Insurrection

By Charles D. Hale

The third in a series of adventures involving Clint Harrison, a Sheriff in rural Colorado

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jul 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9798350906950

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Insurrection

© 2023 Charles D. Hale

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

ISBN 979-8-35090-694-3

eBook ISBN 979-8-35090-695-0

To my loving wife Marlene.

May she rest in peace and tranquility

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 1

Courtroom 201 of the El Dorado County courthouse was packed with spectators, reporters, and the usual courtroom crowd by the time I arrived. Fortunately, as sheriff, I had a seat waiting for me just behind the table occupied by the prosecutor. Bert Wheeler, the county prosecutor, and his assistant, Deborah Anderson, were already seated. Bert, the long-time prosecutor, looked tired and dumpy in a wrinkled brown suit, white shirt, and tie that matched nothing else he wore. The contrast between Bert and Deborah was striking. She was in her mid-thirties, tall and lanky, with golden hair training down her shapely shoulders, sparkling blue eyes, and an inviting smile.

But anyone who might size up Bert Wheeler as an easy mark in the courtroom would be seriously disappointed. Despite his run-down AMD dumpy looks, Bert was about as sharp in the courtroom as anyone I’d seen, and Deborah was no slouch either. Between the two of them, I knew the defense on this day would have a very difficult time, and that was perfectly fine with me.

It was a hot July day, and the aging air conditioning system was barely adequate to keep the room temperature bearable. Budget shortfalls had forced the county commission to put off spending money on a new air conditioning system for the past five years. Consequently, the clerks, judges, bailiffs, attorneys, and stenographers were forced to labor under less-than-ideal conditions. On this day though, I was more than happy to bear the soaking humidity of the crowded courtroom.

The trial of Santiago Ramirez had begun two weeks earlier. I had expected it to be an open – and-shut case—a regular slam-dunk. Or at least, it should have been. Ramirez was charged with first-degree murder. He had placed a bomb beneath a car owned by Mary Alice Newsome, a woman with whom I had a romantic relationship. It was intended as an act of revenge against me, ordered by Carlos Ortega, the kingpin of a major drug trafficking cartel operating out of Los Angeles. Ortega and I had locked horns on more than one occasion in the past two years.

But the plan backfired when the bomb exploded while the car was being driven by one of Mary Alice’s coworkers—an innocent girl killed needlessly at the direction of a hardened criminal. Carlos Ortega was locked up in a federal prison in Los Angeles, awaiting trial on several felony charges that should take him out of circulation for the rest of his life. And now, Mr. Ramirez was also about to be put away—a fate richly deserved.

Bert and Deborah had put on what I thought was a solid case, and had wrapped up yesterday afternoon. The two key witnesses and Deputy Ken Barton, who had arrested Ramirez, Deputy Claude Toliver, who had conducted the crime scene investigation, and Deputy Larry Kinkaid who had interrogated Ramirez following his arrest, had all done an admirable job on the witness stand. Their testimony had been solid and on point, despite numerous attempts by Ramirez’s attorney, Cliff Stone, to derail them. Now it was Stone’s turn to put on a defense. Stone, a seasoned attorney, tall, impeccably-dressed, with a flowing mane of white hair and piercing blue eyes, is a skillful advocate, and there was no doubt in my mind that he was going to do his best to see that Ramirez walked away from the terrible crime he’d committed.

I’d never cared much for Stone. Having made my career in law enforcement, I had a natural adversity toward defense attorneys in general, preferring that people who prey on others should be kept behind bars—where they belong. Stone was one of the leading defense attorneys in the county, and he had a reputation for sometimes using clever tactics to spring his client—for which he received a very generous fee. I had no use for his kind, and I didn’t bother to mask my feelings.

Admittedly, Stone was very bright. He’d graduated cum laude from Stanford Law School and had worked his way up to partner in a prestigious San Francisco law firm. But he’d apparently had some kind of falling out with the other partners and abruptly resigned and found his way to our little corner of the world. The way I figured it, San Francisco’s gain was our loss. At any rate, Stone now made a very comfortable living, keeping some of our most undesirable citizens out on the street where they continue to commit notorious crimes. Stone, who was no doubt on the Ortega payroll, loved theatrics, and you could always be assured of an entertaining show when he was before the court.

Although Ramirez was one of Ortega’s trusted lieutenants, he was a bit careless in handling the bomb, and the FBI’s forensic examiners were able to find a fingerprint on the underside of the car that was traced back to Ramirez.

It also turned out that Ramirez was a tobacco chewer and had left trace amounts of tobacco-stained saliva on the blasting cap. In addition, the crime scene investigators had discovered several fabric threads on the engine mount of the car where the bomb had been placed. These threads were later traced back to a torn shirt Ramirez was wearing when he was arrested.

Ramirez was stopped for a minor traffic violation while on his way out of town minutes after the blast. Driving a car with out-of-state expired registration tags in a small town like Climax is likely to attract the interred of an alert police officer. When Deputy Ken Barton spotted the discrepancy, he stopped Ramirez. The man’s obvious nervousness and deception were enough for Barton to bring him in for questioning. By then, everyone in our department was on the lookout for the bomber, and the focus of attention quickly fell on Ramirez. Solid investigative work and forensic analysis told the story. Now Ramirez was looking at a lifetime of free room and board as a guest of the state.

I was feeling good about the likely outcome of the case, but I’ve been in law enforcement long enough to know that you can never be certain when dealing with a jury. Just when you think that things are going your way, something inevitably goes wrong and you end up scratching your head and asking yourself, Why didn’t I see that coming?

The real question in my mind was, Why had I been subpoenaed by Stone to appear as a witness? My loyalty was to the state, and I had no intention of providing testimony on behalf of Ramirez, but I had no choice and had to appear as ordered. What was the point of the subpoena? I had asked Bert Wheeler this same question, but he had simply shrugged his shoulders in ignorance. We both knew Stone had something planned that would undermine the state’s case. But what was it?

Judge Harold Breen entered and stepped onto the dais as the bailiff called the room to order. Judge Breen was the presiding judge in the county and was generally seen as a fair jurist with a slight tilt toward the prosecution. But he was also a stickler for technical accuracy and wouldn’t tolerate sloppy investigative work in his courtroom. I had a lot of respect for the judge, and had rarely been disappointed at his rulings.

Your honor, Stone said, rising to his feet, defense would like to call Sheriff Clint Harrison to the stand.

This caught me off guard. I wasn’t on either side’s witness list and I had no direct testimony to offer. I Immediately suspected another one of Stone’s devious tactics. I had no idea what Stone had up his sleeve, but I didn’t have to wait long to find out.

I reluctantly made my way to the witness stand and was sworn in while a murmur of stunned excitement rippled through the courtroom. Stone was the only person in that room who knew what to expect, and he was enjoying the suspense. Even Judge Breen looked curiously at me as I waited for Stone’s questions.

Stone made a show of greeting me warmly, as if we were old friends. I did my best to be cordial, but it was an act and we both knew it.

Sheriff Harrison, Stone began, you’ve been sheriff here in El Dorado County for . . . what . . . nearly three years? Is that correct?

That is correct, I agreed, stating the obvious.

And you were appointed to the position by the county commissioners following the untimely death of Jim Jenkins, under whom you served as undersheriff. Is that also correct?

Wondering where this was leading, I replied, Yes, that is also correct.

And as sheriff, Stone continued, his tone beaming slightly adversarial, you are responsible for the overall management and operations of the El Dorado County Sheriff’s Department; is that correct?

Once again, I agreed, and wondered how long it would take Stone to get to the point. But Stone was playing to the audience, and all eyes in the courtroom were focused on him, exactly as he wanted.

Now, Sheriff Harrison, you were in the courtroom to hear the testimony of three of your deputies earlier this week; is that correct?

I admitted that I had been present during their testimony, and knew that they had presented a solid case against Ramirez. I glanced at the prosecutor’s table and noted that both Bert and Deborah were anxiously wondering where this was leading.

I’d like to compliment you, Sheriff Harrison, Stone said, with mock sincerity. All three of your deputies acquitted themselves quite well on the witness stand, despite my best efforts to impeach their testimony.

His compliment lacked sincerity and alerted me to what was to come next. I suspected he was about to spring a trap, and I braced myself for what might come next.

We had worked very hard during my tenure as sheriff to see that all of our deputies received the best training possible. But that wasn’t the point that Stone was attempting to make, and we both knew it.

Then Stone rifled through a stack of documents and withdrew two of them. Approaching the witness stand, Stone said, Your honor, I refer now to People’s Exhibit 22 and 23.

Handing the papers to me, with copies to Bert Wheeler and Judge Breen, he asked, Do you recognize these documents, Sheriff Harrison?

I examined them briefly, then said, Yes. They are evidence receipts from our evidence laboratory.

Stone pointed to the one identified as Exhibit 22, and asked, Can you please tell the court about this one?

I explained in layman’s terms that it described the latent fingerprint that was discovered on the underside of the car where the bomb had been placed. It was accompanied by a report from the FBI’s Identification Division that confirmed the print matched with those in the file on Santiago Ramirez, who had a long arrest history.

And this latent print was collected by Deputy Toliver? Stone asked.

That’s correct. That’s his signature on the evidence form, I said, pointing to it.

And Sheriff . . . Stone continued, grinning like the proverbial Cheshire Cat, as he handed me the second document, can you please tell us about this item, identified as People’s Exhibit 23?

Yes. That’s the evidence report describing the fabric threads that Deputy Toliver had discovered at the blast site. It was later identified as coming from the shirt Mr. Ramirez was wearing when he was arrested.

Still grinning bridally, Stone turned to the jury as he asked me, And this was also collected and identified by Deputy Toliver?

Yes, it was, I answered. I was becoming a bit annoyed, since this was simply rehashing what had already been presented. But I did my best to not show my irritation.

Stone then returned the two documents to the table and abruptly changed topics. Sheriff Harrison, can you please explain the term ‘chain of evidence’?

Now I was beginning to get an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. What is he up to?

I explained that there must be a continuous, documented chain of custody when dealing with any item of evidence. This simply meant that each person in the evidence chain who handled the evidence must affix his or her signature to the evidence record, thereby certifying a contiguous, unbroken chain. Any evidence that this chain may have somehow been compromised could result in the evidence being ruled inadmissible by the court. But I was confident that our evidence collection procedures were solid. And our people were all well-trained in this part of their job. So what is he getting at?

Just so we all understand, Stone said, as he looked at the jury, any discrepancy in the chain of command could result in an item of evidence being ruled inadmissible. Is that correct, Sheriff Harrison? His voice rose an octave or two, and I waited for the hammer to fall.

Yes, I replied, more patiently than I felt, that is correct.

I wanted to point out that our evidence produced were solid—good enough to have met the rigorous standards of the National Commission on Law Enforcement Accreditation—but he didn’t allow me to get that in.

Stone once more returned to his table and withdrew another document. Your Honor, I would like to refer to Defense Exhibit 13. He held up a single sheet of paper. Approaching me, he handed the paper to me, with copies to Bert Wheeler and Judge Breen, and asked, Sheriff Harrison, can you please tell the court what this is?

I immediately recognized it as a copy of one section of our personal file that contained Deputy Claud Toliver’s in-service training record. It contained a complete list of all the training Toliver had received during his nine years with the El Dorado County Sheriff’s Department, including the four-week course he’d completed two years earlier on crime scene investigation.

I explained the nature and content of the form.

And, Sheriff Harrison, Stone asked, pausing for dramatic effect, to the best of your knowledge, is this record accurate and complete?

I detected a note of concern in Bert Wheeler’s eyes, but I felt I was on solid ground. I’d always been a stickler for accurate record-keeping, and my record clerk, Beverly Miles, was second-to-none at her job. I spoke with full confidence when I asserted that I was sure that the record in question was accurate and complete.

Stone again returned to his table and withdrew another document. Your Honor, I’d like to place into evidence Defense Exhibit 19. He handed copies to Bert Wheeler and Judge Breen.

Judge Breen accepted the document, then nodded, and Stone approached and handed me a copy. This time I needed to take a close look.

Can you please tell the court what this is, Sheriff Harrison?

It’s a training record from the State Training Academy, I replied.

And can you please tell the court the significance of this document, Sheriff?

Judge Breen knew full well the significance of the document, but Stone wanted to get the information on record, and I had no choice but to oblige him.

Yes, I said. This certifies that Deputy Claude Toliver completed the four-week course on Crime Scene Investigation at the State Law Enforcement Training Academy on the date in question. I had no idea how this was helping Stone’s case, but I had no doubt he would make that clear very soon.

Stone pointed to a signature on the form and asked me to identify it.

I looked at it closely and announced that it was the signature of Charles Abrams, the director of the Law Enforcement Training Academy.

Stone stared hard at me, as if in disbelief. Sheriff Harrison, can you state with certainty, that the signature you’ve just described is authentic?

Stone looked at me with piercing, dark eyes, and reminded me of a shark following the scent of blood in the water. He was closing in for the kill, and I could do nothing to ward off the attack.

Well, of course, I responded, I have no way of knowing—

Stone didn’t let me finish. You have no way of telling whether this signature is authentic, is that correct, Sheriff Harrison?

Reluctancy, I admitted that I could not authenticate the signature. That question had never come up before, but now it had become very relevant.

Stone returned to the defense table and withdrew yet another document. Once again, he handed copies to Bert Wheeler and Judge Breen, and I saw the worry lines around Bert Wheeler’s eyes grow deeper. Addressing Judge Breen, Stone said, Your Honor, I’d like to introduce Defense Exhibit 31.

Judge Breen nodded patiently, but the look in his eyes told me he was as bothered by this line of questioning as I was.

Stone approached me again, handed me the document, and asked if I recognized it.

I took it from him and examined it. I saw that it was a roster of the graduating class of the Crime Scene Investigation course that Deputy Toliver had attended. I was puzzled at first, but then it hit me like a ton of bricks. There were eighteen names on the roster, but Toliver’s name wasn’t among them. Now Stone’s strategy was all too clear, and I prepared myself for the worst.

Chapter 2

A nervous hush swept over the courtroom as I stared at the roster and searched my brain for a plausible explanation. Bert Wheeler stared at me helplessly, and even Judge Breen seemed to have a hard time understanding the obvious discrepancy. Meanwhile, Cliff Stone looked at me with a smirk on his face. I wanted to reach out and rip it off.

Finally, I said, There must be some error here. I know for a fact that Deputy Toliver attended that class. How his name got omitted from the class roster is truly a mystery, but I’m sure it can be explained.

I looked uncomfortably at Bert Wheeler. The look in his eyes said, I surely hope so!

Your Honor, Stone said, obviously enjoying my discomfort, perhaps this will provide an explanation. He returned to the files on the table and withdrew another document, saying, I’d like to introduce Defense Exhibit 34 at this time.

Judge Breen, who seemed as confused as anyone, nodded, and Stone handed the document to me. It was a letter from Charles Abrams, the director of the Law Enforcement Training Academy. The letter was dated April 22, just two months before Ramirez’s trial began. I scanned the letter and quickly realized that the case against Ramirez had just gone down the drain like so much waste water. I struggled to control the rage and disbelief that swept over me, but it was no use. We had just lost the case, and there was nothing I could do to change that.

Stone grinned in anticipation and asked me to read aloud the damaging portion of Director Abrams’ letter. It read as follows:

In the case of Deputy Claude Toliver of the El Dorado County Sheriff’s Department, our records indicate that Deputy Toliver failed to complete the required training by virtue of being absent during the last week of training due to, according to Deputy Toliver, ‘personal reasons.’

The letter went on to say that, due to Toliver’s failure to complete the required course of instruction, no certificate of completion would be issued in his name.

The implication of what I’d just read was obvious. Toliver had, for whatever reason, dropped out of the class before completing the training. Without that certification, any evidence handled by Toliver would be ruled inadmissible. Santiago Ramirez was going to be set free. And it would all be the fault of my department—the organization I’d tried so hard into making a model of efficiency