busted taillight. When he acted suspiciously, the officer searched the truck and found a bag of cocaine lodged behind bags of fertilizer.”
“It’s not mine!” Mike yelled. “The truck is loaded at the yard. Anyone could have put it there.”
“Mike, do not say another word,” I warned.
“And what would you have done when you unloaded the delivery?” Hurtado asked. “Chalked it up as another bag of fertilizer?”
“I drive the truck. That’s it.” Mike leaned forward, pounding his fist on the table. “There are always others to help with the loading and unloading.”
“How convenient.” Hurtado sneered.
“All right.” I stood, tugging on my client’s arm to do the same. “Interview’s over. Either charge Mr. Staminski or release him.”
Sherwood rose. “We’ll be in touch, Carling.”
“You do that.” I sailed out of the room with Mike in tow. I didn’t stop until I was outside the building.
“Here.” I pulled out a business card and thrust it at the driver. “You keep this on you at all times. If you even spot a police officer looking at you funny, you call me. Immediately.”
Mike’s thick brows furrowed. “Look at me how?”
“Never mind. You see a badge coming at you, you call. Clear?”
“Yes.” He stuck the card in his shirt pocket but then reached out and grabbed my hand—hard. Since we were on the front steps of the West Palm Beach Police Department, I wasn’t too worried. Still, I gave a quick tug and he released me.
“Miss Dent. Please.” Fear glittered in the driver’s dark eyes. “You will not tell Rocket I said anything.”
Tricky thing about retainers and the extent of attorney-client privilege. However, Mike was the actual client I represented, as far as I was concerned. Rocket merely footed the bill. They would get a report marked Confidential but no privileged information shared by Mike or any other driver.
“Not to worry, Mike. Whatever passes between us is confidential. I have to warn you, though, that restriction doesn’t apply to those officers who questioned you. They could say something to Rocket during their investigation. Unlikely if they’re trying to determine the source of that coke, but it’s possible.”
Sweat beaded along his brow and he swiped his arm across his face. “I can deny whatever they say to Rocket, yes?”
My “bull” antenna went on alert.
“That’s between you and your conscience. But remember, the more lies you tell, the harder it is to keep them straight. If it gets back to Officers Sherwood and Hurtado that you’re spinning a different tune to people at Rocket, they could haul you in for more questioning.”
The driver paled but he merely nodded. “Thank you, Miss Dent. I must get back to work. We’re paid bonuses by the load.”
“All right. Be careful.”
I watched him walk away and turn the corner toward a parking lot.
The man was terrified. Why?
I glanced at my watch. My calendar was, unfortunately, clear for the rest of the day, probably the remainder of the week. Either Maria had done it to give me time to rest or I simply didn’t have any new clients. That meant I wouldn’t carry my weight in the partnership again.
I didn’t feel like facing my empty townhouse so I might as well occupy myself with a few personal ghosts. I re-entered the station. Luck was with me. Detective Sam Bowie was in the station.
Twenty minutes later I was shown to a room jam-packed with desks and people. Ringing phones competed with people talking and yelling. Through the milieu I spotted Sam’s familiar rangy form and skirted around a detective carrying two overfilled cups of coffee as I made my way across the room. Leaning against the desk, Sam had a phone receiver braced between his ear and shoulder as he jotted down notes. He gave me a wink and gestured to an aluminum-framed chair that had seen better days. I gingerly sat in it. Moments later he finished his call.
“Well, Carling, long time no see,” he drawled
“It’s not mine!” Mike yelled. “The truck is loaded at the yard. Anyone could have put it there.”
“Mike, do not say another word,” I warned.
“And what would you have done when you unloaded the delivery?” Hurtado asked. “Chalked it up as another bag of fertilizer?”
“I drive the truck. That’s it.” Mike leaned forward, pounding his fist on the table. “There are always others to help with the loading and unloading.”
“How convenient.” Hurtado sneered.
“All right.” I stood, tugging on my client’s arm to do the same. “Interview’s over. Either charge Mr. Staminski or release him.”
Sherwood rose. “We’ll be in touch, Carling.”
“You do that.” I sailed out of the room with Mike in tow. I didn’t stop until I was outside the building.
“Here.” I pulled out a business card and thrust it at the driver. “You keep this on you at all times. If you even spot a police officer looking at you funny, you call me. Immediately.”
Mike’s thick brows furrowed. “Look at me how?”
“Never mind. You see a badge coming at you, you call. Clear?”
“Yes.” He stuck the card in his shirt pocket but then reached out and grabbed my hand—hard. Since we were on the front steps of the West Palm Beach Police Department, I wasn’t too worried. Still, I gave a quick tug and he released me.
“Miss Dent. Please.” Fear glittered in the driver’s dark eyes. “You will not tell Rocket I said anything.”
Tricky thing about retainers and the extent of attorney-client privilege. However, Mike was the actual client I represented, as far as I was concerned. Rocket merely footed the bill. They would get a report marked Confidential but no privileged information shared by Mike or any other driver.
“Not to worry, Mike. Whatever passes between us is confidential. I have to warn you, though, that restriction doesn’t apply to those officers who questioned you. They could say something to Rocket during their investigation. Unlikely if they’re trying to determine the source of that coke, but it’s possible.”
Sweat beaded along his brow and he swiped his arm across his face. “I can deny whatever they say to Rocket, yes?”
My “bull” antenna went on alert.
“That’s between you and your conscience. But remember, the more lies you tell, the harder it is to keep them straight. If it gets back to Officers Sherwood and Hurtado that you’re spinning a different tune to people at Rocket, they could haul you in for more questioning.”
The driver paled but he merely nodded. “Thank you, Miss Dent. I must get back to work. We’re paid bonuses by the load.”
“All right. Be careful.”
I watched him walk away and turn the corner toward a parking lot.
The man was terrified. Why?
I glanced at my watch. My calendar was, unfortunately, clear for the rest of the day, probably the remainder of the week. Either Maria had done it to give me time to rest or I simply didn’t have any new clients. That meant I wouldn’t carry my weight in the partnership again.
I didn’t feel like facing my empty townhouse so I might as well occupy myself with a few personal ghosts. I re-entered the station. Luck was with me. Detective Sam Bowie was in the station.
Twenty minutes later I was shown to a room jam-packed with desks and people. Ringing phones competed with people talking and yelling. Through the milieu I spotted Sam’s familiar rangy form and skirted around a detective carrying two overfilled cups of coffee as I made my way across the room. Leaning against the desk, Sam had a phone receiver braced between his ear and shoulder as he jotted down notes. He gave me a wink and gestured to an aluminum-framed chair that had seen better days. I gingerly sat in it. Moments later he finished his call.
“Well, Carling, long time no see,” he drawled
Similar Books
