by Alexi Venice
They said goodbye and hung up.
“He’s really looking out for her despite the fact that she’s our number one suspect.”
“Maybe he should recuse himself from this file. I’m not sure he can be objective,” Tommy said.
“I agree. When we return to the Hall, we should talk to him about that.”
Frank drove them onto the elaborate Tyche campus, which was like driving into Disney World. He gave their names to the security guard at the booth and showed his ID to confirm police business. They proceeded to the executive lot where Amanda’s expensive car was dwarfed by cars that cost more than Tommy’s house.
“I smell money. Look at these cars,” Tommy said.
“I bet none of them have withstood a bomb blast,” Amanda said with pride, affectionately running her finger along the side of her car when they got out.
“I bet you’re right. They all lead a privileged life like their owners, cloistered away on this surreal campus. I mean, look at this place,” Tommy said, motioning with his arm. “It’s like we walked onto a movie set in Hollywood.”
In contrast to the dirty streets of San Francisco, there were large expanses of green grass, healthy trees and shrubs, landscaped gardens, a stream, and picnic areas on covered patios. All were in the shadow of a multi-story glass and steel building.
“Montiago is probably staring out of a top-floor window at us,” Tommy said, tipping his chin at the building.
“Let her stare,” Amanda said. “In an hour, we might be escorting her out of here in handcuffs.”
Her jab brought a smile to Tommy’s face. They walked along the sidewalk in the warm sunshine, standing out like the gritty law enforcement officers they were among the scattered twenty-somethings wearing Chucks, jeans and t-shirts.
They barely made it through the front door before they were met by a security guard in a navy blazer and a nervous-looking, young woman in a business suit. She spoke in hushed tones. “Are you Detective Vietti and DA Hawthorne from San Francisco?”
“And Officer Frank Digrugilliers,” Tommy supplied. (Pronounced “Day-GROOJ-eay”).
Frank tossed Tommy an appreciative look.
“I’m Sam Westby. Follow me.” She led them to a bank of elevators, swiped her card for access to the top floor and held the door. They rode in silence.
Once the doors opened, Sam quickly led them through a cubicle farm with glass windows, down a long corridor past offices with glass walls, and finally to a separate office suite with a nameplate that said, “Executive Office” next to the glass door. They pushed through and found themselves standing outside Kara Montiago’s corner office, complete with glass walls.
Awfully transparent around here, Amanda thought. They watched Montiago end a phone call and signal with her hand that she was ready.
“Mrs. Montiago can see you now,” Sam said. She held the door open for them. Frank hung back, but Tommy motioned for him to join.
“Thank you, Sam. That will be all,” Montiago said. She immediately introduced herself, even though they all knew who she was, extending her hand to shake each one of theirs. She asked them if they preferred to sit at her conference table or on a sofa and chairs.
“I’d prefer the sofa,” Amanda said. She’d have a better look at Montiago’s body language than if Montiago were half-hidden by the table, which surprisingly, wasn’t glass.
“Can I get you anything?” Montiago asked. “Water? Coffee?”
“Nothing. Thanks,” Tommy said. He waited while Montiago sat in a modern, armless chair, then he sat next to Amanda on the sofa, facing Montiago. Frank sat in a chair off to the side with a clear view of Montiago’s profile.
“Hawthorne,” Montiago pronounced, drawing out the name while looking at Amanda. “Are you related to Jack and Chloe?”
“Yes. They’re my parents.”
“Ah. You resemble your father. Of course, your mother was a pioneer for female tech executives. A lot of us in Silicon Valley are here today because of her. Please give them my best.”
“Thank you for the kind words,” Amanda said. “I will.”
“How can I help you today?” Montiago asked.
Wasting no time, Tommy asked, “Where were you last night?”
Not surrendering control of the conversation, Montiago said, “Let’s start by telling me why you’re here.” She had a polite tone to her voice, but her expression was serious, the tiny wrinkles around her mouth compressing her lips.
“Well, I’m a detective, Ms. Hawthorne is the DA, and Frank is an officer with SFPD. Didn’t Ryan Delmastro tell you why we were coming?”
“He just said it was important, and that I should talk to you. He didn’t tell me what it was regarding.”
“This is regarding a homicide, Mrs. Montiago.”
Her eyebrows shot up, and her lips turned down. “Really? Tell me more.”
“Why don’t I tell you as we go along?” Tommy said. “We’re here to ask you questions, not the other way around. Where were you last night?”
Her frown turned into a stern rebuke. “Wait a minute. It sounds like you’re treating me like a suspect. What the hell is going on?”
Amanda guessed Montiago’s reaction was more about buying time than learning something. After all, if she was the killer, she already knew what was going on.
“I’ll make you a deal,” Tommy said. “You tell me where you were last night, and I’ll tell you why I’m asking.”
Montiago peered through the glass walls. Her fish-bowl of an office suddenly seemed a bit too transparent for this meeting. She grabbed a remote control off the coffee table and pointed it at the three glass walls facing the interior. Automatic shades slowly dropped down, giving them privacy. Montiago waited patiently until the shades hit the floor.
Bye, bye, prying eyes, Amanda thought.
Chapter 12
Palo Alto
“Do I need my lawyers here?” Montiago asked.
Plural? Amanda thought.
“That’s up to you, Mrs. Montiago,” Tommy said. “I can tell you that this is your one opportunity to be candid with the District Attorney and myself, and for us to show you the maximum amount of leniency in return. In our experience, lawyers don’t always facilitate this type of candid exchange.”
Montiago performed some type of mental calculation then said, “Very well. I’ll be candid with you, and, in return, I expect two things.” She held up two fingers. “First, confidentiality. No leaks to the media. If you haven’t noticed, I’m running for President. Second, as soon as I tell you where I was last night, you need to come clean and tell me about the homicide.”
A woman who’s used to defining the terms of the deal, Amanda thought. Too bad she doesn’t realize she has a bull’s eye on her forehead.
“I can assure you that neither the SFPD nor the DA’s Office will leak this investigation to the media,” Amanda said. “Once an arrest is made, however, we reserve the right to give a press conference.”
“Fine,” Montiago said. “Arrest whoever you want. As long as you don’t mention me.”
Tommy let that comment pass. “I’ll be happy to tell you why we’re here, as soon as you tell me where you were last night.”
“Deal. I worked here until approximately 6 p.m., my usual time. I drove home, had dinner with my family then left the house around 8 p.m. for a business meeting. Now, what’s this about?”
“Where was your late-night business meeting?” Tommy asked.
“That’s confidential,” Montiago said.
“The place is confidential?” Tommy asked. “You’re not living up to your end of the bargain.”
“No, of course the place isn’t confidential. It was in San Francisco. The party is confidential.”
Tommy stared at her, tapping his fingers on the beige leather loveseat that didn’t have any arm rests.
Amanda could feel from his body language that he was about to blow a cork. With any other witness, he’d already be yelling and threatenin
g. She decided his silence was her cue to enter.
“What we’re trying to avoid here, Mrs. Montiago, is a big scene that will become public. We’re actually doing you a favor by having this conversation in your office, confidentially. Under any other circumstance, you’d be sitting in an interrogation room at the Hall of Justice right now. If that’s what you want, I’m sure Detective Vietti would be happy to arrest you and bring you in for questioning. Once your arrest hits the media, however, your campaign will be over in a matter of seconds. Is that really how you want to play this?”
“Are you threatening me, Ms. Hawthorne?” Montiago asked, leveling a deadly stare at Amanda.
“I’m giving you an ultimatum, Mrs. Montiago. Cooperate, or we’re going to arrest you. If you interpret that as a threat, then you better-fucking-believe I’m threatening you,” Amanda said, returning Montiago’s stare. If there was one thing Amanda hated, it was cocky murder suspects. And, if Montiago thought she had garnered some sort of favoritism by flattering Amanda’s parents, she was sorely mistaken.
Montiago blanched, clearly not accustomed to being spoken to in such a manner. “Who the hell do you think you are? Walking into my office and talking to me like this?”
“I’m the District Attorney of the city you just admitted to being in last night where a murder was committed that implicates you as our number one suspect. Why do you think your friend, the Chief of Police, called you personally? Talk, or the handcuffs come off Tommy’s belt.”
“Me, as the number one suspect?” Montiago whispered. “Who?”
Tommy rose from his chair and grabbed the cuffs off the back of his belt. “Mrs. Montiago, tell me where you were and with whom you were meeting last night, or I’m arresting you for murder right now and walking you out of this building in cuffs.”
Montiago’s eyes grew wide, and she suddenly threw her hands up to stop Tommy from advancing. “Put those things away and sit back down. I’ll tell you. This is the part that needs to remain confidential.”
“Stop stalling,” Amanda said, shaking her head. She could feel the leverage in the room shifting their way, but the cigarette she’d had earlier was giving her a nicotine headache.
Montiago covered her face with her hands, rubbed her eyes for a second, then looked at them. “I was with my lover.”
“Name and address?” Tommy asked, removing his flip notebook from his suit coat pocket.
“You’re not going to talk to him about this, are you?” Montiago asked.
“To confirm an alibi for murder?” Tommy said. “You bet we are.”
“Who was murdered?!” Montiago yelled. “You’re killing me here.”
“Name and address of your lover first,” Tommy said, his pen poised over the notebook.
“Fine. Vincent Voss. He lives on Montgomery Street.”
“Address.” Tommy said.
She finally supplied it. “Happy now?”
“No. I’m not happy that your ex-lover, Jared Carlisle, was murdered last night. Are you happy?” he asked.
She gasped. “What? Jared? Murdered?”
“Yes,” Tommy said.
“You have to be kidding me.”
“I never joke about murder.”
“But…He was at work this week. I just saw him,” she sputtered, her face a mix of emotions.
“How was he acting at work?” Tommy asked.
She didn’t answer right away, instead preoccupied with her own thoughts. “What the fuck happened?”
“You tell me,” Tommy said.
“What on earth do you mean?”
“Why did you kill your ex-lover?”
“Who said he was my ex-lover?”
“He did.”
“When?”
“He made a criminal complaint against you for sexual assault,” Tommy said. He conveniently omitted that the complaint didn’t meet the definition of criminal sexual assault.
“Sexual assault? That’s a complete mischaracterization of our affair!” A look of horror claimed her face.
“Why don’t you clear it up for me?” Tommy asked.
“We had a mutually consensual affair about three months ago. It was short-lived, only a few months, but totally and completely consensual. I can’t believe he would say it was sexual assault.”
“How about the fact that you were his boss, so he didn’t have a choice in the matter?” Tommy asked.
“That’s crazy! I’d never force an employee to have sex with me. It was he who came onto me, not vice versa.”
“That’s not what he said,” Tommy said. “He said you made it clear that he was going to give you sex, the kind of sex where you tied him up and used whips on him, or he’d be fired.”
“What? He asked me to do that! Begged me to, in fact. I’d never done that type of thing before in my life, but he talked me into it.” Tears sprang to her eyes as the gravity of the situation in which she found herself bared down on her.
“You didn’t look like you were talked into it. In fact, I’d say you played the dominatrix role quite well.”
She struggled to comprehend. “What are you talking about?”
Tommy pulled up the video on his phone and held it out for her to watch.
After a few seconds, she looked away, signaling for him to stop. “Oh fuck! I’m totally fucked! My political career is ruined! My company is ruined! The Tyche board will fire me as CEO.”
“Not if this video doesn’t get out,” Tommy said. “Now you know why we wanted to meet with you alone. We’re trying to do you a favor, but you’re making it practically impossible.”
She was silent for a minute then her shoulders started shaking and a sob overtook her. Amanda spotted a Kleenex box, so rose from the hard sofa and walked over to Montiago’s desk and grabbed it. She set it beside Montiago’s slim frame on the armless chair of shame.
“Thanks.” Montiago grabbed a handful and dabbed her eyes.
Either she’s a premier actress, or she honestly didn’t know anything about Carlisle’s murder, Amanda thought. On her way back to the sofa, Amanda looked at Frank. He gave her a look that said, The melodrama of rich and powerful people.
The three of them waited while Montiago cried for a few minutes. Amanda used the time to glance around Montiago’s office. Her eyes rested on a serene family photo taken on a beach somewhere. It looked recent. Montiago’s husband, Carlos, was a handsome man, his skin a deep tan and his hair grey. Their children were practically grown. The boy, who resembled his father, looked college-aged. The girl, who didn’t resemble either Carlos or Kara, looked like she was either in high school or early college.
When Montiago looked up, her eyes were red, puffy slits, and her previous expressions of defensiveness and horror were replaced with a look of desperation. “Someone is framing me.”
“Why? Who?” Tommy asked.
“My political adversaries,” she said.
“Isn’t that going a bit too far?” Tommy said, not bothering to hide his sarcasm.
“You of all people should know what can take place during a political campaign these days. Didn’t you just arrest Gavin Morales a month ago for colluding with the North Koreans to sabotage Ms. Hawthorne’s bid for re-election?”
“What does North Korea have against you?” Tommy asked.
“Not North Korea, you idiot,” she said. “The fucking right-wing Republicans! They hate me enough to leverage my biggest weakness, my only vice—extramarital sex. Serial affairs for over 20 years.”
“Let’s talk about that,” Amanda said. “Why the affairs when you’re married?”
Montiago grunted. “I haven’t had sex with Carlos in years. He had prostate cancer umpteen years ago. He survived the cancer, but they removed his prostate, leaving him impotent.”
“Does he know you fool around on him?” Tommy asked.
“We don’t talk about it. He might be suspicious at times, but I’m a busy lady, and I don’t advertise it. He stays by my side, though, accompanying me to social a
nd formal gatherings.”
“How many affairs have you had?” Tommy asked.
“A dozen or so. There might have been one that lasted two years.”
“We’re going to need the names of your paramours,” Tommy said.
“Do they all work at Tyche?” Amanda asked.
“Where else am I supposed to meet men?” Montiago spat. “I’m at work all the time, and, for obvious reasons, I needed to keep these confidential. Men who work for me are motivated to keep our affair confidential.”
“Do they all still work here?” Tommy asked.
“Most of them do,” Kara said.
“Isn’t that a little awkward?” Amanda asked, no stranger to serial romances herself, and the inevitable hard feelings that accompanied a breakup.
“Not if we don’t let it be. I was selective about my partners. Very discreet individuals.”
“Did you promote them and give them a bonus like you did Carlisle?” Amanda asked.
“How did you know about that?” she asked.
“He told us,” Tommy said.
“Why would he tell you that?”
“Don’t act naïve, Mrs. Montiago; it doesn’t suit you,” Tommy said. “He alleged that it was payola for the sex. He alleged sexual harassment in the workplace in addition to criminal sexual assault.”
“That’s ridiculous! He pursued me! He was an ambitious charmer. We barely worked on a few projects together before he came onto me at a work celebration down at The Rose & Crown Pub. He insisted on walking me home to my apartment then invited himself in. He offered me some pot, so we got high, then he immediately went down on me, sexually pleasing me that night. He wasn’t interested in sex for himself—at first.” She stopped, her face growing crimson.
“When did the leather outfits, bondage and whips start?” Tommy asked.
“God. How embarrassing.” She dropped her head into her hands.
“Do you want to watch the video? Maybe it will refresh your recollection,” Tommy said.
What she had waved off earlier, she now considered. “I suppose I’m going to have to watch it at some point. I might as well get it over with.” She shook off her tears and sat up straight. Avoiding Tommy’s eyes, she held out her hand for his phone. He clicked open the video and gave it to her.