Murder.com

by Haughton Murphy

  Eskill’s computer was on a stand next to his desk. Once turned on, the screen showed a box containing Eskill’s name and asking for a password.

  Luis sat down in the desk chair, Reuben standing behind him. “Okay, what’s the magic word? Open sesame?” Luis asked.

  Reuben pulled out the sheet showing the password, and passed it to the detective. “This is it,” he said, again hoping that Townley had given it to him correctly.

  Luis typed it in, and the home page opened.

  “Great. So far, so good. Now wish me luck,” Luis said. “Let’s hope I get the info we want.”

  Reuben shared the detective’s hope. As he watched, Luis double-clicked on Favorites. A long list of website addresses came up, from Find Law to Travelocity. All very business-oriented—and non-damaging references. Meet.com was not found among them.

  “Don’t worry, Reuben, that was just a stab in the dark,” Bautista said as he typed www.meet.com into the address bar at the top of the screen. The Meet.com start page came up at once. Then, almost instantly, the user ID box automatically filled with the handle Waggerson444 and, seconds later, a row of asterisks appeared on the password line.

  Immediately below these two entries was a square next to the legend “Remember my password on this computer.” The square had been checked.

  “Hey, Reuben! Look at this!” Luis said, gesturing at the screen and half rising from his chair in excitement. “This is more than we had any reason to hope for! I figured we could find out if Lander ever went to the Meet.com site, but I didn’t expect we could go any further than that without his password for the site. And here it is! ‘Remember my password on this computer.’ Muy bueno! That little check mark just may have put Mr. Eskill Lander away.”

  After another double-click, the two were staring at Waggerson444’s page at the date-matching service. There was no picture, but the same profile of Waggerson444 that they had already seen on Hallie Miller’s page.

  They then checked Waggerson444’s emails as recorded in his Meet.com file. After checking the records he had brought with him, Luis grabbed Reuben’s arm and said, “They match! The mirror image of the email correspondence in Hallie Miller’s file. We’ve got him, Reuben!”

  “Let’s get out of here and go back to my office,” Reuben said nervously.

  “Just a second,” Luis said. He was still looking at Eskill’s email file at Meet.com. “Look at this, Reuben, he had correspondence with another girl besides Marina/Hallie, though it looks like it didn’t go anywhere. But what a different story it would have been if his affair had been with her—BlondieforU.”

  “Enough,” Reuben said. “Let’s go.”

  Luis again sat down in the chair across from Reuben’s desk.

  “Okay, Reuben, let’s talk business. As far as I’m concerned, we’ve got Lander. It’s now just a question of closing the electronic fence around him.”

  “You’re absolutely sure?”

  “Look, he’s Waggerson444. He made a date with Marina the night she was murdered. Add that to the Amex chit at Quatorze Bis and the identification of his picture at the restaurant, and we’ve almost got the fence closed.

  “I’m coming back here with my IT man in the morning to serve the search warrant. We’ll take away Lander’s computer and his cell phone and anything else of interest.”

  “The PC may not be his own, but the firm’s.”

  Luis grinned. “Look, Reuben, I’ve been down this road before. The search warrant covers Chase & Ward as well as Lander personally.”

  “How about confidential material about his clients? What about the attorney-client privilege?”

  “Keep it up and we’ll make a criminal lawyer out of you yet,” Luis said. “We’re only interested in stuff relating to the murder of Marina/Hallie. And if we grab some evidence that’s privileged, he can object to its introduction at his murder trial.”

  Reuben sighed. “I guess you have all the answers.”

  “Man, I understand you’re upset, Lander being your partner and all, but the electronic fence will be all completed real soon, and you can put the whole mess behind you.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Reuben said doubtfully.

  “And maybe you’d better stay home tomorrow. Let us do some heavy lifting without you around.”

  “Gladly. And good luck.”

  Reuben had wanted to believe the contrary, but the results of Bautista’s search convinced him that Eskill was guilty. But he still had one doubt: Eskill’s motive. When he reached home, he sat and had a cocktail with Cynthia and reviewed the situation with her.

  “Okay, we’ve established that Lander was having an affair with ‘Hallie,’ and one that seems to have been going well, at least from his point of view. They had met up that night just before flying away for the weekend. Why would he suddenly decide to kill her? It makes no sense.”

  “It makes sense if he were killing Marina rather than Hallie. As you’ve said, if Dan Courtland had any idea Eskill was carrying on with his daughter, he’d find a new lawyer.”

  “Absolutely. From Eskill’s point of view, Marina had to be silenced before her father got any inkling of the affair. But how did he learn Hallie’s true identity?”

  “Wait a minute, dear, I have a theory. Remember that medical student you told me about, that showed up on the police’s doorstep? Didn’t he say that he had dated Hallie, but when things got serious, she revealed that she was really Marina—and did so at a dinner she’d requested they have? Couldn’t she have done this again with Eskill?”

  “There’s one problem, Cynthia. Let’s say she admitted she was Marina Courtland. Eskill would have been shocked, but all he had to do was walk away from the situation, he didn’t have to kill her. She didn’t know who he was, so she’d have no reason to mention him to her father. He could have just put an end to the affair and that would have been it.”

  “Maybe she did know who he was,” Cynthia argued. “What about that stranger who approached Marina and Eskill at the restaurant? Didn’t the waiter say he knew Eskill?”

  “You’re right.”

  “So he presumably said, ‘Hello, Eskill,’ or ‘Hello, Eskill Lander,’ or ‘Hello, Mr. Lander.’ Any one of the three would have been enough to tip Marina off that she wasn’t dining with—what’s his name?—Tom Waggerson.

  “And just the mention of Eskill—how many Eskills do you or anyone else know, for heaven’s sake?—or Lander may have given his identity away. After all, she did know who Eskill Lander is.”

  “So there was a mutual revelation at Quatorze that night?” Reuben said.

  “That’s what I think.”

  Reuben thought about this for a moment. “Cynthia, you may well be right. I think you’ve doped out the likely scenario.”

  “The fatal scenario, you mean.”

  “Yes.”

  Twenty-Four

  Confrontation

  Tuesday morning there was an unusual tableau at One Metropolitan Plaza. Peter Leff, an information specialist from the NYPD Computer Crimes Squad, and Bautista presented themselves at Chase & Ward’s main reception desk. Luis, after he and his companion had each shown their badges, explained that they had a search warrant and wished to see various properties on the premises (not mentioning Eskill Lander by name).

  In accordance with instructions she had received on her first day on the job, the receptionist called the managing clerk’s office, which handled the service of process of any kind involving the firm.

  “Gentlemen, Mr. Rivera, our managing clerk, will be with you in a moment,” she told them. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

  The two chose to remain standing. Carlos Rivera, the managing clerk, appeared and introduced himself. As they shook hands, he and Luis seemed to be appraising each other.

  Luis explained the nature of the police mission and handed over the
search warrant.

  “As you can see,” he explained, “we’d like to have a look for certain items in Mr. Eskill Lander’s office.”

  “And what’s the nature of this investigation?” Rivera asked.

  “It’s part of an ongoing attempt to find the murderer of a young woman named Marina Courtland. I suspect you’ve read about her in the papers.”

  Overhearing the conversation, the receptionist’s eyes widened. Luis was sure that word about the search would be around the office within the hour.

  “How does this concern Mr. Lander?”

  “I’ll explain that to him.”

  “Is Mr. Lander here?” Rivera asked the receptionist.

  “Yes. I checked him in about half an hour ago.”

  “All right, let’s go down to his office.” Rivera appeared troubled; he did not look forward to being the bird dog that pointed out one of his senior employers to police-detective hunters.

  Carlos Rivera knocked on Eskill’s door and was told to enter. He did so, with the visiting officers behind him. Eskill was seated at his desk, reading what appeared to be a correspondence file. He did not get up when the trio came in.

  “Mr. Lander,” Rivera explained, “these gentlemen are officers from the NYPD. They have a search warrant, addressed to you and the firm.” He handed over the document to Eskill.

  “Searching for what, may I ask?” the lawyer snapped angrily.

  “As the warrant states, we’re looking for evidence relevant to the murder of Marina Courtland,” Luis told him.

  “What the hell! What in the name of Christ has that got to do with me?” Eskill now appeared even angrier, his voice rising, his speech punctuated with curse words.

  Bautista ignored the question and told Lander the specifics of what was wanted. “We need the contents of your computer, any backup storage devices, your cell phone, any pager or BlackBerry or tablet, and any old-fashioned engagement book or calendar you keep.”

  Meanwhile, Peter Leff began disconnecting the central processing unit of Lander’s computer.

  Noticing this, Lander demanded to know what he was doing.

  “Sir, I’m preparing to pack up your computer.”

  “You can’t do that!”

  “I believe we can, sir,” Leff said in a calm voice. “It’s covered by the search warrant, as Detective Bautista just told you.”

  “Is that true, Carlos?” Eskill asked.

  “Yes, Mr. Lander, it is.”

  Eskill looked on helplessly as Leff continued to work on the computer.

  “How am I supposed to practice law if you take away my computer?” Receiving no answer, he shouted out, “Wait just a minute—stop.” He buzzed his secretary. “Get me Felston, right away.” His secretary buzzed him back in seconds.

  Leff was uncertain what to do. Bautista put out his hands in a quieting gesture. His colleague stopped work and waited.

  “Jerry! Get down here! Half the New York City police force is conducting a raid on my office,” Lander shouted into his phone. It sounded as if Felston was resisting. “I don’t care who you’re talking to. Get down here now, dammit!”

  “Hold your horses, boys. I want to talk to my partner before you go any further,” Eskill said.

  The two policemen stopped in their tracks, willing to wait for Lander’s partner to appear.

  Bautista recognized Felston’s name—a high-profile litigator specializing in antitrust cases. Though he suspected that Felston, a master of delay when it came to depositions and motions, was not necessarily a search warrant expert.

  The group stood uneasily until Felston—a slightly obese, puffy, mean-faced man—appeared and surveyed the situation. Eskill gave his description of what was going on.

  “Jerry, these gentlemen are about to ransack my office. They claim I’m a murderer and they’re looking for evidence.”

  Felston looked the pair of policemen over, then examined the search warrant that his partner handed to him. He read it, looking severe, but did not betray either surprise or anger.

  “Who is Bautista?” he asked, reading Luis’s name in the document.

  “I am, sir.”

  “Judge Wilkins issued this warrant on your say-so?” Felston asked.

  “Yes, sir. On the basis of my affidavit. He signed the order yesterday.”

  “Why?”

  “My affidavit, which is attached to the warrant, has the details. Basically, we’re here because Mr. Lander is a suspect in a murder case.”

  “And who was the victim?”

  “Marina Courtland.”

  “You mean Dan Courtland’s daughter?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, well. The police department’s been under fire for not solving her murder—we all know that from the papers. So you’ve decided my partner is the perpetrator, the murderer?”

  “We haven’t decided anything, sir. But we have reason to believe Mr. Lander may have been involved. We’re trying to find out if that’s a justified conclusion or not.”

  “Justified by fishing through my files and records,” Lander said.

  “Not fishing, sir,” Bautista said. “Just looking for some very specific information.”

  Felston read the terms of the search warrant again. “Can I ask what your theory is? Why you should be looking into the private records of a respectable lawyer?”

  “I believe the warrant speaks for itself, sir. I’m not prepared to elaborate any further at this time.”

  Felston shook the warrant in his hand, then read Luis’s accompanying affidavit.

  “Eskill, they’re legitimate, I’m afraid.”

  “For Christ’s sake, can’t you get an injunction or quash this warrant, or something? This is an outrage!” Eskill asked, pleading, still in a state of great agitation.

  “Easier said than done, Eskill,” Felston told him. “If it were a subpoena, we could move to quash it. A search warrant’s different.”

  “What do you mean, it’s different?” Eskill asked. “I’m just a stupid trust and estates lawyer. Enlighten me.”

  “It’s different, Eskill, because your remedy for an improper search is to suppress evidence obtained in the search at a trial, if there ever should be one. It’s not to prevent its collection under a properly issued warrant.”

  “What am I supposed to do, open all my files, my confidential records about clients, personal matters?”

  “Mr. Lander,” Luis said. “The warrant is very explicit. I’m not interested, at least at this point, in your files, or anything else. Just the items I mentioned earlier.”

  “Jerry, can they put me out of business this way?”

  Felston shrugged and threw up his hands.

  “What they want is very specific, Eskill. I don’t think you’ve got a choice.”

  “Thank you,” Eskill said bitterly. “Thank you very much.” He got up and paced the floor.

  “All right,” he said finally. “Take the damn computer. But my cell phone isn’t here.”

  “You mind emptying your pockets?” Luis asked gently.

  “Now we’re going to do a body search?” Eskill asked. “Want to look up my asshole?”

  “Mr. Lander, just empty your pockets.”

  Eskill looked to his partner for support, but Felston remained silent.

  Reluctantly, Eskill complied. His wallet, his pocket engagement book, bills in a money clip, loose change he threw down on the desk. And his cell phone.

  Luis picked up the cell without comment, along with the pocket engagement calendar.

  “Give me the Faraday,” he commanded Leff. His colleague reached into his attaché case and produced a small black mesh bag. Luis carefully placed the cell phone in it. The calendar he put in a separate bag.

  Felston, used to giant civil cases but not murder inquir
ies, asked what the Faraday was.

  “It’s a protective bag that deflects any calls or signals made to the phone,” Leff explained.

  “Jesus,” Eskill said.

  “How about backup storage devices for the computer?” Luis asked.

  “I haven’t the faintest idea,” Eskill said.

  “Who would know? Your secretary?”

  “I suppose.”

  Luis ducked out and queried Eskill’s secretary. It turned out there were no such devices on the computer.

  “How about a BlackBerry? A pager?” Luis asked.

  “Detective, I’m not a walking spaceship. My only electronic device you already have seized and put in that black bag. It’s a simple cell phone—no fancy add-ons.”

  As he was talking, Luis noticed an engagement book on Eskill’s desk. He picked it up and placed it in the bag with the pocket calendar as Eskill watched, angrily but helplessly.

  “I think that’s all,” Luis said, once Leff had packed up the computer.

  “Only one more thing,” Luis added. “If there’s anything you’d like to tell us, I’d be happy to listen. Alternatively, I think you should be prepared to come in for questioning. We’ll be in touch.”

  “Gentlemen,” Eskill said, “this whole thing is an outrage. I don’t think the next time I see you will be when I ‘come in for questioning’ but when we’re in court for a violation of my privacy and my civil liberties. And I can assure you that I’m not going to say anything about your slanderous and absurd insinuations without a lawyer present to protect me.” He shot a very dirty look at Felston.

  “Thank you, Mr. Lander,” Bautista said. “I think that’s all.” Without handshakes or other farewells, he and Leff, carrying their booty, departed after leaving a receipt for the items taken away, in accordance with standards of due process.

  Eskill slumped in his desk chair. “Thanks a lot, Jerry,” he said to his partner, the preeminent litigator.

  “I’m sorry, Eskill, but these fellows were operating by the book. Due process, you know.” He was as upset as Eskill, but for different reasons. Was his partner a murderer? Impossible to believe.