The Virgin Whore Trial: A Holly Park Legal Thriller

by Brad Chisholm

  Mimi paused and looked up at the ceiling. There was a lot of muttering in the gallery.

  Mimi: We want their money, too - but - at least we stay skinny, wear short skirts, show a lot of cleavage and ask nicely.

  Mimi smiled coyly. A murmur again from the gallery. The jurors leaned forward, captivated by what what else Mimi Hwang would have had to say. Mimi smiled at LeBlanc. LeBlanc's face reddened. He shifted his legs and tried not to stare down her cleavage at the perfect swell of her young breasts. No bra. He was flustered. Blake LeBlanc prided himself on his cool. He never missed a beat, but her smooth, moist skin, her perfect lips - he wanted to reach over and touch her.

  Mimi badly wanted a cigarette. She yawned.

  LeBlanc: Is there anything further we need to know about the job of a doehme?

  Mimi thought, her head tilted up, doe-eyed and large.

  Mimi: Only that the wives shouldn't be mad at us. It's better their husbands come to us than get a girlfriend. With us, they just pay for one night and go back home. We don't text or call their husbands like a date or girlfriend would. We leave the guys alone unless they come back looking for us. We are just always there, waiting.

  Holly sat, frozen, having listened with a climbing dread. She closed her eyes and deliberately sat up straight trying not to show her dismay.

  How could this be evidence? It was ridiculous. Blake’s strategy was clear: first hang Koreatown, then tighten the noose on Naomi.

  Maybe the testimony was not enough for a murder conviction, Holly tried to convince herself. All Mimi had really done was place Naomi at the crime scene, which no one was denying in the first place.

  Holly watched as Mimi delicately swung her long legs around, eased herself off the witness stand and waved shyly at the judge and jury. Holly bit her lip.

  Naomi sat with her head bowed, her fingers pressed together looking thinner, tired, her eyes larger and translucent, wide, even more fragile than before as she was led out when the court adjourned for the day.

  Chapter 65

  The next morning, as Holly and Eli Burg huddled outside, Detective Mick Chang was in the courtroom hallway milling with the crowd. He always showed up to court in a flak jacket and a leg holster while other law enforcement wore the standard blues or khakis. Holly's stomach churned as he looked at her, his eyes, mocking.

  Holly walked passed him, bracing herself and walked into the courtroom. There were two alpha dogs and only one fire hydrant.

  Outside the courtroom Mick sat away from the others hunched over, elbows on his knees with his head down. He looked at his phone. Still no text. He hadn't heard from Heather lately. His thoughts turned to Naomi. In court with her. Again. A victim before and now the defendant. What were the odds of that?

  Detective Mick Chang hadn't thought of Wolf Linser in years, but he remembered every detail clearly. It was the case that got him promoted to detective and he hadn't looked back since. It had been open and shut - hadn't it?

  Naomi Linser was even more beautiful than he remembered. How many years had passed? Five? Six? Seven? Open and shut, right? The detective felt uneasy. Something didn't seem right. He tried to remember.

  His first week on the force and he was working as an investigating officer when a third party caller had called it in. When he pulled up all the lights were on in the house. A knock-out beautiful Korean woman was standing over an equally beautiful teenage girl, shrieking, Korean style. It was 2 a.m. He had flashed his badge and walked in the same way as he had seen the cops do when they had arrested his stepfather so many years ago.

  Then a tall older man with longish wavy blonde hair wearing a sports jacket and jeans pulled up in a Range Rover and sauntered in moments after the detective arrived on the scene.

  "Arrest him! Arrest him!" The woman screamed in English. "You ruined her!" She snarled at the tall blonde man. "I'll put you away in prison forever!"

  "Mom, please," Naomi stood up pulling her mother back.

  Detective Mick Chang took Wolf Linser into custody that night. The ride to the station was silent. When they got to the station, the detective knew he should only book Wolf Linser for having sex with his 15-year old step-daughter. But fuck him. Instead, Detective Chang booked Wolf Linser under rape and sodomy knowing they it was overcharged and wouldn't stick. But inside, the charges would go viral, and if nothing else, the arrest record would follow Linser for the rest of his life.

  It was his first case since making detective. He wanted a good one. A week later, the case landed back on his desk for further investigation. The detective had gone back to the house to interview the girl. Naomi was home alone, her face ghost white.

  "My mother never came home.” Naomi said. “It was always the two of us alone. We spent an awful lot of time together. The sex started on my 16th birthday."

  Naomi hid her face as she spoke so that he could barely hear her. It didn't take too much trickery after that. Mick Chang went back and interviewed Wolf Linser who caved.

  On the day of sentencing, Mick squirmed. He was used to girls with no status, girls from the streets he called hood rats behind their backs, and this one was such a classy girl he wanted to do right for her.

  Mick Chang looked down at his shiny boots. When the case was called, he crossed his arms and watched Wolf Linser shackled and led out through the side door. He turned around again towards Naomi but she was looking off into the distance. He had expected to see vindication or relief in her face. But neither was there, only darkness and clouds. Something about her expression bothered him. He couldn't explain it but he couldn't shake it, either.

  For his work on the Wolf Linser case Mick received a commendation. He went to the ceremony, alone, received his award and threw it in a box. That year he was promoted to detective and never gave Naomi Linser a second thought. Until now. Victim? Murderer? Victim? Liar? Virgin? Whore?

  Detective Chang shook it off. It didn't matter. It was just a weird coincidence. Then why did he have this bad feeling in his stomach? Worse than right before kicking in a door at 4 a.m.

  "Detective Chang?"

  "Yes?

  "They're ready for you now."

  "Thank you."

  Chapter 66

  Blake LeBlanc stood up and buttoned his suit jacket, unconsciously smoothing it as he walked up to the witness stand. LeBlanc was a perfectionist. He strongly believed that if he presented an officer on the stand, the officer should have a deep grasp of the case and conduct himself in such a way as to live up to the billing. Detective Chang always came prepared. LeBlanc smiled inwardly. And again, the detective came through.

  LeBlanc: Did you respond to the call the night of the Councilman's murder?

  Chang: Yes. The call came in as an incident at the location. I was familiar with the location having been there on numerous occasions.

  LeBlanc: How were you familiar with the location?

  Chang: Part of my duties include investigating establishments that solicit for prostitution. Approximately twenty of my cases have involved Club Kiki over the past couple years.

  McChang paused, pressing his fingers together.

  Naomi and Holly looked at each other. It was clear that LeBlanc would spend the entire morning putting Club Kiki on trial as part of his overall plan of painting Koreatown black.

  Holly sat back, not surprised, but still dismayed. They had a brief pause while the judge discussed something with the bailiff. She tried to shake the feeling of foreboding, that something bad was about to happen, but she couldn't. She looked at Eli next to her, he seemed ok, entirely focused. She looked around the gallery, trying to read the mood. It was then Holly noticed Choi in the courtroom sitting in the seat closest to the door. He had been there since the first day of the trial and always sat in the same spot. Holly hadn't realized before his hair was bright silver, his cheap pinstripe suit shiny with the passage of time. Holly had seen him earlier that week and felt him watching her now. Why was he interested in this case? It didn’t matter, Holly had to conc
entrate on the trial and not let anything distract her.

  It was late Friday afternoon before a long weekend and Blake LeBlanc had given the jurors something memorable to think about. The gruesome crime photos and especially one of Naomi holding the knife.

  Holly watched helplessly as the bailiff handcuffed Naomi and led her out the side door to the holding cell. Naomi turned. She looked more fragile than ever. With a flutter of her eyelashes she was gone. Holly couldn't get the horrific crime scene photos out of her mind. A picture speaks a thousand words.

  Blake LeBlanc had painted his masterpiece and certainly convinced the jury of the guilt of Koreatown, and by association the guilt of Naomi Linser. Had Blake LeBlanc convinced her, too?

  Holly buried her face in her hands. She was the last to leave the courtroom, not wanting to face the cameras and the questions. She had sent Eli to fact the horde. He owed her. As she walked out of the courtroom, she saw Choi again, waiting for someone.

  "You have your father's fire," he began as he approached her, "and compassion."

  Holly stopped reluctantly. "Do you know my father?"

  "I know him well. Everybody knows him. He has the church near the freeway."

  Choi clutched a plastic shopping bag tightly as he spoke.

  "You would not remember, but I met you many many years ago. You were just a little girl yourself, then," Choi said, sounding mildly astonished at what time had done.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember,” Holly answered quietly. “So many people came to dad’s church in those days.”

  "Naomi went to your father's church when she first came to America. Did you know that? Ask your father, he will remember."

  "Yes, I know that," Holly bristled. "How do you know that?" she asked.

  A courtroom door slammed and Choi jumped.

  "I'm sorry," Choi said, his voice trailing off. "I did some good things in my life and I did some bad things, too. I only intended to scare you at the mortuary… and… and… it was a bad idea."

  Holly nodded slightly, waiting. She knew that wasn't why he had come. Korean men of his generation did not apologize to girls of Holly’s generation. He sat on the ancient oak bench with his hands folded and when he looked up he stared at the ceiling. “Would you sit with me a moment? I'd like to tell you something."

  Holly sat and folded her hands in her lap. He would tell her in his own time.

  "Did you ever want to do the right thing, but it was so - hard?"

  "Many times."

  "I came to speak to you because I want to do the right thing," Choi spoke softly. "I am not trying to claim virtue, or excuse myself. I am just weary… weary of doing wrong things that never work out. I want a good life, now. I want to do right.”

  He mumbled something else, incoherent, then he pulled a crudely wrapped brown paper packet out of the plastic bag and pushed it into her hand. With that action he stood up, bowed and left.

  Holly went to the rest room to freshen her lipstick. She didn’t want to leave before the press scrum had cleared, so he opened Choi’s package mechanically, expecting some long incomprehensible written rant, but inside the envelope was an old-style Korean passport with a black and white photo of an unsmiling young mother with two girls. Holly read the names on the biographical page. Sari & Sara, born on the same date.

  There were some other papers inside. Curious, Holly unfolded the paper. It was a yellowed church bulletin from her own church. Her father's church. Her eyes quickly scanned the announcement portion which showed the baptism of Sari & Sara. Two old passports fell out. Holly slowly went to the biographical pages. The passports of Sara Song and Sari Song. They were twins. Holly quickly flipped through the pages. There were no exit or entry stamps. The passports had never been used. Holly went back to the biographical pages and studied the faces then looked closer. The birthdates were off by two years, two years older than the court documents. Holly walked slowly and thought. If the passport was a true identity document of Naomi Linser, born as Sari Song, she was eighteen years old, and not sixteen, when she first engaged in a sexual relationship with Wolf Linser. That meant he was not guilty of sex with a minor as convicted.

  There was also a business card: TOMAHAWK CLUB - 720 Rush Street, Chicago, Illinois. Tommy Hawk, Proprietor.

  What was this? Choi had all Holly's attention now. She tore open the last envelope. There was a plane ticket to Chicago and ten thousand dollars in cash. The bank notes were worn and old and wrapped in a rubber band.

  "Please use for Naomi's defense" - the note read.

  Holly stuffed the packet in her briefcase and ran out to the parking lot, but there was no sign of Choi.

  Holly jumped in her car and sped to the church. Holly handed her father the documents. "Who is Choi? Why does Choi have these passports? The birth date is two years different than what is in the court file. And there is no entry stamp in either of the passports. What does all this mean?"

  Pastor Kim smiled at his daughter. She always came to church short of breath. "They came in with a different passport," her father shrugged and did not appear the least bit surprised or concerned. "It was not easy for a woman with young children to get a visa back in those days. I'm sure they all entered with a fake passport with altered birth dates, usually younger by a couple of years."

  "But, why?"

  "It made it easier to get a visa. Once the children are school-age, the government won’t issue the visa. It was common in those days."

  "Then Naomi is really two years older than what she was told," Holly said slowly. "Which means that she wasn't 16 years old, but 18 at the time she became involved with Wolf," Holly said, slowly. "Naomi was of legal age - it means Wolf Linser was wrongly convicted."

  Chapter 67

  It didn't take Holly long to pack. She dialed the number to an illegal cab driver that Johnny Gee had given her. An unmarked black sedan was waiting as soon as she walked out of the lobby. The driver stood and opened the back door.

  "LAX, please," Holly said. She loved how the driver had the latest fashion magazines lined neatly in the seat pockets and the car was impeccably clean. She chose Korean Vogue and flipped the pages without really seeing them. Soon, they were at the airport.

  "May I get you a blanket, Miss?"

  "Yes please," Holly said, blinking from the dry air. She must have fallen asleep on take off.

  Holly stared out the window as the plane made its ascent towards darkening purple clouds. A storm was approaching. It would be a bumpy midwest-style ride. She must have fallen asleep again because the next thing she knew they were announcing the descent.

  At the O’Hare airport, Holly quickly wolfed down a Chicago hot dog then took a cab, checking into a tired brownstone hotel downtown. She could see Rush Street from her window. The hotel was next to a transit station in a part of town near the river, where the original train tracks were elevated high above the one way street. The Tomahawk Club was actually underneath train tracks near to Gene & Georgetti steakhouse. The original red and yellow neon sign, a graphic of a chopping motion of a tomahawk remained high above the two story red brick building on a corner lot. The marquee read: "SLOW TRAIN LEXINGTON - THIS WEEK ONLY"

  The sidewalk out front was already lined up. A massive doorman, the shape and color of an eggplant, stood behind the velvet rope with a racially-mixed crowd milling around excitedly, waiting to get in.

  Tommy Hawk was a former homicide detective who had made good without being bad. His twenty-five years with the police force had ended when an ill-run jazz club underneath the train tracks had come up for sale. He had bet the family farm on it. While he had loved being a cop, he loved the idea of owning a jazz club more.

  That night, Tommy was leaning on the vintage oak bar, busy on the phone with one of his lady friends. Tommy loved the banter as much as the romance, maybe more.

  "Babe, tell me you're in town and I'll get my hand-cuffs out of the evidence room."

  "I'm not in town, but I could be," the female voice p
urred. She was calling to ask for something, Tommy thought. It was the only time he ever heard from her.

  "I don't need money. I can read your cop brain from a thousand miles away."

  "Those are almost my four favorite words - I don't need money."

  "Almost?"

  "Yeah, my first four are "Do anything you want, Babe."

  "That's five. You're slipping."

  Tommy Hawk adjusted the gold cuff links she had given him.

  "So you're not here, and you don't need money, and I don't have one of those phones that takes pictures..."

  "Too bad. I do."

  "You get sexier with time," Tommy breathed. "Let's..."

  Just then Tommy's manager Joey came up to him and touched his arm. Tommy put his hand over the receiver and raised his eyebrows with mock indignation. "What? Joey, can't you see I'm busy."

  "Sorry Boss," said Joey, trying not to laugh. He knew exactly what Tommy was working.

  "Some babe on line two, says it's an absolute emergency, sorry Boss. She won't tell me her name."

  Tommy furrowed his brow. Couldn't be a baby mama. He had gotten snipped decades ago.

  "Gotta go, babe. Got some bum in here says we're watering the drinks. Call me later."

  Tommy took the new call. A few minutes later he put down the phone, reached over the bar and pulled a mini-bottle of tonic water and a couple of ice cubes in a glass.

  Joey walked up to him. "You good boss? You look like you seen a ghost."

  "You can't see ghosts on a telephone, dummy," Tommy's laugh sounded forced. "But I guess you can hear 'em."

  Holly worked her way through the crowd up to the bar and stood patiently until the bartender noticed her.

  "I'm here to see Tommy Hawk, please?" she said, over the honks and toots of the band tuning up on stage.

  "Are you Holly Park?" It was a voice from behind, and a nice Italian-looking waiter came up to her.

  "Yes."

  "Tommy got hung up on a call but he'll be right out. Just follow me."

  He led her up some stairs in the back where a few café-style tables were set up on a balcony overlooking the stage from one side. These were obviously special tables.