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“Thank you.” The judge turned to Hale. “Any rebuttal?”
He shook his head. “No, Your Honor. The evidence speaks for itself.”
“Indeed it does.” The judge picked up the complaint and flipped through it. “And it says the defendant was certainly acting suspicious. But acting suspicious is not a federal offense. Every crime charged in this case requires proof that the defendant possessed, trafficked, or sold illegal drugs. The complete absence of any evidence of illegal drugs is problematic. Very problematic.” She fell silent again, staring into the middle distance. She steepled her fingers and tapped the tips together rhythmically. After a long moment, she shook her head. “I don’t see a way around it. No drugs, no probable cause.” She turned to Morales. “You’re free to go.”
Chapter 20
I’m waiting for news, which I hate. I wish I could have been at the preliminary hearing. That was impossible, of course, so I’ll have to rely on a secondhand report. In the meantime I’m sitting here jiggling my leg, unable to focus.
The report will at least come from a credible source: Lamont Dawkins, a veteran criminal defense lawyer from Mobile. He had assured me that neither Hez Webster nor Don Hale would recognize him. I hired him to monitor the Morales case, and he sat in the back of the courtroom throughout the hearing.
A text pops up on the burner phone I use to communicate with him: Hearing over. Opening Zoom.
His text includes a Zoom link, which I open. I keep my camera off. He doesn’t know my name or face, which is safest for both of us. I use a voice-altering app for the same reason. “How did the hearing go? What did we find out about the government’s case?”
“Well, we found out they don’t have one, at least not yet.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “That’s the first time I’ve seen the prosecution lose one of these.”
“What?” I can hardly believe my ears. Dawkins had told me this should be an easy win for the prosecution. The most we could hope for was a preview of their evidence against Morales. Actual victory wasn’t a real possibility. “I thought all they had to do was show there was a substantial chance Morales committed a crime. How did they lose?”
“They came in ready to tell their story, and they did a decent job. They still don’t have the drugs or whatever Morales threw overboard, but they did build a circumstantial case against him. Hez Webster was ready for them at each point, though—and they weren’t ready for him. It was like . . .” Dawkins pauses and shrugs burly shoulders. “I used to box, and the best analogy I can think of is a fighter who throws a good punch, but he doesn’t see the counterpunch coming. Webster counterpunched really well and scored a knockout.”
“So what happens now? Is the case over?”
Dawkins hesitates and frowns. “Yes, for the moment. Morales walked out of the courtroom a free man, but they can rearrest him the minute they have more evidence—and you can bet they’re looking for it very, very hard. Hale got embarrassed today, and he’ll want to erase that embarrassment ASAP by putting Morales back behind bars and keeping him there.”
So that was the fly in the ointment. I knew there must be one. “I see. Let me know if there are any further developments.”
I end the call and immediately make arrangements to get Morales out of the country. Once he’s beyond the government’s reach, we’ll be safe again—or as safe as possible, anyway. We’ve already dealt with the source of the leak that got Morales arrested.
Ten minutes later, a driver picks up Morales and whisks him to a waiting private plane. The knots in my stomach loosen and I take a sip of my tea, which is now lukewarm but still good. I lean back in my chair, stare out at the rain-shrouded landscape, and smile. This day has turned out much better than I expected, and I have Hez Webster to thank.
I chuckle at the thought of being grateful to him of all people. He’s been a dangerous wild card ever since he arrived—who would have guessed he’d also turn out to be my ace in the hole? Still, he has to go, and the sooner the better. Today’s performance is further proof. If he has the brains and intuition to find the chinks in the prosecution’s case and win an ordinarily unwinnable hearing, then he also has the brains and intuition to piece together what’s going on at TGU. And if he does that, things will get very messy very fast.
* * *
Hez gasped for breath as he reached the top of the last hill. It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon, perfect for a run. He’d skimped on his workouts in the weeks leading up to the prelim, and he was paying the price now. Maybe he should have stuck with running in his neighborhood instead of driving out to the sanctuary for a jog with Blake.
He paused to admire the view, which he did even when he wasn’t searching for an excuse to stop running. He could see most of the animal refuge, and it was remarkable. Covered, open-air safari trucks lumbered along the roads on the African bush excursion. A lion sunbathed on a rock outcropping half a mile away. Birdlike hoots from a forest grove in the other direction told him that the sanctuary’s family of bonobos was nearby, probably laughing at the silly humans running for no reason. A giraffe’s head appeared from behind an acacia tree beside the road. Its long-lashed brown eyes watched him for a moment as it chewed lazily. Apparently satisfied that he was harmless, it turned back to its meal.
“Sightseeing or just out of shape?” Blake called from fifty yards ahead.
“A little of both.” Hez started running again and caught up with his cousin by the time they reached the sanctuary’s office.
Hez followed Blake into the tiny kitchen, which barely held the two of them. Blake took carafes of cold-brew coffee and fresh cream out of the fridge and got two glasses from the cupboard. He filled both with coffee and a splash of cream, then handed one to Hez.
Hez took a long sip and the icy drink hit his tongue in a satisfying wallop of caffeine. He let out an appreciative sigh. “Perfect, especially after a good run. I could live out here and do this every day.”
Blake chuckled. “No, you couldn’t. You’d be bored in less than a week.”
Hez looked at his glass, watching the tendrils of cream and coffee slowly mix. “Yeah, I guess I do like to keep busy.”
“That you do. I’m glad you’re taking a little downtime. What’s up next for you? More action on that Morales case you told me about?”
Hez shook his head. “Probably not. The feds could rearrest him, but they’d have to find him first. I called him this morning to check in, but his phone was disconnected. So I drove over to his house. He was gone. It looked like he’d left in a hurry.”
“Think he’s okay?”
“I hope so. He mentioned that he had family back in Mexico. Maybe he’s headed back to them.” That was all part of a defense attorney’s job—he couldn’t judge a defendant’s guilt or innocence. All he could do was put the government to its proof and ensure his client’s rights were respected.
