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

by John Ellsworth

  I leaned back in my chair. I was stunned. This was happening way too fast, and I could find no handle any place to grab onto as it slid past me. "What kind of gun is it?'

  "Smith nine-millimeter."

  "That's what I own."

  "With a Hydra-Shok load."

  "That's what I use. Self-defense rounds. This is astonishing and upsetting beyond belief. Wait, does Antonia Xiang know about this yet?"

  "Antonia has been called, and she's on her way here. She'll have answers for you. I hear she stands solidly behind her assistant attorneys."

  "She does. I can't help but remember, she hired me, and now she can fire me, too. Something's terribly wrong here, Ron. Somebody has set me up."

  "Well, you probably shouldn't say anything more to me right now. Why don't we wait until Antonia gets here and then maybe we can make a plan?"

  "What kind of plan?"

  "A plan to get you out of this. We all know you didn't kill Tybaum. But we've got a compelling piece of evidence in the gun, and we have to deal with it. There has to be some explanation here."

  Holt went out in search of two coffees, and again I was alone in the interrogation room. The CCTV camera glowed red as it recorded my every move, my every breath. He wasn't gone five minutes until Antonia came rushing in, fit to be tied, an angry spark in her eyes.

  "Michael! Someone is trying to frame you!"

  "Exactly. But I have no idea who."

  "Well, the first thing to do is figure out why. From 'why' we go work our way back to 'who.'"

  "Okay."

  "Why would anybody want you charged with the murder of Gerry Tybaum, Michael?"

  "Because of the power of attorney. Someone doesn't want me around that money."

  "Who would have an equal claim to the money, the FBI?"

  I rubbed my hands together, considering what she was saying.

  "No, I can't see the FBI in competition with me. I've talked to Agent Leders twice since I hired on with the U.S. Attorney and I've told him everything I know about the money."

  "Is it still in Russia?"

  "It is. The Russian bank wants the holder of the POA to show up in person to sign the account transfer paperwork. They say there's too much risk just to do it electronically. I don't blame them."

  "So you've got to go to Russia. Or someone else is going to use this as an opening to install themselves as the proper entity to move the funds."

  "How would they do that?"

  She sat back and held her arms out expansively.

  "Well, for example, if Tybaum's PAC decides to make a claim for the money it'd be nice to have you locked up and out of their way."

  "I met with Vincent Tirley, the CEO of GULP, a few days ago. He didn't seem to me like the kind of guy who would try to frame someone. He was laid back, well-spoken, and seemed honest and fair."

  "What else?"

  "Two things. One, he told me the bank used by GULP is based in Boston, the Charter Bank and Mercantile of Boston. He indicated there might have been something fishy about them. Two, he brought up an alleged relationship between Gerry Tybaum and the vice president's wife. We've already viewed on CCTV some personal articles of clothing owned by Jon Vengrow and worn by the shooter on the video. But Ron and I aren't convinced the shooter was Vengrow. We were working from the assumption that the shooter was someone who wanted the police to think it was Vengrow."

  "Misdirection."

  "Yes. Oldest trick in the book."

  She sat back and crossed her arms. She stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. I just waited while she put together whatever it was she was going to say.

  Then she began. "I'm not clear on what to do with you, Michael. We all know you're being framed, but we also have this big red flag of the gun. We need to dispose of that issue before you can come back to work at the USA's Office."

  "How do we do that?" I asked.

  "There is the rub. I honestly don't know. But I believe I want to put Rusty and Holt together working on the whole thing. I believe they've got the tools to resolve this without much delay."

  "So someone's keeping me away from investigating Tybaum's murder and the case of the twelve-million dollars just by planting a gun on me?"

  She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "See, that's what I'm afraid of. It might not be just a gun. It might turn out to be the gun that shot Tybaum six times."

  "A gun taken from my office desk in Chicago?"

  "That's easy enough. Anyone can make that happen."

  "So there's the gun, and there's the money."

  "Michael, there's the POA and the huge pile of money in some Moscow bank. These things easily add up to motive. You had a motive for shooting Tybaum."

  "You don't believe that?"

  I could feel my grip on reality starting to slip away.

  "Of course I don't believe it. But some other prosecutor might."

  "Meaning what?"

  "Meaning this matter will need to be assigned to an independent prosecutor for investigation. Someone outside the U.S. Attorney's office. An independent counsel."

  "Son-of-a--"

  "I know. It's unimaginable the uproar this is going to cause. The papers will be all over it by morning, I promise."

  "Oh, my God."

  "You're big news, Michael, as of about one hour ago. There's going to be very little I can do to help you."

  "Oh, no. I'm on my own, then?"

  "Pretty much. I have a conflict of interest just being here. So we'll keep this meeting on the down low. Nobody needs to know I was here talking to you."

  "Agreed. You don't need the heat."

  "I don't need to have some reporter question my conflict of interest in seeing you. Let's just leave that one alone."

  "I agree. We'll keep the lid on it."

  She stood up then and reached across the table.

  "We won't talk again until this is resolved," she said firmly. Her eyes met mine as she spoke and fixed me there. "You won't be coming to work until then."

  "I understand," I said. "Just one thing. Please don't terminate me until we get to the bottom of this. I can promise you I had nothing to do with Tybaum's death."

  "I know that. Michael Gresham isn't a shooter."

  "Thank you."

  For another hour I sat alone in that interrogation room just letting it all roll through my mind. There was a missing puzzle piece that I could almost see, but then it dissolved over and over. I had to admit that at one time I had considered getting part of Gerry's money for myself, but that was more a flitting thought than even an idea. I just wasn't built that way; I could never cheat someone or someone's kids out of their money. If it even was their money. I realized I still knew nothing about the legality of GULPs money moving into Gerry's private bank account. If it were legal, then the money clearly could be passed on to his kids, and no one could object. But if Gerry had embezzled the money then all the powers of attorney in the world wouldn't make its transfer to the kids a legal act. Plus, if he had embezzled, then the rightful owner was GULP, and that was way outside of my role as power of attorney. One thing was becoming clearer to me: I had a conflict of interest between my official job as an Assistant U.S. Attorney and my unofficial job I had taken on of trying to get the money to Gerry’s children. If the job required me to transfer embezzled funds, obviously I couldn't do that. And just the possibility that was the case was enough to make me jettison the my unofficial job. I needed out from under its burden, and I needed out like yesterday. On the other hand, if I didn't at least take a run at moving the funds over to the kids' bank account when the money was legally Gerry's then I was letting the kids and Gerry down.

  My mind was playing these forces against each other over and over until finally, around ten o'clock, I was visited by a jailer who said I could leave.

  "Leave?" I asked. "As in leave the jail? Go home?"

  "That's right."

  "Someone decided I shouldn't be held?"

  "That's right."

  "Wh
o would do that?"

  He shrugged. "All I know is there was some excitement here about an hour ago. Someone at the front desk took a call from the White House. Someone on Pennsylvania Avenue said to turn you loose."

  "Are you serious? What the hell?"

  The jailer shrugged. "Follow me, and I'll lead you back up front to the exit.

  And so I did until I found myself suddenly outside, standing on Indiana Avenue in the miserable cold without a clue in the world what was going on in my life and without knowing how to make it stop.

  But someone knew. Someone over at the White House.

  It was time for me to obtain the VP's testimony by the grand jury--that is if I still had my job.

  Back at the hotel I called Antonia and told her what happened.

  "Funny," she said, "I got a call from the U.S. Attorney herself. She said you're to be allowed to return to work tomorrow. No explanation, just get back to work."

  I was stunned. Criminal cases don't just end like that.

  Maybe the vice president could enlighten me.

  Tomorrow I would impanel my grand jury and subpoena him to testify. It wasn't just about solving Gerry's murder anymore.

  Now it was about saving my own life, too.

  28

  We had no clue who the shooter was. Mona's death was being investigated by MPD, but so far there were no leads. Except Holt and I had agreed with Special Agent Ames that as a working theory the man who gunned down the father also gunned down the daughter. We also had a motive: with the daughter and the other kids out of the way the Russia money was up for grabs. Maybe GULP even had a claim since it might be able to show embezzlement. GULP's involvement seemed more and more likely because of Mona's death.

  Holt told me all about what he'd seen at the Tybaum's temp house the night Mona died. I resolved to go there and see Jarrod and Annie without further delay. So I drove my rental car out to Bethesda while Holt followed in his SUV.

  Jarrod was very distant when he let me inside the house. Annie was nowhere to be seen.

  "You know I hold you responsible for Mona's death," he said to me. Which did and didn't startle me. He had never fully trusted me--or my methods.

  "You think I missed something and she died because of my negligence?"

  "That's right, Mr. Gresham. Why wasn't anyone following her when she picked up the vice president? Where the hell were the cops?"

  "I've talked to the uniforms. It seems Mona gave them the slip at her work, made off without being seen, and rented the Subaru. She lost them. It happens. But I had nothing to do with that. I'm not the reason your sister's dead, Jarrod. She's dead because sometimes bad things happen. Sometimes the police get fooled, and a terrible thing happens like Mona dying. But I can apologize to you and Annie. I'm sorry."

  He looked back at me, the first time he'd actually acknowledged me since letting me inside. "I've been wanting to kill you for letting my sister die, you know?"

  "Doesn't surprise me. But here's the thing. I need you to try to put that on the back burner for now. I need you to work with me so I can move you and Annie again. There's no guarantee Mona's murderer doesn't know where you live now. If he does, you and Annie are next on his list. And I can guarantee you now, there is a list."

  "I realize that too. So how do we protect what's left of the Tybaum family?"

  "We move you again and double the watch this time. Plus, your van isn't a vehicle you're going to leave us behind with. It's big and white and very slow. Plus, it's hand-operated so it's not like you can dodge us and go rent another and keep going."

  "Why would I be trying to lose you?"

  "I'm speaking hypothetically. For example, consider a situation where you decide to go after your sister's killer by yourself. That won't happen--will it?"

  "Look at me. I don't have the ability to kill anyone. Plus, I don't want to. It's more important than ever, now, for me to be there for Annie."

  "Agree. Where is Annie, by the way?"

  "Out back making snow angels, last I saw."

  "Can I go say hello?"

  "Sure."

  I went through the kitchen and out the back door. Sure enough, Annie was sitting on a swing, idly dragging her foot through the snow as she slowly went up and back without trying to get it going really. She was staring at the ground and singing as I approached.

  "Hello, Annie."

  "Michael," she said without looking up. I was stunned. I hadn't known she communicated. I wanted to run inside and share the incredible news with Jarrod, but I didn't. I tried another sentence with her instead.

  "How are you, Annie?"

  "Michael."

  "Can you look at me?"

  No response.

  "I'm so glad to see you, Annie. You're my friend, you know?"

  No answer.

  "Well, I just wanted to make sure you are okay. I'm going back inside your house, all right?"

  Silence.

  So I left her there swinging up and back, up and back.

  "Jarrod! She said my name!"

  "Who said your name?" Jarrod asked from beside the coffee table where he was parked.

  "Annie said my name!"

  "She does that sometimes. Sometimes she'll even say a complete sentence. Maybe two."

  "I had no idea. I'm in shock."

  "I can see that, Mr. Gresham."

  "I just love that little sister of yours, Jarrod. She's so vulnerable I want to wrap her in my arms and take care of her."

  "She wouldn't like that. She can't stand to be restrained."

  Ever the literalist, Jarrod missed my point.

  Which had me thinking I didn't have a point to begin with. Sometimes she spoke, even saying a full sentence or even two. So I calmed myself down and thought about moving the siblings.

  "I'll find a place on Zillow, get it rented, and get you moved today, Jarrod."

  "All right. Make sure I can smoke inside, okay?"

  "You've taken up smoking?"

  "Yes. Why, you think it might make my cerebral palsy worse?"

  "No, I'm just--just--"

  "Just make sure I can smoke there."

  "I'll make sure. Okay, I'm leaving now."

  Holt had been waiting outside in his SUV, watching the cars that came and went on the street. There was another police presence there, too. Even a cop stationed around back in the alley watching Annie and watching the back door.

  "How'd it go?" Holt asked as I climbed into his vehicle.

  "Annie said my name. Twice."

  "Yes, I heard her say something the other night. Something about her sister."

  "You've heard her talk?"

  "She said something like 'Michael Gresham is here!' Why?"

  "Nothing, I guess. Forget it."

  "Where to, boss?"

  "Back to the office."

  But she knew me and knew my name.

  That much had been established.

  29

  As it turned out I was free to continue with the Tybaum investigation regardless of the murder weapon being my own gun. Forensics confirmed it was my gun that had killed Gerry Tybaum. I was in a precarious position, subject to much investigation and maybe even prosecution over Tybaum's murder. But after the call came from the White House I was mysteriously reinstated and no more was said about the gun. I was bewildered by the whole process and several times felt an urge to make some calls to people higher up the info chain than me. But I fought down the urge and instead decided just to move ahead with my work and accept it was a gift. A gift of some sort and I wasn't going to be privy to its source.

  We got Jarrod and Annie moved to another house in Bethesda barely a mile away from the first house. The police presence was beefed up, leaving me feeling much better. Then it was time to proceed with the grand jury investigating the father's death.

  A little background. The grand jury's principal function is to determine whether or not there is probable cause to believe that one or more persons committed a certain Federal offense with
in the venue of the district court. Thus, it has been said that a grand jury has but two functions--to indict or, in the alternative, to return a "no-bill."

  This was my first-ever time with appearing before a grand jury as the prosecutor. I've defended upwards of a thousand clients who had been indicted by grand juries but now I was on the other side of the street. Now I was in the know.

  I realized that an instrument of great power had been placed in my hands. I now had the power to investigate every last detail about Tybaum's death by placing anyone anywhere under oath and asking them questions in a grand jury session. The power elicited in me a great feeling of responsibility. Never would I abuse this incredible tool by bringing false evidence against any person of interest. My promise to myself and to the public at large.

  After my grand jury's enrollment and swearing in at the Main Courthouse, they gathered at the U.S. Attorneys' Office (USAO) located on 4th Street, N.W. for the remainder of their service.

  We met in one of the grand jury rooms, I made a short statement about the case and about their duties, and it was time to call my first witness. I sent Detective Holt into the outer room to see whether Vice President Vengrow had obeyed our subpoena and was waiting to testify. Turns out he had and he was, so I called him into the room with me and the grand jury. He was sworn and took a seat.

  I had decided to go ahead and bring the vice president before my grand jury for two reasons. One, I wanted to find out as much as I could about his relationship with Mona. Two, he had refused to speak with Detective Holt when Holt asked for a few minutes alone with the VP to ask some of my same questions. That left me no choice but to do it the hard way, in front of the grand jury.

  Vice President Vengrow was an imposing man of large bulk and a walk that reminded me of John Wayne's sideways swagger. His face was impassive and his eyes darted around the room once he was seated and had adjusted his necktie. He looked over at the grand jury, nodded and gave a slight smile, then looked back at me. The jury looked impressed. I know I was. Here sat the second most powerful man in the world who was submitting his power to my power just because that's the way it works.

  "Good morning," I said, and the court reporter's machine began soundlessly taking it all down.