Murder Made Legal: A Casey Alton Mystery

by Richard Wren

  CHAPTER 50

  “Hey Chris, any problems?”

  “Nary a one. He’s complaining about the food and the cot, but what the hell, we ain’t charging him anything are we?” He snickered.

  The gang had rushed to empty the combination ice house and storage room to make it usable as a temporary prison, installing a cot and some chairs and a small table.

  Josie stopped the group before they went in.

  “Chris?”

  “Yes ma’am?”

  “Can he hear us talking?”

  “No way, ma’am,” Chris responded forcefully.

  “Okay then, here are the rules. I’m an officer of the court and we must keep the interrogation in a manner consistent with admission rulings, understood?”

  A disinterested okay from Smitty.

  “Stop!” Josie forcefully demanded. “If you do not do this my way, you’re jeopardizing the whole case. The whole damn thing could be thrown out on a technicality. Do you want to clear Gus’s memory or not? If you do; pay attention to me. And that means you, Dad.

  “Sorry Josie,” Smitty quickly replied. Then to re-inforce his agreement he turned to the rest of the group, “She’s right, we go by the book, okay?” Everyone agreed.

  Satisfied, Josie said, “Open up, Chris.”

  “Comin’ in,” Chris announced as he unlatched the door. As the entered Jeannine ran her hand over the thickness of the wall framing the door entrance. Casey noticed her. “All the walls are that thick, designed to keep the ice as long as possible. Makes a pretty good prison, don’t you think?”

  “Remind you of anything?” she asked Casey. “Like the basement room at the Nunnery?”

  Casey grimaced. “Don’t remind me. Actually this one’s worse. Did you notice we don’t close the door? That’s because there’s no way to open it from inside.”

  Josie said, “That’s scary.”

  “That’s why we usually keep the door wired open.”

  Lanner was lying on the cot, wide awake. As they entered, he rolled over, turning his back to them.

  Chris had come in with them. “Hey Lanner, you got company.” Casey quickly added. “Some of your oldest friends, Lanner.”

  Slowly, grudgingly, he rolled over and shaded his eyes against the light from the doorway. He had one word for them, “Bullshit.”

  “Chris,” Casey asked, “Can you get him up and on a chair? He really needs to see these people face to face.”

  Once he was seated, Connie, by pre-arrangement, slid into the chair across from him. He didn’t look at her.

  “Earl, look at me,” she demanded.

  His head swung around in shock upon hearing her address him by his first name. He didn’t recognize her.

  “Who the hell d’ya think you are?” he snarled.

  Connie forced a grim smile and in a stark, deadly voice said, “I’m the one that’s going to put you in line for the death sentence.”

  Lanner reverted to his limited vocabulary, “That’s bullshit, lady.”

  “Is it?” she quietly asked. “Think back twelve years to a seven or eight year old girl. Remember?” He didn’t answer.

  “I think you will remember hiring a college girl to help you take care of a seven- or eight-year-old, so-called niece of yours?”

  Beginning to catch onto who she might be, he glared at her. “Yeah, so what?”

  “Do you remember how you called me and told me you didn’t need me anymore something about her mother coming back?”

  No answer.

  Then finally, all in one breath, she threw a body punch. “I bet you remember when I came to collect my pay and volunteered to mail a package for you. It was all taped up and then tied with twine. You tried to take it back from me but I already was halfway to the door and then you asked me to mail it across town at a post office so it would get there quicker.” It was a statement, not a question.

  Now she had his full attention. Still no answer, but the color was draining from his face.

  Then, obviously enjoying her role, she delivered a final blow. “And I’ll bet you remember seeing that very same package with the very same wrapping, the very same tape and the very same twine pictured weeks later in every newspaper and being described as the package that poor girl’s fingers had been mailed in. I should have gone to the police then but I was afraid. For months I expected police at the door because my fingerprints must have been on the box you used. Thank God I had gloves on when I carried the box and mailed it.

  She paused for a minute and drew a deep breath. “I knew what a monster you were, but was too scared to tell anyone. I’ve lived with that memory ever since. Now I’m volunteering to testify against you. They tell me you’ll probably get the death sentence and that suits me,” she ended with a flourish.

  Casey had been watching Lanner gradually cave in as he realized who the lady across from him was and what she could testify to. All the bravado was gone. He looked as if he had aged twenty years in the last few minutes. Casey felt no pity for him at all. He helped Connie up from the chair and offered it to Jeannine.

  “There’s more, Lanner. Recognize this ghost from your past?” Casey warned.

  He glanced at her quickly and blurted, “Never seen her before.”

  “Oh yes you have!” Jeannine corrected. He wouldn’t look at her. “Thirty-seven years ago in a Sorority house at Cal,” she repeated. “You told me you’d been paid to kill me, but you took pity on me and only kidnapped me and stole thirty-seven years of my life. They tell me that on top of her charges, you’ll be charged with kidnapping, probably violation of the Mann Act and imprisonment.”

  Lanner straightened up a little. “You’re the nun?” he croaked. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

  Jeannine stood up out of the chair, put both hands on the edges of the table, and in a rare show of emotion, verbally lashed out in a whisper, “I can forgive what you did, after all you did let me live. But both what you agreed to do and what you actually did were terrible. I can forgive you but I will happily testify against you. I will do everything I can to make sure you finally pay for your sins. May God forgive you,” she ended. ”

  Casey pricked up his ears. How does he know about her? he asked himself as he took over the seat across from Lanner. He sat for a while just staring at Lanner. All kinds of thoughts ran through his mind. How do I negotiate with this asshole without giving him anything? He reminded himself that it wasn’t too long ago that Lanner had been about to kill him. Lanner stared back at him, still showing defiance.

  “Kinda got you by the short hairs, haven’t we?” Casey taunted.

  Lanner shrugged his shoulders.

  “I bet you’re wondering how come we haven’t turned you over to the cops yet.”

  He shrugged again, “It crossed my mind,” he mumbled.

  Casey said. “Look Lanner, we hold all the cards but we might be willing to throw away a couple of them in exchange for the right information.”

  A look of interest crossed Lanner’s face. “No jail?” he asked.

  Casey quickly disabused him of that idea. “After what you did to that poor little girl? No way. All we can do is promise the best damn defense you’re entitled to, if we got the right information. Our attorney thinks that might make the difference between jail or the death sentence.” He stopped talking and waited Lanner out.

  Now a cunning expression replaced interest. In a tone of disbelief, he asked, “You’re saying that the nun might withdraw any charges she could make in exchange for some information?”

  “If we get the right information,” Casey carefully replied.

  Lanner leaned back and was silent for a short time, staring intently at Casey. When he spoke, it was very slowly. “Not saying I’m interested or nothin’, but what kinda info you lookin’ for?”

  “Names. One is the person that hired you to kill the coed and the other is the name of the person you recently told about her and where she might be found.”

  “Jesus Christ
, you don’t ask for much, do you?”

  “You don’t think it’s worth it? With a little bit of detective work we could probably add the lady bartender’s killing to your list to make it more valuable to you.” Casey wasn’t aware if the police were on to Lanner as Shirl’s killer or not, but it added to the weight of the evidence against him.

  Again a long silence. “Supposin’ I said I could, how would it work out?”

  Casey had to extemporize. They hadn’t thought this far ahead. Slowly, he built a plan. “After you cough up the names and we’re satisfied, we get a signed and notarized confession to the kidnapping, my wife will sign on as your attorney just long enough to negotiate your surrender to the D.A.’s office to face the charges brought as a result of your confession.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Simple. The women bring both charges, tell the D.A.’s office they’re willing to testify in person, and we tell all we know about the lady bartender’s murder.”

  Lanner tilted his head, looked upwards at Casey and out of the side of his mouth said, “And she’ll defend me?”

  “As promised, yes.”

  “Like being between a rock and a hard place, ain’t it?”

  “Your call,” Casey replied. He wasn’t about to admit to Lanner how desperately they needed the information. “But,” he added, “my wife thinks that your voluntary surrendering and the absence of other charges in the meantime would redound to your favor.”

  Suddenly Lanner turned in his chair and addressed Connie and Jeannine. “You both okay with what he said?”

  Jeannine was totally shocked. This man was facing two women he had wronged terribly, and he was asking them a question as if they were friends. Jeannine immediately thought sociopath. He obviously hadn’t planned his crimes carefully as a psychopath might, but he’s a loner and easily agitated as a sociopath might be. Clinically, she decided to humor him and see what happened. She gripped Connie’s arm forcefully to keep her from answering and answered him herself.

  “Personally, I’d like to testify in court against you, but we’ll go along with what Casey says.”

  Lanner eyed her in silence for a long moment as she kept eye contact with him. He folded his arms on the table before him, dropped his head face down, and started talking to himself. They couldn’t decipher his mutterings except when he occasionally spoke his own name louder as if addressing himself.

  Suddenly he looked up and said, “Goddam catch twenty-two.”

  Casey was taken aback. “What’s that mean?”

  “It means if I give you a name, they’ll know who told you and they’ll kill me, and if I don’t, you’re gonna get me hung or in jail the rest of my life and that means you win.” He slumped back in his chair.

  Casey quickly decided to take immediate advantage of his statement. “Who hired you to kill her?” He nodded toward Jeannine.

  Lanner looked around, took a deep breath, and said, “Harcourt.”

  “Harcourt?” Casey said in a shocked voice. “Harcourt?” he repeated disbelievingly.

  Just then Smitty walked in and silently leaned against the wall, listening intently. Casey ignored him.

  Lanner looked at Casey strangely. “Yeah, Harcourt. And that fat toad Mason.”

  CHAPTER 51

  “You’re sure?”

  Lanner stood up and started pacing. “It’s kinda a long story.” Suddenly he wanted to talk. It was as if having blurted out the names, the dam was broken.

  “Them two were totally panicked. They practically begged me to help. They had the right references, so I listened. They were babbling about how both their grandson’s lives were going to be ruined and how much they’d pay me to make the problem go away. I had a hell of a time calming them down so’s I could make sense outa them.

  First thing he said was how he was a partner with the rooskies in the Casino and how they’d told him to call me. He said they told him I could do the job and keep my mouth shut. I said what job? He hemmed and hawed and finally said it was a long story. I said I got time, but I need to go to the crapper first. What I really wanted to do was put a recorder in my pocket and record the whole damn thing. You never know with those fuckin’ rooskies.

  “Finally they calmed down and started from the beginning. I got the idea that Mason was in tight with one of the regents at Cal who kept him up to date. He knew about the kid being charged with rape, and he’d just heard about a private investigator that’d told one of the regents he’d uncovered some damning evidence against the kids and was about to turn it over to the authorities.”

  I asked them what they wanted me to do, and they said maybe I could pay off the PI and scare off the girl.

  I told ‘em it was too late to buy off the PI if he was already talking to people; they’d have to do something more drastic. Then I asked about the girl, and they said she was holed up in a sorority being protected by a bunch of college girls.”

  Casey interrupted him, “You were recording all this?”

  “Yep, and there’s more. So then Harcourt asked me if that was it and there wasn’t anything I could do. I said I didn’t say that, and Mason blurted out, ‘We could kill ‘em.’ Harcourt looked terrified and Mason said ‘Why not? Get rid of the problem once and for all.’”

  Harcourt told Mason to quit scaring him, and Mason asked me if it could be done.

  I thought about the Rooskies and how much power Mason had in the state and asked him if he was asking me to get rid of both of his problems, and he calmly said yes. I thought Harcourt was gonna puke. ‘What the hell’re you doin?’ he asked. Mason told him to shut up and that he was taking care of the situation.

  Harcourt threw a fit. He begged Mason to quit talking like a maniac, but Mason had made up his mind and wouldn’t budge, so I asked him how much. I got him up to fifty thousand, so I did it.”

  Fascinated by the story, it took Casey a moment to gather his wits. “Did what?” he asked.

  Calmly and laconically, Lanner answered. “I did it, killed the PI and contracted to kill the girl, but didn’t.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence. Smitty stepped in. “You got all that on tape?”

  “Yep, except the part where I agreed to do it, I don’t have that on there,” he answered smugly.

  Connie quietly spoke up. “I do. As soon as you said, ‘catch twenty-two,’ I started recording, and we have plenty of witnesses.”

  “Shoulda known,” was all Lanner could manage.

  “Where’s the tape?” Smitty demanded.

  Resignedly he answered, “At the house.”

  Smitty walked to the desk and leaned over Lanner. “Quit fuckin’ around, Lanner, where the fuck in the house?” He snapped his head around toward Josie and Jeannine, “Pardon my French ladies.”

  In a moment, they had the exact location of his stash in the house and Les was on his way to get it.

  Josie had been silently observing most of this, now she spoke up. “Legally, we have a few hurdles to cross.” She spoke to Smitty and Casey as if Lanner wasn’t present. “He needs to hire me as his attorney to handle his surrender and obviously we can’t surrender him to Mason in Alameda County. So I think we surrender him here in Contra Costa County. I haven’t figured out what to tell the D.A. yet.”

  Smitty quickly agreed and set up a scenario. “He gets in touch with you because he tangled with us and he knows you’re on the outs with Mason. He tells you he heard that a witness had turned up that would crucify him and he wants to surrender with an attorney because he’s afraid of the police. You arrange to meet him here and take along a couple of our guys for safety. You surrender him in Contra Costa County ‘cause that’s where he meets you. That work?”

  Josie and Casey stared at Smitty in amazement. “Where’d that come from?” Josie asked.

  “Will that work?” ignored Smitty.

  She thought for a moment, “It should.”

  They discussed the idea with Lanner and he slowly agreed. “Do I got a choice?”
was his agreement.

  Les called to say he’d found the tape and had played a little of it, and it was just as Lanner had described. Lanner hired Josie and the two of them moved to an outside desk to discuss his surrender. Lanner agreed to let her do all the talking and he would say nothing. Connie wondered if she would have to testify if he was confessing. Josie had to tell her she probably would.

  Suddenly Smitty let out a roar. “Jesus Christ, we forgot. What about the DNA evidence, how do we get around that?”

  Josie turned on Lanner. “Lanner?” was all she said, as if she expected him to answer Smitty’s question.

  Lanner was basking in the spotlight, bragging about his exceptional abilities. “Oh that,” he tossed off, “You mean the DNA?”

  “YES,” roared Smitty. Gus’s blood on the shirt in the evidence bag, that’s what we’re talking about.”

  “Don’t worry about it. If it ever gets to court and the details come out, they’ll figure out that the shirt never belonged to your friend.”

  “What the Hell are you talking about?” Smitty demanded. “The shirt was found in the evidence box when they opened it.”

  “Yeah, I know. I had it put there.”

  Josie stepped in. “Stop! Lanner, Dad. Sit down and calm down.” They both sat down.

  “Now Lanner, you’re talking just to me, and I’m your attorney. Explain to me how you put that evidence there.”

  “Well there was his shirt in the evidence bag, and I knew my blood was on it. The PI and I struggled and he got a little lucky with a kitchen knife and nicked my side, bled like hell. I didn’t worry about it none until they started using DNA and opening those old cases. Then I worried about it. Fact is, I obsessed about it. My blood’s on record, being in jail and all, and I figured it was just a matter of time.”

  Smitty started to say something, and Josie stopped him.

  “Dad, I’m conducting this interview.” She turned back to Lanner. “What did you do?”

  “Well, to make a long story short…” He looked around as if he expected applause for a clever remark; none came. He continued, “I got real lucky. I met a cop at a bar. He needed some favors, and I was able to get them. Then he owed me.”