Every Reasonable Doubt

by Pamela Samuels Young

  “Jefferson, I might not even have a case. Tina Montgomery was just brought in for questioning. She hasn’t even been charged with anything.”

  He was sitting on the edge of the bed now, looking up at me. “Okay, I’m willing to compromise with you,” he said, his tone much more conciliatory. “If she isn’t charged and the case goes away, promise me we can start working on having a baby right away.”

  Whoooaaa. With my luck, they would find another suspect tomorrow. I took way too long to respond.

  Jefferson started chewing on his lower lip. “I thought the reason you left Brandon & Bass was so you could have a life. We don’t see each other any more now than we did when you were working there.” Disappointment had replaced his anger. “You just finished one trial and now you’re about to be back working every second of the day on another one.”

  I didn’t want to deal with this right now. “Jefferson, I don’t need you jumping all over me about my job, okay? We had time for each other during the Hayes trial and if there’s another trial, I’ll have time for you again. Damn, sometimes you need more attention than a five-year-old.”

  Hurt blanketed his face and I wished I could have snatched my words back.

  Jefferson opened his mouth to speak, then apparently changed his mind and stormed into the den.

  I had not figured out what excuse I planned to use for not being able to hang around for dinner. All I knew was that it wouldn’t involve the Montgomery case.

  I slipped into my new Apple Bottom jeans, put on my lipstick, and strapped on a pair of sandals. I walked into the kitchen and slung my purse over my shoulder.

  “Where’re you going? Back to the office, your real home?” he sniped.

  I was not going to let him bait me into an argument. “Nope,” I said, stopping to browse through the mail, my voice still pleasant. “I have a few errands to run.”

  Jefferson joined me in the kitchen. I refused to look at him though I could feel him staring me down. I didn’t need to see his eyes to know he knew I was lying.

  “I’ll try not to be too late,” I said. “Don’t worry about waiting up for me.”

  CHAPTER 13

  When I got to Neddy’s place forty minutes later, I walked into a living room that was wall-to-wall paper.

  “How many investigators did it take to dig up all this stuff?” I asked, as she cleared a place for me to join her on the floor.

  “Just one,” she said. “Detective Danny Smith. And they don’t come any better. He was an L.A.P.D. detective for several years, then headed up the team of investigators at the P.D.’s office. He opened up his own private firm, Smith Investigations, two years ago.”

  “What’s all this stuff?” I crouched down on the floor next to her.

  “Most of these documents are from Max Montgomery’s home office. I was hoping I’d run across something significant. But so far, no luck.”

  The comfy feel of her condo surprised me. It was small, but homey. Lots of floral prints, light curtains and soft beige walls. A balcony off the living room provided a view of the ocean as well as a cool breeze. I looked around for a photograph of her son, but didn’t see one.

  She handed me one of Detective Smith’s reports.

  “Looks like our girl stands to get quite a bit of cash when her husband’s estate is finally settled. His investment banking firm will get even more.”

  I scanned the document. “Dang! She’s getting eight million dollars?”

  “And everything he owned. Keep reading,” Neddy said.

  I skipped ahead to the next page. “And the firm’s getting thirty-five million? Isn’t that a bit much?”

  “No, not really. He was the mastermind behind two very successful companies. But your reaction would be the same as the typical juror’s. They’ll assume both the firm and Tina had a reason to want him dead.”

  I was sitting Indian style, resting my back against the couch. I was glad I wore jeans. “But money couldn’t have been the motive,” I said. “Tina was already rich. She had everything she could’ve wanted.”

  “Except a faithful husband. Check out this report.” Neddy handed me a thick document. “Mr. Max really liked to spread himself around.”

  I quickly read the first few pages. According to the report, Max had been sharing himself with six different women. Two in L.A., one in New York, two in D.C., and one in Paris. He apparently had no particular racial preference. Based on the photographs of the women attached to the back of the report, the only trait they seemed to share were unusually large bazoongas.

  “My God, how did the man have time to conduct any business?”

  “You tell me,” Neddy said wide eyed. “That report only covers the last six months. Detective Smith is still researching his affairs prior to that time.”

  “He was fifty-two years old,” I said. “What the hell was he like in his twenties? I swear he must’ve had a Duracell strapped to his pecker.”

  Neddy laughed. “A DieHard is more like it. According to Detective Smith, he wasn’t even taking Viagra. When Tina said her husband had a sexual addiction, I figured she was just making up an excuse for his infidelity. But this boy had it bad. He could have been on the Jerry Springer Show I was watching last night.”

  My eyebrows kneaded together in surprise. “So you watch Springer? That’s some interesting information to have in my little back pocket.”

  She laughed again.

  I couldn’t believe we were actually having a civil conversation. I watched as Neddy organized the stacks of paper in front of her. She seemed relaxed, happy even. Dressed in gray sweatpants and a powder-blue tank top, she looked like a different person. With a little makeup, she’d be a fairly nice-looking woman. Maybe we should have all of our meetings at her house. I began to feel optimistic that things might finally gel between us.

  “Here’s where we begin.” She handed me a folder. “Our client says she didn’t do it, so we operate on the assumption that she didn’t. Which means we have to poke holes in any evidence that points to her guilt. And assuming we can, we need to find somebody else to point the finger at.”

  “What about his business partners? Maybe somebody wanted to get their hands on that thirty-five mil,” I surmised.

  “Detective Smith’s already checked that out. Max’s firm was doing great financially. It’s also not unusual to have that much insurance on a top executive. As far as his business dealings, Max was on the up-and-up. Very ethical, as Tina told us.”

  I scanned the documents in the folder she handed me. It contained a copy of Max’s personal calendar for the last two years. “So, we’re starting with his mistresses?” I asked.

  “Yep. Detective Smith knows an investigator in the DA’s office who has some pretty loose lips. Based on the crime scene investigator’s report, they believe the killer was most likely a woman, who was no taller than 5’5”. The investigator reached that conclusion based on the size-six footprints in the hotel room and the angle and force of the wounds to Max’s chest. So it makes sense for us to start with the women in Mr. Max’s harem. We can eliminate those with airtight alibis and big feet.”

  “What do you consider an airtight alibi?” I set the folder aside and went back to reading the report listing Max’s mistresses.

  “Anyone who has an unbiased witness who can attest to her whereabouts on the night he was killed drops off the list. For example, the woman he was seeing in New York was running a marathon in Hawaii on that day and has the photographs, the registration form, and the stub from her airplane boarding pass to prove it.”

  “This is really different from what we have to do in a discrimination case,” I said, definitely intrigued. “We rarely have to do much digging outside of reviewing a personnel file and interviewing a few employees.”

  “This is the part I like most.” Neddy looked over at me and actually smiled. “It’s like piecing a puzzle together. Just call me Angela Lansbury.”

  “So what happened down at the police station las
t night?” I asked.

  “They were definitely on a fishing expedition. I think they were trying to scare her, but she held up pretty well. They don’t have anything on her yet, but they’re looking for it. Hard.”

  I was still itching to know what Neddy really thought about Tina’s guilt. But after that tongue-lashing the other day outside Tina’s house, I was hesitant about broaching the subject again. Since she seemed to be in such a good mood, my curiosity forced me to test the waters.

  “I know you told me you don’t rely much on your gut,” I said cautiously, “but I have to know. Do you think Tina killed him?”

  This time Neddy didn’t get upset. She paused a long time before responding to my question. “No,” she said succinctly.

  “Really?” I said. “What makes you think she’s innocent?”

  “First, she was madly in love with the man. You can see that in her eyes. He cheated on her for years and she never left. It wasn’t because of the money. She stayed because her heart wouldn’t let her leave.”

  “But wait a minute. A lot of women who profess to love their husbands end up killing them.”

  Neddy unfolded her legs and stretched out her arms. “But not women like Tina. Her whole life was about appearances. Joining the right clubs, helping the right charities, hosting the perfect dinner parties. I just don’t believe a woman who spends her whole life pretending, suddenly snaps like that and kills her husband. Tina could’ve continued her charade for another fifty years.”

  “Well, I think she did snap,” I said. “And right now, she’s just going along with the act, pretending it never happened. Her being at the hotel is no coincidence.”

  “A coincidence isn’t evidence of murder,” Neddy said.

  “But there’re too many of them,” I insisted. “That article in the Times claimed a hotel waiter supposedly saw a woman of Tina’s height and complexion going into Max’s room around the time he was killed,” I pointed out. “The woman was wearing a black dress and so was Tina. A woman reserved the hotel room and gave Max’s personal credit card number. Tina would have had access to it. And then there’s the size-six footprints, which just happen to match Tina’s shoe size.”

  Neddy rubbed her forehead. “The stuff about that waiter concerns me, but I learned a long time ago, you can’t always believe everything you read in the newspapers. And there’s no telling how many women in black dresses and size six shoes were in that hotel that night.”

  “Okay, but you have to admit that Max’s affairs definitely supply the motive.”

  “Yeah, but he’d been screwing around for years.” She grabbed a stack of papers and flipped through them. “Tina had accepted her husband’s behavior as a way of life, like a lot of women do. His affairs aren’t enough to convince me. I need to see something more concrete to link her to his murder.”

  She was the criminal defense attorney, so I guess I had to defer to her judgment. I stood up to stretch. “Any idea who’ll be prosecuting this case if Tina’s charged.”

  “The word is Julie Killabrew wants it bad.”

  “You know anything about her?”

  She took a deep breath. “Regrettably, yes. She’s affectionately referred to as J-Killer by her closest friends and she’s the most ambitious, conniving, self-centered excuse for a human being I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing.”

  “Sounds like you two have quite a history?”

  “Yeah, we do. But don’t worry, in a matter of weeks you’ll be hating her as much as I do. Every case for Julie is personal. A loss is unacceptable.” Neddy repositioned herself on the floor. “Fortunately or unfortunately for me, I’m 4-0 against her. And she hates our firm.”

  “The firm? Why?”

  “She used to date O’Reilly. I think it might’ve had something to do with him dumping her for a cute, mild-mannered Barbie-type.”

  Most of the women I’ve seen O’Reilly with were straight-up bimbettes I couldn’t imagine him with a woman like the one Neddy was describing. “How’d he end up with her?”

  “Beats me,” Neddy said nonchalantly. “But that’s obviously why it didn’t last. Julie’s supersmart and has quite an imposing presence. She’s almost as tall as he is. They made a very striking couple when they entered a room together.”

  “But why take her hatred for him out on the firm?”

  “A victory against our firm is a victory over O’Reilly. And I told you, every loss for Julie is personal. She’d probably like to see the firm fold. As my Daddy used to say, she’s a real piece of work. So just get ready.”

  Neddy got up and walked into the kitchen and peered into her refrigerator. “I wish I could offer you something to eat,” she said apologetically, “but going to the grocery store is not something I tend to do on a regular basis.”

  I rose and took a seat at the small counter that divided Neddy’s kitchen and living room. “Do you think whoever murdered him set up the tryst and intentionally lured him to the hotel room to kill him?” I asked.

  “I have no idea,” she said. “The champagne, the rose petals, and the teddy definitely suggest that he was waiting for someone. The police believe someone else set up the room. But we don’t know for sure that Max didn’t make all those arrangements himself. According to some of the women Detective Smith interviewed, he was quite romantic when he wanted to be. And with as many women as he was seeing, the odds are there had to be at least one fatal attraction in the bunch.”

  “Maybe he was rendezvousing with one woman and got busted by another?”

  “That’s certainly a possibility.”

  “Can’t the hotel tell us when someone entered his room? I thought those plastic room keys were linked to a computer that tracks every time a door is opened?”

  “They are. But as luck would have it, the hotel’s computer system had been on the blink for two days. The Ritz Carlton has no record of when anyone entered or left the room. All they know is Max checked into the hotel just after six.”

  I was really enjoying this exchange. O’Reilly was apparently right. There was a real person hiding underneath Neddy’s thick skin.

  “Oh yeah,” she continued, “the steak knife that killed Max, which had been wiped clean of fingerprints, was traced back to the hotel kitchen. The main course at the Crystal Stairs fundraiser was chicken, so there was no need for any steak knives. And Tina never had a reason to go into the kitchen.”

  “But she’d stayed there the night before,” I reminded her. “She could’ve ordered steak and got the knife then.”

  “Good point.” Neddy reached for a legal pad and scribbled down some quick notes. “I better have Detective Smith see if he can get a copy of her hotel bill and find out what she ordered for dinner. Let’s pray she didn’t have steak.”

  I was mulling over everything we had just discussed. “If she’s charged, do you think we can get her off?” I felt like a first-year law student. This criminal stuff was a whole different ball game.

  “Of course,” Neddy said, not even taking time to consider my question.

  “You sound awful confident.”

  “They call it reasonable doubt. All we need is some police screwup, some key witness who lacks credibility, or an empty chair to point the finger at. We only have to get one ‘not guilty’ vote,” she said, raising her right index finger. “I’d love an acquittal, but a hung jury will suit me—and I’m sure Tina, too—just fine.”

  Her confidence was contagious. “You seem really psyched about this case,” I said.

  “I guess I am. I haven’t had a case this juicy in a while and I really need something to take my mind off my personal troubles.” She paused as if embarrassed to have admitted that she had any problems.

  I glanced down and pretended to be reading one of the reports. “You don’t feel weird knowing that it’s possible we could be helping a murderer go free?”

  She paused, but not long. “I learned a long time ago that it’s not my place to judge my clients. God’ll do that. My jo
b is to make sure Tina Montgomery has the best legal defense possible. And as far as I’m concerned, she does.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Two days later, I was reluctantly sitting in the waiting room of my OB/GYN’s office holding, but not actually reading, a copy of Modern Motherhood, doing what I had to do. My husband, seated next to me, had been smiling like one of those bright yellow happy faces since we left the house. The last time I remembered seeing him this excited was right after we had sex for the first time.

  My own lie had landed me here. Jefferson had been pretty hot when I’d returned home at close to eleven o’clock from my meeting at Neddy’s place. After two days of his foul mood, telling him I was going to make an appointment with my gynecologist to discuss getting off the pill was the only thing I could think of to make him smile again.

  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, however, Jefferson offered to make the appointment for me, then proudly announced that he planned to tag along. To my dismay, Dr. Bell, my longtime gynecologist, was able to squeeze me in that afternoon.

  A nurse showed us into a small office with bright pink and blue walls and told us that Dr. Bell would be with us shortly. A huge poster board behind her desk caught my attention. It contained a collage of pictures of dozens of infants, presumably ones Dr. Bell had delivered. The tiny smattering of faces, most just a few minutes old, stirred something inside me.

  Jefferson reached for my hand.

  “We’re going to have my son’s picture up there pretty soon,” he said proudly, pointing at the poster board.

  “Who said we’re having a boy?”

  “I did,” he declared.

  “And what if we have a girl?”

  “I’ll love little Jefferina to death, but we’ll just have to keep on trying till Jefferson, Jr. gets here.”

  “Jefferina? There’s no way in hell I’m sticking my daughter with a name like that,” I laughed. “And what’s this big power trip men have about naming their offspring after them? Isn’t it enough that the child gets your last name?”