Motion to Dismiss (A Kali O'Brien Legal Mystery)

by Jacobs, Jonnie

  Her finger traced the corner of her mouth.

  “Or how about this?” I said, sketching out what I recalled as the Toyota symbol.

  Madeleine was fidgeting behind me. “Your Honor—”

  Atwood sent her a silencing glance. “It seems like a perfectly reasonable line of inquiry to me.” She nodded in my direction. “You may proceed.”

  By now Adrianna sensed that something was up. She wound a spiral of hair with her right hand and clutched her stuffed animal with the left.

  “There’s no right or wrong answer,” I told her. “You just tell us what you saw. Do either of these look like the symbol you saw on the car in the driveway?”

  Finally, Adrianna shook her head. “It was like the one the other lady showed me.”

  Score one for Adrianna.

  I forced a smile, not wanting her to pick up on my disappointment, and moved on. “Okay, now we’ll try a different question. Still about the car. It was dark outside, wasn’t it?”

  She nodded.

  “So it must have been hard to see the color of the car.”

  “I could see because the front light was on.”

  “So you’re sure it was silver, and not white or beige or gray?” I had no idea how I’d tell gray from silver myself.

  “It was silver,” she said emphatically.

  I brought out the color brochures I’d picked up from car dealers over the last few days. “We’re going to play kind of a game,” I said. “I’ll show you a color and you tell me what it is, okay?”

  I showed her red, which she got, and then frost, which she called white, and then metallic blue.

  She hesitated. “Pearly blue,” she said at last.

  A few questions later she picked out silver without a moment’s uncertainty. And gray was gray. She was a girl who knew her colors.

  Taken in conjunction with Berger’s testimony about seeing Grady at the Safeway in Montclair, Adrianna’s identification of the car was bound to carry weight. I felt anxiety coursing through my body.

  “You said you’d woken from a dream.”

  She nodded.

  I tried imagining that it was Emily I was talking to. Casual conversation. I didn’t want Adrianna picking up on the apprehension I felt. “Can you remember what the dream was about?”

  “Rabbits.”

  “Was it a scary dream?”

  She smiled. “No. Rabbits aren’t scary.”

  “So it was a comfortable dream?”

  Adrianna nodded.

  “Was there just that one dream?”

  Her eyes scrunched tight in thought. “I had a different dream before. About chocolate syrup. Ema gave it to me.”

  “You dreamed she gave you chocolate syrup?”

  Adrianna nodded. “Because she loves me.”

  “So that wasn’t scary either?”

  “No.”

  “So you had a couple of dreams, and then woke up when you heard a noise, is that right?”

  Another nod.

  “Do you think that maybe the noise and the man’s voice were a dream, too? They only seemed real because they were scary and your other dreams weren’t?”

  Her chin jutted out. “I wasn’t scared. And it was real.”

  “But sometimes dreams can seem very real.”

  “It wasn’t a dream.” Adrianna was bouncing in her seat, growing agitated.

  Judge Atwood leaned forward. “Are you nearly finished, Ms. O’Brien?”

  I could tell by her tone that I was, whether I’d thought so or not. “Yes, Your Honor.”

  Chapter 45

  “You want to tell me what’s going on here?” I asked Grady. Only I didn’t ask it so much as bellow it.

  We were alone finally, in one of the tiny interview rooms reserved for attorneys and their clients. It was fortunate that Judge Atwood, with a commitment that required her attention for the afternoon, had declared court in recess until the next morning. Otherwise, I might have been shouting at Grady in open court. I was that mad.

  I crossed my arms and glared at him. “You want to tell me how Adrianna saw a silver Mercedes convertible in the driveway the night her mother was killed?”

  Grady rubbed the flesh of his cheek. He looked pale and uncomfortable.

  “Saw it not ten minutes after another witness saw you in a similar car only minutes from the house where Deirdre Nichols was murdered?”

  He closed his eyes for a moment.

  “What kind of game are you playing? I’m your attorney, goddammit. You’re suppose to tell me the truth.”

  Grady shifted in his chair and swallowed. “I was there,” he mumbled. “At Deirdre Nichols’ house.”

  “No shit, Sherlock. I know that, the judge knows that, and if we’d had a jury present, they would know it. Your goose would be cooked.” And it wasn’t any too far from that now.

  “I didn’t kill her.”

  “That’s comforting to hear.”

  “I mean it,” he said, looking me in the eye. “I didn’t.”

  I crossed my arms and said nothing.

  “She must have been dead already—that’s why she never answered the door.”

  “Are you saying that you never saw her that night?”

  Grady hunched forward. “I rang the bell, knocked on the door, even called her name a couple of times. That’s probably what Adrianna heard. Deirdre never came to the door.”

  “So you just moseyed back to your car and left?” My voice dripped with sarcasm.

  Grady nodded.

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “It’s the truth. I swear.”

  I snorted in disgust. “Truth is a concept that seems to elude you, Grady.”

  “Please, Kali. You’ve got to believe me.” His voice cracked. There was a pleading quality to it that caught me by surprise.

  “You were there at the house?” I asked skeptically. “There within the time frame of Deirdre’s murder, but you didn’t kill her?”

  “Right.”

  “Or speak to her?”

  “Right.” He nodded eagerly and then his face folded. “It sounds ludicrous, doesn’t it?”

  “Right,” I echoed.

  “But it’s the truth.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me before this? I explained to you at the beginning that I didn’t want any ugly surprises in court.”

  “I didn’t think you’d believe me.” His tone was apologetic. “I didn’t think anyone would believe me.”

  “They’re going to be a whole lot less inclined to believe you at this stage.”

  Grady looked miserable.

  “I don’t want a client who lies to me.”

  “Please, Kali. I need your help.”

  I sighed. “Why don’t you tell me what happened that night. Only this time make it the truth and don’t leave anything out.”

  Grady rubbed his knees. “I was at work, like I told you. I left about nine-thirty. Deirdre had said to come by about ten.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but he held up a hand.

  “We had a deal. She was going to recant her story about the rape, and I was going to pay her.”

  “You bribed the witness?” No wonder he hadn’t been forthcoming with the truth. “Jesus, Grady. That’s a crime in itself.”

  He shook his head. “No, it wasn’t a bribe.”

  “No?”

  “It was a business arrangement.”

  “Give me a break.”

  Grady ignored me. “I didn’t rape her, in case you’re interested. So it wasn’t like I was paying her to lie.”

  “Why’d she claim you did, then?”

  He pressed his knuckles together, and then his thumbs. “I wasn’t the most gracious person that night. I think she was hurt and angry, and wanted to pay me back.”

  “So she cried rape.”

  He addressed his hands. “She said I used her. She said I treated her like dirt. Like she was nobody.”

  That was pretty much what Deirdre had told me
herself the afternoon she’d followed me into the women’s room during the rape hearing. I could only surmise that she’d been thinking romance, or something close to it, while he’d seen nothing more than available body parts.

  Grady took a breath and looked up. “She said that it was the moral equivalent of rape.”

  “So you tried to buy her off?”

  Another shake of his head. “No. I apologized.”

  “That was it?” My words rang with cynicism.

  “It was a sincere apology.”

  “Must have been twenty-four karat.” I brushed the air with my hand, disgusted. “You offered an apology and Deirdre agreed not to testify against you?”

  “Well, she wanted money, too. But that was her idea, not mine. She said she wanted to start over—move away, go back to school, try to make something of her life. I take it she’d been involved in a bad relationship, one she was eager to get away from. She needed money to do that.”

  “How much?”

  “A hundred thousand.”

  “A hundred thousand?” That was more than money; it was a fortune.

  “What could I do? I was worried about what the rape trial would do to the ComTec offering. I stood to make a lot more than that if it went through.”

  My head was spinning. I’d asked for the truth. But the trouble with the truth is that sometimes it’s unpleasant.

  “So that’s what you were doing at Deirdre’s place the night she was killed,” I said. “You went to pay her off?”

  “Half of it. She was going to get the other half as soon as the rape charges were dropped.”

  I leaned back in my chair, more overwhelmed than angry. “The shoe print on the side of the house?”

  “When Deirdre didn’t answer, I started around the side of the house to see if I couldn’t tap on a window or something. I heard music coming from the back and I thought maybe she hadn’t heard the doorbell. But then a dog started barking. For all I knew, he was in the yard, ready to attack me. I decided to let it be. I’d call her in the morning.”

  “And the handkerchief?”

  “I told you, I’d left it there the week before. She was going to return it that night. I told her it was no big deal, but she insisted. Said she’d washed and ironed it.”

  “What about the pants you were wearing that night? The ones you said were part of a Salvation Army pickup.”

  “That’s the truth,” he said. “They were old and getting worn through the seat. It was one of those ironic twists that the pickup was that Monday.”

  I thought through the other evidence the D.A. had gathered against Grady. All of it was consistent with what he’d just told me.

  “I grant you it’s not the most believable explanation,” I told him. “But it beats the hell out of the story you told initially, on which three witnesses have now tripped you up. I don’t see why you didn’t tell the truth from the start.”

  Grady looked sheepish. “Well, there’s one other small part.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The money.”

  “What about it?”

  “I don’t have that much sitting around. I kind of borrowed it from the company.”

  His words sank in slowly. “Embezzled it?”

  “Well, it is my company, or mine and the investment bankers’. And I would have paid it back just as soon as the stock went public. It was more a securities violation than a crime.”

  A fine point. But any way you looked at it, it was certainly a lesser crime than murder.

  “Jesus, Grady. You couldn’t have dug a deeper hole for yourself if you’d tunneled clear through to China.”

  “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t sat here beating myself up for being stupid and shortsighted?”

  “And selfish,” I said without thinking.

  “And selfish.”

  “Not to mention morally repugnant.”

  Grady leaned across the table and touched my hand. “I’d give anything to be able to rewrite these last couple of weeks. I know I’ve behaved badly. And stupidly. And I love Nina with all my heart. I can’t bear to think of the pain I’ve caused her. But I can’t go back and change what’s done. The only thing I can do is go forward and try to make it right.”

  I pressed my fingers against the side of my face. “What a mess.”

  “I didn’t kill Deirdre Nichols. That’s what you need to deal with first and foremost.”

  For the first time since the morning I’d talked with Grady about the rape, I found myself truly believing him. But would I be able to convince anyone in a court of law?

  Chapter 46

  As I left the courthouse, I mulled over the prosecution’s case against Grady. The evidence was strong enough to hold him for trial. About that there was no doubt in my mind. Our only real chance was to point the finger at someone else, and have it stick.

  I headed toward police headquarters on Washington Street to pay another visit to Cedric Gibson. He was shuffling through the clutter of papers on his desk when I knocked on the open door of his office.

  “Ms. O’Brien,” he said, rocking back in his chair. “What can I do for you this time?”

  “I know about your investigation of Tony Rodale,” I told him without beating around the bush. “And I know that Deirdre Nichols was working with you as an informant.”

  Gibson neither confirmed nor denied it, but pressed his fingers together and regarded me silently.

  I took a seat across from him. “I don’t want to blow your operation. But Grady Barrett is charged with murder. He’s facing trial for a crime he didn’t commit.”

  Gibson brought his fingertips to his chin, making an indentation in the flesh. “The evidence is there.”

  I nodded, trying to avoid a confrontation. “At first blush it does appear as though Grady might have been involved. But all of the evidence is subject to another interpretation as well, and that’s something the police never took the time to explore. They wanted a quick arrest, and they snagged Grady.”

  “We ‘snagged,’ to use your term, the man we believe committed the crime.”

  “The other suspects never got a second glance from your detectives.”

  “And that’s what you think Rodale is, a possible suspect?”

  “He wears a size ten shoe. He’s someone Deirdre would have opened the door to late at night. He has a history of domestic abuse. If he’d got wind of the fact that she was cooperating with the police, he might well have killed her.”

  I sat back. “There’s also the fact that she was planning to break up with him. Maybe she told him it was over, and that’s what made him snap.”

  Gibson raised his hands and gave me the time-out sign. “Can we talk unofficially for a moment?”

  “We can start there.”

  “Tony Rodale was arrested this morning.”

  “On drug charges?”

  He nodded. “You can make whatever you want of ‘alternate scenarios,’ but I can tell you that Rodale did not kill Deirdre Nichols.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “One of our detectives has been working undercover. He was with Rodale the night of the murder.”

  I felt my heart sink. “Steve Henshaw?”

  “Does it make a difference who it was?”

  I flopped back in my chair. Disappointment flooded through me. Being in the company of a cop was a pretty good alibi. In fact, they didn’t come much better.

  “Maybe it was one of Rodale’s henchmen,” I said.

  “I don’t think so. We’ve had our eye on most of his associates. In any event, you’ll have a hard time making the case in court.”

  “Deirdre Nichols was an informant. That alone ought to raise reasonable doubt about Grady’s guilt in the mind of at least one juror.” I was less certain that it would be enough to negate probable cause at the hearing.

  Gibson stroked his cheek. “And once you make that preposterous assertion, how are you going to back it up? Don’t think
anyone from this department is going to march into court and do it for you.”

  “You’d lie on the stand?”

  “We’d try like the devil to avoid getting to that point.” He looked me in the eye and his manner softened. “I’m not trying to one-up you, Ms. O’Brien. There is simply nothing to support the notion that Deirdre Nichols was killed because of a drug operation. It’s a catchy Hollywood gimmick, but in this case it simply doesn’t hold up under scrutiny.”

  It had to, I thought glumly. It was Grady’s only chance.

  “If it’s any consolation,” Gibson continued, “we’ve got a lead on two guys we suspect of killing your friend Hal Fisher. That’s one homicide we just may be able to tie to Rodale.”

  “Because Hal found out about his drug connection?”

  “Looks that way.”

  I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of Hal’s death on my shoulders. I was glad they’d found his killers, but it was small consolation for loss of a life. Especially since I couldn’t help thinking I’d set the whole thing in motion by asking him to work on the case. And it was all for naught. Grady was going to stand trial, and perhaps be convicted.

  “I can’t do anything with speculation,” Gibson said. “But if you have anything concrete to bring me, I’ll be happy to listen.” He rose and ushered me to the door. “I don’t like to see killers get away with murder.”

  “Or to see innocent men convicted?” I asked pointedly.

  He offered a brief smile. “That, too.”

  <><><>

  I returned to the office feeling discouraged. Without Tony Rodale to put forward as an alternate suspect, our options were limited. We were stuck with Grady’s original story and little to counter the evidence against him.

  I stopped at Rose’s desk to pick up my messages. “Any word from Marc?” I asked.

  “Not a peep. Now I’m beginning to get worried.”

  “Did you try to call him?”

  “Once this morning and twice this afternoon.”

  “I’ll stop by his house after work. Maybe he’s just not answering the phone.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” I could tell that Rose didn’t buy into that fiction any more than I did. But neither of us wanted to contemplate the other possibilities.