Legal Thriller: Michael Gresham: Secrets Girls Keep: A Courtroom Drama (Michael Gresham Legal Thriller Series Book 2) (8 page)

O
n the trip
back from Uncle Tim's where we’ve gone to pick up Jana’s things, even though I'm driving I can hardly keep my eyes off of Jana, who's riding in the passenger seat, his pet python wrapped completely around his lower right arm. I gave in and brought the snake along when I saw the look of disappointment on Jana’s face as we were leaving without his pet.

"His name's Leonard," says my houseguest. "He's a Ball Python. That's just about the most popular snake there is."

"Why ball?"

"I don't know."

He is petting the snake and scratching its head. I can just see this thing wrapped around my daughter's neck. It's a horrible image and I change the topic.

"Are you up to going out on my boat with me?"

"Are you kidding?
Hell
, yes!"

"Let's drop off Leonard and his cage and get him locked in, and then we'll drive down to the yacht club."

"Yacht club? You seriously belong to a yacht club?"

"Of course. It's where I keep my boat. It's no different than belonging to a golf country club. You get the idea."

"Lots of drinking and grab-ass and card games. Am I right?"

"Pretty much. Throw in a few regattas, a New Year's Eve blowout, and costume parties, and you've got the full picture."

"What kind of boat you got?"

"Sundancer. It's a three-fifty model," I add, guessing that he knows nothing about Sea Ray boat models.

"Thirty-seven foot. I know your boat exactly."

"How's that?"

"When we lived in Santa Monica, I worked on a boat cleaning crew. We saw lots of Sundancers, Mr. Gresham."

"Why don't you call me 'Michael?' That okay with you?"

"Okay. So Michael, what are we fishing for?"

"I like trout and salmon. We have King and Coho in the lake."

"You eat your catch?"

"Pretty much."

"I wonder if Leonard would like fish. Probably not. He prefers pinkies."

"Pinkies being what?"

"Baby mice. He loves them."

Again, the image. I try to remember whether the snake’s enclosure is lockable. That will have to be a must, some kind of lock.

"I doubt that he'd like fish. Besides, I eat the fish. He can stick to the mice."

"Fair enough, Michael. Damn, I can't believe you have a 'Dancer!"

"You like being on the water?"

"I do. I even crewed a little back in California. I loved going out on day trips."

"What was your job?

"Jack-of-all trades. Mostly baiting hooks for rich people. Tossing chum into the water to get things going. That kind of stuff."

We ride along in silence, then. Several miles later, as we're passing a Starbucks, I pull suddenly across two lanes and fall in line at the familiar green sign. I'm up for a sweet Starbucks drink, something like a mocha.

"You like coffee, Jana?"

"I do. I pretty much stick to the basics. French Roast, Sumatra."

"I'm in the mood for a mocha. Care to join me?"

"Hell, yes. Let's both have one."

I order in the speaker and then we pull up. As we wait at the window, Jana allows the snake to move up his arm and encircle his neck. I am reminded that the Tanenbaum girl was garroted. And in the same moment I am wondering whether I'm sitting beside her killer. An involuntary shiver shakes my body. Jana looks over at me.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just a chill."

He reaches out and adjusts the dash control for the fan speed. He creeps the temperature a bit more into the red. Quickly, it's unbearably hot in the SUV, but I won't admit it.

T
wo hours later
, we have the snake all set up and we're out on the lake on
CONDITION OF RELEASE
, my Sundancer. I am at the helm while Jana sits in the back of the boat watching the wake as we make our way parallel to the shoreline.

By four o'clock we are tired. We have both caught and released several fish and we have each selected a salmon for keepers. I add a third for Danny, and we head back to my slip. The crew on the boat dock relieve us of our catch and head down to the fish cleaning table and sink.

Dania is named after my wife, whose name is also Dania. We call the mother Danny and the baby Dania. I decide to have the talk, as we pull out of the yacht club parking lot.

"Okay, here's the deal with Leonard," I begin.

"What's that?"

"One, Leonard never leaves your bedroom. If I catch him outside your room, he's going to the animal shelter. Understood?"

"Dude, why so rigid? Leonard isn't going to hurt your baby."

"I know. But I can't take that chance. If I catch Leonard outside your room, I'm taking him away. I'm not telling you first. I'm just going to disappear him. Understand?"

"Yes."

"And if he's ever within ten feet of Dania, he's a goner too. Deal?"

"Deal."

"The idea of your snake around my little girl is more than I can handle, Jana. It makes me crazy and I'm not having it."

"Okay."

"While we're on the topic of my women, here's another thing. You have a habit of never taking your eyes off Danny whenever you're around her. You're staring at her even when she's not talking to you. I was seventeen once, Jana. I know what it's like. But I'm asking you to be a little more respectful of my wife. And of me. Can you do that?"

"I like Danny. But that's all it is. She's thirty years too old for me."

"You did the math?"

"Oh, man, come off it. You're making me very sad here, Michael. I don't think I can stay around like this."

I decide to see where this goes.

"Where are you thinking of going?"

"I don't know. Maybe I'll go to my father's place. Wherever he lives."

"He lives in a dorm with other men. They each have an apartment. I doubt he would have room for you there. No, you need to simply consider my and my wife's feelings. That's all I'm asking. It's called self-control, Jana. It's very simple."

"You've got my promise, Michael. I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable."

"That's the spirit."

We're a mile from home, when it occurs to me. I haven't asked.

"Jana, did you hurt the Tanenbaum girl?"

"Dude,
seriously
? Is that what all this is about? You think I killed that girl?"

"I'm asking and waiting for you to answer me."

"I didn't hurt anyone. I'm not like that. Honest, Michael."

"Good enough. Now, let's go home. I'm beat and I need a shower."

"Sounds good. Sounds great, in fact."

I don't know any more than I did when we left home this morning.

"
M
orning
, Mrs. Lingscheit," I call out as I come into my reception room. It is snowing outside and I shake the snow out of the hood of my overcoat, stamp my feet, then hang up the coat and proceed into my office. Mrs. L hasn't responded because she's tied up on the phone. It's eight-thirty and she's probably been at the office a good hour already. Which always leaves me feeling a bit guilty. I try to hit the front doors between eight and eight-thirty, earlier if I've got a nine o'clock court call or trial, and then Danny comes in with Marcel usually an hour after me and stays an hour or two later than me. Why? Because Chicago is a dangerous place to drive and we don't want to make an orphan out of our daughter in one colossal accident. I don't know of other commuting couples who don't ride together, but Danny and I don't believe in tempting fate. So we travel separately. Always.

On top of the small stack of files on my desk I find the new indictment in
USA v. Thomas Meekins, Defendant
. While I make coffee with one hand I hold the indictment with the other and scan down through it. There are sixteen counts of theft by embezzlement and twenty-two counts of kidnapping and several lesser--though serious--counts having to do with bringing a firearm into a U.S. courthouse for improper reasons, discharging a firearm in a U.S. courthouse--enough of that kind of stuff to draw a good twenty years in Leavenworth alone.

The indictment stuns me. Last I heard, we were talking one count of theft and one count of kidnapping. No other charges were to be brought. I immediately sit down and dial up Rene San-Jish, the AUSA. The receptionist tells me she's in court but gives me her voicemail.

"Mrs. San-Jish, this is Michael Gresham. To say I was shocked by the new Meekins indictment is gross understatement. Our agreement was one count of theft and one count of kidnapping. Yet today you've given me an indictment with over forty counts. What in the world were you thinking? Or did you just forget? Please call me immediately or I'll be forced to file a motion to dismiss based on your failure to honor our agreement."

I have just had my first sip of coffee when Mrs. Lingscheit buzzes and tells me that Ms. San-Jish is on the line.

"Mr. Gresham, this is Rene San-Jish. I apologize for the indictment as we usually limit ourselves to fifteen or fewer counts. The AUSA who prepared the indictment got overly enthusiastic so we ended up with forty-four. I can amend if you'd prefer."

"What I'm really calling about was the plea we had going in. One count of theft and one count of kidnapping. What happened to that?"

"We've discovered additional acts of theft from the state employees' retirement fund. You probably haven't digested the indictment yet or read right over those. As to the kidnapping, the U.S. Attorney himself insisted on including all grand jurors because of the seriousness of the crime."

"But we had an agreement!"

"Not in writing, we didn't."

I slowly inhale, trying not to break into four letter words aimed at my adversary. Calm down, steady, I tell myself. This can still be done.

"Well, I am going to file to dismiss the indictment if you're unwilling to amend to reflect our agreement at the shooting scene."

"Mr. Gresham, you're more than welcome to file your dismissal motion. We shall oppose it vigorously. Like I said, things have changed since then."

"But we
agreed
.

"Not in writing, we didn't."

"I've been had."

"No, actually you saved your client's life. A federal SWAT team was about to burst into the room and open fire on him. He's alive because of you, Mr. Gresham. Please try to impress the reality of his situation on him."

"Hell, Ms. San-Jish, I'm trying to impress reality of any kind on him."

"Really? Is the evaluation underway?"

"He's done some paper testing. Now they're doing verbal. We'll know by Monday which way they're leaning."

"Let's talk then. I'm hanging up now, Mr. Gresham."

"Thanks for calling right back."

I hang up and sit there in silence for several minutes.

In a way, she's right. Our quick, on-the-spot plea agreement probably did save Tom's life. And maybe the lives of all the others in the room. Including me. But on the whole, she lied to me and to Tom. She agreed to a two count indictment pure and simple. Not forty-four counts. She flat out lied and I'm not going to put up with it. I begin drafting a motion to dismiss the entire indictment. Three hours later I have electronically signed the motion and filed it with the court. Ms. San-Jish will see it today or tomorrow morning at the latest and my hope is that she'll call me and agree to amend. While the law isn't wholly on my side, neither is it wholly on her side. There's room for argument either way. But the fact remains, we did have an agreement and she won't, I am positive, deny that. After all, Father Bjorn heard her state what plea she would agree to and he related it to us in front of a roomful of other witnesses. The deal was definitely struck and is no different than any other pre-indictment plea agreement.

Then I drive out to California Avenue to pay a visit to Tom. I want to make sure I have a chance to talk with him before he sees the indictment and goes off the deep end in shock. Fifteen minutes later, I am waiting in attorney conference room 202 and the deputies are fetching Tom for our one-on-one.

A single deputy comes in five minutes later, without Tom.

"You're Michael Gresham?" she asks.

"I am."

"Mr. Gresham, I have some very disturbing news for you."

The hair along the back of my neck prickles up. Instantly I know he saw the indictment.

"Please tell me."

"Your client, Thomas Meekins, was just now found dead in his cell. He hung himself with the trouser leg of his jump suit."

"I thought the jail took precautions against that! What are you telling me?"

"He was found with his papers stuffed in his shorts."

"Papers? What papers?"

"The indictment that came to him this afternoon. The log says he was crying when he read it."

"Oh, my God! Did anyone send for help for him?"

"He was on a mental watch. A nurse was paged but hadn't seen him before he took his life."

"No! Is his family aware?"

"Family Services is taking care of that as we speak. I am very sorry, Mr. Gresham. I'm going to escort you to the jail exit now. Please come with me."

I'm in a fog but I manage to follow her. This all feels surreal: they knew he was mental, knew he was being evaluated, yet they somehow, in some way, made it possible for Tom to take his life? Over a trumped-up indictment?

A lawsuit was now begging to be filed.

But first was the matter of a funeral and time for his family to mourn.

After that, I would offer to help. I had promised Tom I wouldn't let him down.

And I won't.

F
ranny Arlington rode
with her father in silence to the Friday night game against the Owls. There was a stormy standoff between the freshman girl and her parents over the issue of yoga tights and football. The girl thought that the yoga tights were perfect under a short skirt for the game, especially now that the nights were cold. But her mother--who enlisted her father's help--was dead set against it, claiming that yoga tights were not to be worn in public. She could wear regular tights, her mother had proclaimed, but not yoga tights. Franny's mother held the position that the yoga tights were too revealing and she wasn't going to budge. Finally, in total frustration and feeling beaten down, Franny had grudgingly changed into jeans and a pink blouse beneath a hoodie. The hoodie was black, the blouse pink, and the jeans were black as well. Franny wasn't Goth--that was so yesterday and besides, her parents would never allow it--but she did love her black outfits. So, mother and daughter struggled in that age-old struggle for social sensibility that has existed between teen daughters and their mothers for a million years or more.

Franny's father, Henry Arlington--"Hank," at the Ford plant--was a third generation auto worker who had worked his way up from transmission service to quality control in twenty years. Hank's specialty vehicle was the Ford Interceptor Police car and reconnaissance vehicles at the Torrence Road plant. He was well-liked by the men who worked around him and could always be counted on for a great dirty joke on Friday evenings after the week was over and the workers had gathered for beer call at Waldo's on Torrence Avenue. So as he drove Franny to her ballgame he was calculating that he had had his last beer two hours earlier, that he had downed four altogether, and he was fairly certain that he was under the legal limit as they made their way toward Wendover Field. Plus, he'd come home and shit, showered, and shaved, so that detour had certainly helped burn off any residual alcohol since his last mug of draught.

"You reek of alcohol," said Franny as they drove south on eighty-seventh. "Why do you always do this?"

She actually had a loving--doting--relationship with her father, and she could say anything to him without bringing down the parental ire that she tried to dodge from her mother.

"I gargled with mouthwash and I've eaten your mother's supper. My guess is that my breath doesn't reek of alcohol, as you so delicately put it," said Hank.

"And I suppose you're going to hover around me all night?"

Hank smiled. "That's the general idea. Since the Tanenbaum girl got killed, I'm guessing I won't be the only worried father hovering around his kid."

"Well I just hope my friends don't see you loitering around us. I would be mortified if they did, Hank."

"Well, they won't. I'm very good at becoming anonymous in the stands at football games."

"I hope so. Don't think I'm embarrassed about you, either. It's not that."

He reached across the car and gently cuffed his daughter on the back of her neck.

"I know that. You'd feel the same way if I was bank president."

"That's exactly right, Hank."

"And please stop calling me that. I'm your dad."

"All my friends call their parents by their names. It's inevitable."

"What the hell does that mean, 'it's inevitable?' Where do you hear such bologna?"

"I don't know," she said, and looked vacantly out the passenger window as they pulled into the parking lot of Wendover Field. The place was packed, she observed, so Amy's murder hadn't deterred the crowd one bit. In a way she was glad; she loved going to the games with her friends. But in a way the enthusiasm of the fans also depressed her; shouldn't there be some kind of respect for Amy? Something to remember her by? Like black arm bands? Maybe she would bring it up with her friends. Maybe they needed to do some kind of assembly at school in memory of Amy Tanenbaum.

J
ana Emerich was escorted
to the game by Marcel Rainford, who served as key investigator, bodyguard, and chauffeur for Michael Gresham. Marcel drove a Ram 2500 and, Jana had to admit, as they moved along South State Street, he enjoyed riding perched on the passenger's seat of such a popular ride. Everyone wanted a Ram truck, whether you were living in Santa Monica or Chicago.

"Look, Mr. Rainford," said Jana.

"Call me Marcel, Jana. That's my name."

"All right. Look, Marcel. I'm really impressed that you're bringing me to the game and everything, but could you let me out a block away?"

"Why's that? You embarrassed to be seen with me?"

Jana twisted his hands together. "No, man, it's not that. It's just that I'm a senior and I should be driving my own ride to the game, not being driven in by someone. It's just uncool."

"Uncool or not, I'm sticking to you like an ex-wife after past-due alimony. You and I are joined at the hip tonight, little brother," Marcel said. "But don't worry. None of your buds is going to notice a thing. I make my living around the edges. Tonight won't be any different. No one will know."

"I hope so. Nothing about you, Marcel. It's just so hard to come into a school your senior year and expect to have any friends. These kids have been buds since first grade. They don't give a damn about somebody like me. Much less someone with a babysitter attached to them."

"Not to worry. No one will notice a thing. And as for you and having friends, my old man bought me a crotch rocket when I was your age. Only thing he ever bought me. And you know why? Because he was tired of hauling my dumb ass around town. He was burned out. So I'm suggesting you raise the subject with Michael or your dad."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you need to start lobbying for a motorcycle. There's nothing cooler than a guy showing up on a bike."

Jana was nodding and scrunching down in the seat as they pulled into the parking lot at Wendover Field.

"Maybe I'll just do that. Maybe I'll shoot for a goddam bike."

They parked and Marcel told Jana he would give him a five-minute head start. He told Jana not to look for him, that it wasn't necessary for Jana to see him. But he would have Jana in sight. At all times. So just act normal and try to have a good time.

Jana climbed up into the stands. He was keeping an eye out for Franny Arlington. There was just something about that girl.

He thought she had even smiled at him during College English.

It was definitely worth finding out.

R
udy Gomez rode
his bike from his babysitting job down to the game. The twins he was sitting were preoccupied with Bad Start IV, the newest rage in space opera video games. They would never miss him.

He nosed his bike into the metal bike stand and passed the locking chain through the front tire and around the frame. Bike theft was raging in this part of town as the kids who lived around here all had expensive bikes, including Rudy. His dad was an oral surgeon who advertised on TV and employed four associate dentists in his practice to handle all the patients scared up by the TV spots. Dr. Gomez, who was seldom at home by suppertime due to the long hours he kept at the clinic, had spared no expense on Rudy’s bike. It was titanium and had cost over two grand, enough to make the old man's head swim when he gave his Visa over to the sales clerk. But Rudy had picked it out and seemed to know what he liked without question, so the dentist stayed out of the process, coming up with his professional practice's Visa card to clinch the deal. Besides, it was the least the dentist felt he could do.

Dr. Gomez staggered under enormous guilt when reflecting on how well he did or didn't know his son: the truth was that he hadn't been there for Rudy at all. Once the practice began to bloom, Dr. Gomez just dove in that much deeper, keeping as many patients for himself as possible, no matter the twelve-hour days, until he was finally forced to hire his first associate. By then, Rudy was in tenth grade and the damage was done. The father looked at his relationship with his son in the same light as decay: below the surface, lurking, and who knew what was there? He fully intended to one day dig in and repair the damage, but it hadn't happened yet. Rudy’s mother was also an absent parent since all her time was spent keeping her youth and helping others. When would it occur to parents that helping others needed to start with their own children?

F
ranny Arlington spotted
Jana as he climbed the bleachers toward the clutch of seniors at the far end. They included seven senior girls and six senior boys. Jana would make boy number seven. Franny had had her eye on him, hardly acknowledging it to herself, since he had transferred to Wendover. He was a cool California kid in his baggies and surf shop shirts. His long brown hair, cut in a massive shag, made her want to run her fingers across his face and into the haircut. He was cute, dammit, and she planned to make him her own. As she watched him climb the steps, their eyes met and she couldn't help herself: she smiled. And then immediately looked away. For Jana, he felt his heart leap when Franny looked his way and smiled; she was the only one of all the senior class who was willing to give him a break on the murder case. Evidently she didn't think that he had done it and was willing to cut him some slack.

She wondered if Hank had seen the smile. Even if he had, she doubted that Hank would have known who Jana was. He only knew that a senior boy had been arrested for the freshman girl's murder; he didn't have a clear mental picture of who that was. He certainly didn’t realize it was Jana who was accused and who, in fact, he did see smile at his daughter.
Kids
, thought the father.
Always with the flirting eyes and eager smiles.
Still, it was good to see his daughter was attractive to her peers. Any father would be proud, and Hank was no exception.

R
udy Gomez needed
a vantage point from which to pick a victim. Seeing the knot of senior classmates, he went to the far end of the bleachers and climbed above where they would be sitting at the other end. Once he was sure he was above them, he edged his way across to their side by climbing to the top row of the stands and heading over. He was a good twenty rows above them when he took his seat. Within five seats of him in one direction sat Jana's angel, Marcel. Within six seats of him the other way, sat Hank, Franny's father. Of course he didn't know these men or he wouldn't have selected the seat he did. But it was done and, truth be told, the two men were paying him no attention anyway.

Rudy focused on the backs of his classmates below where he sat. He watched Sue Ellen Baumgartner in her cutesy little cheerleaders' outfit come bouncing up the steps to check on her man, Fuzzy Oberlich, who ordinarily dressed out with the football team but was nursing a fractured foot and getting lots of attention for the plastic cast he was wearing. Rudy hated Fuzzy and wished he had the strength to take down another male; but he didn't. A female would just have to do. Besides...there was the sex thing and tonight was the night. His gaze shifted to the twins, Wanda and Wendy Ketcham, who still dressed alike even though they were seventeen years old and should have known better. He crossed them off his list because those two were inseparable and would never go to the bathroom or anyplace else without the other along. That wasn't going to happen. Then there was Olivine Washington, the daughter of their chemistry teacher, who has black and ran the hundred-meter dash during track season. Rudy didn't like admitting it, but Olivine actually frightened him. She had twice his musculature and wasn't hesitant about speaking out and stepping up where she saw injustice in their world. Not only that, Olivine was smarter than the entire class put together and that in itself was off-putting. If he were successful in trapping her alone somewhere she might very likely outthink him and dump his dumb ass before he did the deed. So she was out.

Which really only left Franny Arlington as the girl he would like to do tonight. She was playing shove and pull with Jana—the kid they arrested for Amy's murder. So what the hell was she doing with him anyhow? Didn't she know he was accused of murder by the Chicago Police Department? He hated her for ignoring the heinous nature of Jana's attack on Amy. He wished she wasn't flirting with the new kid from California. He had loved her from afar for a very long time. There, he finally admitted it. Now he had to make her notice him, and there was but one way to do that. He would watch very carefully for his opening and he would be bold.

At the end of the first quarter of the game the score was Wendover 11 and Niles 3. Everyone stood to stretch, including Rudy. As he was stretching, he stepped up on the bench below him and got a good look at Franny and Jana. But Jana wasn't around. Franny was alone. He carefully kept his eyes on her for what she might do next. Someone passed her a program and she flipped through it. Someone else passed her a lighted cigarette but she shook her head; Hank was watching all of this and she knew better than to smoke in front of Hank. Then Jana returned with two Pepsi cups and handed one to Franny. She accepted and smiled and leaned into him with her shoulder. He feigned pulling away but then moved right back up against her. Rudy was put off by this and he hated Jana for sitting where he, Rudy, should have been sitting. Right beside Franny Arlington, the coolest and prettiest girl in the senior class.

She abruptly stood up and came up the steps in double-time straight at Rudy. He was about to say something to her when she stopped off to the side and began talking to a slight man wearing khakis and a denim work shirt. "Hank," he heard her say, "all of us are going to the restrooms, boys and girls. We'll be okay, so please just wait."

"No," said the man, Hank, "I'm going to tag along."

"Please! You're embarrassing me!"

"I am? Why?"

"You just are. Now stay put, please, or I'll never speak to you again."

She turned and two-stepped down to her friends. Something was said and they rose as a group and began filing down the stairs to the very bottom of the bleachers, where they turned left in the direction of the restrooms. Then Rudy saw that Jana had remained behind. Jana turned and gave Rudy a scowl--Rudy thought it was meant for him, not realizing Marcel was close by--but Rudy ignored the look. By the time Jana had turned back around to face the field, Rudy was up and gone.