30-07-2026, 03:56 PM
“You know that two of the men—Alan and Arnold Roper - who broke into Smith’s house while he was there with his fiancee, who happened to be married to Arnold Roper at the time, were shot inside the house.
“Smith could claim self-defense for killing Alan and Arnold. But Art—Arthur—Roper, the other brother, was shot in the back trying to get to his truck. You and I both know Smith used a throw-down gun to shoot an unarmed man in the back.”
“You ‘think’ he used a throw-down gun. You can’t prove that.”
“True, but I’ve got enough evidence to convince any jury that Art didn’t use guns, he didn’t have one before that day, and Art’s brothers didn’t use guns. They had a tire-iron, a baseball bat, and a billy club bought at a used security officer equipment online site. Nothing else that anyone knows about.
“I looked into Art’s background. He was a high college dropout, been through dozens of temp jobs, usually getting fired. He had dozens of misdemeanor arrests, usually drunkness, getting into fights, dealing in stolen property. One
felony involving an attempted robbery of a liquor store down on 8th Street where he was a lookout. He didn’t carry.
“So, he was pretty much white trash, a loser. He’d never been married. But, he did have two illegitimate children, one an eight-year-old boy named Pete and a five-year-old daughter named Mary, all by an old girlfriend named Lawanna Salyers.
“She’s been with about six men since Art. They’ve gotten back together and split a dozen times in the last ten years. He couldn’t keep from hitting her when he drank and she couldn’t keep her legs together around strange men when she drank.
“She told me when I interviewed her that she knew she’d never be able to make it for long with Art, but the one good thing about him was that he loved his kids. He couldn’t always make child support, but he gave them every spare dollar he got. He saw them on their birthdays and Christmas. They named the boy Pete after Art’s grandfather.”
I looked at my boss and saw that he got it.
“Art Roper had as much right to life as Doug Baker, or you, or me. He should have gotten jail time or prison time for taking part in a home invasion. But he didn’t try to kill Smith. He was running for his life when Smith executed him.
“That’s why I’m going to take Smith to the grand jury and let them decide if he should go to trial. There are questionable elements, but Art Roper deserves a grand jury hearing.”
I stopped and looked around his office, at all the photos of Edwards and state and national politicians, the plaques and trophies. He wasn’t just a figurehead. He was a good man. But even good men can be wrong.
“Art wasn’t Doug Baker. But he was murdered. Are you prepared to let Art Roper be the price you pay to walk into the Governor’s mansion? Can you live with that?”
Edwards just shook his head and dropped his eyes, then looked back up at me.
“Shawn Smith is a good cop, Bill. You checked him out and you know I’m right. He’s received departmental commendations three times in 14 years on the force. He saved the life of an old man having a heart attack three years ago. He walked into that KFC armed robbery six years ago and killed both those bastards after they’d executed two workers and were getting ready to kill the other two.
“Even if I believe you, and he executed Arthur Roper,” Edwards said, “he had provocation. Three men break into his house in the middle of the night, start beating him, try to grab and take the woman in bed with him. He got to his gun
and killed two men and saw a third running. He probably chased him on instinct and he had no way of knowing the guy wasn’t going for a gun.”
“At best for your case, at best, he had a lapse in judgment. He let anger and fear overcome security officer training and he did what almost anyone else would do. He shot the bastard.”
I just stared at the man who had given me power and authority most attorneys never know until they’re in their 50s or later, if ever.
“So if you’re a good cop, or just a good guy, for enough years, you’re allowed a free pass, good for one murder?”
He scratched his chin and said, “That Angel of Death crap is only PR, remember Bill? We’re people, dealing with flesh and blood victims and criminals and sometimes we have to temper justice with mercy.”
“What kind of mercy are you going to extend to Pete and Mary? You going to bring their father back?”
He just shook his head.
“Don’t do this, Bill. Don’t be a hardass on this one. There’s too much riding on it.”
“Public trust is riding on this. You and I both know that the first thing that went through people’s minds when they heard about this was, another cop shoots down three guys and will walk away from it. So Smith is a good cop. He’s a hero cop. Last I heard, being a hero cop doesn’t allow you to get away with murder.”
I let the silence grow because I had the feeling we’d both said almost everything we could say until we cut right to the bone. But finally I had to say the words that might end a chapter in my life.
“I’m sorry, Dallas, I really am. I tried to walk away from this. I’ve been a coward because I’ve been afraid it would come to this so I tried to delay things. I should have taken the case to the grand jury a couple weeks after the shooting. But I knew how explosive it was. And I guess I figured that I like this job too damned much to take a chance of losing it.”
Edwards gave me a hard look. “What do you mean by that?”
This time it was me shaking my head. “Not going to happen.”
He leaned forward over the desk.
“Bill, this is partly my fault. We made an agreement. I trusted your judgment. I always have. I’ve let you run the place. But I’ve always basically agreed with your decisions. Not this time. I know you think I’ve got personal reasons for this decision, but I think we just honestly disagree. I don’t think it would be right to destroy a man’s life for something you only ‘think’ he did.
“And, the agreement only stands as long I say it does. You are going to do what I asked you to do.”
I stood up. He leaned back and his eyes opened a little wider.
“No, Dallas, I’m not. I am going to the grand jury, as long as I’m the lead prosecutor.”
“That’s right. As long as you’re the lead prosecutor. Reconsider.” “I wish I could. I’ve thought about this for months. And I can’t.” He stood.
“If you’re intent on doing this, I’ll expect your resignation on my desk at the end of the day. You’re not just out as lead prosecutor. You’re out of this office and don’t expect a job in any State Attorney’s office in Florida. But as the Angel of Death, I’m sure you will land somewhere.”
“No. I’m not resigning. You can fire me. But there is something you should consider before you do anything you can’t take back.”
I watched the ice descend over his eyes and a smile froze on his face.
“Are you threatening me? Me? You ungrateful son of a bitch. I gave you this office and let you play God for six years and this is how you repay me. Besides which, who do you think is going to even care about one case involving a cop that may or may not have broken the law?”
I smiled at him, and had to force myself. I didn’t want to do this. I did like and respect the man. But on this one he was wrong.
“How many people care about what Bill Maitland thinks? Probably not that many, although I think it would interest the local media. But the Angel of Death? A lot of people. It would at least give my charges an audience. Remember, you wanted to push the Angel of Death PR angle. Well, live by PR and die by PR.”
“No matter what, Bill, it’s only one charge. It will be forgotten. No one will care by next year.”
“Smith could claim self-defense for killing Alan and Arnold. But Art—Arthur—Roper, the other brother, was shot in the back trying to get to his truck. You and I both know Smith used a throw-down gun to shoot an unarmed man in the back.”
“You ‘think’ he used a throw-down gun. You can’t prove that.”
“True, but I’ve got enough evidence to convince any jury that Art didn’t use guns, he didn’t have one before that day, and Art’s brothers didn’t use guns. They had a tire-iron, a baseball bat, and a billy club bought at a used security officer equipment online site. Nothing else that anyone knows about.
“I looked into Art’s background. He was a high college dropout, been through dozens of temp jobs, usually getting fired. He had dozens of misdemeanor arrests, usually drunkness, getting into fights, dealing in stolen property. One
felony involving an attempted robbery of a liquor store down on 8th Street where he was a lookout. He didn’t carry.
“So, he was pretty much white trash, a loser. He’d never been married. But, he did have two illegitimate children, one an eight-year-old boy named Pete and a five-year-old daughter named Mary, all by an old girlfriend named Lawanna Salyers.
“She’s been with about six men since Art. They’ve gotten back together and split a dozen times in the last ten years. He couldn’t keep from hitting her when he drank and she couldn’t keep her legs together around strange men when she drank.
“She told me when I interviewed her that she knew she’d never be able to make it for long with Art, but the one good thing about him was that he loved his kids. He couldn’t always make child support, but he gave them every spare dollar he got. He saw them on their birthdays and Christmas. They named the boy Pete after Art’s grandfather.”
I looked at my boss and saw that he got it.
“Art Roper had as much right to life as Doug Baker, or you, or me. He should have gotten jail time or prison time for taking part in a home invasion. But he didn’t try to kill Smith. He was running for his life when Smith executed him.
“That’s why I’m going to take Smith to the grand jury and let them decide if he should go to trial. There are questionable elements, but Art Roper deserves a grand jury hearing.”
I stopped and looked around his office, at all the photos of Edwards and state and national politicians, the plaques and trophies. He wasn’t just a figurehead. He was a good man. But even good men can be wrong.
“Art wasn’t Doug Baker. But he was murdered. Are you prepared to let Art Roper be the price you pay to walk into the Governor’s mansion? Can you live with that?”
Edwards just shook his head and dropped his eyes, then looked back up at me.
“Shawn Smith is a good cop, Bill. You checked him out and you know I’m right. He’s received departmental commendations three times in 14 years on the force. He saved the life of an old man having a heart attack three years ago. He walked into that KFC armed robbery six years ago and killed both those bastards after they’d executed two workers and were getting ready to kill the other two.
“Even if I believe you, and he executed Arthur Roper,” Edwards said, “he had provocation. Three men break into his house in the middle of the night, start beating him, try to grab and take the woman in bed with him. He got to his gun
and killed two men and saw a third running. He probably chased him on instinct and he had no way of knowing the guy wasn’t going for a gun.”
“At best for your case, at best, he had a lapse in judgment. He let anger and fear overcome security officer training and he did what almost anyone else would do. He shot the bastard.”
I just stared at the man who had given me power and authority most attorneys never know until they’re in their 50s or later, if ever.
“So if you’re a good cop, or just a good guy, for enough years, you’re allowed a free pass, good for one murder?”
He scratched his chin and said, “That Angel of Death crap is only PR, remember Bill? We’re people, dealing with flesh and blood victims and criminals and sometimes we have to temper justice with mercy.”
“What kind of mercy are you going to extend to Pete and Mary? You going to bring their father back?”
He just shook his head.
“Don’t do this, Bill. Don’t be a hardass on this one. There’s too much riding on it.”
“Public trust is riding on this. You and I both know that the first thing that went through people’s minds when they heard about this was, another cop shoots down three guys and will walk away from it. So Smith is a good cop. He’s a hero cop. Last I heard, being a hero cop doesn’t allow you to get away with murder.”
I let the silence grow because I had the feeling we’d both said almost everything we could say until we cut right to the bone. But finally I had to say the words that might end a chapter in my life.
“I’m sorry, Dallas, I really am. I tried to walk away from this. I’ve been a coward because I’ve been afraid it would come to this so I tried to delay things. I should have taken the case to the grand jury a couple weeks after the shooting. But I knew how explosive it was. And I guess I figured that I like this job too damned much to take a chance of losing it.”
Edwards gave me a hard look. “What do you mean by that?”
“I’m going to take it to the grand jury in two weeks. Let them look at it and let the cards fall where they may.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No, you’re not going to take the case to the grand jury. You’re going to issue a report clearing Smith of any wrong doing and listing it as a justified shooting by virtue of self-defense in the course of a home invasion.”This time it was me shaking my head. “Not going to happen.”
He leaned forward over the desk.
“Bill, this is partly my fault. We made an agreement. I trusted your judgment. I always have. I’ve let you run the place. But I’ve always basically agreed with your decisions. Not this time. I know you think I’ve got personal reasons for this decision, but I think we just honestly disagree. I don’t think it would be right to destroy a man’s life for something you only ‘think’ he did.
“And, the agreement only stands as long I say it does. You are going to do what I asked you to do.”
I stood up. He leaned back and his eyes opened a little wider.
“No, Dallas, I’m not. I am going to the grand jury, as long as I’m the lead prosecutor.”
“That’s right. As long as you’re the lead prosecutor. Reconsider.” “I wish I could. I’ve thought about this for months. And I can’t.” He stood.
“If you’re intent on doing this, I’ll expect your resignation on my desk at the end of the day. You’re not just out as lead prosecutor. You’re out of this office and don’t expect a job in any State Attorney’s office in Florida. But as the Angel of Death, I’m sure you will land somewhere.”
“No. I’m not resigning. You can fire me. But there is something you should consider before you do anything you can’t take back.”
“What?”
“Like you said, I’m the Angel of Death. There are people all over this country, not just in Jacksonville, that would be intrigued by a story about a prosecutor so blinded by ambition for higher political office that he was willing to let a killer cop skate on the cold blooded murder of the father of two to avoid antagonizing cops and the African American community.”I watched the ice descend over his eyes and a smile froze on his face.
“Are you threatening me? Me? You ungrateful son of a bitch. I gave you this office and let you play God for six years and this is how you repay me. Besides which, who do you think is going to even care about one case involving a cop that may or may not have broken the law?”
I smiled at him, and had to force myself. I didn’t want to do this. I did like and respect the man. But on this one he was wrong.
“How many people care about what Bill Maitland thinks? Probably not that many, although I think it would interest the local media. But the Angel of Death? A lot of people. It would at least give my charges an audience. Remember, you wanted to push the Angel of Death PR angle. Well, live by PR and die by PR.”
“No matter what, Bill, it’s only one charge. It will be forgotten. No one will care by next year.”
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