Legal Thriller: Michael Gresham: Secrets Girls Keep: A Courtroom Drama (Michael Gresham Legal Thriller Series Book 2) (14 page)

T
he search warrant
returns come by mail four days after the searches. The number of items seized from my house and Tim's house is nothing short of astonishing. All told there are at least fifty items seized from my house and it looks to be over one hundred from Tim's. I shut my office door and sit back to digest the list.

There is one thing, in particular, that I search for on the list of items from my house and that is the tube of Superglue. Its location is stated as ISP crime lab. Evidently they're comparing the glue in the tube to the glue that held the victim's lips together that required the medical examiner Dr. Tsung to actually cut into the oral cavity to get inside. It was a mess and disfigured the young girl. The funeral was closed casket, but it would have been even without that, given the terrible cuts on her neck where she was garroted. When someone is strangled, it is very common for their eyes to hemorrhage. Even a deceased loved one presented to the family with her eyes closed by the mortician is no guarantee, given how people might touch a loved one. Some people, I have been told over the years by morticians, even take pictures of their dead loved ones in remembrance of their last moments on earth. That one escapes me, but I don’t want to judge such things.

At any rate, the Superglue has been scraped away from the victim's lips and samples preserved for further testing. I am certain that both the batch number of the Superglue in the tube and that from the skin samples is being tested for a match. But the bad part is that if there is a match, then Danny's having possession of the tube of glue constitutes an ethical violation.

"An attorney is required to turn over evidence of a crime," I tell her when she comes into my office and we review the lists to together.

"I did not know that," she says. "I thought it was confidential."

"It's not. What is confidential is statements made by the accused to his lawyer. That is protected and you must keep that confidential. What is not confidential are items you receive from your client that constitute evidence of the crime. That must be turned over by you. Failure to do so is both a crime and an ethical impropriety."

"So I'm going to be charged with a crime?"

"Not likely. Your response is that you meant to turn the glue over and were taking it with you to the office in order to do that. That's why it was in your briefcase in the first place."

"But that's not really why I had it."

"Why did you have it?"

"I was planning on testing it."

"What was your thinking?"

Her hands shake and she pulls at the scarf around her neck.

"I was going to obtain a sample from the DA and have it tested against the tube I removed from Jana's room. Then I was going to decide."

"Decide what?"

"Decide what to do with it. I was confused. We're defending Father Bjorn's son, Michael. That's got to mean something to us. Imagine how horrible it would be if we turned over the one item that got him convicted, like the tube of Superglue? We couldn't ever go to church again."

I go around my desk and pull her to her feet and hug her.

"No need to ever do something like this," I whisper. "Next time, tell me. Let me make that decision about how to handle it. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. Now let's go over the rest of this list."

I
t is now
the second week of December and trial is slated to begin the seventh of January. One month, more or less, until we take Jana back to court. We have received the crime lab reports and we have received a list of the State's witnesses and their probable testimony. Marcel has been busy taking the statements of those witnesses who would speak to him. Smooth as he is, and as understated as he can be, there were several students whose parents had told them not to speak with Marcel. They had been told to speak with no one except the police and the SA's office. Which is entirely legal and entirely within their rights. In the U.S., witnesses have no obligation to speak with the defense or its representatives. Open and shut.

Then a strange thing happens. The police return to Tim's house with a second search warrant. They come in the evening and he is home. Straight to the hall closet they go, where they seize his winter coat and an army surplus work coat. Then they search the other closets in the house. Within ten minutes, they are finished and walking out the door when Tim complains to them about the loss of his coats. Without answering his questions and complaints, they abruptly leave. So he calls me.

"Tell me about the coat with the scarf. Does Jana ever wear that?"

"Well, sometimes. When he moved back here from Santa Monica he had no cold weather gear. So he wore some of my stuff a few times until I got paid and could get him a coat of his own. I'm sure he's the one who lost my red muffler on one of his jaunts here or there."

"Like maybe to a football game?"

Tim is silent for several moments.

"I told you, Mr. Gresham, Jana wasn't at that game where the Tanenbaum girl was killed. Why don't you believe me?"

"I'm having trouble with it because a red muffler that Jana was seen wearing at the game was found near the girl's dead body. You should be having trouble too!"

"Well, say he did sneak out that night without me knowing. And say he wore my coat. What's it about that coat that would make the cops make a special trip out here to grab it?"

"Mouse hair."

"What in the hell are you talking about?"

"A dead mouse was found at the scene."

"What the hell has that got to do with my coat?"

"Does Jana keep mice?"

"Sometimes."

"And if he took a mouse to the football game, wouldn't it make sense if he hid it inside a pocket of the coat he was wearing? Your coat?"

"Oh holy shit!"

"Now you see where we're going with this?"

"Oh my God! Are they gonna think I was there and killed the girl?"

"Hold on, slow down. You were home with Ruby. Ruby can establish that. Plus, Jana was seen at the game wearing the muffler, not you. So there are several witnesses who will testify to that. You're clear. It's Jana you need to be worrying about, not yourself."

"I didn't mean that I was seriously worried."

"Like hell you didn't, Tim. You were worried, but you were worried about the wrong guy. Jana wore your coat and your muffler to the game that night and you might as well get used to that idea. A whole bunch of people saw him there. And you didn't have your eyes on him all night because you're thinking he was upstairs in his room. Well, he wasn't. He went to the game."

"Why wouldn't he tell me?"

"Why would he take a mouse with him?"

"Because he planned to use it for something?"

"Now you're getting warm, Uncle Tim. Very warm."

A
ccording
to an entry of appearance I have received in today's mail at the office, Jana's case has now been assigned to State's Attorney Trey Dickinson. I run the name through an online list of attorney biographies and find out Mr. Dickinson is the third generation in a family of Chicago attorneys, his grandfather having founded one of Chicago's premier criminal law firms in the 1940's, and his father having practiced law in that same firm from the 1970's to present. Trey evidently went to work for the Cook County State's Attorney right out of law school and he chalked up a record of 65-0 over the first three years of his term as a career prosecutor.

On Thursday, we meet in the office of Judge Winifred Lancer-Burgess. We are less than a month out from trial, and it is time for the regularly scheduled status conference on the case. Attending are me, Danny, and Mr. Dickinson.

Judge Lancer-Burgess is a feather of a woman with a huge, deep voice. It’s pretty clear that she still smokes cigarettes even though she's in her sixties and should know better. Her skin has the sallow, grayish sheen of a smoker as well, and I can see a hint of nicotine-stained fingers on her right hand. She brushes the comma of gray hair from her forehead and examines the file briefly. Then she looks up.

"Gentlemen and lady, this case is set for trial January seven. Have you had any plea negotiations to date?"

I begin, "Your Honor, Mr. Dickinson and I have spoken briefly by telephone. Some time ago I was under the impression that the state wanted to discuss a plea, but now it seems they don't. That's the sum and substance of what I know as we sit here today."

Her gaze swings to her left. "Mr. Dickinson?"

"Your Honor, early on in this case we thought we had a problem linking the defendant to the victim at the football game. Now we have discovered other evidence that makes that link for us."

"What evidence is that, counsel?"

Dickinson flips through his notes. It is obvious to me that he is formulating how he's going to say what he will. It's equally obvious to me that the state has been hard at work on this--the mayor's daughter's--case. I will not like what I'm about to hear.

"Well, we have discovered physical evidence at the scene that links the defendant to the scene."

"Counsel," says the judge, "you're playing hide-the-ball with the court. Would you please come out and tell us what you mean?"

"Mouse hair, Your Honor. We have mouse hair."

The judge's lips part in the beginning of a smile.

"Yes, Judge, mouse hair. A mouse was taken from the victim's mouth by the medical examiner. The hair on that mouse was compared to hair samples seized from the defendant's bedroom and clothing. There is a definite match between the two, which, we will argue, implicates the defendant as the killer. Plain and simple."

"Mr. Gresham? What's your position on this?"

"Your Honor, until this very minute, I wasn't aware the state had any such evidence. My position is that I would like the court to direct the state to provide me with hair samples so that I can arrange independent testing for my client."

"Counsel," she says to Dickinson, "I want samples in defense counsel's office by close of business today. Do you understand me?"

"It will be done, Your Honor. And there's more. We also have a tube of Superglue seized from the briefcase of Ms. Gresham, here. That batch of Superglue matches the batch taken from the victim's mouth."

Danny begins, "I was about to turn that glue over to the police. That's why it was in my briefcase."

"I'm sure you were, Ms. Gresham," says Judge Lancer-Burgess in a low voice. "Not to worry."

Danny's face relaxes. The judge is taking her side on any possible argument that she might have been obstructing justice by keeping evidence away from the police. Score one for the defense, anyway.

"So, Mr. State's Attorney, where does that put us with regard to plea negotiations."

"First degree murder, Your Honor," says Dickinson. "With the possibility of parole."

"Mr. Gresham?"

"That's impossible, judge. We might just as well go to trial. The defendant has nothing to lose."

"Except that he might be sentenced to life with no possibility of parole," says the judge, insinuating that she might do just that. I have no response for her; sentencing is entirely within her discretion and we will argue that if I refuse the State's offer and I lose the case.

"There won't be a guilty plea," I tell the judge and I am instantly struck by the realization that I have zero idea what my defense is going to be for Jana. The mouse hair, the glue, the muffler--he is a hundred percent guilty, according to most of the juries I've ever worked with. I can already hear the testimony in my mind and I have no idea at all what questions to ask in response. Research is indicated. As well as the investigation of other possible witnesses.

"Very well. Are there any issues with evidence or witnesses?"

"No."

"No.

"Good. I don't want any last-minute
in camera
motions, is that clear?"

Meaning, she doesn't want day-of-trial motions that would slow down the jury trial, motions that could have been filed days or even weeks before. Jury slow-downs are anathema to judges. One would think their re-election constituency is composed entirely of those who have sat in juries in their courtroom, so anxious are all judges to keep their juries happy. It goes with the territory and as a defense lawyer I always try to file motions well-ahead of trial.

"If there's anything else, file a motion and we'll jump right on it. Motion practice ends seven days before trial except emergencies. And I mean emergencies. If you file inside the cutoff, you better damn well be able to convince me it's some kind of emergency or you'll be looking at sanctions. Any questions?"

"Does that mean all discovery has to be exchanged two weeks before trial?" I ask. "That's a good way to avoid last-minute motions. Otherwise, the Cook County State's Attorney Office is notorious for dumping discovery items on defense counsel the day before or the day of trial. That's a practice that I hope we're avoiding here."

"It is, counsel," she says. "All discovery by Christmas Eve. I'm marking this case Ready Status. That should do it. We're adjourned, ladies and gentlemen."

We gather our papers and leave the judge's chambers.

In the hallway I'm hopeful Dickinson will make a sudden offer that reduces from first degree to second.

But he doesn't. After all, it's the mayor's daughter.

Time to prepare. Time to do jury instructions, prepare opening statements, prepare direct and cross-examinations.

The ball is in play.

P
riscilla is in tears
. She is angrily stuffing her schoolbooks into her book bag as she prepares to leave.

We are in the family room. Dania is seated in front of the TV in her Tiny Chair, watching a video while Priscilla and I are full-bore into the discussion of what exactly has prompted her to suddenly quit her job and leave our house.

I was at the office when I got her call. Danny was in court, so I'm the one who came rushing home. This is what I found out: Priscilla's alarm didn't go off at five a.m. this morning, so she was late to her workout. She arrived at her gym and worked out for the full hour nonetheless, and then skipped her shower, planning to shower here at our house. She arrived at our house on time and settled into getting Dania's breakfast. She then jumped into the shower for a quick rinse-off while leaving Dania in her playpen with a favorite book and toy. It wasn't going to take even five minutes.

While she was rinsing, she heard the bathroom door open and close and felt cool air coming in from outside the bathroom. Someone had entered, and she instantly knew it was Jana. She saw his form outside the shower curtain but kept rinsing off. Slowly, the end of the curtain was peeled back and she suddenly found herself staring eye-to-eye with Jana, who was enjoying her nakedness.

She screamed; Jana fled, slamming the door behind him. He made no effort to close it quietly. He slammed it and she felt the blast of cool air. She toweled off and shrugged into her underwear, jeans and T-shirt and rushed into the family room to check on Dania. Dania was lying on her back, holding her book overhead, flipping through the pages. All good there. So then Priscilla rushed to the phone and called me. I told her to put Jana on the phone. She went to his old room and knocked; no answer. She then searched the house, but he had evidently left.

So now she's in tears, we're losing our nanny, and I am furious with Jana. Enough is enough.

"You never did get his key back," Danny says to me when I get her on the phone.

"You're right," I respond. "It completely escaped my mind."

"So now he can come and go whenever he wants. I want him arrested."

"God no," I say, "not right now. That could seriously impact his trial for first degree murder."

"So you don't think this is just as serious, that your daughter's nanny was assaulted by this little asshole?"

"I don't know. I only know I don't want the cops laying their hands on him right now. Trial begins in a week. Let's let it go and see how that turns out."

"Call the security service, Michael. Have them study the video. I want evidence for when I go to the police if you're not going to do it."

"Please. Hear me out, Danny. I'll have the locks changed today. He won't be able to gain access again."

"That little bastard," she says. "I could tear him a new one."

"I know, I know. So could I. But a first degree murder case is a thousand times bigger deal than a peeping tom case."

"Not to mention the burglary. Also a felony, when he came into our house."

"I'll call the security service right now."

"And you're sure Dania's okay?"

"She's right here on my lap, pulling my necktie."

"Okay, then."

We hang up and I kiss my baby's forehead.

It's that innocence we all crave.

That's why we yearn to be children again.