They arrived at Jerry’s house in fifteen minutes despite the traffic. She would have expected him to be farther out, in a tonier neighbourhood, if you will.
Joe opened Bridgid’s door as Tommy climbed stiffly out of the back seat. No doubt he was still on pain meds. As she got out, she looked at the desert landscaping, the attractive but simple entryway. “I rather expected a mansion of some sort, truth be told. After all, Jerry was a captain in the largest police force in Arizona. This is quite modest.” It was one storey and probably not more than three bedrooms.
“Aye, Jerry and Marj have always lived modestly.” Tommy stepped in beside her. “His whole career, they’ve lived simply, saving most of what they earn for their retirement. Tis an admirable trait that Gretchen and I have adopted.”
“I’ll have to tell you the whole story sometime.” Joe opened the front door for her. “It’s a long story; short version, he was defrauded but got some of it back, and now the land he has is growing rapidly in value. They’ll be able to retire very comfortably.”
“Tis no surprise. He is a remarkably astute man.”
“That he is.” Tommy followed them in. “Retiring right now, he’ll not make as much as he would had he waited two more years. But they’ll be comfortable enough.”
Joe said quietly, “You feel guilty about being protected; I feel guilty about forcing him into earlier retirement.”
“But ye didn’t. Twas his decision.”
Joe nodded. “In other words, false guilt. Same with you.”
She smiled to herself. No matter how she entered into discourse with these two, they seemed always to be ahead of her.
The outside, of tan stucco with a terra-cotta-coloured tiled roof, looked like all the other homes in this neighbourhood, but the inside surprised her. She had just stepped into a mid-Victorian parlour, right down to the glass doorknobs and flocked wallpaper. Were the furnishings genuine, or were they artful reproductions? It didn’t matter. They all fit together brilliantly. She was about to dine in one of the old demesnes of rural Ireland, stately homes that tourists pay handsomely to see.
The group continued through a beaded curtain and gathered around the table. Jerry’s Marj was all smiles. “Have a seat anywhere.” From the décor Bridgid almost expected her to be wearing a bustle and carrying a parasol. She was in jeans and a Tshirt emblazoned with two skeletons sprawled out on chaise longes and the inscription ‘But it’s a dry heat.’
Bridgid looked around. “Are Hugh and Gretchen not coming?”
“They’re coming, but they said don’t wait.” Jerry took his seat at the head of the table.
She should have counted settings first. There were two extra at the long table. No, three. Three?
Hugh came in a few minutes later, after Jerry had asked Joe to say grace. That too surprised her, but it really ought not to have.
Marj had made a big pot of homemade egg noodles and a pan of stroganoff, both served in bowls to match the rest of the décor. She had tossed a salad as well, enough for all and then some. Bridgid was unsure of herself. Was this a formal dinner, or what one might call a normal dinner? Each table setting was only one fork, one knife, and one spoon, so she perceived that this was a normal dinner, albeit in truly elegant surroundings.
A knock at the door and Bridgid’s uniformed officer guard entered sheepishly. Marj invited him to the table as effusively as she had invited everyone else.
A minute later Gretchen entered with Mr. Applegate. Everyone helloed everyone else and Marj set another place. She didn’t seem to mind a bit that this cozy group was becoming quite a crowd.
Bridgid asked, “Did ye sell off y’r ponies?”
“That I did, aye!” Mr. Applegate seemed muckle cheerful. “Twas a grand success. I’ll not quite break even, but twas far better than expected.”
Gretchen uncapped a Guinness. “Mr. Applegate, our colleague in arms here, wants to help. We want him to help. He knows the subject.”
“Good!” Hugh laid a notepad and pen beside his plate. “Where would Stover be hiding? Holing up?”
Mr. Applegate wagged his head. “Gretchen here said he be still at large. He’s a wily bastard, but I’d not thought he could thwart y’rselves.”
Tommy offered, “We thought may’ap he’d seek a job locally.”
“Work? Pah. I pity the sorry soul who hires him. Tis a most tasty dish, this. I thank ye, madam.” Mr. Applegate nodded to Mrs. Hocks, then lapsed into thought a moment. “He fancies polo, but the lad cannae afford it, nor does he ride well.”
“Polo grounds in Scottsdale.” Hugh wrote it down.
“There be no horse farms about?”
“Not in town. We’ll cover them tomorrow.” Hugh put his pen aside to tackle his dinner.
Twas a fine dinner, and delicious. Bridgid was getting the notion that Marj loved to feed large groups. The lady brought out four different kinds of salad dressing in pretty cruets and served soured cream and applesauce on the side in the appropriate dishes. Well, Bridgid assumed they were appropriate, but she was a simple working-class girl. What did she know about appropriate dishes? She mentally slapped herself. There she went again with what Joe called her mum-think.
They ate in thoughtful silence. Eventually, the noodles nearly gone and the stroganoff severely depleted, conversation picked up again. It was light for the most part, but no one was jocular this evening.
Finally, Hugh complained, “You guys know, this isn’t supposed to be the plan. We’re treading water, waiting for him to show up. We’re supposed to be proactive here.”
Jerry was staring at nothing in the middle of the table. “Joe, remember that trap you set a couple years ago?”
“The one at the zoo?”
He nodded. “Can we set another one?”
“Sure, but how do we communicate to Stover that he’s supposed to go to the zoo and get trapped? That’s the only major block.”
Silence.
The phone rang and Marj got it. She brought it to Jerry. “Harvey Spruce.”
They all looked at each other.
Hugh handed Jerry the notepad and pen.
Jerry spoke tersely, in monosyllable, jotting on the pad. He ended with “Good,” and closed the line. “Harvey got that hearing moved up and he thinks he’s got a good witness. They sent a letter telling us to appear, but we weren’t there to get it, so he called. I have the particulars here.”
Joe said, “Whichever way it goes, I’ll be relieved when it’s over.”
“Amen and amen.” Jerry suggested, “I was thinking leave notes at the house, at the apartment, and anywhere else we think Stover might see one. The notes will say that you and Bridgid decided to go to the zoo.”
Hugh retrieved his notepad. “Good working plan; needs refinement.”
“There’s ice cream for dessert,” Marj announced.
“We can refine later. First things first.” And Joe went to the kitchen to help Marj scoop.
Chapter 17 Little Daniel Reese
“There be an organization for absolutely everything,” Tommy once expounded. “There is even an association called ‘Squirrel Hunters of America.’ Ye cannae be more esoteric than that.” No, but some of the organisations Joe ran across in his line of work came close. For example, Joe had learned there is a whole organization just for people who write mystery and suspense novels, the Mystery Writers of America. They bestow awards each year not unlike the Oscars in Hollywood, although these are the Edgars, named for Edgar Allen Poe, who wrote the first true murder mystery.
Not only that, once upon a time Joe was a speaker at a monthly meeting of the local Mystery Writers of America chapter. He spent forty-five minutes telling his audience what investigators do at a crime scene and what they do not do. The question-and-answer period following was especially fun because he could dispell some of the weird misinformation you got from some television shows. A few of the illustrative slides he threw up on a screen were pretty gory, but the audience did not seem to mind in th
e least, even though they had just eaten dinner. It was an interesting group.
They had lauded his presentation and his work. What would they think of him now? He sat beside Harvey on the defense side of the courtroom, not the prosecution. Probably they would be calmly nodding and taking notes, like before.
The preliminaries, as usual, consumed over an hour. Then Miriam took the stand and insisted that the police had done her great damage by yada yada yada. Why did they not call her husband to testify? He was the one with the strong tendency to attack without provocation.
And why wasn’t Joe tracking well? This was familiar stuff to him. He knew how the system worked. Right now he should be perceiving exactly what was going on, openly and behind the rhetoric. What his counsel was really saying, what the Stegeners’ lawyers were attempting. His brain was dozing peacefully just when he needed it at its sharpest. What would Maria say?
She would no doubt say it was overload. Within the space of one calendar month he had fatally shot an assassin, flown to Ireland and back suffering jet lag in both directions, had married, spent a lovely honeymoon in Ireland and at the Grand Canyon which although heavenly was taxing, quit his job and flushed his beloved career, won the race of a lifetime, and pulled Charlie Stegener away from death’s door. Bridgid stood in constant danger from Stover and the pressure showed no signs of easing, and now he was fighting his financial ruin in court unassisted by the agencies that were supposed to be backing him up. No wonder his brain was mush just when he needed every synapse.
Who were these people on the stand now? Miriam’s hangers-on apparently, detailing how devastating were the losses she had suffered, and all because of the police.
Through it all Harvey sat there nodding sagely.
They broke for lunch. Joe’s stomach was churning too much to eat. They reconvened.
Called to the stand, the chief avowed he knew nothing of what Miriam had been talking about. Pure truth. He did, however, have total confidence in the integrity of his personnel. Riiight. Cross didn’t have much to ask. Jerry took the stand and said essentially the same thing. Joe swore up and down that no one was carrying out a vendetta against the Stegener operation. He hoped he wasn’t screwing anything up on cross examination, but he couldn’t be sure. At least Harvey didn’t frown.
The only really contentious spot had come at the very beginning when Stegener’s lawyer began, “So tell me, Jose, what do you—”
“Excuse me. My name is not Jose.” He had been expecting that. In Arizona, testimony by a Joseph automatically receives more credence than does testimony by a Jose.
“Joseph. Right. You signed the deposition Joseph. But you were christened Jose.”
“I was christened Joseph.”
The lawyer smiled a yeah, right sort of smile. “A Mexican mother is going to name her child Joseph.” The smile hardened. “I mention, sir, that you are under oath.”
“I mention, sir, that I am not Mexican.”
The lawyer was smart enough to just drop it right there. No matter. Joe would not have told him anyway that when his Yaqui father and English mother married, they decided that any sons would be given English names, and girls would receive Spanish names, thus Joseph and Felicidad.
Was it over? No. Now what? The bailiff set up a huge monitor where the judge and the litigants could all see it. Harvey’s aide arranged a computer on a small table and set a chair at it.
Harvey announced, “I call to the stand Daniel Reese.”
A boy about Rico’s age came forward to be sworn in. He raised his right hand. Did he even know that stretching the truth after swearing to tell the truth was a jailable offense? Whatever, he was sworn in and seated in the chair.
The judge asked, “How old are you, son?”
“Twelve, sir.”
“Sixth grade?”
“Yes, sir.”
Harvey addressed the room. “Mrs. Stegener contends that only a police officer could research facts that were brought forward to her detriment. So I asked the principal of Saguaro Elementary School, an elementary school here in Phoenix chosen at random, for a child who can use a computer. Any child. A child who likes computers but is otherwise a random choice. The principal suggested Mr. Reese here. Mr. Reese. Do you know anyone in this room? Look around you.”
The kid twisted, looking. He studied every face including the judge’s and Joe’s. “No, sir, except you. And Mom is out there in the audience.”
“Have you ever heard the name Charles Stegener?”
He hesitated. “No, sir.”
The judge didn’t miss that. “You paused just now. Can you tell us why?”
“I saw Miriam Stegener on political posters. A couple months ago, all summer. They were all over the place. But not Charles.”
The judge nodded and sat back.
Harvey smiled. “Mr. Reese, people in this court are very concerned about whether a witness has been coached beforehand on what to say or do. Have I instructed you about this appearance in any way?”
“Yes, sir. You said don’t wear jeans.”
A few giggles floated around the room.
“Regarding why you are here.”
“No, sir. You said show up.”
The judge leaned forward. “Has Mr. Spruce suggested in any way that a computer would be involved here?”
“No, sir.”
Stegener’s lawyer asked predictable questions and Danny answered well despite looking confused.
Finally, Harvey said, “Mr. Reese, would you do a computer search for the name Charles Stegener, please? S T E G E N E R.” He nodded to his aide and she threw a switch. The monitor lit up.
Stegener’s lawyers objected instantly, but little Danny Reese paid no attention to the noisy legal firestorm around him as the objection was eventually denied. What he generated on his computer was thrown up on the screen for all to see.
He went into DogPile just as Joe had. He tried a couple other search engines, including two Joe didn’t know about. Just as Rico occasionally did, he became engrossed in the project and ignored those around him.
Harvey walked over to the judge’s bench. ”Your honour, you will see that this primary school student, obtained at random from among thousands of schoolchildren, has already come up with three of the facts that Miriam Stegener claims could only come from a police data bank. And he has not, at least not as yet, hacked into any proprietary sources.
“My clients all claimed under oath to have discovered and distributed no damaging information whatever. This young man has just shown that the information in question is in the public domain, available to any schoolchild. I suggest that the Stegeners, instead of being injured parties, are actually harassing my clients with these frivolous charges, and I request that their accusations be dismissed.”
That was the gist of it, or maybe it wasn’t. Was that exactly what Harvey was saying? Joe’s mushy brain had a hard time sorting through what was said, let alone remembering it.
“Moreover,” Harvey continued, “I will show that Miriam Stegener is actually causing great harm to the police force she is maligning. We will show—”
“Whoa.” Little Danny looked up at the judge. “Sir, are you sure you want me to keep doing this?” Up on the monitor, Danny had dug up and highlighted one of Charles’s more serious peccadillos. People in the room tittered. Miriam and her lawyers exploded.
Joe thought for a moment the judge was going to lose control. He did not. One bang of the gavel settled it down.
“Mr. Spruce, do you consider your point made?”
“I do, your honor.”
“Cross?” The judge nodded to Danny. “Thank you, Mr. Reese. You may stand down.”
Danny looked at Harvey, who nodded, so he abandoned the computer and Harvey directed him to a seat.
Was Harvey Spruce going to make any money off this? Joe sure hoped so. The guy was brilliant. Give Bellamy credit, when brought to the stand he exposed all their non-proprietary financial woes to the judge and pled i
ndigence, in a sense. It took the rest of the day, but in the very end, bottom line, Stegener not only lost, he ended up getting a bill for the department’s share of expenses.
It was over.
Pony up, Stegener.
At the courtroom door, a television reporter ambushed Joe and Jerry. She stuffed the mike in Jerry’s face, and as non-functional as his brain was, Joe got an idea. Jerry answered a few stupid questions. Then bless her sweet little clueless heart, she asked Joe, “Do you have anything to add to that?”
“I don’t know about Captain Hocks here, but I’m going to take my wife to the zoo tomorrow morning. She’s off work tomorrow. We do that a lot; we enjoy visiting the zoo. We especially like the orangutans.”
Apparently someone taking his wife to the zoo wasn’t newsworthy in Miss Communications Major’s estimation, and she turned back to Jerry with another frivolous question. But Joe had planted the seed. Now if only Stover was watching the television news.
She couldn’t work. She couldn’t think straight. She couldn’t do a damn thing. Gretchen should just close down her computer and go home.
All the action right now was uptown in the courthouse, or had been; it was certainly over with by now; and she had been too upset to go watch. She was too afraid that Stegener would score another big one. Not only was the world totally unfair, it was hanging upside down. And all the nasty little Stegeners and Bellamys of the world were not just kicking at it, they were winning. The bullies and the poop-heads were winning.
If Joe got disgusted enough to just flush the whole scene and emigrate to Ireland, would Tommy go? No doubt. Would Gretchen enjoy Ireland? She’d find out. It looked okay to her in August, but what about January?
Visneros cradled his phone and addressed the room in general. “That was Tommy. Jerry, Joe, and the chief are off the hook. He says meet in the office at four-thirty. Who’s on the street? Try to reach them and call them in.”
Pony Up Page 19
