Proof Positive (2006) (4 page)

She stopped and took a deep breath.

You' re right, Karen. I knew you'd want to I'm not surprised. I guess I just hoped that we could work everything out, but I know I'm not what that the marriage was not what you wanted. I hope you get what you do want in New York. I hope everything goes great for you.

Doug spotted the waiter and signaled him over.

Could you give me the check, please, he said.

I'll get this, Karen said when the waiter walked away.

No, Karen. I can handle it. I hope you don't mind my leaving. I don't have much of an appetite.

Karen didn't say anything. She dipped her chin and Doug couldn't see her eyes. But in the moment before she hid them, he thought he saw the beginning of a tear. He hoped that he wasn't imagining it.

Chapter
3.

FELIX DORADO WAS FINISHING HIS BREAKFAST IN LITTLE HAVANA, a Cuban restaurant in southeast Portland, when Pablo Herrera, his lieutenant, walked in, followed by Reuben Corrales, a huge, frightened man with massive arms, tree-trunk legs, and a bloated face. Felix ate breakfast at Little Havana almost every day, because he loved the ham croquetas, smoky creamed ham shaped in finger rolls, which were lightly breaded and then fried. They weren't as delicious as his mother' s, but they were good enough to make him nostalgic about his childhood in Cuba and the thick-waisted, heavy-breasted woman who had filled his early years with love and heavenly cooking before Castro's thugs had murdered her and his father.

Felix was five-nine, with a dark complexion, soft brown eyes, and a thin, neatly trimmed mustache. After fleeing Cuba as a teenager, he had traveled through South America until he found a home with Javier Ramirez's cartel in Colombia. Over the years, Ramirez had come to trust Felix enough to make him his point man in Portland, where his mission was to take over the drug trade from Martin Breach.

Felix sipped from the large, deep coffee cup that held his cafT con leche as Pablo walked toward the table that the restaurant reserved for his boss. It was at the back, surrounded by bodyguards, making it harder for people to shoot Felix. As soon as he reached the table, Pablo pushed forward the thick-necked, steroid-pumped giant.

Tell him, Pablo commanded.

Corrales was six inches taller than Dorado and twice as wide, but he trembled and cast his eyes down toward the floor.

We lost Juan, he mumbled.

Felix looked confused.

This moron was guarding Juan Ruiz, one of our dealers, Pablo explained to Felix.

Tell him, you hijo de puta, Pablo ordered Corrales, his voice low and threatening.

They took him. We were out all night looking, jefe, but we couldn't find him.

Felix took another sip of his cafT con leche, then put down his coffee cup. He did not show any outward signs of anger or concern. It was his self-control that made him dangerous, because he seemed the same whether he was eating contentedly or sliding a stiletto into an unprotected stomach.

If this fool doesn't explain what happened in clear, complete sentences, cut out his tongue, Dorado told Herrera.

We were protecting Juan, Corrales answered rapidly. This guy came up. He was skinny, like a junkie. That's why we didn't pay him no mind. Then a car came up fast and the skinny guy pushed Juan in the back. They was gone before we could do anything. It wasn't our fault.

Pedro Lozano hasn't reported in, either, Herrera said, and the guys we had guarding him also disappeared.

Felix's skin darkened, his eyes narrowed, and he swore softly in Spanish.

It's that fucker Breach, he said. He's making his move.

That's what I thought. Word is that he's giving dope and money to anyone who points out our dealers. One of our people was in Lombardi's yesterday. He saw Charlie LaRosa and another of Breach's men talking to a junkie named Vincent Ballard. This was about an hour before Juan was snatched.

Have someone talk to Ballard, see what he knows, Felix said.

Done, Herrera answered. And we should take out some of Breach's dealers tonight for payback.

Dorado was about to reply when the waitress walked up with a gift-wrapped box secured on top with a festive red bow.

A man left this, she said cheerfully. He said it was a present and to wait to give it to you until you were finished with breakfast.

Felix's eyes widened with fear, and he shrank back in his seat. Herrera grabbed the package, rushed out the back door into the alley, and flung the box into the deep metal dumpster. Dorado and his bodyguards were peering down the hall anxiously when Herrera dove back inside.

You think it's a bomb? Herrera asked when several minutes had passed without an explosion.

Send this idiot to check, Dorado ordered, flicking a thumb toward the bodybuilder who had lost Juan Ruiz.

But, jefe, Corrales stuttered.

Check the box, Pablo ordered.

Corrales swallowed and walked down the corridor like a convict on the way to his execution. The door to the alley slammed behind him. Minutes passed without a big bang. Then the door opened and Corrales reappeared, carrying the box as far from his body as his muscle-bound arms would allow. The bodybuilder's face was ashy gray, and he had averted his eyes, which were wide with fear, so he didn't have to look at the contents of the box. He stopped a few steps from his boss and tilted the package so Dorado could see the present that Martin Breach had sent him. Dorado's normally nut-brown skin turned pasty, and he pulled back. Inside the box was Pedro Lozano's head.

Chapter
4.

THE MORNING AFTER HIS ABORTED DINNER WITH KAREN, DOUG Weaver woke up at nine o' clock more exhausted than he'd been when he passed out from drinking at two a.m. He dragged himself into the bathroom and splashed water on his face. Then he slapped his cheeks to get his adrenaline going. Nothing worked. Doug felt as if there were grains of sand in his eyes, and every thought seemed to take forever to get from the back to the front of his brain.

After a breakfast of black coffee and unbuttered toast, Doug called Jerry Cochran, the attorney who had represented Jacob in the case that had sent him to prison. He knew Cochran from Oregon Criminal Defense Lawyers Association conferences and had seen him around the courthouse. Cochran's secretary said he'd be able to give Doug a few minutes at ten.

Jacob Cohen's former lawyer was sharing space with several other sole practitioners in a suite on the third floor of a ten-story building in midtown. Doug's office was on the outskirts of downtown Portland, near the freeway. Doug parked in his office lot at 9:45 and decided to walk to his meeting in hopes that the exercise would help dispel his hangover, but the crosstown walk felt like a trek up Mount Everest. A few blocks from Cochran's office, Doug realized that he was near the place Jacob had listed on his last registration form as his mailing address. Doug detoured a few blocks and discovered that the address was not a residence. It was an office building. But one of the offices was Parole and Probation. Doug checked his notes. The address for Parole and Probation was the address that Cohen had said he'd put on the form because he was living in a car in a vacant lot. Doug bet that someone in the office had seen the letter with the registration form but hadn't known that Jacob was using the office for his mail and had returned it. He thought about going up to the office and asking around, but he was running late for his appointment with Jerry Cochran, so he rushed over to Cochran's office.

Doug gave the receptionist his name and thumbed through a copy of Sports Illustrated while Cochran finished a phone call. Ten minutes later, a chubby, pear-shaped man with a receding hairline appeared in the waiting area. Doug flipped the magazine onto the end table and stood up.

Hi, Doug, what's up?

We have a client in common, Jacob Cohen.

Don't tell me he's gotten himself in more trouble.

Looks like it.

Come on back. Do you want some coffee?

That sounds great.

Cochran's medium-size office was at the back of the suite and across the street from a department store. The lawyer's desk was cluttered, and there were files scattered across his credenza. Cochran was as messy as his surroundings. He'd thrown his suit jacket over the back of a chair instead of hanging it up; the top button of his shirt was undone, exposing the top of his undershirt; and his shirttail was out. Doug noticed a nick on his cheek where he'd cut himself while shaving.

What did Jacob do now? Cochran asked when he was settled in his chair.

When he was paroled, he was supposed to register as a sex offender. The DA says he didn' t.

I'm not surprised. I don't think registration is required on Jacob's planet. So, what do you want to know?

Why don't you tell me about the case you handled?

It was for assault on and the attempted rape of a prostitute named Janny Rae Rowland, a real piece of work. Jacob was living in a vacant lot over by Queen Anne and Hobart.

He was back there when he was arrested.

It wouldn't surprise me. The area is loaded with bars, pawnshops, and vacant stores. It's a haven for drug dealers, low-end prostitutes, and criminals of all types. The lot is big. The side on Hobart is across from a warehouse, but the lot fronts on Queen Anne, where a lot of prostitutes work. Janny Rae had staked out the strip of sidewalk on Queen Anne as her territory.

Cochran paused. Have you met Jacob yet?

I was up at the jail, yesterday.

Okay, then you probably know that he's really got a thing for women. As far as he's concerned, they' re all the spawn of the devil. Anyway, the cops patrol that area all the time and they saw Janny Rae wrestling on the sidewalk with Jacob. From what I gather, it was hard to say who was getting the worst of it. The cops questioned them separately. Janny Rae said that Jacob had propositioned her. According to her, she told him how much a little action would cost and Jacob told her he was broke. She said she didn't give out freebies and that's when, according to Janny Rae, Jacob tried to rape her.

What did Cohen say?

Nothing coherent at the scene. The cops said that Jacob was screaming about whores and harlots and quoting the Bible, which I find highly credible. Since Janny Rae was making sense and there were no witnesses, they busted Jacob.

Were you ever able to get Jacob's side of the story?

Yeah, he calmed down enough during one of my visits to the jail to give me his version of what happened. Jacob told me that he wouldn't tolerate a whore befouling his home, so every time Janny Rae tried to solicit a customer he would run up and start spouting Bible verses at the john at the top of his lungs. Jacob claims that Janny Rae attacked him after he ran off a few customers.

What happened at trial?

What you'd expect. When Janny Rae came to court, the DA had her looking like a member of the garden club. I dressed Jacob in a suit but he still looked like a lunatic. I got him through direct with minimal references to the failings of the gentler sex, but he spent cross-examination quoting the Bible about the defects of women, which wasn't so good for our side, since eight of the jurors were female. It only took the jury half an hour to find him guilty. The judge wasn't too tough on him at sentencing. I don't think he believed Janny Rae, but he was stuck with the verdict.

Cochran looked as if he was about to say something more when a thought seemed to occur to him.

Who busted Jacob on this new beef? Was it Steve Hooper?

Yes. How did you know?

Cochran sighed. Hooper hates Jacob. You should check him out. I wouldn't be surprised if he intentionally screwed up the investigation to make Jacob look guilty.

Why does he hate Cohen?

Cochran laughed. Jacob bit him. I hear he was scared shitless that he had rabies or AIDS or something horrible like that.

Why did Jacob bite him?

Hooper was the detective assigned to the rape case and he conducted the interrogation after Jacob was booked. Jacob claimed he bit Hooper because Hooper was roughing him up. Of course, Hooper denied doing anything of the sort, but Jacob was pretty beat up when I saw him for the first time, though some of that was Janny Rae's handiwork. Hooper admitted hitting Jacob, but he said he did it in self-defense and he did have a pretty vicious bite on his arm.

Anyway, Hooper has a real hard-on for your client, so I'd be on my toes if I were you. I hear he's not above fudging the facts or outright lying to get a conviction.

Thanks for the warning.

My pleasure.

I'm thinking of pursuing a psychiatric defense.

Good luck. I tried to get him to talk to a shrink but he wouldn't do it.

Can you suggest people I could talk to, family members, a friend? It would help me understand what's going on in his head.

You probably should talk to Cohen's folks, if he'll let you.

Why wouldn't he?

I only learned who they were by accident. He refused to tell me anything about his family. When I told him I knew who they were, he forbade me to talk to them. Actually, he denied that they were his parents. He wouldn't even let me call him Jacob Cohen. He said he was John Doe and he had no parents. How sad is that?