The next morning, I was having my healthy breakfast of sugary Cuban coffee and guava flan at Versailles in Little Havana when Amy called.
From the jail.
She said she’d seen the story of the shooting on television in a restaurant bar. She’d been shocked—yes, shocked—to see her driver’s license photo on the screen. She called the police and turned herself in.
“I didn’t do it, Jake,” she said.
“Not another word on the phone,” I ordered. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
I knew what was coming. An indictment for First Degree Murder. Meaning the state had evidence of premeditation. Boy, did they. Surveillance and stalking. Threats. Target practice. And shooting the wrong guy is no defense.
I carried my coffee to the car and headed east on Calle Ocho, passing Woodlawn Park Cemetery. It’s filled with statues of angels, elaborate crypts, and mausoleums. Woodlawn is where Latin-American rulers go to their eternal rest in marble mausoleums and, this being Miami, it’s a hot tourist attraction.
When I got to the Women’s Annex, I presented my Bar card at the security window and sat in the visitors’ room on a metal bench that seemed specially designed to put me into traction. I stood and studied the frescoes, which adorned the plaster walls. Mothers and children in splashy Caribbean colors. Shining suns and towering palms. Painted by the inmates, the frescoes seemed to reflect the repressed desires and unobtainable goals of these sorrowful, maladjusted women.
In a few minutes, a female guard brought Amy into a lawyer’s room with a large glass window, a table, and two chairs. My first question to a jailed client is never “Did you do it?” It’s always “How much money do you have?”
Amy gave me a number, a few thousand dollars in a savings account. I would run through that for expenses and expert witnesses, so she retained me for her usual fee. Zero.
“I didn’t kill him, Jake,” Amy blurted out. “Honest, I didn’t.”
I still hadn’t asked.
“Hold that thought,” I said.
“Why would I shoot that old man?”
“Castiel says you were trying to kill Ziegler and missed. Either way, it’s First Degree Murder.” I recited the murder statute from memory. “That’s the ‘unlawful killing of a human being perpetrated from a premeditated design to effect the death of the person killed or any human being.’ It’s the ‘any human being’ part that does you in.”
“But I didn’t shoot anyone!”
“Just speaking hypothetically. If you aim at Peter and hit Paul, it’s what the law calls ‘transferred intent.’ ”
As they say, a good lawyer knows the law. But as they also say, a great lawyer knows the judge.
“You believe me, don’t you, Jake?”
“When you lie in wait to kill someone, that’s the premeditated part of the crime.” I wasn’t done with my Crim Law 101 lecture. “Your hatred of Charlie Ziegler for your sister’s disappearance is the motive.”
“It wasn’t me! Jake, are you listening?”
“The penalty is life without parole.”
I let that sink in a moment.
Life. Without. Parole.
It’s forever and ever and ever, and the thought of it is nearly incomprehensible. Day after day of endless sameness. The same starchy, tasteless food. The thin, lumpy mattresses. Incompetent medical care. Lethal cellmates and pissed-off guards. The smells of sweat and disinfectant and the numbing noise, the clanging of steel doors, desperate voices echoing off concrete floors.
Amy’s face had lost its color.
I wondered if I’d forgotten anything. Oh, yeah. “There’ll be no bail pending trial, so try to get used to your surroundings. Don’t make friends with any of the other inmates. By that, I mean don’t talk to them about your case. If you do, you’ll have someone claim you made a jailhouse confession.”
I had one more item to bring up before talking about the evidence. “I need to ask you about that night when I called Castiel to ask him to dredge the canal.”
“Yeah?”
“You got mad at me and left.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
“Question is, did you come back later? Like in the middle of the night.”
“Why would I do that?”
“You tell me.”
“Okay, yes. I was going to apologize to you for the way I’d acted. Blaming you because Castiel was being a jerk.”
“So you pushed the front door open?” She’d seen me whack it with my shoulder and I recalled telling her that it was never locked.
“I’d had a couple drinks, and it seemed like a good idea at the time. But then your dog started barking. I panicked and left.”
I wasn’t sure about her story. Had she really been there to apologize? It was just as likely that she’d wanted to berate me some more. Or possibly even shoot me. With Amy, every turn in the road seemed to lead deeper into a maze.
“Two days ago, you told me someone broke into your motel room and stole your gun.”
“What about it?”
“Did you file a police report?”
“No. Why?”
“C’mon, Amy. You’re smarter than that.”
“Someone took the gun.”
“If the ballistics tie your Sig Sauer to the shooting, Castiel will send in a marching band and break out the champagne.”
“If my gun was used, someone else fired it.”
“Where were you last night?” I fired the question quickly, wanting to see if she blinked, reddened, or turned away.
“Nowhere near Ziegler’s,” she fired right back. A touch of anger, which was okay. “I was with a man.”
That surprised me. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
“Can’t tell you.”
“Why the hell not?”
“It’s too dangerous.”
“What’s that mean?”
“If he testified, his life would be in danger.”
“What about your life?”
She fingered the opening of her flimsy orange smock. “He wants to help, but I won’t let him.”
“That’s my decision, not yours. Give me his name.”
“I can’t.”
My lower back was throbbing again. “I’m thinking your alibi is bullshit.”
“You just have to trust me, Jake.”
“The hell I do. Lie to your priest or to your lover. But if you lie to me, I can’t help you.”
“I’m not! I wasn’t at Ziegler’s. I didn’t shoot anyone.”
I studied her, looking for the averted gaze, the tightened lips, the nervous twitch. Nothing.
“I’m innocent, Jake. Dammit, isn’t that enough?”
“Innocence is irrelevant! All that matters is evidence. So give me your alibi, or the jury will give you life.”
She took a moment to think it over before saying, “I’m sorry, Jake. You’ll have to win without an alibi.”
I pushed my chair away from the table and got to my feet. “Enjoy your stay, Amy. It’s gonna be a long one.”