“Yes.”
“What is the name of the guy who drove you to Savannah?”
Glenna did not respond. She shrugged, then looked around the room—at the TV, which was now off, at a picture on the far wall, anywhere except at Carl. Carl waited patiently for a response, but Glenna remained silent.
“Glenna, what is the name of the man?” Carl repeated, more forcefully.
Another long pause and another shrug. Then, “I’m not really sure—we had just met. And now I’ve forgotten.”
“Don’t recall even his first name?”
Glenna placed both of her palms tightly against her eyes, then removed them and crossed her arms against her chest, hands now firmly clutching the opposite arm. She appeared to shudder. But she did not speak.
“I’ve explained I’m not here to arrest you. But I may, Glenna, if you refuse to cooperate. I need your assistance. I need you to tell me all that you remember about that trip to Savannah. Do you understand?”
Again, she did not speak, but nodded her head. Then she dropped her chin to her chest and began to breathe heavily.
“Glenna, are you afraid to tell me something?”
She raised her chin and looked at Carl and said, “I just don’t remember anything. I just can’t remember.”
Carl wasn’t convinced. He continued the questioning for another half-hour, but the results were the same. She claimed to recall nothing. Sometimes quietly crying, then looking around the room to focus briefly on a picture, the TV, the door—but rarely speaking. She gave no useful information.
Eventually Carl realized that it was highly unlikely any useful information would be forthcoming. She appeared to be frightened, not by him, but by what he was asking her to do: reveal all she knew about the assault in Savannah. Why? He had no idea. He had several choices. One, he could continue this futile questioning. Two, he could call the Atlanta police, explain the meeting and have her arrested for prostitution. But that would not likely help with his investigation. Or three, he could just let her go now, and follow up later. He now had her real name and address and other information that would make locating her easier, and if he couldn’t locate her, he was sure Frank Edwards could. Maybe the interview with Marino would reveal some information that would change the focus of the investigation. He decided on option three. Besides, he was ready to leave the Palomino Motel for a good night’s sleep. He would call Frank Edwards the next day with a report of the meeting so he could keep him in the loop.
Chapter Nineteen
Monday, August 11
While Carl was checking into the Palomino Motel expecting to complete a photo lineup of Scott Marino, Marino was arriving at the office of Detective Michael Kohl of the Savannah Metro Police Special Victims Crime Unit. Kohl had been selected to interview Marino by Majewski because he was an experienced investigator who did not know Marino professionally or socially. Majewski wanted the interview to proceed without any accusations. None of the questions were to alert Marino that he was a suspect in this crime. Majewski knew this type of interview ran counter to the opinion of other experienced detectives, who believed that much could be gained from a direct accusation. In fact, in many cases, it did lead to an immediate confession, or some statement that was eventually incriminating.
But here they were dealing with an attorney experienced in criminal law. A confession was not to be expected. His responses would be limited and studied. So, Majewski instructed, it was to be a wide-open interview—no accusation, just general information such as his knowledge of the Henry Grady Inn, his whereabouts on that night, and if the photos were of his vehicle. Lock him in on as much personal information about that night as he could, and record it all. As soon as he had been notified Monday morning of this assignment, Kohl placed a phone call to Marino and arranged for an interview that afternoon.
He was surprised that Marino did not ask about the purpose of the interview. He spent the rest of the morning at his desk analyzing the investigative report and preparing for the interview. He had never had to question a prosecutor or any other attorney who was a prime suspect. He expected this to be difficult, but he would prepare the best he could.
Scott arrived shortly before 4:00 p.m. Kohl had two arm chairs arranged facing each other, near his desk. On his desk was the investigative file and a small cassette recorder. Scott was directed to one of the chairs and Kohl began the interview.
“Scott, I’m investigating an incident that occurred last Wednesday night. But first, I’d like to get some background information. Do you mind if we record this interview?”
“Not at all. Go ahead.”
Kohl spoke to the recorder, giving the date, time, place, and parties present, then asking Scott to spell his last name. Scott did so.
“And I have your permission to record this interview, correct?”
“Sure, no problem.”
“Scott, I don’t think we’ve ever met, but I believe you are an assistant district attorney with the Chatham County DA’s office, correct?”
“Yes.”
“What are your duties there?”
“I’m with the Felony Division.”
“As I said earlier, I’m investigating an incident that occurred last Wednesday night in front of the Henry Grady Inn on Drayton Street. Do you know where that is?”
“I think I’ve driven by it, but I’ve never been in it.”
“Do you drive by it often?”
“Not really. It’s not on my usual route to work, but I sometimes drive it. It’s a one-way street going north, same as Montgomery—which I usually take to the courthouse where our office is located. Why do you ask?”
“I’ll get to that in a minute. Were you driving on Drayton at anytime last Wednesday night?” When he asked this question, Kohl noted for the first time a distinct frown on Scott’s face.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Do you mind telling me where you were Wednesday night?” Kohl noted that the frown seemed to get more pronounced with this question.
“No, I don’t mind telling you. I left the office about five-thirty and stopped by my gym for a workout. Was there perhaps an hour and a half and then went to my apartment. I believe I stopped by Subway on the way. I was home well before eight and stayed there the rest of the night.”
“Did not see or call a friend, perhaps a girlfriend that night?”
“My girlfriend is in Europe, so no, I didn’t see or call her. I may have made a phone call, but I don’t recall any. Why the questions about my whereabouts?”
“As I said, we’ll get to that. Just a few more questions.” Kohl removed a photo of Scott’s vehicle from the investigative file on his desk and showed it to Scott. It was the photo taken by the patrol officer early Friday morning, in Scott’s parking space. “Is this your vehicle?”
Scott looked at the photo with narrowed eyes. “Yes, my Z28, my license plate.”
Kohl then showed Scott the photo taken in front of the Henry Grady Inn immediately after the assault. “And this photo?”
“Yes, the same.”
“Your vehicle.” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement.
“Yes. What does my vehicle have to do with this?” Scott asked in an agitated tone.
“Did you give anyone permission to drive your vehicle Wednesday night?”
“No. It’s the only thing of any real value that I own. Unless it’s an emergency, no one drives my Camaro. And so far I haven’t had an emergency.”
“Could anyone have stolen—or perhaps gone for a joy ride—in your vehicle Wednesday night?”
“Absolutely not. I always lock it. And always attach a locking device—The Club—to the steering wheel.”
“So you are absolutely sure no one else drove your vehicle Wednesday night?”
“Yes I’m sure!” Scott said emphatically. “Not Wednesday night or any other night. Now,
do you mind telling me what this is about? I’ve answered your questions—now you answer mine!”
“Yes, you’ve answered my questions and I appreciate it. We’ll get back to you with a follow-up if necessary. I thank you for coming in, Scott.”
“So that’s it?” Scott said, and then stood facing Kohl, both elbows bent and both index fingers pointing like a pistol at Kohl. “You call me in and ask a bunch of questions about Wednesday night, show me a couple photos of my Camaro, and refuse to explain what this is about? That’s how you operate?”
Kohl stood and faced Scott. “As I said, we’ll get back to you if necessary. But I have no additional questions. Thanks for coming.”
Scott squeezed his fists tightly—and walked out.
❖ ❖ ❖
Scott left Kohl’s office both mystified and angry. Just what was that about? Was it somehow connected to his being relieved from the Gordon case? He had received no explanation for that action, and Detective Kohl would give him no explanation for questioning him. Surely they were connected somehow, but just how, he did not have a clue.
He did not return to his office. Instead he called Bill Baldwin on his cell phone. He knew Bill would not have any answer to this puzzle, but he needed someone to talk to. Bill answered the call immediately.
“Can you meet me at the Library?” asked Scott.
“When?”
“Now. I’m at the Metro Police Department headquarters, just leaving.”
“What’s this about?”
“I’ll explain when you get there. Can you meet me there?”
Bill detected the anxiety in Scott’s voice and did not question him further. “Sure,” he replied.
They arrived about the same time. No one was tending the bar and Juri was nowhere in sight. A couple of law students were seated at one end of the long bar, and Scott and Bill took their seats on the opposite end, alone. In a few minutes a substitute bartender—someone Scott recognized from the serving staff of the restaurant—arrived and took their order. During the brief conversation, he said that Juri was out on some errand but was expected soon. Scott was pleased as Juri’s absence would give them a few minutes for a private conversation.
“I think I’m being investigated,” Scott said.
Bill frowned. “Investigated for what?”
“That’s what I don’t know. Just before I called you, I was questioned—well, more of an interrogation—by a Metro detective. He wouldn’t give me any explanation of why he was questioning me, but apparently it was about an incident in front of the Henry Grady Inn on Drayton Street. Wanted to know if I had driven over that way last Wednesday night. He had two photos of my car and wanted me to identify it. Asked if I had given anyone permission to drive it that night. I told him nobody drives my car but me. That was about it—said he would get back to me if he had more questions, but he refused to tell me any reason for his questions.”
“Who was the detective?” asked Bill.
“Guy named Kohl. I’d never met him. He was pleasant enough, but I don’t like this. Those photos of my car must mean they are focusing on me. And I don’t have a clue what it’s about.”
“I’ve met Kohl but don’t really know him. He’s been around awhile. I haven’t heard of any incident involving the Henry Grady—don’t check the police blotter every day like I did years ago, but I think if it was something serious I would have heard about it.” Bill picked up his beer mug with both hands and held it silently in front of him. Then he turned away from Scott and cocked his head, appearing to be in serious thought. There was a long moment before he continued.
“Is there any possible reason you can think of for him having those photos of your car?”
“None.”
“Could you tell where they were taken? Parked on the street? Moving?”
“I’m pretty sure they were not taken while my car was moving. Both photos showed just the rear end of my car. The license plate was clearly visible, but I saw nothing in the background to give me a clue of when or where they were taken.”
A concerned frown appeared on Bill’s face, and he took a long sip of beer before responding. “I’ll check with my contacts over there tomorrow. Shouldn’t be hard to check on an investigation when I know the date, time and place. I’ll call you. But I don’t think you should be worried. You’d obviously already know something about all this if they had any reason to focus on you. Lots of names find their way into an investigation when it begins. Probably just a routine interview to remove you from any further consideration.”
Scott was a bit relieved hearing Bill’s assessment, but he wasn’t sure why. The questions from Kohl were indeed focusing on him. He was pleased Bill would check it out. That was one reason he called him. The other was he just needed someone to discuss this with, and his fellow associates at the DA’s office were the last ones he wanted to tell. He wondered if he should tell Bill about being relieved from the Gordon case. Bill would find out sooner or later, but later would be preferred. Besides it was embarrassing, and he could give no explanation since he had received none.
Scott’s eye caught some motion behind the bar. He turned and it was Juri, who saw Scott at the same time. Juri began to shake his head in a slow, sad rhythm that always followed a Braves debacle. And the previous day had been one, losing to the Diamondbacks 6-1, following a three-game winning streak.
“I thought we had something going, Scott,” Juri said, as he walked over to the end of the bar where Scott and Bill were seated. “Remember back in May, we had a six-game winning streak and the Diamondbacks ended it? Now those same slimy snakes end our three-game streak. We’re done. Stick a fork in us.”
“Juri, they’ve won three of the last four. Not bad.”
“Well, that’s nice, but I think they’re finished—and that means we should go to their wake.” With that, Juri began to smile. “And I have tickets. The Giants—this Saturday.” There was excitement in his voice.
“Remember, when Jennifer was leaving for her trip? You promised we’d drive up in your Camaro if I got some good seats behind home plate? Well, I’ve got ‘em. Terrace Infield, Section 201, great view.”
Scott began to smile, too. He hadn’t been to a Braves game in quite a while. He was ready to forget the interview with Kohl.
Juri looked at Bill. “Want to come along, Bill? I can get you a ticket, maybe right in our section.”
“Thanks, but I have plans. You guys are way too peripatetic.”
“Too what?” Juri asked.
“I think he just insulted our masculinity,” Scott said.
They all laughed. Bill placed some cash on the bar top and headed for the door. Scott stayed just a few minutes to discuss their upcoming trip to Turner Field and then left for his apartment. It had been an exhausting day.
Chapter Twenty
Tuesday, August 12
Carl did not lose any sleep over his failure to get the photo ID during his interview of Glenna at the Palomino. He had long ago learned that for sanity’s sake, work and personal life must be kept separate. He usually slept well, even during the most exhaustive and complex investigations. But when he awoke Tuesday morning, the only thing on his mind was the investigation and the fact that he was no closer to a solution than he was Friday when he agreed to take it on. Just what was Glenna hiding? Why wouldn’t she be anxious—at least willing—to assist in the investigation of the man who attempted to pull her into his vehicle last Wednesday night? But what bothered him most was the fact he had no clue for an answer. This investigation was going nowhere. He could not place it into any investigative matrix he had developed over the years.
Shortly after 9:00 a.m., Carl called Majewski to see if he or one of his detectives had interviewed Marino.
“Yes. Had one of our best investigators, Mike Kohl, conduct the interview. And I just listened to the tape. Nothing in it that seems to be h
elpful as of now. That may, of course, change. I told him not to confront Marino with any accusations—just concentrate on background info, so there was no denial or confession. Mike never told him exactly what we were investigating—just an ‘incident.’ After interviewing Marino, Mike went down to the Henry Grady Inn to interview the night manager. Struck out there also. He had nothing to add to his initial statement, which was simply that he heard a scream, ran outside, and saw the vehicle driving away. Now, how are things going in Atlanta—were you able to locate Monica?”
“I was, only her name isn’t Monica.” Carl then detailed his interview with Glenna at the Palomino Motel, emphasizing his frustration. “Something’s screwy. I just can’t put my finger on it. I’ll be heading back to my office in Statesboro today, but I’m going to stop by the GBI Forensic Lab in Decatur on the way. I’ve got a couple of friends there I want to run this by—just poke around in their heads. It’s a state-of-the-art lab—some pretty sophisticated equipment.”
“Forensic Lab? You’ve got something for the lab? As far as I know, we don’t have anything they could help with—a couple of photos, but we’ve already identified those—Marino even admits they are of his Camaro.”
“Yes, I know. But they may be able to suggest something, maybe something we missed. Something we should have collected from the scene, or something we could collect now from the vehicle. I need a fresh start, John. When I agreed to get involved in this investigation, it looked like a simple two-day, maybe three-day assignment. Remember, I wanted in because Scott Marino was the suspect, and having worked with that young man, I wasn’t sure I could believe the evidence unless I saw it for myself. And now this simple investigation has become too damn simple—nothing but a couple of photos and an unwilling witness. I’m looking for some fresh eyes on this simple investigation, and there are some smart guys and gals in that lab.”
“Seems a bit unusual. What makes you think they’ll do it?”
“I know two senior technicians who work there, and I’m sure they’ll hear me out. I’ve done this before. They are pretty good sleuths. They seem to enjoy a chance to try their hand at a raw investigation.”
The Two-Witness Rule: A Novel Page 10
