A Very Simple Crime

by Grant Jerkins

  “Rachel Lee.”

  “Look, why don’t you give me your—”

  Anne heard the click of the line disengaging and hung up the phone. She took a notepad from her desk and wrote: Leo Hewitt, Rachel Lee, possible connection with Monty Lee? She looked at the paper a moment, then added: This has got to be bullshit!

  Anne Hunter had been the first to break the story about the infighting in the DA’s office during the Guaraldi trial. She’d coined the term every paper in the nation picked up on: The Guaraldi Fiasco. Even the television news shows used it. And it had been the headline of her first lead story: The Guaraldi Fiasco. And thanks to her source on the prosecution team, she had scooped every paper in the nation—as well as television and radio—with Hewitt’s resignation. But then, Hewitt himself had been her source. Who was Mr. Anonymous that had just called her? He had to work in the DA’s office to get that kind of information. If it was true. It would be nice to write another lead story; the only problem was that once Leo had his fall from grace, no one at the DA’s office would talk to her. She’d pretty much burned those bridges. And, truth be told, she’d had something of a hand in Leo’s undoing. Her stories had targeted the entire DA’s office for its mishandling of key evidence, and, at the end, she had singled out Leo for her tirades.

  Her last story on the case had been an overview of Leo Hewitt’s legal career and had been titled, The Man Who Set the Torso Killer Free. The story had, in effect, bordered on slander but got her on the short list for the Pulitzer that year. And the woman who had once been as close to a Pulitzer as Roxanne’s trumpet was now covering county zoning meetings. And here she was, wondering if that far-off whistle was the sound of the gravy train pulling back into the station. Maybe it sounded too good to be true, but she’d be a fool not to follow up on it. She picked up the phone and dialed. The number was still as fresh in her mind as it had been three years ago.

  “This is Anne Hunter with the Tribune. Put me through to Paula Manning’s office.”

  She listened to a series of electronic clicks, then heard the phone ringing on Paula’s secretary’s desk.

  “Hi, this is Anne Hunter with the Tribune. I need to speak with Paula. I know she’s not in, but while you’re checking to make sure she’s not in, please tell her I’m running a story on the Lee case and this will be her only opportunity to confirm or deny. I’ll hold.”

  She waited for several minutes, and the next voice she heard was Paula’s.

  “There is no Lee case. What are you talking about, Anne?”

  “Rachel Lee. Your office is investigating her death.”

  The line was silent, and Anne knew she’d screwed up. She should have at least confirmed that someone named Rachel Lee had died recently. She could kick herself for being so stupid. She closed her eyes and hoped for the best. Maybe Paula would trip herself up.

  “I don’t know what you heard, but it’s wrong.”

  Bull’s-eye. “I hear that you have Leo Hewitt working the case. And Paula, I got this from a very reliable source in your own department. I’m running the story whether you confirm it or deny it, but if you do deny it, you’re gonna look like either a liar or an incompetent who doesn’t know what’s going on in her own office. Either way, you’re gonna look bad.”

  “Well, that’s your specialty, isn’t it? Making people look bad. It was a nice try, but you can’t bluff me, Anne. If you really had a source that strong, the last thing you would do is call me.”

  “I’m not bluffing. Try me.”

  “You’re way out of line on this. First of all, the district attorney’s office is not investigating the death of Rachel Lee. It was deemed an accident. Second, Leo Hewitt works traffic court. You get the picture?”

  “Yeah, I get it. Hey, you can’t blame a girl for trying, right?”

  “Look, Anne, just between me and you, do you honestly think Bob Fox would let Leo Hewitt investigate a cat up a tree? Someone’s pulling your leg.”

  Anne hung up the phone. She knew Paula was right, of course. The whole thing was ludicrous. The only problem was, if the whole thing was just a joke, Paula would never have taken her call.

  Anne closed the notepad and stuck it in her purse, put the purse over her shoulder, and headed for the door. Before she could get out the door, she was ambushed by her editor, Jack Jones, whose massive bulk completely blocked the doorway.

  “You finished that piece on the rezoning committee meeting?”

  “It’s on your desk.”

  “It wasn’t five minutes ago.”

  “A lot can happen in five minutes, as I’m sure your wife is well aware.”

  “You know what you are, Hunter? You’re friendly. That goddamn piece had better be on my desk.”

  “What if I told you I might have a possible story on Leo Hewitt?”

  “I’d still want the rezoning story.”

  “What if I said they put him on another murder case?”

  “Fuck the rezoning. What have you got?”

  THIRTY

  “Paula, you busy?”

  “Do I look busy?” Paula asked, covering the mouthpiece of the phone cradled between her chin and neck. “Let me call you back,” she said to whoever was on the other end and hung up the phone. She crooked her finger at Leo and said, “Actually, come in, I need to talk to you.”

  “Good, I need to talk to you about something, too.”

  “Look, Leo, I was happy to let you dig around a little with this Lee thing. Who knows, you might find something we missed, right? But it’s got to stop. Right now. Officially, there is no case. There never was. I want you to let it alone.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Of course I’m sure. I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, or what kind of impression you’re giving people, but this was never your case. There was never a case, period.”

  “Did something happen?”

  “Yes, something happened. That Hunter bitch had the nerve to call me.”

  “Anne Hunter?”

  “Do you know another one? She has somehow gotten the impression you’re working a murder case. Any idea how that could have happened? Do you miss the old glory so much that you’d put my ass on the line to see your name in the paper again?”

  “Anne Hunter is no friend of mine. She crucified me in the press. You know that.”

  “The thing is, if this gets in the papers, Bob is going to come gunning for me for going behind his back. It all stops now.”

  “Sure, whatever you say, Paula. But before I leave, I’ve got someone here I’d like you to meet.”

  Leo opened the door wider and ushered in a young woman in a white sundress.

  “Paula Manning, I’d like you to meet Violet Perkins. Violet has something she’d like to tell you.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  Monty found himself staring at the phone again. He was waiting for the call that he knew would come. Paula had called several hours before and told him that Adam would be taken into custody tonight. On some level, Monty knew that all of this was inevitable.

  While he waited for the call, he was watching an old black-and-white movie on television. It helped distract his mind from the disturbing fact that his brother would soon be arrested for murder. The black-and-white images on the television screen flickered seductively in front of him. He remembered when he and Adam used to stay up all night in their basement kingdom watching old movies. Out of the Past. Criss Cross. The Treasure of the Sierra Madre. Anything swift and violent. He learned from these movies in a way Adam had not. He incorporated their vision into his vision. He learned that greed, the unyielding need to possess what other men already possessed, was the driving force in most men’s lives. He took this knowledge and transformed it into a successful legal career. This same knowledge seemed to be too much for Adam. It burdened him until the weight became too much and Adam collapsed in on himself like a black hole. He became a cipher, a negative. A desperate man leading a desperate life.

  Monty was
watching Double Indemnity. Fred MacMurray and Barbara Stanwyck had just killed Barbara Stanwyck’s husband and thrown his body off a moving train to make it look like an accident, but Monty knew that they would be caught. For one thing, there was Edward G. Robinson. There was always someone like Edward G. Robinson hanging around to catch you. No matter how smart you were, no matter how perfectly you had planned the murder, Edward G. Robinson was always smarter, always one step ahead. Plus, you could never trust the woman. Barbara Stanwyck would always betray you in the end. She was always hiding something. She was never what she seemed. In fact, it looked as though the only way to get away with murder was to accept from the beginning that Edward G. Robinson was going to catch you, and Barbara Stanwyck was going to betray you and then, maybe, just maybe, you might have a fighting chance of getting away with it.

  Monty knew this to be true. He wondered if Adam did. Even if Adam did know these things to be true, Monty was sure the lesson would be lost on him.

  He watched the movie and waited for the phone to ring.

  The doorbell chimed and Adam paused a minute before switching off the television. He had been watching Double Indemnity on Turner Classic Movies. It was almost over and he wanted to see his favorite part before he answered the door and stepped into the next phase of his life. The film had been one of his favorites since childhood. One he and Monty had watched late one night in their underground realm, each of them enthralled in the dark drama that played out before them in flickering, staccato pulses of light.

  Adam had discovered that the movie offered a valuable lesson for the careful viewer. It was a lesson that he doubted Monty had ever learned. The lesson: Women were inherently dangerous. Adam knew this to be true; hadn’t his life thus far proven it to be so? Yes, women were inherently dangerous, but of course one couldn’t shun their company for a lifetime. One needed only to accept this fact and act accordingly. Don’t tempt fate. Adam had selected just one woman, but, given the theorem that all women were a risky proposition, it had not necessarily been his fault that his chosen one had been so badly damaged. And when the time had come to select a second woman, had he not made a better choice? Had he not had the upper hand? Did he not succeed in controlling her true nature, her inherent danger? Yes, he had made two careful selections in one lifetime, but Monty, Monty wallowed in women. He used them to excess. He did not understand their dangerous nature. The lesson had been lost on him. Adam knew that his brother’s beauty had shielded him from much of that danger, but soon, the odds would catch up with him. The threat would come back on him twofold.

  Adam watched now as Fred MacMurray finally learned the lesson, finally acknowledged Barbara Stanwyck’s inherent danger and sought to save himself from her. He shot Barbara Stanwyck. But not before she shot him. Yes, he had finally learned the lesson, and the knowledge had only cost him his life.

  The doorbell rang again, and Adam turned off the television and wondered if all those years ago, he and Monty had been watching the same movie.

  He opened the door without first checking to see who was there. He knew who was on the other side. The door swung open to reveal Leo, dressed in his best ready-to-wear suit, a cigar clamped between his teeth. Behind him, two uniformed policemen stood framed in the doorway.

  He let them in without speaking. As one of the officers read him his Miranda rights, Leo stood off to the side watching the drama unfold. The glee in Leo’s eyes as the ritual was carried out was unmistakable and at the same time unnerving. Adam wouldn’t have thought the pudgy little bald man would have been capable of such serene happiness.

  “Do you understand these rights as I’ve read them to you?”

  “I understand.”

  Leo stepped forward and handed Adam a legal paper. It was a search warrant. Leo asked Adam to sign the warrant and Adam complied. There was nothing to be found in the house, perhaps baubles that would ignite the little man’s jealousy, but nothing Adam did not want to be found.

  “May I make a phone call now?”

  “Yeah, go ahead.”

  Adam lifted the receiver and dialed. He found that his fingers were having trouble finding the buttons but, in the end, they did not betray him. He listened to the faint ringing on the other end. Then the click of the receiver being picked up and Monty’s expectant voice.

  “I need you. They’re here.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  BROTHER DEFENDS BROTHER

  by Anne Hunter

  staff writer

  Adam Lee, brother of criminal defense attorney Montgomery Lee, was arrested in his home in the upscale Peachtree Battle neighborhood of East Atlanta. Adam Lee is charged with the murder of his wife, Rachel Lee. Mrs. Lee’s body was discovered by her husband Oct. 3 in their home. Mrs. Lee died as a result of repeated blows to the head. It was initially believed these fatal blows were inflicted by the couple’s mentally retarded son, Albert Lee, who has a history of violent behavior. Montgomery Lee, in a move that many legal analysts call highly unusual, is defending his brother. Neither brother could be reached for comment. Also highly unusual, it has been reported that Leo Hewitt will be handling the prosecution for the district attorney’s office. Mr. Hewitt gained notoriety three years ago for his mishandling of key evidence in the trial of child killer Frank Guaraldi. Mr. Guaraldi was subsequently freed only to be caught less than a month later with the corpse of a young girl. The district attorney’s office denies any involvement of Mr. Hewitt in the Lee case.

  Bob Fox crumpled up the paper and tossed it in the waste-basket. “Un-fucking-believable. What were you thinking, Paula?”

  “Anne Hunter doesn’t have a clue as to what goes on in this office. I let Leo ask a couple of questions on my behalf.”

  “A couple of questions?”

  “What can I say? I’m just an old softy. He asked me what I was working on, and I told him about the case I was building against Lee. He begged me to let him help out. What could I say?”

  “Judging from past experience, you should have said no.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “Ahh, hell, Paula, I don’t care if you gave Leo a taste. We can’t hold him down forever. But I’ve got to be totally honest with you. What distresses me is that you went behind my back on this thing.”

  “I know.”

  Paula sat across from Fox in his office. His neatly trimmed, nearly white hair, in addition to his name, had earned him from the press the nickname “the Silver Fox.”

  “I want you to know that the effort you’ve put into this case hasn’t gone unnoticed. Yes, I know, it’s time to forgive and forget, but one thing you must never forget is who you work for.”

  “You’re right.”

  “I know I’m right.” His career was only now beginning to recover from the blemish of Leo Hewitt and the Guaraldi fiasco. The fact that Leo had never gone public with Bob’s refusal to admit the hotline tapes of the Conners woman into evidence was not lost on Bob Fox. He was well aware that Leo could have told the press that Fox had demanded that the tapes be illegally destroyed. These little facts had tempered his view of Leo. Leo had accepted his role of scapegoat. Of course, had he gone to the media with tales of wrongdoings and dirty deeds, Bob would simply have denied any knowledge of the tapes and Paula would have backed him up, because Paula was a team player and Paula knew where to stake her loyalties, which was why Paula was sitting across from him now. But Leo’s willingness to take the burden of blame was not lost on Bob. The wounds had healed, and retrospect showed that there was blame enough for everybody. Of course, Leo could never again be given a position of trust, but he was willing to let the man be forgiven, and if Paula wanted the same thing, he’d give it to her.

  “You made this case, and I know it. Who do you want backing you up in court? Anybody you want.”

  “Anybody?”

  “Name your man. If Leo’s who you want, just say so. I defer to your judgment. I told you, I’m ready to forgive and forget.”

  Paula thought car
efully before she spoke, her mouth drawn into a tight, neat line. “I’m not. I can forgive, but I can’t forget. I don’t believe Leo can be trusted. Sure, he makes a fine errand boy when I’m building a case, but I want someone I can trust backing me up in the courtroom. You say name my man? Okay. I name you.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  In the interview room, Adam sat at the bare table and watched through the wire-reinforced glass windows as guards and visitors walked by. One of the guards, a blank-faced hulk of a man with tattoos crawling up his meaty forearms, unlocked the door and held it open for Monty. Monty walked in under the guard’s arm and tossed his briefcase across the table.

  “I’ve got an in with the judge’s clerk, and it looks certain bail will be denied. You need to prepare yourself for that. I could scream and yell, but it might be smarter to just roll over, stay in the judge’s good graces. This thing will get some news play, so bottom line is it’s political.

  “Political or not, I just don’t understand why I am here at all.”

  “Apparently the DA’s office has got some pretty damning evidence against you.”

  “How could there be evidence against me? There is no evidence. There is no crime.”

  “Does the name Constance Perkins mean anything to you?”

  “Constance?”

  “Also known as Violet.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh? What the fuck do you mean, ‘Oh’? Look, Adam, it’s time to fess up. Who is Violet Perkins?”

  “I had an affair with her. I told them that.”

  “Told who?”

  “Leo Hewitt.”

  “Goddamn! I should never have called that fucking sawed-off prick.”

  “So what do I do?”

  “There’s nothing. You have to wait. For the trial. I’m sorry. They’re not gonna allow bail.”

  “So I have to stay in jail. What am I going to do?”