Pro Bono

By Abbe Alexander

When Larry Hathaway, graduated at the top of his class from Harvard Law, Larry’s father had a blue chip, blue-blood career sighted in at a prestigious, Big Apple law firm. Larry, however, finagles an escape from that dead end life only to find himself entrapped in a murder investigation, named as a suspect. Larry’s legal prowess is tested in order disentangle not only himself, but also a newly assigned client in order to save them both.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abbe Alexander
• Release date: Aug 12, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370114306

Abbe Alexander

Abbe Alexander has written in various genres which, include novels and thrillers. She is an entrepenure in self-owned businesses and has traveled extensively abroad. She has written for the recording industry and movie studios. She writes poetry, lyrics, screenplays and short stories.Two writers who influenced her are John Grisham and Lee Child.Abbe's screenplays and scripts are available through her agent, [e-mail]. These screenplay may not be used or reproduced for any purpose including educational purposes without the expressed written permission of the agent.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Jason Millar heard the familiar sound of the foghorn echoing its mournful groan as a gray blanket of moist air crept onto the deserted shores of Grover Beach, Oregon. This small town where he was born was never really ready for big news. When an unidentified body washed up on the beach and was subsequently discovered by him and his school pals, it set the whole village into a tailspin of speculation and gossip. The dead man was fully clothed, complete with shoes and socks. There was no watch, jewelry or identification, which would make it unlikely that the local police department could make an ID. Once the corpse was taken to the closest population center of Portland to be pronounced, the odds of identifying this man would be greatly increased.

The three school kids, aged around thirteen, who had made the discovery, had been playing an innocent game of fetch with Horatio, an Irish setter. Horatio was a middle-aged dog, healthy and active. He loved any type of sport but could easily be distracted from anything as routine as fetching his master Jason's favorite Frisbee. It was no surprise when Horatio suddenly lost interest in this routine activity and nosed off down the beach, which was covered with shells, seaweed and sea foam. He jumped over a massive waterlogged tree trunk and crouched to sniff and examine his find. He even pawed at the clothes on the body, and licked the face, perhaps in an attempt to revive the man whose fate was already sealed.

At first, Jason didn’t realize that Horatio was on a meaningful mission, not knowing the dog had actually made a macabre discovery. Jason and the other boys called and called to this animal that would not give up his post at the base of the log.

Jason Millar was the oldest of the three boys. At this point he left Arnold and Fakih as they argued over who would have the next turn at the toss of the Frisbee and proceeded to run down the beach to try to haul Horatio away from his distraction so the boys could go on playing with their buddy. As Jason got closer to the dog he sensed that there was some urgency that was causing him to bark, now, incessantly. This kind of behavior was completely out of character for Horatio, as the boys called him out of earshot. The first clue Jason had of the nature of victim's distress was the blue material, visible over the top of the log which trapped the body and held it fast as it would any other object that washed up by chance on any beach anywhere.

This man was not there by chance. He was there because someone made sure he was dead and the body was disposed of in a manner that would leave minimal clues to an apparent murder, but no answers. The man was youngish, not over thirty, anyway. His blond hair had a murky brownish tinge to it, probably from the seaweed, which dominated the plant culture in the water and on the beach. Fortunately, the eyes were closed and Jason was spared a lifetime memory of a corpse staring at him as the victim was lying face up. He was clean-shaven with a complexion that had grayed with the time spent in the water and dressed in blue jeans, a navy-blue Ralph Lauren sweater and sky-blue jacket. It appeared that a shooter, perhaps a paid assassin, had shot him in the head with a small caliber pistol loaded with hollow-point ammunition. He had evidently been dead for a few days and was now showing signs of advanced rigor mortis. He looked to be a Caucasian man, possibly a college student. These subtleties weren’t wasted on Jason and his memories would eventually be the only clues available once Forensics took possession of the body at the Portland morgue.

Jason instinctively fished in his pocket for his mother’s cell phone. Even though his father had been dead for a little over a year, his dad had been a cop and had managed to instill his values in Jason. As a result, he tried to do what he believed his father would have done under the same circumstances. He knew intuitively that he needed to dial 911. Not that he believed there was any possibility that this man was still alive, but he wasn't about to go home and tell his mother that he found a dead body on the beach and just walked away from it without doing anything about the situation. He wasn't that kind of boy, for which his mother was thankful.

As soon as he pressed the call button his younger companions started to run toward him and he waved them back and walked away from the log, hoping they could be spared the gruesome scene. Being curious, as all little boys are, they ignored him and ran toward the object of interest that had lured Horatio to the site in the first place. When the two boys got close enough to the body to see what it was, they froze in their tracks, looked immediately at one another, and ran as fast as their legs would carry them back to the park that acted as a median between the village street and the sands of Grover Beach. They kept going until they were back home and safely sequestered in their tree house to ponder their next course of action.

In the meantime, it seemed to Jason that it was taking forever for an answer to his 911 call because he was scared to death and all alone, now that his loyal friends had deserted him. While he was still standing on the beach ruminating, he heard the sirens of police, fire trucks and an ambulance, all driving through the grassy park toward the beach at such a high rate of speed that grass and mud were being churned up by their wheels and sent flying as their lugged tires dug into the turf. A short, stocky man got out of one of the police cars while two paramedics followed closely behind him with a gurney complete with an oxygen cylinder aboard.

As they arrived at the log, the policeman motioned them away from the body, not wanting to move anything until Forensics arrived. The sergeant was Glen Degorgio, a member of the local police force of Grover Beach. He had disheveled, curly black hair and eyes that appeared to be two different shades of brown. He lurched forward as though a foot chase would be something he wouldn’t soon attempt. He walked toward where Jason was standing motioning to Jason to follow him and as he did, so did Horatio as though he was part of the operation. The dog still wasn't sure what had happened but sensed death and danger and was not about to leave his master alone and at risk.

What's your name, son?

Jason, sir. Jason Millar.

You wouldn't be Bill's kid, would you?

Grover Beach was a very small town. Sergeant Degorgio knew immediately who Jason was and had a good idea why the boy had remained at the side of the victim and why he had called 911 immediately.

Yes, sir, Jason answered resolutely.

Glen Degorgio had known Bill Millar and, even though they weren't close friends, he still felt as though he had a special duty to try to mitigate the shock of this event for this young man. Jason had been through a very unhappy time, losing his father at just eleven years of age. Bill Millar had been heading north on Highway 1 on his way back to the precinct at the end of his shift when he spotted a car weaving in front of him about five hundred yards ahead. He had followed him and pulled this drunken driver over on one of the main roads to the village and received a bullet in the chest from this man who was already wanted for murder and driving a stolen vehicle. Today's incident would be more than anyone would want to experience, even as an adult.

Listen, we're not going to talk about this now. Okay? I just want you to go on home and let us handle this thing.

But I want to help, sir.

I can appreciate that, Jason, but we have the situation under control now and I'll send someone over if you want to talk. Perhaps with you and your mother, later today.

The sergeant was thoroughly amused by Jason and realized the boy was quite intelligent and certainly precocious. Ordinarily, that wouldn't be a problem, but in this case, if Jason couldn't be persuaded to leave this matter in the hands of professionals, Glen had a feeling this situation could quickly spiral out of control. Jason was full of determination and clearly wanted to be part of the investigation. Even though he was still young, he had admired and identified with his father and felt a sense of duty, although none could possibly exist under these circumstances. Jason went on, "I would like you to come to my house, sir." He said this with such intensity and so resolutely that Glen could not turn the kid down, even though he had had nothing to eat since breakfast and had very little sleep for three days running.

I'll tell you what. I'll get this guy sent off today and try to get some other things done. I'll call your mother tonight and you two can meet me at Smitty's restaurant tomorrow morning and I'll buy you all breakfast.

Glen knew that Smitty's was famous for the best pancakes in the area and wanted to do something nice for the boy because he had admired Jason's father who was well liked by nearly all the other guys in the force. He could see that Jason was reluctant at first, but he could also see the boy was maybe a little lonely since his father had died and hoped he could provide a little comfort for him at this point.

OK, sir, Jason responded reluctantly.

OK, Glen answered back and held his hand out to high-five the boy, whose enthusiastic hand met his in the air as a sign of things to come.

Glen reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a business card, handing it to Jason. As they parted Glen looked back at Jason and said, By the way, my name is detective Degorgio.

I know. I saw you once at the station when I was there with my dad.

The kid doesn’t miss a beat, Glen thought to himself. He was right and this was just the beginning.

CHAPTER 2

Phillip Hathaway was not the best father to his son Larry and now his wife was beginning to regret her choice of husband. Larry's father was a successful lawyer and a Harvard man who went to work right out of college at a large New York firm and fought his way up the legal ladder through hard work and diligence until he made partner and, eventually, senior partner at Steadman and Collier, which then became Hathaway, Steadman and Collier. All these names were well received by the old crony crowd that dominated the New York City financial district. Phillip had every appearance of success in the legal profession including four secretaries, two paralegals, a house in the Hamptons and a winter retreat in Key West.

Phillip’s son, Larry, possessed none of these things and furthermore, he didn't want them. If he had not chosen Law as a profession, he would not have had to experience the conflict of being invited to join his father's firm and having to refuse his dad's otherwise generous offer. He had nothing against his father, even though the work Phillip had done to achieve his current measure of success had deprived Larry of a meaningful male bonding while he was growing up in a silver spoon family. Larry was much like his father in several ways, however he chose to achieve success on his own terms and this trait made the two incompatible from the get-go.

Larry had made his decision to go his own way by the time he was a junior in high school. He had taken a course in American literature. The teacher, a dedicated scholar with a healthy and abiding interest in his students, became Larry’s favorite teacher and mentor. He encouraged Larry in his writing and analysis of literature and would meet with him after school any time he wanted to go over anything Larry had questions about. Eventually Larry let it slip that he appreciated the help he had received because his own father hadn’t shown as much interest or spent as much time with him.

Larry’s confession to his teacher, Mr. Silas Gray, reinforced Larry’s epiphany which was that he didn’t want to end up like his old man. He wanted to be an attorney, to get married and have a family. But he didn’t want to be a slave to his profession, alienating his family and ending up a lonely old man. That’s where Phillip was headed whether he liked it or not. Larry didn’t want to join him.

When Larry graduated Summa Cum Laude and second in his class from Harvard, his dad's alma mater, the expectation on the part of his father was a tacit one. It wasn't an issue of whether; it was an issue of which office he would occupy during his initial involvement in the firm as one of the youngest associates ever hired by Hathaway, Steadman and Collier. Instead of preparing himself for his initial year of internship in Dad's place of business, Larry was following his heart by submitting his Curriculum Vitae to various District Attorney offices as far away from New York as possible. He had a passion for criminal law since he had discovered that his grandfather had defended his great uncle, another family lawyer, in a murder trial. Earl Hathaway, his grandfather's brother, had been accused of murdering a traveling salesman in the early 20s and hiding the body in a sluice shed while they were trying to pan for gold in the California Sierra Nevadas. His grandfather, Roy, won the case and another man who was the innocent victim of an angry lynch mob was condemned and hanged inside a week even though he was undoubtedly not guilty. Roy Hathaway had visited this poor sonofabitch in jail every two or three days to try to seek a stay of execution, not stopping short of the California governor’s office, though ultimately failing. Speedy trials were a well-recognized form of legal procedure in that day and brought a swift end to many dubious cases.

Larry's fiancée was another awkward and cumbersome situation. Aside from being his childhood sweetheart, Cheryl had been a great deal of his financial support as a school teacher since he had finished law school because he was still without work and hadn’t yet written the bar exam. In the process of securing employment, Larry had received an urgent call from her one afternoon asking him to pick her up from work because there was something they needed to discuss immediately. He didn't like the sound of this. He was prepared, he felt, for any turn of events. He gathered up the books he needed to return to the library and looked around their apartment to make sure it wasn't a total disaster because when he got home with Cheryl he needed to be in a calm state so that he could read his offer from the Portland District Attorney's office. He decided the place was acceptably clean now so she couldn’t be critical of his housekeeping skills. He got into his VW bug, setting his books on the seat beside him and started out as quickly as he could because it was already 4:30 and if he hit any traffic he would keep her waiting. Judging from the tone of her voice on the phone message, this would not be the best idea. Not today.

Cheryl was tall and thin and exquisitely proportioned. She had long, straight blond hair, blue eyes and a smile that made loving her the easiest thing Larry had ever done in his life. There was no question in his mind, even at the tender age of seventeen when they had met, that he would never leave her no matter what, and for the most part they had very few problems. They got along well, joked and laughed at virtually everything, which was typical of their age. They went everywhere together and neither of them even had an interest in anyone outside of their relationship.

Cheryl had seven brothers and sisters that she had helped her mother to rear since her father had died when she was ten years old. Her life from that moment forward had been one of stress and hard work. It was impossible to tell if she had always been this way or whether it was a tool of survival. Either way, she was like the Energizer Bunny. She just plain never stopped. She worked at the library as a relief clerk when she wasn’t substitute teaching and was always busy either preparing classes or grading papers. When he wasn’t consumed with his class work, Larry would pick her up and drive her from one location to another because the traffic in Boston was bad and public transportation was only totally reliable during the rush hour.

Today seemed different to him somehow. Larry pulled into a parking space at the bank next to the library where Cheryl worked, as he usually found her waiting patiently for him. Today she wasn’t. This was very unlike her. As he perused the headlines of the Drudge Report on his iPhone, he glanced up occasionally at the back door of the library. He sat there for what seemed like hours, even though it was only a little more than five minutes when the library door did open. The first person he saw was Mrs. McRae, the head librarian. As he looked closer he realized that Cheryl was a step behind and the two women seemed to be carrying on a limited form of conversation, paying little or no attention to him. When they finally sensed they were being watched they looked straight at him, exited the door and went their separate ways. Cheryl opened the passenger door to the car, threw a book on the floor and leaned back all in one continuous motion.

You look like you've been through the trials of hell today, Larry said, waiting for the bomb to drop.

I have.

So, can I ask what happened?

No. Just take me home, please. Cheryl's reply was weak and her voice reflected a hint of sadness she seemed reluctant to express verbally.

We're not going to the market?

No. Not if I can help it. Not now.

Do you mind telling me why?

She turned away from him and looked out the window at the parking lot. She said, Yes, I do. We can talk better at home.

Larry knew from the time he had spent with Cheryl that it was best to just let her calm down and then attempt to deal with her when she could relax and tell him the whole story. They rode in silence for a few miles while minutes seemed like centuries. All the time Larry was hoping against hope that since he had been all but hired by the Portland District Attorney’s office, Cheryl could be persuaded to uproot and follow him out of New York where her family had resided ever since they arrived as immigrants from Norway more than a hundred years earlier. As they drove up to the front of the house, Cheryl said, Please let me out here and park the car. I'll see you inside.

Okay.

He dutifully wheeled the car around to the driveway and Cheryl had already gone inside the house even before he could turn the car around the other in an attempt to back into the garage which stood open awaiting his return from town.

What seems to be the trouble? Larry asked as he wandered off to the kitchen in search of a cold drink that would cool him down a bit from the heat and pressure of the day and now this situation.

Well, let me put it this way... Cheryl was sitting on the couch and had a handful of papers, which she looked at as though she was checking them over before she did anything else. She leaned forward and tried to hand them to him, but he waved her back.

"Just tell me whatever it is. You and I don't have