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

by John Ellsworth

  "Michael Gresham? This is Sergeant Hollingsworth. Your wife is being held against her will?"

  "Yes, and my daughter."

  "How old is your daughter?"

  "A little over a year."

  "Okay. What else can you tell me?"

  "You need to understand the man is my client. He's probably just upset. Please let me arrive and speak with him before anything else. Will you agree to that?"

  "We have to, I'd say. All right."

  "Good, then I'll give you my home address."

  "Does he carry a phone?"

  "Yes."

  "Give me his number."

  I have to scroll through the phone log as I'm driving along the lake, but there it is, a call from months earlier. I give it to Sergeant Hollingsworth.

  "I'm contacting CPD. We're going to ask you to stop at Channel View Road and wait there for a cruiser to bring you on up. What are you driving?"

  "Mercedes 500. Black."

  "Park on the northeast corner, please. And wait."

  It's probably another ten minutes away. I press the accelerator and my high-powered car lurches ahead.

  On the spur of the moment, I dial Jana's phone myself. No answer. Then I kick myself. I should stand back and let the police make that call.

  The rest of the way up there's no passing anyone. The traffic is tightly knitted together and I am left to stew and curse. Finally I make it to Channel View Road, drive across the intersection, and immediately park in a red zone. I shut down the car and climb out. Within moments a police cruiser, CPD, comes wailing through the intersection and swerves to the curb. His window lowers. Two cops, a huge shotgun dividing them.

  "Climb in."

  The back door opens and in I go.

  And we're off.

  52

  He has made a noose of the guitar string, passed it around her neck, and he pulls her along down the hallway. The rope around her ankles has been removed and her blouse is unbuttoned and her bra raised above her breasts. She is crying. They pass the sleeping Dania's room and he stops and peers inside. "Good baby," he says. "Except you're a Gresham. That's three strikes right there, kiddo," he says to the sleeping child as though the mother isn't present.

  Then he pulls and the tightening wire causes her to lurch onto her toes and tap-dance behind him as they reach the end of the hallway and enter her bedroom.

  He unties her hands. He tells her to strip off all clothing and jewelry and she complies.

  "Yes, the wedding ring too," he sets with a set smile. "We'll just pretend you're a virgin. Going in, at least," he laughs. He stretches her out on the bed, on her back, her naked legs spread wide.

  When he has spent himself on her he rousts himself off of Danny, off the bed, and stands.

  "You wait here. I'm going to see about little biscuit."

  Danny hears Dania in her room, in her crib, singing a video song. She is suddenly gripped by the instinct to rush to her daughter' s side and protect her from Jana. The guitar string is still loosely coiled around her neck and she gingerly lifts it off and flings it across the bed. It hits the wall on Michael's side and falls to the floor, straightening out in its tensile flex as it falls harmless out of sight. Then she is moving toward the door and edging down the hall.

  She hears Jana talking to Dania.

  She peeks around into the door opening and there is Jana, seated in the rocking chair, rocking, and holding Dania on his lap. The little girl sits upright, her back to Jana, and when she spies her mother's face she reaches out toward the door with both arms. Jana looks up and sees Danny.

  "Come in," he calls to Danny. "We were just deciding what to do with this little bitch."

  "Give her to me. Please."

  Danny approaches the man with her arms extended as if to receive her child. Whereupon Jana abruptly stands and whisks the child down the hallway, back into Danny's room, where he sets the child on the bed and turns around to face Danny.

  "Where is it? Where's the guitar string? Or do I just snap her neck right now?" As he says this, he places a hand on the back of the little girl's neck. He squeezes until the child looks up with tears in her eyes.

  "No," Danny says. "Don't!"

  He squeezes harder.

  "The string is on the floor on the far side of the bed. Let me get it for you."

  She edges around the bed and retrieves the string. She comes back around the bed and passes the string to Jana. He takes it in his hands and quickly refashions the string into a loop, passing the distal end through the tiny washer meant to anchor the string at the guitar bridge. He holds it up, admiring his work.

  Then, "Whose neck first? Mother or child? You tell me, Danny. Do I cut your throat with the string first? Or second. I'm waiting for your answer. Five-four-three--"

  "Me! Do me first," she cries and reaches for the string.

  "That's it. Drop it around your neck."

  Danny complies, moving the loop down around her neck.

  "Now come closer. Let's see how it works."

  She steps to him and leans down as he motions with his hand to do so. He seizes the end of the string and suddenly yanks. The string snugs up around her throat and she can feel it bite into her flesh. A pain impulse rushes to her brain and she cries out.

  "No!" she yells. "Not my baby, please, Jana!"

  "Hush, sweet Danny, hush and shut your eyes. It won't hurt nearly as much if you just relax."

  She shuts her eyes and waits.

  He wraps the loose end around his fist and begins pulling the noose tighter.

  53

  We turn off of the main drag onto Moors Road when we are five minutes from my house. The officer is running with his lights flashing but turned off his siren five minutes ago. He has told me he was doing that so as not to alert Jana of our approach.

  I am sitting belted into the passenger seat, praying as we rush along. I have heard from Marcel and he is on the way to my house. I have called Father Bjorn and told him what's happening and he is in the vestry in prayer for my situation.

  When we arrive at my house, two other police cars are already there. Their occupants have remained inside the squad cars at my earlier request. Good, I am thinking, as I decide what comes next.

  Then I phone Jana's number. It rings once. Twice. Then it goes to voice mail.

  I check my gun, ensuring the safety is on but it’s loaded and ready.

  The police officer protests, but I have no patience with his point of view.

  "Look, officer, I don't have time to argue with you. Jana Emerich is inside my house with my wife and daughter. You can't expect me to go inside unarmed. He'll be armed, so please."

  The police officer remains adamant. I remind him that as an officer of the court I have a permit to carry and as the homeowner, I have a right to defend my property and family. Then I make my decision. I've got to offer myself in place of Danny and Dania. Most likely I'm who he really wants anyway.

  I walk boldly to my front door and ring the bell.

  No answer, so I ring again.

  Still no answer.

  I circle around to the back of the house and try the patio sliding door. It opens a crack but then the twist lock secures it against entry. It is locked from the inside. So I step down to the guest bedroom window and try sliding it open. This is the room where Jana was lodged while he was staying with us. This is the room in which he probably smoked his pot and, unless I am totally off-base, the window just might be unlocked as he undoubtedly stood at it at one time, blowing marijuana smoke into the cold winter air.

  I lift against the window frame and, to my huge relief, it slides up and open. I lead with my upper body inside the room and then leap forward, coming through the window head-first, and arching down onto the floor. I am as quiet as I can possibly be and collect myself once I am inside. Then I stand.

  I can hear voices coming from my bedroom. So I peer out into the hall. My bedroom is off to my left. I begin creeping down the hall, my back pressed against t
he wall as I go.

  I am not a physical person. I have never been in a fight, have only been hit by a man's fist maybe two times in my life--while conscious, at least. My gun is out. I decide it will just have to be me against him.

  I freeze. Jana's voice can be heard coming from my bedroom. He is talking gibberish, as if he's speaking to our baby.

  Without my okay the police are suddenly pounding the front door. I am alarmed beyond saying: they have decided to ignore my demand that they allow me to speak with Jana before they act. Then I hear the front door flying open after a loud crack and the sound of feet hurrying inside. I am beside my bedroom door when Jana's head suddenly protrudes, looking away from me and down the hallway toward the family room. Just as he starts to retreat back into the bedroom I swing my gun with every muscle against the back of his head.

  I discover I'm much stronger than I knew. His head flies across the space of the door and slams into the door frame. He slumps down to his knees, gripping the back of his head. Without knowing it is going to happen, I launch my body on top of his and begin pummeling him with my fists. He loses consciousness under my blows and I am still screaming him and punching him when the police approach me from behind and pull me away from Jana. His face is bloody and his eyes wildly askew in their orbits. Have I killed him? I don't know and really don't give a damn.

  Then I am on my feet. Danny is sprawled half-on the bed. Her feet are on the floor but her back is against the bed cover. Her neck is bleeding profusely down one side. I jump to her side and begin applying pressure to the spurting artery. It slows somewhat.

  Then I hear paramedics scrambling into the room around the remains of the altercation in the hallway and I am pleading with them to save Danny's life. Then I see my little girl, seated on the rocking chair, gently swaying up and back and watching the activities in her parents' room.

  "What about her carotid artery?" I plead with the EMT who is holding what looks to be a gauze pad to the wound. "Is she going to do die?"

  I am frantic, beyond control, and the EMT is busy. Others are doing the ABC's: airway, breathing, and listening to her heart sounds.

  The EMT with the pad at neck wound looks up at me. His words are like music to my ears.

  "Luckily we have two internal carotid arteries and a thing called the Circle of Willis that can redistribute the blood flow. So if one carotid is cut, there will be a pressure loss distal to the cut. Then, blood from the other internal carotid will flow around the Circle of Willis and perfuse vessels distal to the cut in the carotid."

  "What's that mean?"

  "It means she should survive. All else being equal."

  "Breath sounds bilateral," says an EMT with a stethoscope plugged into his ears."

  "Good BP and vitals," says a third, a woman maybe half my age.

  Then I am swaying on my feet and the arms of two police swing up to steady me. The room spins and they lead me to the bed and sit me down. I take Danny's hand in my own.

  "You need to let her go, sir," says the female EMT. "We're transporting now."

  A gurney has appeared and Danny's inert body is lifted onto its thin cover while the first EMT continues to apply pressure to her neck.

  I leap up and come around the bed. I scoop Dania into my arms and jerk the covers off our bed. The wool blanket comes away and I wrap Dania inside a warm cocoon. We are told we can ride in the ambulance with Danny and we hurry after the gurney as it rolls through the house. Jana is restrained face-down on the carpet of the hall. Handcuffs bind his hands together and a knee presses against the back of his head, pinning him to the floor, where he has ceased struggling.

  We are in the ambulance, careening around corners and rushing down streets and back roads until we screech to a stop beneath the overhang of our local hospital's ER entrance. Danny's gurney is lowered to the ground and she is rushed away. Dania and I follow. We come to a closed door thorough which Danny, evidently, has disappeared. The orderlies guide me to a chair in a small waiting area and I sit with my daughter snuggled up and held close to my chest. Now we can only wait.

  It is several hours before a surgeon in green scrubs comes out through the forbidden door. A surgical mask is hanging half off his face and he is rubbing his hands on his pants.

  "It's good," he tells me. "She's going to pull through just fine."

  "Can we see her?"

  "Sure. Give us about thirty minutes to move her from recovery to a room. Someone will come for you, okay?"

  "Okay."

  Marcel finds me. He rushes up and I update him. He remained behind at the house to give the police detectives a full run-down on Jana: who he is, my representation of him and the like.

  "I came as fast as I could. An officer ran interference for me. So you're sure she's okay?"

  "That's what I was told. Thank you."

  Dania is asleep in my arms though all of it. I ask a passing nurse for a bottle of milk. She will send someone with one, she says.

  Tears come into my eyes and I lower my head. My shoulders shake as it all comes pouring out. Marcel sits down beside me and drapes a heavy arm across my shoulders. We sit like that for a good five minutes. Dania finally stirs and blinks her eyes. A bottle of milk appears with a cafeteria worker who is wearing a hairnet and, with a gracious smile, she hands it off to Dania. We talk in our strange pidgin and I tell her mommy's okay, that we're going to talk to her in just a few minutes. She goes to work on her bottle.

  Two police detectives find me and Marcel and Dania before we are allowed into Danny's room.

  "Ah," says Marcel in recognition of the two men. "Michael, these are the gentlemen who gave me three minutes alone with Jana in your bedroom."

  Says the detective with the long hair and gold watch, "It was amazing. Your guest confessed. It was a miracle how Marcel must have sweet-talked him."

  Marcel is smiling ear-to-ear. "Something like that," he says. “Actually we were alone and I said, ‘Hey, how about telling me the truth about Amy Tanenbaum. They can’t do anything with you now and I want to know.’”

  “What did he say?”

  “He says, ‘I did her. Rudy and I planned them all out. The guitar strings, the mice, the glue—we made a plan. I did Amy, he did Franny, and we both did Scarlett.’”

  “He was with Father Bjorn,” I say, “he couldn’t have killed Scarlett. But conspiracy, yes!”

  “That’s right,” says the detective with the long hair. “We’re charging him with sexual assault on your wife, and conspiracy to commit murder on all three girls. Your boy is going away for three life sentences. Plus the agg sex assault time. Maybe twenty-five years on that.”

  “And Marcel, you just asked Jana nicely?”

  Marcel gives me a wicked grin. But I know. I know Marcel and how he works. But no one else needs to know. Besides, he’s not a cop. A citizen can beat a confession out of someone and it’s still a good confession. I nod ever so slightly at him.

  "So," says the thinner of the two. He is wearing a natty sport coat and gray slacks; his partner is impeccably dressed in a navy suit. They make quite a duo. “Are you up to giving us a statement?“

  I’m not, but I want to get it over with.

  “Okay.”

  They then take my statement with a recorder and advise me they'll return tomorrow to speak with Danny. We all shake hands and I am glad they are there. Marcel and the first detective lapse into a chat about firearms while I rock the baby in my arms and she looks up at me, guzzling her milk down. The second detective says he's going for coffee and wanders off.

  It takes twice as long as the doctor said--a full hour--before I'm allowed into Danny's room. I hand the baby off to Marcel and go inside alone. To my great surprise, the head of her bed is elevated and she is able to look into my eyes when I approach her. I lean down and kiss her on the mouth. Her neck is remarkably free of dressings--just a small four-by-four taped over her surgical wound. An IV is plugged into the back of her hand and a heart monitor is clipped on an index fi
nger. Other than that, she's doing remarkably well and her color is back.

  "Hey," I say. "I'm so glad you're going to be okay."

  "Hey, yourself," she says hoarsely. "Did you get him?"

  "I did."

  "He heard the window slide up in his old room. That's the only reason he didn't finish strangling me with the wire. He let go and waited at the door. I passed out then. When I came to, we were in the ambulance and I heard the siren. You and Dania were with me. Is she all right?"

  "Yes. Marcel has her right outside the door."

  "Bring her to me, please."

  I step out into the hallway and return with Dania. Danny outstretches her arms and takes her baby to her chest. She kisses the top of her head and lays her cheek on the baby's crown.

  "This is good, Michael."

  "No more criminal law," I suddenly blurt out as tears rush into my eyes. "I cannot tell you how sorry I am!"

  "Nonsense. We'll go on doing what we do. We just won't invite any more of our clients to move in," she says with a smile.

  "We'll talk about it."

  Marcel sticks his head inside and tells us he's off. Then he returns and comes to Danny's bedside. He leans down and kisses her forehead. He takes her hand in his paw and squeezes it. Then he turns and is gone.

  "Love that guy," Danny smiles.

  "I know. I love him too."

  "So, I know they arrested Jana. What else?"

  I spread my hands. “He confessed to conspiracy to commit murder of all three girls. He’s going away forever.”

  "My God!"

  "Oh, yes. We really missed the call on that one."

  “Where does that leave us?”

  “He’s going away for many years for what he did to you, too.”

  “You know what he did?”

  “You’ve been examined. We know what happened.”

  Just then, Father Bjorn comes rushing into the room.