She felt the full heat of his eyes boring into her and looked down at her lap. He took a step closer and paused. Tears continued to stream from her eyes. She sniffled. “I didn’t kill him Ben,” she said in a choked voice. “I tell you, I didn’t kill him.”
Ben took another step closer. “I didn’t ask you whether you killed him. I asked when you last saw him.”
She looked around the room, at the safe, at the stuffed animal heads hanging from the walls, anything but at him. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “He started calling me around Thanksgiving, I think,” she said finally. “I didn’t know what he wanted at first so I ignored him. Finally, he left a couple of messages on my answering machine, getting more and more insistent. He said he needed to see me.”
“Did you go see him?”
“Yes,” she said in a voice barely audible. She still couldn’t look at him. “I went twice actually. The first time I didn’t see him. I went to his office and he wasn’t there so I left him a note that I’d stopped by.”
“A note? In writing?”
She nodded. “Yes. Then he called again and left me another message and I went back to see him a second time.”
“When was this?”
“Right before Christmas.”
“Did you see him that time?”
“Yes. Just for a few minutes.”
“What did he want?”
“I’m not sure. In fact, it was really kind of strange. His messages made it seem like he absolutely had to speak to me right away, but when I got there, we didn’t really talk about much of anything.”
“What do you mean,” Ben asked a little confused.
“We more or less just made small talk. He asked how I was doing, about family stuff, that sort of thing. I asked him the same and he said things were going okay. It went back and forth like that for a few minutes, then we talked about the reunion coming up for a little bit and then he got a phone call and I left.”
Ben couldn’t believe that was it. He stood over her, hands on his hips and studied her for a minute. She looked up at him with pleading eyes begging to be believed. “There wasn’t anything else?” he asked finally.
“No. Once I got there, he didn’t seem that interested in talking to me.”
“Do you know who called him on the phone?”
“No, I don’t. But whoever it was, he didn’t want me in the room when he talked to them. He told me that he had to take the call and he would be in touch, but that it was nice seeing me. It was clear he wanted me to leave, so I left. Once I shut the door behind me, I never saw him again.”
Ben shook his head and paced some more. “Meg,” he said his arms outstretched in a pleading motion, “there’s got to be more than that. You have to tell me everything.”
She shook her head hard. “I am telling you everything,” she said, her voice rising.
“No Meg, I don’t think you are.” He pulled out a chair and sat directly opposite her, their knees brushing together. He looked directly into her eyes and said, “Meg, this is the most serious situation you’ll ever encounter in your life. Your very life and future, and the future of your family, depends on our being able to successfully defend this case.”
“I know that,” she said.
Ben waved her off. “No, I don’t think you do. These guys aren’t kidding around. They’ve brought this case against you, not because of some sinister motive, but because they think you killed him.” Ben said the words very slowly and emphatically. “Do you understand what I’m saying? They think you took a baseball bat and bashed Daniel Greenfield’s skull in until he was dead. These people are true believers. They aren’t joking around.”
“I know that. I know what prosecutors are like,” she said.
“You may think you do, but I can assure you, you don’t. These are the most cynical, hard-nosed people you’ll ever want to meet. How can I explain this to you?” he said. He looked around the room as though searching for a way to make her understand. “Okay,” he said, “let me tell you a little story. Back when I was working for the office, I was already in felonies by that time, I shared an office with a guy named Ron Hirst. Ron was a good guy, a good prosecutor, but he was like everyone else in that office in that he took everything anybody said, especially defendants, with more than a grain of salt. He didn’t take anything at face value.
“One day, I think it was before Court, we were sitting in the office looking at the Tribune. There was something in the paper about Mother Theresa,” Ben said nodding. Meg nodded back. “Well, anyway, there was something in there about her. I don’t know whether she was sick or making another tour of the United States. I can’t remember.
“Ron looked up from the newspaper and said, ‘Hey there’s something in the paper here about Mother Theresa. What do you make of her?’ I wasn’t quite sure what he meant and said so. He said, ‘What do you think her angle is?’ I thought he was kidding. I looked at him and realized he wasn’t. He was serious. I told him, ‘What’s her angle? I think she’s a nun who’s dedicated her life to helping the impoverished lepers in Calcutta.’ He shook his head and looked me straight in the eye. ‘No, really,’ he said, ‘what’s her angle?’” Ben paused and let the message sink in. “And we were talking about Mother Theresa. No offense, Meg, I love you, you’re a wonderful person, but you’re no Mother Theresa. If they can ask questions like that about Mother Theresa, what do you think they’re asking about you?”
32
Meg left the office shaken, but guaranteed that she’d told Ben everything and vowed not to keep any more secrets from him. Ben watched her walk out to the parking lot, get in her car and drive away, not sure whether he believed her.
A few minutes later, Mark joined him in the garage. “What’s the verdict?” he asked upon entering.
Ben smiled grimly. “Not the best choice of words, I don’t think,” he said. “She admits sleeping with him.”
“Well, we knew that, didn’t we?” Mark said. “That seems pretty obvious. The question is, is the kid his?”
“No,” Ben said, “I don’t think that’s the question. I think the question ultimately is, does she think that the kid is his? Whether or not Greenfield’s the father, if she thought he was, that supplies the motive for killing him.”
Mark looked thoughtful, his hand on his mouth. “True enough,” he said. “What was her answer?”
Ben turned and shrugged. “She says no, the kid is not his. She says there is no possible way he could be the father. She knows when and where the kid was conceived and Joseph Cavallaro has to be the father.”
“Do you believe her?”
Ben shook his head. “I don’t know. She seemed emphatic enough, but the last time she slept with Greenfield is close enough to when the baby must have been conceived for me to not feel very good about it.”
“You mean she was sleeping with Greenfield at the same time the baby was conceived?”
“She says no. She says she stopped sleeping with Greenfield a month or two before that. Still …”
Mark finished the thought. “Still, anything’s possible.”
Ben nodded. “Anything’s possible,” he repeated. “The problem is, we now have a connection between Meg and Greenfield other than just student and professor.”
Mark frowned. “Not necessarily,” he said. “If we stick to our guns that this whole line of inquiry is bullshit, then a negative test proves the point.” He eyed Ben. “I’m assuming she’s gonna have to take the test. I don’t see any way around it. It provides the motive if he’s the father.”
“Yep, sure does,” Ben said. “I think we fight the test as hard as we can, act like it’s ridiculous, and then when Judge Wilson makes us take it anyway, we hope like hell it’s negative.”
“Geezus,” Mark said.
They spent the next few minutes playing out the various scenarios and Ben filled Mark in on Greenfield’s phone calls and Meg’s final meeting with him right before Christmas. “It just doesn’t add up,” Mar
k suggested.
“No, I don’t think so either,” Ben agreed. “I think we need to really hit on these phone records to try and establish when and where Meg may have talked to him.”
Neither man said it, but both men thought that the phone records could also help them confirm Meg’s story. Then the first phone call came. A reporter with the Daily Herald, a local suburban newspaper, called to see if Ben had any comment on unconfirmed reports that an emergency motion was due to be heard in Court the following day regarding proof of a link between the victim and the defendant. Ben didn’t take the call. “Shit,” he said to Mark, “they’ve already leaked it.”
“Either they did, or somebody at the Courthouse did,” Mark said.
Ben scoffed. “Or they had somebody at the Courthouse do it. God damn it,” he said. “I’m getting out of here. I don’t want to be around when these phone calls start coming. Just have everybody say I’m not here. At least that’s the truth. I’m going to go downtown and try and shake up Dorlund a little bit. Obviously, he hasn’t been telling us the whole truth.”
Ben found Professor Dorlund in his office sipping a Diet Coke from a Styrofoam cup. The room smelled like a mixture of bad cologne and fried food. When he saw Ben enter, Dorlund got up and said, “I’m afraid I can’t talk right now, I’ve got a class in a few minutes.”
Ben took a seat. “Sit down,” he said. “You don’t have a class for forty-five minutes. I’ve got a copy of your schedule.” Ben smiled a mirthless smile.
Dorlund stuffed some papers into a briefcase. “I’m sorry, I really am. I can’t talk to you right now, I don’t have any time.”
“You knew this was coming, didn’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ben didn’t look amused. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “Either talk to me now or I’ll subpoena you and we’ll talk about your love life and drug habits in open Court in front of Judge Wilson. Dorlund looked up unamused. “Or,” Ben continued, “I can stop by and have the same conversation with your wife. You pick.”
Dorlund stood up and looked sideways at Ben, his features stiffening. “You’d do it too, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah, I would. And I’d enjoy it too. The problem, Professor, is you’ve been bullshitting me and that’s gonna stop. Now sit down and tell me about the connection between my client and Daniel Greenfield.”
Dorlund remained standing. “She’s your client. Why don’t you ask her?”
“Because I’m asking you. You knew Greenfield better than anyone. I want you to tell me what you know.”
Dorlund finally sat down. “How do you think it would look if it got out that you came in here and were badgering a potential witness?”
“How would it look?” Ben said, looking at the ceiling. “Probably not as bad as you think, because all I’m trying to do is get you to tell me the truth. I’m not asking you to lie or make something up. I’m just asking you to tell me what you know. Nothing wrong with that. So, if you want to get on the horn with Geraldo, go right ahead.”
After apparently concluding that Ben was serious, Samuel Dorlund reluctantly began to relay what he knew about the relationship between Meg and Greenfield. His story didn’t differ dramatically from the one Meg had told Ben earlier, nor did he really give Ben any reason to disbelieve him. According to Dorlund, they began a brief sexual relationship sometime during Meg’s second year which lasted for several months before Greenfield broke it off. He also confirmed that he did not know Meg’s name at the time, only that she was a student. In fact, he didn’t even know it was her. He only learned Meg’s identity years later.
“Why did he break up with her?” Ben asked.
“I don’t remember exactly,” Dorlund said. “He may have found somebody else, I’m not sure. I’ve been thinking about that ever since this thing happened and your client was arrested. I honestly don’t remember.”
“Do you know of any other students with whom Greenfield had a sexual relationship?”
“By name? No. I mean, I know there were probably others, but I preferred not to know who they were. I only really know about your client because Daniel told me about it years later. I didn’t even know her name at the time.”
“Okay,” Ben said, “I assume you told this to the prosecutors?”
“Of course. If your client had something to do with Daniel’s murder, I want to make sure she’s caught and punished for it.”
Ben nodded. “What about professors?” Ben asked. “Did Daniel Greenfield ever have any sexual relationships with other faculty members?”
“Maybe, but I’m not sure.”
“What about Angela Harper?”
Now Dorlund laughed heartily. “Angela Harper?” He threw his head back. “I’m not sure Angela Harper has sex. I don’t think Daniel seriously pursued any relationship with her, let alone had one. Like I said, I don’t think she has it in her.”
“Well, she is married, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, I think her husband must be a eunuch. She wouldn’t get near anyone who has any real balls. I can’t imagine how they managed to have a kid together - artificial insemination probably.”
“They have a child?”
“Yeah, a son, I think. Must be four or five by now, maybe a little older.”
They talked until Dorlund had to leave for his class. Ben felt that Dorlund had more or less leveled with him, a healthy dose of skepticism notwithstanding. Although he probably hadn’t told Ben everything, the basic story seemed about right. Ben wished he knew who that other woman was, even though he knew that she may not have had anything to do with Greenfield’s murder. After all, that relationship took place almost ten years ago. The basis for the murder almost had to be something more recent than that.
After he left Dorlund’s office, Ben pulled out his cell phone and called Mark. “It’s a fucking zoo out here,” Mark said. “The phone’s been ringing off the hook starting about ten minutes after you left. The secretaries are really getting pissed. I heard them talking about bringing someone in just to answer the phones and charging it to this case.”
Ben shrugged, “God damn it,” he said. “I’m not sure we could even do that.”
“We’ve gotta do something or better said, you’ve gotta do something. If you’re not careful, there’s gonna be a mutiny.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll think about it.”
“Did you get anything out of Dorlund?” Mark asked. Ben described his conversation with Professor Dorlund telling Mark that Dorlund’s story seemed fairly consistent with Megan’s. “At least that’s some good news,” Mark said. While talking to Mark, Ben had made his way to the elevators. A bell rang signaling that the doors were about to open.
“Look,” Ben said, “I’m about to get on an elevator, so I have to let you go. I’ll talk to you later.” The doors opened and Professor Sarah Berman stepped out.
“Mr. Lohmeier,” she said with a sly grin, “your celebrity status grows by the day.”
“Great,” he said. “That’s all I need.”
She pulled him off to the side looking around to see if they were alone and spoke in a very quiet voice. “Is it true? What I heard on the radio about the paternity test?”
Ben groaned. “Shit,” he said. “No comment. You can’t believe everything you hear on the radio.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s always wrong,” she said.
“No,” he agreed, “not always. Say, as long as I’ve got you here, I’d like to ask you a couple of questions if you’ve got time.”
“Sure,” she said, “why don’t we go back to my office?” Ben followed her back to her office. She closed the door behind them and sat down behind her desk, while Ben remained standing. “So what is it?” she asked.
“Angela Harper,” Ben said.
“Well, I think I told you before, Angela and Daniel did not get along, to put it mildly.”
“Did they ever actually sleep together?”
She laughed. “I d
oubt that. I doubt that very much. He probably suggested it, but I can’t see that it ever would’ve happened.”
“So I’m told,” Ben said. “Any other problems between the two of them that you’re aware of?”
“No, not specifically. All I know is that he made a lot of inappropriate comments and they didn’t really get along. It may have also been something to do with the law school, or it may have been something else, I just don’t know. I’m sorry.”
“Okay, I wasn’t sure if you knew anything, but I figured it was worth asking. Would you keep your eyes and ears open for stuff like this, whether it’s with Angela Harper or someone else on the faculty?”
“Of course, but I’ve got to ask you. I didn’t like Daniel Greenfield either. You don’t seem to think I could’ve had something to do with his death. Why is that?”
Ben reached for the handle on the door seeming to ignore her question. Then he turned and looked back at her as he broke into a broad smile. “Simple,” he said, “you just don’t have it in you.”
33
Once again, Ben and Mark drove down together for the Court appearance, Ben not wanting to run the gauntlet of reporters by himself. As expected, a throng of media types in all shapes and sizes swarmed them as they approached the steps to the Criminal Courts Building. Mark led Ben through the crowds like a pulling guard leading a halfback through a hole, while Ben smiled coolly and muttered the occasional “no comment” as they ascended the steps. Once inside, the Sheriff’s deputies helped keep the reporters at bay as Ben made his way through the metal detector, having still failed to get his pass. As Ben stood at the far end of the metal detector slipping his belt back into his pants, Bridgett Fahey approached from the south end of the complex where the State’s Attorney’s Offices were located.
“Good morning, Counselor,” she said approaching civility. “I see you need to get a pass so you can skip the metal detectors.”
“Yeah,” Ben said, “I’ll get around to it before trial.” His eyes narrowed. “Nice job with all these reporters. What did you do, give them a copy of your motion?” Ben asked as they walked. Mark chuckled alongside him.
Final Exam: A Legal Thriller Page 23
