He did as he was told. “What are you going to tell her?”
“Going to buy an address. Be right back.”
And she was. She wasn’t inside ten minutes until she reappeared, in no great hurry, and walked confidently to the car. In her hand she waved at him a bar tab, on the back of which was writing.
“Address,” she said, and slipped it before his eyes when she was back inside the car. “Set the GPS and let’s go. He’ll be on the prowl in the next little while if he’s not already.”
“So what happened in there?”
“I found the girl, asked her about Hector. She wanted to know was I a cop. I said ‘No,’ and she believed me. For $100 I got the hotel and room number.”
“How the hell did she remember all that?”
“Turns out she stayed with him for a week. Until his money ran out. Then she went back to her own place. She was coked up tonight pretty bad, and jones’n for money.”
“So the money will buy her an ounce of coke.”
“She wishes.”
“So much for my rent money.”
“A great spend, Thaddeus. It’ll come back tenfold. Doesn’t the Bible say tenfold?”
“Or a hundredfold, I believe.”
“Well, it’s worth it, whatever. Now drive on.”
He slipped into traffic and obeyed the Garmin voice, going left, then straight three hundred feet, then making a U-turn and heading back, then right and then straight for a mile. While he was driving along, Christine reached behind and retrieved her fire engine red gym bag. She placed it in her lap and unzipped the top.
“What do you have in there?” he asked.
“You don’t want to know.”
“Now I do. What is it?”
“Not much. Firm camera, for the statement I’m going to get for you. Something I picked up from the sale barn.”
“Hector’s statement—you’re going to record it?”
“I am,” she said, and smiled. “You can use it in court.”
“Probably not. It’s hearsay.”
“We’ll worry about that later. I’m sure you’ll find some way around some dumb evidentiary rule like hearsay.”
“Damn.”
“Trust me, Silly Boy,” she laughed. “Just get me to Hector’s hotel before he stuffs a wad of tissue in his underwear and goes on the prowl like some hung dude. Which, I am certain, he is not.”
“How are you certain?”
“Trust me. I know this guy. I’m married to his second cousin.”
“TMI. I’m sorry I asked.”
“Drive on.”
Garmin brought them to a hotel painted white with green window trim and a red entryway. The flashing neon said “Laura-lei Arms.” Thaddeus pulled up and over the drive-in. He found an empty spot and, for the second time that night, put it in PARK while Christine gathered her bright red gym bag up over her shoulder and said she’d be back in about thirty minutes. He asked whether she needed to know anything about the statement and she just gave him a look. “Didn’t mean to insult you,” he muttered as she walked around and out of the headlights.
It was cold so he left it running but turned off the lights. He checked the time. 9:38 p.m. He was wearing his gun under his jacket and he was glad. He would give Christine until 10:10 then he would call for police assistance because she would be in trouble if she wasn’t back by then. He switched on the radio “WCGI!” the howling voice yelled through the quad speakers. The FM station then launched into a string of obnoxious hip-hop loaded with epithets against the police and against women, and Thaddeus twirled the dial. He punched it for AM and found 720 WGN and came in on the middle of a discussion about the Blackhawks’ chances for a repeat Stanley Cup. He wasn’t a big hockey follower—NBA was more his thing—but he wasn’t all that picky right now, either. Just something to pass the time while Christine was risking life and limb to help her friend Ermeline. He actually knew very little about Christine’s prior life in the military; she said little about it whenever the topic came up. And she was death on the Middle East and what she had done there. The few times somebody had asked her about it—that Thaddeus had heard—she had abruptly changed the subject and talked about something as innocuous as Basic Training instead. He imagined Abu Ghraib or some such prison had figured into her past, but wasn’t sure. And actually it was none of his business. He liked her and liked her work and didn’t really give a damn what she might have been up to in a prior life.
It was 10:10 and he was ready to dial 911 when she suddenly emerged, the same red gym bag over her shoulder, hurrying in his direction. She gave thumbs up, made a face, and jumped in. “Hit it!” she cried. “Drive, drive, drive!” He wheeled the Buick out of the slot, backed up, and slammed into DRIVE. They bounced up and over the entryway bump and veered sharply out into traffic.
“What happened?” he shouted over the clamor and honking horns coming up behind them. “Was he there?”
She laughed. Uproariously, and couldn’t stop. “He was,” she finally managed. “He had someone with him. Another young lady. You wouldn’t believe it. I gave her a bed sheet and made her go stand in the hallway.”
“What!?”
“Hector was very cooperative. Gave a very thorough, very comprehensive statement. It’s all recorded and ready for you to play for the jury. And right now I need you to pull out your cell and dial up Officer Forenzio. I’m putting the statement on a thumb drive and turning over a copy to him so he can put Hector on ice for us.”
“What do you mean, exactly?”
“Simple. We need Hector locked up for the credit card theft so he can’t leave town. If you’ve got a hearsay problem I want to know where we can find this guy and haul his ass into court.”
“Damnation.”
“Just doing my job. Now. About my raise. I know it’s three months early, but we really need to talk.” She giggled, a high-girlish giggle. He had never heard a more contradictory sound come out of his secretary, whom he had only known as rough-and-tumble and ready for action. “A raise!”
“You’ve got it. Starting Monday.”
“Starting last Monday.”
“Okay, last Monday.”
“So how did it work? How in heaven’s name did you get him to cooperate?”
“Well…it was shocking, but he decided to help.”
“What do you mean, it was shocking?”
“Oh, this.” She unzipped the top of the red gym bag and withdrew a two foot baton. “Electric prod. I borrowed it from Jimmy Smitters at the sale barn. They shock the livestock with these. I mean it was like totally shocking—to Hector.”
“You used that on him?” Thaddeus said with disbelief. “You shocked him?”
“Can’t tell you details, Boss. But it was all legal.”
“Legal according to who, the CIA?”
“Black Arts. Anyway, it’s done.”
“Damn it all. I’m probably done, too.”
“There’s nothing on the statement to indicate duress. I made sure of that.”
“Coercion?” he asked. “Did you coerce his statement?”
“Nothing on the video would indicate coercion.”
“Torture? What about torture?”
“Thaddeus! What do you take me for!”
“I don’t know. Nobody knows what they should take you for.”
She settled back against the seat. “Well, find our little cop friend and then take me for coffee. I need Starbucks like yesterday.”
She laughed.
“What’s funny?”
“We’ll call the video the Testicle Statement.”
“Don’t tell me, please.”
“Or we could call it Balls to the Wall.”
“Damn.”
“Coffee, please. I need to steady my hands.”
“You’ve got it.”
Twenty minutes later they handed off the thumb drive to Officer Nick Forenzio, who thanked them and spun around his cruiser to go get Hector. He would make sure they p
ut him in a deep dark hole at 2700 S. California Avenue, the Cook County Jail. It was home to 12,700 men and women awaiting trial on thousands of charges and Hector would feel right at home among his kind.
30
Early the next morning, Thaddeus brought the firm camera over to the jail and played the Hector video for Ermeline. He had watched it several times himself, all twenty-two minutes. When it was over, she sat and stared blankly at the small screen. “I was set up,” she finally said. “But who would do that?”
“Unknown,” Thaddeus said. “Or why. But I’m working on that?”
“Do you have any leads?”
“Not really. Probably the same guys who shot me. I’m guessing it had something to do with Vic Harrow. That’s the only name I can come up with.”
“So when can you get me out of here?”
“Soon. Very soon.”
* * *
Thaddeus hurried back to his office. He had to update Defendant’s Discovery Responses by adding the name of Hector Ransom to the Defendant’s witness list. He also had to disclose the existence of the recorded statement. He made the appropriate changes and put them on top the pile of papers to file and distribute when he got to court. He still had an hour to kill when the phone rang. Christine wasn’t in yet and he didn’t blame her. They hadn’t made it back to Orbit until one a.m. and he knew she must have been exhausted. He answered the phone himself.
“Thaddeus Murfee,” he said. “How can I help you?”
“Thad, Bruce Blongeir here.”
“Hey, Bruce. What’s up?”
“Look, I know we haven’t really got to talk since Vic passed away but I’m wondering. Could I run by for fifteen minutes?”
“Sure. Where are you?”
“Over at the Silver Dome. I’ll hoof it right over.”
“Sure, come ahead.”
Why not? He hadn’t really had a chance to apologize to Bruce and Marleen for filing suit against Victor—not that an apology was forthcoming, but it was a small town and in a small town those things were just done. Marleen was Victor’s daughter and Thaddeus knew it had really hurt her when he had to sue her dad. With Bruce it was little different; he was a guy and guys were sort of used to getting mixed up in scuffles, but with Marleen it must have hurt her and he was definitely sorry it had to be done. All in all, of course, he would have done anything—sued anyone—to help his client, especially an innocent like Ermeline. Which put Bruce in a strange position himself. On the one hand Victor was his father-in-law and had been very good to him, with the package store and all that. But on the other hand Bruce was also Ermeline’s boss, and like everyone he knew what a damn good person she was, so that must have been very difficult for him. That’s probably what he wants to talk about, thought Thad. He probably wants to get it off his chest.
Bruce was dressed in his customary uniform—khakis and Oxford cloth button down, ski parka and roper boots. He came straight into Thaddeus’ office like he had had been there before, and probably had, while Judge Prelate manned the office as an attorney. He sat across from Thaddeus and rubbed his temples for a minute. He was pale and looked like he had been up several nights in a row. Everyone knew he worked eighteen hour days, especially since Vic’s death and he had taken over the construction business too, but this was different. This tiredness looked like stress tired. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and thanked Thaddeus for getting him in so fast. Then he began.
“I had a call from the FBI yesterday. And I think somehow your client Ermeline is involved.”
Thaddeus’ heart jumped in his chest. Ermeline? More bad news? “How so?” he managed to say, levelly and without worry.
“Turns out Victor—is this confidential?”
“Absolutely. I’m not even taking notes.”
“Turns out Victor was paying off the Governor.”
“What!”
“That’s right. Construction jobs. It’s been going on for years.”
“What?” Thaddeus’ pulse was pounding and he felt like his heart was going to explode. He was so excited he couldn’t find words. Slow down, he forced himself, one thing at a time. “How do you know about this?”
Bruce leaned back. “FBI.”
“FBI. You talked to them?”
“Hell, Thad, they’ve been in my office, going over the books.”
“And? Really?”
“Turns out Victor was paying the Governor off every time he got a government check on jobs he’d done. At least until six months or so ago. Then he stopped. FBI thinks the Governor and his cronies might be connected to poor old Victor’s death.”
“You must be—“
“Lying to you? I am not. I wanted to tell you earlier, but they just called me for sure yesterday.”
“What happened yesterday?”
“See, the FBI came to my office—Vic’s old office. Went over the books. Traced big money to the Caymans. Yesterday they told me the money came back every time to First National Bank of the Americas, in Chicago. Then it was picked up by Ricardo Moltinari or Johnny Bladanni—something like that. Always the same two guys.”
“So how’s the Governor mixed up in this?”
“Agent Pepper—the FBI agent—she says they have the Governor bugged. He’s discussing the payoffs with this Moltinari guy. Something about putting Victor in a vice. And squashing his head.”
“Damn! Do you have her number?”
“Better than that. I brought you her card. You can have it. I have another.” Bruce pulled the embossed card from his shirt pocket. There it was: Pauline Pepper, Special Agent, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Chicago, Illinois.
At that moment Christine stuck her head in the office. “Hey. Anyone need coffee?”
“Not me,” said Bruce. “I was just leaving.”
“Yes for me,” said Thaddeus. “Then come in with a note pad. We’ve got some work to do.”
He thanked Bruce, who went back to his duties at the Silver Dome Restaurant. The Silver Dome Bar wouldn’t be open for another four hours. He’d be running the restaurant and package place until then. Thaddeus watched him go and then jumped up out of his chair. He was pacing in his office and pounding his hands together when Christine returned with the coffee and notepad. “Did we win?”
“Sit down! You know what, we did just win.”
“What?”
He managed to make himself sit down. “Check this out.” He went on to explain what Bruce had told him, how it created reasonable doubt in Ermeline’s case, and what had to come next. Soon Christine was back at her own desk, creating a subpoena duces tecum for Pauline Pepper. She would be ordered to bring all of her investigative files to the circuit court in the matter of People v. Ermeline Ransom. The hunt was on.
31
Thaddeus eased off on the voir dire and by noon they had a jury picked. The Clerk swore them in and Judge Prelate told SAAG to call her first witness.
“State calls Charlie Altiman,” she said. Thaddeus watched her closely. He hadn’t yet filed his supplemental witness disclosure list. He would wait until closing time and file that at the last minute. He was willing to give her every chance that she had given him: exactly none.
Charlie Altiman arose from counsel table—his seat beside SAAG Barre. He slowly clumped up to the witness stand, paused and swore to tell the truth when directed by Clerk. He resignedly took the witness chair. She asked him a series of leading questions: name, work address, work history, years as law enforcement officer, when he became sheriff, what his duties were, who worked for him, where his office was located, and the rest of it. Then she told him she wanted to talk about Ermeline Ransom “the Defendant.” Charlie just stared at her.
“I take it you’re acquainted with Ermeline Ransom?”
“Sitting right there. Next to Thad.”
“I mean—did you know her before this case began?”
“Sure. I know all the Orbit kids.”
“And regarding this particular case, when did you first get in
volved or have anything to do with Ermeline Ransom?”
“Oh, it’s been awhile now. Got a call from one of my deputies. Victor Harrow was dead. One thing led to another and I got a search warrant for Ermeline’s house that same morning.”
“So you felt she might have had something to do with Victor’s death?” SAAG Barre shot a look at the jury on this question. Are you listening? her look said.
“Didn’t say that. I got a search warrant. That was all.”
“And what did you do?”
Sheriff Altiman looked over at the jury and broke a small smile. Several jurors returned it. “I searched her house.”
“And what did you find there?”
“One of the city boys found a gun and knife.”
“Let me show you what’s been marked State’s Exhibits 42 and 43. Would this be the gun and this be the knife?” she asked, holding up the clear plastic bags in which the gun and knife had been protected while awaiting trial. She handed the two bags to the Sheriff. He turned them over and looked at the initials.
“Those aren’t my initials on there. Those are Mike Smith’s initials. He musta watched me pull them out of the cabinet. He must have actually found them. I’ve sorta forgot which one actually turned them up.”
“But these items were found at Ermeline Ransom’s house, correct?”
“If they’re the same ones, yeah. I guess.”
“You guess or they were? They were found there?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know where they were?”
“Towel cabinet. Bathroom.”
“Which bathroom?”
“There’s only one.”
“Did you ever ask Ermeline about the gun or about the knife?”
“Nope.”
“No you didn’t confront her with the weapons? Why not?”
“I thought I’d leave that up to people smarter’n me.”
A note of frustration crept into the Special Assistant Attorney General’s voice. “And who might that be?”
“You.”
“You waited for me to talk to her?”
“Or somebody. I didn’t know what to ask.”
The Defendants: Crime Fiction & Legal Thriller (Thaddeus Murfee Legal Thriller Series Book 1) Page 21