Annie's Verdict (Michael Gresham Legal Thrillers Book 6)

by John Ellsworth

  Now, however, there was going to be a fly in the ointment because I was going to be living in D.C. during the week and commuting home to Evanston on weekends. Everyone else would be in Evanston all week, at least until school let out, at which time I would move them back to Washington with me. The kids were a bit older now, and they understood why their father would be gone during the week. Don't get me wrong--they weren't happy with the idea, but they understood it was something about my job, which had at various times taken me away from home but they knew I always came home to them. We talked, and I promised that this time would be no different, that we would soon be together again full-time.

  I reported to Antonia's office the first Monday in February, which was February 6, and found that I was slated to do ten days at the DOJ's National Advocacy Center in Columbia, SC, where I would receive training. One week later, I checked into my room in Columbia, where I spent the following two weeks in seminars on advocacy skills. These programs were designed for new federal prosecutors with little or no prosecutorial experience who would be responsible for the trial of criminal cases. The seminar utilized lectures, skills exercises, critiques, and trial strategy sessions. Some of it was very basic; some of it was vanilla brush-up on things I knew but had forgotten; some of it was advanced tactics in criminal advocacy that opened my eyes to how things were done in the employ of the Department of Justice. At the end of my two weeks, I flew home to Chicago and spent several days with my family. All was well, which freed me up to return to Washington on a Wednesday.

  Antonia showed me around the USA's Office and led me into my office, a small, efficient room that included a window. We sat down in there, and Antonia gave me what must have been her canned speech she gave to all her hires.

  "The United States Attorney's Office for the District of Columbia is unique among U.S. Attorney's Offices in the size and scope of its work. It serves as both the local and the federal prosecutor for the nation's capital. On the local side, these prosecutions extend from misdemeanor drug possession cases to murders. On the federal side, these prosecutions extend from child pornography to gangs to financial fraud to terrorism. In both roles, the Office is committed to being responsive and accountable to the citizens of the District of Columbia. Now I've said a mouthful."

  "And I'll be working the local side, is that correct?"

  "Correct. Your first case is the investigation and prosecution of those responsible for the murder of Gerry Tybaum. I'm making good on my promise to you that you would get first shot at the case. I know how you feel about Annie and the twins."

  "That's what cranked my gears," I said. "It made me come here."

  She nodded. "You probably know more about the case than I do. Come by my office after you go downstairs for your ID photo and badge and I'll hand over the file. You'll also be receiving twenty other criminal prosecutions, to start, ranging from misdemeanor cases to a second homicide case. In a month you'll receive another thirty cases in progress."

  "What's the case load for someone like me?"

  "With your experience? I'd like to see you at one hundred cases by the end of the year. A good number of them will be major cases. You're my go-to guy, Michael, because you have so much experience in federal courts already. Now, am I scaring you off? Any second thoughts about being here?"

  "Not at all. I'm ready for the challenge, and I thank you again for giving an old dog a new start. I know it is very unusual for DOJ to hire anyone my age, but--"

  "Not so fast. We don't discriminate, remember? We don't even ask ages or birth dates on hiring documents. You were hired because of your ability to hit the ground running and take on a full caseload."

  "And the pay is one-twenty-five?"

  "One-hundred-twenty-five thousand a year. Does that make you cringe?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, you've been making a helluva lot more than one-two-five. I know that for a fact."

  I shook my head. "You know what? I'm looking for fulfillment and getting some joy back in my life. It's been too long. This job fits that need exactly. The truth is, I'd do the job for no pay at all. That's how much I love this."

  "No need for freebies. Uncle Sam can still pay his way, Michael."

  "I see that. All right."

  "Run on downstairs now and get your ID rolling. Then come by, and we'll issue your files."

  "Will do. Thanks again, Antonia."

  "Wait until you see the cases before you thank me."

  "All right, then. But thanks anyway."

  She smiled, gathered up her things, and left me there in my office.

  I looked around before heading downstairs. The place was elemental at best. I was used to much finer digs. But you know what? The much finer digs were no longer making me happy. The new office felt happy. I was elated to be there.

  I liked it already.

  11

  Ronald Holt was assigned to the Metro Police, Second District, D.C. He was a large black man whose body type most closely resembled a grizzly bear. His face had an old look to it, widespread eyes, perfect teeth when he smiled--which was often and easily--and a mind that was always running a mile or two ahead of any conversation. He was one of the brightest cops I'd ever met, which was evident within the first five minutes of our meeting.

  Detective Holt came to my office on my first full day at the USA's Office to discuss Gerry Tybaum's murder.

  He came into my small office and chose the visitor's chair closest to the window. Wearing a black suit and a red necktie, mini-Afro and an intense look on his face, you instantly knew Holt was in law enforcement. He sat easily in the chair, one foot crossed over his knee, tapping his car keys against the heel of his boot in a Hurry-up-and-let's-get-this-over-with rhythm.

  But I wasn't in a hurry. I wanted to know everything he knew.

  First, he withdrew a sheaf of papers over an inch thick and pushed them across the desk.

  "Police reports, counselor. We've got everything here including first on the scene, CSI, detectives, photographer, and M.E.'s report. This should get you quite a way down the road."

  "Don't I already have this in the office file?"

  "Most of it. Some you don't."

  I stared blankly at the papers without touching them, then, "This is all well and good but suppose we cut to the end. Who do you think killed the guy?"

  "If I were a betting man I'd say it was a jealousy killing. Word on the street is that Tybaum was getting in the pants of the VP's wife. But Antonia told me about the Russian money, too. But I'm sticking with the sex fun theory."

  His assuredness threw me. I had come to office thinking Gerry died for the Russian money. Here was a new twist.

  "The Vice President's wife? Of the United States?"

  "None other, counselor. Get used to it. In the District, you'll find everyone is screwing someone else's wife, from the President down. It goes with the territory. It's part of the power madness that takes over when a newbie comes to town. See, the game here is 'How close can I get to the President?' Some try to excel at their jobs to get closer; some try to sleep their way closer, some try to get White House jobs in hopes of establishing a relationship with him."

  "With President Sinclair?"

  "Sure, I mean the guy's very approachable and the District's actually a small town. Everyone knows everyone else--which is also part of everyone's power struggle. The more you know, the more powerful you become. It's a crazy place. You'll find yourself prosecuting people who will pay millions of dollars just to make their case go away. Even simple cases like shoplifting. The woman you're replacing took a five-hundred-thousand dollar bribe on a check-kiting case. The perp was some guy out of Iraq who hit town and immediately bought a condo in Georgetown, a Rolls-Royce and hired two maids and a gardener. He was spreading money around like the ice cream man. The only problem was, the letter of credit he gave to First American Bank he also gave to three other banks. Writing checks on one bank to cover another. Like I said, your predecessor took one
of his checks, and it bounced, so guess what? She sued him."

  "You've got to be kidding me. That's insane."

  "Scout's honor. Word got out about the lawsuit, and she was canned less than a day after she filed her case. Dumb, dumb, dumb, but that's what this place does to people. Keep your nose clean, counselor, and you'll love it here. But don't ever let anyone get an angle on you. If they do, it'll take you down with everything you've got. Which brings me to the main reason for my speech this morning. Don't hand out special favors to anyone. They not only won't appreciate it, but they'll also come to expect it, and next time they come around with their hand out, they'll threaten you with blabbing about the first deal you gave them. I shit you not, that's who you're dealing with here. Be brave but be smart. You've now been warned."

  With that, he smiled ear-to-ear and I saw he had a perfect smile that lit up his face like a Christmas tree. He was charming and tough and smart. That's what I came away from our meeting knowing about Ronald Holt.

  We also talked some more about Gerry Tybaum.

  "Word has it that you knew Mr. Tybaum," the detective said to me. His eyes narrowed as he said this as if he were about to appraise my veracity in light of what he'd just finished saying about integrity.

  "He made me power of attorney on a Russian bank account. This was two days before he was shot to death."

  "Why would he do that? Did you guys go back?"

  "Yes and no. We were speaking acquaintances from law school, but we never hung together. I worked nights and keeping a social calendar was all but impossible for me. Gerry's dad was connected in Washington and had tons of money, from what we all knew."

  "His dad's a lobbyist for the pharmaceutical companies. Or he was. Eventually he retired from that and went back to the home office where he's still the CFO. He's in on the ground floor of the company that makes Muraxin, the wonder drug for arthritis, and I guess he's made a fortune off his stock options."

  This news turned my head. "So is it possible Gerry's dad's money was used to fund the Moscow bank account? Might Gerry have taken that position?"

  He stopped tapping his keys against the boot heel. "No. Reason I say no is because the GULP PAC was embezzled in the same amount as the Russian deposit Antonia told me about. I have no doubt in my mind where the Russian money came from. That's even better than the sex theory, I'm guessing."

  "Question about the PAC, Detective Holt. Did Gerald Tybaum have the right to remove campaign funds from the PAC and place them in a Russian account?"

  "Unknown. We're waiting on the organization's articles of incorporation and so forth. We're then going to be looking to your civil department to give us an opinion on that. Why, do you know any differently?"

  "I don't. I'm just wondering out loud."

  "We are too. Incidentally, when I say 'we' I include the FBI agent assigned to work the murder with me. Her name is Carlotte Siragusa and she's presently on family leave. New baby. She won't be back for two more weeks, so it's just you and me for right now."

  "Interesting. Would you be receptive to my riding along with you as you work up this case? At least until she gets back? I'd like to see how you conduct witness interviews and talk to witnesses and CI's if possible."

  "Entirely possible. If Carlotte isn't in my passenger seat, there's no reason you shouldn't be. I'll keep you posted on the next interview."

  "That's great news. It will help with my understanding of how things work in Washington. Who knows, I might even be able to help you track down Gerry's killer in the process. Thank you for the opportunity, Detective."

  He brushed at the space between us. "Think nothing of it. We're all in the same boat on this side of the street. Who knows, I might want to tag along with you on trial one of these days."

  "Entirely doable," I said eagerly, though I had no idea whether that would be any violation of official USA policy or not. Even if it were, he could accompany me to court, sit in the gallery, and be in on the convos during recesses and breaks from the trial. Tit for tat.

  "Tell you what,'" he said suddenly, "Let's start out by visiting the scene together. I can help you get a mental picture of what happened that Sunday night and show you some detail about what we did. Tomorrow morning at eight work for you?"

  "Just let me know when and where."

  "I'll be here waiting when you get in. Bring coffee and donuts, counselor."

  "Roger that. I'll see you at eight mañana."

  He paused at the doorway. "One other thing. About Agent Leders? He came to see you in Chicago?"

  "The FBI agent?"

  "Yes. He says hello. He also says no hard feelings now that you're both on the same side."

  "That's fair."

  "He also says he ran down your pay-per-view at the New York hotel the night Tybaum was murdered."

  "I would've expected no less."

  "Whether you were there watching the movie? He says he's giving you a pass on that. He's just going to assume you were in your room in New York when your movie played."

  "I was."

  "Do you recall the movie, incidentally?"

  "No."

  "Okay. See you in the A.M."

  "Cool. Until then."

  He stood and tossed off a friendly salute and clomped out of my office.

  So. A new friend and some good advice.

  I was going to like it here.

  12

  Annie's safety--and the safety of Jarrod and Mona--was gnawing at me after I met with Detective Holt. It had surfaced in my mind that I couldn't just leave them alone in their father's house with a murderer on the loose. They could be next if my thinking about the killer's motive were correct. So I paid a visit to Jarrod.

  "I'm concerned for your safety, Jarrod," I said after he took me inside the house. "The people who killed your father might very well come after you kids next."

  "People?" he asked. "There's more than one?"

  "That's my thinking. Your father was killed over the money in Moscow. I have no doubt about that. The case has been assigned to me at the U.S. Attorney's Office to investigate. The only problem with that is time. Investigations take time and manpower, and I'm afraid that in the meantime they might strike again. I don't want to lose you or your sisters."

  He wheeled himself back in his wheelchair. Then he reached down and retrieved a glass of orange juice from the coffee table at his elbow. I was seated across from him in a blue velour wingback chair. The living room that day was in somewhat of a disarray, giving it a well-lived-in look. About the time he had taken a second swallow of his juice, Annie came wandering in. She was wearing tennis shoes with flashing lights around the soles, jeans that were probably two sizes too large for her, and a T-shirt that said Lebowski 2020.

  "You're a Lebowski fan?" I asked her.

  She came over to me and touched my hand.

  "That's her way of saying hello," Jarrod explained. "You're a big hit with her if she does that."

  I sat very still, waiting to see what she'd do next. She surprised me, then, by turning and backing up until she was touching my knee. She remained like that, staring straight ahead, barely breathing.

  "I think she's missing our dad," Jarrod said. "Mona thinks she is, too. Maybe that's why she sought you out. Maybe you remind her of him."

  Unable to restrain my love for this little kid, I reached forward and touched her shoulder. Much to my surprise, she didn't just pull away, though she dropped her shoulder like I'd put a twenty-pound weight there.

  "Wow, now you are something, Mr. Gresham. That's not like Annie."

  I sat back in my chair, instinctively knowing I'd responded enough for one day. Annie then wandered off and took Jarrod's orange juice from the coffee table. She drank, sighed happily, and set it back down. Then she wandered from the room.

  "Where's she going?"

  "Who knows? She might go out back. She loves the snow."

  "What I'm going to suggest, Jarrod, is that we remove the three of you from this house until I
can make this case go away."

  "Go away?"

  "Arrest the bad guy and make it safe for you again. That could take six to nine months."

  "We can't afford to leave here, Mr. Gresham. The house is paid for; I get disability; Annie gets disability; Mona works but doesn't make all that much. We're pretty much stuck here."

  Which brought me up short. I didn't like what I was hearing. The kids were not safe in their father's house, not if someone was making a play for their dead father's money.

  "Did you tell me your father didn't leave a last will?"

  "I might have mentioned that. But it's true; there's no will."

  "Here's the deal. When your father died without a will, his assets went to you kids in equal shares. That includes the Russia money. Whoever killed your father is after that money and might very well come after you three to get the heirs out of the way."

  "How does that help them?"

  "Then there's no one left to challenge their request that a probate court turns over the money to them."

  "And who is behind this?"

  "My best guess is that it's your father's PAC."

  "GULP? I don't know about that. He was always on great terms with his PAC, Mr. Gresham."

  "And I can appreciate that, Jarrod. But we're talking about an enormous amount of money, and there are going to be lots of people after it. People are plotting against you three right now if I don't miss my guess."