When We Were Married Ch. 05D

For the first time Knight let his anger show.

"Bullshit, Maitland. Bullshit . And you know it is. You are going to play that damned grand jury like a grand piano. A good prosecutor can get a grand jury to indict Mother Teresa if you want her scalp. Grand jurors are sheep. So spare me that crap about grand jurors being independent evaluators. YOU want to bring Smith to trial, and before you're through he's going to be railroaded to Raiford."

"You're wrong, Sheriff."

"The worst part is that you know how this is going to end up. At best, he'll be in solitary for his own protection for the next five or ten years and if he gets out he'll be a broken man.

"But he won't get out. Prisoners don't like cops. He won't make it. They'll either gang rape him, or gang rape him and then plant a sharpened screwdriver up his ass or in his eye. You take him to a jury, and you're killing him."

The more he spoke the louder he had gotten until he was almost shouting at the end. I kept my voice purposely calm and low key.

"I don't deny that if he's convicted, he'll have a rough road. But it's not an automatic death sentence. And Art Roper won't be getting any second chances. I happen to believe in jurors, Sheriff. They usually come out with the right decision. Not always, but most of the time. And I don't have super powers. They could just as easily acquit him, let him walk away."

He looked at me again and then shook his head.

"I told him he was a stupid bastard to brace you in that sandwich shop. He's sure that's why you're going to go after him. It was a stupid thing to bring your wife -- your ex-wife -- into it and he knows it. Everybody around the courthouse knows that's a sore subject. If I was you, and I lost a woman like that, I'd be walking around pissed all the time too.

"But insulting you and hitting you in a sore spot, is not reason enough to ruin a man's life. I'm asking you as one professional to another, one man to another, don't take out your anger on Shawn for something he had nothing to do with. He's not Doug Baker."

I stood up.

"Whether you or he believe it or not, his comments in the shop have nothing to do with my taking the case to the Grand Jury. Or at least, I'm not doing it because he got me angry. I've been putting this off for way too long, Sheriff. I haven't been doing him any favors by letting this drag out. We need to get closure on this. That's why I'm taking the case to the grand jury in about two weeks."

Knight just stared at me and his hands closed into fists.

"You son of a bitch. And I thought you were a good guy."

"I am."

"If you do this, Maitland, your name is going to be shit with every officer in this county. No more rounding your drunk ass up and seeing you get home. You step out of one line fucking time and I'll make sure you wind up behind bars. See how you like it when we toss you in with the animals and tell them who they're bunking with."

I shrugged and started walking toward the door.

"I guess I'll have to lead a perfect life then, Sheriff. It'll help knowing you're looking over my shoulder."

"I'm calling Edwards. You may think you're God, but you're just a goddamned flunky. He won't let you do this, not when he knows what's riding on it."

"Talk to him all you want. But if I was you, I'd tell Shawn to get the best criminal attorney he can find in the next couple of weeks. He'll need a good one."

As I walked out I thought that I probably wouldn't get my yearly Christmas bottle of expensive Scotch from the Sheriff this year.

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WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 7, 2005 -- 11a.m.

Myra looked up at me curiously as I stopped at her desk. She wore a dress with a slight scoop neckline that would have been demure on most women. In her case it looked like a sack of volleyballs was rolling around trying to escape out through the top.

"I won't ask you what's going on, Bill. But, I don't know that I've ever seen him this angry."

The last was more of a question than a comment and I appreciated the delicacy of her probing.

"I'm afraid this is where the rubber meets the road, sweetheart."

Her look said it all. I couldn't really explain.

"When I come back out, Myra, I'll know if I still have a job here."

She looked stunned.

"Wha...t? Bill-Mr. Maitland. You're not...resigning...are you? This place wouldn't be the same without you."

"No. He'll have to make that decision."

I reached out and took one of her slim hands in mine.

"If things go south, and sour, really bad and it gets hectic and I don't have a chance to talk to you again..."

I looked into those green eyes and let my gaze wander down the hills and valleys of that incredible body that I had passed on for a woman that was almost certainly going to leave me.

"I want you to know, Myra, that it's been a pleasure working with you. You're smart and competent and entirely too nice for any woman with a face and body like yours. I never said it, but I have lusted for you every day for five years, whether I saw you or not, and if I hadn't been married and in love with my wife I would have hit on you every single day.

"And I know that God has a sense of humor because after lusting for you helplessly for five years, I'm finally free of that bitch I was married to and I find myself in love with somebody else. Life isn't fair."

She took her hand and ran her thumb gently up and down the inside of my palm. I was reminded of the old joke about how Martians make love. Her touch was hotter than most blow jobs.

"I know this is serious, Bill, because you talk like you're dying, like you'll never see me again. But..just remember..whatever happens...you may not be here, but I'll still be here. For when you finally are out of love with somebody else."

I squeezed her hand, said, "Wish me luck," and walked in to see which direction my life was likely to go in from this day forward.

Edwards was sitting back in his chair. Unlike most times, he didn't get up to shake my hand. He just stared at me. For most SAs summoned to his office, I imagine it would be an intimidating stare. But I had known him too long and we had a different relationship. And maybe I just didn't give a damn anymore.

"Good morning, Bill."

"I hope so."

"That's entirely up to you."

"No really, it's up to you. How about not dancing around this thing. What did you want to talk about."

"Okay, straight to it. Good. Knight is so fucking angry he's about to stroke out over the way you've been jerking Shawn Smith around."

"I'm sorry the Sheriff is upset. Is that all we had to talk about?"

"Bill, Knight is one of the most even tempered, easy-going guys you'll ever run into. And you know it. But he said he called you in the other day to get a handle on when you're going to give Smith a clearance on the shooting and you told him you were going to take Smith before the Grand Jury and try to prosecute him for murder."

"That's right. That's what I told him."

"And when were you planning on letting me into your confidence about all this? I thought we had an understanding that eventually you were going to clear him, let him go back to his life and let this mess die down."

"Actually, Austin, we never had that understanding. I know that's what you wanted. You've hinted about it, but you never flat out said that I had to clear him. I thought you wanted me to treat this case like all the others and use my best judgment."

"I do. But I don't understand why you decided to crucify this guy. It's true I want him cleared. The Police Union and 99 percent of the county's cops want him cleared. The NAACP and at least two other black groups are ready to go on the warpath about another black man railroaded by white southern justice if he isn't turned loose."

He leaned forward and steepled his fingers in front of him. He reminded me of an ash blond Gregory Peck from "To Kill A Mockinbird." He had a high forehead, dark brown eyes, straight nose, strong chin. It doesn't hurt in today's media environment to be good looking, and Edwards was.

His hair had turned almost white, but in a relatively unlined face it didn't make him look as old as he really was. It just made him look more distinguished, the way Governors and Senators and -- if you could dream that high -- Presidents ought to look.

His smile was his fortune though. He wasn't smiling now, but when he unleashed that wattage, it made every person watching him on television or in a crowd he was addressing think that this was a good guy to go out for a couple of beers with, or women started fantasizing about what that still lean 6-foot-4 body looked like under the clothes. Whatever charisma, or 'it' was, he had it.

"You and I both know that if this blows up and he gets convicted and maybe dies in prison, the blacks will never forget or forgive me, and every cop and Highway Patrolman in the state will do their best to screw me over. This will still be hot and fresh in everybody's mind next Fall when the Governor's race rolls around.

"I'm running -- or will be running -- as a conservative, law and order candicate, but I've always good relations with the blacks and Hispanics. It's a perfect combo.

"But how can I do that next year if every major black organization in the state is calling me a corrupt racist and cops are saying I hate police and want to punish a cop for protecting himself and his -- fiancee -- from home invaders.

"The cops are going to kill me with the average white law and order voter, and the blacks are going to kill me with every minority. What the hell does that leave me with as a voter base?

"And I ask myself, why have I been busting my ass for the last ten years hustling money for Republican candidates, making myself sick choking down overcooked chicken and steak at political functions, spending days and weeks away from my wife to earn political credits.

"What does it matter if the guy that I trusted to help push me over the line screws me royally right at end, just as I get to the finish line for the 2006 race."

He was really trying to be calm, but the anger was flooding out at the end of his comments.

I didn't say anything. Let him get it out.

"I thought we were friends, Bill, in addition to being co-workers and committed to the same thing, which is justice. We've talked enough, you know who I am. I've got an ego, you don't get into public life without one. But I really do think I can do some good in Tallahassee.

"I'm honest, and I have ideas on how the state could be a better place to live in for everybody. The prison system is a horror and we're losing kids every day that could be saved. Our drug policy is medieval and because I am a law and order candidate, I can do things to make our drug policy sane that no liberal could ever get away with.

"I've got ideas on how to make our schools better, how to make the state cleaner without driving away business. I think I could do a lot, Bill, but I can't do anything if I can't get elected. And you're going to drive a stake through the heart of my election chances if you prosecute Smith."

We just looked at each other for a few seconds.

"I agree that you'd be a good governor, Austin. We've talked enough, and I know you're a good enough politician that you could do a lot of good in the Governor's mansion. But, what are you prepared to pay to do all that good?"

"I don't understand."

"Suppose I had somebody bring in Doug Baker, the fucker that stole my wife away from me and ruined my marriage and my life. And I had him kneel down in front of this desk and I put a .45 to his head and told you that if you let me blow his brains out, I'd move heaven and earth to get you into the Governor's chair. And only you and I would ever know that Doug Baker was the price you had to pay. Could you do it?"

"You're not making sense, Bill. What does that have to do with Shawn Smith?"

"You know that two of the men -- Alan and Arnold Roper - who broke into Smith's house while he was there with his fiancee, who happened to be married to Arnold Roper at the time, , were shot inside the house.

"Smith could claim self defense for killing Alan and Arnold. But Art -- Arthur -- Roper, the other brother, was shot in the back trying to get to his truck. You and I both know Smith used a throw-down gun to shoot an unarmed man in the back."

"You 'think' he used a throw-down gun. You can't prove that."

"True, but I've got enough evidence to convince any jury that Art didn't use guns, he didn't have one before that day, and Art's brothers didn't use guns. They had a tire-iron, a baseball bat, and a billy club bought at a used police equipment online site. Nothing else that anyone knows about.

"I looked into Art's background. He was a high school dropout, been through dozens of temp jobs, usually getting fired. He had dozens of misdemeanor arrests, usually drunkness, getting into fights, dealing in stolen property. One felony involving an attempted robbery of a liquor store down on 8th Street where he was a lookout. He didn't carry.

"So, he was pretty much white trash, a loser. He'd never been married. But, he did have two illegitimate children, one an eight-year-old boy named Pete and a five-year-old daughter named Melanie, all by an old girlfriend named Lawanna Salyers.

"She's been with about six men since Art. They've gotten back together and split a dozen times in the last ten years. He couldn't keep from hitting her when he drank and she couldn't keep her legs together around strange men when she drank.

"She told me when I interviewed her that she knew she'd never be able to make it for long with Art, but the one good thing about him was that he loved his kids. He couldn't always make child support, but he gave them every spare dollar he got. He saw them on their birthdays and Christmas. They named the boy Pete after Art's grandfather."

I looked at my boss and saw that he got it.

"Art Roper had as much right to life as Doug Baker, or you, or me. He should have gotten jail time or prison time for taking part in a home invasion. But he didn't try to kill Smith. He was running for his life when Smith executed him.

"That's why I'm going to take Smith to the grand jury and let them decide if he should go to trial. There are questionable elements, but Art Roper deserves a grand jury hearing."

I stopped and looked around his office, at all the photos of Edwards and state and national politicians, the plaques and trophies. He wasn't just a figurehead. He was a good man. But even good men can be wrong.

"Art wasn't Doug Baker. But he was murdered. Are you prepared to let Art Roper be the price you pay to walk into the Governor's mansion? Can you live with that?"

Edwards just shook his head and dropped his eyes, then looked back up at me.

"Shawn Smith is a good cop, Bill. You checked him out and you know I'm right. He's received department commendations three times in 14 years on the force. He saved the life of an old man having a heart attack three years ago. He walked into that KFC armed robbery six years ago and killed both those bastards after they'd executed two workers and were getting ready to kill the other two.

"Even if I believe you, and he executed Arthur Roper, he had provocation. Three men break into his house in the middle of the night, start beating him, try to grab and take the woman in bed with him. He got to his gun and killed two men and saw a third running. He probably chased him on instinct and he had no way of knowing the guy wasn't going for a gun."

"At best for your case, at best, he had a lapse in judgment. He let anger and fear overcome police training and he did what almost anyone else would do. He shot the bastard."

"So if you're a good cop, or just a good guy, for enough years, you're allowed a free pass, good for one murder?"

He scratched his chin and said, "That Angel of Death crap is only PR, remember Bill? We're people, dealing with flesh and blood victims and criminals and sometimes we have to temper justice with mercy."

"What kind of mercy are you going to extend to Pete and Melanie? You going to bring their father back?"

He just shook his head.

"Don't do this, Bill. Don't be a hardass on this one. There's too much riding on it."

"Public trust is riding on this. You and I both know that the first thing that went through people's minds when they heard about this was, another cop shoots down three guys and will walk away from it. So Smith is a good cop. He's a hero cop. Last I heard, being a hero cop doesn't allow you to get away with murder."

I let the silence grow because I had the feeling we'd both said almost everything we could say until we cut right to the bone. But finally I had to say the words that might end a chapter in my life.

"I'm sorry, Austin, I really am. I tried to walk away from this. I've been a coward because I've been afraid it would come to this so I tried to delay things. I should have taken the case to the grand jury a couple weeks after the shooting. But I knew how explosive it was. And I guess I figured that I like this job too damned much to take a chance of losing it."

Edwards gave me a hard look.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I'm going to take it to the grand jury in two weeks. Let them look at it and let the cards fall where they may."

"No."

"No?"

"No, you're not going to take the case to the grand jury. You're going to issue a report clearing Smith of any wrong doing and listing it as a justified shooting by virtue of self defense in the course of a home invasion."

This time it was me shaking my head.

"Not going to happen."

He leaned forward over the desk.

"Bill, this is partly my fault. We made an agreement. I trusted your judgment. I always have. I've let you run the place. But I've always basically agreed with your decisions. Not this time. I know you think I've got personal reasons for this decision, but I think we just honestly disagree. I don't think it would be right to destroy a man's life for something you only 'think' he did.

"And, the agreement only stands as long I say it does. You are going to do what I asked you to do."

I stood up. He leaned back and his eyes opened a little wider.

"No, Austin, I'm not. I am going to the grand jury, as long as I'm the lead prosecutor."

"That's right. As long as you're the lead prosecutor. Reconsider."

"I wish I could. I've thought about this for months. And I can't."

He stood.

"If you're intent on doing this, I'll expect your resignation on my desk at the end of the day. You're not just out as lead prosecutor. You're out of this office and don't expect a job in any State Attorney's office in Florida. But as the Angel of Death, I'm sure you will land somewhere."

"No. I'm not resigning. You can fire me. But there is something you should consider before you do anything you can't take back."

"What?"

"Like you said, I'm the Angel of Death. There are people all over this country, not just in Jacksonville, that would be intrigued by a story about a prosecutor so blinded by ambition for higher political office that he was willing to let a killer cop skate on the cold blooded murder of the father of two to avoid antagonizing cops and the African American community."

I watched the ice descend over his eyes and a smile froze on his face.

"Are you threatening me? Me? You ungrateful son of a bitch. I gave you this office and let you play God for six years and this is how you repay me. Besides which, who do you think is going to even care about one case involving a cop that may or may not have broken the law?"

I smiled at him, and had to force myself. I didn't want to do this. I did like and respect the man. But on this one he was wrong.

"How many people care about what Bill Maitland thinks? Probably not that many, although I think it would interest the local media. But the Angel of Death? A lot of people. It would at least give my charges an audience. Remember, you wanted to push the Angel of Death PR angle. Well, live by PR and die by PR."