Dreiser stood politely, looking almost as bedraggled as Elizabeth Decker. The woman was dressed in a pink sweater and black sweatpants, her hair uncombed and her eyes red and swollen.
Kennedy’s office was located on one of the four corners of the floor. Not only did his office have floor-to-ceiling windows, it was twice the size of Joanne’s. In one comer was a conference table and eight chairs. Kennedy’s secretary, Edith Mathews, a gracious woman with short red hair and a lovely oval face, entered the room carrying a tray with coffee and a bucket of ice filled with bottles of Evian water. Now that Joanne was present, Kennedy gestured for them all to take a seat at the conference table.
“Have the police been notified?” Joanne asked, scooting her chair closer to the table.
“Yes,” Kennedy said, turning his attention to Elizabeth. ‘Mrs. Decker, please tell Ms. Kuhlman about the phone call you received last night.”
Elizabeth spoke slowly as if she had to force each word out of her mouth. “I’m not certain of the time,” she said. “I had supper around six, then watched television. I don’t think I fell asleep, but I was resting on the sofa, so I might have dozed off for a few moments. My guess is the man called after seven o’clock. I know it was between seven and nine, because I called the police and my brother, Carl, a few minutes past nine.”
Elizabeth related the details of the phone conversation. “I tried to get the man to stay on the line,” she told them, her eyes roaming to each individual who was present at the table. “I told him the phone wasn’t tapped, but he hung up.” She stopped speaking, sitting there with a blank look on her face.
“Are you okay?” Joanne asked, pouring her a glass of water.
“Yes.” Elizabeth was now speaking in a monotone. “The police said my call wasn’t an emergency. An hour later, a sergeant called me and told me that there was a warrant issued for my son’s arrest. He said nothing else was necessary.” She stopped, then continued, “The sergeant did write down what the man on the phone told me. I think he said they would file what he referred to as an incident report. I tried to get them to send someone out to the field where the caller said my son was buried, but he refused to help me.”
“What about the storage lot at your business?”
Dreiser spoke up, “Elizabeth’s brother started taking an inventory of the cars on the lot last night. He finished about five o’clock this morning. Two vehicles are missing. One is a Chrysler Cirrus, and the other is a Ford Taurus. Both cars were involved in accidents and never claimed by the owners. They were preparing paperwork to auction them off in order to collect the towing and storage fees. Both vehicles have now been reported stolen.”
Joanne asked, “Why would they steal two cars?”
Elizabeth answered meekly, “I don’t know.”
“I’m sure the word is out on the street that your son is missing, Mrs. Decker,” Kennedy told her. “The call you received last night might have only been a prank.”
“My son is dead,” Elizabeth said, her chin thrust forward with dignity. “If he isn’t dead, he’s in terrible trouble.”
Joanne was seated next to Elizabeth and reached over and lightly touched her hand. “Try to remain positive,” Joanne said. “The fact that two cars are missing could be a good sign. I know you don’t want to believe your son was a willing participant in the robberies, but what this anonymous caller told you is far worse. Ian might have taken one car, and Gary Rubinsky took the other.”
Joanne realized that, with everything going on, she’d failed to ask if anyone knew the whereabouts of the Rubinskys. Since the court hearing had been postponed, Tom was not obligated to appear in court until Wednesday morning. She glanced over at Arnold. “Does anyone know where the Rubinskys are? Have they been in contact with their attorneys?”
“I spoke to both Joe Watkins and Marilyn Cobb about thirty minutes ago,” Dreiser told her. “Neither one of them has spoken to either Gary or Tom. The police interviewed the clerk at the Economy Inn this morning. He said Tom showed up last night, and he told him the police had searched the room. It would have been nice if the clerk had notified the police when Tom returned, since he knew there was a problem. We may never hear from the Rubinskys again.”
“Watkins and Cobb don’t have any way to get in touch with their clients?” Joanne asked. “Is that correct?”
“No,” Dreiser said. “Don’t forget, Ian’s car was impounded at the time the three men were first arrested. They could have stolen the cars off the ABC lot the next day. I didn’t give much thought to how they were getting around. I assumed they were using a friend’s car or someone was dropping them off at the courthouse each day. They may have transported Ian’s body in the first car, then decided to dispose of it. This would give them a reason to go back to the lot for a second car.”
Regardless of whether her son had been murdered or not, Elizabeth Decker had been repeatedly victimized. Joanne could tell by the stern look on Kennedy’s face that he was ready to take action.
“Prepare a petition to revoke the Rubinskys’ bail,” Kennedy told Joanne, brushing his finger across his upper lip. “Notify the Ventura PD that all three men are now wanted on suspicion of auto theft. Verify that both vehicles are entered into the national system. Call Chief Adams and fill him in on what we have to date.” He paused, thought a few moments, then continued, “Adams will have to contact the Valencia Sheriff’s Department. There’s a lot of open ground around Magic Mountain and more than one truck stop with a McDonald’s. A thorough search will require an enormous amount of manpower and equipment. The sheriff in Valencia covers the entire Santa Clarita Valley all the way up to Frazier Park. This is the worst possible place to attempt to find an unmarked grave.”
Joanne saw the myriad of problems unfolding. The Rubinsky brothers could have killed Decker on the same spot where they buried him. Then the case would fall under another jurisdiction. “Are you saying we should hold off on the search?”
“Picking up the Rubinsky brothers is the first priority,” Kennedy said. “Killers aren’t known to check in with their attorneys unless they’re in custody As to the search, the sheriff in Valencia may not be willing to deploy the necessary manpower without additional evidence. We might be jumping the gun here.”
Elizabeth stood, so weak she had to hold on to the back of the chair to keep from collapsing. “I didn’t come down here to listen to speculation or complaints about manpower. Right now, I don’t care what happens to the Rubinsky brothers. All I want is to find my son so I can give him a proper burial. Is that too much to ask of you people?”
Before anyone could respond, Elizabeth walked out of the room. She had dealt with the police years before, when a drunk driver had killed her husband. As soon as she got home, she would call her relatives and friends, organize her own search party. She didn’t need their dogs, their officers, their high-tech equipment. She would find Ian herself.
SIXTEEN
Tuesday, February 13, 2001, 11:01 A.M.
UNTIL THEY knew whether or not the trial would resume the following week, Kennedy didn’t want to assign Joanne any additional cases. When she came to work Tuesday morning, she checked in with the sheriff in Valencia. The sheriff’s department had dispatched a search and rescue team at approximately one o’clock Monday afternoon. As Kennedy had pointed out, however, the reference points given to Elizabeth Decker encompassed too large a territory. Dozens of truck stops and rest areas lined Interstate 5 in the vicinity of the Magic Mountain amusement park. Five of them had a McDonald’s restaurant in close proximity, and there were miles of open fields and pastures. Without specific coordinates, the Valencia authorities doubted if they would ever be successful in locating a body. They had already flown over the area with a helicopter, sent men out in four-wheel-drive vehicles, and even collected some of Decker’s clothing so the dogs could be trained to recognize his scent. The next step would be to divide the area into grids and have men go out on foot. Without definitive proof that a homicide
had been committed, the sheriff would only agree to deploy manpower for another twenty-four hours.
Joanne was reviewing an assault case in preparation for the preliminary hearing to be held the following month. She found it difficult to concentrate as her mind kept returning to the Rubinskys/Decker matter. She tended to favor Arnold’s line of thinking, that the Rubinsky brothers would not be heard from until the police apprehended them.
Joanne was reaching into her backpack for her lunch when the phone rang.
“This is Lieutenant Warren with the Ventura Police,” he said. “One of our officers just arrested a subject by the name of Tom Rubinsky. He was driving a 1994 Ford Taurus that was reported stolen this morning.”
“Where is he?”
“The officer has him in the back of his patrol car,” Warren told her. “We were told your office wanted to question him before we booked him. He’s asking for his attorney. I doubt if he’s going to talk to you.”
Joanne’s immediate concern was the arresting officer’s safety. “Did he have what looked like a cell phone on him?”
“No,” Warren said. “We issued a bulletin on this new decoy gun. Our officers are jumpy, you know. Last night one of our rookies almost killed a fourteen-year-old kid. Everyone has a cell phone these days. This damn gun is a nightmare. There’s no telling how many innocent people are going to die because of it. The worst part about it is we’re the ones who are going to take the fall.”
“Rubinsky might be able to lead us to the person selling the guns,” Joanne told him. “Call Marilyn Cobb, Tom Rubinsky’s attorney. Then instruct the arresting officer to bring Rubinsky to my office. Notify Chief Adams as well. He should be present during the interview because of the ramifications of this new weapon. Don’t allow anyone near the car. Use the same standards you would at a major crime scene. Dispatch several of your officers to guard the car until the crime lab sends out a flatbed truck. Rubinsky may have transported a body in that car.”
Joanne hung up and immediately called Kennedy.
At approximately 4:45 P.M., Joanne, Kennedy, Dreiser, Chief Colin Adams, and homicide Detective David Bernard of the Ventura PD were waiting outside the door to the main conference room on the third floor of the district attorney’s office. The front desk had just advised them that two police officers had arrived with a prisoner.
Handcuffed and shackled, Tom Rubinsky was mumbling profanities as the two officers held him under the arms and almost carried him down the hallway. His clothes were filthy, and he reeked of alcohol and body odor. “Get these bastards to take the cuffs off,” he barked. “My hands are numb. They can’t do this to me. This is police brutality.”
Dreiser exchanged glances with the individuals present. “Miss Cobb is on her way,” he said, a look of disgust on his face.
“Didn’t you hear me, damn it?” Tom yelled. “The cuffs are too tight! I can’t feel my hands.”
Chief Adams told one of the officers. “You need to loosen the handcuffs.”
“What about the chains on my legs,” Tom said. “I can’t even walk.”
Kennedy shook his head. Tom was a powerful man, and they couldn’t afford to take any chances. Once the officer had escorted Tom into the conference room, the other individuals followed. A yellow notepad and several pens had been placed on the table in front of each chair. In the center of the table was a triangular-shaped microphone linked to the county’s recording and dictation system. A transcript of the interview would be typed and distributed to the appropriate individuals by noon the following day Two television monitors were mounted on the front and rear walls.
Kennedy took a seat at the head of the table, gesturing for the officers to deposit their prisoner in a chair at the table. “He might need to use his hands to write,” he said. “The shackles remain, but you can remove the handcuffs.”
Marilyn Cobb rushed through the door, taking a seat next to Tom Rubinsky. Her curly red hair was secured in a clip at the nape of her neck. She cupped her hand over her mouth and turned to confer with her client. Tom rubbed his wrists and glared at the two officers as they walked over and stood guard by the door.
Joanne pulled out a chair directly across from the defendant on the opposite side of the table, with Chief Adams and Detective Bernard on her left and right.
Tom Rubinsky scratched the top of his head, then stared around the room. “Who are these people?”
“The individual on my left is Chief Adams with the Ventura Police Department,” Joanne told him. “This is Detective Bernard, also with the Ventura PD. The gentleman at the head of the table is Dean Kennedy, the district attorney”
“I thought you were the district attorney” Tom said. “Why is he here?”
“Mr. Kennedy is my boss,” Joanne explained. “He’s the head of this agency My title is ADA, or assistant district attorney” She asked Marilyn Cobb, “Are you ready to continue?”
“Yes,” Cobb said, digging Tom’s file out of her briefcase.
Tom said belligerently “You’ll have those two goons break my neck if I don’t talk to you.”
“No one is going to physically harm you,” Joanne told him. “You requested that your attorney be present. That request was granted. We have the right to question you, but you do not have to answer. The Fifth Amendment affords you the right against self-incrimination. Would you like to exercise that right and terminate this interview?”
Again, Tom turned and whispered something to Marilyn Cobb. “My client agrees to the interview,” she told them.
“Good,” Joanne said, assuming the public defender had told Tom that he would be better off cooperating. Although he had already been read his Miranda rights by the arresting officer, to cover all the bases, she recited them again. Finally, they were ready to proceed with the interview. “Please state your name and place of birth.”
“Tom Rubinsky,” he said. “I was born in Fresno.”
“Can you give us your full name?”
“Thomas Arthur Rubinsky.”
“How did you come to be in possession of the 1994 Ford Taurus you were driving at the time of your arrest today?”
“My brother gave it to me.”
“Are you referring to Gary Rubinsky?”
“Yeah,” Tom said, sneering, “who do you think I mean?”
Joanne rolled her neck around to release the tension. The man sitting in front of her sickened her. How could he have participated in the killing of a developmentally disabled individual? She forced herself to appear relaxed and nonjudgmental. She wanted the interview to be productive. “Where is your brother, Tom?”
“Don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “The judge said we didn’t have to be back until this week. Gary must have gone somewhere to chill out.”
“Are you aware of the terms and conditions of your bail?” Joanne asked, tapping her pen on the table. “The court restricted both you and your brother from leaving the city until the case was resolved. Your brother also failed to appear in court on Friday.”
“I didn’t say Gary left town,” Tom answered, his words slurred.
“Maybe he just wanted to go somewhere and be alone. Sometimes a man needs to clear his head, know what I mean?”
“And your brother gave you the Ford Taurus?”
The bourbon Tom had consumed the night before was still flooding his system. His head was pounding, and his throat was parched. “Gary didn’t give me the car,” he told her, contradicting himself. “Ian’s family owns a towing company. Elizabeth loaned him a car until you guys release his Firebird. We intended on returning it after Ian split. We just didn’t get around to it.”
“Where would your brother go without a car?”
“Look, lady,” Tom said, “you can ask me all the questions you want. I swear I don’t know where my brother is right now. We got into a fight, and he walked off and left me in a bar.”
“When did this occur?”
“Last night,” Tom said. “Around eleven, I think. Gary’s probably s
taying with one of his girlfriends. I mean, there isn’t a law that says I have to keep tabs on my older brother.”
“Mrs. Decker didn’t loan you that car,” Joanne said. “ABC Towing and Storage reported two vehicles stolen this morning. One was the Ford Taurus you were driving at the time of your arrest, and the other was a 1996 Chrysler Cirrus. Is Gary driving the Chrysler?”
Tom craned his neck around. “I’m thirsty.”
Marilyn Cobb went to the credenza and poured a cup of water. Tom gulped it down, then crinkled the cup in his fist. “I don’t know where Gary is or how he’s getting around,” he said, leaning forward over the table. “How many times do I have to tell you? Gary does what he wants.” He stopped and smirked. “Trust me, there’s hell to pay if anyone tries to stop him.”
“What do you mean by that statement?” Joanne asked. “Is your brother violent?”
Tom slipped down lower in his chair. “He’s my older brother. All I’m saying is he’s tough. You know, he doesn’t let anyone push him around.”
Joanne flipped through her papers to her notes from her first conversation with Elizabeth Decker, the morning after Ian had failed to show up in court. “Isn’t it true that Gary once struck your mother?”
Marilyn Cobb spoke up, “I don’t see how discussing his brother’s past behavior is relevant to the current case.”
Joanne watched as Tom repeatedly swiped at the side of his nose, as if he had just developed an itch. Body language was sometimes better than a lie detector. This was the first time he had made that gesture. She reminded herself to pay careful attention if and when he made that particular gesture again. “When was the last time you saw Ian Decker?”
Conflict of Interest Page 12
