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

by John Ellsworth

  "All right, I'll make Wexler my next person of interest."

  "Will you let me know what you find out?" she asked, all innocence.

  Rusty looked at her, fixing her with his firm gaze. "I can't do that. This is law enforcement business, and I can't talk about it outside our office. Sorry, Mona."

  "Sure. I understand."

  There was a break, then, while she idly turned her water bottle around and around and Rusty stirred his coffee with a wooden stirrer. Finally, Rusty looked up and smiled for the first time.

  "Guess what? I've forgotten the rest of my questions."

  She returned his smile. "Guess what? I'm glad. I don't like thinking about the people who wanted to hurt my father."

  "I'm sure you don't. Nobody would blame you."

  "So when are you going to talk to Jarrod? You are going to talk to Jarrod, aren't you?"

  "In about thirty minutes. Right here where we're sitting now."

  She smiled again. "Smart man. Two birds with one stone and all that."

  "One last question. Is there anything else about what's happened that you feel might be important for me to know?"

  "I have a question."

  "Go on."

  "Is Jon Vengrow a suspect?"

  Rusty caught himself. How should I answer that? Yes, everyone is a possible suspect at this point? He decided that honesty was the best policy just then.

  "Truth is, Mona, the way I work, everyone's a person of interest until I clear them by nosing around. I try not to assume things about people. As Billy Blaze said in Night Shift with Henry Winkler, 'When I assume things I make an ass out of you and me. 'Ass-u-me'--get it?"

  "I've seen that movie. I love it. All right, then, is that it for me? I need to get back to work."

  "Yes. Thanks for your time."

  "No need to thank me at all. You're looking for the person who murdered my dad. I'm always available to help, Rusty."

  Then she was gone. Rusty refilled his coffee, leaving his top coat lying across the table to save it as he went through the coffee line.

  When he returned, waiting at the table was Jarrod Tybaum, whose photograph had made its way into the Tybaum murder file and who Rusty immediately recognized, given that the notes had him wheelchair-bound, as was the person pulled up to his table.

  "I knew it was you," Jarrod said as Rusty returned to the table. "Only a cop would come into a place like this without a laptop or at least an iPad."

  Rusty smiled. He already liked the young man. He held out his hand, introduced himself, and took a seat.

  When they were settled, the men exchanged pleasantries but only for a few minutes as Rusty was anxious to move along, especially now that he had the name of Paul Wexler to work with. This also presented the first order of business with Jarrod, clearing this name.

  'Tell me about Paul Wexler," Rusty began. "Mona had quite a bit to say about him."

  "I can imagine. Mr. Wexler took up a lot of air around our family dinner time as Dad would review with us what was going on in his life."

  "You say 'with us.' Does that include your mother?"

  "She died after many happy years with my father. Then, Dad was mother and father to us."

  "Did he ever have romantic involvements that made their way into the home?"

  "As in sleepovers? Or nights away? Not at all. Our dad was all about family and doing the right thing for his kids. He always walked the straight and narrow."

  "Which makes him sound like someone who would never embezzle money from his PAC."

  "Never. I cannot even put 'theft' and 'Dad' together in the same sentence. He just didn't do that kind of thing."

  "Tell me about this Paul Wexler person. Was he a physical threat to Gerry Tybaum?"

  "Maybe, I don't know. I've never met the man although I feel like I know him intimately. At least I feel like I know his dark side because that's the side that was always in conflict with our father. Long story short, the guy was and is an asshole."

  "Maybe. But is Wexler someone who would murder your dad?"

  The son scoffed and said, "You have any other suspects in mind?"

  Rusty didn't answer at first. Then, "What do you know about Vice President Vengrow?"

  "What do I know or what have I heard?"

  "Either. Both."

  "I've heard my sister and Vengrow are an item. I know that he's a married man and I would hate that for my sister if it's true. I also know he's a very greedy man, someone who wouldn't hesitate to take whatever he wanted from someone else regardless."

  "Would he steal money from your father's PAC?"

  "Unknown. Probably not."

  "Would Paul Wexler?"

  "Unknown. Maybe yes."

  They talked on for another ten minutes, and then Rusty asked the open-end question, "Is there anything else you want me to know about your dad or his murder or the PAC money or anything else?"

  "Yes. Who is Michael Gresham? I know he's the power of attorney on our dad's Moscow account. Can he still do that now that he's working as a prosecutor? Isn't there some conflict of interest? I'm suspicious of everyone, even the people who bend over backward to help us."

  "Conflict of interest? Probably so. But if there is, then his removal would mean removing the one man who has authority over that money and can bring it home to you and Mona without a whole raft of legal problems set not only in the U.S. but Russia too. I'd back off that right now if I were you. And you didn't hear that from me."

  "Okay, I'll shut up about it. I don't have any other questions or comments I guess."

  "How are you getting home?"

  "Same way I got here. Metro."

  "Can I give you a ride? Just in case?"

  "Just in case what?"

  "In case you were followed today. I'm betting you weren't, but if you go with me, I can at least watch your six."

  "My six?"

  "You know, your backside. Make sure someone isn't tailing you."

  "I know it's bad. I guess I just don't want to admit it."

  "Who's with your younger sister today, incidentally?"

  "We called Mr. Gresham for a name we could call to watch her. He said he'd come himself."

  "What? She's with Michael Gresham?"

  "Yes, she's taken to him now. She touches his hand every time she sees him. Which means she's crazy about him. It's her way of communicating."

  "I know. What's wrong with your sister?"

  "Which one?"

  "The little one."

  "Not a damn thing, Mr. Xiang. Put it in your book. Not a damn thing."

  "Okay, sorry. I overstepped."

  "Your mistake."

  "Yes. I won't ask again."

  "Good. Then I won't have to not answer again."

  "Deal."

  20

  "Mr. Gresham, closed circuit TV cameras line both sides of the Reflecting Pool. As well as all monuments and tourist sites in Washington."

  "Okay," I said. "But we're only interested in the Reflecting Pool."

  "That's not all," Rusty said. "We also need both ends maybe a hundred feet away."

  "Can do," said the custodian.

  Rusty and I were meeting with the Capitol Police custodian of video files. She quickly located that Sunday night and brought it up on the screen of one of five computers for police use in her viewing room. Rusty and I took a seat at the first empty carrel and began fast-forwarding through the video beginning at five p.m. the night Tybaum was murdered. It was Rusty's first week on his new job, and we were both relieved to have before us a task that would limit the need for us to make casual conversation. The father-son thing never came up.

  The video rolled along. Five p.m. to six p.m. showed nothing of interest. Then at 6:06 p.m. we got our first view of Gerry Tybaum running into the camera's view. Gerry was wearing a winter coat, waist-length, with the collar turned up, and pants that looked like black dress pants. He was wearing no hat and no gloves, which Rusty said might indicate he lost his hat during the chase.
Another possibility, a need to check the route from his office to the pool.

  Gerry came into view running directly toward the camera, and back behind him, you could just make out a figure running and pointing a gun at the fleeing Gerry. Then the shooting began, and Gerry staggered hard to his right and pitched forward into the reflecting pool. Now he was face-down and unmoving. The shooter trotted over and emptied his gun into Gerry's back--which, Rusty said, will be viewed on the autopsy workup with its entry angles on the bullets that killed the man.

  We replayed the video, this time in slow-motion. We noticed this time through that the person pursuing Gerry was male, about six-foot, older, but because he's close behind Gerry, we're never afforded a good view of his face. He was also wearing jeans. We replayed the video and this time stopped it several times where we tried to run facial recognition apps on the face. But they came up inconclusive, so we were left without video help as to the shooter's identity.

  We ran it yet again. This time we noticed that the shooter's coat was flapped open and he was wearing a belt with a buckle like the large, oval buckles worn by modern cowboys. Rodeo winners receive them, and they can be quite large, though this one was of the smaller variety. We then focused down on the buckle, trying to find some identifying characteristic there that might confirm someone's ID later on down the road as we investigated.

  "Can you make it any clearer?" I asked Rusty, who was running the keyboard.

  "Let me try. This system is new to me, but I'll get the hang of it."

  He tried several keys, finally finding a combination that enhanced the image the closer it got to a full-screen view of the buckle.

  "'Effingham 2010,'" Rusty murmured, reading the inscription on the buckle. Below it was a religious cross with a figure hanging from it, a crucifix.

  "What do we know about Effingham?" I asked.

  "Where's the VP hail from?"

  "Illinois," I said.

  "Effingham's in Illinois, I believe," he postulated, at the same time as he ran a Google search. "Yes, here it is, Effingham, Illinois. A tiny county, maybe twelve thousand souls unlucky enough to have been born there."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Ever been to a small town in the Midwest?"

  "Passing through," I said.

  "Hold your judgment until you know more," he told me with a wink. "Now, where's our vice president from?"

  He again ran a Google search, the term under study being the VP's name. Then there it was, sure enough, he was raised on a family farm in Effingham County, Illinois.

  "Bingo," he said. "The smoking gun. Your vice president is looking very guilty right about now."

  "That or someone's wearing his belt," I said.

  He looked up. "That's random."

  "My mind works that way. We must cross off all possible explanations before we charge anyone with a crime."

  "Thinking like a lawyer, Michael. Now let's figure out the cross."

  He searched again. "That was easy. There's some kind of giant cross, the Cross at the Crossroads, along the Effingham road. The Google photo looks exactly like the one pictured on the buckle. I think we're getting quite warm here, Michael."

  "I think you're right. As long as it's Vengrow wearing the belt."

  "Yes. That must be examined."

  "So how do you do that? Break into his closet and examine his belt rack?" Rusty gave me a frown. "Okay, just kidding. But it is something to think about."

  "Not at all. When we narrow this down, we'll get a search warrant and track it down. My guess is he's never thought to get rid of any article of clothing that might ID him from that night. Look at this shot over here, by the way, if I focus down on his coat."

  I watched the computer enhance the part of the coat he was talking about--the left side, just above the heart.

  "North Face," he said.

  "I see that. So now we've got something to corroborate the belt, a coat with a brand name on the breast. This guy was not too keen on police methods when he fired his gun."

  "For sure. I think we're going to crack this case early on. Then we have to consider political ramifications, too, don't we?" my son asked.

  "Such as?" I asked--fishing for his take on the issue.

  "Well, you don't get to charge the sitting vice president with a murder rap every day of the week. There's got to be lots of roadblocks on the way toward putting him behind bars."

  I genuinely did not know. D.C. was a whole new ballgame to me and I had lots to learn and knew it.

  "We just have to be a hundred percent perfect, that's all," I said. "He will have the greatest defense team in the history of criminal defense arrayed against us."

  "He will. What about us? Have you ever prosecuted before?"

  He knew my weak spot, not that he was working on it. But it did deflate me for a few moments.

  "I've never prosecuted before. I was always defense. But I've been up against thousands of prosecutors and have learned all their tricks. Now those tricks are mine. Does this help put you at ease?"

  His eyes raised up from the computer screen. "I didn't mean to insult you. Just looking for information."

  "No problem. It will be my case when we go to court. We might get some help on pre-trial motions, that kind of thing, I don't know. But the case is all mine, Rusty. Your wife gave it to me."

  He snorted. "She gave me this job, too, I've got a feeling."

  "No such thing. All she did was tell me you were looking. Your résumé is unimpeachable, Rusty. You have all the skills I need. So think nothing more of how you got here. Let's both concentrate on how we're going to remain. I happen to like it here so far and want to make a good impression."

  "I don't know, but I've got a feeling that sending the Vice President of the United States to prison will get you a way down that road."

  "Funny boy. Yes, it will. You, too."

  We continued with the video files, trying to locate the shooter on another camera or witnesses that might have seen the shooting. So far we thought we had isolated two witnesses, one of whom the police talked to at the scene and the other being the prostitute discussed in the police reports. Jessup would be number three, but he was trying to keep his face off the front page, so he denied all knowledge. It was then that we decided to visit the scene.

  Rusty drove us to the Lincoln Memorial. We parked and walked. We surveyed the area, with Rusty pointing out various points of note to me. One thing we discussed was the trees alongside the Reflecting Pool. Running along the north and south sides of the Reflecting Pool, the tree-lined walkways provided pedestrian and bicycle access to the Lincoln Memorial from the Washington Monument Grounds. We walked the length of the pool, talking and trying to understand where the parties might have been running from and how they'd met. We finally decided--guessed, really--that they had met in the parking lot to discuss the vice president's wife and Tybaum's involvement with her. Most likely there were heated words, and a scuffle broke out. The VP pulled a gun and Tybaum ran off with the VP in pursuit. Why would the VP have had a gun with him? Maybe for self-defense, maybe because he was actively planning on shooting Tybaum even before he left home that night.

  "Okay, so here's the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question," Rusty said as we walked alongside the pool.

  "Shoot."

  "How did the vice president get away from the Secret Service that night?"

  "Shit, that's right," I said. Now it was beginning to make a great deal less sense that the shooter was the VP. "Crazy thought, but do you suppose someone might have been masquerading as the vice president to throw us off?"

  "Why would anyone do that?"

  "Easy. Because the VP has a motive—Gerry's boinking his wife. So…could it be done to make it appear like the VP did this? What would it take?"

  "Someone who obtained the requisite belt buckle, someone who knew the VP's from Effingham?"

  "Yes. Plus, the North Face coat."

  "Knowing that the CCTV would be recording them."
>
  "And knowing where the CCTV cameras were located. You notice, he never looks directly at a camera and his face is never clearly shown. I'm thinking we've got a pretender, someone taking on the clothing and manners of the vice president. Vengrow himself would never be able to shake the Secret Service. I think we're compelled to look elsewhere."

  "Fair enough, but we don't rule him out altogether. In fact, I think we approach him and tell him what we have. I think we confront him, Michael."

  "Then confront him we shall."

  "Good. Now let's talk about the evidence for a minute," Rusty said. "What physical evidence do we know about?"

  "We know there's a GoPro camera that was dropped or discarded at the scene."

  "Fingerprints?"

  "Interestingly enough, no. But the owner might have been wearing gloves, which would not only leave no prints but maybe even rub off earlier ones."

  "Okay. Any video found on the camera itself?"

  "The shooting is seen from the shooter's perspective. My guess? Someone was paid to shoot Tybaum and part of the deal was evidence of the shooting. That's what the camera was being used for. Otherwise, why bring a damn camera to a murder scene where you're the perp? It makes no sense."

  Rusty nodded and seemed to take this in. He mulled it over, quiet and thoughtful as we walked along.

  Then he said, "Anything else in the video? Anything off-scene that might tell us something?"

  "There's a big yellow tabby cat on the first few seconds of video. Lying on what must be a kitchen table. My guess is that the shooter was preparing the camera or fastening it to his clothing and didn't realize he was filming his surroundings. But the frames are quite clear."

  "Dumb question, but is the cat wearing a collar? Anything identifying?"

  "Don't know. That's one for you to check out."

  "Roger that," said Rusty. "I'll do that when we get back."

  "Okay. So there's the camera and maybe the cat. Anything else?"

  "Physical evidence includes six Federal Cartridge Hydra-Shok rounds removed from the victim."

  "Slow, very destructive round. There's disagreement whether it's any better at self-defense that your basic hollow point, but I'd prefer not to go there. Let's just say that someone knew what he was doing when he chose the Hydra-Shok round. It's a very conclusive vote when one round strikes a human being."