Then I saw it. A knife. That was when I noticed that the figure’s face was covered completely with some kind of ski mask. The figure had on a hoody that covered his or her head as well.
Harlow and Lola weren’t barking anymore, and I immediately thought the worst. Then I noticed that they were on the bed with me, both of them alert, but not barking. They looked cowed, frightened, as if they, too, knew the meaning of a sharp knife in an intruder’s hand.
“What do you want?” I asked the figure, thinking that I was really going to have to get that gun.
The figure didn’t say a word, but handed me a piece of paper with writing on it.
It simply said “Get off her case, or you will die.”
Then the figure came over to me and put the knife against my throat.
That was it for Harlow and Lola. They weren’t going to let this figure slash my throat. His or her back was turned away from them, and they both lunged at him. The figure fell back against the nightstand, and I quickly thought that it was my time to get the better of the person. But I was entangled in my covers, and, before I could disentangle myself, the figure had gotten up off the floor and had ran out of the room. Harlow and Lola chased after it, barking and lunging, and, before I knew what was happening, the figure had disappeared out my front door.
I ran after the intruder when I finally got out of my covers, but the figure apparently had gotten lucky and got the elevator as soon as he or she arrived in the hallway. Figures. The elevator wasn’t the fastest one in the world, and if that person got the elevator, then I wasn’t going to be as lucky for at least a few more minutes.
I went down the stairs, taking them two at a time, but I knew I wasn’t going to be catching the phantom. I had to try, though, so I ran down the 10 flights of stairs and got into the parking lot. I looked around and saw nobody. I looked through every bush and under every car, and then ventured out onto the boardwalk. Nobody was around from the earlier protest, thank God, but there were still a few people milling about.
It was Friday night at the Coronado beach. My condo was right next to the historic Hotel Del Coronado, a very popular hotel that always had a lively night scene. People were on the boardwalk – a couple was walking along, holding hands, and a group of drunk 20-something guys were stumbling along. A couple of women on scooters whizzed by, and then another group of drunkards consisting of 3 men and 2 women passed me on my right.
I didn’t see any kind of figure in a ski mask and hoody, though.
I went up and down the boardwalk for the next hour, and went down to the actual beach to see if the intruder had ended up closer to the water. I saw nothing that resembled the figure that was in my bedroom that night.
I finally gave up and went back to my condo.
And I did something that was really rude, but seemingly necessary at that moment. I felt that I didn’t have a choice, because I couldn’t just find a hotel room in the middle of the night, at least not one that would take two large dogs.
I picked up one of Christian’s business cards, which were on my table, and called him. I noticed that the other business card was gone, though I didn’t pay attention to that fact. I was just focused on getting ahold of him.
“Hello,” he said. “Christian Davis.”
“Christian, hello, this is, uh,” I said, just realizing that it was just past 3 AM. Crap! How rude was I, calling this guy in the middle of the night after throwing him out of my office? “This is, uh-“
“Avery Collins?” he asked me. “And, no, I’m not a total stalker. I don’t have your cell phone number, but I’m taking a wild guess. Am I right?”
“Yes,” I said hesitantly. “I’m really sorry to bother you at this late hour, but-“
“Okay,” he said.
“I know that this is going to sound really bad. Presumptuous. Downright crappy after the way that I treated you today in my office, but…” I took a deep breath. “Something happened tonight that really freaked me out, and I could use some, uh, somebody here with me.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, wondering why I called Christian before I even bothered to call the police. I didn’t want to even think about what that meant.
“What happened?” he asked.
“A person came into my bedroom. A masked intruder with a hoody. It could have been a man or a woman, I really don’t know. He or she, I don’t even know anything about this person. I-“
“Where do you live?” he asked me.
“Coronado. In a condo complex right next to the Del. I’m so sorry, you are-“
“Downtown. You’re pretty close. There’s no traffic on the street right now. I’ll be there in fifteen. In the meantime, call the cops.”
“I will. Thank you, and I’m so sorry to be bothering you. My brother, he’s usually around, but he’s gone tonight.”
“Hot date?” Christian asked, amusement evident in his voice.
“Something like that.”
“I’ll see you in a bit. What’s your address and condo number?”
I gave it to him, and he hung up.
Then I called the cops.
Chapter 13
In fifteen minutes, both Christian and the Coronado police were at my door. Lola and Harlow, wary from what had happened earlier, barked their heads off at everybody, so I had to put them both in their kennels. They continued to whine from inside their little cages, but it couldn’t be helped. I hadn’t yet trained them to be good when I really needed them to.
The cops took my statement, and Christian waited patiently in one of my leather chairs that was next to the balcony sliding doors. He looked as handsome as he did the day before, even though he was dressed much more casually than he was. He was in a pair of distressed blue jeans and a black sweater that was loose, but still showed off his rippling muscles. He watched me and the cops talking with interest, seemingly soaking in everything.
“Do you need any kind of additional protection, Ms. Collins?” one of the officers asked. His name tag said that his name was Gunther Mulroney. He was a tall man with ascetic features – sunken cheeks, a long beak-like nose and eyes that were slightly too close together. With him was a woman whose name was Frances Johnson, a slight blonde woman who kept talking into an intercom on her shoulder.
I shook my head, and looked over at Christian. It occurred to me that the stress of the past few days had finally caught up to me, and my brain started to feel fuzzy. Like I couldn’t think straight. “I don’t know,” I said uncertainly. “Do you, do you…”
“Well, we certainly are aware that there’s been a great deal of activity in this area these past few evenings. There have been reports of peace disturbances on the boardwalk, with protestors carrying signs and chanting. The case that you’ve been involved with has attracted a great deal of publicity. We could give you some names of some private bodyguards who might-“
I shook my head again. “No, that’s okay. That’s fine. I don’t want a bodyguard. I mean, this is a two-bedroom condo, and my brother stays here, too. He’s usually around, but he wasn’t tonight. But he usually is, so-“
“It’s up to you,” Officer Mulroney said. “Obviously. I just wanted to let you know that that’s an option, and I can give you some recommendations if you need them.”
“Thank you,” I said, looking over at Christian, who was still watching the scene unfolding, not saying a word. “But I think that I’ll have to pass on that for now.” I nodded my head. “For now,” I repeated.
The officers didn’t try to press me further on this, but they both patted my shoulder before they left. “We’ll do our best to catch the perpetrator, but you didn’t give us much to go on.”
“I know, and I’m sorry about that.”
“Not your fault,” Officer Johnson said. “But I would suggest that you get a silent alarm system that will notify the police about any intruder. That and a remote doorbell that watches for anybody who comes to your front door and notifies you if somebody is trying to get in.” She gav
e me some information about the best remote doorbell and burglar alarm systems, and then she and Officer Mulroney both left with a tip of their hat to Christian and me.
When they left, I looked over at Christian. “Thank you for coming. I don’t know why I called you, except that I needed a man around.”
“Oh?” he said with his usual amused expression. “You must have been desperate to have called me. I figured that I would have never heard from you again after today’s scene, but I have to admit that I was happy that you called. Even if it was 3 AM.”
“I’m so sorry about that,” I said. “I was panicked and I really wasn’t thinking about what the time was. Then I looked at the clock when I was talking to you, and I was all like ‘crap.’”
“Well, I was asleep when you called, I won’t lie,” he said. “But I actually had an early night last night. I got home at 9 and kinda crashed. So I got 6 hours of sleep by the time you called, which is actually what I usually get anyhow, so…”
“Wait, you got home at 9? On a Friday night?”
“Yeah. I told you, I work 80-90 hours a week. I try to take Sundays off, because everybody needs at least one day off, so I pretty much work 14-15 hour days. I don’t get a lot of sleep in the best of times, so six hours is just about right.”
I stood up and sat back down. “I feel awful. You have to go into work today, too, don’t you?”
“I’m supposed to, or at least work from home. But yeah, I usually head into the office at 6ish on Saturdays. Get home around 9, but Sundays are mine.”
I looked at my watch. “So, you’re going to be heading into the office in about an hour then?” For some reason, the thought of him leaving me there alone gave me a slight feeling of panic. Maybe I did need an alarm system and remote doorbell and bodyguard and gun. All things that I never imagined needing in my life, but now seemed like necessities.
“Yeah, about then,” he said. “Unless you hire me. Then I’ll tell my job to pound sand. I mean, I gotta give them two weeks notice and all, but I’m going to stop busting my ass for them. I’m telling you, my old man died at the age of 50. Worked his whole life, two or three jobs, so he probably put in as many hours as I put in, but barely made enough to provide for us. He died without ever getting to know his kids that well because he was always gone. I don’t want that fate for me. And I really want to get into a line of work where I can make a difference to somebody. An individual, not a faceless and cold corporation who really doesn’t need my help. That’s why I went to law school – to fight the good fight. Fight the man, instead of working for him.”
I took a deep breath. “Do you want something to drink?” I asked him. “I know that’s it’s only five in the morning, but I could really use a Bloody Mary.”
“Well, I would join you, but I really have to get home and change for work. And my job generally frowns on me coming in sloshed.” He stood up and held out his hand.
“Okay,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut tight. “I’ll hire you as my second chair. I mean, I’ll of course have to rent out another office in my suite, but that’s not a problem. It’s a pretty big suite, and there’s a couple of empty offices for rent. And, of course, if you come and work with me, I’ll probably just treat you like an associate. That means that I’ll have to go to you for help with other cases, too. But feel free to also eat what you kill. If you rainmake, you can go ahead and work your own cases without worrying about me.”
I was making up terms as I went along. I had never hired an associate before, so I really didn’t know what kind of terms I needed to extend to him. “As a matter of fact, let’s just do this. You can work for me on this one case, and I’ll pay you, um, $250 per hour.” I knew that that was a bargain-basement rate for him, as he probably billed at a rate of $1,000 per hour or more with his firm. Then again, he was making 250K and working around 4,000 hours per year. That worked out to around $60 an hour for him at his current job.
Once I figured that out, I felt more confident in my offer. “$250 per billable hour on this case, and, other than this case, you can feel free to find your own cases and work them. But I’ll get you an office, though, in my suite.”
Christian was watching me with a smile on his face. He held out his hand again, and I shook it. “Okay, then, we’ll figure it all out later. For now, I’ll take you up on that Bloody Mary. I mean, I don’t have a reason to start drinking this early in the morning, but I certainly don’t want you drinking alone, and, Avery, you’ve earned this drink.” He went over to the balcony and looked down at the boardwalk below. “Looks like you’re getting some company down there.”
“Already?” I asked. “Man.”
I went into the kitchen and got out my tomato juice. I added some Grey Goose vodka, my favorite type, some hot sauce, salt and black pepper, and went out to meet Christian on the balcony.
He took the drink. “Thanks,” he said, taking a sip. “Um, damned good. You could be a bartender with this drink.”
“Yeah? Actually, being a bartender is sounding pretty good to me right now. It sounds like a helluva better job than my actual one. I’m pretty sure that most bartenders don’t get death threats and picketed.”
“No, probably not. I mean, sometimes you get a crappy drink, but I wouldn’t imagine somebody would threaten their lives over it,” he said. “So, I guess I won’t go into work today. I’ll just go tomorrow, and today will be my day off. I’ll put in my notice on Monday, and then I’ll start working for you after I officially quit. But, for today, it’s time to kick back a little. Get to know my new boss. Somehow, I don’t think that you’re going to be slave-driving me the way my old one will be, but, then again, maybe you will.”
“This isn’t going to be an easy case to win,” I said. “I mean, I don’t know, because I haven’t yet started a real investigation, but, just on its face, it’s not so great.” I took a sip of my drink, savoring the spice and coolness. I loved the way that the smooth vodka hit the back of my throat. “Grey Goose,” I said. “For liquor-store vodka, you really can’t beat it.”
He nodded his head. “Now, tell me what you need for me to do.” He raised an eyebrow.
“I will. But first, I want to apologize to you about my behavior in my office.” I looked at the waves that were crashing on the shore, while trying to avoid looking more directly below me at the boardwalk, where protestors were starting to congregate. “I’ve never gotten over Becky’s death,” I said. “We grew up together. I knew her in kindergarten, and we were best friends from that point on. I would have never hurt her. I don’t know who did. I have my ideas about it, but nothing concrete.”
Christian was looking at me, his eyes showing empathy. “What ideas do you have about who killed her?” he asked.
“Well, I think that it was somebody powerful. Rich. Somebody who had pull with the prosecutor’s office, because they withheld evidence from my public defender. DNA evidence, and evidence that Becky was raped.” I took a sip of my Bloody Mary, not even caring that the sun hadn’t even come up. I wasn’t exactly used to drinking before sunrise, but it wasn’t unheard of, either. “Then again, my public defender was so awful, anything would have gotten by her. I don’t think that she asked for discovery even once before my trial. The public defender’s office had investigators, but I don’t think that the investigators worked much on my case. It was almost as if she was in on the game as well. All I know is that the only thing that she ever did was pressure me into taking one plea deal after another.”
“Sounds like a perfect storm,” Christian said. “A corrupt prosecutor, a lazy public defender.”
“Well, lazy wasn’t exactly the right word,” I said. “Gloria was overworked. She had a ton of cases on her desk, and she had been working for the public defender’s office for 10 years. I think that burnout was the name of her game. I think that she just had so many trials that fall that she couldn’t handle them all. Usually cases don’t go to trial, but, if I can remember rightly, three of hers did in the span of two
months. All of them first degree murders. That would be hard for anybody to handle.”
“So, you don’t really blame her?”
“I blame everybody. The system – nobody should have to try three murder cases in two months. The prosecutor’s office, obviously, because they were the ones who withheld evidence. And the actual murderer, whoever he or she is. That person not only got away with killing my best friend, but also got away with putting me away for the murder of my friend. I spent the first year of my prison sentence crying over Becky’s death. I wasn’t even angry yet about what had happened to me. Then the last six years were spent in a state of impotent rage.”
“And what is your state now?” Christian asked, shaking the ice in his glass. His glass was empty except for the ice, so I took it and went to the kitchen and poured him another one and one for myself as well.
“What is my state now,” I said, giving him his glass of Bloody Mary. “Well, I really don’t know. I know that I enjoy representing people that I believe are innocent. People who are getting screwed by the system. That gives me satisfaction and happiness. But I don’t sleep very well at night. I find myself wanting to run over pedestrians in the street who are walking against the light. Wouldn’t mind sending the ghost of Ted Bundy after people who leave their shopping carts in parking stalls. I mean, what’s up with that? What I’m trying to say is that little things in life, the first-world problem stuff, sometimes gets to me more than it should. So, I guess I haven’t really dealt with everything just yet. But I’m trying.”
“Which is why you’re on Esme’s case,” he said. “Because you think that she’s getting a raw deal.”
“A raw deal is right. That is, if she’s actually innocent. I haven’t yet determined that. I have a hunch that she is, but I have to do some digging around before I can feel confident that she didn’t do it.”
“And if she did do it?” he asked. “What then?”
“I’d have to plead her out, of course. Anyhow, I have a status conference on this case. I got the notice in the mail. Since I’m her new attorney, the judge wants to see me and the prosecutor to find out where we are and what discovery needs to be exchanged. I’m not going to try for a bond reduction for her, because it’s pointless. She doesn’t have the money to get out of jail, and, even if she got out of jail, she wouldn’t have a place to stay. Her only home is a crime scene. She wouldn’t be allowed to return.”
Presumption of Guilt Page 9
