A Criminal Defense by Steven Gore Read Free Book Online Page B

the power brokers in the city.
    On the underworld side, from where Hamlin drew most of his clients, Donnally didn’t know who were the gang leaders out in Bayview–Hunters Point or who ran the Big Block gang in the housing projects, or even if it still existed, or which tongs were running the protection rackets in Chinatown, or which Russians had moved in to take over organized crime in the Richmond District.
    To him, the names were inert, mere labels on imaginary stick figures. And instead of seeing live conflicts and connections, he was just seeing dead letters on a page—and he recognized Jackson would have an advantage on him. She knew the players and understood how the game was played in the city, at least those players and games that related to Hamlin. He now realized he’d have to rely on Navarro more than he wanted to, and share more with him than he had intended to, for the detective would see relationships Donnally couldn’t and understand their meaning.
    Jackson appeared at the office door. “Can I go to lunch?”
    â€œYou coming back afterwards?”
    â€œWhat?” She smirked. “You think I’m starting my job hunting already?”
    Donnally didn’t like the sarcasm. “That’s not what I meant.” He rose from the desk and walked over to her. “We need to figure out some way to work together. I don’t see me finding out who killed Mark without your help.”
    She stared at him for a long moment, then lowered her head and picked at her thumbnail.
    â€œShit . . . shit, shit, shit. I didn’t sign up for this.”
    â€œWhat did you sign up for?”
    â€œI don’t know anymore.” She looked up again, shaking her head. “All I know is that this place seems more and more like Jonestown on the night before they served the Kool-Aid.”

Chapter 8
    I know who killed Mark Hamlin.” A recorded voice overrode the next words spoken by the man. “This is a call from a California state prison.”
    It had come in on Hamlin’s main firm number. The caller had asked for Donnally by name, and Jackson had routed it to him in Hamlin’s office. Donnally was relieved that he had enough of her cooperation for her at least to do that.
    Unless the murder was a gang-related execution, which the condition of Hamlin’s body suggested it wasn’t, Donnally wasn’t sure how someone in prison could have any credible information.
    â€œWho did it?”
    â€œPay me a visit and I’ll tell you the story.”
    The man’s voice sounded as though he was in his fifties or sixties, maybe older.
    â€œHow do I know you’re not a lunatic?”
    The line beeped, indicating that the call was being recorded.
    â€œLook at my file. It’s somewhere in the office. Five years ago. My name’s Bennie Madison. A murder case. There’s no psych report in there and no trips to the loony bin. I’m as sane as anybody ever is in here.”
    â€œHold on.”
    Donnally wrote out the name, then walked to the outer office and asked Jackson to retrieve the file. He kept watch on her as she pulled it from a cabinet in the conference room and brought it to him. He sat down and flipped it open.
    â€œThere’s almost nothing in here,” Donnally told the caller. “A police report, a detective’s investigative log, a transcript of your plea, and a court sentencing form. Twenty-five to life.”
    â€œThere should be a letter in there I sent last month saying I’m filing a motion to withdraw my plea.”
    â€œI don’t see it. Did you want Hamlin to represent you?”
    The man laughed. “Not a chance. It’s the last thing that asshole would’ve done.”
    â€œBecause . . .”
    â€œTake a drive up here and you’ll find out.”
    â€œWhere’s here?”
    â€œThe California Medical Facility in Vacaville. And I’ll also tell you why someone