The Undertaker's Widow Read online

  Quinn paused. Cedric Riker leaned back, looking as if he did not have a care in the world. He was so self-centered that he could not conceive of losing a motion. When he did lose, he always found someone else to blame. Mary Garrett shifted nervously on her chair. She was self-confident, but she had none of Riker's egomania to blind her to the fact that the questions were close. Ellen Crease watched Quinn with cool detachment.

  "I'll start with the most complex question. Did the search of the defendant's bedroom violate the Oregon and United States Constitutions? The burden is on the State to prove that the search was legal because the search was conducted without a warrant. Warrandess searches are presumed to be illegal, unless the State cifi show the existence of an exception to the warrant requirements of the Oregon and United States Constitutions.

  "Mr. Riker has argued that exigent circumstances excused Detective Anthony and Officer Yoshida from obtaining a warrant. I do not find this argument convincing. Officer Yoshida gave no scientific opinion as to why waiting a few hours while a warrant was obtained would make it any more likely that the blood spatter would be degraded or destroyed. After all, it had been over a week since the crime scene was created. True, the cleaners would have destroyed the evidence, but they were not scheduled to appear until the next day. Additionally, Detective Anthony and Officer Yoshida did not know that the cleaners were coming until after the decision was made to go to the estate without a warrant."

  Garrett leaned forward, hanging on Quinn's every word.

  "The State argues that James Allen gave a valid consent to the police to enter the bedroom. I find that Mr. Allen did not have real authority to do that. He and the police were both aware that Senator Crease had specifically instructed Allen to keep everyone except the cleaning crew out of the bedroom.

  "However, I do find that James Allen did have apparent authority to open the locked bedroom for the police. He was the housekeeper. He had the keys to the room. Detective Anthony could reasonably assume that the person left in charge of the house by Senator Crease could let him and Officer Yoshida into the bedroom if he wished to let them in and there was a valid reason to do so."

  Garrett's shoulders sagged and Riker smiled.

  "Despite my finding that James Allen had the apparent authority to consent to a search of Senator Crease s bedroom, I must still suppress the evidence obtained during the search."

  Riker shot up in his chair. He looked stunned. Garrett looked like she could not believe what she was hearing.

  "I find that Detective Anthony intentionally coerced Mr. Allen into opening the bedroom after he had been told unequivocally by Mr. Allen that he was under instructions from his employer to keep everyone but the cleaning crew out of the bedroom. I hold that Detective Anthony was not credible when he testified that he did not intentionally coerce Mr. Allen into giving consent."

  Riker was on his feet. "Your Honor," he started, but Quinn cut him off.

  "The time for argument is over, Mr. Riker. Please sit down."

  Riker collapsed onto his chair.

  "As to the other motions, I have read the briefs submitted by the parties and I have examined the affidavits submitted by the State detailing what Conchita Jablonski and Karen Fargo would testify to if called as witnesses. I will not allow Conchita Jablonski to testify to anything her husband told her concerning how he came by the money that was found in the Jablonski apartment. That is pure hearsay.

  "Similarly, I am excluding any statements that Lamar Hoyt may have made to Karen Fargo about the state of his marriage and his desire to leave his wife for her on the grounds that they, too, are hearsay."

  Riker could only gape at the judge. His case against Ellen Crease was being destroyed beyond repair.

  "Finally, I will allow the defense to introduce evidence concerning Mr. Jablonski's criminal background to support its position that he was acting as a burglar on the evening of the shooting.

  "I'll prepare the order," Quinn said as he stood. "Mr. Riker, you have thirty days to decide if you want to appeal my order to the court of appeals. Court is adjourned."

  As soon as Quinn left the bench, Cedric Riker streaked out of the courtroom with his assistants in tow and Ryan Clark headed down the hall to the pay phones to let Benjamin Gage in on the bad news. James Allen stayed seated. He watched Mary Garrett and Ellen Crease discuss the outcome of the case at their table. Allen looked grim and undecided. After a moment's more thought he mixed with the spectators and left the room.

  "What does this mean?" Ellen Crease asked her lawyer.

  "It means we won everything," Garrett told her as the enormity of Quinn's ruling dawned on her. "He suppressed everything Riker can use to convict you. He left him with nothing."

  Garrett hoisted her attache case and they headed out of the courtroom.

  "You sound surprised."

  "To tell the truth, I am. I had some hope of winning the motion to keep out the hearsay, but the blood spatter motion was a real long shot!"

  "Does this mean that the case is over? That I'm free?"

  "Technically, the charges still exist. But Riker's choice is to appeal or dismiss and ..."

  Garrett stopped. Bearing down on them was Lamar Hoyt, Jr.

  "This isn't over, bitch!" he screamed in Crease's face. "I'm contesting the will and I'm gonna sue you civilly for wrongful death."

  "Get away from my client," Garrett commanded.

  "Shut up, you . . ."

  Suddenly, Junior was up on his toes with his left arm cranked behind his back in a hammerlock. Applying the pressure was a tall man with a swimmer's wide shoulders and narrow waist. Long black hair swept across his forehead. His blue eyes looked sleepy and his thick black mustache was shaggy. The man did not look angry and he sounded unexcited when he said, "Come on, Junior. Let's calm down here.''

  "Ah, ah," Junior managed as the man pressed his arm toward his shoulder blade and beyond.

  "I don't want to hurt you," the man said, "but I can't have you threatening the senator and Ms. Garrett."

  "Let go! Ah!" Junior gasped. His face was cramped with pain and Garrett thought he was going to cry.

  "If I let go, will you behave?"

  "Yes!"

  "Okay," the man said as he released some of the pressure on Junior's arm. "Now, I'm taking you at your word and I'm going to let you go. When I do, I want you to head out of here as fast as your fat legs will carry you. If you're lying to me, I'll break both your arms. We on the same wavelength?"

  "Yeah! Yeah! Let me go."

  The man released Junior and took a step back. Junior grabbed his shoulder and bent forward.

  "On your way. Let's not dawdle," the man said.

  Junior glared, but kept his mouth shut and headed for the elevators.

  "Thank you, Jack," Ellen Crease said calmly. She had not blinked during the encounter with Junior.

  "My pleasure," the man said, flashing her a boyish smile.

  Mary Garrett had noticed the man sitting in the back of the courtroom throughout the hearing. She had assumed that he was a policeman.

  "Mary, this is Jack Brademas," Crease said. "He's the head of security at Hoyt Industries. Jack's been protecting me since I learned about the money that was paid to Martin Jablonski."

  "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Brademas."

  "Jack, please. Especially after that coup you just pulled off in court. Was Judge Quinn's ruling as good for the senator as it seemed?"

  "Better," Garrett answered. "For all intents and purposes, this case is over."

  [3]

  "Ced, this is Lou Anthony. I just got back to my desk and there was a note to call you. What happened at the hearing?"

  "Quinn fucked us, Lou."

  "How?"

  "He suppressed everything. The blood spatter evidence, Fargo's statements about what Hoyt told her. Everything."

  "All the evidence?" Anthony repeated as if he could not believe his ears.

  "Everything he could suppress, he threw out."

&nbs
p; "Jesus. Where does that leave us?"

  "In outer fucking space without a ship. Quinn gutted our case."

  "Can't you appeal?"

  "Sure, but it would be useless. The court of appeals can reverse a judge who misinterprets the law, but Quinn based his decision to suppress the blood spatter evidence on his personal evaluation of your credibility. The court can't review that."

  "What do you mean, my credibility?"

  "He said you were a liar, Lou. That's as plain as I can say it."

  "He what?"

  "He said you lied under oath when you testified that you did not intentionally pressure James Allen to let you into the bedroom."

  "But I didn't. I mean, I persuaded the guy, but I never leaned on him. We just talked.''

  "That may be what really happened, but Quinn put it on the record that you are a liar. The court of appeals cannot reverse a decision that rests on a judge's evaluation of the credibility of a witness, unless there is no evidence in the record to support the finding."

  "I wouldn't lie under oath. You know that."

  "I know it, Lou, but everyone who reads Quinn's opinion is going to think otherwise."

  [4]

  While she was driving home, Karen Fargo caught the end of a news story about Ellen Crease's case, but she did not hear enough to let her figure out what had happened. Fargo turned on the television as soon as she walked into her house. The case was the lead story. A reporter was talking about Richard Quinn's dramatic decision while the screen showed a triumphant Ellen Crease waving to supporters from the courthouse steps.

  "I want to thank all of the people who had faith in me during these dark days," Crease told the reporters who were massed around her. "I loved my husband. Losing him to senseless violence was a great blow, but being accused unjustly of murdering someone you love is the cruelest blow. I thank God for Judge Richard Quinn's courage."

  "Will you continue to campaign, Senator?" a reporter shouted.

  Crease stared directly into the camera. Her mouth was set in a grim line. When she spoke, there was no doubting her determination.

  "I have never stopped campaigning. The Republican Party should not be represented by a man who is soft on crime, for gun control and sympathetic to the liberal forces in our society that would pervert the values that have made America the greatest country on earth. I represent the true values of our party, and the voters will validate that statement in the May primary."

  The screen was suddenly filled with a picture of Benjamin Gage dressed in a tuxedo with his beautiful wife on his arm entering the Benson Hotel to attend a fund-raiser.

  "Senator," asked a reporter from Channel 6, "what is your reaction to Judge Quinn's ruling in Ellen Crease's case?"

  Gage halted. He looked serious and thoughtful.

  "Ken, it would be inappropriate for me to comment on Ellen Crease's criminal case. However, I do feel that it would be ironic if Ms. Crease was to have her case dismissed on one of the technicalities that she so frequently derides in her speeches. It would also be unfortunate for the voters if the public was deprived of a clear resolution of the murder charges against Ms. Crease because of the suppression of the evidence that the State believes will prove its allegations."

  "So you do not feel that justice is being done in Senator Crease's case?"

  "Now, Ken," Gage answered with a patient smile, "you know better than to put words in my mouth. I will leave the business of solving Lamar Hoyt's murder to the police. My job is to represent the people of Oregon in the United States Senate."

  Gage turned from the reporter and entered the hotel. The reporter made a closing comment, but Karen Fargo did not hear him. She was concentrating on the man who followed Senator Gage into the Benson. He was tall, good-looking, dressed in a tuxedo, and he had a jagged scar on his right cheek. Fargo only had a moment to study him, but he definitely looked like the man who had offered her money and a job if she would tell the police about her involvement with Lamar Hoyt. Did the man work for Senator Gage? She wondered if the film footage showing the man with the scar would be aired again at eleven. She decided to watch the late news so she could be certain about what she had seen.

  The phone rang. Fargo switched off the set and picked up the receiver.

  "Ms. Fargo?"

  "Yes?"

  "This is Detective Anthony."

  "Yes?" Fargo answered tentatively.

  "I wanted to tell you what happened in court."

  "I ... It was on the news. That the judge suppressed the evidence. What does that mean?"

  "It means that Mr. Riker cannot use the evidence we found in the second search of the crime scene to convict Ellen Crease. Mr. Riker will appeal the judge's ruling, but that could take a while. Maybe years."

  "So I won't have to go to court?"

  "It's possible you might, but not in the near future."

  Fargo sagged with relief. She would never forget Lamar, but she was terrified of having to appear in court.

  "Thank you for calling," Fargo said.

  "I wanted to be certain that you understood what happened," Anthony answered kindly. "Feel free to call me anytime if you have questions."

  Fargo thought about the man with the scar. Should she tell Detective Anthony about him?

  "Detective," she started. Then it occurred to her that she might lose her job and the money if she said anything. And it might involve her further in a matter that she wanted to put behind her.

  "Yes?"

  "Nothing. Just thank you."

  [5]

  Quinn told Fran Stuart to hold all of his calls. Then he asked her to stay late so that she could type up the drafts and final version of the Findings of Fact, Conclusions of Law and Order in the Crease case. Quinn shut his door and collapsed in the chair behind his desk. He felt sick to his stomach from what he had done and sick with fear of the consequences.

  Quinn gathered the materials that he would need to write the order. It took him an hour to write and polish a draft. Quinn gave it to his secretary. Fran typed it quickly and Quinn sent her to dinner while he worked on the final draft. It was already after six and night had fallen.

  Fran returned around seven and typed the final draft. Quinn read it through.

  "This is fine, Fran. You can go home now. I'll sign it and leave it on your desk. File the original with the clerk's office and send a copy to Cedric Riker and Mary Garrett. And thanks for staying late."

  Fran closed the door. Quinn rubbed his eyes. Then he read through his order a final time, checking the facts, rereading sections of cases he had cited and statutes he had quoted. When Quinn was convinced that he had constructed the document in a way that would make reversal in an appellate court impossible, he signed the order.

  Quinn closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of his chair. He had put off thinking about the future until he had made his ruling out of fear that he would be too afraid to act. He could put off thinking about his career no longer. Quinn's life was the law, but he had violated his oath by ruling for Crease. If he had ruled honestly, he would have held that Allen's consent was not coerced. By ruling as he had, he had betrayed the trust that had been put in him by the people of his state.

  Quinn looked around his chambers at the bound volumes that contained the Law. His father had written some of the opinions in those books. As a boy, he revered them and dreamed of following his father's example and career. Now Quinn saw that the cases in the reporters were nothing. You could write the most beautiful words, but they were meaningless without the will and the desire to follow them. Quinn had betrayed his trust. He had turned the words to dust.

  Chapter 20.

  [1]

  The next morning Quinn overslept. By the time he arrived at the courthouse Fran Stuart had filed the order in Crease and sent copies to the parties. Quinn told Stuart that he did not want to be disturbed. He shut the door to his chambers and began work on a draft of the letter of resignation that he planned to submit to Stanley Sax. Writin
g the letter was more difficult than he imagined. It was almost like writing a suicide note. There were many false starts and a lot of time spent staring into space. When Fran buzzed him at eleven forty-five, she startled Quinn out of one of his reveries.

  "What is it, Fran?"

  "There are two Portland Police detectives to see you. I told them that you didn't want to be disturbed, but they insist on speaking to you."

  "What do they want?"

  "They wouldn't say."

  "Okay. Send them in. I'll talk to them."

  The door to Quinn's chambers opened and a slender black man Quinn did not recognize followed Lou Anthony into the room. Anthony looked like a man who was controlling his anger. Quinn colored as it dawned on him how much the detective must dislike him.

  "Good morning, Judge," Anthony said with strained civility. "This is my partner, Leroy Dennis."

  Quinn nodded at Dennis and asked, "What brings you here?"

  "Police business. I'd like you to come with us."

  "Come where?"

  "There's been a murder and I want you to accompany Detective Dennis and me to the crime scene."

  "If you need to have a search warrant authorized, I can do the work here."

  "If I needed a search warrant, you'd be the last judge I'd contact," Anthony snapped. Dennis put his hand on his partner's arm and Anthony looked down, embarrassed by his outburst.

  "There are some things that we need to talk over with you and we can't do it here," Dennis said.

  "This is getting a little too mysterious, Detectives."

  "Sorry, but this is all we can tell you before we get to the scene," Dennis said. "Everything will become clear to you there."

  The Heathman Hotel was only a few blocks from the courthouse. The detectives were silent during the short walk and Quinn's imagination ran wild. When they arrived at the hotel the judge noticed several police cars parked near the entrance. Dennis and Anthony led Quinn through the lobby to the reception desk, where an officer and a harried-looking man in his forties were examining hotel records.

  "Mr. Abrams," Anthony interrupted. The man who was talking to the officer looked up. "Did you see this man in here yesterday evening?"