Until Proven Innocent Read online

  …Until Proven Innocent

  Peter Sharp Legal Mystery #5

  By Gene Grossman

  From Magic Lamp Press

  Venice, California

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously or with permission. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or any events is coincidental.

  * * * * * *

  All rights reserved

  ©MMXI Gene Grossman

  Smashwords Edition 2.0 March, 2011

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  Peter Sharp Legal Mysteries: the Complete Series

  More details and ordering information at: www.LegalMystery.com

  Single Jeopardy

  Peter Sharp Legal Mystery #1

  …by Reason of Sanity

  Peter Sharp Legal Mystery #2

  A Class Action

  Peter Sharp Legal Mystery #3

  Conspiracy of Innocence

  Peter Sharp Legal Mystery #4

  …Until Proven Innocent....

  Peter Sharp Legal Mystery #5

  The Common Law

  Peter Sharp Legal Mystery #6

  The Magician’s Legacy

  Peter Sharp Legal Mystery #7

  The Reluctant Jurist

  Peter Sharp Legal Mystery #8

  The Final Case

  Peter Sharp Legal Mystery #9

  An Element of Peril

  Peter Sharp Legal Mystery #10

  A Good Alibi

  Peter Sharp Legal Mystery #11

  Legally Dead

  Peter Sharp Legal Mystery #12

  How to Rob a Bank

  Peter Sharp Legal Mystery #13

  Murder Under Way

  Peter Sharp Legal Mystery #14

  The Sherlock Holmes Caper

  Peter Sharp Legal Mystery #15

  +

  How to Write a Mystery Novel

  Behind the Scenes: Creation of a Crime Series

  www.LegalMystery.com

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  Editor’s Note: DISCOUNT COUPON OFFER

  To show our appreciation for your having ordered one of our Magic Lamp Press eBooks, we would like to offer you a 50% discount on 24 other titles we publish - from authors Gene Grossman, Nick Shoveen Edwin H. Sinclair, Jr., and Barry Neal.

  Visit our website at www.LegalMystery.com and make note of the Discount Coupon Code given after (to the right of) each of the Audiobook links. The book’s Smashwords Discount Coupon Code is two letters, two numbers, and ends with a letter, and looks like this: AB22C

  The Coupon Code will look like a link, but it’s not: it’s the discount code for you to use when ordering another book, by clicking on the Non-Kindle (Smashwords) link [that one’s real, so it works].

  Order from Smashwords (even if you’ve got a Kindle): they’re the only ones honoring our Discount Coupon Codes … and if you’re a Kindle user, don’t worry: Smashwords has a version that is compatible with your device.

  If you’ve found a typo in any of our books, or can’t locate a Discount Coupon Code, please contact us through [email protected]

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  INTRODUCTION

  If this is the first Peter Sharp Legal Mystery that you’re reading, it might help you to know a little background information about the characters.

  Peter Sharp’s wife threw him out of their home (which she actually owned), due to a conflict of their philosophies about legal representation: Peter being a defender of those poor, unfortunate people ‘wrongfully’ accused of crimes, and his wife Myra a prosecutor with the District Attorney’s office, who railroaded them to conviction.

  Peter ultimately wound up living on a dilapidated old boat in Marina del Rey, and when his former classmate/employer Melvin Braunstein died in a plane crash, Peter inherited a failing law practice, an office manager (Melvin’s twelve-year old step-daughter Suzi, a Chinese computer genius) and her huge St. Bernard. Peter was appointed legal guardian, and through a series of misfortunes that miraculously worked out, wound up living with Suzi and her dog on a beautiful 50-foot Grand Banks trawler-yacht.

  When Peter isn’t swilling Patrón Margaritas at one of the marina’s local watering holes, he’s usually involved in some losing legal case that little Suzi will inevitably solve, leaving Peter with the impression that he’s really as good as he thinks he is.

  Along the way in each legal adventure, Peter usually winds up butting heads with his ex-wife, who Suzi adores and is constantly scheming to get back into the Sharp household. There’s also Stuart Schwartzman, Peter’s old friend and frequent client, who is the most entrepreneurial person in Southern California – and Jack Bibberman, the best private investigator Peter ever met.

  All of the Peter Sharp Legal Mysteries are summarized at the end of this book, and if you’re curious about them, more details (plus photos) are at

  http://www.PeterSharpBooks.com

  Magic Lamp Press - Venice, California

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  "If aliens are watching us through telescopes, they must think that dogs are the leaders of this planet. If you see two life forms, with one of them making a poop, and the other one carrying it for him, who would you assume is in charge?"

  Comedian Jerry Seinfeld

  *****

  Chapter 1

  Given the choice, I prefer to ride in the rear seat of any nice full-sized four-door sedan. Most people don’t think there’s much of a difference between the front and rear seats, but in a police car, people riding in back usually don’t have the option of getting out whenever they feel like it. Take it from me… I’ve been there.

  This evening I’m riding in the front seat of an unmarked police cruiser that’s being driven by ‘Tony the cop,’ a boat neighbor of ours who lives aboard his old wood 40-foot Newporter Pilothouse ketch. I don’t know his last name or much about him, but from what I’ve heard, he’s a not too bad of a guy, except for maybe one shortcoming: he likes to kill people.

  Tony’s a twenty year veteran of the police department and is now a detective sergeant. The local newspapers liken him to Clint Eastwood’s Dirty Harry of motion picture infamy, which is probably why the police brass is urging him to ‘put in his papers’ and retire. Their decision is also driven by the fact that the City Council is tired of the wrongful death lawsuits he causes. His problems also extend into the local African-American community because according to some of its most vocal members, they would like to see him publicly lynched.

  Aside from being a racist, fascist, bigoted killer, he seems like a pretty nice guy. A little on the silent side, but that works for me. I estimate his height to be at least six-four, because he’s a couple of inches taller than me. In addition to the height, he’s obviously been a bodybuilder for many years, because his bulging muscles look like they’re ready to pop right through that cheap sport coat he always wears to cover up his shoulder holster. The combination of his height, muscles, sunglasses, moustache and serious grimace work very well for him on the street, and all add up to a menacing presence.

  Ordinarily I wouldn’t be associating with a person of his reputation, but today I don’t have a choice because the senior managing partner in our law firm promised that I’d be his guest for a Mexican dinner while he explains some problem he’s having with ex-wife about the child support he’s paying her.

  *****

  I always seem to be getting involved in strange cases at the request of my boss, but she helps out quite a bit. Being a computer whiz, she occasionally acts in an unofficial capacity to help the local police out with some hi-tech snooping. In return, they provide her with helpful information on some our criminal cases. From what I understand, we ow
e Tony a favor or two for some things he did for us on a past case, so that’s why I’m now on the way to his favorite Mexican dive in Culver City, where he’ll probably pour his heart out to me about the mean ex-wife. So far he hasn’t said anything, but that’ll probably change once we get to the restaurant.

  It’s seven on a Wednesday evening and the place is almost empty. There’s a long bar on the left side of the room, some tables in the middle, and six booths along the right side. Tony heads for the last booth and sits down with his back to the wall, so he can see the whole place. That’s a paranoid habit most cops develop. I sit down opposite him, but can still see most of the place in the mirrored wall behind Tony.

  The waitress finally breaks away from the two or three bar patrons and slinks over to our table.

  “Hi, Tony. I had the cook start a Mexican Pizza when I saw you pull into the parking lot. It’ll be ready any time now.” She places two cold bottles of beer on the table. I can tell this is a real neighborhood joint because she doesn’t bring any glasses.

  We pick up our respective bottles, clink them together as a macho toast, and take a refreshing swig while the waitress sets our smoking hot appetizer down on the table between us. Unlike the pizzas prepared at Shakey’s, this one is a large flat plate of beans and rice heaped on top of large chips, all smothered in melted cheeses. I don’t know what the cholesterol and fat count of this deadly dish is, but I think Doctor Kevorkian could successfully use it on some of his patients.

  Waiting for Tony to speak to me, I break off a mouthful-sized chunk of this suicide platter. While looking toward the bar, Tony seems to be reaching down to scratch his leg. Just as I put the chunk into my mouth, he decides to finally speak. It’s almost a whisper.

  “When I say ‘now,’ I want you dive down in the booth. It might even be better if you made it all the way under the table.”

  This is a first. I’ve been out to dinner with a lot of people, but no one has ever said that to me. I then realize that he wasn’t reaching down to scratch his leg. He was removing a snub-nosed revolver from an ankle holster. I can see in the mirror that there’s a black man standing near the bar and cautiously looking around the room.

  Suddenly it happens. The standing black man reaches under his jacket and removes not one, but two large handguns that were tucked into his belt. He points one towards the bar and the other towards our booth and shouts out.

  “Nobody move. Anybody move, and they’re dead!”

  I’m now sitting here nervously trying to make a decision. Should I dive under the table immediately, or wait for Tony’s command?

  Unfortunately the decision is made for me, because when the bartender notices that the robber is glancing over in our direction, he pulls out his own gun and takes a shot at the black man. At that instant, three things happen simultaneously. The robber fires back at the bartender, Tony shouts ‘now’ at me, fires two quick shots at the robber, and I sit here frozen in place, watching the whole show in the mirror. After firing at the robber and hitting him, Tony jumps out of the booth, runs over to the guy lying on the ground and kicks the guns out of his reach. I don’t think the dead criminal was in any condition to reach for them, but I guess that’s what cops are trained to do.

  *****

  When Tony returns to the booth, he seems upset.

  “I thought I told you to get down in the booth. You didn’t move. You just sat there.”

  “Well yeah, I didn’t want to miss the show.”

  I hear some sirens in the distance, so the cavalry must be on the way. Tony must think I’m either completely crazy, or the coolest character on the planet. He calms down a bit and lets me know that I’m on my own for a ride home.

  “You might as well finish the pizza… it’ll be on the house. When the uniforms get here, I’ll be busy for the rest of the night. That’s the big problem with shootings – there’s too much paperwork involved. You better plan on taking a cab back to the Marina.”

  When the men in blue come in through the front door, Tony stands up and displays his badge. They take his weapon and escort him outside. For some strange reason, the whole incident has made me hungry, so I’m now pigging out on the pizza while waiting for them to come and take my statement. I’m sure that the police brass and the City Council will be unhappy with tonight’s event. Too bad they won’t even take into consideration the fact that Tony stopped an armed robbery and probably saved the lives of several people, one of them being especially important to me.

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  Chapter 2

  Last night’s Mexican restaurant incident is leading all the local morning news shows. It took about an hour for me to explain what happened to the three different detectives who interviewed me and kept asking the same questions over and over again. Tony called this morning and apologized, explaining that they make an extra effort interviewing witnesses whenever a police shooting is involved. When leaving the restaurant last night to get into the cab, I noticed that there were several news helicopters circling. Their videotaped views of the neighborhood, complete with flashing squad car lights and an ambulance, are now on the screen while the newsreader explains about how our city’s ‘Dirty Tony’ has struck once again. It seems like they can’t make their mind up about him. They’re torn between portraying him as a hero or a trigger-happy lunatic.

  While sitting here watching the news and eating a large bowl of cold breakfast cereal, I look over to the couch and see that I now have an audience. A kid and a dog.

  The kid is Suzi, our law firm’s senior managing partner, who’s an adorable pre-teen Chinese girl with a genius IQ. The dog is her huge Saint Bernard, who I call ‘Bernie.’ Suzi was the stepdaughter of Melvin Braunstien, an old law school classmate of mine and former employer. When he died in a plane crash, his instructions stated that I was to be appointed as her legal guardian. When I took his place as the firm’s licensed adult and was brought in as a junior partner I discovered that Suzi had always been the real brains behind Melvin’s firm. With the help of some successful legal victories and several large fees, we were able to trade up from Melvin’s houseboat to another client’s 42-foot Californian, and ultimately to my dreamboat, the one we’re living on now - a gorgeous 50-foot Grand Banks trawler yacht.

  At first glance most people think that I’m an experienced boater, but Suzi knows the truth… I don’t even know how to start the engines.

  My audience is obviously waiting for me to make a full report on the shooting last night, so I don’t disappoint them. As usual, I’m the only one who talks. After a half hour description that covers everything including the ride to the restaurant, the greasy food, the beer without the glass, the shooting, the police interviews and the taxi ride back, they both get up and exit to the little princess’ domain, her private stateroom in the bow of the boat. Before they leave, the dog makes one last inspection tour to search for cereal droppings.

  I guess that Tony’s recent marksmanship display shoves his domestic situation to the back burner, but I’m sure I’ll hear about it soon enough, because once again he’s been placed on administrative leave. That’s what the city calls it, but if you’re told to go home and still get paid, I call it a vacation.

  I can’t help but notice a steady stream of people going to his boat each day, including police public relations, police union delegates, police brass, news people, and some other sorts that I can’t classify by just looking at them.

  There are some large soft paws pitter-pattering into my stateroom. The only thing that makes a sound like that on this boat is the dog, bringing me a message. For some strange reason, the kid rarely talks to me. Communications on our boat are usually sent by dogmail, which consists of a message tucked into Bernie’s collar.

  This is a very economic way of sending mail. The only cost involved is the messenger’s tip, which consists of a pat on the head and a “good boy” compliment. This message tells me that tomorrow I’m to accompany Tony the ‘offbeat’ cop, to a police shrink’s o
ffice. This isn’t something I’m looking forward to. Over the past several years I’ve become acquainted with quite a few police officers, and they all have the same mindset in common. Once they’ve been sworn in and get to wear the badge and gun, there are only two types of people in the world – cops and bad guys. They know that they can depend on any other cop in the country to watch their back, and the rest of the people out there are nothing more than possible future suspects in all the bad things that are sure to happen.

  The unfortunate part about their philosophy is that it keeps them from becoming friendly with that large part of the population not wearing badges. I guess it’s because they don’t want to get close to people who they might have to arrest someday. They want to keep their distance because it helps them to believe that even the most innocent-looking citizen is guilty of a crime.

  Personal feelings aside, I’ll do this for the kid. I have no idea why she wants me to go with him, but I’ve learned not to question her messages. She always has some reason that’s better than any objection I can ever come up with, so I just do as I’m told.

  Whenever there’s a police-involved shooting, the assumption is that it’s a traumatic experience for the cop who did the shooting, so they routinely require a visit to the shrink, who must make an official recommendation that the officer is emotionally and psychologically fit to return to regular active duty.

  To avoid the possibility of familiarity, they use a rotating system so that no officer ever knows what psychologist he’ll be visiting until the actual time of the appointment. Tony is scheduled for a one o’clock session tomorrow afternoon at the shrink building on Hollywood Boulevard, just a few blocks west of Vine Street.

  The other part of the message is a reminder to return Olive’s telephone call. She’s already called three times and I’m told that she’s starting to sound desperate.

  Stuart Schwarzman is a close friend of mine, and one of the most entrepreneurial people I’ve ever met. In the last year alone, he’s been extremely successful in starting businesses that provide a variety of products and services, including weight-loss juice, used Toyota Camry’s that he has trucked out from New Jersey, an armored car business called “he’s taking it with him” that’s hired by disgruntled heirs for funeral processions, and most recently, a service that imports young Thai girls for prospective American husbands. These activities are all in addition to his growing private investigation service that has proven itself very helpful in some of our firm’s recent lawsuits.