Fugitive

by Phillip Margolin

  When the elevator stopped at Charlie’s floor, they walked down the corridor to his room. Charlie was about to slide the key card into the slot when he saw that the door was ajar. His mouth went dry and his pulse accelerated. He should have run but he wasn’t thinking straight and he pushed the door open.

  The room looked like Hurricane Katrina had whipped through it. The mattress was off the bed and a knife had been taken to it. Stuffing from the mattress mixed with the contents of Charlie’s drawers and closet, which were strewn across the floor. The television had been dismantled and the air-conditioner had been ripped from the wall and taken apart.

  Amanda phoned the front desk and told them to call the police. When she hung up she turned to her client.

  “All right, Charlie, what’s going on here and does it have anything to do with the box I just stashed in my new safety-deposit box?”

  “Probably,” Charlie answered nervously.

  “Am I putting myself in danger because I’ve helped you?”

  Before Charlie could answer, Amanda’s cell phone rang. She fished it out of her purse and saw that Mike Greene was the caller. Amanda excused herself and walked into the hall.

  “I just heard about the shooting at the courthouse. Are you okay?” Mike asked.

  Amanda could hear the concern in his voice. This wasn’t the first time Amanda had had a brush with death. Mike had been with her right after her hairbreadth escape from the serial killer the press had nicknamed the Surgeon and shortly after she’d survived a home invasion by professional killers while she was representing Jon Dupre. Amanda was glad he’d called. Knowing that Mike cared for her was as calming as a cup of chamomile tea.

  “I’m fine. I was shaken up right after the shooting but I wasn’t hurt at all.”

  “Do you want me to come over tonight? I can bring Chinese.”

  “I think that’s a great idea. Look, I’m in the middle of something. Let me call you when I’m through and we’ll figure out tonight.”

  Amanda disconnected just as the manager and hotel security stepped out of the elevator. After a brief look around, the manager told Charlie that he would move him to another room. Shortly after that two Portland Police officers walked in. While they were interviewing Amanda there was another knock on the door. Charlie turned. The man standing in the doorway looked familiar. When he saw Charlie was having trouble placing him, he held his hands out at his sides as if the greater exposure would solve Charlie’s problem.

  “It’s me, Charlie,” the man said. “Mickey Keys, your agent.”

  CHARLIE TOOK A good look at his onetime agent and crime partner as he escorted Keys to the end of the hall, where they would have some privacy. Keys was thin; not in a physically fit way but in the way someone looks when they’re not eating well because they can’t afford food. The collar of his shirt was frayed and the elbows of his jacket were shiny. There were lines on his face that hadn’t been there twelve years ago. His skin had a waxy pallor and there were dark circles under his eyes.

  “What are you doing here?” Charlie asked.

  “What do you mean, Charlie?” Keys said, flashing a tense smile that made him look desperate. “I’m your agent, your business manager. As soon as I heard you were back in the States, I got on the first plane West. I figured you’d need someone to set up appearances, handle your contracts. You know, like the old days.”

  “I’ve already got a contract for a new book. If I’m not on death row, my publisher will handle the bookings.”

  “You can’t cut me out, Charlie. We have a contract, too,” Mickey said, pulling a wrinkled and stained sheaf of papers out of his jacket pocket. “This is a copy, in case you lost yours. It makes me your agent.”

  “Our agreement ended when you cut a deal with the feds.”

  Keys pushed the papers at Charlie. “There’s nothing in our contract that lets you out of our arrangement. I’m entitled to fifteen percent of everything.”

  Charlie held his hand in the air, refusing to touch the contract. “You’re not getting a penny. You sold me out.”

  “I had to. They were going to make me do hard time if I didn’t come clean about the Inner Light scam and the second set of books. You were in Batanga, protected. I was out on a limb, all by myself.”

  “A business relationship requires trust, Mickey. How can I trust you after what you did?”

  “What I did was three years in a federal lockup while you were getting blow jobs on a tropical beach.”

  “Hey, man, I’m sorry you went to jail, but Batanga was no cakewalk. I’d have traded places with you in a nanosecond if I’d known what I was getting myself into. Why do you think I’m here facing a death sentence?”

  Keys dropped the tough posture and his shoulders sagged.

  “Look, Charlie, I’ll level with you. I’m desperate. The feds took everything. I’ve been working as a telemarketer, because no one will hire an ex-con to do anything else. I live in a hotel room with roaches. You’ve still got the money in your Swiss account and all this new dough. I had to give my money back as part of the plea bargain. I’ve got nothing.”

  “I can give you a few bucks, if that’s why you’re here.”

  Keys reddened. “I don’t want a handout. I want back in the game. I want to be a player, again.”

  “Then I can’t help you.”

  “I’ll hire a lawyer. I’ll sue and I’ll win.”

  “Do what you gotta do,” Charlie said before walking back to the chaos in his room.

  Keys leaned back against the wall. When he had pulled himself together, he started walking to the elevator, his head down, looking utterly defeated.

  “Mr. Keys.”

  Mickey looked up and found Charlie’s lawyer blocking the way.

  “Can I talk to you?” Amanda asked.

  “We’ll do our talking in court when I sue your client for breach of contract,” Keys answered, trying to sound like the tough negotiator he’d been before his fall.

  “I don’t know anything about your business problems with Mr. Marsh. I’m his criminal attorney.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “You were at the Westmont when Congressman Pope was shot, weren’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Would you be willing to talk to my investigator?”

  “About what?”

  “Anything you saw that will help us get a handle on what happened.”

  Keys looked incredulous. “You want me to help that ungrateful prick after what he just did to me?”

  “We just want to hear your version of what happened.”

  “My version, huh.” Keys stopped talking and Amanda could almost see the wheels turning inside his skull. “Well, let’s talk about that. My memory is a bit hazy right now. But I might be able to remember more clearly if my financial situation cleared up. So, why don’t you have a word with Charlie. When you get back to me-depending on the news-I’ll either be talking to your investigator or the DA.”

  CHAPTER 33

  The morning after the sniper attack, Amanda slept late and didn’t get to the offices of Jaffe, Katz, Lehane and Brindisi until nine. When she opened the door to the reception area, Dennis Levy was talking excitedly on his cell phone. He broke off his call as soon as he saw Amanda and sprang out of his chair, almost knocking the latte she was holding out of her hand when he thrust a copy of World News at her.

  “What do you think?” he asked proudly.

  “Not much until I’ve had my coffee,” Amanda answered, taking a step back from the keyed-up journalist.

  “Look,” Levy said, pointing just below the picture of Charlie Marsh that graced the magazine cover, where bright red block letters proclaimed, THE GURU RETURNS. Following the title was the byline, DENNIS LEVY.

  “That’s my story,” Levy declared.

  “Congratulations,” Amanda told him, impressed despite her dislike for the reporter.

  Levy flipped the magazine open to his story and directed Amanda to a col
umn on the second page. “I told you you’d get a lot of publicity out of this,” he said.

  Amanda read the column. Sure enough, she was prominently featured as the lawyer Charlie had chosen to defend him.

  “Mrs. Brice overnighted this copy to me. It is literally hot off the press.”

  Amanda forced a smile. “It looks like you’re on your way, Dennis.”

  “So, what are we doing this morning?”

  “I’m not sure,” Amanda lied. “I do have other cases. Why don’t you wait out here while I get some caffeine in me and try to figure out my schedule? All that excitement at the courthouse threw it off.”

  “Sure thing,” Dennis said.

  As Amanda walked toward Kate’s office, she chanced a quick glance over her shoulder. Levy was smiling like the Cheshire Cat as he reread his magazine article. She couldn’t blame him for being proud.

  Amanda knocked on Kate’s doorjamb. “I have a problem,” she told her investigator. “I’m interviewing Sally Pope and I do not want Jimmy Olsen’s evil twin tagging along.”

  “Levy wants to look at the Pope file. I can set him up in the conference room and you can sneak out while he’s going through it.”

  “You’re brilliant.”

  “That’s why I get the big bucks.”

  “Just make sure he understands that he has to leave the file the way he found it. I haven’t had a chance to go through it yet.”

  “Will do. I’ll also take him with me when I interview Ralph Day.”

  “Who?”

  “He was Junior’s challenger in his last election.”

  “Right. That should keep him out of my hair.”

  WHILE HE WAITED for the receptionist to bring him coffee, Dennis studied the mountain of information spread across the conference table. The task of going through it was daunting but Levy loved research. He believed that it was his attention to detail that made him superior to the other reporters at World News.

  Kate’s trial book made it easier for Dennis to work through the material. She had explained how she had organized everything from the file into piles relating to different topics. The first items Levy looked at were the autopsy report and photos, because he’d never covered any crime stories and he was curious. He flipped through them with only the tiniest emotional reaction and was pleased with himself. When he was through with the material concerning the cause of death, he pulled over another stack.

  An hour later, Dennis squared off a group of reports and stood up. As he stretched, he noticed something sticking out of a pile of witness interviews. He pulled it out and gave it a cursory inspection. He was about to put it back when something caught his eye. He pulled it closer and squinted. Then his eyes grew wide and his heart began to beat rapidly.

  “SO, WHAT’S IT like working for the Jaffes?” Dennis Levy asked as he and Kate drove to Ralph Day’s office. The reporter had been talking nonstop since he’d gotten in Kate’s car and he couldn’t sit still. The constant chatter and twitching was getting on Kate’s nerves.

  “Most of the time it’s just routine stuff. You know, witness interviews, like today. Internet searches.”

  “It must be pretty exciting when you’re investigating a big case, like Charlie’s.”

  “The job has its moments,” Kate answered ambiguously, choosing to keep to herself the details of the harrowing situations in which she’d been involved since going to work for Jaffe, Katz, Lehane and Brindisi.

  “Any background you can give me on Amanda? Things that aren’t public knowledge that might spice up my stories.”

  “You mean like her affair with Brad Pitt or the identity of the father of her secret love child?” Kate answered, keeping her eyes on the road ahead.

  Levy’s laugh sounded forced. “That’s good. Yeah, that would help sell magazines.”

  “I’m afraid Amanda doesn’t have a lot of secrets and-if she did-she’d have to be the person to tell them to you.”

  “Oh, come on. There’s got to be something.”

  “What makes you think I’d dish dirt about a good friend?”

  “So there is something to tell?” Dennis said eagerly. “You know World News could make this worth your while. You don’t have to work for a small firm your whole life. The publicity I can give you would definitely help your career.”

  Kate held her temper. “That’s a good point,” she said evenly. “I’m certain every major law firm in the country would be eager to hire a private investigator willing to sell out every secret they had. I’ll remember to put in my résumé that I can be bought easily.”

  Dennis colored as he realized that he’d gone too far. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t,” Kate said, not bothering to mask her distaste.

  “Hey, look, I’m sorry if we got off on the wrong foot. I don’t know what I was thinking. Let’s start over. Why don’t you tell me about the witness we’re going to interview?”

  “We aren’t interviewing anyone, Dennis. Remember the ground rules? You’re just going to listen and you are not going to speak unless I say it’s okay.”

  “Right, right. I get that. It was a figure of speech.”

  “I’m glad we have that straight. Ralph Day was Junior’s opponent in the election. Pope defeated him the first time he ran for Congress but Day won when Junior was killed. Day was also at the Westmont on the evening the murder took place.”

  “What do you think he can tell us…you…that will help Charlie’s case?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Speaking of ideas, I got a few when I was going through the Pope file.”

  “Such as?”

  “We should talk to Werner Rollins. After he cut a deal with the cops, Rollins said he saw Marsh shoot Pope, but he could have been pressured to finger Charlie. Twelve years have gone by. Who knows what he’d say now. If he retracts his statement it will really help clear Charlie.”

  Kate had never thought Levy was stupid-just obnoxious-and she was impressed by his insight.

  “That’s good thinking, Dennis. I’ve been trying to find Rollins. He may be in Denver. I have a Colorado PI following up on a lead.”

  “Great! Say, if you find him can I come along?”

  “I’ll have to ask Amanda.”

  “Oh, sure. Put in a good word for me, will you? I’d appreciate it.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  RALPH DAY’S INSURANCE agency was in a strip mall on the outskirts of Hillsboro. Day walked into the waiting room moments after his secretary buzzed him. He was a large, affable man in his early sixties with a little excess weight and a full head of white hair. He wore a charcoal gray suit and a conservative tie and looked the part of a successful insurance salesman. When they were seated in his office, Kate explained Dennis’s involvement in the case. The ex-congressman had no objections to having a reporter sit in on the interview.

  “I read about the shooting at the courthouse,” Day said. “Was anyone hurt?”

  “We were lucky. The sniper missed with both shots.”

  “Thank God for that.” Day paused. He looked pensive. “Can you tell me why Marsh is coming back after all these years?”

  “That’s what everyone wants to know,” Kate answered.

  “I guess it will come out at the trial. So, what did you want to ask me? I don’t know what help I can be. This all happened so long ago.”

  “I guess I should start by asking you about your relationship with Arnold Pope Jr. around the time he was killed.”

  “That’s easy enough. I hated Pope’s guts. No, let me amend that. It was his father’s guts I hated. Junior didn’t have any. He was just the old man’s puppet. There were times I actually felt sorry for Junior. He didn’t have a mind or life of his own.”

  “Can you explain that?” Kate asked.

  “Sure. Arnie Jr. was the political equivalent of one of those prepackaged boy bands the record companies put together. Senior started grooming him to be president from the moment
he was born.”

  “I’ve been doing a little research and you credited Senior’s money with Junior’s victory in your first contest.”

  “No question. I raised a decent amount for my campaign but I couldn’t compete. I couldn’t prove it but I know that Senior violated every campaign financing rule on the books. He funneled money through friends, employees, PACs he created with straw men. Hell, I had some money for TV, but you couldn’t turn on a set without seeing Junior’s smiling face in front of an American flag.”

  “Would he have won a second term if he wasn’t murdered?”

  “I’m far enough from the race to give you an honest answer. Junior would have kicked my butt. The boy had no substance but that was a hard point to make with an electorate that wasn’t paying much attention to our race. Of course, everyone paid attention when he got killed, and I was able to get a lot of free TV time.”

  “You won the seat, so maybe you would have won anyway.”

  “No, not a chance. If Junior hadn’t died I would have lost, but Junior’s party had to scramble to find someone to run against me and the best they could come up with was a retired county commissioner that nobody liked much. Senior never forgave me for taking Arnie’s spot in Congress. Next time around, he tried to bury me under his money again. I was better prepared and I won reelection, but it was close and he came at me every two years until he finally got me after my third term.”

  “Do you miss being in Congress?” Kate asked sympathetically.

  “I did but I’m over it. Life’s been pretty good to me. I dealt with the setback and put it behind me.”

  “I understand you were at the Westmont the evening Junior was killed.”

  Day nodded.

  “What can you remember about the fight and the shooting?”

  “Boy, that’s a tough one. It was dark and very chaotic, and I didn’t have a real clear impression of what happened even then.”

  “That’s okay. Just give it your best shot.”

  “Okay, well, I didn’t go to the club to hear the guru. I wasn’t into all that self-improvement stuff. I came to be seen, part of the politicking. I got to the Westmont just as Marsh’s entourage arrived and I parked in the lot. I was almost at the front entrance when the fight started.”