The first is from Edwards. “Have you found any evidence relating to the Grayson murder?”
“No comment.”
“Did you find anything that sheds any light on the whereabouts of Alicia Morales?”
“It’s too soon to tell.” He adds that if the car is charred beyond recognition, it will be difficult to get any prints or other evidence that might be of any use. He ends the discussion abruptly and darts behind the barricade.
The reporters are returning to their vans to film their lead-ins and promos when Edwards sticks a microphone in my face and says, “We’re speaking to Michael Daley, who is Leon Walker’s attorney. Do youhave any comment about the ramifications of this fire on Leon Walker’s case?”
I’m on live TV and I have no time to gather my thoughts before I say, “Somebody has destroyed an important piece of evidence.” I add a little juice. “We’d like to know who set this car on fire and we’d like to know why. We would also like help from the public in locating a woman named Alicia Morales, who was last seen in the lobby of the Gold Rush Hotel on Thursday night.” I arch an eyebrow and add, “We think she may have been the last person to have seen Tower Grayson alive.”
*****
Chapter 36
“We Have to Find Her”
“San Francisco police are attempting to determine whether there is any connection between the death of venture capitalist Tower Grayson and the discovery of his burnt-out Mercedes at a fire-gutted warehouse near AT&T Park.”
— KGO-Radio. Tuesday, June 7. 9:30 A.M.
“You really should shave before you go on TV,” Rosie says to me.
“I was in a hurry.”
We’re back in the office at ten A.M. Pete stayed at China Basin to see if he could find anybody who might have some information about the fire and the whereabouts of Alicia Morales. Carolyn is working on document requests, subpoenas and witness lists. The prelim is only two days away.
I ask, “Was there anything interesting in Jerry Edwards’s column this morning?”
“He knew about Alicia Morales and he accused us of withholding evidence.”
So much for my attempts at full disclosure. “He’ll get over it.”
Rosie says, “We have to find her.”
“Pete’s looking.”
She asks about Grayson’s car.
“It’s charred beyond recognition,” I tell her.
She processes the information with a scowl, then asks, “Did you point out to Roosevelt that Leon couldn’t have torched it?”
“Yes.”
“And did you mention that somebody else may have killed Grayson and stolen his car?”
“He’s going to look into it, but there is no evidence tying the car fire to Grayson’s death.”
“What do we do in the meantime?”
“Try to find Alicia Morales.”
# # #
“It’s nice of you to come,” Leon says. “I promised I wouldn’t die before my prelim.”
“We wanted to be sure you were going to be true to your word,” I tell him.
This elicits a weak smile. The ICU at San Francisco General is a modest improvement over his cell at the Glamour Slammer, but not much. Two cops are posted outside his door. The IV in his arm makes movement difficult and he has spent the last twenty-four hours fading in and out of consciousness. The chance that he’ll make a break for it seems decidedly unlikely.
I ask him how he’s feeling.
His voice is a raspy whisper. “All things considered, not bad for a dying man.”
It’s reassuring that he’s trying to make jokes, but it’s usually better when the lawyers try to comfort their clients. I ask, “Do you think you’ll be out of here anytime soon?”
“One way or another.”
“I was referring to the possibility that you might be able to walk.”
“So was I.” He gestures at me to move closer. “I’m not feeling too bad,” he whispers. His eyes dart toward the door as he adds, “But I’m not telling them. The food is better here and except for this damn IV, the accommodations are nicer.”
“You’re sandbagging?”
“A little.”
I can’t say that I blame him. “We might need you to testify at the prelim.”
“I’ll be ready.” He winks at me and says, “I thought the conventional wisdom says that you aren’t supposed to let your client testify unless you have to.”
“This isn’t a conventional situation and it may be our best chance to plead your case.”
His eyes turn serious when he observes, “It will be my only chance.”
I don’t say it out loud, but I know he’s right. I fill him in and he shows signs of recognition at the mention of Alicia Morales’s name. “Do you know her?” I ask.
“She used to stop at the store. Her office was down the street and she used to transact business in the alley.”
“What sort?”
“Pharmaceuticals. I guess you could say she was also in the entertainment services business. She used to meet johns in the alley.”
“Was Tower Grayson one of them?”
There is resignation in his tone when he says, “I don’t know.”
“Did you see her on Thursday night?”
“No.”
I ask him if he has any idea where we might be able to find her.
He tugs at the IV in his arm as he thinks about it, then he says, “She has a sister who lives in the Griffith projects at Hunters Point. Vanessa knows her.”
# # #
I pull out my cell phone as Rosie and I are driving toward the Hall. Vanessa Sanders picks up on the second ring and asks, “How’s Leon?”
“Fair. The doctor said he might get out of the hospital later this week.”
“Is that a good thing?”
Rosie and I pull off the freeway ramp and turn onto Bryant. “I’m not sure,” I say. “They may let him out of the hospital, but they aren’t going to send him home.”
I can hear a heavy sigh on the other end of the line.
I say, “We were wondering if you ever met a woman named Alicia Morales.”
Her tone turns guarded. “They were talking about her on the news this morning.”
“I know.” I lay it out. “We’re looking for her. Leon said you know her sister.”
“I do. She lives in the building across the courtyard.”
Yes! “We’d like to talk to her.”
“You can’t. She left Friday morning and hasn’t been back since then.”
*****
Chapter 37
“Marcus Sends His Regrets”
“We are devoting all of our available resources to locating a woman named Alicia Morales, whom we believe was the last person to have spoken to Tower Grayson.”
— Inspector Marcus Banks. KGO-Radio. Tuesday, June 7. 11:30 A.M.
Roosevelt Johnson’s arms are folded as he is standing in a gray consultation room down the corridor from the homicide division. He tugs at his French cuffs, clears his throat and says in a heavy voice, “Marcus sends his regrets. He’s meeting with Bill McNulty.”
Rosie and I glance at each other, but we don’t respond. Banks is preparing for the prelim and doesn’t want to spill the beans on his testimony to us.
Roosevelt is chewing on a toothpick. “Given the circumstances and your client’s health,” he says, “I was asked to share everything I can with you.”
He’ll play it straight. He doesn’t want to hear me whine to Judge McDaniel. A hopeful interpretation of his apparent willingness to share information is that there are holes in his case that he’d like us to fill. You never know until you start asking questions.
I fire the first shot. “Roosevelt,” I say, “we’re still waiting for the final police reports.”
“You’ll have them by the end of the day tomorrow.”
That’s cutting it close. “Maybe you can fill us in on some of the details.”
“Grayson died in the Dumpster between tw
o-ten and five A.M. He was stabbed by the loading dock by a left-handed man, who continued to assault him as he staggered to the Dumpster. The knife was in your client’s pocket.”
“You haven’t told us anything we don’t already know.”
“That isall we know. You have to be realistic. We have more than enough to get us through the prelim and to bind your client over for trial.”
Rosie asks, “What did you find out about the car that was torched at China Basin?”
“It was a total loss. Somebody drenched it in gasoline and lit a match. The evidence techs haven’t found anything that sheds light on who torched the car.”
I go on the offensive. “You realize that this creates a hole in your case.”
He plays it close to the vest. “How do you figure?”
“Somebody didn’t go to the trouble of torching the car without a good reason.”
“Such as?”
“Trying to hide evidence that would have tied him or her to a murder.”
He doesn’t reply, but his demeanor makes it clear that the thought had occurred to him.
“You know the drill,” I say. “We’re going to ask about it in court.”
“We’ll say there’s no evidence tying the fire to Grayson’s death.”
“Do you really think Judge McDaniel is going to buy it?”
“For purposes of the preliminary hearing, her job is to decide if there is enough evidence to take this case to trial. The issue of who torched the car is of marginal relevance.”
Probably true. I say, “Your case has another gaping hole: Alicia Morales.”
He continues to play coy. “What do you mean?”
“She talked to Grayson immediately before he died.”
He corrects me. “He called a cell phone that was issued to her by her employer. We don’t know if she talked to him.”
“I’ll take my chances that Judge McDaniel will make the leap that she was on the line.”
He’s unimpressed. “So?”
“She was the last person who talked to Grayson before he was murdered. She lived down the street and turned tricks and sold drugs in the alley. She should be a suspect.”
“We’re looking for her.”
So are we. “Any leads?”
“No.” He shrugs and says, “You aren’t really planning to base your defense on some hypothetical claims about a missing prostitute, are you?”
“How do you know she didn’t kill Grayson, steal his car and then torch it?”
“Because we don’t have a shred of evidence.”
“Except the cell phone call.”
“Which is inconclusive.”
“And the burnt-out car.”
“Which can’t be tied to her.”
“You’re ignoring it because it doesn’t fit within your theory of the case.”
Roosevelt exhales and says, “Judge McDaniel will know you’re blowing smoke. Hail Mary passes don’t play well in court.”
No, they don’t. I’m leaning forward and my palms are planted squarely on the table in front of me when I offer an olive branch. “If you can find Alicia Morales and she fingers Leon and provides a legitimate alibi for herself,” I say, “I’ll tell Leon to accept a plea bargain.”
He remains suspect. “Swell. What do you know about Alicia Morales?”
I tell him that she was last seen in the Gold Rush at eleven o’clock on Thursday night and her room was trashed the next day. She had a sister who lived at the Alice Griffith Projects who left her apartment on Friday morning and hasn’t been seen since then.
“Do you have any idea where we might be able to find the sister?”
“I was hoping you might be able to tell us. Pete is out at Hunters Point looking for her.”
Roosevelt strokes his chin for an interminable moment, then he says “We’ll send somebody out there to ask some questions.” He adds, “We did find something about Alicia Morales that may be of interest to you.” He reaches into his briefcase and hands me a computer printout. “It’s a summary of the activities in her bank account for the last two weeks. She went to the Wells Fargo on Market Street on Thursday and closed her account. Her sister closed her account on the same day.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“It may suggest that they were planning to leave town. We don’t know why.”
“And what does this have to do with the death of Tower Grayson?”
“We don’t know that, either.”
Hell. “How do we improve our odds of finding her?” I ask.
He thinks about it for a moment and suggests, “We should get the media involved. Maybe we should hold a press conference. We might be able to throw a bone to your good friend Jerry Edwards.”
It can’t hurt. “What do you propose to say?”
“We’d like the public’s help in trying to locate a material witness in a murder case.”
It’s worth a try.
He exhales loudly and says, “There are a few more things you should know about.”
Uh-oh. “We’re listening.”
“We talked to a man who owns a store on Sixth Street who said your client bought a hunting knife a couple of weeks ago.”
“Everybody in the neighborhood carries a knife.”
“Not everybody uses it in a murder.”
“Can you prove it was the same knife?”
He tells the truth. “I don’t know. He paid cash and the guy wasn’t absolutely sure of the brand and make.”
It isn’t a smoking gun, but it doesn’t help. We’ll ask Leon about it. “Anything else?”
“The evidence techs found a couple of things in Grayson’s car.”
This is news. “Fingerprints?”
“A charred gym bag that belonged to Mrs. Grayson. We asked her about it and she said she left it in the car last week. I have no reason to disbelieve her. In case you were wondering, she said she was at home last night.”
Unfortunately, our own PI confirmed her whereabouts. “Is it possible that she arranged for somebody else to torch the car?”
He gives me the appropriate non-answer. “We’re looking into all possibilities.”
So will we. “You said there was something else.”
“There was.” He reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a sealed evidence bag that’s been carefully tagged. There is a soot-covered cigarette lighter inside. He lays it on the table in front of him and says, “We found this on floor of the car.”
“Grayson was a smoker.”
“It isn’t his.” He pushes the lighter toward me and says, “It’s tough to make out the inscription.”
“What does it say?”
“To Leon Walker. With thanks from the San Francisco Boys’ Club.”
*****
Chapter 38
“He Was Sandbagging”
“We are confident in our case and certain that justice will be served.”
— Inspector Marcus Banks. KGO-Radio. Tuesday, June 7. 1:00 P.M.
We make another trip to the intensive care unit at San Francisco General, where I’m in no mood to mince words with Leon. “Are you missing a cigarette lighter?” I ask him.
He gives me a circumspect look and says, “Yes.”
“Did it have an inscription from the San Francisco Boys’ Club?”
He eyes me warily and says, “Yes. It was a gift.”
“When was the last time you saw it?”
He thinks about it for a moment and says, “Thursday night. It was in my pocket.” He clears his throat and says, “What does my lighter have to do with anything?”
Rosie answer. “The cops found it in Tower Grayson’s car.”
He sits up ramrod straight and says, “What the hell was it doing there?”
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