by B K Johnson
Besides her looks, Samantha was reportedly very well educated. In the art of pleasing a man, at least. Her mother had made sure of that. She was certainly skilled enough to make the sex with Geoff so good that he willingly divorced Alexa, his wife of 23 years. Alexa had been a wonderful partner to Geoff and had overlooked his numerous affairs over the years because she firmly believed he needed and loved her enough that none of his dalliances would ever threaten their marriage. How wrong she had been. And that didn’t set well with Alexa.
Alexa had not counted on the vulnerable, seductive Samantha, who knew if she snagged Geoff she would never have to work again. Samantha “became a housewife” upon returning from their honeymoon in St. Croix. It was what her mother had trained her to do. “Get a rich man to provide for you, honey,” she’d said more than once to her daughter. And she’d taught her just how to go about it. Whether or not he was married was of no consequence. Still, as self-serving as that sounded, and as vicious as her mother was, Samantha was a sweet, innocent, malleable child-like woman. She was just obedient to the training her money-grubbing Mom had given her.
Gage, Inc. was a multi-million dollar corporation, and as its founder and CEO, Geoff had no trouble at all paying Alexa her half of the community property business as well as her $10,000 per month alimony. He’d also deeded their community property home in Tiburon to her. They had no children, so child support was not an issue. Geoff still had plenty left over to meet all of Samantha’s needs for clothes, food, beauty aids (including a fitness trainer, home gym, aesthetician, cosmetologist, masseuse, and manicurist), travel, gifts, entertainment and excitement. And he enjoyed doing it, because he was sure to reap his just rewards from Samantha at the end of the day. His favorite reward was when she dressed in a black French maid uniform with a bustier and garter belt, and went down on him in front of the wall-length mirror in their bedroom. He thought he would burst every time he just imagined it. The reality was even better. Giving credit where credit was due, Samantha made sure Geoff never wanted for anything he desired sexually, wherever or whenever. Samantha had learned to love sex, and the power it gave her. During sex, she knew she was safe, and in control.
This was her downfall. Geoff had begun to suspect that Samantha began having extramarital relations about 6 months ago. It wasn’t that she denied him sex or even that she only pretended to enjoy it with him. Or that he ever found evidence of someone else in his bed or on his wife. What tipped him off to her proclivities was that she was hardly ever home anymore when he went on his business trips. He would call and have to leave messages, no matter what the time. Samantha always had a good explanation upon her return of his phone call. It was “I went with Gina to the wharf for lunch,” or “Michaela and I indulged in a shopping spree in Mill Valley,” or “Daniella and I are taking French classes together.” Her companions were her girlfriends. At least that was what she told Geoff.
In the past, Geoff hand never denied Samantha her freedom. He knew that Samantha had been forced by her mother to constantly be on the stage. She had modeled since she was 5 years old. Everything she’d ever learned was to be attractive first, entertaining second, and always dependent. Freedom had never been an option. But since Samantha had finally married well, her mother had backed off with her incessant demands, only wanting her daughter to gift her with extravagant baubles.
Geoff was not a restrictive partner, but he did have a very healthy ego and a “need to know.” He decided he didn’t want to be ignorant anymore. If he was being cuckolded, he wanted the opportunity to know the name of his wife’s paramour. He figured he could either buy the guy off or threaten him away from Samantha. He never contemplated losing her. He was as successful in the bedroom as he was in the boardroom, even if he needed a little help now and then, like a Viagra pill. He knew he brought Samantha to orgasm most every time they had sex. Geoff also knew Samantha would never willingly give up the good life with which he provided her. Based on all he’d told her, Tommy figured Geoff was probably right.
With a loud sigh, Tommy pushed the drawer closed with her foot and stood up. She absolutely hated the tedium of stakeouts, following the subject and taking photographs of cheaters with her Canon. Since she was a good photographer and had an artistic eye, Tommy always preferred to use her skill with a camera to capture the fragility of a dewdrop on a daffodil, or the haphazard color of a fleeting rainbow. Tommy found that utilizing this skill in detecting always translated to more visible and graphic pictures of clandestine activities. Following a sleaze-ball spouse and memorializing a tawdry moment for evidence in a courtroom drama wasn’t Tommy’s idea of having a good time over the next few days. But at least it didn’t seem like she would have to go to court to testify and authenticate the photos and activities they purported to show. Geoff wasn’t contemplating divorce. And Tommy was looking forward to a vacation with her girlfriends in Cabo next month. Extra funds in her pocket today were worth her effort now to pay for future indulgences.
Scooping up all the pictures and documents, Tommy threw them in her shoulder bag, turned out the lights, and left her office. She had only to turn to her left after locking her door and run up the steps right outside her office upstairs to the loft she called home. She thanked the Goddess every day for bringing Duke into her life. Besides being her mentor, protector, and boxing coach, he was also her landlord. And Tommy loved having her living area right over her office. It was convenient, safe and cost-effective, especially at tax time.
On entering her nest, Tommy quickly watered her plants that she’d neglected for the last few days. The shoulder bag was deposited in the small safe in her closet. Then she tore off the orange jumpsuit and debated which outfit would make her the most invisible while she would have to tail a very conspicuous subject. Donning a navy turtleneck over a pair of jeans, with a navy pea coat and black Sketchers (comfort while tailing someone was so important) to complete the ensemble, Tommy felt she looked just like any other woman in foggy San Francisco. She quickly pinned up her hair and put on a brown wig. Adding glasses to change her appearance, Tommy took one last look in the mirror and grabbed her purse and camera. The purse held only her car keys, lipstick, driver’s license, and mace. Tommy never took a cell phone, for numerous reasons. Today, she also didn’t choose any of her revolvers, although she had a license to carry a concealed weapon. Tommy was sure she wouldn’t need heavy protection for her first reconnoiter of Samantha Gage’s habitats and habits. Blowing a kiss to Babe, her stuffed animal penguin, she locked up and left home to work another day in what she considered the most beautiful city in the world.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Doer had just returned to the office after a shortened lunch hour when the door opened up and Deputy Sheriff Mike Jones walked in. “Hi, Mike, how you doing?” Their acquaintance was new but congenial, as they’d bowled together in a league with Mike’s wife Jolly. Mike smiled and answered, “I’m doing okay in spite of having to work overtime to help the Jackson City police investigate the Judge’s death. Jolly isn’t happy about my being away so much, but she understands it’s the nature of the job. With a police force of only 5 up here, the sheriff’s office has to assist the police on something this major.”
“Oh, Mike,” was the breathless exclamation. “I had no idea you would have to be involved in the investigation. It is just terrible that someone as important to this community as Judge Julie was murdered. I just can’t believe it, can you?” In a city as small as Jackson, just over 4500 residents, news traveled fast. It had already been leaked to the press that the sheriff’s department and the Jackson City police were treating the Judge’s death as an accidental death, for now. Three days had passed, and the buzz of the local grapevine had the officers assuming the Judge had somehow been poisoned. Toxicology tests had been ordered, and the Judge’s body was being held at the local mortuary pending the results of those tests and the autopsy report. No services were going to be held until there was at least a tentative finding of murder, suicide or
accident. Natural causes had been ruled out.
Mike said, “Well, I wouldn’t jump to conclusions if I were you. I know the scuttlebutt is that we think the Judge was murdered, but we’re sure having a hard time trying to figure out what actually happened. That’s why I’m here, anyway, to take your statement. We’ve interviewed the court clerks, bailiffs, and other judicial staff. Now we’re turning to anyone who was in the courthouse that day. Some of the clerks, especially Tammy, remembered you being there some time in the morning. Since the Judge was found lying on the floor in her chambers at 11:00 a.m., the only thing we can do is work back from then to figure out a sequence of events. Can you tell me about when you were there, and what you noticed?”
“Sure, Mike,” the Doer responded. “Let’s go sit in Mr. Locke’s office and you can take my statement there. He’s in court in San Andreas today, and I don’t expect him back before 3:00. Will that be okay?”
“You bet,” agreed Mike, allowing himself to be escorted to the back of the building where Mr. Locke maintained his private office. He was directed to take a seat opposite Mr. Locke’s desk. “Can I get you some coffee, or water, or anything, Mike?”
He said, “Just a notebook would help, if you don’t mind. Like an idiot, I didn’t bring mine with me since I wasn’t planning on questioning you yet. I was gonna go back to the Sheriff’s department and call you to set a time. I just happened to see you leave the deli, and thought I’d catch you if I could.”
“That’s perfectly fine. I am happy to do anything I can to help, Mike.” Mike was handed a steno pad lying on the credenza. Sitting down in Mr. Locke’s huge leather recliner, the Doer looked Mike directly in the eyes. Criminals were always accused of having shifty eyes, so focusing completely on Mike was required.
“Well, let’s get to it then,” started Mike. “The time stamped on the documents you filed with Tammy show 9:10 a.m., shortly after the clerk’s office opened. Is that about the time you got to the courthouse?”
“Yes, Mike. I locked up the office at 8:50 a.m. and it only takes me 5 minutes to walk up there. I took my time that morning, since the day was so beautiful. Then I spent about 5 minutes chatting with Scott before I went up to the clerk’s office. The door was already open, so I figured it was a little after 9:00 a.m.”
“Did you see anybody on the way up the stairs, or in the clerk’s office that you didn’t recognize?” questioned Mike.
“No, I didn’t,” was the quick reply.
Some of the clerks were saying they remembered a strange, tall, skinny, young blond man who kept furtively looking around him the whole time he was in their office. He never talked to any of the clerks, except to ask where he could look up divorce cases. He was directed to the civil case log on the table by the door and spent several minutes at a chair there. When he left, the clerks all breathed a collective sigh of relief, since he smelled pretty ripe. One of them noted the time as 10:10 a.m. Not wanting to appear as rapidly jumping on that bandwagon, the Doer still wanted to make the point of having left the courthouse earlier than the skinny stranger.
“How long were you there,” asked Mike.
“Oh, just about 25 minutes with Tammy. I looked in to see if Lisa was at her desk, but when I didn’t see her, I went to the restroom instead. It wasn’t until the next day Lisa told me in tears she’d been at her son’s school due to a call about illness. She felt so bad she wasn’t with the Judge to protect her.”
“Yeah,” lamented Mike. “We confirmed her alibi, as if she needed one. We all figure if she’d been there, the Judge would still be with us today. Or at least, we’d know what went down, and why. We’ve asked her if she knows some guy like the one the clerks describe. You know, the tall, skinny blonde dude who was skittish about being in a courthouse. She said he sounded vaguely familiar, but couldn’t recall any names. Did you see him?”
“No,” the Doer sighed. “I am pretty good at remembering names and faces and am sure I would have been able to give you a better description of him if I had. All the years I’ve worked in the legal arena have taught me to be more observant than most folks. Not that the clerks aren’t, mind you. From what they’ve said, he sounds pretty creepy. But I admit I was pretty focused on my job. I just wish I could be more helpful.”
“Well, I appreciate it. And thanks for your time,” said Mike, offering his hand. Just then, Richard Locke entered his office, astounded to see his paralegal sitting in his chair and the Deputy Sheriff just standing up.
Richard Locke drew himself up to his most imposing stature, and snorted, “What a waste of time. Neither of us was even there when that screwball young man offed the Judge. My paralegal was right here working on discovery documents at 10:00 a.m.”
Mike laughed, “So you’ve arraigned, tried and convicted the poor guy just because he was weird and in the right place at the right time. Some defense attorney you are.”
“I only take cases I know I can win,” Locke responded seriously. “And I don’t do much criminal law anymore, just divorces, conservatorships, estates, and the like. I don’t like being around criminals any more than I have to these days.” With that, the attorney directed his employee to get back to work and finish complying with the Request for Documents submitted to his office.
The Doer breathed a sigh of relief upon returning to the paralegal’s desk. What luck, that this idiot just so happened to come around the courthouse an hour before the Judge was found. A heart-felt thank you was offered to Pele for sending him. And fortunately, the chamber door was closed by the murderer. No one had even thought to look for the Judge until she didn’t appear at the 11:00 impaneling of the jury. That made the time of her death appear much later than 9:30, after Locke’s paralegal returned to the office. Only after 11:00 did the bailiff go looking for Lisa, to no avail. Finally, he knocked on the Judge’s closed chamber door, and not getting an answer, had opened it. Much to his shock, he saw the Judge lying frozen in place on her carpet, her mouth agape in a silent scream, and her skirt riding up to her hips. Only then did the alarm go out.
The Doer blessed Mr. Locke for not once glimpsing how smart, cunning and determined his paralegal was. He preferred to believe he had the quietest, meekest employee in town, and would never cast any suspicion there, however unknowingly. He still hadn’t accepted the proffered resignation, offering instead a $1 an hour raise to stay. The paralegal would have to stay for the Judge’s funeral, but would leave just after that. Not just for appearance’s sake, but for pure enjoyment. It had been a long time coming.
CHAPTER FIVE
Early risers in San Francisco experienced the special kind of morning that most folks only dream about. The sun shone brightly at 6 a.m., due in large part to daylight savings time. Blue, cloudless skies permeated the atmosphere. A brisk breeze blew from the Golden Gate to Market Street, and joggers out for their morning constitutional shivered just enough to feel blissfully alive. Their cheeks reddened from their effort and the chill, and most of them sought out one of the many nearby Starbucks to bring their daily exertion to a caffeinated close. The wondrous smell of freshly roasted coffee beans assaulted their nostrils as they breathlessly entered each haven.
This particular Starbucks was on Van Ness and Bush Street. While most of its patrons were young careerists on the rise who were readying themselves for another workday, there was one woman sitting alone who was just ending hers. Tommy slumped at the counter by the window, and quickly slurped her Caramel Macchiato. Her lids were drooping, and her shoulders sagged while her elbows strained to keep her posture upright. It had been a really long night, and Tommy was immensely grateful for her warm, sweet cup of coffee. She just had to have this jolt of caffeine and sugar before facing the rest of her day.
Tommy had parked her Jetta just across the street, next to the Jaguar dealership. “Dream on,” she’d thought, looking at the cars in the window. Always prepared, she kept a credit card, five dollar bills, and parking meter change in her glove compartment. She’d had to use 6 qua
rters in the meter this morning. Her dark green vehicle, which she’d christened Heidi, was equipped with a car phone and a GPS, which she would disable when her target came to rest. She’d certainly made use of both in the wee morning hours as she inconspicuously followed Samantha Gage wend her way through the Bay Area in a new, custom white Cadillac Seville.
Tommy was not inexperienced or naïve. She had been sexually active since she was 16 years old and had numerous boyfriends in college and law school. She had lots of friends, lesbian, gay, straight, and bisexual. Her one and only marriage to Robert Sheldon had ended after four years. The sex had been wonderful, often and varied until the world caved in. Since the divorce, she rarely dated. Only one young man persisted in asking her out.
Tommy was trying desperately to learn to love herself again, and in the process eschewed male companionship unless she really just had to get her rocks off. Her girlfriends, Trish and Nadine, were her usual compatriots. They knew how vulnerable she was underneath that façade of strength, perfection, and determination. They catered to her needs and moods. And for the last five years, the AA fellowship acted as her mainstay. Having lived a fairly cloistered kind of life for so long is probably why Samantha’s whirlwind evening seemed more than just a little frenetic to Tommy.
Ruminating about her night prowl, Tommy recalled that her evening had gotten off to a running start, literally. Tommy had driven to the gated Gage mansion in Pacific Heights. Geoffrey had given her a key to the gate and to the home, in case she needed it, but Tommy preferred not having to enter any of her client’s abodes unless absolutely necessary. Especially if she didn’t know they were unoccupied. So here she’d been, just sitting in her Jetta half a block away, when she saw Samantha Gage jog past the gate and onto the sidewalk. Samantha was wearing a beige sweat suit and white Nike’s, with her hair up in a ponytail.
