Legal Thriller: Michael Gresham: Secrets Girls Keep: A Courtroom Drama (Michael Gresham Legal Thriller Series Book 2) (13 page)

I
don't waste
any time with it. That night when I get home, Jana is already inside his room with the door closed. I can hear Metallica blasting loud and angry. It pisses me off, truth be told, to have him there at all now that Danny and Dania aren't coming home. Something needs to be done without delay.

I knock on his door. It opens after I knock a second time.

"Turn that down, Jana," I shout into the wall of sound that greets me.

He complies and the song abruptly ends.

"Thank you."

It smells strongly of pot smoke. And his eyes are glassy and there's a sloppy smile on his face.

"You're smoking in here," I say and wave my hand as if to cut the smoke. "You know the rule."

"No, really, dude. I'm not."

"Really, dude, you are," I tell him.

"All right. Busted. But it was only a couple of hits to relax me before I start cracking the books."

"Jana, this living arrangement isn't working for anyone."

He flops down on his bed and places his back against the wall. He fiddles with the knee of his jeans.

"I guess," he says absently.

"I've talked to your dad and now Danny's moved out with Dania. She's terribly uncomfortable with you here."

"Oh no, man, we can't have that. I'll leave."

"Where would you go? You know the judge placed you with me."

"Then what should I do?"

"I'm going to ask the court to modify conditions of release so you can go back to your Uncle Tim's. That's the only choice left."

"My dad won't even take me, will he?"

"The church won't allow it. Otherwise, he would take you. I think he'd love to get to live with his son."

"Well, we'll never know, will we now?"

T
he next morning
, SA Anton Melendez and I again approach Judge Winifred Lancer-Burgess in her chambers during a break in the court's morning. She is not pleased that we're here again and speaks sharply to me.

"So, Mr. Gresham, you're still unhappy with the court's placement? Do I need to return the young man to jail?"

"I'm here to vouch for his uncle, Tim O'Donnell. He's a plumber by trade, single with two spare bedrooms in his house. He is a light drinker, doesn't use drugs, and has no criminal history."

"What's wrong with the current placement, Mr. Gresham?"

"It's my wife. We have a new baby and she doesn't like the idea of a man we don't know living with us. Plain and simple."

"She was in court when I made the original placement. She seemed happy enough with it then."

"She just didn't know what it would feel like. Now she does."

The judge blows a stream of air upward to her bangs. They move away from her forehead.

"Very well. I'm going to leave the placement as is, but I'm going to amend to give you the right to place the boy physically with Tim O'Donnell, the boy's uncle. What's the State's position?"

"No objection, Your Honor," says Mr. Melendez.

"The order will issue this afternoon. I'm also having the sheriff verify the uncle's lack of criminal record, Mr. Gresham. Let's hope the representation you've made to the court of a clean record proves true. If it doesn't, I'm sending your young man back to jail without further comment. Do we understand each other?"

"We do, Your Honor." It's the best we can do. If there's any kind of criminal record on Uncle Tim, I can't help Jana. I'm done; I want my wife and daughter back in their house with me where they belong.

"Very well, we're in recess. Please clear my office, gentlemen. I need a smoke."

We say our thanks and leave. Outside in the hallway, I clap Melendez on the shoulder and give him my sincere thanks for working with me on the issue. He smiles and nods and heads off to the elevator. I stop off in the men's room and use the urinal, then wash my hands at the sink and cup cold water into my face.

"Traitor," I say to my reflection.

But I don't really mean it. I'm glad to see him go.

Now to tell Father Bjorn and prepare Uncle Tim.

J
ana has been safely returned
to Uncle Tim's and last night after work Danny and Dania returned home. All is well, calm is restored, and Danny stayed home this morning to clean out Jana's old room and open the windows with the door closed. It's cold outside and she knows the hot air of the house will carry out the smells and smoke with ease. She arrives in the office after one and comes into my office to check-in with me.

"His pot is gone, evidently. I searched every last nook and cranny. And I cleaned up everything, but it wasn’t much. It was really surprising that it wasn’t a mess. After all, he is a teenage boy – I always thought they couldn’t’ be bothered cleaning up after themselves."

"Well, thanks for doing that. So much for having a defendant in a criminal case move in with us."

"Did you call Father Bjorn?"

"I did. He totally understands. In fact, he apologized to me--and asked me to apologize to you--for getting us into this mess in the first place."

"Accepted. By the way, did you get Jana's front door key when you left with him?"

I snap my fingers. "Forgot. I'll get right on that."

"Please do. I don't want any unannounced drop-ins. Or break-ins."

"Please, let it go, Danny. It's all over, you're home safe and sound, Dania is home with Priscilla, and Jana is long gone. Everything's okay again. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Now, let's get Marcel in here and let's look at Jana's legal case. It's time we resolve that, too. The State's Attorney was talking to me yesterday like he was open to plea negotiations, so let's figure out our bottom line."

"Excellent."

I buzz Marcel and he comes right in.

"Afternoon, you two," he says. "Mrs. Lingscheit tells me the problem child has been removed. So we're ready to move ahead with his case?"

"We are."

"Okay. You've read all my memos?"

"I have. Danny?"

"I have. Damn good workup, Marcel. You talked to everything and everyone that moved."

"Thank you. Michael's got a rule that everything gets touched in murder cases. So I start with the police reports and go from there. If they visited someplace or other, I do too. If they talked to someone, I do too, and I also confirm that what the police are quoting the person as saying in the police report is actually what they said or what they intended to say. Plus, I record their statements. All recorded statements and all recordings are in the file and online."

"Excellent," I say. None of his speech surprises me. He always does the best-ever workups on my cases. That's ninety percent of why I'm so successful, Marcel's follow-through. "So. Are there any weak spots in the State's case against Jana?"

"I've talked to all the kids who were anywhere near the restrooms that night. Not one of them places Jana there. I even showed them his picture since he's new at the school. They all recognized him as the new guy but they all swore up and down he wasn't near the restrooms when they were using them."

"Well done. So the police aren't able to place Jana near the restroom."

"No, and CSI found Amy’s blood in the far stall of the restroom. Evidently the string or wire had severed her carotid there and blood spatters were all up and down the walls inside the stall. And on the floor."

"What about other DNA? On the toilet seat, the floor, the sinks?"

"Only Amy's and other samples from other people. They tested it against Jana and got nada."

"What about his clothes he was wearing that night? Did they find any blood on any of his clothes?"

"You know, the kid didn't have much, but they took everything and tested everything."

"And?"

"Nothing. No blood, no Amy DNA, nothing."

"So he's sounding more innocent by the minute."

"Well, there is the matter of the guitar string that you found missing from his set."

"Yes, there is that. But right now, that's just circumstantial evidence that really doesn't prove anything. Unless there's a nexus between the strings on his guitar and the wire or string that cut the girl's throat, Jana's missing string means zip."

"What about his mice?" says Danny. "Has anyone tested the DNA of the mouse removed from her mouth with any mice Jana has? Or any mice at Petco?"

Marcel and I stare at each other, our mouths hanging open.

"No."

"Not that I know, no."

She looks at both of us in turn.

"Well, there you are," she says, "the possibility of a smoking gun."

"Except the detectives, one, don't know Jana uses mice, and, two, won't know where he gets them."

"Well, all I'm saying is you better hope it remains that way. This case needs to be pled out to a lesser included charge before they find out about his mice. That would put him away for life."

"She's right," Marcel says.

"I know," I agree. "She's absolutely right. But damn, I'd like to see the M.E.'s mouse get sampled and compared. Who knows what might turn up?"

"What if--" says Danny, still playing devil's advocate, "what if they sampled the found mouse for Jana's DNA on its body? Has that been done?"

"We don't have any reports indicating that," I say.

"Yet," she says.

"OMG," I whisper. "That in itself could be the smoking gun, if they found Jana's DNA on the dead mouse."

"Or if they matched the Superglue to his tube of Superglue," she says.

"Why, did you find Superglue in his room?"

She draws a deep breath and shudders.

"I did. About half a tube."

"Oh, my God," I say. "This isn't good."

"So we don't have to turn over evidence of a crime to the police, do we?"

"We do if we don't want to be charged with obstruction of justice if they find out," I reply. "Let me do some reading on it."

"Please do."

S
heriff Thomas Meekins' widow
, Greta, is a medium height, large framed woman wearing her long hair up in a bun and her octagonal eyeglasses high on her nose. She seems warm but clearly is operating inside a fog of shock as she enters my office, barely speaking, scarcely looking at Attorney Larry Glickstein, whom I have asked to meet with us. Larry is a long-time friend, the attorney to whom I often refer civil cases where my criminal law skills are of no use. This time around, it is my intention to see him take on Mrs. Meekins' wrongful death case.

"Mrs. Meekins, this is Larry Glickstein. Larry is Chicago's top civil litigator in the area of police abuse and I believe he is the man who can best help you at this point."

She holds out her hand and makes eye contact with Larry and offers him a small smile in response to his warm hello.

We all take a seat and I briefly hit the high points of the factual situation that has brought us together.

Then Larry takes over, asking follow-on questions about Sheriff Meekins, the family, and any financial issues they might be facing with his sudden loss.

"We've had a visit from the county board supervisor. He's explained all of the benefits my family qualifies for. Also, I'll be seeing Social Security next week about survivors' benefits and children's' benefits."

"That sounds excellent," Larry says. "I would also like you to consider allowing me to seek a pre-filing settlement with the Chicago Police Department. I say this because this is a case they will never win and, if they act forthrightly and honestly, they can avoid some of the negative publicity and expense of litigation they will otherwise be facing."

"I hadn't thought of that. But I don't see why not. The main thing, Mr. Glickstein, is I want to make sure this never happens to another prisoner. He should have been medicated, he shouldn't have been allowed to have anything he could kill himself with, and so on. It's a terrible loss to a family and I don't want anyone else to ever have to go through this."

"We'll make every effort to impose new directives on the Cook County Sheriff in how he runs his cells. Plus, there’s the medical aspect of providing inmate care. I quite agree; this was a senseless tragedy that could have been avoided by the simplest of precautions. Let's you and I work together to see if we can protect the next Tom Meekins from hurting himself. I invite you to do that with me."

"We should--I accept. Also, the kids want to go to college and who's going to send them now with Tommy gone? Who do they turn to? All I have is high school level clerical skills. I was a stay-at-home mom who was and is on-call around the clock, so I won't be able to help much. My heart is broken, but so are my kids."

"Well," I add, "I am so glad you were both able to come here today. It sounds like you can help one another achieve some very worthy goals and especially providing for Tom's children. I like what I'm hearing."

With that, the conversation drifts along and plans are made for the two of them to meet later in the week in Larry's office. There are papers to be drawn up and signed and jail reports to be obtained. After that, I am certain Greta Meekins is in the best hands possible.

I have carried Tom's water as far as I can.

It is time for me to move on.

W
e are just sitting
down to supper--Danny and I--with Dania in her high chair where she is mashing peas with the heel of her hand, when the doorbell sounds.

"Police!" I hear a male voice call out, "Open the door!"

Danny and I trade a quick look. She shrugs and I'm standing and moving into the hallway and up to the front door. I pull it wide open.

There, standing on our porch is a group of six police officials, two in plainclothes, two in the uniform of the CSI, and two uniformed CPD patrolmen. The nearest plainclothes officer hands me three papers stapled together.

"Search warrant, Mr. Gresham, please stand aside."

Without waiting for my response, they enter, the uniforms waiting outside, presumably to provide perimeter security while the search progresses. Unless I miss my guess, there are probably two more uniforms already around back watching the back door and yard.

As they bustle past me, I scan over the documents. What I've been handed is a search warrant signed by a Cook County Judge, directing these CPD representatives to enter my house and search for evidence of the crime involving Amy Tanenbaum's murder. The mayor has been busy, I see, motivating the cops to go the extra mile and search the home of Jana's attorney. Then it suddenly becomes clear to me: they're here because Jana at one time lived here. That's really why they're searching.

"Mr. Gresham, I'm Detective Singh," says the first detective through, who has now doubled back, "would you show me the bedroom where Jana Emerich was housed while he was living here."

"Certainly."

I lead him back to Jana's old bedroom. He touches my shoulder so that I do not enter.

"Please return to the dining room table, sir. I'll take it from here," says the detective.

I do as I'm told. Danny immediately reaches over and takes the search warrant from me and starts reading. Meanwhile, Dania is guzzling milk from her sippy cup, totally oblivious to her parents' dilemma.

"What fruits of the murder would we have?" Danny asks me. "He was only here a short time."

"Relax. It's a fishing expedition. They don't have any particular articles in mind. They're just nosing around, hoping to come across something useful."

"You seem pretty damn sure of that," she says.

"You're angry with me? As I remember, you were in court too when we agreed to take Jana in. You could have told me no and I would have moved along to some other scenario, Danny."

She nods and reaches out to brush a gob of masticated food from the baby's bib.

"You're right. I'm just really upset with this. I feel violated."

"You're not alone there. I do too."

"Has this ever happened before?"

"Never."

My cell phone vibrates in my pocket. I answer.

"Michael? Tim O'Donnell. The cops are here with a search warrant. They want to search Jana's room. They're turning it upside down. What should I do?"

"Not much you can do, Tim. Just let them search."

"They've got me and Jana on the couch in the living room. They're going through drawers, cupboards, unzipping cushions--the whole nine yards, man."

"Yes, we've got the same thing going on over here, Tim. Just relax. They'll leave in an hour or two."

"Holy shit! They're taking the trap out from under the kitchen sink and pouring its contents into a jar."

"They'll do that. Just sit tight, Tim."

"Okay, thanks."

"We'll talk again when they're gone. I'll call you."

"Fair enough."

We ended the call. What we would later learn from Tim was that the police detectives and crime scene techs entered his house at about the same time they were entering mine. They proceeded to the room where Jana was housed and, basically, stripped it down to the drywall. Everything was removed, including carpet, quarter-round, doorway molding, curtains, books from the bookcase, snake container, mouse box, wood shavings contained in a Petco bag for the snake's bedding, and they even seized and bagged the bedding that was currently in the snake's container. The mice were kept inside a metal toolbox for Leonard when he got hungry. They grabbed that box and its bedding too. Leonard was cooperative and hid in his house while prying eyes and hands examined every inch of his abode. The three mice scurried and scampered and tried to scale the metal walls. They and their bedding were seized as well. The Fender guitar was seized along with, presumably, the set of strings contained in the built-in box within. Jana was roughly shoved up against the wall in the hallway and his pockets turned inside out and hair samples taken from his head--painfully plucked out so that the hair follicles were seized as they contain the DNA that would aid in any DNA study. Then the crime scene techs spread out through the house, searching the other two bedrooms in much the same manner as Jana's, and winding up in the kitchen where the sink trap was removed and its contents saved. The same was done in both bathrooms. Incidentally, Tim would tell us, the cops also didn't bother to put the plumbing back together, leaving that for Tim. Luckily, Tim was a plumber and it was a minor task for him to reassemble the pipes and drains.

Next, the detectives searched Tim and his current lady but didn't seize anything from them.

While the other team was over at Tim's taking his place apart, the team in my house was likewise occupied, pulling the carpet away from the floor in Jana's old room and vacuuming the carpet and pad beneath with a small hand vac that was very loud and, presumably, very powerful. I knew, as I watched and heard what was transpiring, that this wasn't just a harassment search, though it was certainly upsetting. No, this search was as thorough as any the cops ever performed, always digging down to the next layer and seizing at each opportunity. They even removed the sheets from Jana's bed and seized those, though I couldn't imagine why. Finally, they removed the filters from our washer and dryer and seized those contents, too.

The detectives knew it was futile when they returned to the dining room, sat down with us without being invited, and put a recorder on the table between us. We of course refused to make any statements and they didn't tarry with us, knowing we would refuse to talk. Still, it was departmental policy that they try, so there you were.

"Mr. Gresham, I'm Detective Ngo and we have previously met. You have appeared in court with Jana Emerich and are listed as his attorney. Correct?"

"That's correct."

"And what is your name, ma'am?"

"Dania Gresham. I'm a partner in Mr. Gresham's law firm and, by extension, represent Jana Emerich so neither will I be answering any of your questions."

"And who is this?" says the tall black detective, indicating our daughter.

"This is Dania. As you can see, she's busy reconstructing the crime scene she just made with her supper."

Ngo laughs and the tension is broken.

"Well, sorry for the mess, Mr. and Mrs. Gresham, but it could have been much worse. Hope you'll forgive us."

"I might, but my wife won't," I say. "She's going to be really pissed when she sees what a mess you've made of our guest bedroom."

"Sorry, ma'am," says Ngo. "Sincerely, sorry. Just doing our job."

"Sure you were," says Dania. "Pulling up my guest room carpet is in your detectives' manual, isn't it? Right there on page number get hosed."

"Now," I say, and put my hand over Danny's.

The detective sighs and pushes up from our table.

"You'll receive a copy of the search warrant return by mail," he says and leaves. Ten minutes later the team is gone from our premises.

I read the notice contained on the second page of the search warrant he's left behind, outlining what happens next:

Danny reads it over next.

"So that's what he means, we'll receive a copy of the search warrant return by mail?"

"Yes, we'll be told what all the items were that they seized. We'll also receive those from the court to our office address as the attorneys of record."

"Shall we go look at our guest room?" Danny says.

"Let's do it."

Danny brushes off Dania with a damp cloth and hikes her up onto her hip. The three of us proceed to Jana's old room.

"Oh, my God!" Danny exclaims and then she turns her face into my shoulder and cries. Dania, meanwhile, is sucking at her fingers, her head bobbing around as she ignores the pandemonium we have found ourselves within. In cops' parlance the room has been tossed--which is an understatement. It looks like a bomb was set off. The carpet is peeled back and left doubled up against the wall. The pad has been cut away--the rubbery mat--and taken away. The moldings and quarter round wood pieces are pulled out and left hanging. The bed is stripped and the bed covers and sheets seized. Every book in the bookcase has been pulled out and riffled. Some older volumes have come apart and their pages lie scattered around on the rubber matting. These were my college yearbooks from the University of Illinois in Champaign-Urbana. We open the closet door and find all garments missing, as well as the extra blankets that Danny kept on the upper shelf.

"These guys are very serious," I say under my breath, and Danny, from behind me, stifles a sob.

"Oh, Michael! What will we do in here?"

"Well, first we'll get some carpet people in. Hell, maybe this is a good time to re-carpet the whole house."

We had hardwood floors until just before Dania's birth, but switched to carpet to soften those head-first landings that kids take.

"The carpet we have is still new. Let's think about just our guest room."

"They might not be able to match it," I caution her.

"Whatever. I'll call them in the morning."

We spend another half hour going through things, trying to figure out what's missing.

Then I call Tim back, as promised.

"It looks like a tornado went through here," he says.

"Yeah, same on our end. How's Jana holding up?"

"Fine. Sore head. They pulled out some of his hair. Not much."

"Tell him that's standard. They'll use the hair follicles to obtain DNA to test against other DNA found at the scene, on the girl, and so forth. What else?"

"Craziest thing. They took all of Leonard's bedding. And the mouse bedding."

"What's that mean?"

"You know, the sawdust he crawls around in. They took all that. The stuff in the cage, the new stuff in the bag, and the stuff Jana had dumped into his wastebasket. Same with the mice, all their bedding."

The memory of the mouse immediately comes to mind. Hair. They're looking to match mouse hair with mouse hair. The mouse in Amy's mouth had hair. Match that to hair left behind in the snake's bedding--or mouse bedding--and there's the smoking gun. The mouse had to have come from Jana's menagerie.

Suddenly I feel like I've been struck down. The roof is caving in and I see it coming. If there's a match between the hair on the mouse removed from Amy's mouth, to any mouse hair found in Jana's room, he's going away for a long, long time.

"Why take the bedding?" Tim asks.

"We'll just have to wait and see."

"Sons of bitches," says Tim.

"Just doing their job," I remind him. "You would do the same if you were a cop."

"I'm glad I'm a plumber. I tear people’s stuff up, but then I put it all back together again before I leave."

"Yeah, well, cops don't. You're fair game to them."

"Can't I sue them for the mess or something?"

"You can try it in small claims but trust me, you'll get nowhere. Just suck it up and start cleaning."

"Okay, Michael. Thanks for calling."

We say goodbye and disconnect.

I find Danny in the kitchen where she is pouring herself a glass of port.

"Dinner is cold," she says.

"I'll order something delivered," I tell her. "Go in and put your feet up. Where's tiddlywinks?"

"She got crabby so she's in her bed. Singing to herself and kicking her legs at her mobile."

"Sounds good. I'm going in to kiss her goodnight."

"Kiss her for me, too. I doubt I'll leave this chair again tonight, Michael."

"Be right back."

"Michael, one other thing."

"What's that?"

"They found the Superglue."

"Jana's Superglue. Where was it?"

"In my briefcase. I was keeping it there."

"They took it?"

"It's not there now. It's got my prints all over it. And maybe Jana's too."

On my way back down the hallway, I can think of nothing but mice.

Mice, dammit, big, fat mice.

Then thoughts of the Superglue take hold and I know we're in trouble. Danny has inadvertently injected herself into the case.

I enter Dania's room and find her sound asleep. I turn her onto her side. Her breathing is deep and steady.

I hold my hand on her shoulder and I know that, for the first time ever, I have found the pure innocence my clients never possessed.

Not Jana, not Tom Meekins, not Guy Lafitte, not Phun Loc.

And now, not Danny, either.