Legal Thriller: Michael Gresham: Secrets Girls Keep: A Courtroom Drama (Michael Gresham Legal Thriller Series Book 2)

by John Ellsworth

  "We'll talk about that, sir. Detective Ngo and I have a lot of questions to work through."

  "What about the kid?" Marcel said, indicating Rudy. "Has he admitted anything yet?"

  "Not yet. He's denying even being here."

  "Well he was here," Jana said. "I can prove it."

  "How can you prove it?" the detective asked.

  Jana pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He stabbed it on and held the screen up for Valencia. He was showing him a picture, a snap of Rudy Gomez exiting the football field on the same date at 8:34 p.m.

  "You've got to be kidding me," said Valencia. "Why in the world would you have that?"

  Jana gave him a blank look. Because I don’t want to go down for something Rudy did, he thought. It’s my evidence against Rudy.

  "It was one of the guys I saw headed for the restrooms when Franny was walking over there. I was suspicious when he was leaving here ten minutes later."

  "Did he see you take his picture?"

  "I doubt it. But I didn't care if he saw me or not. I'm twice his size."

  "Email it to me, please," Valencia said, and he gave Jana his email. The transfer was made. Valencia took his own smartphone and the picture and headed for Rudy and Detective Ngo. The dynamic was about to change.

  Marcel loaded Jana into his truck and they left without another word to the cops.

  Valencia jammed the smartphone into the kid's face.

  "Well?" questioned Valencia.

  "I don't know," said Rudy. "Where did that come from?"

  "It's today's date. At eight-thirty tonight. You tell me."

  "I don't know."

  Detective Ngo took a step forward. His face was inches from Rudy's.

  "You've been lying to us, son," said Ngo. "Now don't get me mad, just tell the truth here."

  Rudy's eyes dilated and darted back and forth. He thought, I’d run, dammit, but I’d never get away from two of them. Especially with their car. He looked back at Ngo.

  "She fell down," he said simply.

  "What's that mean?" Ngo said.

  "We were under the stands to talk. She fell backwards in the dark. Tripped and fell backwards. She hit her head on the stands. I got scared and got out."

  Just then, they turned Rudy and moved him back to the police cruiser. They bent him over the hood and frisked him.

  Valencia came up from the lower part of Rudy's body holding a filet knife. The blade was serrated on one edge and razor sharp on the other. There was a one-inch crease of blood along the bulge in the blade. Ever so carefully, Valencia two-fingered the knife as he walked to the trunk of their car, popped it open, and shook open an evidence bag. He dropped the knife inside and sealed the bag, and then pulled the cover off an evidence tag and wrote his initials on the seal. Then he placed the bag inside an evidence safe in the trunk and slammed the lid shut.

  "Care to tell us about the knife?" Ngo asked him. "Or do you want to just admit you killed the girl?"

  "I carry the knife for self-protection, that's all."

  "There's a skim of blood on the blade. Whose blood is that?"

  "I dunno. Some animal, probably."

  "What if it's human blood? What if it's Franny Arlington's blood? Did you have that knife against her throat?"

  Rudy's eyes raised to the dark sky behind Ngo's head.

  "It wasn't supposed to cut her. It was an accident because she struggled when I told her not to.”

  "Why don't we record all this," said Ngo, switching on the recorder in his own smartphone. "Let's start at the beginning. You have the right to remain silent and have a lawyer present, but I would strongly advise against that if you want our help."

  Rudy took them through the entire evening--the babysitting, the twins' total attention to the video game, sneaking out of the Roth's house, cycling to the game five minutes away, climbing into the stands, watching the seniors, beating Franny into the restroom, capturing her, walking her back to the bleachers where he told her he was going to let her go but dragging her under the stands instead at the last second. Her surprise and dismay. Her moving backwards and striking her head and crumpling to the ground. He had then turned and made his way directly into the parking lot. The bicycle took him back to the Roth's and he found the twins exactly as he had left them.

  Ngo recorded the entire statement. The statement had been preceded by the recorded Miranda warning.

  As they drove Rudy to the Loop Precinct jail, Valencia caught his eye in the rearview.

  "I hear a songbird," said Valencia. "Singing its little head off."

  Rudy began weeping.

  "Can I call my dad?" he asked.

  "Tweet-tweet," Valencia said with a wicked smile.

  "We will get your dad," Ngo told him. "You're going to need your dad."

  "He's gonna kill me."

  "Your dad is the least of your worries."

  "By the way," Ngo said, turning in the seat. "When I asked you about Amy Tanenbaum's death you told me you knew nothing about it. If you want me to call your dad, I want you to think about that again. Did you kill the Tanenbaum girl too?"

  "Swear to God I didn't!”

  “Not pretty enough?”

  "Still wearing braces! Who could kiss that metal mouth?"

  Ngo nodded.

  "You have your standards, Rudy. Good for you."

  22

  Wednesday afternoons are usually my time off, and this Wednesday I'm home before one o'clock. Priscilla is still on the nanny job taking care of Dania. When I come in through the garage door, she asks if she can speak to me. Her face is tight and she's unsmiling, which is unusual for Priscilla, who ordinarily is very bright and happy around here. I ask if I can change my clothes before we talk and she says that works for her.

  I change and come back into the family room, where Dania is on the floor playing with an alphabet toy. Priscilla is sitting on the floor with her charge and she stands up when I come in.

  "So," I say, "what's going on with you today, Priss? Something about Dania?"

  She shakes her head. I see her eyes brim with tears."I wish that's what it was,” she says. "But it's not. I wanted to ask you about Jana. How long is he going to be living here?"

  "Well, probably until his trial is over. Maybe three months. Why, is that a problem?"

  "It's just that he won't stay away from me. It's hard to explain. It's like he follows me everywhere and like when I used the bathroom one time and then came back out he was standing like right outside the bathroom door. I don't know, but I had the definite feeling he'd been watching me through the keyhole."

  "Did you see him watching you? Or hear him or something?"

  "No. But I felt uncomfortable like the whole time I was--I was sitting on the toilet. Am I just being stupid, Mr. Gresham?"

  The tears begin running down her cheeks and I am alarmed that she is so upset by this. The last thing we want is for our nanny to be having any kind of problem around the house. Her job is too important to us--and to Dania--for her to be upset. The only problem: there's no definite proof that Jana was actually doing what Priscilla is thinking.

  "Tell you what," I say, "I'm going to speak to Jana. Does that work for you?"

  Now the tears begin really flowing.

  "I don't want to be a problem, Mr. Gresham. I just feel so--so dumb! Like I'm making all this up."

  "No, I don't think you're making anything up. Jana is new around here and we don't know him all that well. But maybe we need to make some rules for him. I'm really glad you alerted me, Priss, because the last thing Danny and I ever want is for you to be upset or unhappy here. You come first, okay?"

  "O—o--okay. But please don't tell him I said anything. I feel stupid now for saying it."

  "No, no, no, I trust your senses. If you thought you were being spied on, very possibly you were. People sense stuff like that. When he gets home, I'll take him for a drive and have a word with him."

  My plan for the afternoon was to get out in the garage and sor
t through boxes for our Christmas decorations as Danny asked me to. She's the type who likes to get her tree up before Thanksgiving. But now I'm thinking about how I'm going to approach this with Jana. A thought occurs to me and I retreat into my office and shut the door.

  I call Marcel.

  "This is really stupid of me," I tell him, "but better late than never."

  "What's that, boss?"

  "I need you to run a criminal history on Jana. Start with his records in California and then let's talk."

  "Fair enough. I'm on it right now."

  "Good. Call me back, please."

  Fifteen minutes later, as I'm still working on my first cup of coffee since arriving home, he calls back.

  "Yes?"

  "Okay. I ran it. Seems our little defendant has quite an extensive background."

  "Any felonies?"

  "No, just minor stuff."

  "I'm listening."

  "Well, three shoplifting convictions and a fourth that was dismissed when the store manager didn't show for trial. Two pot busts, one where the weed was seized from his locker at school, the other for smoking weed on the Santa Monica pier."

  "Nothing like open and notorious, is there?"

  "I know. Stupid kid. But here's one I really don't like. He got caught hiding in the girls' locker room at his high school. Seems he was hiding in a restroom stall and watching the girls dress after showering."

  "What came of that?"

  "He pled guilty to misdemeanor trespassing. It was reduced from a felony sex crime that would have had him registered as a sex offender. I also talked to the DA. I knew you'd want me to follow up so I called her and spent about ten minutes. She says she was going to nail him with a felony but she couldn't find any girls who knew they were being watched. Evidently he was quite good at doing whatever the hell he was doing and so nobody knew."

  "How did they find out, then?"

  "Standard review of videotapes. The school’s security staff regularly reviews video from the locker room during school hours. Jana was seen on the video on three different occasions. His head could be seen above the stall while he was evidently standing on the toilet to see over the top."

  "Oh my God. What the hell is this all about?"

  "You've got yourself a sex nut of some kind there, boss. You want I should come out and eighty-six him the hell out of your house?"

  "No. Not yet. I'm going to have a talk with him this afternoon when he gets home from school."

  "Wait, there's more on his rap sheet."

  "Okay, give it to me."

  Marcel clears his throat. "He's also got seven letters from the District Attorney over bad checks he passed, which his mom came in and paid so there was no prosecution. Another arrest a week before he moved back here, this time for assaulting a police officer. That charge is still pending and an arrest warrant has been issued for his failure to appear in court."

  "His mother must not have known that when she moved him back here. Otherwise she would've kept him in L.A. until the case was pled out."

  "My thinking too, boss."

  We hang up.

  Danny and I have installed a video system in our house, which provides views of the living areas where Dania can be watched when we're home and when we're away. We can access it on our cell phones, our iPads, and our computer screens around the house. The screen is divided into six different views. But unfortunately there are no views outside the bathrooms so I have no video to review of what went on outside the hall bathroom that Priscilla must have been using when she felt eyes on her. I stop what I'm doing and put in a call to our security company. A request is made for additional cameras in the hallways outside the four bathrooms. I make it clear that the installations need to be surreptitious while Jana is at school and that the cameras need to be disguised. They understand exactly what I want and I'm told it will be done tomorrow during school hours. Good enough.

  Thirty minutes later, Jana walks past my office. I jump up and follow him down to his room, where I knock. His door opens.

  "Come with me, please, I want to show you something."

  I lead him out to my car and we climb in. The garage door articulates upward and we head east toward the lake. There's a lake overlook about a mile from my house and so I pull in there and climb out. Jana follows me. I lead him down to the water's edge.

  "Look," I say, turning to face him full-on. "I need to know something. Before you left for school today were you spying on Priscilla in the bathroom?"

  He turns white, I swear. "No--no--I was, I came down the hallway but I went straight into my room."

  "You didn't stop outside her bathroom door and look inside though the keyhole?"

  "No, no."

  "Have you ever done anything like that?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean have you ever spied on women in a restroom before?"

  "Hell, no! I'm not some kind of pervert, Mr. Gresham."

  "Marcel did some checking around today. I told him to. Seems you were accused of sexual stalking at your school in Santa Monica. The charge was reduced to trespassing and you paid a fine and did six months of probation. That ring a bell?"

  "Hell, that was a farce. They had me for it, but it wasn't me, I swear it."

  "No? Then who was it?"

  "This other kid at school. Dickie Immelman. He's a raging queen who likes to see what girls are wearing."

  "And that's your story?"

  "Ask the DA if you don't believe me. That's why they reduced the charges from stalking to trespassing."

  "All right. I'll give you that. But listen to what I'm saying. If I ever find out there's anything like that going on inside my house, you're headed back to jail. There won't be a second discussion, there won't be any questions asked, I'll just call the sheriff and have you taken to jail. Are we clear on that?"

  "Shit, Mr. Gresham. You don't believe me!"

  "I believe Priscilla. She says she was being watched."

  "Did she actually see me?"

  "No, but she knows you were outside looking in at her."

  "Shit, Mr. Gresham, if she didn't see me then how does she know it was me for sure? I'm being accused of something that she can't prove. It's not the first time, now. I'm getting a bad rep when I really haven't done anything."

  "Just remember what I'm telling you. I don't give a damn whether you say you did it or not. But I'm telling you it damn well better never happen in my house or you're gone, Jana. Do we understand each other?"

  "Of course. I would never do that. It won't be a problem, Mr. Gresham."

  "Fair enough. Let's go home."

  The cameras were installed the next day. We now had a video feed on four new areas of our house. All of it was recorded and could be accessed by us anytime, even remotely if we wanted.

  So Danny and I agreed to wait and see what turned up. We would have our security company review the video every day. It wouldn't be all that difficult, as the video cameras were motion activated. They should only be recording at most fifteen or twenty minutes of action a day at any one location.

  We had become the stalkers. A role neither of us was happy with.

  A role which we'd never played before, either.

  23

  After I read all of Marcel's file memos, I decide it’s time to pay a call on the Cook County Medical Examiner's office. We have an autopsy report on Amy Tanenbaum, but I always like to talk to the doctor at his office where he can spread his chart out and fill in the spots where he might have left something out.

  The Examiner's building is part of the Chicago Technology Park, an early-winter, tree-lined street tucked away from the hustle of the city. When I arrive, the leaves are bare and snow is blowing sideways over the parking lot. I button my overcoat and hurry inside.

  Dr. Samuel--"call me Sammy"--Tsung was housed in a small, confining basement office at the Medical Examiner's office on Harrison.

  "I'm Michael Gresham," I tell Dr. Tsung, "I don't know if you remember me."r />
  He smiles graciously, peering over the tops of his half-glasses.

  "Of course, Michael. You tore me a new one on the Dunham case. I'm still bleeding down there."

  I take it in the good-natured tone in which it is said; besides, if this guy, who has testified probably ten thousand times, thinks I did a good job, there's honestly no higher compliment for a guy like me.

  "What brings you here, Michael?"

  "I represent Jana Emerich. He's the young man charged with the murder of Amy Tanenbaum. You did the autopsy, Sammy. Do you remember anything about the case?"

  "That would be the first young woman from the football field? Yes, let me bring her chart up on my screen."

  He clicks his mouse and punches his keyboard.

  "Yes, here we are. My, a young, young one. Too bad. Is your guy guilty?"

  "Of course not. I never take cases where my client is guilty. You of all people should know that."

  He laughs and pushes his glasses up on his forehead.

  "Let me see. Strangled, carotids severed by some sharp device. Maybe a wire was used?"

  I spread my hands. "Honestly, I don't know. And my client really does claim he's innocent so there's nothing there."

  "Sure, sure."

  He continues scrolling with his finger on the mouse wheel.

  "Oh, I knew there was something about this case. Have you seen the report yet?"

  "Not yet. State hasn't turned it over. What do you have, something unusual?"

  "I'll say. When I went to examine her oral cavity, I was shocked to see her mouth had been Superglued."

  "What? You must be joking."

  "No, no, no joking here. And--oh my God. Now I remember this case. I've never seen this before."

  "What's that?"

  "There was a small dead mouse in her mouth. It had tried to gnaw its way out and a portion of her cheek was gnawed away."

  I am stunned. Never in my professional life have I heard anything so disturbing.

  "Were there any special characteristics about the mouse? Anything that allows it to be traced?"

  "Not really, no. But someone has a very warped sense of--I don't want to say humor because that's definitely not it. Just something very evil about this."