Sunset Express

by Robert Crais

  Mrs. Earle raised her hands. “Oh, Lord, no. I don’t care for all those lawyers.”

  Tomsic grinned big time at that one. Even Bidwell smiled. Sherman said, “Do you mind if we record?”

  “You can record whatever you want. I don’t care who hears what I have to say.” Her jaw worked, and for a moment she looked as if she was going to cry again. “You know, those things I said about LeCedrick and the officer weren’t true.” She looked at Angela. “I want to apologize for that.”

  Angela Rossi said, “It’s okay.”

  Mrs. Earle said, “No, it is not. I am so ashamed that I don’t know what to do.” She looked back at Sherman. “They said that the most horrible things were happening to my boy. They said that he would surely die in that place unless I helped get him out of there.”

  Anna Sherman turned on the recorder. “Who is ‘they,’ Mrs. Earle?”

  Mrs. Louise Earle went through her part of it first, telling how she received the first phone call that she’d had from LeCedrick in six years, how he’d pleaded with her that his life was in danger there in the prison, that he’d called again, crying this time, begging her to help and saying that he’d hired an attorney named Elliot Truly who wanted to come speak with her. She told us how Truly and Kerris had come to the house, confirming the horror stories that LeCedrick had claimed, and convincing her that the fastest way to get LeCedrick moved from harm’s way was to claim that the police had framed him those six years ago, just as LeCedrick had always said. She said that Truly helped her work out what to say.

  Anna Sherman took notes on a yellow legal pad even though the recorder was running. Bidwell was taking notes, too. Sherman said, “Did Jonathan Green take part in any of these conversations?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Bidwell said, “I saw you and Green together at a news conference.”

  “That’s right. When Mr. Truly said it was time to say my piece, he drove me over to meet Mr. Green.”

  “Did you and Mr. Green talk about what you were going to say?”

  Louise Earle frowned. “I don’t think so.” She frowned harder, trying to remember. “I guess we didn’t. I guess he knew from Mr. Truly. He just said to say it to the newspeople as direct and as honest as I could.”

  Gibbs leaned forward. “He said for you to be direct and honest?”

  Sherman shook her head. “Green’s smart.” She drew a line across her pad. “Okay. Let’s hear what you have.”

  I told them how Rossi and I had gone to see LeCedrick, and what we had learned from him, and how Kerris and his people had gotten to Mrs. Earle first and how we had followed them to the pumping fields west of Baldwin Hills, and what happened there. I told them what Truly had said as he lay dying. I said, “Truly confirmed everything that Mrs. Earle and LeCedrick said. He tied in Jonathan Green, and stated that it was Green who directed the fabricating of phony evidence implicating Pritzik and Richards.”

  Bidwell put down his pad. “Why would Green do that?”

  I handed him the hard copy printout of the contracts between Jonathan Green and Theodore Martin. “These are copies of confidential retainer agreements between Green and Teddy Martin. They have an amended agreement that gives Jonathan Green ownership and control of most of Teddy’s businesses.” Anna Sherman stared at me without emotion as I said it.

  Bidwell flipped through the sheets, frowning. “How in hell did you come by these?”

  I shrugged. “You just find things sometimes.”

  Sherman smiled, still without emotion.

  Bidwell passed the pages to her. “Inadmissable.”

  Anna Sherman took the pages but didn’t look at them. The neutral smile stayed. She said, “You have a dying declaration from Elliot Truly implicating Jonathan Green in the falsification of evidence.”

  I nodded. “We do.”

  “Who heard it besides you?”

  Rossi said, “I did. So did Joe Pike.”

  Sherman looked at Louise Earle. “Did you hear it, Mrs. Earle?”

  Louise Earle looked uncertain. “I don’t think so. They put me behind all this metal. There was shooting, and I thought Mr. Lawrence was dead.”

  Anna Sherman patted her hand. “That’s all right.”

  Bidwell said, “So what we’ve got is a dying declaration witnessed by three people who have an interest in attacking Jonathan Green.”

  Rossi said, “What in hell does that mean?” She stood. “We’re giving it to you on a plate, and you’re saying it’s not enough?”

  Bidwell crossed his arms and rocked.

  Anna Sherman looked at the third guy. He hadn’t said anything, and now he was staring at her. She stood and said, “It’s not the best, but I want to move on this. I am confident that these people are telling the truth, and that Jonathan Green is guilty of these crimes.”

  Rossi said, “Truly said something else, too.”

  Everyone looked at her.

  “He said that Theodore Martin admitted killing his wife.”

  Anna Sherman smiled again, and Bidwell leaned forward.

  “That’s why the agreement was amended. Teddy said that he’d pay anything for Green to save him, and Green went for everything. Teddy put almost all of his personal and corporate holdings into escrow as payment to Green.”

  Bidwell snatched up the pages and flipped through them again.

  I said, “There’s also a second amendment that releases several million dollars in holdings back to Teddy Martin. I figure it’s because Teddy thought he could get bail, and if he got it he was planning to skip.”

  Rossi said, “Truly confirmed that.”

  Anna Sherman leaned forward just like Bidwell now, but she wasn’t smiling anymore. “Truly said Teddy was planning to skip?”

  Rossi and I answered at the same time. “Yes.”

  Bidwell ran out of the room. The third guy angrily slapped his hands and said, “Sonofabitch!”

  I said, “What?”

  Anna Sherman slumped back in her chair and looked terribly tired. “Theodore Martin was granted bail this morning at ten o’clock.”

  36

  Theodore “Teddy” Martin was granted bail in the amount of five hundred thousand dollars at ten that morning under a nine-nine-five motion made by Jonathan Green on the defendant’s behalf in the Los Angeles Superior Court. The nine-nine-five was granted, according to the presiding judge, due to the revelation of “evidence consistent with innocence.” Namely, the evidence found by one Elvis Cole linking Pritzik and Richards to the kidnapping of Susan Martin. The same evidence that Elliot Truly declared to have falsified as he bled to death in a maintenance shed in the Baldwin Hills.

  Lincoln Gibbs and Anna Sherman got on the phones in a mad scramble to ascertain Teddy’s whereabouts. Calls were made to Green’s office, Teddy’s business manager, and Teddy’s home. Radio cars were sent to all three locations. Both Green’s office and the business manager denied any knowledge of Teddy’s whereabouts, and there was no answer at his home. The radio car reported that his home appeared empty, and that a Hispanic housekeeper had responded to their knock and said that “Mr. Teddy” was not and had not been home. Sherman grew so angry that she slammed her phone and cursed, and Mrs. Earle said, “What’s going on?”

  I said, “Teddy jumped bail.”

  Sherman snapped, “We don’t know that.”

  I picked up the amended retainer agreement and flipped to the list of Teddy’s personal and corporate possessions. Teddy Jay Enterprises owned a Cessna Citation jet aircraft. It was listed among the properties transferred to Jonathan Green’s control, but what does that matter when you’re running for your life? Stealing jets isn’t much when you compare it to killing people.

  Anna Sherman was yelling into the phone at someone in Jonathan Green’s office when I held the amendment in front of her with my finger pointing to the jet. She saw the listing, then said, “Call you back,” and hung up. “Where does he keep it?”

  “I don’t know.”

&
nbsp; Sherman called Green’s business manager again and demanded to know where Teddy housed the jet. She was yelling, and the business manager probably got his nose out of joint because of it, and he probably made the mistake of asking if she had a court order. Sherman went ballistic. Her face turned purple and a webwork of veins stood out on her forehead, and Gibbs said, “Lord, Anna. You’ll have a stroke.”

  Anna Sherman shouted into the phone that if the business manager didn’t cooperate she would have him arrested within the hour for accessory after the fact and conspiracy. It worked. The business manager told her, and Anna Sherman repeated the information as he gave it. “Van Nuys airport. Skyway Aviation.” She also repeated a phone number, which Dan Tomsic copied.

  Gibbs, Tomsic, Rossi, and I watched Anna Sherman dial Skyway, identify herself, and ask to speak with whoever was in charge. Mrs. Earle was watching, too, but you could tell that it wasn’t as important to her. Bidwell was arranging a ride back to the hospital for her. The Skyway manager came on the line, and Anna Sherman identified herself again. She asked as to the status of Theodore Martin’s Citation jet, then asked several follow-up questions. We knew the answers from her expression. Lincoln Gibbs yelled, “That sonofabitch,” and kicked the couch. Tomsic sat and put his face in his hands, as if he’d played a long, close game and given it everything and lost in the end. After maybe six minutes Anna Sherman hung up and looked at us with an ashen, strained face. “Theodore Martin boarded his airplane at approximately eleven-forty this morning, and the jet departed at exactly eleven-fifty-five. His pilot filed a typical IFR flight plan to Rio de Janeiro.” Anna Sherman sat in her chair with her hands in her lap and put her head back. “He’s gone.”

  Mrs. Louise Earle looked as if she was about to cry. “Did I do something wrong?”

  Angela Rossi stared at her for a moment, then put her arm around Mrs. Earle’s shoulders. “No, ma’am. No, you didn’t. He just left. It happens all the time.”

  Sherman took a deep breath, then sat forward and picked up the phone again. Only this time there wasn’t any urgency to it. “I’ll notify the FBI and ask them to speak to the State Department. He’s still in the air. Maybe we can work something out with the Brazilians.”

  Bidwell said, “We don’t have reciprocal extradition with Brazil.”

  Sherman snapped, “Maybe we can work something out.”

  I said, “You going to do anything about Green?”

  Anna Sherman stared at me for maybe six seconds, then she put down the phone. “Oh, yes. Yes, I’m definitely going to do something about Mr. Green.”

  Bidwell said, “You want to file an arrest warrant?”

  Anna Sherman was looking at Angela Rossi. “Yes, we’ll file an arrest warrant. I saw Judge Kelton downstairs. Look him up and have it signed.” Arrest warrants had to be signed by a judge.

  Bidwell started toward the door. “I’ll call Green’s office and set it up. How much time do you want to give him to turn himself in?” Often in cases like this, the attorney is notified that a warrant has been issued and is allowed to turn himself in.

  Anna Sherman shook her head, still looking at Angela Rossi. “To hell with that. We’re going to go over there and arrest his ass.”

  Angela Rossi smiled. So did everyone else.

  I said, “You guys mind if I tag along?”

  Lincoln Gibbs was pacing now. Grinning and anxious to take action, sort of like a leopard sensing that a hunt was on. “No sweat.”

  Rossi wanted to come, too, but Lincoln Gibbs told her no. She was still suspended, and an administrative action could be taken against her for violating her suspension.

  Sherman and Bidwell made their calls and drafted their documents, and one hour and ten minutes later they were ready to pay a visit to Mr. Jonathan Green, Attorney to the Stars. Mrs. Louise Earle had already been returned to the hospital. Rossi walked out with us, but in the lobby she had to go one way and we another. A radio car was going to take her home.

  Rossi put out her hand and we shook. “I want to thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  “No, I mean it.”

  “I understand.”

  “I’ll call Joe.”

  I said, “So long, Rossi.”

  We smiled at each other and then she walked away.

  Gibbs and Tomsic and I crowded into Anna Sherman’s car and drove to Jonathan Green’s office on Sunset Boulevard. A couple of uniforms in a radio car followed us. A district attorney almost never accompanied the police on an arrest, but then neither did freelance private eyes. I guess this was just too good to pass up.

  We double-parked in front of his building, jamming up the west-bound flow on Sunset, and walked in past the receptionist and the security guys in their blazers. A blond security guy with a red face tried to make a deal about stopping us to see the warrant, but Dan Tomsic said, “You’ve gotta be kidding,” and motioned at the uniforms to walk the guy out of the way.

  We took the elevator up to the fourth floor and Sherman said, “You’ve been here before. Which way?”

  I showed them to Green’s office. Green had not been notified of Elliot Truly’s death, nor of the deaths of his other people, nor had it yet hit the news. As we walked through the halls, lawyers and legal assistants and secretaries and clerks appeared in their doors. Jonathan Green’s secretary stood as we approached, and I said, “Knock knock knock, Chicken Delight!”

  She looked at Anna Sherman. “May I help you?”

  Anna Sherman said, “No.” We trooped past the secretary and through the door and into Green’s office. Green and the two lesser attorneys and the videographer and three people I’d never seen before were seated around his conference table with their jackets off and their sleeves rolled. The videographer and his sound tech were seated in the background, the camera on the floor, sipping coffee and talking between themselves. Guess there’s only so much you can do with endless footage of lawyers sitting around tables. Jonathan Green looked at us without a great deal of surprise and said, “Doors are made for knocking.”

  I said, “Not bad. I was kinda hoping you’d say, ‘What’s the meaning of this?’ ”

  Anna Sherman smiled sweetly. “Sorry for the intrusion, Jonathan. But we’re here to arrest you on the charges of tampering with evidence, obstruction of justice, conspiracy to commit murder, and murder.”

  The videographer’s eyes got big and his jaw dropped. I waved at his camera. “Better turn it on. You don’t want to miss this.” The videographer jumped across the sound tech for his camera, spilling both his coffee and hers.

  Anna Sherman turned to Lincoln Gibbs. “Lieutenant, please inform Mr. Green of his rights and take him into custody.”

  Lt. Lincoln Gibbs handed the warrant forms to Jonathan, then recited his rights. Jonathan didn’t interrupt, and didn’t bother to examine the forms. He sat with a kind of half-smile, as if he had anticipated these events. Maybe he had. When Gibbs finished with the rights, he said, “Would you stand, sir? I have to handcuff you.” Polite.

  Jonathan submitted without complaint. He said, “Anna, this is the most flagrant case of judicial manipulation I’ve ever seen. I’ll have you before the bar for this.”

  Anna Sherman said, “Teddy Martin has jumped bail and is on his way to Brazil. Elliot Truly, Stan Kerris, and two other men in your employ are dead. Elliot Truly supplied a dying declaration implicating you in the manufacture of false evidence, as well as the murder of James Lester and the Kidnapping of Louise Earle.”

  Jonathan Green said, “That’s absurd. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He angled his face toward the camera when he said it.

  She said, “That’s why we have trials, Jonathan. To determine the facts.”

  Lincoln Gibbs took Green by the arm and guided him to the door. Jonathan Green turned back just long enough to say, “We won’t get to trial, Anna.” He smiled when he said it, and his smile was confident and without fear. “I guess you believe you have reason to do this, but for the
life of me I can’t imagine what it might be.” He angled toward the video camera again. “I look forward to seeing your proof, and I hope for your sake that this isn’t some ugly form of harassment.”

  Gibbs and Tomsic escorted him out, the videographer scurrying ahead of them to capture every moment of the arrest and departure.

  I stood with Sherman, watching them go, and wondered at Jonathan Green’s lack of concern. I was thinking that maybe he was crazy, or arrogant, or brimming with the fatal flaw of hubris, but you never know.

  Maybe he was just used to winning.

  37

  Theodore Martin’s flight from the country was covered throughout the evening by every one of the local Los Angeles television stations, effectively eliminating regular programming. Live news remote teams assaulted Skyway Aviation, Angela Rossi’s home, Jonathan Green’s office, and spokespeople for both the LAPD and the District Attorney’s office. Angela Rossi did not return home that night, and so was unavailable for comment. She picked up her boys and spent the night with a friend. The Skyway people were available, however, and were more than a little surprised by the army of microwave vans and news teams who invaded their otherwise quiet world.

  The Skyway employees who were interviewed included the flight operations manager, a young female flight dispatcher, and an even younger male line attendant. The line attendant was a seventeen-year-old kid name Billy Galovich who washed the planes, pumped them full of jet fuel, and pushed them in and out of a hangar with a little tractor. The sum total of his involvement in Teddy Martin’s escape was that he had towed out Teddy’s Citation, fueled it, then greeted the pilot, a very nice Hispanic man who introduced himself as Mr. Garcia. I counted fourteen interviews with Billy Galovich that evening, and then I stopped counting.

  The flight dispatcher’s claim to fame was that she had taken the call from Teddy Martin, who personally ordered that his Citation be readied for flight. The dispatcher’s name was Shannon Denleigh, and she related that Mr. Martin told her that his pilot would be a man named Mr. Roberto Garcia, and that Mr. Garcia would be along directly. She said that she informed the flight operations manager, a Mr. Dale Ellison, of the call and then she left the premises to have her nails done. I stopped counting her interviews at sixteen. Dale Ellison related that Mr. Garcia arrived moments later, preflighted the Citation, and filed his flight plan. He said that Mr. Garcia was an amiable, friendly man who identified himself as a flight officer with Air Argentina who picked up corporate charters to earn extra money. I didn’t bother to count the number of times that Dale Ellison was interviewed, but it was plenty.