The Dealmaker: A John Cooper Novel

By G.S. Marriott

THE DEALMAKER

Synopsis

Four months have passed since Detective John Cooper nearly died at the hands of a sadistic killer, but finally he is back to work.

Now, he and his partner have been assigned a highly sensitive homicide investigation, one which could ultimately place the duo's standing among their comrade-in-arms in serious jeopardy. A Criminal Court Judge has been brutally murdered and the suspect pool is significant, however one name continually rising to the top is that of fellow detective, Ralph Edwards. Devastated by the murder of his daughter and frustrated by continued judicial incompetence, Edwards has become a very bitter and vindictive man, who had, on several previous occasions, made repeated threats publicly towards the victim prior to his death.

Cooper, although cleared for duty, is secretly dealing with personal demons he has never before experienced and is mystified as to their cause. His immediate concern therefore, is for he and his partner to quickly clear this investigation, because the body count is now climbing, but would his frail mindset remain intact long enough for him to accomplish that.

The clock is ticking….and no one, not even Cooper himself, knows whether time might become his true, unstoppable enemy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jun 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483573878

Book preview

1

Oyez, Oyez, Oyez,… The bailiff chanted, …Criminal court in and for the County of Los Angeles is now in session, The Honorable Justice Alvaro Talamantes (TAL-A-MON-TAYS) presiding. God save the United States of America. Please be seated.

The Judge entered the courtroom from his chambers and took his seat behind the bench. Talamantes was a forty-four year old man of Spanish descent. A man of average height and build, he was also what most women and undoubtedly some men might categorize as strikingly handsome. He had that unmistakable malado skin color topped by his jet black hair, highlighted with wisps of silver along the temples. Charismatic and obsessively charming to the ladies, the man was always meticulously coiffed and dressed. Born in Venezuela and raised in California, he was fluent in both English and Spanish, however, the Anglo side always took a back seat when playing up the ladies, which for him was an ongoing pursuit.

Although married with one teenage girl, he was widely known as the consummate ladies man, a reputation he continually and boldly embraced. This behavior had little impact with the female staff working inside the court house, because they knew him for the degenerate he was and steered clear at all costs. Behind the façade of a caring and compassionate professional, sat a man whose behavior, on a regular basis, was boorish and lewd. Women new to the courthouse or those just visiting, were initially swept off their feet, until they realized what a sexual predator he truly was. Talamantes, from a judicial point of view was also one of the most liberal judges when it came to trials and punishments. His leniency toward offenders before his court was well documented, especially crimes involving the abuse of women.

Mr. Powell, Ms. Countiss… he began, giving the Prosecutor a quick glance, opting to focus his gaze more at the Defense Attorney in an all too familiar head to toe leer. He demanded that all female lawyers conducting business in his court room should wear dresses or skirts. Pant suits or slacks were not acceptable. They obviously knew they could challenge his edicts on their attire, but were also fully aware that their case would be weakened considerably by doing so. The court room was Talamantes’ fiefdom and he was the supreme ruler. Countiss wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledgement. She despised the man.

…It would appear the jury has reached a verdict. Bailiff, would you bring in the jury, please. The door to the ante room opened and twelve people entered the court room in single file, taking their seats in the designated pews, six in front and six behind. There were eight men and four women ranging in age from mid-thirties to late fifties. Attorneys often tried to gain an edge from reading the facial expressions of returning jurors, but on this particular day, their visual scrutiny produced no such advantage. They were stoic. The packed courtroom was, for the most part, sitting rigid and holding their breaths awaiting the verdict. It had been a highly emotional trial involving a young fourteen year old boy by the name of Zachary Spencer being shot to death a block from the Staples Center following a basketball game between the Lakers and the Clippers. The rivalry rarely caused any serious problems, particularly with pre-season games, but this night an argument developed between opposing factions and the boy inadvertently became collateral damage; a wrong place, wrong time scenario. He was shot in the head during the melee, killing him instantly. A young Hispanic man by the name of Ricardo Torres had been arrested two blocks away still in possession of the firearm.

Talamantes began. Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?

Gloria Winterhalt, a fifty-two year old medical technician and the jury foreperson stood, replying. We have your honor.

Please hand your findings to the bailiff, Ma’am. He directed.

She handed the folded paper to the bailiff, who in turn walked it over to the front of the bench, passing it to the judge. Talamantes unfolded the paper and read. He looked up and over at the jurors before handing the paper back to the uniformed man, who then dutifully returned it to Winterhalt. She stood silently, awaiting her next instruction from the Judge, who sat motionless for what seemed like forever, staring at the back of the courtroom until finally shifting his focus down to the defendant. Breaking his stare, he finally turned towards the jury, scanning them all before zeroing back to the woman holding the paper.

He began. To the charge of second degree murder in the death of Zachary Spencer, how do you find the defendant?

We, the jury, find the defendant guilty as charged. She replied with a nervous quaver in her voice.

The cheers and shouts from the gallery and the buzz within the gathered press overwhelmed the court room to the point that the banging gavel of the judge could not initially be heard. Finally, after several repeated strikes, the room settled into silence and all eyes focused on the robed man, whose face revealed a look of quiet and frustrated anguish.

Madame Foreperson, are you all unanimous in this verdict? he asked.

We are, Your Honor. She answered.

Letitia Countiss, an attractive, but shrewd thirty-seven year old defense attorney who had arrived in Los Angeles from the Baltimore area three years earlier and whose stock was rising dramatically, rose from her chair. Your Honor, I’d like a poll of the jury, if you please.

The judge nodded. Ladies and Gentlemen, the Defense Attorney, Ms. Countiss has asked for a polling of the jury to confirm your individual declaration of the verdict. That is her right by law, so I will ask you numerically left to right, front row, then back. When I call upon you, I would like you to answer ‘guilty’ or ‘not guilty’. Madame Foreperson, if you will give me your response first, please.

Guilty, Your Honor. She exclaimed.

Next. The judge directed and the remaining jurors responded with a likewise ‘guilty’ response.

The Judge then looked at the defense lawyer. Are we good, Ms. Countiss?

Yes, thank you, Your Honor. She answered and sat down slowly, realizing that his eyes were focused beneath her table. She instantly looked away, ignoring the man’s gaze.

Once again, the court started to buzz and once again the gavel came down hard three times, converting the room into a tomb-like environment. All eyes were on the judge as he began to speak.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury. I am not happy with what has taken place here today. When I charged you yesterday with the facts of the case and the evidence presented, I told you at that time a verdict of guilty on the charge of second degree murder was weak in its presentation. That in no way diminishes the efforts of Deputy District Attorney Powell, but rather the minimal evidence he had to work with. Many times people get caught up in the emotions of the trial and/or the defendant, with regards to anger, sympathy, pity or a vast array of other human emotions, which tend to override their capacity to come to an unbiased conclusion. Whether or not you like the defendant or you feel unfathomable remorse for the victim, you cannot let that cloud your judgment. Unfortunately with this case, that is exactly what happened. You were left with several other viable options when I made my charge to you, but you chose to ignore them. It is my opinion that you haven’t thought this case through with any dispassionate clarity, and it is also with this in mind that I must now make a very difficult decision of my own, one that I do not make lightly, but unfortunately one that I am both legally and morally required to do.

So, I dismiss the jury and respectfully thank them for their time, but it is my belief that their collaborative work in this case was lacking, given the enormity of the crime. You are therefore excused." He admonished, turning his head from them.

The bailiff opened the door to the ante room and the jurors filed out, some looking directly at the judge with unmistakable contempt, disgust and anger, while others left the room void of any emotion, probably thanking the Lord on high that they were finally free of their legalized bonds and happy to get back to their lives again, caring not a lick about the scolding they had just received.

Once the jurors were gone, the judge continued. Mr. Powell, Ms. Countiss. He said, demanding their attention. Under the power of the laws of California, I am hereby vacating the verdict of the jury and ordering a new trial according to statute. I am doing this because this verdict to me was based entirely on emotion, whether prejudicially negative towards the defendant or overly sympathetic towards the victim. People in the courtroom began to stir while various others started shouting and screaming at the judge. Talamantes banged his gavel trying to return order to the tumult that was obviously escalating from the partisan side of the victim. His threat of contempt and evacuation of the court room quelled the noise to a level where he could tolerate.

James Powell, a forty-eight year old life long west coaster originally from San Diego and known for being a bulldog in the courtroom, jumped from his chair and started to voice his objection, vehemently. Your Honor, I object. The jury has spoken here. You can’t do this. The evidence has been heard and a jury of his peers has convicted Mr. Torres of the crime. This man shot and killed a young boy whose only crime was to attend a basketball game with his father. Justice has been served, Sir.

Objection noted Counselor, but yes, I actually can set the verdict aside. Now please allow me to continue, he said, leaving no doubt in Powell’s mind that it wasn’t a suggestion. Once Powell had returned to his seat, he continued.

He then looked at the defendant, a twenty seven year old native Californian who had been a tenant of the state for six of his last eight years due to narcotics and assault convictions. Countiss grabbed her client’s arm and pulled him out of his seat, giving him the stern look which basically said, ‘stand up straight and keep your mouth shut.’

Mr. Torres… The Judge began, …do not look at this judgment as me setting you free. Far from it, but I cannot in good conscience let the decision of this jury stand. You will be set over for a new trial. I have no doubt that you are complicit in this crime, but that is no longer my concern. He then turned to the District Attorney. Mr. Powell, I trust that your office will look after re-setting the calendar on this case. Ms. Countiss, please make sure your client understands fully what has transpired here today. I want him under no false illusions regarding his current incarcerated status, which of course shall be maintained.

Yes Sir I will, and thank you, Your Honor. She answered with a disingenuous smile.

At this point a man in his mid forties stood up in the gallery and began shouting towards the judge. It seemed like everything else had frozen in time and his voice was the only audible sound. All eyes turned towards the agitated spectator.

How can you do this? That man killed my son, the jury convicted him and now you tell them they’re wrong? How can you do that to my son, you arrogant son of a bitch? Who do you think you are, God?

Sir, I’m asking you to refrain from any further outburst or use of profanity in my court room or I will hold you in contempt and have you removed, is that understood? Now sit down, Sir. Talamantes ordered.

I will not sit down. Justice has not been served here. It is said in this country that every man must have his day in court. Well, he had his and the jury spoke. They said guilty. What gives you the almighty power to change the rules? You have no right to do that. What if it were your child? He yelled.

The laws of this state say I have every right and I will tell you again Sir, if you say one more word, you will be held in contempt and I’ll have the bailiff remove you from my court. Now sit down and be quiet. He shouted, face now flushed with anger. The rest of the gallery had now found their voices and were verbally joining the protest, however the father’s voice still made them seem like whispers.

Yea, that would be real easy for you wouldn’t it, you arrogant little bastard. Let the killer of my son go, but lock me up for being pissed off about it. As far as I’m concerned you’re just a cowardly little spic who jumped the fence into my country, lived off our land and now thinks he can play God by sticking it to real Americans. Well you just wait Al..va..ro… He screamed, saying his first name disrespectfully slow …because judgment day is headed your way and you’ll get yours, you pretentious little prick. You just wait. It’s coming. He yelled, pointing his finger like he was holding a pistol.

The judge had heard enough. Sir, you are dangerously close to being charged with a criminal offense, but for now I’m holding you in contempt of court. Bailiff, have your people remove that man from my court and take him to the holding cells. The gallery started yelling louder and threatening to intercede, but backed off when threatened with jail themselves as more officers entered the court. The father of the victim was cuffed and taken away, struggling and screaming profanities all the way out of the court room. A woman, no doubt the man’s wife, sat crying silently while being consoled by a family member. The rest of the court room was cleared of spectators immediately.

Once everyone had been removed and the pandemonium had subsided, the judge looked over at the District Attorney. Mr. Powell, when the gentleman has had time to cool off, would you please see to it that he is released first thing in the morning without any further incarceration? I’m also levying a fine of $500.

Yes, Your Honor. I’ll look after it. Any chance we can drop the fine and just let him out, once he’s cooled off? After all, it was his son that was brutally killed here, so I’m sure you can understand his frustration and anger with your decision. Powell inquired.

No Sir, I will not erase the fine, and a second no on him being released early. He will spend the night in jail to think about his poor behavior in my court room. I cannot and will not have people disrupting my court like that, regardless of the circumstances. The time and the fine stand. He retorted smugly.

Seriously? Are you kidding me? Powell railed.

Be very careful counselor or I’ll show you just how much of a kidder I can be. He said, eyes now burning into Powell’s face.

Powell wasn’t stupid. This guy was a megalomaniac and he knew one more aggressive word or action could have him spending the night in an adjacent cell to Spencer.

Yes Sir, no problem. I will definitely see to it that you get the full 500 bucks. Thank you very much, Sir. I’m sure the man will appreciate your wonderfully kind gesture, that is…once he cools down and has a chance to think about his disrepectful indiscretions here. Powell answered. How about a little time to pay, Sir? Would that be out of the question as well, Your Honor? Powell said, clearly maintaining the sarcasm.

The Judge glowered at the District Attorney, but decided to ignore the slight.

Fine! He’s got two weeks. Court is adjourned. He said, taking one final glance under Countiss’s table, but she had already covered up with her coat just to piss him off, which seemed to work because he turned and quickly stepped down from the bench causing his robes to flare out as he made his exit through the door and back into his chambers.

Powell took one last parting shot, albeit at a now empty chair left spinning behind the bench. Thank you so much, Your Honor… followed up with a bowed head and whispered, …you evil, diminutive piece of crap.

2

It felt like only yesterday. Cooper was sitting at his desk having his morning coffee, thinking back a couple of months to a time when he was fighting for his re-instatement back to regular duties. It had been a long and arduous process, both physically and mentally, since the court house debacle. The physical recovery he had some control over, but the mental? Well, that was a different matter altogether. All of his wounds had healed very well and he had worked harder than he had ever worked in his life to get himself back to a fitness level necessary to hit the streets again. However, like most things, there was always a stumbling block somewhere and this one came in the form of a person governed by departmental policy and procedure; a no-nonsense, seemingly humorless person who held his very future in her hands. This woman, the department shrink, had massive clout and until such time as she signed off, Cooper’s future would remain on hold. He could still clearly see in his mind’s eye, the nameplate resting on her desk as his thoughts kept wandering back…Dr. J. I. McEwen.

So how are you sleeping, Detective? She had asked.

Ok, I guess. No better, no worse. Everything’s pretty much status quo, Doc.

And the meds? What and how many of those are you taking these days?

Cooper thought these questions ridiculous, but also knew that if he didn’t answer them he would be relegated to the purgatory of desk duty forever. He had to convince this person that his physical and mental well being were just fine. It wasn’t going to be easy, but that was his only recourse. He was convinced that she would be fully aware of his past, one rife with incredible loss, pain and unbelievable stress. The downward spiral in his life began six years ago when he had lost his parents as a result of a motor vehicle accident involving a drunk driver. A little over a year ago his wife had succumbed to an unexpected and aggressive form of cancer.

Finally, it had been just over three months since he was involved in two separate occurrences, either of which could have ended his life abruptly. The first, a serial killer he had killed while holding a teenage girl hostage. The second and most volatile occurred only a few days later. A situation had developed at a downtown court house in which a life long inmate of the California penal system had, as a result of a botched escape attempt, taken six occupants of that courthouse hostage. His only request that day had been for Cooper to come to the court house and act as intermediary, otherwise hostages would be killed one by one. Cooper had known of the man, but was unsure why he was individually summoned. Regardless, with choices limited to zero, he was forced to accommodate the request. Unfortunately for Cooper, it had been he who was the real target of the deranged man’s embittered rage. The drama had lasted several hours resulting in a bloodletting battle between Cooper and the convict leaving the detective’s life hanging in the balance by the proverbial tenuous thread. Only the superior efforts of his surgical team had made it possible for him to still be around to answer these ridiculous questions by McEwen. He was presently in his thirteenth and hopefully last week of recovery. He had already been given his clearance to return to full active duty with respect to his physical well being, but he would still have to convince this lady that his psychological condition was sound before he could get his complete ‘get out of jail’ card. Cooper was going stir crazy and needed to get back to the job asap and he was certain she knew that. It was now or never for him to once and for all prove to this head doctor that his cerebral stability was just fine and his return to the streets justifiable. He would have to demonstrate by his answers, a certain infallibility that would lead the doctor to conclude that her patient was good to go. Truthful or not, it didn’t matter any more. ‘What the hell was he thinking? This highly educated woman was not about to swallow any of his bullshit. Stay the course, John. This is out of your hands. Just answer the damn questions and hope they’re good enough to pass muster.’ He thought to himself.

I’m down to just one pain killer now and I take them only when needed, which is not very often. He said. I figure another couple of weeks and I won’t need anything at all. The wounds have all healed up really well and my strength is better than it’s ever been. I’m feeling fantastic. Doc, I just need to get back to work. This sitting around is driving me nuts, so the sooner you sign my release, the sooner I can get on with my life. I’m sure you can understand that. Cooper told her in a pleading attempt to secure his freedom.

Dr. McEwen was an obviously focused and analytical woman and although Cooper knew she would not easily buy into any bogus answers, he still believed she might be swayed, given her calm demeanor and professional understanding of his situation.

I get it Detective, I really do, but it’s my job to make sure that you are totally fit to be back on the streets; not just physically, but psychologically as well. I’m sure you understand that. She replied, throwing his very words back at him. So just humor me for a little while longer if you would, please. She said.

Cooper nodded his head in resignation, holding his palm out to the woman to continue her questions.

Thank you. Now Detective, where were we? Oh yes, how about alcohol? Are you drinking any more than you were say, a year ago and if so, are you drinking alcohol differently than you used to?

Differently? How do you mean? Cooper asked.

Well, let’s say for instance if you drank whiskey with a carbonated mix before, are you now drinking it with water or maybe even neat? That sort of thing, or if you drank wine or beer before, are you now drinking the hard stuff a little more instead of? See where I’m going here? She asked, knowing full well that he did.

Doc, I’m a single malt and martini guy. Nothing has changed. I drink the same scotch and the same gin that I always have, no more, no less. I assure you, I’m fine. Look Ma’am, I’ve been doing this for almost twenty years now. I have seen, heard, felt, smelled and tasted just about every aspect of human depravity over that time, and other than being a little more thick skinned and much more cynical about the human race, I can virtually guarantee you that however I was before, very little has changed. If that makes me nuts, then nuts I am. He said.

Hm-Hmm. Tell me, have you ever thought at any time over the past year of taking your own life? She said changing tacks mid stream.

Seriously? He asked with a slight chuckle.

Quite! She replied indifferently.

Cooper then turned serious himself. Ok Doc, to be honest, I can’t say for sure. I will tell you that shortly after my wife died, there were times that I didn’t care whether I lived or died, but those thoughts lasted only a few months and eventually faded away. I can honestly say though, suicide never entered my mind once. Cooper told her. He wasn’t being entirely honest with the doctor here, but that was something for him and only him to know. It was ‘need to know’ and she didn’t need to know.

What about the hostage shooting and the courthouse incident? Do they frequently reveal themselves, either through nightmares or waking thoughts? She asked.

Well honestly Doc, shortly after I got out of hospital, I was having regular flashbacks on both those events, but over the last couple of months they’ve completely diminished too. I’ve thought about them, but as far as nightmares or getting uncomfortable about them, the answer at this point in time would be a definite no.

Detective, you tend to start a number of your answers with some form of the word honest. Does that mean you’re picking and choosing when and what to tell me as far as total honesty goes? She asked.

What?…No, I mean…that was just a figure of speech. C’mon, Doc.

Uh-huh…Now what about the death of your parents and your wife? That had to be traumatic for you, yes? She continued.

‘Christ almighty’ he thought. She’s not letting up. Look, you know yourself that those feelings are never gone. I don’t care who the hell you are. I think about them every day, but never in a bad light. Do I wish they were still here? Of course, but they’re not, so I live with their memories. Honestly Doc…

She looked at him with raised eyebrows and pointed her finger at him, smiling.

Yea, yea, I know. What is it you’re really after here? Are you afraid I’m going to go out on the streets and plug the first asshole that gives me a hard time because I’m all fucked up? He snapped. Sorry Doc, that just slipped out. I’m real sorry.

No worries Detective and no, I don’t believe you would shoot anyone impulsively. What I want is to make sure that you don’t get seriously hurt or killed yourself due to your possible impaired judgment, causing you to react slower than you normally would. She admonished.

Cooper felt like an ass. This woman was actually looking out for him.

Ma’am, I apologize for being a ‘dick’. It’s just that I’m not used to sitting back watching others do the work, you know? If I don’t get back in the saddle soon, they’re going to send both me and the horse to a glue factory. He said straight-faced.

McEwen actually laughed for the first time which prompted Cooper to smile back, suddenly realizing the humor in his last statement.

The Doctor stared at him for about a minute, cautiously weighing her options, while trying to judge the sincerity and truthfulness of her patients’ responses. She knew the detective was holding something back, but finally she removed her wire rimmed glasses, rubbed the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger and nodded her head. Her face exhibited a wry smile, which basically signified her capitulation to Cooper’s pleading.

She looked again at Cooper. "I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, Detective. I’m going to give you what you so passionately want. I’m going to sign off and let you get back to work on one condition; you experience any flashbacks or feelings of doubt out there, you are to return forthwith to continue our sessions. Furthermore, I want to see you once a month for the next six months until I’m one hundred percent sure in my own head that everything is alright with you. Now, if you can live with that arrangement, I’ll sign off. If you can’t, the deal is off and I will see you on Monday and we’ll carry on where we left off.

If I hear through the grapevine that you’re still having problems out there and you haven’t notified me personally, I’ll have you dragged off the streets quicker than you can spit. Are we clear, Detective, because believe me, you really don’t want that to happen. My tentacles can reach out a lot farther than yours and your sorry ass will then be mine." She admonished with a wry smile.

Cooper felt like someone had just opened his cell door. Was it true? Could he just get up and walk out and return to his life? ‘Jesus!’ he thought. ‘I’m back. Stay cool, John. Don’t blow it now.’

I believe the appropriate answer would be ‘crystal’. Besides, you’re not leaving me much choice, so you’ve got a deal. Just so you know though, I won’t need to come back. I really am fine, but thanks for everything. I really do appreciate all you’ve done for me. He said.

Very well, Detective. Today is Thursday. I’ll put your back to work date as next Monday, if that’s ok with you? She asked with a wry smile.

You bet it is. Cooper answered. He stood and shook the Doctor’s hand vigorously, quickly turned and walked out of the office before the lady had a chance to change her mind. He never looked back once, enveloped in the feeling that he had just been released from prison. He was a free man again, at least from this jailer. He still had his own personal psychiatrist, who he had retained a couple of months earlier around the same time as this one was set up. Cooper liked this woman and respected her, but still had trust issues when it came to doctors being on the payroll of the police department. They profess anonymity and confidentiality when dealing with the officers, however when their pay checks were coming from the same department that was paying him, it just never sat right.

He came down the elevator and exited the building, walking down the steps to street level where he was met by a familiar face with pinned up red hair. It felt a little déjà vu to him. His partner, Kelly McArthur would be a ten in any man’s book, but today she was an eleven because in her hand was a large cup of coffee accompanied by a bag, hopefully holding a cheese bagel with lots of butter.

Hey partner. What’s up? Ready to go back into the jungle and play with the animals again? She asked with a smile.

Yup, good to go. She says my crazy level is pretty much back to normal, so it’s time to start punching the clock like Ralph and Sam again… He answered, referring to the coyote and sheepdog cartoon, …but not ‘til Monday. His relief was abundantly evident, Kelly realized.

McArthur handed the cup and bag to Cooper. Her cell phone began to ring. She talked for about a minute while Cooper opened the lid to his coffee and took a bite of his cheese bagel. When McArthur disconnected, she turned back to her partner.

She said. That was the Captain. He says once you’re clear here, he needs to do a face to face with you asap at his office. He wouldn’t say why, but something is going on, I can feel it. She said with a concerned ‘what the hell is up’ look.

Aw, it’s probably nothin’, Kel. He likely just wants to go over stuff to make sure I’m ok and they’re not sending a whack job back into their streets with a gun. He laughed. Have you got wheels or do you need to ride back with me?

No. I hitched a ride over, so you’re stuck with me. She replied.

Ok then, let’s go and see what’s up.