Blood Relations Read Online Free PDF Page A

Miami to reorganize the U.S. Attorney’s office, getting some good press in the national media. When the prior Dade state attorney died of a stroke, the governor passed over everyone in the office and asked Eddie Mora to fill in. The Cuban exiles would like it, and the governor wanted to carry Dade County in the election. Sam, considered a safe bet for the job, had clamped down hard on his disappointment.
    The office had lurched on pretty much as usual, though last year’s dip in the crime rate had put Edward Mora on the cover of Newsweek: “Young Hispanics Making a Difference.” Sam knew that Eddie respected his work in Major Crimes. On a personal level, he didn’t know what Eddie thought, and didn’t care.
    Mora tossed the mirror into a drawer and stood by his desk, his fingers tapping lightly on its surface. He kept a neat office. Diplomas and certificates marched across one wall. Papers were in order. The furniture was new and modern, with a long leather sofa facing the windows and two chairs at his desk. Sam sat in one of them.
    “Vicki gave you the facts on this sexual battery thing.”
    “Briefly. She didn’t seem to think it was much of a case.”
    “It isn’t. Or wouldn’t be, except for the people involved.” Mora gave a short laugh. “Every time we get a celebrity-especially movie actors-here come the reporters, busily misreporting.”
    Sam said, “You’re referring to Marquis Lamont?”
    “Played for the Giants,” Mora said, showing he knew football. “Wide receiver.”
    “That’s right.”
    “Was he any good?”
    “Pretty good as a rookie, maybe the first two seasons. I think they would have let him go, but his knee went out and saved them the trouble. He was better at Florida State.” Sam added, “I haven’t seen his movies.”
    Mora shook his head. “What passes for celebrity on Miami Beach amazes me.”
    Sam waited for Eddie Mora to get to the point.
    The state attorney sat on the edge of his desk. “First, a summary of what happened over there. Late last Thursday night a young lady by the name of Alice Duncan went to a nightclub called the Apocalypse at the invitation of a George Fonseca, who may have a managerial position there, although that point is somewhat unclear. In any event, he does have-or used to have-a sexual relationship with the alleged victim. According to Miss Duncan, they went to a room in the club where a private party was being held. During the course of the party, Fonseca forcibly raped her, then restrained her while Marquis Lamont did so. She states that Ruffini sodomized her with the neck of a champagne bottle. Most of the people at the scene didn’t see it, or say they didn’t. Given the general level of intoxication in that room, I wouldn’t put much credence in what any of them have to say.” A smile slowly formed on Eddie Mora’s lips.
    “Can you imagine the parade of characters coming before the court? The jury would think they were watching a Fellini film. And the girl-is she credible? The best defense attorneys in Miami will be baying for blood. And assuming we survived a motion to dismiss and went to trial, what would a jury do with a defendant like Lamont?”
    Sam said, “I’m surprised the Miami Beach P.D. has gone this far with it.”
    “They wouldn’t have, but the doctor at the Rape Treatment Center called it in, and a detective went over.”
    “Was the girl injured?”
    “Not badly. Some abrasions from the metal wrapping on the neck of the bottle. They have to report a rape when the victim is under eighteen.”
    “How far under eighteen?”
    “I’m not sure.”
    Sam swiveled the chair, following Mora, who had started to pace around the room. A habit of his. The man couldn’t sit still. Sam said, “Vicky alluded to some problem the Beach police have with publicity.”
    “Correct. In the past they’ve been accused, as you know, of not filing charges against people with influence.
    The new chief wants to put an end to that