Conspiracy of Innocence

by Gene Grossman

  Jack didn’t see any minivan pull out of Beverly’s garage, and when the automatic door to that attached garage opened up twice a day for Beverly’s grocery run, Jack never saw the minivan in there, so this must mean that we’ve got a new player in the game. I hope that he can get some info out of that car rental agency. In the meantime, I’ve got my traffic ticket trial coming up soon, so I better make some plan of attack if I intend contact Beverly when I’m in La Verne on the day of my trial.

  There’s no shortage of suggestions. Vinnie thinks we should report the assault and battery on Beverly and let the La Verne Police investi-gate it. Olive suggests that I try to get into the house to visit with Beverly on a social basis, and Stuart says the whole affair is none of our business and we should let Beverly take care of her own problems.

  Unfortunately, they’re all good suggestions. I better make my mind up soon, because if I don’t, it’ll be out of my hands. Myra has access to all law enforcement assets of Los Angeles County, and I’m sure she’ll have Beverly in front of a grand jury in the next week or so. But Myra’s also prone to acting prematurely, and in the past she’s come dangerously close to destroying her career several times by jumping to conclusions. This matter is a complicated one, and I sure hope Myra doesn’t embarrass herself by acting too rashly.

  As intriguing as this case is turning out to be, I have other things on my plate. Tomorrow night is my Power Squadron class, and I have to study up on what we’ll be covering there: Piloting, Navigation Rules and Marine Radio-telephone Use. Along with most of the stuff I was forced to learn in high school, college and law school, these are just another three subjects that I never intend to have any use for in my life. Looking back at my education, I think the only two educational subjects I learned that had anything to do with attaining my present station in life are Reading and Typing.

  Reading was not an optional subject. Everyone in our class at Chicago’s Hibbard Elementary School was taught that subject. On the other hand, a high school typing course was something that not too many guys were interested in signing up for. The only reason I became interested in it was that there were only two classes where all the girls were: one was typing and the other was cooking. Having been a piano player, typing came very naturally to me and eventually became a tremendous asset in my life. Not only was I the star of the class and very popular with the girls, but the skills learned there catapulted me into the much-desired position of Clerk Typist in the U.S. Army, which meant that I was needed in the commander’s office, and was therefore unavailable for the more unsavory tasks like hiking and field maneuvers. It also really came in handy when I first started practicing law, because before computers became so ubiquitous, I used to be able to make that old Selectric typewriter really smoke.

  My reminiscing is interrupted by the telephone. It’s Jack B. calling.

  “Jack. What’ve you got for me?”

  “The minivan was rented for a week and paid for by Kathy’s credit card. The clerk who waited on her didn’t remember any bald guy with her, but they’ve got a security camera in the office there, so I’ve paid them to make a copy for us. It’ll show all the people who came in during the half hour before and after Kathy Potter was there.” “Do you know how she got there?”

  “The clerk thinks he remembers her arriving in a cab. I’m checking with the local cab companies now to see if their records show a drop-off at the car rental place. If they do, I’ll try to find out where they made the pick-up.”

  This is a start. If the bald guy didn’t come there with her, then she probably picked him up somewhere on her way to the insurance company office. I call Jack again and tell him to find out from the car rental place exactly how many miles were on that minivan when she picked it up. He’s then to drive from the rental car place to the insurance company, and see if it’s the same amount of mile. If it isn’t, then we’ll know there was some other another stop along the way. If we can’t do it that way then we’ll have to find some way to see how many miles are on the minivan as it sits in Beverly’s garage.

  I wish there was some way to pull the phone records of Beverly Luskin’s house, because there’s no way that this is all a coincidence, and it looks like Beverly’s pulling all the strings. Damn. I can’t ask Myra to pull Beverly’s phone records if it might do something to incriminate her. Like it or not, she’s still our client.

  Last night’s boating class didn’t disappoint me: it was as boring as expected. There must be something wrong with the rest of the people in the class, because for some reason, they don’t find it as sleep inducing as I do. Just a few minutes before the class ended I discovered that once again the kid has ambushed me. The instructor knocked his pointer on the lectern and said he had an announcement to make. “Ladies and gentlemen, we received a call from Mister Peter Sharp’s office today, letting us know that the day after the final exam next week, the entire class has been invited over to his boat for a classending party, which will be catered. It’s all on Mister Sharp, so we owe him another debt of thanks.”

  The freeloading dullards all gave me a standing ovation.

  Back at the boat, it’s a different story. I decide to send a strong warning to my office staff.

  Dear Ms. Braunstein:

  This is to acknowledge the fact that we are

  having a catered party on the boat next week to

  celebrate my completion of the boating course – all

  arranged by you.

  Please be informed that on the day of the

  party, if the engines of this boat are started up for

  any reason, the boat will be immediately offered

  up for donation to charity and a one-bedroom

  apartment will be rented in the adjacent building,

  in which I will sleep in the bedroom, and both you

  and the dog will sleep on floor of the unfurnished

  living room. This living arrangement will continue

  until your eighteenth birthday, or your highly

  anticipated emancipation, whichever occurs first. Very truly yours, the bigger person. Having finished this eloquent ultimatum, I can now answer the ringing telephone and find out what Jack B. has discovered.

  “Hello Jack. Are we any smarter now than we were yesterday?”

  “A little, Mister Sharp. I saw the security videotape that the clerk at the rental car place prepared for me and it looks like Kathy was in the office alone. I also saw some footage from their outdoor camera. She did come by cab, and was riding in it by herself. I was able to make out the name of the cab company and the cab’s number and went to their dispatcher’s office. The cab that dropped her off there had picked her up earlier that day on the southeast corner of Wilshire Boulevard and Sepulveda Boulevard, in West Los Angeles. Is there anything else you want me to do, Mister Sharp?”

  “Yeah, find the driver and ask him if Kathy was alone all the time. And if they stopped along the way to pick the bald guy, where was the stop made?

  The most interesting piece of information he gave me was where Kathy Potter was picked up, because that’s the corner where the West Los Angeles Federal Building is, and confirms my suspicion that FBI Special Agent Snell is involved. He already told me to back off of anything that concerned Kathy Potter, and now his hand has completely been tipped. I call his office and for some strange reason, have no problem getting put right through to him.

  “Hello, Sharp, what do you want?”

  So much for first names. It looks like today it’s going to be strictly business. My, how people forget. It wasn’t too long ago that I made a hero out of him by giving him all the credit for a bank robbery gang that I had discovered. And now, just a few months later, he’s being snippy with me. “Special Agent Snell, I just wanted to call and thank you for all your help with our investigation into the Kathy Potter matter.” “What are you talking about, Sharp? I told you to back off on that. You weren’t supposed to talk to her at all.”

  “Exactly. That’s the he
lp I’m talking about, along with your even calling a cab to come and pick her up at your office the other day. Well, with your assistance, our investigation is now almost complete, and when I have my press conference I’ll be sure to mention your name several times to let the media know how helpful you’ve been.” That must have pressed the right buttons, because I hear him start to growl on the other end of the line.

  “Okay Sharp, what do you want?”

  “Ah, I thought that would bring you around. I guess you’re not looking for any extra publicity this month; on this matter, especially, right?” “Sharp, you’re in so far over you’re head, that you wouldn’t believe it even if I explained it to you.”

  “I don’t think so. This is just a simple case of conspiracy, two murders, and a probable multimillion-dollar insurance scam. I’m not in over my head. This is where I always am, smack dab in the middle of a case that’s already been botched by you and your Keystone Kops. Here’s what I propose. You and I have a little sit-down, and if everything works out okay, I’ll have some good news for my client, and you’ll be a hero all over again. You know, some day when you get appointed Attorney General of the State of California, you’ll look back and be thankful for all the help I gave you. No, on second thought, you probably won’t look back at all. How’s about an hour from now at your place?”

  The meeting at his office gets off to a very discouraging start. He asks if I know where Kathy Potter is and I tell him I have a pretty good idea. From there on it’s all down hill. If I don’t tell him where she is right then and there, then he won’t tell me anything. It winds up being a complete standoff. The only tidbit of information I give him is the fact that I’ll probably be seeing his Kathy Potter in the next day or so. He is not a happy camper. I also promise to call him if I need his assistance, so that he can be in on anything that goes down.

  I kept my word to him last time, so even though he’s not too fond of me, he knows that I’m a person of honor and won’t try to make him look bad, no matter how things turn out.

  Now on the way back to the Marina, I’m getting a call from Myra.

  “Yes, my dear, what can I do for you today?”

  “Peter, are you aware of the fact that in La Verne, our office prosecutes misdemeanors too?”

  “How nice for you. And that affects me how?”

  “Oh Peter, stop playing dumb. We both know you’ve got a parking ticket trial out there tomorrow, and my deputy Wendy will be handling it for our office.”

  “I get it. You’re afraid of being humiliated again when I beat your office on another case. Okay, I’ll tell you what: you have my word of honor that after I win tomorrow, there’ll be no press conference called. I won’t tell anyone that you lost.”

  “You wanna know something Peter? Your stupidity is only exceeded by your arrogance. I see that after you get a couple of decent fees and finally wind up on a boat that actually floats, the real you comes out, and it’s not a pretty picture. I’ll never know what that adorable little girl sees in you.”

  This is astounding because if I understand what she’s saying, it means that Suzi has confided in her that she really likes me. Wow.

  “Okay I’m sorry, I was only kidding. What do you want me to do, plead guilty straight up to the charge of overstaying the twenty minutes in that passenger loading zone? What’s the deal here? You can’t be worried about my case, it’s not worth it.”

  “It is to Suzi. Whether you realize it or not, you’re the only human being in the world that she’s got, and she doesn’t like to see you arrested or charged with crimes. And when you are, it reflects poorly on me, in her eyes.”

  “All right, I get it. I’m crazy about her too. I’ll try to avoid getting into any more trouble. Are you going to come to La Verne and handle the trial personally?”

  “Goodbye, Peter.”

  The day has arrived for my big traffic ticket trial in the nearby Pomona Courthouse, where all of La Verne’s cases are sent for trial. I requested a jury, but due to budget cuts, the State Legislature discontinued allowing jury trials on misdemeanor traffic infractions, so I’ll have to take my chances in front of a judge.

  The trial is set on the court’s afternoon calendar, so I’m taking a leisurely ride out there and practicing my two-minute final argument, while listening to Errol Garner’s three-againstfour piano style on a CD.

  Because of the light traffic I’ll probably get to Pomona at least an hour early, and since it would be poor taste to ask the prosecutor or police chief to have lunch with a defendant going on trial the same day, I’ve got some time to kill. I also have a suspicion that my subconscious mind arranged for me to have this spare time. I hear two voices fighting for my attention. One is telling me to be a good boy and stay away from Beverly Luskin’s house. The other is my old self, telling me to go knock on her door and ask her what the hell is going on.

  Fortunately the good boy voice wins out. Notwithstanding my burning curiosity to know what’s happening with her, Kathy, and that bald guy, I’m trying to turn over a new leaf for the kid’s sake. I’m not going to get in trouble. I’m going to keep my nose clean. However, it couldn’t hurt to just drive by her place. Maybe they’ll all be outside on the lawn, with some big banner explaining everything that’s been going on.

  Nah. I’ll just sit here by the park and wait until it’s time to go to court. I’ve always got an extra paperback in the car, so maybe I can get a little reading done, and this one looks like it’s got advice I can really use. The title is Female-toEnglish Dictionary: A Guide to Interpreting and Manipulating the Female Thought Process, by Dr. Nick Shoveen, Ph.D.

  When I’m on the boat, every time I decide to relax and read a while, something happens. It can be anything from a mere telephone call to a catastrophic event, like me getting arrested. I see that the same magical sequence of events happens when I’m off the boat too. Just as I open the first page of the paperback, my cell phone rings and the caller ID display shows it’s coming from someone I know. Beverly Luskin.

  “Hello Beverly, I was wondering if I’d ever hear from you again. How’re you doing?”

  “Oh, Peter, it’s so nice to hear your voice. I’ve been pretty busy putting my late husband’s affairs in order, and stuff like that. You know how it goes. The paperwork never stops. The main reason I called is because I remember your mentioning that your court date was supposed to be scheduled for today, and I was wondering how it went this morning. Did you win?”

  “Not yet, but thanks for asking. Because of the driving distance, I requested an afternoon trial, so the case won’t go on for another hour or so. I’m here in Pomona sitting near the park and doing a little reading.”

  “That’s wonderful. As long as you’ve got some time, why don’t you stop by? I’d love to see you. We can catch up on things, and maybe after you win the trial, you can come back and we can get some dinner.”

  Oh oh. This is trouble. I know she’s probably still got those people in the house, and now she wants me to stop by for a social call. Something doesn’t compute here. I can feel it in my bones. If I set one foot in that house, I’ll be getting into trouble. But what can I do? I really want to see her, I’m dying to find out what’s going on over there, and I do have almost an hour to kill. Aw, what the hell.

  “Sure, Bev, I’ll see you in a little while.”

  I haven’t felt this reluctant since the day I got married. I still don’t know how I got through that day. Oh yeah, now I remember. I was drunk. But that won’t help me here. First of all, there’s no time to get plastered because I’m only about five or ten minutes away from her house, and I really don’t think the judge would appreciate me coming to court drunk. Oh well, this is going to be one of those sober experiences that I’ll be forced to remember. I didn’t know the Hummer could drive this slowly. I don’t know why I’m doing this. I must be the biggest jerk in the world. If Suzi were here right now she’d probably reach over and pull the keys out of the ignition, to stop me from going o
ver there.

  Well, I’m here on her street, and I can see her house down the block. The driveway is empty, so I might as well just pull up there and park. I’m not worried about blocking her garage door, because if Kathy and the bald guy really want to leave they can always politely ask me to move my car, and I’ll be glad to oblige. Fat chance of that happening.

  After I park the car, I open the rear door, remove my suit jacket from the door hook, and put it on. My next move is to look at my reflection in the car’s side window, to check that my tie is on straight and that my hair hasn’t been too messed up from driving with the window open. I see a narrow window on the garage door, so under the guise of grooming, I walk over to the window and pretend to use my comb while trying to look inside the garage to see if the minivan is still there. No such luck. There’s too much sunshine outside, and I can’t see into the dark garage without putting my face right up against the window. That wouldn’t look good, so I finish up my act, comb my hair a little, and walk to her front door.

  The front door of her house is a large arched affair with a lot of molding that makes it look the whole thing was carved out of a massive tree trunk. There’s a big metal doorknocker hanging just below eye level, so I gently lift it up and use it to make a few polite knocks. There’s no answer. Is this some sort of game she’s playing? I just spoke to her less than five minutes ago and she invited me over. How could she not be around to open the door? The last time I visited her house, she was striking a seductive pose in the open doorway. I guess the honeymoon’s over.

  I try the doorknocker again, this time a little harder and louder. There’s still no answer. She did invite me over, and I am her civil attorney, so it wouldn’t be out of line to be worried that something might have happened to her. I try the door and discover that it’s not locked. This is the moment of truth. Should I go in? I slowly open the door and stick my head in, shouting her name. No response. I can’t take it any longer. The suspense is killing me, so I open the door and walk in.