Mona beat me around the corner. "Where did the money come from, Mr. Gresham?"
"I don't have the foggiest idea. I knew your dad in law school--we were classmates. But to be honest, we hadn't been in touch since graduation. In fact, I didn't even know where Gerry had settled down to work. We all went different ways. I live a thousand miles away from here."
"Why would he go outside DC for a POA?" asked Jarrod.
"Why wouldn't he choose someone closer?" Mona agreed.
"Again, I don't know. I do know he said he trusted me, but that's about it."
"Wait a minute," Jarrod said slowly. "Am I beginning to see something here? How much do you stand to make off this deal, Mr. Gresham? What's your part of our money?"
"Not one dime. He didn't offer to pay me, and I didn't ask."
"Forgive me for the stupid question," Jarrod suddenly blurted out. "I thought something else was going on."
"Not at all," I said. "I would be suspicious of any lawyer I didn't know, too. It's a huge amount of money, and in the hands of the wrong representatives it would be quite a temptation."
"But that's not you," Jarrod said, shaking his head. "You were dad's classmate, and he trusted you."
"That's about the sum and substance of it. Okay, so let's do this. I'm headed back to Chicago tomorrow. When I get back to my office, I'll deliver instructions to the bank to make the wire deposit into Jarrod's account. Then my part will be done. Fair enough?"
"Yep," said Jarrod.
Mona studied me. "You didn't answer. Where do you think the money came from, Michael?"
"To be honest, I've had the FBI in my office asking me the same thing. Their spin is that your dad's PAC was embezzled for the same amount before your money showed up in Moscow. Is there a connection? Of course. But it is all above board? It could very well be, I don't know. Don't be surprised if the FBI comes nosing around. I'd just tell them you have no idea of the origin of your dad's gift to you. You might also want to have an attorney present."
"Could you be the attorney we have present?"
The earlier discussion I'd had with Antonia about joining the U.S. Attorney's staff was a definite roadblock to my having anything more to do with the money once I was sworn in. I would have to decline.
"No, but it could be a trusted member of my firm."
"Sure," Jarrod said. "I like you, and I think I trust you. I'll trust your law partner too, I'm sure."
"Jarrod!" Mona snapped at him. "Keep that to yourself. It's impolite to tell someone you 'think' you trust them. Michael, Jarrod says things that maybe the rest of us would only be thinking. I think it's the CP talking. I'm sorry."
"Quite all right," I said. "I appreciate knowing where I stand with people who might become clients of my firm. I'll be leaving that firm, by the way. But my partners all work from the same perspective as I: clients come first above all else. You'd be in good hands with them."
I saw a sorrowful look creep across Jarrod's face. "I am sorry if I hurt your feelings, Mr. Gresham. Forgive me, please. I do trust you. I mean, I'm starting to."
"That's good to hear. All right, I think we're done here, at least for now. By the way, the partner in my firm who will be contacting you about taking over from me is Martin Tinsley. Martin is a straight shooter and the best attorney in a courtroom I've ever had the pleasure of watching. You could do much worse."
We shook hands all around and said our goodbyes. Then I stooped down to Annie.
"Goodbye, Annie. Good luck with that computer."
She looked up at me and wrinkled her nose. Then she shook her head and bent back to her work. That was it.
Jarrod drew me into the dining room, where we sat at a long, oak table. There, he told me about Annie.
"She's seen every kind of doctor. No one really tells us what's going on with her. Annie has low-verbal abilities with islands of genius. With her, it's a superior systematizing ability. She surfs the Internet all day and remembers every item she sees. All its details."
"So she's autistic?"
"No doctor has said that. They all say she's very low-verbal. So we rarely talk. But when she does talk to us we're stunned at all the details she knows about everything she's seen."
Mona walked in. "Annie has an obsession with memorization of trivial and obscure information. If she ever talks to you, I guarantee you'll be astonished at what she knows. Usually about you. But she rarely talks to anyone."
I was leaving when Annie came into the room and fixed me with her gaze. Then I heard her say, "You're from Chicago."
I said, "I am from Chicago. How do you know that?"
"You're wearing Balani."
"Yes, I am."
"With red buttonholes. That's a trademark feature of his Chicago suits."
"That's pretty amazing you know that," I said to her. Next to me stood Mona, her face a study in shock. She was shaking her head in disbelief that the girl was talking.
"I know more, too."
"Like what?"
"I know your wife died."
I felt a slight buckle in my knees. Danny had died; she had been murdered. I fought down the urge to turn to Mona and say something about her remarkable sister. Instead, I said, "How do you know my wife died?"
"Your ring finger has a white circle around it. You've removed your wedding ring. You never got divorced because you haven't lost the sparkle in your eye that happily married people have."
I didn't push it in response. Instead, I turned to Mona and mouthed, "Incredible!"
Mona only nodded, yet in shock that her twelve-year-old sister was actually speaking to someone.
"What else do you know about me?" I asked.
"You graduated from Georgetown Law. I know that because you knew my father. Otherwise you wouldn't be here. And my father went to Georgetown. I'm guessing you were classmates there. How close am I?"
"Guilty," I said. The girl didn't react.
Annie turned away and walked out of the room.
Mona took me by the shoulder and moved me along to the front door. She opened the door, and I stepped out onto the porch. It was snowing again and very cold. I quickly slipped into my topcoat and turned to go.
"Wait," said Mona. I turned back.
"I'm still stunned," I said. "Annie is amazing."
"Annie is a savant, Michael."
"How do you know that for sure?"
"One day she looked up and recited the breeds of house cats to me. Abyssinian, Balinese, Chartreuse, Devon Rex, Exotic, Havana Brown--the list was endless. We had her to do it again for Jarrod when he got up. Same list as what she told me."
"So she remembers what she reads on the Internet?"
"She remembers every detail of everything she reads on the Internet. She browses hundreds of pages of different websites every day. And memorizes everything on every page. It's her gift. She can tell you the cats' breeds. But if you asked her, she can't spell 'cat.' That isn't part of her gift. Nor could she tell you how many cat breeds. That's how she knew about your suit and your wedding ring. She's a profiler, Michael."
"Wow. That's amazing."
"Annie is amazing."
I finally turned to go. "Don't be a stranger," Mona called to me. I promised to come back and check in on them. And I meant it--especially Annie. I was taken by her like no other child ever, not even my own.
But the encounter left me unsettled once I stepped through the front door. The entire meeting had left me uneasy--which any lawyer would relate to, given that the funds were looking more and more like the product of a simple embezzlement. I wanted distance between myself and the problems the money was going to raise. My bottom line was that I was soon to become a prosecutor. I had no business nosing around in a potential embezzlement case. I needed to make other arrangements.
The taxicab burned through a hundred-dollar bill by the time I got back to the Hyatt Regency on Capitol Hill.
Maybe I'd be reimbursed, or maybe I'd just eat it along with the plane fare and hotel and meals.
Those plans remained to be made.
9
Two days later, Nivea Young was called in by Paul Wexler for further instructions. She was unsmiling upon entering Wexler's office at GULP as she thought she knew what he wanted next.
Wexler looked up from a pile of papers on his desk. His bushy white eyebrows knitted together in puzzlement though he was pleased to see his hire. "I received your report. You followed Antonia Xiang to the meeting with Michael Gresham? What do we know?"
"She met the man. Same name you gave me: Michael Gresham. Same office I entered before. Chicago defense lawyer, mid-fifties; widower, two kids too young for a man his age; SEP-IRA worth 2.2 million at Fidelity in a mutual fund consisting of emerging medical technologies; multiple law partners and a dozen or so support staff. Plus, there's the investigator, name of Marcel Rainford, once with Interpol and New Scotland Yard. He's now working out of London. No reason is known for that." She tossed a thin dossier on his desk and stepped back. "It's all in there."
"What did she see him about?"
"They met at the Monument, but the FBI was there attempting to eavesdrop and photograph their meeting."
"What did they discuss?"
"Unknown. I also spent time on his tail. He didn't make any calls after his flight touched down at Reagan. He just climbed into a taxi and went directly to their meeting at the Washington Monument. I followed. They were approached by a known FBI asset and moved their conversation to a public tavern nearby. I followed and got close enough to eavesdrop. He booked a return flight to Chicago and then went to see Tybaum's children. No opportunity there."
"They discussed what?"
"She wanted Gresham to work for the U.S. Attorney here in Washington."
"Who is this guy? Why the U.S. Attorney?"
Young shrugged. "He's a nobody. Maybe around Chicago, there's a certain cachet among the criminal bar who know the guy. He's been known to win a few cases. But not a heavy hitter. I followed him to his hotel and took the room next to his. I paid the desk clerk $100 to extend his phone line to mine. This allowed me to listen in on his conversations. From what I could gather out of just two conversations, he knows too much about the Russian account. We need him out of our way before he makes a play for the money with the power of attorney."
"Which is exactly why I called you again."
"Take him out?"
Wexler rocked back in his chair, thoughtful. "Yes. Make it happen."
"Done."
Then Wexler smiled. She smiled at him. They broke into muffled laughter.
"Amazing, the things you do," Wexler whispered to his field agent. "And where is Gresham now?"
"His hotel. He hasn't moved his family out of Chicago yet, so he's living out of a suitcase here in Washington."
"What plans do you recommend for him?"
"Frame him for the murder of Tybaum," she said.
"Use Tybaum's money as his motive?"
"Of course. He has the POA. It fits perfectly into that theory."
"You are on your game today," said Wexler, an appreciative tone in his voice.
"Where's the gun? Did you steal it back from Rudy Geneseo?" she asked.
Wexler smiled. "He was glad to turn it over to me. I'll have it in your locker by close of business."
"All right."
"When will you go into his room?"
"Tonight when he goes down for dinner."
"How can you be sure he'll go downstairs for dinner? What if he eats in his room?"
She smiled. "Would you stay in your room if Jimmy's Steakhouse comped you a twenty-ounce porterhouse?"
"Not likely. So comp away, my dear friend."
"Done and done."
When she was finished with Wexler, Young returned to her room at the hotel. She then hacked into the Hyatt Hotel's computer system and accessed Michael Gresham's registration. She backdated the registration to include Christmas Eve day, the night of Tybaum's murder. In fact, she reconsidered and then had him registering two days previous to that. Might as well have it appear that he'd been in town for awhile to accomplish his mission. She made the same changes to the American Express card he had used to pay for his room. Now it was all nice and tidy, the lawyer was registered and the card imprint taken all on the same day, December 22. Even US Airways accommodated the ruse--they didn't know it, of course; she simply hacked their system too. How would they ever know the difference between a passenger who wasn't there and a computer system that said he had been? Like the hotel and credit card, they couldn't. None of them could. As for TSA check-in, that was a governmental arm. Their cooperation was cheap, simple, and expedient. All evidence would contradict the protestations that were sure to erupt from him when he was arrested.
At 6:15 p.m., she accessed her locker at the Langley Athletic Club. As agreed, Wexler's gym bag was awaiting her inside her locker. She retrieved the bag and left the club at 6:19 p.m. Ensconcing herself in the lobby of the Hyatt Hotel, in plain view of the elevator bank, she began her lookout for the guest of Jimmy's Steakhouse whom she knew would be coming along in the next hour or two.
Sure enough, at 7:22 p.m. the elevator whooshed open, and the lawyer stepped out and breezed by her, headed for the restaurant. Young could see the hostess greet him and then lead him away to a table. Young wasted no time heading immediately for the elevators. She jabbed her finger against the UP arrow several times. Doors parted and she stepped aboard.
Gaining entrance to his room was simple-
Using an electronic passkey. Before entering, she slipped on latex gloves and a hairnet. No reason to leave DNA behind when she was finished.
She set the gym bag down on the floor and unzipped it along its length. Inside reposed the pistol that had killed Tybaum. It had been stolen from Gresham's desk drawer in his Chicago officer after Tybaum's visit. It had been used to execute Tybaum as he attempted to run away. It was encased in clear plastic. Young took care not to brush away any of the oils along the barrel and trigger and hand grips. Then--holding the gun in her arms as you might hold a child--she turned away from the bed in search of a hiding place where a novice like Gresham might hide something like a handgun. Her first thought was, of course, the water tank on the toilet. The gun could remain inside its plastic wrapper, and the DNA material remain untouched, but still, there was the slightest possibility that water could enter in and ruin the whole game as the DNA washed away. So she continued looking.
Beneath the room's one long window, an air conditioner stared back at her. A thought occurred and she two-fingered the collapsed toolset from her pocket. She unfolded the screwdriver blade and approached the AC unit. Four screws later, the cabinet was lifted up and away. Around the bottom of the rectangular unit was a sheet metal skirt six inches in height. At its front side was the exact amount of space needed to hide the pistol. She laid it down inside the trough and replaced the cover. Four screws were driven, and then Young stood back from her work. Just out of curiosity she fired up the AC unit and stood for several minutes, listening to its fan. Nothing alarming about any of that. She then collected the gym bag and smoothed the bed covers where the bag had been placed while she labored.
It was time to leave.
10
My Chicago law practice was a good twenty years old, and I had been fortunate enough that it had a good reputation and was salable.
Martin Tinsley--Marty--sat down in my office late the next afternoon to hammer things out. The key issues were how much would be paid for my interest in the law practice, what funds would be used to pay me, and how long I would continue receiving fees from our work-in-progress. In the end, we decided I would receive my partner's share of the WIP for twelve months beginning on the first of the next month, February, just twelve days away. The amount to be paid to me remained to be hashed out, but I tossed out a number and Marty said he'd talk to the others and get back to me on that. Next up was the need for my partners to take over my cases. In truth, the clients had hired me, but our fee co
ntract reflected that they were hiring the law firm, an LLC, meaning any lawyer in our firm could take over any case and that would be allowed within the four corners of our client fee agreement. At a practical level, it meant that I would have to phone or meet with every one of my clients on my roster and seek their permission to substitute in a firm attorney on each client's case. If they refused, we would offer to withdraw from their case and give a full refund of the money they'd paid us. Over the ensuing three days I made those calls and met with some of those clients, and no one objected to the firm continuing with their defense. Which left me wondering whether my clients had somehow sensed that my heart was no longer in my work. Maybe yes, maybe no. But this much was true: to my great surprise, there were no objections and no refunds necessary. Wow, I thought, I am replaceable. It was a good lesson in ego management for me.
Mikey and Dania are my children, the greatest and toughest little kids God ever made. Danny was their mother and when she'd died the children were suddenly thrust into a single-parent home with a dad who had no idea how to mother. It had been extremely difficult, and I'd resorted to the use of counselors and Danny's wonderful mother to help us make the transition into our new way of living without Danny. So it was with great caution that I introduced Verona into my home and the lives of my children. Much more than a casual relationship was required, and the two of us waited until we were sure before we moved Verona from her long-term stay condo into my home. A good six months had gone by and slowly the children, and she were introduced and foundations laid. It took that long for me--and probably her--to be sure of this new direction for my life and so the six months proved extremely important in the world of my family. Danny's mother was still with us as well, living in our guest room and providing the continuity kids need. She was there with them before and after school, helped with homework, and sometimes prepared supper and sometimes our nanny, Cindy, prepared the meal. Verona fit into the calculus of my little family with ease, and she'd established a flourishing relationship with Dania and Mikey before the first time she spent the night. After that, it was incremental so the kids could get accustomed to the idea of daddy having a girlfriend.
Annie's Verdict (Michael Gresham Legal Thrillers Book 6) Page 5
