Legal Dance

By Padra Scott

Cara Grey is the owner of Grey Court Reporting started by her uncle and guardian upon her parents' untimely death when she was sixteen. After receiving a BA in dance performance, she returned to take over the management of the court reporting business when her uncle moves to California. She is casually dating Allen Winslow, young associate with the leading St. Louis criminal firm which represents members of the mob when she meets Jonathan Foster. Set in the 70s when the mob was active in St. Louis, the story details her life, the lives of her court reporters, the mob, and

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Apr 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781684715091

Book preview

story.

CHAPTER 1

February 1979

T he weather was deteriorating, temperature dropping, and sleet was now spitting icy pellets on top of the snow accumulation of yesterday, the streets and parking lots becoming dangerously slick. It now had the makings of a winter blizzard; the kind that made for mad dashes to the grocery store and brought about advisories by all of the TV weather casters to let faucets drip, to check the anti-freeze in your car, and warnings to bring in pets. Growing up in the Midwest had accustomed Cara to these occasional winter occurrences and she tended to take them in stride as opposed to hibernating inside until the thaw. And fortunately, they were usually short-lived. Winter in the heartland.

Cara cautiously drove her car onto the parking lot across the street from the building that housed the office of Metropolitan Legal Services. She found a parking space away from other vehicles and close to the street entrance to the lot Opening her door, she braced herself as the wind caught her coat and whipped it around her body. The icy rain pelted her exposed legs and face as she hurriedly reached in the back seat of her BMW to gather her handbag and the tools of her trade. When she had everything she needed, she carefully inched her way across the parking lot and street, both quickly turning into skating rinks. She entered the warmth of the nondescript brick building, her first time to this particular location, and took a quick glance at her watch. Three and the deposition didn’t start until three-thirty. Plenty of time.

The directory on the wall beside the elevator indicated that the office of Metropolitan Legal Services was on the second floor of the six-story building. Cara pushed the button and waited for the one elevator to descend, surveying the small lobby of the building. She noticed that it was void of any kind of the usual lobby appointments—no concierge or guard on duty, no carpeting or green plants. Old marble floors, nicked and in need of polishing and the scarred paneled walls coming loose in places made for a rather dismal and unimpressive entrance. The directory, opposite the elevator, revealed no other law firms in the building. Just a lot of smaller offices including insurance agencies, an accountant or two, and other names that gave no indication as to the business they were providing. She guessed there were probably a lot of empty office spaces.

She remembered her parents talking years in the past about the value that legal services provided to low-income people and thought they would admire her for assisting the legal aid office in her own way. She had no way of knowing, waiting for the elevator and lost in yet another reverie of her parents, that within the hour she would be involved in a crime scene that would leave her trembling worse than the cold weather outside.

When the elevator reached the lobby and the door opened, Cara pushed the button and again waited as it creaked slowly to the second floor. The door opened in the middle of a hall directly across from the frosted glass-paned door of the legal services office.

The middle-aged black receptionist greeted her from behind a wall with cut out window to the waiting room. Hello, can I help you?

I’m here for a three-thirty deposition with Jonathan Foster, Cara told her. The legal service office had called her court reporting firm around noon and advised that they were in a bind. The company that usually took their depositions didn’t have anyone available. The weather had caused the scheduled reporter to cancel and all of their other reporters were either booked or unavailable due to the weather. The legal service office had said they didn’t want to cancel or reschedule because their client was only in town for a couple of days.

Cara always tried to accommodate law firms and filled in herself when all of her reporters were scheduled. This usually meant she took two or three depos a week, sometimes more, sometimes less. She took pride in not having to turn anyone away and the business had prospered and grown because of this habit. She had hired two more reporters since the first of the year and was keeping all of them as busy as they wanted.

You go on and take a seat and I’ll tell him you’re here, the receptionist replied and she left her desk and headed down a hall that was out of Cara’s line of sight.

Cara slipped out of her coat and laid it and her purse in an empty chair, placed the equipment and her briefcase on the floor beside her, and took a seat in one of the few mismatched chairs in the small waiting area. She mentally checked her ‘to-do’ list for things that she needed to get to when she finished the depo. As usual, it was lengthy. She had a bad habit of over-scheduling her own life, not able to just say no, enough is enough. Oh well, she thought, it’s not as though I have a husband or kids to get home to. But she had made a few New Year’s resolutions with regard to organizing her life merely weeks ago, and was intent on keeping them.

The only other people in the waiting area were a young woman seated across from her and her small son playing on the floor. The woman’s dark hair and eyes were almost the same shade as the large purple-black bruise that extended below her cheek bone up to her temple disappearing into her hairline. She wore a tired, nervous expression on her injured face as she watched the little boy playing on the floor close to her. She absentmindedly twisted a button on her sweater and fidgeted in her seat. The little boy had fashioned a bridge and road out of a stack of magazines for a toy car and was engrossed in his play; oblivious to his mother and the surroundings of the room.

That’s quite a track you’ve built there, Cara said, giving the little boy a smile.

He said nothing, but smiled back at her with the same dark eyes and hair the color of his mother. Cara noticed the young woman looking at her and when she turned her head further in Cara’s direction, she noticed a long sutured gash on the other side of the woman’s face.

The woman caught her examining her face and said emphatically, My no-good SOB old man did this to me. I’m gonna get a restraining order to keep the bastard away from us.

Cara didn’t know what to say and realized that the young woman probably saw an expression of shock on Cara’s face when she saw the rest of the damage the son’s father had inflicted. That’s probably a good idea, Cara said quietly, picking up a magazine and pretending to read. She had never been in the presence of physical domestic abuse and was quite naive on the subject.

The receptionist came back a few moments later and directed Cara through the door in the waiting room and down a long hall of worn carpeting into an office at the end of the corridor. She passed other offices, most occupied with what she supposed were attorneys sitting at desks and a law library that took up a large space on one side of the hall where a young woman sat at a table writing on a yellow legal pad and another shelving law books.

Jonathon Foster, attorney at law, was seated behind a large old wooden desk in a small and cluttered office space. More mismatched chairs and a couple of slightly dented four drawer file cabinets took up what was left of the room. There were stacks of files on top of the file cabinets and a few more stacked on the floor beside his desk. A large, healthy spider plant dangling from a hook in the ceiling suspended in front of the one window and framed diplomas completed the room decor.

He stood and offered his hand, Hi, I’m Jon Foster and you are?

Cara Grey. Grey Court Reporting, she answered, shaking his extended hand.

Glad you could make it on such short notice. We don’t take many depositions around here, but when the secretary called the company we generally use, they didn’t have anyone available. I’m sure she told you that my client is only going to be in town for a couple of days, so we were needing to find someone. I really do appreciate your effort on such short notice, especially considering this weather. Just hope we’re all able to make it home safely when the time comes to get out of here for the day. Guess it’s still coming down and getting worse out there?

Cara confirmed that the weather was, indeed, deteriorating into a winter blizzard. She laid her coat and handbag in a chair next to a file cabinet and went about setting up her stand and machine at an angle across from Jon’s desk where she would be facing both Jon and the person being deposed. She opened her briefcase and removed paper, pens, and a highlighter.

Out of the corner of her eye, she took notice of attorney Foster. She guessed him to be about thirty, attractive in what she thought of as a somewhat outdoorsy, casual fashion. He was wearing brown corduroy slacks and a heavy cream fisherman knit sweater. He was busy moving files from his desk to the top of a file cabinet on the other side of the office and with his lean, six foot plus muscular frame, she could visualize him running, biking, or possibly skiing. Definitely an outdoor sport. His thick brown wavy hair was slightly longer than the day’s styles and his stainless rimmed glasses enhanced the color of his deep blue-green eyes. As he went about stacking another file on top of the file cabinet, he took his glasses off and perched them on his head, pushing the hair out of his eyes.

Cara mused to herself. He was unlike the typical young attorneys that she encountered on a regular basis at the law firms in both the city and the county. They appeared to be all business in their tailored suits, cut out of much the same fabric in only slightly different shades, designer ties, white monogrammed shirts, and perfect haircuts.

And it was in one of these firms that she had met Allen Winslow, the man she had been casually dating for the past few months. Allen had graduated from Washington University Law School and rejected his father’s offer of an associate position in a prestigious firm where his dad was a partner, in his hometown of Charlotte, North Carolina. He had surprised and somewhat disappointed his family, when instead of returning to Charlotte, he accepted a position in a local St. Louis law firm nationally known for its work in criminal law. Personally, Cara felt a disdain with Allen’s choice of work, a firm that regularly represented notorious criminals including members of the local Mafia and those with suspected ties. Allen was fascinated with the criminal process and told her frequently of his aspirations of bigger and better things for his future. He imagined seeing his image in the news connected to trials that garnered nationwide coverage and earned him huge fees and even more clients clamoring for his expert legal representation. Although a bit of a dreamer, Cara found him charming in many ways and they had enjoyed spending time doing various activities in and around the city.

Jon sat down at his desk and opened a file in front of him and started to tell Cara that he would call his client in when she got set up. He was in mid-sentence when the quiet of the office was pierced by the blast and ricochet of what sounded like a gunshot accompanied by the sound of shattering glass and chilling, blood-curdling screams coming from the direction of the waiting room at the other end of the hall. Without a moment’s hesitation, Jon jumped from his desk, nearly tripping over the stack of files on the floors sending them scattering, and was out of the office in an instant. Cara sat stunned and completely bewildered, hesitating for only a moment before following close behind.

The young woman who had been in the waiting room when Cara entered the office, was on the floor screaming hysterically, completely out of control, tears streaming down her battered face. The framed picture across the room from where she had been sitting was shattered; glass, frame, and fragments of plaster blown from the wall by the bullet, covered the waiting room floor, chairs, and the hysterical woman. The receptionist was kneeling on the floor beside her.

He took Danny, that SOB took Danny, she sobbed, from her position on her knees on the floor.

Call the police, Ruby, someone shouted to the receptionist.

The receptionist, out of breath and visibly shaken, rushed to get a box of tissues and glass of water in an attempt to console the mother.

I already done called the police and they be here in a minute. Danny be her little boy. I saw the whole thing, Ruby went on, some fool man just run in here, snatched that child, fired a gun, and run off, she added, helping the woman to her feet and handing her the tissue box. We just fell on the floor, afraid he was going to shoot us. she added, shaking her head and saying, Thank you, Jesus, over and over in a whispered voice.

As the young woman struggled to gain control, she confirmed through gasping sobs that it was her ex-husband and father of her son and went on to tell them that he was a very dangerous man. She said that he had threatened her physically and told her that he would take their son and not allow her to have him or even see him. Kill her if he had to. And that was why she wanted the restraining order.

Jon and another attorney or staff member immediately took charge of the situation and as other employees began to congregate in the waiting room to see what had happened, they said they were going to go down the stairwell to see if they could determine which way the man had gone.

Cara sat down beside the grief-stricken mother who had managed to get herself to a chair and said, I’m sure the police will be able to find him and you’ll have him back in no time.

You don’t know what kind of things he’s done or the people he knows. He works for the mob and knows people who do things, she went on. They can get away with anything.

The faint shrill scream of the police siren got louder and then stopped when the car reached the building. The police had arrived within five minutes and Jon and the other attorney came back to the office. The two police officers questioned everyone who had been there and Jon told them that the man and child were apparently gone by the time they got downstairs and they weren’t able to see what kind of vehicle he was driving or which way he might have gone or if he had been on foot. Nothing. They also said it was possible he had gone around the back of the building to the alley and had a car waiting there. It was also possible he had slipped into an empty, unoccupied office somewhere in the building if a door had been left unlocked. The police questioned the boy’s mother and the receptionist more thoroughly, as they were the only ones who had witnessed the abduction.

Angela Williams, the mother and ex-wife of Danny Williams, Sr., told the police that when she had left her husband a few months earlier in the fall, he had been driving a blue Toyota, but she didn’t know if he still had it, if it was his, or someone else’s. She also told them that he would come home with a different car from time to time, park it in their garage overnight, and it would be gone in a day or two only to be replaced with another unfamiliar car. The police took note of this information, knowing that it could be connected to the auto theft operation being investigated by vice.

The officers explained to her that they would go door to door in the building to see if anyone had seen anything, that she should go home or somewhere she would feel safe, and they would contact her when they had some news or if they had any more questions. They also wanted to make sure he wasn’t hiding in another office or space in the building waiting until the coast was clear and he could make an unseen getaway. One of the people from the legal services office told the police officers that a few of the building’s offices opened directly to a back hall leading to a stairway and directly out the back of the building. If he had been able to access one of those offices, it would have guaranteed an easy access to the alley.

After the police left, Jon and Cara went back to his office. Cara was still shaken.

Unfortunately, there will be no need for your services today since she was the one being deposed, Jon said. I’m really sorry that this has been a waste of time for you, Cara. And I want to assure you that what you just witnessed has never happened in all the time I have been here. I’m just as stunned as I’m sure you must be.

Cara began putting her machine back in its case, collected the paper and pens, and prepared to leave the office.

As she was putting on her coat, Jon said, I hope you won’t be afraid to come back here. We will definitely call your company again to make up for your wasted time. Like I said, nothing like this has ever happened in the four years I’ve been here so I’m completely shocked by this incident, too. He walked with her to the elevator and said good bye.

Would you call me at my office and let me know if they find the boy? I hope he’s found soon. I really feel for his mother. Cara said as she got on the elevator to leave.

I’ll definitely do that. Jon promised.

***

This had been Cara’s only depo of the afternoon and she had finished office paperwork before she had left her office. It was now almost four and the freezing rain was still coming down, the sky filled with darkening charcoal clouds spitting icy droplets and coating every surface with a frozen, sparkling glaze. She would call the office to let Donna, the office manager, know she wouldn’t be back and that she should close up and go home before the roads got worse. She would instead go home and proof a deposition she had gotten back from her typist so it could be delivered the following day and return Allen’s call from earlier in the afternoon. The wind was still blowing, the temperature well below freezing and falling, and she was glad to be heading home ahead of the rush hour traffic. She was hoping that her reporters were all going to make it home safely knowing that several of them had a distance to drive. The highway rush hour traffic would be slow at best and there would no doubt be accidents on the news and in the morning paper.

Fortunately, home was only a few short blocks away from the legal services office in the Central West End. Cara used her access card to open the gate to the private street between the back to back rows of condos and pushed her garage door transmitter on the visor to unit number twelve. She pulled her BMW into the garage, gathered her equipment, and went up the basement stairs to the first floor of her home.

Rusty, her large orange Persian cat, greeted her when she opened the basement door to the hall off of the kitchen. Cara turned on the light in the dwindling afternoon daylight and he wound around her legs as she went to the foyer to hang her coat in the hall closet and pick up the mail that had been dropped through the mail slot in the front door. He continued purring and followed her as she dropped it on the kitchen counter and then followed her to the bedroom. As she began to take off her clothes, he sprung up on the bed in an attempt to lie on them before she could get them hung up. She had had him since he was a kitten and at age three, he was very possessive and jealous of her and her possessions. He thought he owned her and, of course, anyone who lives with a feline knows that no one owns a cat. She took a minute and nuzzled his neck and ears and he purred contentedly, rolling onto this back for a tummy scratch.

The condo was chilly and when she had slipped into jeans and a blue woolly sweater, she went into the living room to turn up the thermostat, Rusty following, and Cara noticed the answering machine flashing its yellow message signal.

Do you want me to bring over Chinese? Allen’s voice greeted her from the machine.

She decided to make a cup of tea, light a fire, and sit down to read the mail before calling him back, knowing he would be in the middle of finishing the end of his work day. She was awakened to the phone ringing, the room enveloped in complete darkness. She had apparently fallen asleep in the warmth of the fireplace with Rusty curled up beside her on the couch. She quickly turned on a lamp and went to get the phone disturbing his cat nap.

Did you have a late depo? Allen inquired. I called your office around four, but the answering machine picked up. I was afraid you could have been in a car accident. I haven’t been out since noon, but I hear it’s getting bad out there.

Actually, the depo got canceled right after I got there. The weather was starting to get bad so I just decided to call it a day. I was sitting here going through the mail and must have fallen asleep. What time is it?

Allen told her that it was almost six, he was just leaving his office, and that he would stop and pick up Chinese at his favorite little take out a couple of buildings down from the office.

That sounds good. See you in a little while. And drive carefully. It’s really bad out there, Cara said and went to stick a bottle of wine in the frig and to make sure she looked presentable.

Cara Grey, although she herself sometimes had doubts, was very presentable. At twenty-five years of age, she stood five feet six inches in height and weighed one hundred ten pounds. She had her mother’s chestnut hair that she wore shoulder length and sometimes in a ponytail and eyes of light ash gray with specks of charcoal, the color of neither her mother or father. Her fine bone structure and rather high cheekbones gave her an elegant, aristocratic appearance even though she alone knew that one eyebrow was slightly higher than the other was. Impeccably toned from years of dancing, she had always maintained a healthy diet and lifestyle.

She had begun studying ballet as a child and then tap, jazz, and contemporary throughout school, including a BA in dance performance from the University of Illinois. She took great care in her appearance and favored dark, strong colors and had a substantial business wardrobe of jewel toned business suits, silk blouses, cashmere sweaters, and a multitude of coordinating accessories. She also had an equally substantial wardrobe of dance wear; leotards and tights in every color and style.

***

When they had finished the fried rice, pot stickers, and shrimp with vegetables, Allen’s pager sounded and he went into the living room to return the call. Cara put the leftovers in the frig, opened some cat food for Rusty, and poured them both another glass of wine while she waited for Allen to finish the phone call.

My boss is handing me a real case, he said enthusiastically when he joined her in the kitchen. Unfortunately, it is some really bad, scary guy I have to represent, but if I can get him off, this could be the break I’ve been hoping for.

"How can you defend someone