"From what you've told me, it sounds like self-defense. If you hadn’t fired the gun, he would have killed you. There is a thing in law called 'justifiable homicide.' I'll probably use that as your defense. Go on."
"I packed some clothes, got in my van, and headed towards Phoenix. I stopped at a rest area, placed the gun in a cardboard box, and put it in the trash. A little farther down the road I pulled off the highway and put on a burkha to disguise myself. I went to our bank, withdrew some money, and put the rest of it in an account I'd opened in the Cayman Islands. I abandoned the van in a Wal-Mart parking lot, called a cab, and went to the Sky Harbor airport in Phoenix. I saw on the monitor that there was a flight to France which was leaving soon. I'd read about Provence in a magazine and it seemed like the right place for me to go."
"I can only imagine how you must have felt. You poor thing! You must have been terrified."
"I was. I landed in Marseille and began reinventing myself. I went to a real estate agency and the realtor showed me a cottage in the village of St. Victor la Coste. A few months after I got there I began working as the luncheon chef for Henri Bendel, the owner of Henri’s Restaurant. I met Jordan there and we fell in love. I landed here yesterday and was arrested as soon as I cleared immigration. That's pretty much everything."
“Did you know that the Riverside DA is up for election and that he was really pressured to arrest you because of an article that was in some tabloid?”
“I think Jordan told me about it. I don’t quite understand the importance of it.”
“Well, the DA doesn’t want it to look like he’s not following the letter of the law by letting you go free. He has to look good to his constituents and arresting you for murder as soon as you returned to California is one way to do it. To change the subject, did you know about Jeffrey's manic-depressive medication?"
"I knew he took a pill daily for it and he told me it kept the highs and lows under control. In the last few months it seemed that he was exhibiting a lot of the symptoms associated with a manic-depressive condition. He would go for days without sleeping and then sleep for days. He often talked so fast I couldn't keep up with what he was saying. Certainly his personal grooming became non-existent towards the end. Why would that be in the file?"
"Evidently he’d stopped taking the drug prescribed by his doctor and made his own. The autopsy showed that Jeffrey was ingesting ingredients similar to those found in the drug his psychiatrist prescribed, but with one difference. He badly miscalculated one of the ingredients and from what the autopsy indicates, excessive amounts of that ingredient were found in his body. In such high doses, insanity is almost certain. Couple that with a manic-depressive condition that was not being treated properly and it’s no wonder he was acting like he did."
"Brian, I had no idea. I didn't know he was self-medicating. So tell me, where do we go from here?"
"You mentioned that the psychologist, Sean, who was at the Blue Coyote Motel that Memorial Day weekend, had given you his card. Do you still have it?"
"I don't know. I'll look for it if you think it's important. Why do you want it?"
"I'd like to talk to him. If we could get the other people who were there over the Memorial Day weekend to testify on your behalf during the trial, that would be a huge help, particularly if they thought Jeffrey appeared to be insane. It would help explain why you fired the gun. Can you think of anyone else who would have seen Jeffrey the last few months of his life and might testify on your behalf?"
"No. He never left the motel property and spent almost all of his time in the lab. I handled everything from buying supplies to banking. I don't think any of our guests, other than the six I mentioned, ever saw him."
"Maria, I know how hard things are right now. I'll meet you at the courthouse tomorrow. We're scheduled for a 9:00 a.m. hearing. I want you to plead not guilty. I truly believe you're not guilty and I think I can get you acquitted."
"Brian, there’s one other thing. Jordan talked to your friend Slade while I was being photographed and everything. Anyway, Slade told Jordan he'd made arrangements for me to be in isolation for a couple of weeks. What happens after that? I've heard so many stories about what happens to women in jail. After the gang-rape, I don't think I could survive something like that again. Can you help me?"
"Don't worry about it. I'll talk to Slade. He has a knack for pulling a rabbit out of a hat. This evening I want you to look for the psychologist’s card and if you can't find it, try and remember his last name. Bring it with you tomorrow. See you then and try and get a good night's sleep. Stay where you are. I'll let myself out.”
CHAPTER 15
Brian walked down the front steps of Jordan’s home and turned to his left, following the narrow sidewalk to the street. Beachfront property was very expensive in Southern California. In order to build as many homes as possible overlooking the beach, by necessity they were close together and built on narrow, deep lots. The house next door to Jordan’s was so close it blocked the setting sun.
As he opened his car door he noticed a silver Lexus pulling into the driveway behind Jordan’s house and realized it must be Maria’s fiancé.
"You must be Brian Meeks," Jordan said, putting out his hand as he got out of his car. "I'm Jordan Kramer. How did it go with Maria?"
"It's nice to meet you. I've heard good things about you from a number of people. Evidently you're a legend in the art theft world," Brian said, shaking Jordan's hand. "Maria told me everything that happened leading up to Jeffrey's death and following it."
"Thanks again for taking her case. Knowing Maria, there is no way she could murder someone. As you said, I don't know the details yet, but I've been around a lot of lawbreakers and Maria doesn’t fit the profile. If I can be of help, please call me. I know she's terrified about going to jail. Evidently Slade's the one who hired you and arranged for her to be in isolation for a few weeks. What happens after that? She's much too beautiful and sensitive to spend time in jail."
"I'll be honest. That worries me, too. I'm going to call Slade as soon as I get in my car and see if he can do something about keeping her in isolation. I'm good in front of the judge, but Slade has a long reach behind the bench. We'll do everything we can to make sure she'll be okay. Try not to worry."
"Thanks. I appreciate that. Well, nice meeting you. I better go see how she's doing."
* * * * *
Slade answered on the first ring. "Hi, Brian. How’d it go with Maria? Gonna be able to save what I unnerstan’ is a very nice ass?"
"I think she's going to make a very good impression on the jury. Have you met her?"
"Nah, ain't been that lucky, but I hear she's easy on the eyes."
"She's far more than easy on the eyes. No man can look at her and not get a hard-on. Yes, she’s more than easy on the eyes, but that's the problem."
"Whaddya mean? Thought bein' easy on the eyes was what every woman wanted? Guess I missed the memo on that. No wonder I've got ex-wives," he said, laughing.
"Slade, I know you've got ties to some people I don’t want to meet or defend, but you've got to figure out a way to keep her safe. She's going to be the cause of every wet dream in that jail starting tomorrow night. I met her fiancé or whatever he is, Jordan Kramer. He seems like a nice guy. He mentioned you'd arranged for her to be in isolation for a few weeks. What's going to happen after that?"
"I gotta lot of things in the works. Got a few chits I'm callin’ in. Things may work out for her. You never know."
"Slade, you know I don't take a case unless I think I can win it. Since you haven't met her, you probably don't know the whole story, do you?"
"Can't say’s I do. And I know ya’ took a gamble on this one fer’ me. Jes' want you to know I ‘ppreciates it," he said, taking a big slug out of his can of beer.
"She was gang-raped when she was twelve and she's prone to depression."
"Wha?" Slade said, spitting beer all over his desk. "She was gang-raped? At twelve? Jesus, I didn't kno
w that. Poor kid."
"You can imagine her state of mind. She's terrified. And I don't want a depressed client on the stand who's a bitch for the shot caller for some lesbian jail gang. I'm counting on you, Slade. Her arraignment's tomorrow. Talk to you in a few days."
CHAPTER 16
After Brian left, Maria stretched out on the couch, lost in thought. Although she'd liked Brian, he hadn't guaranteed her that she’d be acquitted. Realistically she knew he couldn't. She'd read how members of the public were often certain a jury would bring in a guilty or not guilty verdict and then when the foreman read the verdict, it was the complete opposite of what the public had thought would happen.
Jordan practically assured me I wouldn't be arrested if I came back to California and look what happened. Tomorrow night I'll be spending the first of many nights in jail. I can't even begin to tell Jordan how terrified I am.
Just then the door from the garage opened and Jordan walked in. "I didn't expect you to be back so soon. Did something happen at work?" she asked, swinging her legs off the couch and walking over to hug him.
"Yeah, you might say that. I've been suspended from the force and put on what is called ‘administrative leave.’ Guess I'm in a state of shock."
"My God, Jordan! Oh no! This is all because of me. I know it. You're one of the best detectives they have," she said, her voice tinged with surprise and fear.
Jordan walked over to the couch, sat down, and put his head in his hands. He was quiet for several moments. When he raised his head, she saw unshed tears shining in his eyes. "Yes, that's all true,” he said, his voice cracking. “It's about what happened in Provence. Chief Lewis, the police chief from Laguna Beach…"
"I remember his name, Jordan,” she interrupted as she began crying. “He's the one you were texting and calling when you were in Provence, the one who hired you to go there and solve the mystery of the art thefts that occurred in Laguna Beach. I can’t believe they’d do this to you. Tell me everything. This is so wrong.”
"That’s the one. He and Captain Raymond called me into his office a little while ago. They told me a Parisian art dealer had been making his annual trip to Provence looking for artwork for his gallery. He spotted California Impressionistic paintings in two of the galleries and thought that was odd."
Tears ran down Maria’s cheeks. She put her arms around him and hugged him, then sat back so he could continue. "Oh God, Jordan, did they find out you didn't tell them you'd located all of the paintings?"
"More or less. Anyway, the Parisian dealer called an Interpol investigator whose area is art. He told the Interpol guy about the pieces he'd seen and then the Interpol guy went to Provence. One of the galleries had a hidden security camera. He asked the owner if anyone had expressed interest in the painting and how he’d acquired it. He told them he’d bought it from a Frenchman who lived in the United States. He said that a couple of months ago an American had been interested in it and also wondered where it had come from. The owner of the gallery offered to give the videotape from the security camera to him. The Interpol investigator and I have met at several conferences over the years and he identified me as the American in the videotape. He took the videotape and showed it to the second gallery owner who confirmed that I was the one who had shown interest in the California painting he had in his gallery.
"To make a long story short, the Interpol man matched the paintings up with the stolen Laguna Beach paintings. He called Chief Lewis about it. After he talked to the Interpol guy, he realized I'd lied for some reason, and called Captain Raymond. They've turned the matter over to the Police Commission who will hold a hearing in a few weeks. They'll gather evidence and give it to the Commissioners who will decide whether or not I should be fired or reinstated. I’m now on what is called 'administrative leave,' another term for 'there's a damn good chance you'll be fired.' "
"Jordan, I’m so sorry," Maria said, putting her hands on either side of his face, and gently kissing his cheek. "If you hadn’t met me none of this would have happened. We talked about how your decision not to tell the Chief about the other paintings and the elderly Younts was a no-win situation, but I know you wouldn't have made that decision if you hadn’t sensed I wanted you to. Maybe it would have been better for both of us if we’d never met in Provence."
"Stop talking like that. You know what I'm really dreading, Maria? Having to call my dad and tell him. This will kill him. Of all the policemen who have been in our family, I'll be the first one to be fired. This is just great," he said, again covering his face with his hands. He gulped and continued, “It’s not as if we don't have enough problems with your arrest. My dad and I have never been close. Well, now he’s got a damned good reason."
She reached out and covered his hand with hers, gently stroking it. "You don’t need to tell him right now. There's a good chance you'll be reinstated and he'll never need to know. At least wait a little while. I wonder if Darya could help by testifying at the hearing or giving a statement."
"I don't think so. She'd have to explain why the little girls were in the barn and if she did that, she'd be incriminating herself. I don’t think the Police Commission cares too much about moral dilemmas. I think they're more about ‘did you uphold the sworn oath you took when you became a policeman?' ”
He removed her hand, stood up, and walked over to the stairs leading down to his office. “I've got to write a memo on the status of the cases I've been working on. Captain Raymond wants to have it tomorrow morning so he can assign my cases to the other detectives. It'll take me a couple of hours. Maybe this is a sign I'm supposed to devote myself to my art consulting business."
"Jordan, I'm the one to blame, but I want you to know I still believe you made the right decision. You made the decision because you believed those little girls in Kabul deserved better. I’m behind you 100 percent! When will you find out about the hearing?"
"They didn't say. The Police Commission meets monthly, but I don’t know whether or not my case will be on their agenda in January or February. They'll have to get in touch with me at some point because I have the right to be there and defend myself. See you later."
“Jordan, here’s the recording from my meeting with the attorney. You don’t need to listen to it now. You’ve got enough on your mind.”
Maria looked at him helplessly as he walked down the stairs. Madre de Dios. It would have been better for us if we’d both stayed in Provence. It couldn’t get much worse.
CHAPTER 17
“Hello, is this Luisa Ortega?”
“Yes.”
“Mrs. Ortega, my name is Daniel Lentz. I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m the reporter you called after your husband died. You may recall that Celebrity Spotlight, the paper I write for, did a big article on the mysterious death of Jeffrey Brooks who was shot and killed at a remote motel out in the California desert called the Blue Coyote Motel. After he was murdered his wife, Maria, disappeared and supposedly went to France and couldn’t be found. I wrote a story about your husband being murdered in the Amazon and the fact that you and he had stayed twice at the Blue Coyote Motel.
“You said you thought he died because of withdrawal symptoms from a drug he’d been taking, a drug that was given to him without his permission when he was at the Blue Coyote Motel. I also remember that you thought Maria Brooks should be found, arrested, and tried for murder. You asked me to give you a call if anything surfaced on Maria Brooks. Well, it has. I published an article a few days ago about her and her detective boyfriend, Jordan Mitchell. He convinced her to return to California and clear her name. I have a source and found out she was going to be arrested for her husband’s murder when she arrived at the airport in Los Angeles.”
“Of course I remember you,” the head of the Ortega Gold Mines said. Are you sure she’s returned and has she, in fact, been charged with murder?”
“Yes, I’m certain. She’s being arraigned tomorrow. I guess my article caused quite an uproar and the DA was forced to arres
t her, so my source says. I strongly hinted in the article that she was going to be arrested. Anyway, the DA is up for re-election and needs to look like he’s following the law. I seem to remember you said you’d be happy to pay me if I found out anything. Well, it looks like my article was responsible for her being arrested. I have some expenses like rent, etc. If I find out enough, I think I can publish a few more articles and perhaps link her to your husband’s death in the Amazon.”
“How much money are we talking about?” Luisa asked.
“I think $10,000, along with expenses, should be enough.”
“That’s fair. Send me a bill. I’ll expect frequent updates from you, say twice a week. Call me at this number. Get whatever you can on her. I want her to suffer as much as I have. My son doesn’t have a father because of her and her husband. I hope she’s convicted and sent to prison for the rest of her life.”
“I’ll start working on it right away. Anything else?”
“No, that’s it. I just want her to go prison. How about her boyfriend? Do you know anything about him?”
“The only thing I know is that they fell in love in Provence and he convinced her to return to California. Evidently she’s hired a top-notch attorney who seems to think he can get her off with a defense of ‘justifiable homicide.’ It’s going to be a very high profile case and I hear she has a lot of money. I also have one more tidbit for you. According to another source of mine, her boyfriend has been put on ‘administrative leave’ and the Police Commission is investigating his indiscretions with respect to the Provence case.”
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