The Witness

by Terry Lynn Thomas

  “Are you up to this, Brian? Because if it’s too much, we can make other arrangements,” Rathman asked.

  “I’ll be fine. I just can’t believe I didn’t see it.”

  “She fooled us too,” Detective Summerfield said.

  Rathman said, “It’ll be easier to convince you that you aren’t a fool after she’s arrested. You should assume she’s watching you. She’s clever. We don’t want to arouse her suspicions. So be careful and act natural.”

  “What made you suspicious about her in the first place?” Detective Daniels asked.

  Brian shook his head. “Nothing. I didn’t suspect a thing. My business partner had a gut feeling and did some digging on her own. If it weren’t for Olivia …” Brian couldn’t bring himself to give voice to the significance of this particular what if.

  “Look, Brian,” Detective Rathman said, “Don’t feel bad that you got conned. I can see you’re full of doubt and maybe even a little fear. That’s understandable. This woman is a consummate professional. She could have gotten to any one of us.”

  “I admit to feeling more than a little foolish,” Brian confessed. “A year ago, I would never have fallen for her. Why did she pick me?”

  “We think she got a look at your file when she worked at Minnesota Life and Casualty. Our investigation revealed that she regularly inquired into male beneficiaries who received large payouts, something she wouldn’t have done in the course and scope of her regular duties. She saw that you had been paid out on your wife’s death and on your home, when it burned,” Detective Summerfield said. “Maybe she just liked the look of you. Who knows?”

  “So she was using the insurance database to troll for victims? That’s just great. Are you sure you want to wait until Saturday night?” Brian asked. “I’d like to get this over with.”

  “We’re tracking her communication with her next victim,” Detective Summerfield said.

  “Next victim?” Brian asked, incredulous. “Aren’t you afraid she’ll run?”

  “She can run all she wants, and we’ll be right behind her,” Detective Summerfield said. “We’ve rented the apartment next door to her in Fairfax. We’re tracking her internet use, and we’ve got a GPS tracking device on her car, so we know her movements at all times. And just for your information, we’re not doing anything about the bank accounts and credit cards she’s taken out in your wife’s name, not yet anyway. We want her to think that she is skating under the radar. Once we arrest her, we’ll sort all that out for you.”

  “Okay. What’s next?”

  “Can you call her and set up the dinner date?” Detective Rathman asked.

  “Now?” Brian asked.

  “Now,” Rathman said.

  “No,” Brian insisted. “Tell me where and when you want us to be and I’ll get her there. I’m not going to set up the meet with everyone listening in. She’ll sense something’s up.”

  “He has a point,” Detective Rathman said.

  “Okay,” Detective Summerfield agreed. “Let us know the logistics, and we’ll make arrangements to get you wired up beforehand.”

  “Are you okay with all of this?” Detective Finley spoke for the first time. Brian could see the worry in her eyes. He didn’t blame her. Had he been in her position, he would have been worried too.

  “I’m fine. I’ll just be glad when this is behind me.”

  “Me too,” Detective Finley gave him a shy smile.

  Brian stood, shook hands with everyone and hurried out into the cold January air.

  Part of him wanted to go to Olivia, but he didn’t. Instead he went home to make his phone call. Leanne answered on the first ring.

  “Hello, Brian. I thought you’d forgotten about me.”

  Brian closed his eyes and conjured up Olivia’s face as he spun his lie. “How could I forget about you? I’ve been busy with work, but wanted to see if you were available Saturday night for dinner?”

  “Saturday sounds perfect. Any chance we could get away this weekend?”

  How easily you lie.

  “Can’t. Work,” Brian said. “But I got someone else to take a surveillance gig Saturday night so I can spend some time with you.” The lies were coming more easily now.

  “Dinner sounds great. Left Bank?”

  “Sure,” Brian said. “What time?”

  “Eight o’clock?”

  “See you then.”

  Chapter 27

  Ebby

  Monday, January 12

  Chloe Jeffers had her office on the ground floor of a Victorian house that had been converted to an office building in downtown San Rafael. The house was two-storied, with bay windows on either side of the main entrance door. The walkway up to the house was paved in old brick and weaved through a garden. When Ebby reached the front door, he was surprised when a gamine woman with shoulder-length black hair and bright-red cat-eyed glasses opened the door for him. She was dressed head to toe in black, with the exception of a pair of well-worn purple cowboy boots.

  “Mr. Engstrom?” The woman held out her hand. “I’m Dr. Jeffers. Follow me. I’m on the second floor. No elevator, I’m afraid.”

  Her office was at the back corner of the house, overlooking a large backyard, complete with a grove of eucalyptus trees. “Have a seat.” She indicated a comfortable-looking couch. The room was austere: the couch, a chair, and a small computer desk with a printer and scanner, over which Dr. Jeffers’ framed credentials hung. On another wall hung one single painting of a seascape, which depicted a foamy green wave, curling against a still gray sky. Unable to resist, Ebby stepped close to it, realizing how much he missed the beach.

  “You like the beach?” Dr. Jeffers asked.

  “Yes. Love to surf. Been a while though.” He sat down on the couch. “Do you prefer that I lie back?”

  “Whatever makes you most comfortable,” Chloe said. “Thanks for filling out your paperwork early. I have everything to bill your insurance.”

  “I imagine you got my records from my previous doctors?” Ebby asked. He half expected to spend this first session telling the story of his mother’s murder, his subsequent dissociative amnesia, and how it had affected his life.

  “Actually, I think we should do things a little differently,” Dr. Jeffers said. “I purposefully did not get your records because something tells me you need a fresh start. Would that be a correct assumption?”

  Ebby couldn’t believe his ears. Historically, his condition had always intrigued medical professionals, and the psychiatrists he had seen over the years had seemed focused on the aspects of his amnesia rather than on how the amnesia was affecting him. “You have no idea,” Ebby said.

  “If it’s okay with you, I’d like you to tell me what’s happening now. How you’re coping, whatever you want to discuss. I know you mentioned that you want your memory to return, but I think we should just let that go for now, at least until you get to know me. Thoughts?”

  “That sounds good,” Ebby said. “Honestly, I swore I’d never see another psychiatrist in my life.”

  “Therapy can get tedious, especially if it’s not giving you what you need. So I’d like to discuss your needs and expectations today. First off, I wanted to tell you that I’m a psychologist, not a psychiatrist, so I can’t prescribe meds.”

  “I understand,” Ebby said.

  “As we go along, you may change your mind and decide that you want to continue taking medication. If that becomes the case, I can refer you to a handful of psychiatrists that I trust. You can always ask a psychiatrist for a regimen that is temporary.”

  During all the years Ebby had undergone therapy, he’d never been given a choice. He was impressed with Dr. Jeffers’ style of communication; it felt like he was having a chat with a friend. There was zero pretense about this woman, and for the first time since he lost his memory, he entertained the idea of getting himself sorted out.

  Without thinking, Ebby leaned back on the couch, pleased to see Dr. Jeffers smile. She’d spoken the magi
c words with her promise of a fresh start. As Ebby lay back and closed his eyes, he suddenly knew that things were going to be okay.

  Chapter 28

  Olivia

  Tuesday, January 13

  Brian had done some digging and discovered that Olivia wasn’t the first female lawyer Seth Woodson had hassled since his hiring two and a half years ago. Although Olivia was reluctant to go over opposing counsel’s – or anyone’s – head, she knew speaking to Gwen was the right thing to do in this instance. When she finally got through to Gwen Kyleson’s personal assistant, she’d been honest and straightforward. “I have some issues with a case with Seth Woodson. Something’s happened. I feel like the DA needs to know, and I want to tell her personally before I file an ethics complaint with the State Bar. If she could spare me ten minutes, I’d be very grateful.”

  When the assistant didn’t respond, Olivia crossed her fingers and kept talking. “If I were in Mrs. Kyleson’s position, I would want someone to tell me what’s going on. Will you at least ask her if she’d meet with me?” The assistant had taken Olivia’s number and promised to call back. Sure enough, twenty minutes later, an appointment for 9 o’clock the next morning was scheduled.

  Now, Olivia grabbed her briefcase and headed into the civic center toward the DA’s office. Given the information that Brian had discovered about ADA Woodson, Olivia had opted to speak to Gwen Kyleson by herself. She reasoned that it wouldn’t have been appropriate for Ebby to become privy to the underbelly of the DA’s office. With Ebby as a witness, DA Kyleson would be less likely to speak to Olivia candidly. Olivia’s strategy was to present her complaints in a professional and unemotional manner. She would say her piece, thank the DA, and leave it all in the hands of Lady Fate.

  As far as she could tell, the meeting would go one of two ways. Her accusations would be categorically dismissed, in which case she would move forward with Ebby’s preliminary hearing and trial, or Gwen Kyleson would believe her and act accordingly. In any event, if Olivia didn’t get a response by Monday, she’d turn her focus to the preliminary hearing, present the exonerating evidence to the judge, and file an ethics complaint with the California State Bar Association. Ebby didn’t do it. She was confident she’d win. A solid plan, she reminded herself, as she paused in the corridor just outside the DA’s office and took a deep breath.

  Ten minutes later, she followed the same assistant she’d spoken with on the phone to Gwen’s office. Before the assistant left Olivia, she said, “We were rooting for you last October, Mrs. Sinclair. You were a hero, a credit to our gender.”

  “Thank you,” Olivia said.

  Olivia hadn’t seen Gwen since the Bar Association Christmas party two years ago. Looking at her now, seated behind the large modern desk, it took all Olivia had to not react to the physical change in the woman. The cancer had ravaged her. She wore a wig, and her round face was gaunt with prominent cheekbones. Despite these changes, Gwen Kyleson’s eyes still sparkled with intelligence. When she spoke, her voice was strong and assured. She stood and offered Olivia her hand. “Hello, Mrs. Sinclair.”

  They shook hands and Olivia sat down in the offered chair. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.” Olivia took a moment and collected herself.

  “This is unusual, Mrs. Sinclair. It’s not my practice to meet with opposing counsel on any cases pending in my office. You said you had some concerns?”

  Yet here we are. Olivia took the ME’s report out of her briefcase and held it on her lap. “I represent Edward Engstrom, whose mother was brutally murdered in 1984. My client was thirteen at the time. He is believed to have witnessed the murder, but immediately after, he suffered a severe and persistent case of dissociative amnesia. He’s never remembered what happened that night. The police investigated the case and Edward was cleared by the medical examiner, who concluded Edward’s height and weight did not align with the stab wounds on the body, based on the angle and location of the wounds. Yet Mr. Engstrom was recently arrested for the crime, even though the police cleared him thirty years ago.

  “I’ve come across evidence that was omitted from discovery that exonerates my client categorically. When I approached ADA Woodson after court, asking if we could meet to discuss the case, he said, and I’m quoting verbatim, ‘I don’t meet with people off the record, especially old bitches like you with an axe to grind. I know you’re on some feminazi crusade. I couldn’t care less. I’m coming for you, Mrs. Sinclair. I don’t give a shit whether or not your client is innocent.’”

  Olivia was pleased when Gwen’s eyes opened in alarm.

  “As you can imagine, I was totally shocked. I’ve dealt with my share of bullies, but this was uncalled for. Most importantly, I’m concerned for my client. Seth Woodson left the original ME’s findings that prove my client’s innocence out of the discovery he produced.” Olivia handed Duncan Wymark’s report to Gwen Kyleson. “Of course, I’ll move for a dismissal at the prelim. Had Seth done his homework, he would never have arrested my client. I’m here today because I feel obligated to file an ethics complaint against Mr. Woodson. If I were in your shoes, I would want to know what my staff were up to.”

  Olivia waited as Gwen Kyleson took her time reading the report, not once, but twice. When she was finished, she turned the report face down on her desk and said, “If this was left out of discovery, how did you get a copy?”

  “After the case went cold, Fiona Engstrom, the sister-in-law of the murdered woman, hired a private investigator. He obtained an entire copy of the file. I met with Duncan Wymark yesterday. He remembers this case and has agreed to testify regarding the report. She met Gwen Kyleson’s gaze and saw the flash of anxiety there.

  “I don’t usually go over opposing counsel’s head. Forgive me if I’ve overstepped, but if I was in your shoes, I would want to be told about this.”

  Gwen stood, indicating the meeting was over, and extended her hand. “Thank you for coming in, Mrs. Sinclair. I’ll look into this and get back to you by the end of the day.”

  Olivia nodded. As she walked out, she heard Gwen on the speaker to her assistant. “Nancy, get me Cal Lonsdale. I don’t care what he’s doing. I want him in here within the hour.” Olivia knew Cal Lonsdale by reputation – a senior investigator who had been with the DA’s office for ages. Joe was known among his peers as a bulldog, a guy who held grudges and was as loyal as they come. Gwen Kyleson, it seemed, was taking Olivia’s concerns very seriously indeed.

  ***

  San Rafael Joe’s has been a Marin institution since the 1940s. Known for its affordably priced Italian food, San Rafael Joe’s – in Olivia’s opinion – had the best eggplant parmigiana in town. Olivia had a standing lunch date with Stephen Vine, her dear friend, who also happened to be one of the most prominent criminal defense attorneys in the San Francisco Bay Area. They had been friends since they graduated from law school and had referred clients to each other over the years. When Olivia had been accused of murdering her husband’s mistress, she’d hired Stephen. Today he waited for Olivia, reading the paper and drinking coffee.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said.

  “No problem. You look healthy. Seems criminal law agrees with you.” The waiter came and took Olivia’s drink order. Once he was gone, Stephen said, “You’ve knocked the DA’s office on its head.”

  “You heard about my meeting with Gwen Kyleson already? I just left there.”

  “I have contacts. These things get around.”

  “Well, what else did you hear?”

  “Well, Seth Woodson’s expected to be gone by the end of the day. Big surprise there, but he had it coming. Was I correct in assuming you wanted the eggplant?”

  “You were,” Olivia said.

  “Good. I took the liberty of ordering for you.” The waiter appeared with their lunch orders. He set the ravioli down in front of Stephen, the eggplant parmigiana in front of Olivia. “So, Olivia, tell me why you seem like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. You’ve accomplish
ed something monumental for your client. You’re back in the game. What’s the problem?”

  Olivia sipped her wine. “I know this is going to sound ridiculous, but there are times when I feel like I’m past my sell-by date, if that makes sense. I don’t know what to do with myself anymore. Part of me regrets getting rid of my practice. The other part of me knows that it was time to slow down. The events of last October still haunt me. I’m still picking up the pieces, still looking over my shoulder when I leave the house for that lone journalist looking for a story. And while I’m glad I was able to help Ebby, I know now that I don’t want to practice criminal law.”

  “So fix it,” Stephen said, in his usual direct manner.

  “It’s not quite that easy,” Olivia said. “I have no idea what needs to be fixed. I’m just completely out of sorts.”

  “Why?”

  Olivia bit back her irritation.

  “Don’t get pissed at me, Liv. But here’s the thing: you don’t know what to do with your life. You’re questioning who you are and how you can be of service. Am I right?”

  “That would be an accurate statement.”

  “So do what you know, on your own terms. You could go back to family law,” Stephen said. “Just make it work for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, word on the street is that Claire Montreaux is struggling a bit. She assumed she could fill the void you left just by getting referrals from me. She’s a good lawyer, don’t get me wrong. But she doesn’t have the people skills you have, for lack of a better word.”

  “I’m sure Claire doesn’t need me to tell her how to do her job.”

  “No, but it seems to me you two could come to some arrangement. The way I see it, you could do the research and writing, handle the clients, and let Claire be one who steps into the arena. One thing we both know, Claire Montreaux enjoys the fight.” Stephen gave Olivia a knowing look. “I know you’re finished being a litigator. I get it. That part of the job can chew you up and make you crazy. When we’re young lawyers, we’re hungry and ready to argue and fight and get ourselves out there. It stands to reason that attitude would shift as we age.”