Chapter 24
Lawyering Up
Rich surveyed the paparazzi out in front of his house. It had been over a week and they were still out there in force. He wondered how long it would be before they got bored with his case and moved on. He shook his head and then headed for the garage. Erica followed him, and they both got into their black Mercedes Benz SL 500. Rich pushed the garage door opener and the instant it was opened accelerated out of the garage. Several journalists moved quickly to block the car’s exit, but Rich swerved and drove over the grass and off the curb. He accelerated away, but in his rearview mirror he saw several cars and vans hustling to catch up.
He didn’t try to lose the paparazzi. He’d tried that before and almost got into a car wreck. By the time he got to his destination a dozen vehicles were on his tail. After parking in the underground parking garage, he and Erica made a quick exit from the Mercedes and took the elevator up to the lobby.
It felt like déjà vu going to see Bruce Pierson at Bradley, Pierson & Jones LLP. Rich had just been there a few months earlier to start the ball rolling on Matt’s appeal and reinstatement to the bar. Now he had Erica with him and it was a much more somber occasion. Bruce took them into the firm’s conference room and a secretary brought them a cup of coffee.
“So, I see you’re a New York Times best-selling author now,” Bruce said. “Congratulations!”
“Thanks. I think,” Rich replied dejectedly.
“Did you get your home restored back to normal?”
“Yes,” Erica replied. “We got a lovely new door, a new security system, and our house swept for bugs.”
“Did they find any?”
“Only a dozen or so? One in each telephone and every main room in the house.”
“Wow. I wonder what they thought you’d be talking about in your own home.”
“It beats me,” Rich said.
“So, have the police tried to contact you yet?”
Rich nodded. “Yes, they came by and wanted to talk, but I told them I had nothing to say until I had talked to you.”
“When they searched your house, did they find anything?” Pierson asked.
“Well, they found Erica’s notes.”
“The notes contradicting your version of Martha Collins’s murder.”
“Right,” Rich replied.
“Well, as long as neither of you testify you should be okay on the notes.”
“So, why do you figure they bothered with the search warrant?” Rich asked.
“They don’t like it when it appears someone got away with murder. It was bad enough that Erica was found innocent by reason of temporary insanity, but now the idea that you were the actual murderer, or had a part in it, really makes them look bad.”
“So, it’s just a matter of someone’s pride?” Erica asked.
“Pride, and the reputation of the police and the DA’s office. You didn’t paint them in a very good light in your book.”
“Hmm. So, do you think we should talk to them?” Rich asked.
“No. Absolutely not. No good could come of it. Just tell them your attorney has advised you not to talk to anyone about the events surrounding Martha Collins’s death.”
“What about interviews for the book? Supposedly they will only be asking about what’s happened since its publication—nothing about the contents of the book.”
“If you’re very careful you could do that, but it’s risky. Who wants to interview you?”
“I’ve got requests from Good Morning America, The Late Late Show, and an interview request from the Inquisitor magazine. The Inquisitor says they will pay me $50,000 and won’t talk about the content of the book or the notes, but instead concentrate on how we are coping with the investigation and sudden attention from the media.”
“Well, that’s what they say, but you can bet they will be trying to trick you into saying something controversial or incriminating.”
“Yeah. You’re probably right,” Rich agreed. “I guess I shouldn’t do it.”
“You’re already a New York Times best-selling author,” Erica noted. “You don’t need to be out promoting the book anymore.”
Rich nodded. “Okay. It’s just hard to turn down an invitation from Good Morning America or $50,000.”
“I know,” Bruce said. “But it’s the smart thing to do if you value your freedom.”
“Yes, take Bruce’s advice,” Erica urged. “We don’t need to be taking any more chances.”
“What about Joe?” Rich asked. “I’m going to a ball game with him tonight. Can I talk to him about what’s going on?”
“No. He may be wearing a wire.”
“No, not Joe,” Rich said. “He’d never do that.”
“If his freedom is in jeopardy he might,” Erica said. “Don’t go to the game tonight.”
“I have to go, but I won’t talk to him about Martha’s murder. We’ll just talk about baseball.”
“Be very careful,” Bruce urged. “Even if Joe isn’t wearing a wire, there might be somebody close by eavesdropping. There are a lot of directional listening devices now that allow you to pick up specific conversations from quite a distance away.”
Rich took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I can’t believe this. I have no privacy anymore.”
“Well, you’re a celebrity now. Wherever you go the paparazzi will be there. So get used to it.”
After the meeting Erica and Rich encountered the paparazzi in the building lobby on the way to their car.
“Mr. Coleman, were you here to visit your attorney?” a reporter asked.
Rich nodded. “Yes, that’s correct.”
“Are you expecting to be charged in the Martha Collins murder?” a second reporter asked.
Rich shook his head. “That’s not my call.”
“Mrs. Coleman. Do you dispute the implication of your notes that your husband killed Martha Collins?”
Erica shook her head. “No comment.”
Finally a security guard helped Rich clear a path back to the parking garage and escorted them to their car. As they were leaving, the paparazzi picked up their trail and followed them back home.
That night Rich called a cab but gave the dispatcher the address of a friend three blocks away. When Rich left, he went out the back door and down the alley behind their house undetected. When he got to his friend’s house the cab was there waiting for him. He told the driver to take him to the ballpark at Arlington where he was to meet Joe in the stands at their seats. Joe was there when he arrived.
“You made a clean escape, huh?” Joe said.
“I think so, but you never know. It wasn’t easy.”
“How you holding up?”
“I’m okay, but Erica isn’t taking it too well. She’s scared to death I’ll be arrested again.”
“That couldn’t happen, could it?”
“I don’t know. What did the cops say when they visited you?”
“How did you know they came to see me?” Joe asked.
“I went over to your place the night they searched my house. There were a couple of squad cars in front of your place.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry. I didn’t say a word to them.”
“I figured that, but what did they say? Did they give you any useful information?”
“They were real interested in some notes Erica wrote. I told them I knew nothing about them, so they started reading excerpts to me.”
“What excerpts?” Rich asked.
“They were particularly interested in the part about me helping Erica move you to the alley behind Adair’s Saloon.”
“Don’t mention specifics. Someone could be listening,” Rich warned.
“Right. I just told them I knew nothing about Erica’s notes and what they meant. I suggested that she might have been thinking about making the book into a novel instead of true crime. These notes may have been the things she’d wanted to change to make the story more interesting. I told them they should talk t
o her.”
“Good. I don’t think they could possibly have any evidence to substantiate that story. Unfortunately, I have no memory of anything between curling up with a bottle of Jack Daniels and waking up in the alley.”
“So, what I want to know is why in the hell you wrote a fucking book that’s apt to get us all in deep shit,” Joe spat. “That’s got to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.”
Rich nodded. “That’s true. Almost as stupid as shacking up with Erica when she was seventeen, huh?”
“Yeah, that was right up there, too.”
“In retrospect I know it wasn’t such a great idea, but for some reason I felt compelled to write it.”
“You need to learn to control your compulsions. They may one day be your undoing.”
“You mean like today.”
Joe nodded. “Exactly.”
On the cab ride home Rich felt much relieved. His old buddy seemed to be as loyal as ever. He had never doubted his old friend, but it was always good to get reassurance. Rich wondered what he could do to derail the DA’s efforts to put together a case against him but couldn’t think of anything. Finally he decided the only sure way to avoid being arrested and charged with murder would be to find out who actually did kill Aunt Martha. He’d tried to figure that out once before and had failed. He wondered if twenty-five years later he’d have any better luck.
Unconscionable, A Rich Coleman Novel Vol 3 Page 25
