Conspiracy of Innocence

by Gene Grossman

  going to do nothing is because the most important part of the case has already been taken care of.” I can tell by the expressions on their faces that they’re sitting on pins and needles waiting for the grand finale to my presentation.

  “Olive did it for me. She took Vinnie’s money this morning to buy some groceries and left him with only a few quarters. Vinnie found that out later, but kept going to work anyway because he had the Shell credit card and knew he could use his cell phone to call you guys if he ran into any trouble. So I ask you. Especially you Olive, would a guy who knows he’s only got some quarters in his pocket stop for a hooker, knowing that she’d want advance payment? I think not. Vinnie was framed, and I’m doing nothing, because when the City Attorney goes over the paperwork that the police bring in, they’ll ask how much money he had on him. When they’re told that he only had the few quarters, they’ll know that there’s no case there, and none will be filed.”

  The expression on Olive’s face changes from stone to human. Stuart is relieved that he won’t have to face big legal fees and possibly lose Vinnie’s services as a bonded, licensed driver and wearer of a weapon. Olive is happy that Vinnie didn’t try to get a hooker, and I’m happy because Stuart offered to take us all out to dinner at some fancy theme restaurant next to the Van Nuys Airport. I only hope that my predictions come true, because if they file a case against Vinnie I’ll have a lot of explaining to do.

  Just in case I’ve misjudged the City Attorney’s office, I have my office prepare a document for Vinnie to sign. I want to have a little ammunition if and when I’m called in to their offices to do battle. With a case as weak as the one they have against Vinnie, I feel pretty sure they’ll want to talk about it before filing.

  12

  Jack’s been in La Verne for the past few days, and he’s now calling in with his first report. I certainly want to hear what he’s got to say, but I’m not looking forward to it.

  “Yes Jack, how’s it going out there?”

  “It’s sure a lot smoggier than the Marina, and about twenty degrees warmer.”

  “Any news for me?”

  “Well, she’s certainly not running around very much. She’s only gone out of the house once or twice in the last couple of days, and that was for groceries. And she didn’t sneak out at night, because I left a thread on her garage door at night, and it would have fallen off if she opened it while I wasn’t there watching.”

  “How about traffic to the house?”

  “Nada. It’s like she’s a hermit.”

  “Did you happen to notice what grocery store she went to?”

  “Yes, it was a market about a half mile from her house. She went there on the afternoon I got here, and she went yesterday and again today.”

  “Did you see her bring the groceries out of the store or unload them from her car?”

  “She didn’t bring them out of the store. A grocery clerk carried the bags out for her. At the house, she unloaded them herself, before closing the garage door.”

  “Were there a lot of bags?”

  “Yeah. Come to think of it, she’s a pretty heavy shopper. There were about three of four bags each time.”

  I usually go shopping once a week, and each time the bag usually has the same things in it: a half-gallon of chocolate soy milk, a box of Hansen’s Natural Cereal, a carton of Lactaid nonfat milk, and some protein powder. There’s no need for any more, because I don’t cook very often. But if I did, the only extra things that would be in that weekly bag would be a few onepound bags of pasta, some grated cheese, and a couple of cans of things to dump on the top of the cooked pasta.

  Beverly lives alone. If she’s not stocking up for a big holiday feast, I’d like to know why she needs three or four bags of groceries a day.

  “Jack, I hope you brought Phyllis with you, because we need her on this job.”

  “Yes, Mister Sharp, I didn’t think you’d mind if she kept me company.”

  “No, no, Jack, that’s just fine. Here’s what I’d like you to do: every time the widow goes to the market, I’d like Phyllis also in there to make a list of what she buys. Phyllis can pretend that she’s marking things off on her own shopping list, until the widow leaves the grocery. There’s no need for you to follow her when she leaves, because she’ll probably just go back home and unload the groceries and you can probably get back there before she’s through bringing them into the house. Got it?”

  “That’s a roger, Mister Sharp. We’ll have a list or two for you in the next couple of days.”

  This is getting interesting. If she’s only cooking for one, then what’s with all the groceries? Somewhere in the back of my mind I have a hunch that she’s cooking for more than one person. But who else can be in there with her? Whoever it might be is definitely someone who doesn’t want to be seen, because if they weren’t hiding out, Jack would already have emailed me the photos.

  The phone is ringing and it looks like a City number. I answer it and hear a familiar voice. “Hello, Peter, this is Patty Seymour, remember me?”

  How could I forget her? She’s the City Attorney I thought could be the one, until Myra clued me in about her being a lesbian. I still have hopes of making a conversion over to our side, but never got enough of the right vibes to encourage the effort.

  “Sure I remember you Patty. I’m still waiting for you to call and invite me one of those law luncheons. And next time, it’s on me.”

  “Well, I’ll certainly have to do that, but in the meantime, I’ve been referred to your office by the District Attorney’s filing section. They kicked out a solicitation case and sent it over to our office with a note that you might be representing the defendant.”

  “Vincent Norman?”

  “That’s the guy. Is he your client?”

  “He might be, if he needs a lawyer. Are you guys considering filing?”

  “Yes we are. I mean, my boss is. Could you come to our office for a conference about this case? Any day this week at ten AM is good for us.”

  Once again it’s show time. Most of my mental energy is now being directed to Beverly Luskin, so I really don’t feel like putting forth too much of an effort on Vinnie’s matter, but a promise is a promise. I chat with Patty for another minute or two about trivial things and then make a note in my calendar that they’ll be expecting me there the day after tomorrow at ten.

  Just as I hang the phone up, the kid passes by and hands me a brochure on some evening course that the U.S. Power Squadron is conducting on Safe Boating. Attached to the brochure is a note informing me that I’ve been registered in the next course. It starts tomorrow evening and continues one night a week for the next six weeks. After four years of college and another four at night law school, I was thinking that I’d never have to park my rear end in one of those chair-desks again, but I was wrong. The note also mentions that if I pass the course, we’ll get a completion certificate and discount on our boat’s insurance.

  I can’t believe that she wants me to take this cockamamey course just for some ten-dollar insurance discount. Either this is some form of punishment for not getting back together with Myra, or the kid actually wants me to learn this stuff about boating. It must be the punishment.

  Instead of preparing for my meeting tomorrow morning at the City Attorney’s office, I’m now seated in a room full of ignoramuses. I know it’s not nice to even think so poorly about others, but who else would take this course but people as ignorant about boating as me?

  When I started restoring that old Chris Craft in what was then the yard in back of where Myra and I were happily living, I had dreams of sitting on a nice boat in the Marina. My dreams never including going anywhere on the boat, they just included sitting on it. I never wanted to take our Grand Banks out with Indovine and his gang, and certainly wasn’t thrilled when discovering we were going on a rescue at sea. I’m really not into boating… I just like being on a nice boat. To an adult male it’s like the ultimate tree house. To be truthful, I‘ve alway
s been afraid of getting seasick. The stability of dry land is so nice, I can’t figure out why anyone would want to intentionally get on a boat to go past the breakwater out into the open ocean, where they do nothing but bounce around, at the mercy of the elements, while impressing themselves and their guests that they can drive a boat. Please include me out.

  The instructor enters the room wearing some sort of uniform. Just what I need - another officer telling me what to do. I thought that after the U.S. Army, days like this would be over. Oh well, it’s only a few evenings, so I might as well make the best of serving out my sentence. I see by the Xeroxed course outline that there are two segments to be covered each night. We’ll be starting out with Boat Handling and Elementary Seamanship.

  I can’t believe what the guy opens up with. “Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we’ll be starting out with a lecture on boat handling, but I want you to know that one of my idols is sitting right here in the classroom. You’ve probably read about it in the newspapers, or saw it on the evening news, but not too long ago, there was a collision between two sailboats about three miles out past the breakwater. One of your classmates happened to be entertaining some guests on his Grand Banks 50 that afternoon, and when he saw the collision, he devised and carried out one of the most brilliant rescues at sea that I’ve ever seen. I was watching it on television as it was happening, and I was fortunate to have had a blank videocassette in my machine, so I taped the whole thing and I’m going to play it for you now. Please watch it carefully, because your main goal in boating should be able to think and act as quickly as he did. Okay Walt, please get the lights.”

  Not only do I not know what I’m doing on the boat and couldn’t turn the engines on if my life depended on it, I’m now going to be held up in front of this audience and probably asked questions about my boat handling skills. Please, shoot me now. The lights dim, the tape starts, and I sink as far down in my seat as humanly possible, looking for some loose edge of carpet on the floor that I can crawl under until this dreadful evening is over.

  The tape is played and there are one or two close-ups of me behind the wheel of the boat. I watch the entire rescue and have to admit that it really was a nice job. Too bad I didn’t do it. When the show ends and the lights come back up, the rest of the class recognizes me and I’m forced to stand up to a round of applause. I wish it would stop there, but the yahoo in charge drags me up to the front of the class and asks: “Mister Sharp, if you can handle a boat that good, what are you doing in this class? Don’t get me wrong, we’re pleased to have you here, but what prompted you to enroll?

  Reluctantly, I respond to his request, slowly rise and walk to the front of the room to join him at the podium. On the way there, for some strange reason, everyone I pass by feels compelled to pat me on the back. I don’t enjoy being touched by strangers. I think it would be best to put an end to this nonsense once and for all, lest they wrongfully believe that I actually know something about boating.

  “First of all, I have a confession to make.

  The afternoon of the incident that you just finished watching was the absolute first time I ever took that boat so far away from its slip. In fact it was only the second time I ever drove it. What you didn’t see in the newsreel footage is my legal guardian, who was down below directing the whole operation. Thank goodness we had the extra crewmembers aboard to carry out her ingenious plan and we were able to save those sailors.

  “To be quite honest, I don’t remember most of what happened, and it scared the daylights out of me so much, that I realized how important a class like this would be for me to take, in case another emergency arises.

  “So please, don’t credit me with any extraordinary skills or knowledge, because I’m as new to boating as most of you probably are. I just happened to be unlucky enough to have been placed in a position that taught me how little I knew. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to just sit down with the rest of you, and let a real pro here teach me how to do things right.”

  The applause was gratifying, but deep down I know what a phony I am. The teacher was kind enough to tell me how he appreciated my humility, and I am now seated, getting more pats on the back, and getting ready for the most boring evenings of my life.

  It’s five to ten in the morning and Patty Seymour is expecting me upstairs in her boss’ office in the next couple of minutes. I check my pockets to make sure I’ve brought the items for my little dog and pony show. I’ve never met Patty’s boss, but he’s probably your run-of-themill chief trial deputy, working his way up the prosecutorial ladder. People in the City Attorney’s office all share the same inferiority complex because they’ll never get to try a high profile felony case like O.J. or Michael Jackson. Not because they’re not competent, it’s just that the City Attorney’s office doesn’t try felonies. All they handle are misdemeanors, and there hasn’t been a high profile misdemeanor case that I can remember in the past twenty years.

  I sit down in the waiting area and right on time, Patty Seymour comes out and asks me to follow her into the boss’ office. Surprise number one. Her boss isn’t a guy. At least I don’t think she is. Her boss, Chief Trial Deputy Margaret Nash, looks like a super-macho Rosie O’Donnell, with an added swagger that indicates a condition we in the defense bar refer to as being ‘badge heavy.’ I hope this isn’t my competition with Patty Seymour, because it if is, It’ll be the first time I ever was physically afraid of a rival.

  After we’re all seated, Mizz Nash proceeds to read me the riot act. “Mister Sharp, it’s nice that you decided to waste your time by stopping by today, but I’m glad you’re here, because I want you to know that we’ve been getting so many complaints about prostitution in Van Nuys on Sepulveda Boulevard that the residents and merchants in that area want to see some blood. And I’m pleased to inform you that the blood they’re going to see soon will be drained from the body of none other than your client, Mister Vincent Norman, a former pornographer, whose head I will be pleased to place on a stick and parade up and down Sepulveda Boulevard with.

  “Now, since I doubt if you have anything to say that I’d be interested in hearing, you can just walk out of here with your tail between your legs, because I don’t intend to make any deals on this case. In fact I don’t even think I’d accept your client’s straight-up guilty plea to the charges, because I want this trial to let the people know we mean business.

  “So thank you for coming in, and we look forward to seeing you again in court.”

  I usually try to be courteous and professsional and show respect to others, but once in a while I run into some obnoxious bureaucrat who treats me badly and deserves to be brought down a step. Unfortunately Mizz Margaret Nash is one of those terrible people, and even though this might embarrass Patty Seymour, I gotta do what I gotta do. I graciously smile, stand up, notice Patty is avoiding eye contact with me, and start my farewell soliloquy.

  “Mizz Nash, I want to thank you for giving me the chance to meet with you, because from what I hear, you’re one hell of a prosecutor. And to show my appreciation, here’s what I propose. First, taking a look at this copy of my client’s property receipt, I’d like you to please tell me how a guy with only some quarters in his pocket can proposition a hooker and expect to get anything more than a refusal for a dollar or so in pocket change.

  “Second, I’d like you to take notice of the fact that we have this videoCD of footage from the security system of the vehicle, which as you probably know was an armored transport truck that carried large sums of cash. The former owner had it equipped with the most sophisticated security gear, which included small hidden cameras that are automatically activated whenever a door is opened. This videoCD contains the entire four minutes that transpired, from the time that the undercover policewoman opened the door and pleaded to see the inside of the defendant’s vehicle, her request for a ride down the street to save bus fare, to my client’s absolute refusal to participate in any illegal activity with her – at which time, she told him to pull ov
er and initiated his arrest.

  “Never, in my more than twenty years of practice have I ever seen such a bungled attempt at entrapment. The officers involved in this miscarriage of justice should be thrown off the force, as I’m sure they will be, and I’m also sure that when they go down, they’ll take with them whatever pompous prosecutor ordered them to bring in some ‘johns,’ whether they’re guilty or not. And after the criminal case gets tossed out, the civil suit for false arrest should be a slamdunk and bring in quite a few quarters for my client and our law firm.

  “So, you have a decision to make. Do you want to accept this document that my client has executed, which relieves your office from any liability for false arrest, based on the consideration of the case being immediately dismissed, or would you like option number two, which is the filing of this case, the ultimate destruction of the careers of several hardworking sworn peace officers and one chief trial deputy, lots of terrible publicity for this office and your boss, and a big financial liability for the City?

  “I don’t expect you to make a snap decision that you might live to regret, so I’m just going to walk out the door now and leave behind this signed Release form. If I don’t hear from your office by noon tomorrow telling me to surrender my client in open court for arraignment, I’ll assume that you’ve come to your senses and refused to file on this case. Good afternoon.”

  As I slide Vinnie’s Release form across the table at Mizz Nash, I see that she’s sitting there red-faced, sucking air like a fish out of water. I catch a glimpse of Patty looking at me, and remember her exact words when she spoke of the possibility of the case being filed. She specifically wanted to remove the ‘I’ pronoun from the decision process, so it looks like she really wasn’t behind this whole farce. I still hope there’s a chance for me with her, because I hate to see such a nice specimen of femininity going to waste… or to Mizz Nash.