Hollister was still content to hang back in the shadows, but his views were nevertheless becoming increasingly aggressive. Working on his own, Lotello had been unable to provide Hollister with alibis for the times of any of the three murders for which Norman stood accused. Without more, this did not prove anything. However, it sure did establish Hollister as a person of interest in Lotello’s mind.
Beth, I think I’ve got to pay a visit to our Mr. Hollister and see what more I can learn. But how am I going to explain to Hollister why I want to speak with him?
CHAPTER 55
Saturday, July 18, 2:00 p.m.
THOMAS WAS NOTHING IF not persistent. He had done a little digging on Julie Abrams. There was no question that she was not as pure as her grandfather. And certainly not as pure as her grandfather thought she was.
All our little Ms. Goody-Two-Shoes has in those two shoes is a pair of very round heels! She is clearly sleeping her way through law school. Screwing one of her law professors. Some social retard by the name of Mazur. No doubt to get a heads-up on her exam questions. Ha … some head for some heads-up! It turns out our industrious Ms. Abrams is also earning some extra spending money by selling the information to some of her classmates. Doubt Mazur knows about that. What a clever little capitalist our Ms. Abrams is!
There was also no question that Ms. Abrams was the high point of her unsuspecting grandfather’s life. It was time for Thomas to meet with the PD and enlighten him about some of the extracurricular activities of his granddaughter. It might also be advantageous to meet with Ms. Abrams as well. Just might be able to get in on some of Professor Mazur’s action. Why not generate a little personal bonus on this assignment?
Saturday afternoon was the only time that Thomas could arrange to see Abrams. On reflection, Thomas thought that this would probably work out well. Less likelihood of other people around Abrams’s office. To circumvent the security cameras on the ground floor, Thomas had taken the precaution of using a simple disguise in moving through security: a wig and some facial hair. He returned the pieces to his briefcase as soon as he got off the elevator.
“Mr. Abrams. I appreciate your willingness to meet.”
“Frankly, Mr. Thomas, I can’t really imagine why the chief intelligence and security officer of the CRP would want to meet with me.”
“I understand your curiosity, sir. Since we don’t know each other, I thought it best to use my position with the CRP to arrange our meeting. But the truth is I’m really meeting with you more in my individual capacity than as a representative of the CRP.”
“Now you have me puzzled as well as curious, Mr. Thomas. Are you saying you’re in need of the services of the PD’s office? Are you in need of legal representation?”
“To the contrary, Mr. Abrams, I think it’s you who needs my services.”
“I don’t understand. What services do you have to offer that I might need?”
“I’d like to discuss the Cliff Norman case with you.”
“I don’t know what you have in mind, but you should understand that I can’t and won’t discuss with you any active case in my office.”
Thomas could plainly see the look of growing concern on Abrams’s face. “Oh, I think you’ll decide to discuss the Norman case with me. The best interests of your granddaughter require that you do so. And that you listen to me very carefully.”
“My granddaughter? What does Julie have to do with the Norman case? And what could you possibly have to do with Julie?”
“Mr. Abrams, I understand that you intend to raise the defense of justifiable or excusable homicide in the Norman case on the grounds that Mr. Norman’s actions were excused by a breach of public duty on the part of his victims. I find that reprehensible. I don’t want such an obnoxious defense used.”
Abrams’s jaw dropped. Thomas imagined Abrams wondering if he was talking to a harmless kook or someone far worse. “I’ve already told you that I cannot discuss with you any active case in this office. Again, however, what does this have to do with my granddaughter?”
Abrams was no doubt fighting a losing battle to hold it together, something Thomas was enjoying. Taking a file out of his briefcase and passing it across the table to Abrams, Thomas replied, “I have some photographs of your granddaughter here that I think you should see.”
Abrams rejected the unopened file, pushing it back to Thomas. “Mr. Thomas, I really don’t know what you are trying to do, but I am not going to be a party to any of this. I want you out of my office right now. If you don’t leave, I’ll call security and have you removed.”
Thomas showed no sign of budging. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Abrams. I really only have one more thing to say. I don’t care whether Norman is convicted or acquitted. It makes no difference to me whatsoever. You are free to defend him any way you want. So long as you don’t attack our government in the course of doing so. If you do, the pictures in this file will be spread all over town and all over the internet. And then your precious little granddaughter won’t be so precious any longer. Thank you for your time, Mr. Abrams.”
Thomas stood, stared straight into the eyes of the visibly shaken Abrams, and walked out of the office, leaving the file with the photographs on Abrams’s desk.
* * *
THOMAS WAS PLEASED, ALMOST giddy. He knew that Abrams would not be able to resist opening the file. As soon as he sees those pictures, he’s mine! Thomas lingered just outside the door to Abrams’s office to reapply his disguise before heading to the elevator. He heard a cry of anguish escaping from Abrams’s office.
CHAPTER 56
Saturday, July 18, 3:30 p.m.
IT WAS WITH CONSIDERABLE apprehension that Lotello approached Blaine Hollister’s home and rang the doorbell. He wasn’t sure how this was going to play out.
The door was answered by an attractive woman. Considerably younger than Lotello understood Hollister to be. “Yes? May I help you?”
“Good afternoon.” Pulling out his identification, Lotello said, “My name is Frank Lotello, Detective Frank Lotello, Metropolitan D.C. police. And you are?”
“My name is Ms. Kluwin. I’m Mr. Hollister’s assistant. What can I do for you?”
“Is Mr. Hollister in? I need to speak with him.”
“May I tell him what this is regarding?”
“I’m sorry, it’s a personal matter.”
“Just a moment, then, and I’ll see if Mr. Hollister is available.” Inhospitably, Ms. Kluwin closed the door in Lotello’s face. Leaving him standing there on the stoop.
Moments later, a man opened the door. “Detective Lotello? I’m Blaine Hollister. What is this about?”
Lotello observed that he was batting two for two in terms of cold shoulders. “Sorry to trouble you, Mr. Hollister. I’d like to speak to you about Senator Jane Wells.”
“Senator Wells? What do I have to do with Senator Wells?”
“That’s what I’m here to find out, Mr. Hollister. I only need a few minutes of your time. May I come in?”
“Oh, yes. Excuse me. Of course. Come in.” Hollister escorted Lotello back to an office in his home. He minimized the screen on his computer and turned on the overhead lights. “I was just catching up on some correspondence. Can I offer you something to drink?”
“Thanks, no. I’m fine. Go ahead if you’d like.”
Hollister poured himself a glass of bottled water. “What’s this all about, Detective? Isn’t the trial of the guy accused of murdering Senator Wells and some others about to begin?”
“It is. I was the investigating officer on those cases. There are some loose ends I’m still working on. You know how it works. If we don’t inquire broadly about all possibilities, the defense will argue that we were gunning unfairly for the defendant. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“I don’t think I have any information that will help you, but go ahead. I don’t mind. Is there any reason why you think I should?”
Lotello ignored Hollister’s question. “D
id you know Senator Wells?”
“Just casually, yes. As one of her constituents. I own property in Kansas.”
“Have you ever met with her?”
“I think so, yes. A couple of times.”
“What was the purpose of those meetings?”
“I’m not sure I really recall, Detective. Probably just current events in which I was interested at the time.”
“When did you last see the senator?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t remember what I had for dinner last night. I certainly don’t recall when I last saw the senator. What exactly is this about? Why would you care when I last saw Senator Wells?”
Again ignoring Hollister’s question, Lotello continued. “Let me put it this way, Mr. Hollister: can you tell me where you were back on the evening of February fifth?”
“You’re kidding, right? You sound like that TV detective, Columbo. I suppose next you’re going to tell me February fifth was a dark and stormy night.”
Lotello was not amused, and he didn’t really think Hollister was either. The more this cat-and-mouse exercise continued, the more Lotello’s antenna went up. I wonder why Hollister thinks it’s in his best interests to come off like a smart-ass. Maybe he doesn’t realize that’s how he’s coming off. Or maybe he’s always a smart-ass. “I’m sorry you find this so humorous, Mr. Hollister. I assure you it’s not at all funny. I need an answer to my question.”
“Detective, when I first asked you if I had any reason to be concerned, you said I didn’t. I’m not so sure you were being forthcoming with me.”
“I didn’t answer your question, Mr. Hollister, one way or the other. Let me ask you, do you think you should be concerned about my questions?” Two can play at this game of cat and mouse.
“What I think, as I sit here right now, without looking at my calendar, is that I don’t have any idea where I was on the evening of February fifth. However, I don’t like the direction this conversation is taking. Or your attitude, Detective. I have nothing to hide and I have nothing to be concerned about. However, I do resent your unannounced visit. And I’m going to adjourn this little interrogation right now. It’s gone on quite long enough. You’ve overextended your welcome. If you want to carry this on any further, you’ll need to contact my D.C. attorney, Jonathan Mortimer. I’m sure you can Google him, or find him in the phone book. We’re done for today.”
Lotello thought for a moment about arresting Hollister on a claim of obstruction of justice and hauling him down to the police station, but he knew such a charge would never hold up. I’d really love to do that to this arrogant SOB, but at the end of the day I’d be the one on the losing side of that battle. “I’m sorry you want to lawyer up, Mr. Hollister. I can’t imagine why you feel that way. I would have thought you would have preferred an informal conversation to a more protracted investigation. I didn’t mean to upset you, but it does seem like I’ve struck some kind of a nerve here. We can play this however you’d like. I’ll be in touch with Mr. Mortimer to reschedule our discussion. Thank you for your time; I’ll show myself out. You and Ms. Kluwin have a nice weekend.”
“No problem, Detective. And I’m not at all upset; I just don’t like being played. Especially under false pretenses. Have a nice weekend.”
“Speaking of playing, Mr. Hollister, that’s a nice-looking set of clubs. TaylorMade?”
“Right. Are you a golfer?”
“Just an occasional weekend duffer. Where do you play?”
“I’m a member out at Congressional. That’s where I usually play when I’m in town. I brought my clubs home because I’m playing Augusta next week. I want to do some chipping and putting in the backyard before my trip.”
“Wow, pretty sweet. Do you know Bobby Harrelson?”
“The head pro at Congressional? I know him well. Do you know Bobby?”
“I do. We were in college together, until he went out on tour. We used to play together, every now and then, when he was slumming.”
“Yeah, well that’s nice, Detective. But I’ve still got some correspondence waiting for me.”
“Right, Mr. Hollister, I won’t keep you from it. I will be in touch.”
CHAPTER 57
Saturday, July 18, 4:15 p.m.
“HELLO.”
“Jonathan? This is Blaine Hollister. I’m sorry to bother you at home on a Saturday. I may have a little bit of a problem.”
“Hello, Blaine. No worries about the call at home. If I weren’t prepared to have you contact me after hours, you wouldn’t have my home number. What’s the problem?”
“I just had an unannounced visit from a Detective Frank Lotello. Very odd. I think he suspects me of having something to do with the murder of Senator Wells in February.”
“Really, why in the world would he think that?”
“Beats me. I met with her a few times shortly before her death. Somehow, he was aware of that. Which was strange enough by itself. He wanted to know why I met with her.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I didn’t tell him anything. It’s none of his fucking business! All I said to him was that we spoke about mutual political interests.”
“Why were you meeting with her?”
“Because I’ve made a lot of donations to her campaigns and various projects and I haven’t been happy with the return on my investment. I wanted to light a firecracker under her ass.”
“Did you light that firecracker?”
“I did.”
“Do you know anything about her death?”
“Jonathan! What kind of a question is that? Of course I don’t!”
“Don’t get upset, Blaine. I needed to ask. Tell me more precisely what you said to this detective. What’s his name again?”
“Frank Lotello. He pissed me off. So I sent him packing with his tail between his legs. I told him to call you if he expected to ask me any more questions.”
“Okay. What do you want me to do if he calls?”
“You’re the lawyer. Do whatever it is that lawyers do under circumstances like these. I don’t have anything to hide, but it really bothered me that he came sneaking up on me like he did. I guess the thing to do is to stall him. This guy Norman who is about to go to trial is obviously the killer. At least that’s what he reportedly says. I can’t imagine he won’t be convicted. That should take care of things. I assume this will then go away.”
“That makes sense. If Lotello actually bothers to call me, I’ll just buy us some time.”
They made a little small talk, and the call ended. Mortimer stared at the receiver for a moment or two, jotting down how long they had spoken so that he could invoice the call. He added another tenth of an hour for wondering what it was that Hollister had not told him.
CHAPTER 58
Monday, July 20, 10:30 a.m.
THE FINAL STATUS CONFERENCE before commencement of the Norman trial was scheduled for 9:30 a.m. The lawyers had been cooling their heels for over an hour while Judge Brooks finished all of the other, shorter matters on his morning law and motion calendar. That was par for the course: Most judges chose to hold up the smaller number of lawyers involved in the more complex matters in order to get the greater number of lawyers on the simpler matters in and out of court in the shortest amount of time. That didn’t make it any less frustrating for those who could not run the risk of being absent at the appointed time. Only to have to sit and watch paint dry. Court clerks could of course stagger the scheduling more considerately, but that would run the risk of their judges having to wait on tardy lawyers. That wasn’t going to happen.
“Sorry for the delay, folks,” Brooks began routinely, not the least bit apologetic. “Let’s take this into my chambers.” This was a common practice of sitting judges when privacy was perceived as more important than the public’s need to know. At the court’s discretion, a court reporter would be present to preserve the record, but access to any transcript made in chambers would not automatically be public.
Taking
off his judicial robe, Brooks invited everyone to make themselves comfortable. That’s where the civility ended. Brooks wasted no time making it clear who was in charge and that this was going to be anything but a democratic process. “I want each of you to listen to me carefully. I don’t have a lot of time today. Especially not for any nonsense. I’m not going to say this twice. Outside of my courtroom, this case has been a complete circus. People parading around in the streets, our local politicians grandstanding, and the media, always out of control, blazing new trails of drivel in this case. There’s not going to be any circus in my courtroom. Do you all understand me on this? Do I make myself clear? Woe to anyone who tries to test me on this.”
Everyone nodded silently in affirmation. Brooks didn’t anticipate anyone arguing with him at this point. He was just trying to set the stage and assert his province and control. This was not a capital case, with the death penalty on the line, because the defendant was too sympathetic. Still, it was a murder trial. He knew each side would attempt to do whatever it had to do. Exactly as he would if he were trial counsel. “Okay. I want to hear from the prosecution first. Tell me about your case.”
District Attorney Reilly responded. “Your Honor, this is really a very simple case—actually three very simple consolidated cases, three premeditated murders by a defendant whom you’ve already found competent to stand trial. The defendant had motive, means, and opportunity.
“I don’t think we have to spend much time here on motive. Norman’s life went down the toilet. He was wiped out, literally and figuratively, in every sense of the word.
“As for means and opportunity, they’re both present, in spades. Norman stalked his victims. He acquainted himself with their habits and learned when they would be alone.”
“Your Honor, that’s absurd. There’s no—”
“Hold on, Leah—” Brooks cut Klein off as fast as she tried to interrupt Reilly’s flow. “Are you the prosecution? Don’t answer that. Do I look like I’m a potted plant? Don’t answer that either. I’m hearing from the prosecution right now. You’ll get your chance.”
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