked.

  The three of us looked around at each other, and then we nodded.

  “Alright,” I continued, “here’s what we do. AJ, Horace has been released on bail. You go to his house, get the representation paperwork signed, and then file with the county clerk. Also, I need you to get a copy of the autopsy report from the coroner. Vicki, find out who those buyers are…”

  “Jarvis and Irwin,” she replied as she glanced back at the article.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Let’s work that angle. See what we can find. I’m going to call the investigator and see what they have. I also want to go out to Clifton’s house, see if we can get some clues as to where he might have been going or who he might have called that day. Anything the police might have missed.”

  “Great. Looks like we have our work cut out for us,” Vicki said with a grin.

  Chapter 3

  AJ went to the courthouse and Vicki and I went back to the office to work on our respective tasks.

  The office of Sedona Legal was modest compared to where Vicki and I used to work in L.A. But the first time I saw the space, I had to have it. In my head, I called it Abe Lincoln’s office.

  In high school, we had taken a theatre trip to Chicago, and we went to see the famed Chicago Second City Theatre where SNL greats like Tina Fey and Amy Poehler got their start. We also stopped in Springfield to see the entire block of museums dedicated to Abraham Lincoln.

  Before old Abe went to the White House, freed the slaves, gave the Gettysburg address, and then met his untimely death at the hands of a disgruntled actor, he was just an average lawyer in the then-small town of Springfield, Illinois.

  His humble law office was still there, preserved as a museum, with his original desk and everything. The trip was supposed to inspire us to be great actors. Instead, it helped inspire me to be a great lawyer. So goes my life. I guess I should also stay away from the handful of actors I’ve disgruntled in my day.

  Our office space in Sedona looked exactly like Lincoln’s office. It was a white wood paneled storefront in a quaint downtown area. The outside had tiered bay windows and an old fashioned, wood-framed glass door. Above the entrance was an empty space where we were supposed to install signage. We were waiting on the budget for that.

  The inside was a small but roomy open space with wooden floors, freshly painted white walls, and natural light pouring in. It was mainly one room, except for a small office off to the side we turned into a conference room. Vicki did most of the decorating when I was in L.A., so she chose a modern minimalist office theme. It was sleek and bare, with lots of white and chrome and sunlight. The space came with blinds, but she took them down.

  There were three desks in the open area, but they were designed to look like they were just tables with small, barely noticeable drawers for supplies. The desktops were mostly bare, save for a chrome and white task lamp at each station. We all carted our own laptops back and forth to work, so there were no permanent computers anywhere in the building.

  Vicki chose white and chrome leather chairs for each of the desks, and she and AJ had plush white rugs under theirs. The walls were bare, and most of the rest of the space was empty to create that “just moved in” look.

  There was also a tiny kitchenette with a sink, a mini-fridge, and a single-serve coffee maker. Each of us had our own superhero mug. I was Batman, Vicki was Superwoman, and AJ was Wonder Woman. A fourth cup caught my attention.

  “Guy Fawkes?” I asked and held up the mug to Vicki.

  “Landon,” she said with a knowing glance. “He left it last time he was out here.”

  I raised an eyebrow as I loaded a pod into the coffee maker, and she and I both laughed.

  “Well, it was nice having another guy around here. Sometimes I think I might be overdosing on estrogen,” I teased.

  “Oh come on,” she laughed. “Give us some credit. We didn’t get the pink and white plaque that said, ‘She believed she could, so she did.’”

  I smirked and grabbed my steaming Bat Signal mug off the machine.

  “Did you find anything on Montague yet?” I asked and sipped the sweet nectar of the gods.

  “No, I think we should do interviews with everyone quoted in that story,” she replied. “Maybe someone knows something or saw something.”

  “We didn’t get much more from the police report on that,” I told her.

  “Yeah, but I want to cover all the bases. Even conjecture at this point might give us something to go on,” she said with a shrug.

  I nodded. “Couldn’t hurt.”

  “I’m starting with this reporter,” she said. “Alma Waters. We’ll see what she knows.”

  Vicki got on the phone to track down Alma Waters at The Herald. I decided to enlist Landon’s help in getting me into Clifton’s house. He would know who to contact. I texted him and got an instant phone call back.

  “Yeah,” he answered without a greeting, “my cousin Brook lives there. I can call her and see if she wants to set something up.”

  “That would be excellent,” I said.

  “But if not,” he went on, “I’ve got a key, and I’ll have a break here shortly, so I can just take you over there.”

  “Perfect,” I said. “Thanks. See you soon.” Then I ended the call.

  Having Landon on our side just might prove to be advantageous. Next, I called the police investigator to see what they had found.

  “Leonard,” I chuckled once I got him on the phone. “Long time, no see. How’s it going, old pal?”

  Leonard and I went to high school together, and he had been somewhat helpful in Harmony’s case. The whole case was bumbled beyond belief, but he had bent some rules here and there to get me information when I needed it. But I had learned in Sedona, where life moved a little slower, the timeless art of “shooting the breeze” was essential to the proper fun
ctioning of business.

  “Henry, nice to hear from you.” I could almost hear him casually leaning back in his chair. “How’s life treating you these days?”

  “Great. Got that new place downtown, and Vicki and I are settling in. How have you been?”

  “Oh, can’t complain,” he replied. “Got my health, good government job, buying my own home. You know, what else can a man ask for in this life?”

  “I hear ya there, man. I hear ya. So, listen I wanted to talk to you about this Melbourne case,” I said.

  His tone turned professional. “Are you representing the case?”

  “Yeah. I’m representing Horace Uvalde.”

  Leonard whistled into the phone. “It doesn’t look good for big old Horace. He’s always been kind of a pain in the ass, but I kinda feel bad for him. Prosecutor’s talking second degree manslaughter here. He’s looking at ten to sixteen. But, he’s old and quite frankly, not in good health. If he goes in, I’ll be surprised if he makes it past the first year.”

  “Second degree, huh? Well, that’s somewhat encouraging,” I told him.

  “Yeah, from what we can tell, it wasn’t premeditated,” he said, “but word is that the prosecutor wants to wrap this up pretty quickly; bad publicity for the film festival and all. They’re going to give a pretty generous bargain. Two years, I think.”

  “Well, from what I can tell, he wants to go to trial,” I said.

  Leonard chortled. “We got a block full of people saying Horace chased Clifton down the street with a shotgun, and then Clifton shows up dead in a suitcase in Horace’s yard?”

  “That was about twenty years ago,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Leonard drawled, “but then just a few weeks ago, they got pretty heated in a city council meeting--“

  “I know, I know. Clifton wanted to shut down the theatre,” I said.

  “Exactly,” he replied. “So now we have a motive.”

  “So, what else have you got?” I asked.

  “We haven’t found a murder weapon, so you’ve got that going for you,” Leonard admitted, “and we’re still waiting on the coroner’s report. But Horace is saying he’s never seen the suitcase, but there’s a spot in his garage where the dust is in the exact shape; and, there’s a dirt trail leading from the spot to the driveway, where it was dragged. The last time anyone saw Clifton was about three weeks before the yard sale. Which, is also four days after the last city council meeting--where, like I said, they were said to be in a screaming match in the parking lot. And hmm…” His voice trailed off.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “It says here … Horace was yelling something about … lemons? I can’t quite make it out.”

  I sighed. “Alright. I think I got what I need for now. Can you fax all that over to me?”

  “Sure thing,” he said. “By the way, we keep missing each other on that beer. We gotta do that.”

  “We sure do, man. We sure do.” I smiled as I drummed my fingers on my desk. Then I got off the phone and saw Vicki was furiously scribbling notes.

  “What did you find?” I asked.

  “Irwin and Jarvis are antique collectors who live on the west side,” she replied. “The reporter had a cell phone number, and I left a voicemail for Irwin to set up an interview.”

  “Great work,” I told her. “Leonard says they’re trying to railroad him, no murder weapon, pretty much nothing newer than what was in the paper. Prosecution wants to get it wrapped with a two year bargain.”

  “Circumstantial conviction. Nice,” she said with a nod.

  Landon walked in at that point.

  “Guy Fawkes, huh?” I asked.

  He grinned. “Shit, yeah. He was a badass.”

  As an afterthought, he quoted the famous refrain from the V for Vendetta movie. “Remember, remember, the fifth of November…”

  Vicki rolled her eyes. “Fawkes wasn’t a superhero,” she said.

  “No, man, Fawkes was way more awesome than all the superheroes,” he said. “Combined.”

  “What-ever,” she sighed.

  He and Vicki launched into a discussion about superheroes, and I tuned it out as I gathered what we needed for the Melbourne house. Then I tossed my bag across my shoulder and waited for a break in their conversation.

  “You ready to do this?” I finally asked.

  “Absolutely,” Landon said with a nod. “Let’s get this bastard.”

  We headed out the door, and I noticed a silver Honda motorcycle parked in front of our office.

  “Is that your ride?” I asked Landon as I cocked my head toward it.

  “Yeah.” He smiled. “When I don’t have time to chat, I tell people it’s more eco friendly than a car. But global warming is a myth, so mainly, I drive it cause it’s super cheap on gas and it looks cool.”

  I nodded. “Let’s take my BMW.”

  “BMW?” He sighed. “Henry, do you realize the luxury brands all serve as a carrot to enslave--”

  “I’m already part of the establishment.” I grinned and slipped on my prized shades that I bought at an Armani Exchange in Los Angeles. “I don’t have any hippie Sedona street cred to lose.”

  It was the first time I actually heard Landon really laugh.

  We arrived at Clifton Melbourne’s house. The small brown clapboard home had two stories and a wraparound deck with a ramp on one side. It was settled neatly in a tree-lined neighborhood with cookie cutter houses so close, neighbors could crack their windows and share television shows.

  The front yard looked like it was nominally maintained, but the flower beds needed urgent attention. Beyond that, a four door red Pontiac sedan sat in the driveway with a handicapped license plate, and a rusted blue Suburban had settled so far into the yard, it looked like it hadn’t moved since Clinton was in the White House.

  We stepped onto the porch, and I noticed ivy fingering down the railings, hanging from homemade macrame planters.

  “English Ivy,” came a woman’s voice as she exited the screen door. “They’re good for purifying the air, which helps to lower blood pressure.”

  “Brook,” Landon greeted with a smile.

  “Hey, Landon. I got your message,” she said.

  “Yeah, this is--“

  “Henry Irving,” she supplied as her eyes cut over to me. “I’ve heard about you.”

  “Well it can’t all be true,” I joked, but she didn’t laugh.

  Brook was a bit older than Landon, maybe late thirties. She was slim, but not in a fit way. She had that weathered look about her that implied life had been long and hard.

  Her strawberry blond hair hung just past her shoulders, but it was fibrous and lackluster. She wore square-framed glasses, and the green eyes beneath them hinted she had once been beautiful. Now, they looked sad and swollen, with crow’s feet wrinkles fanning out around them. She moved slowly and appeared as if she might collapse into tears at any second. She also absentmindedly fingered an ever-present crumpled tissue in her hand.

  “It’s been … a nightmare,” she said as she waved us in.

  “I can only imagine,” I consoled.

  The living room was all wooden floors and floral furniture from a different era. An ancient console television set served as the focal point for the room, and plants covered nearly every other open space. Some were flowers, but more English Ivies crawled around the room, circling the walls and posts like evergreen strings of Christmas lights. She motioned for us to sit. We did, and she took the chintz high back chair.

  “I’ve just been in shock,” she said.

  “How long did you live with Clifton?” I asked.

  “Oh, a long time,” she replied. “I’m his certified home health care worker, but I’m so much more than that. He was my great-uncle, and he basically raised me. My mom was a single mother; I never knew my dad. But, Clifton was always there for us. About … oh, I want to say, 2008, his health started to get really bad. He had been on meds for a while, but he started showing signs of de
mentia.”

  “You guys want some coffee?” Landon asked as he slid to his feet.

  “Yeah,” Brook said. “Put on a pot for us. You know where everything is.”

  Landon nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. Then Brook wiped her eyes, and sat up straighter as her story built momentum.

  “I was living in Flagstaff,” she said. “I had just graduated from the University of Arizona and was going to nursing school. I came for a visit, and he was eating moldy cheese and talking about visiting people who died before I was even born. Then, he kept expecting his wife to come home any minute. She died in 1997. In fact, they had a minivan he wouldn’t get rid of because he would say she will need it to get the groceries.” She was obviously fighting back tears.

  Landon came back in carrying an old fashioned silver tray with a full coffee service. He spoke in that overly hushed and reverent tone people only use around the bereaved.

  “I don’t know how you guys take it,” he said, “but we got all the stuff here.”

  “Thank you, honey,” Brook sniffled.

  She squeezed his arm with affection and then lifted the coffee pot. Her hands shook so badly that Landon took the pot and poured it for her.

  “Long story short,” she continued, “there was no one to take care of him. I knew he couldn’t keep living like that, and I couldn’t bear to put him in a home. It would just break my heart. Not after all he had done for me and my mom. When we needed help, he was always there for us. And now, I wanted to repay him for everything he had done. I dropped out of school and moved in with him full-time. I went through a certification course to be licensed as a home health care worker. He’s been the world to me.”

  “What year were you licensed?” I asked.

  Her story so far seemed to be genuine, but that didn’t stop me from groping around in the dark for anything that appeared out of place.

  “I took the exam to be a Certified Nursing Assistant in ‘09,” she replied.

  “And you do this full-time?” I asked.

  “Yes.” She nodded.

  “Forgive me for being blunt in your time of grief, but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t ask,” I began.