Fraga glanced over the document and snapped, “A search warrant. What in the hell is this all about? You break into my home...”
“Calm down, doc,” Karen interrupted. “We have reason to believe that you have illegal drugs both here and at the Demons’ compound. Detectives are searching your office there as we speak.
“If you cooperate, we can move quickly. If you choose not to, this could turn into a very long and humiliating afternoon for you.”
“Drugs? Of course I have drugs around. I’m a doctor for Christ’s sake.”
He took a small cell phone out of the pocket in his robe and waved it at the group. “I am calling my attorney right now. You do not have my permission to go through my house and if you touch one thing, I will have your badges and then I shall sue you for everything you have and see that you never search anyone or anything again!”
Will smiled, showing lots of teeth. “You’re a big man, doc. Some heady threats you’re throwing our way, sounds like you been watching a lot of television lately. And hey, I’m real sorry you feel that way, doc, ’cause we’re going ahead with this with or without your permission. That’s what a search warrant is all about. Oh, and as far as calling your attorney, don’t let us stop you. We’d actually love to meet him because we’re gonna be having a little discussion with you when we’re finished, anyway, and I’m betting you’re gonna want to have him close at hand.”
Will punctuated his words with a sharp crunch of his teeth. Then he looked over at his team and asked, “Shall we get started, ladies and gentlemen?”
“I’ll take downstairs, you two can head on up and see what’s there.” Garcia said, already on his way.
Fraga was pacing the room, whining into his phone and looking delirious. He was doing a lot of huffing and puffing and plenty of gesturing. When he clicked off he shouted, “My attorney is on his way! I order you to stop what you are doing immediately.”
Will stepped into the man’s space and leaned into his face.
“You aren’t in charge here, you filthy fuck. We are. You can cry and stamp your feet all you want. If I have to, I’ll cuff you to one of those big ugly chairs in your living room. So back off now while you still can. Meanwhile, give us a shout when your lawyer shows up, huh?” He turned and started up the stone staircase, Karen trailing behind him.
“He’s losing it, Will.”
“Hell yes, he’s losing it, and that’s all good for us!”
It didn’t take long to find what they were looking for. Fraga obviously had not seen this coming. No attempt had been made to hide the contraband. His bedroom closet and medicine cabinet were jammed full of most every drug available—on and off the market.
“Holy shit on a stick! Get Frank up here, fast,” Will yelled to Karen. “This place is stocked better than a drug store. That fucker musta thought he was above the law to be this stupid and leave it all over the fuckin’ place like this.”
Karen jogged into the bedroom, with Frank not even a step behind her.
“Take a look at this, you two. Cocaine, Percocet, Valium, Demerol. No wonder they call this dirtbag Dr. Feelgood. I don’t even know what half this stuff here is, but I’m willing to bet my badge that these packets of white powder aren’t Sweet ‘n Low. This prick’s going down on possession for sure, and I’m not ruling him out on a count or two of murder. You might be right about Sands yet, partner.”
Karen ignored the innuendo and gestured downstairs. “His attorney’s here, so I guess we ought to go down there and get started. It’s going to be a long day’s night.”
Will Mirandized the doctor and put him in the back of the cruiser. It was the detective’s decision to take him in for questioning rather than handling it at his home. They did not want him the least bit comfortable. His attorney, Jay Kirschman, was going to follow them to the station.
Kirschman was a nationally recognized defense attorney. A civil rights activist, ACLU lobbyist and draft lawyer in the seventies, he had comfortably made the transition to criminal defense when the draft ended and was as good as they get. He rarely lost a case.
Today he was wearing suit pants, a long-sleeved button down shirt, tails out, and the look of confidence. He hosted a talk show on one of the cable news networks where he fielded questions from callers about police brutality and felons’ rights and wore his self-confidence as comfortably as he wore his skin.
In the station, Will, Karen, Jay Kirschman and a deflated Joe Fraga sat in the cramped interrogation room, looking from one to the other, waiting for the session to get underway. Will finally said to the attorney, “Just what I love, another scumbag and we gotta deal with you to boot. Man, there’s no rest for the weary,”
Karen and Will had worked against Kirschman several times, and although they were clearly adversaries, they shared a mutual respect for one another. Undoubtedly, no one would underestimate the expertise and cunning of the other.
“Hey, you buy me, you buy the best!” Kirschman chuckled. “And Will, let’s be professional about this. You can call my client Dr. Fraga. I can’t help but feel that scumbag might be a little prejudicial. I know you wouldn’t want to do anything that might affect the trial process. Even you know the problems that could cause.”
Karen shook her head. “Blah, blah, blah. How you do go on, Jay.” The questioning continued for three hours, and the doctor had become close friends with the Fifth Amendment. He was soaked in his own sweat and volleyed between teary eyed and downright crying. Kirschman appeared cool, relaxed and in charge.
The search of Fraga’s office had turned up nothing, so Will and Karen were able to focus on the cache they found at his home. Neither was disappointed about the lack of success at the office, because there was a fair chance he could defend any drugs kept there.
Frank Garcia knocked at the door and stuck his head into the room. He looked energized as he asked Karen and Will if they would talk to him in the squad room for a minute. The detectives excused themselves and headed out the door.
“Listen. I got in touch with my buddy at the FBI. You remember Sam Garrison? I got friendly with him when I went through that evidence workshop at Quantico a couple of years back. Anyway, the thing is, we’ve kept in touch and it finally paid off. I sent him the prints I picked up at Fraga’s house and asked him to slip them into the Automated Integrated Fingerprint Identification System. I was hoping maybe he could push us past the usual three-day wait there. He really came through for me this time! He just called and said he’d gotten a couple of hits. A couple of hits! Damn! He got us a fucking bonanza! I’m gonna owe him big now.”
Will looked ready to pounce. “So go ahead! Don’t keep us in suspense. What d’you have?”
“Well, we knew the bastard was feeding Jessica Benson drugs, but how about Feyzi Batan and Tyrell Utley as well? Not just downstairs, understand, which he could probably explain away, but up in his bedroom, on the lamp by his bed, and in the bathroom as well. They were all there at one time or another. There were some other prints but he hasn’t been able to make them yet. I figure one pair is probably that little illegal housekeeper of his. Maybe this’ll give you some stuff to push him with, if Kirschman lets you have any space at all with that creep.”
Will looked at Karen and asked if she was ready to start shooting.
“I am,” she answered, and headed down the hall.
Inside the interrogation room Kirschman was trying to calm his client down, but Fraga’s eyes were wild and the stench of fear permeated the room. Karen felt that if he kept unraveling at this pace, they might finally hit some pay dirt by the end of the day.
The doctor looked up at the smiling detectives and made a gesture of futility. He was whining like a baby. “What? What do you want from me? Jay, make them leave me alone already. I can’t take much more of this...please. Make them stop and get me out of here.”
Will continued with the grin and nodded. “We’ll let you out as soon as you come up with the right answers to our questions. Like, how
did Jessica Benson’s fingerprints end up all over your house?
“Oh, and while you’re considering the answer to that one, I’ll give you a couple more things to ruminate on. You might want to dwell a moment on why Feyzi Batan’s and Tyrell Utley’s prints are all over your bedroom and bathroom, as well... coincidentally where we just found the drugs.”
Fraga’s eyes pleaded with Kirschman. Kirschman raised his hand and moved his head from side to side in a gesture of caution.
“Take it easy, Joe. You don’t have to — scratch that — you are not to say anything. God wouldn’t have given us the Fifth Amendment if He hadn’t wanted His children to use it. They’re trying to rattle you, Joseph. Remember what I told you. Tune it out and take the Fifth.”
But Joe Fraga didn’t seem to hear his attorney, or if he did, he wasn’t listening. He looked at Karen, and said, “She was a friend. Just a friend. Batan, well, you know, he came around with Jessica sometimes. They had something going on between them. Did you know that? Did you know she and Batan were together? Sands was such a numb nuts. He never even suspected. She got away with murder behind his back. Uh, no, no, not murder, but, um, she cheated on him. I couldn’t believe he wasn’t on to her, that he stayed with her for so long. Yeah, and that little Turk wasn’t the only one. There were plenty...“
“So, ?” Will interrupted. “You were running a brothel? C’mon Fraga, you can do better than that! What about your relationship with the deceased? Don’t tell me you had that hot little puss up in your bedroom and never used your dipstick on her.
“And what about Utley, huh? He was in your bedroom, why? Maybe you were doing some fudge-packing, faggot.”
“Um, Utley, yeah, yeah. He used to come by for an adjustment sometimes, you know, when he was having a tough time. I do what I can for those boys. It’s what I get paid for.”
“Yeah, yeah, all the docs I know give adjustments in their bedrooms! Get off it, you piece of shit.”
“Now, now,” Kirschman clucked. “Take it easy with my client here. He’s not well.”
Will raised his eyebrows at the cowering mass that was Dr. Joe Fraga. “We’re also curious about the murders of Jessica Benson and Feyzi Batan. Your gun was used for one of them. In conjunction with that impressive haul of drugs we got at your place today, I gotta believe there’s something you’re not telling us. Do you understand where I’m coming from now?”
Kirschman stood up and cautioned, “I mean it, Kaufman. Take it down a notch here or we’re shutting down shop.” He lowered himself slowly back into his seat, never taking his eyes off of Will’s.
Fraga broke out in sobs. “I didn’t kill anyone. I’m not a killer.” He gulped for air and looked from Karen to Will. Then he stopped for a moment and seemed to consider where he was and what he was up against
“Okay, so maybe I gave her some drugs...” he admitted.
Kirschman put his hand up, and snarled, “That’s it!” He reached for his client and said, “Shut up, Joe. Catch your breath and shut the hell up.” He looked back at the detectives and continued. “My client is obviously distraught. I’m going to have to insist you conclude this interview at once. Give him a chance to recoup. You’re badgering him and I will not tolerate it.”
Fraga grabbed his attorney’s arm, and whined, “I gotta tell them. They think I killed her. I have to tell them. She was a whore. She used me, but I didn’t kill her. She knew how to work men. You didn’t know her, you don’t understand about her. I just have to tell them a couple of things. They’ll understand better and it’ll be okay. Let me tell them now.”
Kirschman stopped him with an ugly glare. “I’d like a moment alone with my client,” he demanded.
“No, no! Jay, I have to make them believe I didn’t hurt anyone. Listen, please, just listen to me. You have to listen to me here. She had someone else, someone I didn’t know. I don’t think anyone knew who he was. He was a goddamned phantom. I swear to you. You gotta believe me.”
Kirschman stood suddenly and looked toward the door. He held Fraga’s eyes with a fierce look. “Listen to me carefully, Joe. You are in the process of talking your way right into a lethal injection. If you’re not going to follow my directions, I’m out of here.” He walked to the door and rested his hand on the handle, waiting for his client’s response.
As though his attorney hadn’t said a word, Fraga went on. “She met with him secretly all the time. Everybody pretty much knew about everybody else, except Sands, of course, who didn’t know about any of us. But she never let on who this guy was. I mean, she let us all know he existed. She was such a cock tease. But she never gave anyone a clue to who he was.” He gulped in some air and went on. “She did shit like that, you know, she...”
Will snorted in Fraga’s direction. “Ah, yes. Now we see. A mystery guest. Of course! Why couldn’t we have figured that out on our own? Gimme a fucking break, will ya?” Then he burst out laughing, and turned toward Kirschman, who was doing a slow burn by the door. “What a sense of humor. Your client’s a regular Robin Williams. A mystery man! Geez!”
Kirschman shot his client another warning glare.
“Please, I’m telling the truth...”He laid his head on the table, his arms covering it over.
“Were you fucking her?” Will shouted.
“No. I never touched her!”
“Bzzzzzzz! Wrong answer, doc,” Will shot back immediately. “But thank you for trying.”
Kirschman made a final, futile attempt to reach his client: “Joe, get a grip here, man. You’re digging yourself an early grave and I won’t be able to do shit to help you.”
But the doctor continued. “You think I had a sexual relationship with her? How? No one knew, I’m sure.”
“Gotcha doc! No one knew what?” Will gloated.
“I cared about her and she cared about me. It wasn’t like you’re implying. I would never hurt her.”
Jay Kirschman rolled his eyes and shook his head. “That’s it. I’m history. Drop me a note from your cell.” He slammed the door shut behind him.
Will seized the moment. “Look, doc. I’m getting real tired of this garbage. My partner and I are gonna wrap you into a big, pretty package and deliver it to death row. There’s folks that can testify that you had the Mack Daddy of sick relationships with the deceased, and they’ll be lining up to do it to save their own sorry necks. You were holding enough drugs to take care of all the addicts in the County. Hell, never mind the County... in the State! We could put you away for a long time with what we got here. And you go on lying your ass off? Goddamn, I hate liars! Your own attorney gave up on you, man. You been advised of your rights. Any other questions before we send you down to the jail?”
“I did have a relationship with Jessica, but we never had sex, uh, intercourse. It’s not like you’re saying. It was special between us.”
“That’s not the word I would use for what you had going on.”
“All right. You have me on the drug thing. I’ll give you names, dates, whatever you want. Just believe that I never killed anyone, I swear!”
True to his word, Dr. Fraga delivered a list of ‘patients’ that included local celebrities, models, sports figures, including Tyrell Utley, who, according to the doctor, had a serious cocaine habit going. He was also servicing some prominent executives in the business community. But he continued to deny having murdered anyone, and kept insisting there was that anonymous lover. Will scoffed, dismissing the idea as ‘ridiculous.’ Karen was not so sure.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I t was late and Karen was exhausted. She briefly toyed with the idea of driving straight home and getting to bed for some much needed sleep. Now that the case had broken, things were finally looking up for Kyle. She’d tried to reach him earlier, but had only gotten his voice mail both at home and on his cell phone. But he’d gotten hold of her just as she got in her car to leave the station, and now all she wanted was to see him and share the news.
When she arrived at the Blu
e Diamond, the concierge nodded to the elevators, and she had to control her impulse to run to them. Once she got to the penthouse floor, she did run. She knocked on his door. He opened it and without speaking immediately pulled her inside.
He had on gray sweat pants and no shirt and when he took her into his arms, the hormone rush was suffocating. She had waited all day for the release that came when his lips touched hers, and groaned at the anticipation. He didn’t make her wait long.
When they finally caught their breaths, the two of them went to his living room where they sat on the sofa and she cuddled into him. It was black outside, not even one star in the sky.
Kyle stroked her hair. “Karen, what’s going on? You sounded frantic on the phone. Am I doomed?”
She sat up and looked at him. “Doomed? Hell no. That’s the last thing you are. Today was incredible, Kyle. Everything was going so fast, I could hardly believe it was happening. I, I — oh damn — it looks like Joe Fraga could be our man.”
“The doc? Where’d he come from?”
“Well, you know it was his gun that killed Feyzi Batan, right?”
“It’s a long stretch from owning the stolen gun that killed Feyzi to being Jessica’s murderer, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, but things changed today. We got the warrants to search his home and his office, and beside his home being one of the most bizarre residences I’ve ever seen, it was a veritable warehouse of drugs.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. But it’s still a stretch from drugs to murder, although, honestly, I’ve always been uncomfortable with Fraga, and I don’t mean just since Jess’s murder. He’s just too slick and smarmy. He practiced more P.R. than he did medicine. Whenever I could, I used Karen, uh, Karen Raben, his partner. Fraga was always too quick to shoot you up with something to deaden the pain and send you back onto the field. His theory was just like management’s, if it didn’t hurt, then it must be okay. That’s the way owners and too many coaches deal with players’ injuries. It’s good business for them to patch you up and use you ‘til your done. Veterans are way too expendable in professional sports because there’s always someone younger, healthier, and more anxious to take your place right behind you. Smooth Dr. Joe Fraga is any owner’s dream. Jesus, how’d I get started on that? Oh, yeah. My thoughts on why Fraga might be cold enough to be a killer.”
The Mystery of Jessica Benson Page 18