Conspiracy of Innocence

by Gene Grossman

  The sight I’m now facing is one that I’ll never forget. The foyer looks like a mess, with things thrown all over, like some people were fighting here. The umbrella rack is on its side, a chair has been broken and various other things strewn around make the place look like a war zone. I hear Beverly’s voice. It sounds like she’s running into the room to meet me.

  “Oh Peter, thank God you’re here.”

  As she rushes toward me, I see that she’s holding a gun in her hand, but not in a way that it can be fired. She’s holding it by the barrel. I can see that she looks as messy as the room does. Her hair is all over the place, her dress is ripped, and her face is bruised. I even think I see a little blood dripping down from the side of her mouth. As she reaches me, she blurts out. “He’s here, the man who’s been beating me. I was afraid to tell you about him, but he’s in the other room, and I’m afraid he’s going to come out here and beat me again. Here, take this. You may need it to protect us both.”

  I feel her grabbing my wrist and shoving the gun into my hand. She then falls back unconscious in a dead faint. I still don’t know what’s going on, but I do know that I’m now standing here in the middle a completely trashed room with a beaten up bruised woman out cold on the floor in front of me, and I’ve got a gun in my hand.

  Because of the excitement I don’t notice the sound of approaching sirens, but they’re now quite loud. It’s always strange to hear a siren wind down, because it means that whatever emergency vehicle it’s on has finally arrived.

  I hear someone shouting behind me.

  “Freeze. Drop the gun and put your hands in the air.”

  At that same time, Beverly miraculously regains consciousness and shouts out to her would-be rescuers. “Thank God you’re here. He’s already killed one person in the other room, and if you wouldn’t have gotten here in time, I’m sure he would’ve killed me too. I grabbed the gun barrel, trying to pull it out of his hand, but he knocked me down with his other hand.” She then starts to weep hysterically and runs into the arms of the closest uniformed person she sees, sobbing hysterically.

  I’m given the usual instructions. After dropping the gun, I’m told to get down on my knees and clasp my hands behind my back. I feel the cuffs being slapped on my wrist, then they stand me up and drag me outside to a waiting squad car, where I’m tossed into the back seat.

  Strangely enough, instead of the elaborate frame-up I’ve just been successfully put right into the middle of, the only thought going through my mind now is that this may mean I‘ll be late for my traffic ticket trial.

  15

  I am now sitting in one of the La Verne Police Station’s cells trying to figure out what has happened to me. I know I didn’t kill anyone, and I certainly didn’t lay a hand on Beverly Luskin, so I now fit into the category of every other person currently behind bars. I’ve been framed.

  They haven’t gotten around to formally booking me, because I haven’t been finger-printed or photographed yet. This situation is terrible, because I know it’ll be taking a toll on the kid. Now that I realize how much she relies on me as her only protector, I really feel bad about letting her down again. Wait a minute… I didn’t let her down. I didn’t do anything. Why should I feel guilty? Oh, what’s the difference, I’m a screw-up. I’ve always been one. Myra knows it, and now Suzi does too.

  I’m not so worried about how Myra feels, because she always thought I was a lost cause. I hope I can get to use a phone soon, so I can tell her to get over to the boat and keep an eye on the kid.

  What am I talking about? She’s the top law enforcement person in the whole County. She must’ve been informed about my arrest less than five minutes after it happened. I know she’ll go to the boat and do the right thing. If I can’t get this mess straightened out in the next couple of days, they’ll be transferring me to County Jail. God, I hope they don’t try to take Suzi away. Oh, this is terrible.

  The jailer comes into the cell area and to my complete surprise, opens my cell door and leaves some things on the bunk: my cell phone and a small television set with rabbit ears. He then leaves without saying a word. This is getting interesting and must be the nicest jail in the country. I’ll have to remember to arrange for all my arrests to happen in this town. I was also given a very nice meal, probably brought in from a local restaurant. What’s wrong with this picture? Here I am in custody for the murder of someone, I have a fancy meal delivered, a television set to watch, and my cell phone to use. Well, they certainly named it correctly: today it definitely is a ‘cell’ phone.

  I call Suzi’s private line and Myra answers.

  “It’s about time you called. We’ve been waiting.”

  “Gee, I’m sorry Myra, is there any way I can get a continuance on my parking ticket trial? If I wasn’t so busy getting framed for murdering someone, I’d do it myself, but…”

  She cuts me off mid-sentence.

  “I’m taking Suzi home with me for a couple of days.”

  “Then what? I don’t know how long I’ll be here before they send me to County Jail, and I’m sure you’ll be opposing bail. Any suggestions?”

  “No, I won’t be opposing bail, because I’m recusing myself from prosecuting this case. In fact, I may just take off for a while. I’ve got some vacation time coming, so Suzi and I will just sit around the house and watch your trial on Court TV.”

  “That’s it? No discussion about this case? How about some hint about who they think I murdered?”

  “You know I can’t talk to you about your case. If you want some details, maybe the jailer will turn a television set on for you.”

  I don’t know why I even try with her.

  “Please take good care of her Myra, and tell her I’m sorry I goofed up again. Can I please talk to her for a second?”

  “She’s locked in her room.”

  “Well then just tell her I didn’t do it, and after this is all over, I promise to listen to her. And tell her… just tell her I didn’t do this.”

  There’s an electric socket in the cell, so I might was well take Myra’s advice. I plug in the little television set. By now the press probably knows more about this case than I do.

  Oh, wonderful, it’s in glorious black and white. Just before the news starts, there’s a sausage commercial. In black and white, their product looks like something a dog dropped. The early evening news is coming on now and of course if it bleeds it leads, so I’m once again a celebrity. Here it comes: an interview with the victim of my beating, Beverly Luskin. Beverly’s house appears in back of the newscaster, who tries to be as much like Geraldo Rivera as possible by shouting into the microphone with a sense of urgency and importance.

  “I am now in the City of La Verne and have gotten one of the people involved in this criminal case to grant us an exclusive interview. She is Beverly Luskin, the widow of a man who was gunned down in the streets of this very town recently. Mrs. Luskin, please, give us some background information about this terrible series of events.”

  The camera now pulls back to reveal a dissheveled Beverly standing next to the reporter. He points his hand-held microphone towards her, and being the true actress that she obviously is, she takes her cue perfectly and begins her sob story.

  “I’ve been seeing my attorney, Mister Peter Sharp, on a strictly platonic social basis since my husband was killed, but I never realized how strongly he felt about me. He was handling all my legal affairs, and I needed his services very badly, so I didn’t complain to the authorities when he flew into a rage last week and gave me a black eye. I was planning on replacing him with another attorney when he came barging into my house, and upon seeing my girlfriend’s male friend, he flew into a jealous rage, accused me of betraying him, and beat me again.

  “He pulled out a gun and threatened to kill the man, who then ran into another room. I tried to grab the gun away from him, but he hit me hard, and I fell. The next thing I knew, there was a shot fired in the other room, so I grabbed the phone and called 911.
Fortunately, the police arrived before he was able to kill me too.”

  The newscaster then turns his attention to another man standing there who is introduced as Beverly Luskin’s ‘spokesperson.’ He then is allowed to make an announcement that startles me, and shows me how vicious a person Beverly really is, and how much planning she must have put into this scenario she created.

  “We have several affidavits from witnesses who have sworn under penalty of perjury that the Defendant, Attorney Peter Sharp, was in attendance at a gun show more than sixty miles away from his residence, shortly before the murder he is now charged with committing. Reliable sources in the police department have informed us that the murder weapon was a sanitized gun with all identifying marks removed, so we can only assume that he purchased it at that gun show.

  “It should also be noted that Mister Sharp drives a yellow Hummer, the same one that witnesses identified as having been in the parking lot at the gun show, and also exact same vehicle used in the recent fatal drive-by shooting of Beverly Luskin’s husband, in broad daylight. We certainly hope that now the authorities have all this information, they will take a closer look at Mister Sharp, not only for the murder he is now accused of in Mrs. Luskin’s home, but also for involvement in the previous murder of her husband. It is the opinion of Mrs. Luskin that Mister Sharp was totally obsessed with her, and may have wanted any male she came into contact with put out of the way forever.”

  The newscaster on the scene is one of those typical blow-dried idiots who isn’t even capable of asking a Barbara-Walters type of inane question, but fortunately has the presence of mind to ask who my most recent the victim was. Beverly answers.

  “I don’t know, really. He came with my lady friend, and before we even had a chance to be introduced, Mister Sharp came into the house. He must have been stalking me, and saw them come in.”

  I knew it would just be a matter of time before some loonies came out of the woodwork. Just after they finish with the fantasy that Beverly and her spokesperson have created and performed, the studio’s anchorperson comes up with an exclusive scoop. "This station has learned that Attorney Peter Sharp, the Defendant in that murder in La Verne, who had allegedly purchased an unmarked weapon at a gun show, was also retained to represent a high-profile client in Los Angeles, none other than renowned attorney Charles Indovine. Mister Indovine was arrested for possession of a concealed weapon. A source inside the prosecutor's office has informed us that Mister Sharp had planned to make a constitutional Second Amendment argument for his client, alleging that he was not breaking the law by carrying a concealed weapon. This commentator finds it ironic that Mister Sharp, accused of using a handgun, purchased without the benefit of any background check, should be making that argument about another attorney charged with possessing a weapon.

  “We have in our studio a member of the Los Angeles Group of Citizens Against Guns, who would like to offer a comment on Mister Sharp. We also asked for a representative from the National Rifle Association to join us, but they declined to send a spokesperson. And now, here is Mizz Angela Slyter.

  "Thank you, Arthur. We would like your viewers to know that in one way, we support Mister Sharp's contention that his client had a right to own a gun. Every citizen in this country may have a right to own a gun, but that right isn't granted by the Second Amendment, instead it is as a result of the same rules that allow us to own other items of personal and real property, like houses and cars. We all own cars, and periodically must be tested for qualifications, and re-licensed to operate them. This licensing procedure in some states also requires that we show proof of insurance, so that if anyone is injured as a result of our operation of the asset, that everyone is covered by some financial responsibility... and all of those requirements are for items that are not designed to kill. They may do that on occasion, but not if used as designed.

  "We have learned that Mister Sharp was formerly a member of the NRA, and that certainly was his right, but as a sworn officer of the Court and a member of our society, how can he, or any other reasonable citizen object to the same requirements being applied to guns as they are to cars? We certainly would have no problem with every gun being pre-tested by the manufacturer, with a fired bulled from each one saved in a database for future ballistics comparison. Also, the owners should be tested for proficiency and re-licensed periodically, with the requirement for license issuance be predicated also upon proof of insurance.

  "A former president of the NRA and wellrespected actor, Mister Charlton Heston, was a staunch contender of people's rights to own guns, but he certainly didn't offer to turn his lethal weapons in when he announced he had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. If the purpose of keeping a weapon in your home is to protect yourself from intruders you don't recognize, don't you think that a person with Alzheimer's disease, who is expected to have difficulty in recognizing anyone, should surrender his weapons?

  "We look forward to hearing Mister Sharp's response to our arguments."

  Great. Just what I need, an argument about one of the most hotly debated and polarizing issues in this country, other than abortion rights, gay marriage, and prayer in school. Scotty, please beam me up.

  It’s very uncomfortable watching people tell these lies about me. I know that once we get to trial I’ll have Jack, Phyllis, Stuart, Vinnie, and Olive, who can all testify to the fact that it was almost twenty four hours earlier when that person she wasn’t introduced to actually entered her residence. That’s the upside. The downside is that I have to go to trial on a murder charge in order to prove she’s a liar.

  Well, there are sure no interruptions here in the cell, so I might as well just sit back, relax, and try to figure out some way to get myself out of this mess. I’ve still got my cell phone, so first thing tomorrow I’ll call Snell and let him know that Kathy Potter is the mystery friend of Beverly’s. Maybe he’ll get interested enough to look into this. Why wait? I might as well call him now. He should be available, unless the FBI closes at five PM.

  After a few minutes on hold, I get patched through to Snell.

  “Hello Sharp, what do you want now?”

  “I want you to get over to Beverly Luskin’s house. The girlfriend she’s been talking about on television is none other than your Kathy Potter. I have no idea who the guy is that I’m supposed to have shot, but I’m sure you can get Kathy to tell you all about it.”

  “Do you remember me telling you to stay away from this matter? Whatever situation you’re in now is your own doing. You got yourself into it, so you get yourself out of it. And that lady friend of Beverly Luskin’s is not Kathy Potter. And Sharp… please don’t call me anymore. This isn’t a Federal matter.”

  That definitely tells me he knows more than he’s letting on. He knows we found out about Kathy Potter taking that cab when she left his office, so he must know that we followed her. For some reason, he’s backing off on that Potter dame. Is he really willing to let me fry, just to let her get away? And who is the dead bald guy, and who killed him? I know it wasn’t me, so it must’ve been one of those women. But which one did it, and why?

  I hate to even think this, but there’s only one person who can probably put all this stuff together, figure out what’s going on, and clear me, and that’s the kid. Next to Nero Wolfe, the original armchair detective, she’s got the best analytical mind I’ve ever encountered. With her brains and Myra’s connections, I’ll bet they can have me out of here by tomorrow. I know that Myra wouldn’t do anything to help me on her own, but she’s already let me know how the kid feels about me, and I know that Myra loves the kid, so who knows what will happen?

  I might as well stretch out and take a nap. For once, I know that my getting comfortable won’t cause anything bad to happen, because there’s nothing else left that can be done to me. I’m now at rock bottom, and that conniving Beverly caused it all. I should have listened to the kid when she gave Beverly a thumbs down.

  The nap didn’t work. It’s almost two in the morn
ing. Hey, wait a minute. I’ve still got my wristwatch, and I also realize that my money and credit cards are still in my pockets. What’s going on here? Am I under arrest or not? Aren’t they supposed to strip search prisoners and take everything away from them? I hear someone coming.

  “Let’s go, Mister Sharp.” The cell door slides open. I don’t know who this is or where they want me to go, but anywhere on earth where I might be able to watch a color television set will be better than this cell, so I’m following his orders.

  When we walk out the rear exit of the police station I see that it’s one of the cops, but in plain clothes. We both get into his unmarked vehicle, and he starts to drive. In about ten minutes he pulls into an alley and drives down to the middle of the block. He pulls over, stops, points at an open rear fence gate, and tells me to get out of the car. I follow his instructions and walk over to the open gate. I can see that I’m now in the back yard of a large house, and there’s a light on in the open rear door of the house. This must be the place where they want me to be, so I walk towards the light and into the doorway.

  I’m now standing in a small laundry room. There’s a hallway off to my left, and I can see light coming into it from another room. Someone shouts out to me. “Over here, Mister Sharp, we’ve been waiting for you.” I walk down the small hallway and into the room. Seated at a table are Special Agent Snell, two of his men, and Chief Stan Olshansky of the La Verne Police Department.

  “What took you so long, Sharp?” Snell must be kidding. He knows exactly where I’ve been. I guess it’s my turn now.

  “Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on? Am I, or am I not under arrest for murdering someone? And if so, exactly who am I supposed to have murdered? And what about that lying broad Beverly Luskin? Oh, by the way, I haven’t had a chance to wash my hands yet, so would you like to give me a GSR or paraffin test to see if I’ve fired a gun recently?”