“Objection, Your Honor, vague.”
“Sustained.” Judge Husk rolled his eyes. “Get to the point, counsel.”
“You agree that other people were injured the night that Joshua Krane died, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Krane was killed, true?”
“That’s what I said and that’s what happened.” Agent Vatch’s harder edges started to reveal themselves.
“My client, Michael Collins, was also shot that night, correct?”
Agent Vatch looked at Michael Collins.
“That’s right.”
“And Michael Collins could have died?”
“Yes,” Vatch said. “But that doesn’t mean —”
Quentin cut him off. “Thank you, Agent Vatch, that answers my question. And then there was a chase?”
“Yes.”
“You and Agent Pastoura were in a car, and Agent Pastoura got out of the car to chase the shooter.”
Agent Vatch didn’t respond.
“Can you answer the question, Agent Vatch? Did Agent Pastoura get out of the car and chase the shooter?”
Agent Vatch nodded his head. “Yes, but I don’t see the relevance.”
Gadd rose to her feet again. “And neither do I, Your Honor. I object as to relevance.”
Quentin looked at the jury and shook his head, and then turned back to the judge. “It shows bias, Your Honor. Agent Vatch’s assessment and investigation of my client has been clouded by his own personal involvement with what happened that night.”
Judge Husk closed his eyes, thinking.
“I’ll overrule the objection, but you need to get to the heart of it, Mr. Robinson.”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Quentin turned back to Vatch. “There was no time to get you out of the car and into your wheelchair, correct? And so she ran after the shooter by herself, true?”
“Yes.” Vatch’s jaw stiffened.
“Then she was tragically killed in a shootout with this assailant, and you blame yourself?”
Agent Vatch stared at Quentin, locking eyes.
“Of course,” he said. “But the more —”
“That answers my question,” Quentin said. “And so you’ve spent years tracking down, Michael Collins, true?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve worked on this case in the evenings and on the weekends, despite orders from supervisors to back off?”
“I’ve worked evenings and weekends,” Vatch said. “And supervisors had wanted me to work on other investigations, but this was my case.”
“Of course, it was your case. It wasn’t the government’s case. It was your case, personally, because you blamed yourself for Agent Pastoura’s death.”
Gadd was back on her feet.
“Objection, Your Honor.”
“Sustained.” Judge Husk bit his lower lip. “Next question.”
“You’ve gathered all these documents, but there are still more documents out there, correct?”
Vatch wasn’t sure how to respond. He hesitated, and that was all Quentin wanted. Michael felt the seed of doubt had been planted.
A moment too late, Vatch responded, “We’ve disclosed what we’re required to disclose. We’ve disclosed all the documents that we have that are relevant and material.”
“Required? Relevant? Material?” Quentin shook his head, and then continued. “You’ve buried us with a mountain of paper, but as you sit here today, there are more reports, bank accounts, and other information that have not been offered into evidence by Ms. Gadd and the government, true?”
“I guess I don’t understand.”
“There are documents that you’ve produced to me, as part of discovery, but have not shown the jury, correct?”
Vatch looked at Gadd, hoping for a lifeline. None came, and so Vatch turned back to Quentin.
“I guess that’s right.”
“You guess,” Quentin confirmed. “Exactly. You guess. You’ve shown the jury only things that you think are required and you believe are material. But that means there might be a lot of information I think is required and I believe is material. True?”
“Objection.” Gadd was on her feet.
Quentin Robinson waved her off.
“The question’s withdrawn, Your Honor. I’m done with this witness.”
CHAPTER SIXTY SEVEN
The ride back to the MDC was not a happy one. Michael tried to adjust his position. He tried to get comfortable, but the seats in the U.S. Marshal’s transport van were stiff and unforgiving.
There were four other men riding with him. Their street clothes were in storage for the night. All of them were back in their prison jumpsuits. Their hands and legs were cuffed. This was what innocent until proven guilty looks like, thought Michael.
He stared out the tinted window. Michael forced himself to look at the people and the places. He had to pay attention and remember it all, because it was likely that there wouldn’t be too many more opportunities to see the outside world again.
Quentin had done his job. He had planted a seed of doubt, which was all that Michael had asked of him. But Michael knew that Quentin’s cross-examination was not enough to overcome the evidence. When the trial ended and the jury went into deliberations, the first thing that they would do after selecting a foreperson was review the exhibits, one by one.
Jurors didn’t trust lawyers. When cases got complicated or legal arguments got confusing, the only thing that a jury trusted was paper. As Judge Husk had said, “the documents speak for themselves.” And in Michael’s case, the documents all said the same thing: He was guilty.
He needed the documents to say something else, and, for that, he had to trust Andie and Kermit.
CHAPTER SIXTY EIGHT
Brea arrived about an hour late. The Bowery was one of the latest boutique hotels to open in a formerly crime ridden and depressed area of New York City. It was a twelve-story, red-brick building surrounded by slightly smaller buildings in various states of gentrification on the edge of the East Village.
Brea walked through the crowded lobby, which looked somewhat like a rich, eccentric grandmother’s parlor, past the reception desk, to the elevator.
She rode to the top floor and got out.
The hotel room door was open, and so she went inside.
“Hello?” Brea unbuttoned her jacket, and poked her head around the entryway. “Tad, where are you?”
The lights were dim. Candles were burning, and champagne was chilling in a bucket of ice on the dining room table. Brea smiled, picked up the bottle, and popped it open. The cork hit the ceiling, and she quickly picked up a champagne flute to catch the bubbles.
Giggling, Brea called out to Garvin, again.
“Tad, should I pour you a glass?”
Brea took a sip, walked back to the bedroom, and saw the French doors to the balcony were open. Tad Garvin sat in a chair, reviewing a contract and squeezing in a few more billable hours before bed.
“Nice place.” Brea walked through the bedroom and out onto the balcony.
Tad finished marking the document, set his pen down, and turned to her.
“The owner of this place is a client,” he smiled. “I was a little surprised by your call.”
Brea came to him, and kissed Tad on the head. “Just wanted to see you tonight. That’s all.”
“Well, I’m glad I could break away.” He put the papers and pen down, and then motioned for Brea to come sit on his lap. He knew that Brea Krane was going to ask him to do something. That was just how it worked, but he appreciated the fact that Brea would wait. It made their relationship seem less unseemly.
“Told the wife I had to leave a day early for this conference in Boston, making a presentation.”
“Bet she was heartbroken.”
Garvin laughed as Brea walked over and sat down. She put an arm around him, and took a sip of champagne.
“So what’s the emergency?” Garvin asked.
Brea shrugged, playing coy.
“Just a little lonely.” Her hand edged up Tad Garvin’s thigh.
Garvin felt a rush. Usually Brea made him work harder for it. He thought that he’d have to spend at least a couple hundred dollars on a dinner first.
Brea had other plans.
###
Having sex with a doughy, middle-aged lawyer was not what Brea wanted to do, but it was a sacrifice that she was willing to make. For the money in Michael Collins’ accounts, she allowed Garvin to paw at her for about nine minutes, thrust for five, and then finish with a grunt.
She watched him as he got up out of the bed and walk to the bathroom. It was what she had expected, automatic. Every time that they had sex — which, mercifully, was not very often — Garvin would immediately go to the bathroom and take a shower. Perhaps he didn’t like sweat. Perhaps he was trying to rid himself of DNA evidence related to his extramarital affair. Perhaps it was psychological. Regardless, it was something Brea had anticipated.
She feigned sleep when Tad Garvin emerged from the bathroom in a white terrycloth robe. He removed the robe and got back into bed. He kissed Brea on the cheek, and she pretended that he woke her up.
“Hey.” Brea’s voice was soft. “What time is your flight tomorrow?”
“Early,” Garvin said. “Probably be gone by the time you get up.”
“And you’ll be gone for two days?”
Garvin nodded.
“You could come and visit me, if you want.”
Brea smiled. She rolled over, and pressed her naked body against him.
“I’ll think about it,” she lied.
He kissed her, and Brea decided that now was the time to make the ask that they both knew was coming.
“Have you ever established any new trusts in the Cook Islands?” Brea smiled.
“No.” Tad Garvin shook his head. “But I can learn.”
Brea giggled.
“I bet you can.” She lifted the sheet over them, crawled underneath and sealed the deal.
CHAPTER SIXTY NINE
It was late. Kermit Guillardo knew that he couldn’t delay. He knew what he had to do.
Kermit stood naked. Candles, big and small, covered every open surface of the small bathroom. Incense burned. Marijuana was smoked, and “I Will Always Love You” as sung by Whitney Houston blasted from his mini JamBox.
Kermit sang along with the Diva Whitney, hitting and holding the high notes until his breath ran out. He turned the electric razor on, and he felt the surge as the subatomic particles of the room blended into one cosmic ball of energy.
Nothing was solid. Nothing was separate, undivided. They were all connected. The world was chaos, and in the end, what was hair? He wasn’t a man. He wasn’t Kermit Guillardo, and he certainly was not a beard or dreadlocks. He was an aberration of interconnected nanocompounds, which could mutate and reform.
Kermit ran the razor across his cheek. The blades caught in the knots a few times, but within a few minutes the beard was gone. Then he picked up a scissors and began to cut off his dreadlocks, one by one the bosons fell away.
He held them in his hands.
“I will always love you.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY
Tad Garvin was gone before Brea woke up in the morning. Brea, then, rolled over. She got out of bed and picked up the silk robe that was draped over the arm of a nearby chair. Brea put on the robe, and then went to her bag and opened it.
She removed a thin laptop from the bag, set it on an ornate Cherrywood desk, opened the screen, and turned it on. It took a moment to connect, but she was patient.
Brea went to the website for Capital Asset Security Bank in the Cook Islands. She clicked the “online banking” tab at the top of the page, and then entered the information about Michael Collins’ first account.
The screen flashed, and the password was accepted.
Brea reviewed the account information. She smiled at the balance remaining. She had complete access. She pressed another button and changed the password and security settings to something that only she would know. Then she checked the second and third accounts, and Brea did the same.
It would take Tad Garvin a few days to set up a different series of trusts and accounts in the Cook Islands. Once the money was transferred, that’s when Brea would be content. In the meantime, hopefully the new passwords would be enough to keep Michael Collins and Andie Larone from accessing the accounts and taking the money back.
She logged off, and went to her purse. Brea removed the disposable cell phone that was her connection to Andie Larone. She pried off the cheap phone’s plastic back, removed the SD card, and then broke the small blue card in half. She put the remnants of the broken SD card in her purse, and then tossed the rest of the phone in the garbage.
As soon as she found a garbage can on the street, the SD card would be gone as well. And when Andie called to discuss her testimony later that day, nobody would answer.
CHAPTER SEVENTY ONE
Before trial resumed for the third day of testimony, Quentin looked over at United States Attorney Brenda Gadd. She was shuffling through a stack of paper, preparing for her next witness.
“How many do you think you’ll get through today?” Quentin asked as he glanced at the door where Judge Husk would slowly emerge at any moment.
Gadd looked up and over, also glancing at the door. “Probably three, the main forensic accountant and a couple of bank people.”
“And then?”
Gadd shrugged.
“Depends. Probably another investigator and then the daughter.”
Quentin looked at Michael, and then back at Gadd. “Any further disclosures you need to make?” Quentin asked the question largely to pacify Michael. Every break they took, Michael wad pushed Quentin to be tougher on Gadd and make it clear that they needed every document. Quentin figured that it might shut Michael up, if Michael actually heard the exchange.
Gadd smirked, puzzled by the question.
“Not that I’m aware of.” She looked down at her sheet of paper, jotted a note, and then looked back up. “Is there something in particular? I could ask for it.”
“No.” Quentin shook his head. “Only making sure I’ve got everything.”
###
The accountant tried to make his work sound exciting. His testimony, however, was just a more detailed summary of the general testimony Agent Vatch had provided on the first days of trial. The accountant explained the delay in obtaining records from foreign banks. Then he traced the money from six accounts and ultimately to Michael Collins’ purchase of the Sunset Resort and Hostel.
Of all the decisions that Michael had made over the past five years, that was likely his biggest mistake. Purchasing the resort when Andie was in financial trouble was the key link to him. It cost Michael his relationship with Andie, which had never fully recovered, and now it may cost him his life.
After the prosecution ended its direct examination, Judge Husk called a mid-morning break. Quentin requested that the marshals escort Michael to a meeting in the small conference room. They didn’t really have anything to talk about, but Michael preferred the conference room to the windowless holding area in the courthouse basement.
CHAPTER SEVENTY TWO
Brea Krane was never aware of their actual plans. That was by design. She was a very expensive backup plan. She had merely agreed to “do or say whatever they wanted” in exchange for the money. The details were supposed to be worked out later.
But now, Andie’s phone calls to Brea Krane had not been returned. Andie had left a dozen messages, but Andie knew that Brea Krane was never going to answer. She wasn’t surprised. Michael had warned Andie all along, but the sudden silence made it real. It increased the pressure. They would only have one chance.
Andie waited in the living room.
“You’re going to have to come down at some point.”
“No,” Kermit whimpered. He peeked around the corner at the top of the stairs. “You’re going to laugh at me.�
�
“I’m not going to laugh.” Andie got up from the couch and put her hands on her hips. She had tried being gentle for the past half-hour, but now they needed to go.
“We have work to do this morning.” She looked at the clock. “And we don’t have much time.”
“Time is all relative. Time is simply a human framework to make life more …” Kermit’s voice trailed off, faltering. His heart wasn’t into it and he wondered if his power of speculative philosophy would ever return.
Andie, however, wasn’t going to let him off.
“Time is very real and I know we don’t have much of it left. All we know is that Tad Garvin is on the panel from 10:30 to 11:30 today. That’s our best time to do this. It’s an hour when we know Tad Garvin is going to be unavailable for phone calls. Hopefully he won’t be checking his messages in the middle of his speech,” Andie’s voice rose. She started to panic.
“I don’t know,” Kermit sounded weak. “Maybe you should do it by yourself.”
Andie shook her head.
“That’s not the plan.” She walked over to the bottom of the steps. “You told me that you would do anything for Michael. Well, this falls into that broad category.”
There was another moan from upstairs, and then nothing.
Andie wondered whether she could actually execute the plan alone. Then Andie heard a creak on the top step, and then another. She was afraid to look. Andie was worried that eye contact with Kermit would scare him back to his room. He was a feral cat.
Andie kept her eyes averted until Kermit had come all the way down the stairs. Then she looked at him. She was careful to keep her expression neutral, but it was hard to withhold comment or to prevent her jaw from dropping.
Kermit Guillardo was unrecognizable.
His hair was gone. He was bald. Kermit’s ratted beard was shaved, and Andie saw, for the first time, Kermit’s chiseled features and strong chin. He was almost handsome.
Kermit’s baggy clothes and tie-dye T-shirts were replaced by a navy blue suit, a dark green and blue bow tie, and a pair of calfskin, Cole Haan wingtips.
J.D. Trafford - Michael Collins 03 - No Time To Hide Page 19
