San Francisco Values

by James Turner

“You just can’t seem to stay out of trouble, can you, Mrs. Barker?” Lt. Rothschild asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Not even an hour behind bars and already you’re involved in a prison brawl?”

  “It wasn’t my fault.”

  “Of course not, it never is.”

  Ella woke up more now. Her head pounded, and her shoulders hurt from the meth hag’s claws. The chafing of a paper hospital dress replaced the soft fabric of her gown. “This is abuse. I have done nothing wrong, you publicly humiliated me and have grievously injured me professionally. Not to mention I was attacked in jail.”

  “The victims say you provoked them,” said Rothschild.

  “Victims? I was the victim.”

  “However the two women have elected not to press charges.”

  Ella was stunned. “Why am I here? I did not kill Tiffany Reynolds. Or that Italian man-whore.”

  “You had me fooled that day in your office. All cool and professional-like. But then we starting doing some checking.”

  “You will find absolutely no evidence. I’m innocent.”

  “We believe you with regard to Mr. Grosso’s death in the hot tub,” Det. Gunner said quietly.

  “I should hope so, I was right there, I could have been hit as well.”

  “We have witnesses who back that up, don’t worry.”

  “Well I am worried, you’re accusing me of a murder I didn’t commit.”

  “Are there any others you did commit?” Rothschild asked.

  Ella glared at the detective.

  Gunner continued. “Maybe there was a good reason for what happened to Miss Reynolds. We’re hoping you can help us out with that.”

  Ella liked Gunner better than Rothschild, he seemed more reasonable. “There’s no way I can help, I mean, I don’t know who did it.”

  “We have in our possession evidence that strongly implicates you,” Rothschild said. “Otherwise the District Attorney wouldn’t be charging you with first degree murder, Ella.”

  Such a loaded statement naturally frightened her, but still she didn’t like the Lieutenant’s condescending use of her first name. “I don’t even know how to fire a gun.”

  “How do you know it was a gun?”

  “Come on, it’s all over the news.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” he said. He opened his briefcase and took out a piece of paper encased in a clear, plastic slip cover. “How do you explain this?”

  “What is it?” Ella asked.

  “We found it in your residence.”

  “You’ve been in my home?”

  “We obtained a search warrant and went through your home and offices.”

  “Unfortunately we had to,” Gunner added.

  Ella squinted but couldn’t clearly see the paper without her glasses. However she did recognize the California Association of Realtors logo in the upper left hand corner. Her stomach dropped. Lt. Rothschild obligingly brought the document closer so she could get a better look.

  “I think we all know what this is. How do you happen to have Tiffany Reynolds’ original listing agreement with Giselle Frackle?”

  Ella swallowed hard but said nothing.

  “Complete with traces of Tiffany’s blood and grass stains matched to the scene?”

  Ella remained silent. Her mind spun. She needed a lawyer, she had to talk to Mark.

  “It’ll be a lot easier if you just tell us what happened,” Det. Gunner said softly. “We can help you, make sure everyone knows your side of the story.”

  Ella looked Gunner straight in the eyes.

  “It probably wasn’t even your fault,” he said. “Did Tiffany do something to bring this on herself?”

  She pursed her lips tight.

  “So, you’re clamming up?” Rothschild said. “It’s not just this piece of paper that incriminates you. We also found Tiffany’s blood and bits of Giselle Frackle’s lawn and soil on your shoes, and in your car.”

  Ella was surprised they’d found anything in the Mercedes. She’d taken it to the most expensive boutique car wash in the city, where a beehive of Mexican immigrants meticulously vacuumed, washed and polished each vehicle that rolled through. But then she hadn’t expected DNA hunters, either.

  “We want to believe you didn’t do it, Mrs. Barker,” Gunner said. “But as Lieutenant Rothschild says, the evidence is very strong. Maybe you have an alibi, and we’ve made a mistake. Can you tell us where you were that night, around midnight?”

  She’d only make it worse if she tried to explain now.

  Lt. Rothschild spoke first. “In addition to the listing agreement and the physical evidence, a neighbor witnessed a vehicle on the scene that matches the description of your black Mercedes.” This Ella saw on the news.

  “Shall I go on?” he asked rhetorically. “Then there’s the subject of motive. Last night at the opera, with Tiffany Reynolds dead and gone, you were awarded the listing to sell the Frackle mansion. That’s what we detectives would call a very good example of cause and effect. It’s not lookin’ so good, Ella.”

  By now she disliked Lt. Rothschild very much, horrified by his accusatory tone and general lack of respect.

  “We’re all struggling to survive, Mrs. Barker,” Gunner said. “In a way I can understand why someone might do it, that’s a massive commission at stake, especially with all those stock options.”

  Ella looked straight ahead, focusing on the wall opposite her prison ward hospital bed. “I’m not saying another word until I speak to my lawyer.”

  *******

  Later, after a worried conversation with Mark where he assured her his father would promptly recommend a top notch criminal defense lawyer, Ella warily switched on the TV hanging from the wall in front of her bed. While not at all sure she wanted to watch the hysteria which most assuredly surrounded her arrest, she couldn’t resist. She’d been allowed no visitors in the hospital prison ward, so television at least allowed a tenuous, though most likely disturbing, connection to the outside world.

  Her assumption immediately proved correct. A double punch of profound distress and embarrassment swept over her even before the Action News 12 anchor spoke. He stood on a shiny black stage next to a looming, colorful life size image of Ella. The station’s graphics department had procured a smiling “before” photo snapped the previous night at the opera. Although flattering and she looked gorgeous in her red gown, the artsy folks at the station had superimposed the Frackle Mansion in the background and a blood drenched hunting rifle into her hands. The oversize caption read “Barker Broker Bloodbath.”

  Good Evening, I’m Thad Leader. Her name is Ella Barker, and she’s one of San Francisco’s most successful real estate agents – and according to police, a vicious, cold blooded murderess.

  Thad turned to face the second camera.

  It’s an old story – a young rival, professional jealousy and a pot of gold, or in this case millions of dollars in high end sales commission. That’s what cops say led to the spectacular and bizarre murder of brilliant young land trader and mayoral love interest Tiffany Reynolds.

  Action Eagle Eye in the Sky News Team 12’s Chirley Wixon has been following this story from the beginning. We go to her LIVE right now this very minute at San Francisco General Hospital. Chirley?

  That’s right, Thad, I’m at San Francisco General where accused Sea Cliff killer Ella Barker is locked up, after coming to blows with fellow prisoners in the county jail last night. She remains under heavy guard as we speak.

  Ella sat up in bed, frozen in position, eyes wide open in horror. Her temples throbbed not only from Roberta Littlefeather-Jones’ jail house pounding but from pure, unadulterated shock. Up until now she hadn’t really accepted what was happening, she’d expected everyone would quickly figure out the mistake. But that gilded hope seemed to fade as fast as her once sterling reputation.

  The video rolled, and the first images showed Ella being led off barefoot from the post-opera dinner gala, all trussed up
in her gown but obviously handcuffed. She saw Safada run quickly into the frame and hand off the red heeled sandals to one of the cops.

  Ella Barker is the owner of Barker Brokers Properties, one of the leading real estate companies in the Bay Area. Police arrested her last night at the annual opening of the San Francisco Opera, charging her with first degree murder.

  The video changed to a favorite rerun of Tiffany’s body being removed from the For Sale sign in front of the Frackle Mansion.

  The victim, Tiffany Reynolds, had the bad luck to win an informal but high stakes contest among San Francisco’s top realtors. She obtained the listing to sell philanthropist Giselle Frackle’s seventy million dollar mansion in the Sea Cliff neighborhood. No one knew just how competitive that struggle had become. Action Eagle Eye in the Sky News Team 12 has obtained this exclusive video of accused murderess Ella Barker. Watch as she uses her powerful, five hundred horsepower Mercedes automobile to push the much younger and more fragile Tiffany Reynolds out of her way.

  Chirley Wixon’s excited commentary faded into the background when Ella saw the exclusive video. The camera setup at the Frackle Mansion front gate had recording capability, Ella immediately realized, something Safada had failed to mention.

  The images began out of context, and showed nothing of Tiffany’s initial aggression in her BMW. Instead the video showed a rather angry and determined looking Ella behind the wheel of her car, clouds of burning rubber rising as her rear wheels spun. She hadn’t realized there’d been so much smoke. Tiffany looked frightened. The rest of the scene played out for everyone to feast on, including Ella’s triumphant roar past her vanquished opponent.

  Safada popped up next. The descriptive bar on the screen said “Safada da Silva, Giselle Frackle’s Personal Asst.” She’d apparently been notified in advance of the interview, judging from her careful makeup, jewelry and fine clothing.

  Me get scared when Miss Ella arrested. Tell police with fight with car. I hope she no kill Missus Frackle.

  Ella gasped. Then came her assistant Bootsie, who stood alongside Mark outside the Barker Brokers office at Yerba Buena Gardens.

  Chirley Wixon: Why do you think Ella Barker killed Tiffany Reynolds?

  Bootsie: She didn’t. This is all a horrible mistake. Ella would never hurt a fly, she’s a fine woman, a woman of integrity.

  Chirley: Umm hummm, right. Mr. Allen, what do you think? Isn’t Ella Barker already wealthy enough, is it financial blood lust?

  Mark: You’re just hell bent on convicting her, aren’t you? What did she ever do to you? Ella is my best friend, she’s innocent.

  Ella choked up hearing her friends’ loyal comments. Dear Bootsie and Mark, she thought tearfully. The report switched to images of Salchiço Grosso, pumping away in one of his porn film roles.

  So far police haven’t charged Ella Barker in the murder of the young model and pornographic film star Salchiço Grosso, shot and killed two weeks ago at an open house in San Francisco’s Noe Valley.

  Chirley Wixon sounded disappointed.

  Police say the bullets don’t match the same gun - and Ella Barker was physically present at that open house and could not have fired the long distance shot.

  The next soundbite came from Lt. Rothschild.

  With the Tiffany Reynolds murder, we’re not discounting the idea that it could be a copy cat killing, that Mrs. Barker tried to pin it on whoever took out the porno kid. But if that’s the case it didn’t work. Blood and other forensic evidence clearly place Ella Barker at the Reynolds death scene.

  Ella stiffened with indignation.

  What about the security cameras at the mansion gate, Lieutenant? What do they show?

  Unfortunately nothing, the area where Miss Reynolds was found is just out of range of the camera’s vision.

  The report cut to Starka Littlefeather-Jones, standing in front of the ramshackle home she and Roberta were buying. “Oh no,” Ella said out loud.

  Ella Barker is an opportunist. She has my wife and I, not to mention our unborn baby, in debt up to our ears and she doesn’t care. She talked us into a bad deal on this hideous, overpriced shack. She’s threatened us with lawyers if we try and back out. We’re locked in, we have to buy it now and we don’t even want it. All Ella Barker cares about is making money.

  The video switched back to Ella’s glamorous, humiliating arrest at the Opera, with a police officer’s hand pushing her head down into the back seat of a patrol car.

  A bit of poetic justice as well tonight. With Tiffany Reynolds dead, Giselle Frackle did in fact award Ella Barker the right to sell her Sea Cliff mansion. But that happened before Barker’s arrest.

  Now Kearney Frackle’s jowled countenance filled the screen.

  Obviously we will not be contracting the services of an accused murderer. Speaking for my mother, I can say Ella Barker’s right to sell our beloved family home is unequivocally, one hundred percent, revoked.

  Reporter Chirley Wixon came back live on camera, looking victorious.

  One other thing, Thad. Action Eagle Eye in the Sky News Team 12 has discovered that Ella Barker is also a notorious parking scofflaw. Do we have that video? Can you roll it please?

  Ella was alarmed to see pictures of her Mercedes, the front end rising slowly on a tow truck’s hook and winch. The police had clamped a bright yellow metal “boot” onto the front wheel, the infamous tool used for immobilizing vehicles with an excess of violations.

  Yes folks, this is Ella Barker’s $140,000 Mercedes. Police towed it last night from a handicapped parking space on Van Ness Avenue one block from the Opera House. The accused murderess…

  “Stop calling me that!” Ella called out in vain from her prison hospital bed.

  …has more than six thousand dollars in unpaid parking fines in the city of San Francisco alone. That’s in excess of two hundred parking tickets ignored.

  Was it really that much, Ella wondered? She thought she’d paid them all.

  All this, from one of San Francisco’s most wealthy, privileged and successful citizens. Back to you, Thad.

  *******

  Mark dramatically pushed his hand against the thick glass separating him from Ella in her orange jail issue jumpsuit. “I feel like we’re in a Lifetime movie, the persecuted woman torn away from everything dear to her heart.”

  Ella gripped the telephone handset even more tightly. “This is no time to joke. I’ve got to get out of here, it’s been three days. And since they brought me back from the hospital I’m in a room with two other… creatures. It’s awful, Mark, I can’t even begin to tell you.”

  “Hey, I know you’re innocent, you know you’re innocent. How’s the lawyer Dad set you up with?”

  “He’s not sure he can get me out on bail. The arraignment is the day after tomorrow. He said in such a high profile case, the prosecutor will argue bail would make it look like, how did he put it, the better off, receive special treatment. They may want to make an example out of me.”

  “They’re gonna leave you here to rot in the Glamour Slammer?”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “Glamour Slammer, that’s what they call this jail building, with all its curvy modern architecture.”

  “Mark, please. I’m very worried. About my business, my future, myself. I’m scared as hell.”

  “What’s there to be scared of? You’re a TV star now.”

  “I’m serious. And I don’t need to be reminded about the TV circus. I’ve seen enough.”

  “Ever since you made your...” Mark hesitated, “…public debut, the Frackle listing is huge talk around town. I suppose you’ve heard the latest?”

  Ella shook her head in knowing acceptance. “Yes, Bootsie told me about Gordon Elway. That doesn’t surprise me. Giselle went back to someone she’s known for a while.

  Mark changed the subject. “You know Ella, Jeff called me. He said he tried to visit and you wouldn’t see him.”

  She looked Mark in the eyes. “I’ve be
en dating this man for three weeks. I mean, yeah, the sex is great, but my head is too overloaded right now. I’m doing my best to deal with my business, thank god for Bootsie. But Jeff, he’s… “ she trailed off.

  Mark looked at his watch. “I think our twenty minutes are about up.”

  “Wait, Mark,” Ella said, “there’s something I’d like you to do for me.”

  Chapter 12

  “How do you plead?”

  Ella held her head high. “Not guilty.” She could see the riveted courtroom out of the corner of her eye. Thank god the judge had banned cameras.

  “Excuse me, your honor.” A man’s voice interrupted from the back of the cavernous, richly paneled room. Ella turned to see Lt. Rothschild’s partner, Detective Gunner coming in through the double doors. “My name is Jemiah Gunner, SFPD. I apologize for interrupting, but it’s of great importance to the case at hand.”

  The packed courtroom erupted in murmurs and speculation. “Order, order,” the judge commanded, pounding her wooden gavel. The sharp crack of the judicial mallet and a stern eye quieted the uproar without delay.

  “This can’t wait?” asked the judge, a strict, grey haired woman in her late 50’s. Known as a no-nonsense jurist who presided over a rigorous courtroom, she exhibited little tolerance for legal shenanigans. “We’re in the middle of an arraignment, if you hadn’t noticed.”

  “I am aware of that, your honor, but I respectfully request a moment of the court’s time.”

  “As you wish, but it better be good,” the judge said, gaveling again. “The court will recess for five minutes.”

  Ella looked at her $1,500 per hour Los Angeles attorney, who shrugged.

  “Beats me,” he said quietly. His appearance screamed mafia lawyer, with silver hair slicked back and suit all shiny. Expensive, gaudy jewelry decorated oversized hands and wrists. Despite, or perhaps because of, these Little Italy accoutrements, he had an unfailing reputation for getting his clients off the hook.

  She watched intently as Detective Gunner approached the bench, the despicable Lt. Rothschild joining him. The three conferred in serious whispers. Ella scrutinized the judge’s face for clues, but picked up nothing. Detective Gunner finished talking and the judge addressed the courtroom.

  “Would counsel for the defense and prosecution please approach the bench?”