by Debbi Mack
“With all due respect, assistant director,” Petrocelli said, making an authoritative if meaningless gesture with one hand, “our superiors at Treasury may not agree to share jurisdiction over certain aspects of this matter.”
“I don’t think they’ll have much choice.” It was Jergins. Always the diplomat.
I looked at Derry. His eyes were closed. Perhaps he was thinking about early retirement.
“Excuse me,” I said. Everyone looked at me. “Are we going to talk about my client? What are the charges? Do you intend to question her and when?”
“We’ll get to that in a moment, ma’am,” Petrocelli said. I wished he would stop calling me that. “We need to work out the logistics. I still think we should question Ms. Hayes as a group.”
“And I still think we should question her separately,” Ms. Poodle Cut said.
Derry spoke. “The decision’s been made.” He opened his eyes. “We’ll question her in shifts. Agent Jergins will go first. Agent Simmons will follow. Then the Secret Service. I’ll sit in on all sessions.”
Trask, the assistant director, leaned forward. “That wasn’t my—”
Derry cut him off with a look that would have stopped a speeding freight train. “Meanwhile,” Derry continued, “I’ll talk to Ms. Hayes myself.”
“Are we sure we want to proceed just yet?” the DC mumbler said. “Isn’t the Maryland AG interested? What about DOJ? Or the FTC?”
“Or the SPCA?” I asked. Everyone looked at me as if I’d passed gas, except Agent Holmes, who continued to play poker.
“Unlike the federal government, we can’t drag things out forever,” Derry said, giving Mumbles a pointed look. “Get your act together and let me know when you’re ready to see her client.” He turned to me and said, “Let’s go.”
Derry strode down the hall with me double-timing beside him. “Sorry about that. This was, supposedly, decided.”
“Quite a crew in there.”
“Too damned many cooks.” He reddened a little. It was the first time I’d heard him swear.
“You don’t need them to go forward with your own charges.”
“Sure, but I’m getting pressure from above to cooperate with them. I’d like to see the chief handle these ... people.”
I got the feeling he might have chosen a word other than people if I’d been a fellow cop. Or a man. “Hard to coordinate,” I said.
He shook his head. “It’ll get done. Meanwhile, let’s take care of business. Your client’s looking at possible identity theft and murder charges.”
“The identity theft charge is iffy at best.”
“We have what we have. She worked at the bank. She and Garvey could have worked together.”
“Tom Garvey was a computer expert. He could have accessed those records himself.”
“Or maybe she helped him. When she kicked him out, maybe he threatened to tell on her. Maybe she killed him to protect herself.”
“And maybe I’ll win a million bucks in the next Lotto. You’re grasping at straws. Who says there’s a connection between the crimes? Besides, wouldn’t Garvey also have been implicated?”
Derry shrugged. “So maybe he thought he could cut a deal. I don’t know.”
“Far as the murder goes, aren’t there other suspects? What about the roommate? For that matter, the Mob guy could have done it.”
“The Mob wouldn’t leave a body lying around. As for the roommate—” He shrugged. “So far, we have nothing to go on.”
“So he hasn’t been ruled out?”
Derry didn’t say anything. As far as I was concerned, that meant yes.
“Have you found the gun yet?” I asked.
He shook his head.
We stopped at the door to the interrogation room. Through a window, I could see Melanie, hunched in a chair, staring at her clenched hands.
“Can you at least tell me what kind of gun?”
“Nine millimeter,” he said, enunciating slowly and with exaggerated patience.
“So she goes there and shoots him and is careless enough to leave fingerprints, but cautious enough to get rid of the gun?”
Derry gave me the kind of look one might give a pesky child. “Perhaps I’ll ask her,” he said, in a quiet voice. He opened the door, and we stepped inside.
φ φ φ
After Derry questioned Melanie, I insisted on a break. Then Jergins took his turn. Mostly, he asked Melanie what she knew about Christof Stavos and Gregory Knudsen and the CD, which was nothing. I suggested we continue the questioning the next day.
I needed the postponement almost as badly as Melanie. She looked worn out, and I still felt the pain of physical recovery. My two-week “vacation” from work was turning into a busman’s holiday.
The good news was that everything Melanie said was squaring with what she’d told me. The bad news was that Derry didn’t appear to believe her.
“I think your case is a little light on evidence,” I said. “You have no gun. On the identity theft charges, there’s nothing other than that box of files.”
“The neighbor swears he saw her on the scene.”
“Did he hear the gunshots?”
“No. Said he was in the shower or something.”
“How convenient. What about the identity theft charges? A box of files doesn’t prove a thing.”
Derry didn’t say anything.
“Fine.” I checked my watch. “God, it’s late. Everyone at the state’s attorney’s office will have left by now.”
“He’s here.”
I did a double take. “What?”
“Yeah. I was just talking to him.”
“You’re telling me the state’s attorney assigned to this case is actually here?”
Derry shrugged. “This is big. Said he wanted to talk to you, too. I told him you might be a while. He’s waiting up front.”
I headed toward the lobby. State’s attorneys usually confine themselves to their offices and the courtroom. The case must be big if this guy came all the way to the police station to discuss it with defense counsel—after hours no less.
I opened the door. Across the room, standing up to greet me, was Ray Mardovich.
Chapter FOURTEEN
––––––––
“Hi,” Ray said.
“Hi.”
He smiled. “This is odd.”
“Yeah.”
I hadn’t had a case with Ray recently. Ray worked the Circuit Court, handling jury trials on the murders, rapes, and major drug offenses that arose with great frequency in our county. My criminal cases rarely went to trial. When they did, the matters usually involved clients with exaggerated notions of their driving ability after 10 beers. Or people who believed in the socialist principle of the even distribution of wealth and expressed their support by redistributing other people’s goods to themselves.
The fact that Ray was prosecuting was yet another sign that this case was serious.
“So?” I asked.
“So.” He looked away for a moment.
I glanced at my scuffed shoes. “We can handle this, right?”
He nodded vigorously. “Sure.”
“OK.” I paused to gather my thoughts. Part of me wanted to kiss him. I was also aware of the pain I felt when I tried to reach him after my release from the hospital.
“I thought you were in San Diego,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral.
“San Francisco.”
“Right.”
“I got back yesterday.”
“Was it nice?”
“Yeah. It’s a beautiful city.”
“It must be fun to travel. I never have the time or the money. Of course, I’m not wild about planes. You always hear about them falling out of the sky and people losing their luggage and all.”
He looked at me warily. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I forced myself to look him in the eye. “Why don’t we talk about the case?”
“Dinner first?”
>
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “I’m really tired and it’s been a long day. I’m still—” I started to say that I was still sore from the beating, but I stopped myself. I wanted to tell him, but I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to get sucked into dinner. I didn’t want to tell my problems to Ray. I couldn’t depend on him.
“Still what?” he asked.
“Still tired from my drive. I drove to Pennsylvania and back.”
“Yes, I heard.”
“So I probably won’t be very good company. And it’s late. You probably want to get home.”
“Helen won’t mind,” he said, giving me a meaningful look. “She’s still in San Francisco.”
So it was more than dinner I was being sucked into. It was another perfect opportunity. I wanted it, too. But a little voice said no. “My head. I’m just not feeling so hot. I’m sorry.”
He nodded. “It’s OK. We’ll have other times.”
“Let’s get back to the case. The bail hearing—where are you on that? I assume you won’t be asking too high an amount.”
Ray hesitated. “I ... I’m not sure about that.”
“What do you mean? We’re talking about an employed, middle-class individual with a job, and community contacts. She should be released on her own recognizance.”
“You can forget about an OR release. We’re talking about a woman accused of murder and major fraud, big enough for the feds to take an interest. She also fled the jurisdiction.”
“She didn’t know about any of this,” I said. “She left because she was afraid.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“So what are you saying?”
“I’m leaning toward contesting any pretrial release. At best, we’ll be asking for a very high bail, possibly as high as a hundred thousand.”
I stared at him. “You must be joking.”
“Sam, this is serious business—”
“Don’t be condescending, Ray. Of course, it’s serious, but my client doesn’t have property. She’s a university student who works at a bank. She’s not a flight risk.”
“She’s got a spotty employment history. She also has a record in another state.”
“What?” That stopped me cold. A background check is something I do as a matter of course for any criminal client. In this case, I hadn’t had time.
“It’s true,” he said. “I’ve got the paperwork. She was picked up in Florida for shoplifting.”
“How could she get a job at a bank with a record?”
“That’s what I’d like to know. She got Florida’s version of a stet, so maybe they missed it on the background check.”
A “stet” is a case that gets continued and never goes to court, eventually getting dismissed. It was something short of probation—used frequently for first-time offenders.
“When was this?”
“A while ago.”
“What does that mean, a while ago?”
“I don’t know, maybe 15 years.”
“So she was young and stupid. And she hasn’t done anything since.”
“I have my marching orders,” he said. “You’ve got your arguments. Take your best shot.”
“Ray, why can’t we work something out?”
“This is a big case. I don’t have a lot of room to move.”
“My client is not one of those lowlifes you run across all the time in your cases.”
He did a double take. “Oh? So, because your client isn’t poor and black, she should get a free ticket out of the slammer?”
“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it. There’s no reason to be inflexible on this.”
“You don’t appreciate what I’m dealing with.” He glared at me. “I’ve got three sets of cops telling me what’s what, and my own boss is walking on eggshells to keep everyone happy. This is hot stuff.”
“Maybe you should recuse yourself?”
He laughed. “On what grounds? Certainly, we’re not going to bring up certain, uh, things we’ve done recently?”
“Of course not.” I waved the thought away in irritation. “I don’t know. There must be something.”
“I’m sorry, but even if there were grounds, this case is dynamite. This is a real step up for me.”
“What do you care?” I shot him an accusing look. “I thought you wanted to leave the state’s attorney.”
“Well, sure,” he said. “But not right away.”
“Face it, Ray, you’re not going anywhere.” My words flowed, fast and furious. “You’re not leaving the state’s attorney. You’re not leaving—” I managed to stop myself in time. My hand felt cramped. I realized I was clutching a pen. It was a miracle it hadn’t snapped in half.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about your job. You’re not leaving the safety of your job.” I wasn’t talking about that. From the look on his face, he knew it. I squeezed my temples with one hand, trying to work out the tension. “This has been a rough few days,” I said.
“I know.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lose my temper.”
He nodded.
“I guess we’ll just have to play this out in court.”
Ray gestured toward the door. “I’ve got some stuff for you in the car. Paperwork ...”
“OK.”
We walked out together. He handed me the information.
“I’m sorry, too,” he said.
“It’s your job.”
“Right.”
“OK then. See you tomorrow.”
“See you.”
For a moment, we looked at each other. Any other time, we might have embraced. Not this time.
I walked away, willing myself not to look back. The sound of his car door slamming was like that of the lid closing on a casket.
Chapter FIFTEEN
––––––––
The next day, Melanie’s bail was set at fifty thousand dollars.
The feds continued their questioning marathon. During a break, I checked my messages. Donna had called to ask how things were going. I called her back.
I gave my name to whoever answered the phone. After a pause, Donna came on.
“Talk to me, Sam,” she said.
“Her bail is fifty grand.”
I heard a quick intake of breath at the other end.
“A bail bondsman will cost ten percent up front,” I said.
“I’ve got it.”
“You’re going to pay the bondsman?”
“I have the money.”
“That’s nice,” I said, for lack of anything better. The lawsuit against the bank was in the back of my mind. The case was already about as crazy as a quacking cow. Now a codefendant in a related case was bailing out my client.
As if she’d read my mind, Donna said, “I assume you know the bank’s been sued.”
“Yes, we know.”
“We’re both on unpaid leave until things are worked out. We could lose our jobs.” She heaved a sigh. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think Melanie was involved. How’s she doing, by the way?”
“Not bad, all things considered. How soon can you get here?” I wanted to get Melanie out as quickly as possible. There were too many cops and complications to waste time.
“I can leave right now.”
“I appreciate what you’re doing. I’m sure Melanie will, too.”
“Believe me, Sam, I want to do this,” she said. Her voice sounded strained. “I don’t want her to be hurt.”
I didn’t say anything. I wondered if hurt might be unavoidable.
φ φ φ
Donna hung around until Melanie’s release. The two hugged.
“I was thinking,” Donna said to Melanie, “You’ll need a place to stay.”
“Your apartment is a mess,” I said.
Melanie nodded. “I’m scared to go there anyway.”
“I realize it might not be ... a good idea to stay with me,” Donna said. “I was thinking I could
pay for a motel, for a couple of days, until you can arrange something.”
“I don’t want to be a burden,” Melanie said, her eyes downcast.
“It’s not a burden, really.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“I don’t mind—”
“No,” Melanie said. “I’ll do it.”
“OK.” Donna tried to catch Melanie’s eye. Melanie kept looking at the floor. “Will you tell your parents?”
Melanie shrugged.
“Well,” Donna said. “I can’t tell you what to do.”
“Greyhound still has your clothes,” I said to Melanie. “I can give you a ride.”
“Thanks.”
After a round of awkward good byes, I drove Melanie to the Silver Spring Greyhound bus depot to pick up her bag. It was a coin toss, as far as whether my office or apartment was safer. I chose my apartment, only because I wouldn’t have to answer Sheila’s well-intentioned, but probing, questions.
Melanie flipped through the motel section of my Yellow Pages. I got on the computer and searched online.
“How many days you figure?” I asked.
“Just one night. Maybe two,” she said. “Maybe I can set something up with a friend after that. Motels cost bucks.”
“Why didn’t you take Donna up on her offer?”
She shook her head. “I have to stop depending on her and other people. She’s done too much already, getting me my job, sticking up for me when I wasn’t around. I have to take some responsibility here.”
“Which reminds me, you never mentioned your previous arrest.”
Melanie looked up from the book. “That thing in Florida. Jeez ... I’d forgotten.”
“You forgot you were arrested?”
“It was a long time ago. They dropped the charges.”
“So Donna must have pulled some strings—so you could get your job.”
“Yeah, she did.” Melanie sighed. “Jesus, she must hate me.”
“Anything but.” I scrolled through a list of places. Everything was expensive.
“She gets me a job, and I get her fired,” Melanie said.
