Cruel Vintage

by Huston Michaels

  “Did you learn anything about Ms. Sullivan?” Okafor asked, turning to look at Feinmann and his client.

  “Objection!” Feinmann shouted as he leapt to his feet, oblivious to the fact that his tie hung outside his suit coat. “Your Honor, this line of questioning is absurd. We’re here on a matter involving Detective Kaye’s conduct, not that of my client. Frankly, this is starting to sound like a witch hunt, with Ms. Sullivan as the target. She is not suspected of committing a crime. Detective Kaye is.”

  Gardner again listened patiently, then looked at Okafor. “Rebuttal, Counselor?”

  “I think I can clear this up, Your Honor,” Okafor replied

  Gardner nodded.

  Okafor turned back to Kaye.

  “Detective Kaye, is Megan Sullivan a suspect in any crimes that you are aware of?”

  “She is,” Kaye replied deliberately, staring at Sullivan, who visibly tensed as her eyes went wide.

  “In what matter, Detective?” Okafor asked.

  “In the deaths of Aviram Geller and Nicole Ingram.”

  Gasps and exclamations erupted from the crowd behind the railing, filling the courtroom.

  “Order!” Gardner shouted above the din as she pounded her gavel repeatedly. “Order, or I will clear this court!”

  Kaye looked at Sloan and Leale. Sloan looked bemused and was nodding ever-so-slightly. Leale was bright red as he stared back at Kaye, then got up and stalked out of the courtroom.

  ***

  When order had been restored, Howard Feinmann was standing.

  “Do you want to say something, Counselor?” Gardner asked.

  “Your Honor, I would request a thirty minute recess.” Feinmann unconsciously smoothed his tie with one hand.

  “Not on your life, Counselor,” Gardner said immediately, then looked out over the spectators. “I know you will all be disappointed, but I’m moving this proceeding in camera and off the record.” She then looked at Okafor and Feinmann and added, “Ms. Okafor, you may dismiss Captain Thompson, but everybody else, in my chambers, now.”

  It only took three minutes for Gardner to reconvene the proceedings in chambers.

  Megan Sullivan looked like the proverbial deer in the headlights as Feinmann tried to soothe her nerves.

  “I must say,” the Judge began, “this is not what I expected today to be like when I got out of bed this morning.” She turned to Kaye and asked, “Detective, do you have any real evidence connecting Ms. Sullivan to those murders?”

  “You can’t ask him that in front of my client!” Feinmann exploded. “She has not been charged with anything, much less homicide. In fact, Detective Kaye hasn’t even interviewed her. Or advised her of her rights.”

  “Detective Kaye,” Okafor spoke up, “was respecting the Order requested by your client, though no such Order has, in fact, been officially issued.”

  “Nice try, Counselor,” Gardner said, smiling. “But I’m familiar with the Detective’s reputation and I don’t believe that for one second.”

  “Your Honor, if I may,” Kaye said, “I haven’t interviewed Ms. Sullivan because the case is still developing rapidly. I have two more people to interview and search warrants to prepare after we conclude our business here. If I get the results I expect, I’ll be seeking warrants for Ms. Sullivan’s, and one other suspect’s, arrest.”

  Feinmann turned and looked at Sullivan, who looked back defiantly as if to say, ‘Do something!’

  “Well, I have an idea,” Gardner said. “That is, if Mr. Feinmann is okay with it.”

  “I won’t know until I hear it,” Feinmann said.

  “Howard,” Gardner continued, “would you be amenable to allowing Detective Kaye to interview your client here, now with you present?”

  “I don’t think I like that idea,” Feinmann said after a brief pause. “I’ve had no opportunity to even consult with Ms. Sullivan on anything remotely connected to a capital murder charge, and my advice to her,” he turned and looked at Sullivan, “is to assert her Fifth Amendment rights and not to answer any questions.”

  There was silence.

  “How about this,” Kaye said, looking at Feinmann. “I won’t ask her any questions. I’ll just lay out what I’ve got, for her and for you, Counselor, then you can consult with her on what you think is best for her.”

  “What’s the catch?” Feinmann asked instantly.

  “No catch,” Kaye said. “I’ll show you my cards. That’s all. Then you decide.”

  “May I consult with my client privately?” Feinmann asked Gardner.

  “Of course,” the judge replied. “Use the jury room.”

  Feinmann and Sullivan got up and went through the door to the jury room.

  Gardner turned to her bailiff and said, “Make sure they don’t leave,” and he went to watch the jury room’s other exit.

  “I’ve got to ask, Detective,” Gardner said as soon as the bailiff exited chambers. “Why are you willing to reveal your case like this?”

  “I believe Megan Sullivan is complicit in the murders,” Kaye said. “But I don’t think she pulled the trigger, and maybe didn’t even fully realize what she was involved in. I want the shooter.”

  “And you hope Ms. Sullivan gives you that shooter.” Gardner grasped it immediately.

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Okafor answered for Kaye. “I know this is irregular –”

  “Irregular?” Gardner interrupted. “That doesn’t even begin to cover it, Counselor. I could be looking at a Judicial Commission inquiry here.”

  “I get it,” Kaye said. “But Judge, I believe there’s a much larger conspiracy going on behind these murders, and lives are at stake, including Sullivan’s, if I let her walk out of here. All I ask is a chance to tell her what I’ve found out and let her make her own decision.”

  Gardner leaned back in her chair and looked at Kaye.

  “How about this,” she said after a minute. “If Howard says you can talk to her, you can talk to her, but not in my chambers. I’ll suspend this hearing without a ruling and find you a room, but I cannot be present and what happens after you leave here happens independently of this court. I will not put my imprimatur, even unofficially, on your opinions in this case. Plus, Detective, do not, I repeat, do not, bring any arrest warrant affidavits in this case to me. Understood?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Kaye said.

  At that moment the door to the jury room opened and the bailiff led Megan Sullivan back into the room.

  “Where’s Mr. Feinmann?” Gardner asked the bailiff.

  “I fired him,” Sullivan said. “He’s no longer my attorney.” She turned to Kaye and said, “I’ll listen.”

  Sullivan’s attitude and demeanor were subdued, but Kaye’s first thought was that he might have just been had.

  ***

  With Feinmann gone, Judge Gardner insisted on, and agreed to witness, Kaye’s advisement of Sullivan of her rights under Miranda. Once that was completed, and Sullivan had signed the form and the waiver of counsel, the bailiff led Okafor, Kaye and Sullivan to a small conference room with a window looking out at downtown. A pitcher of water and four upside-down plastic glasses sat on a tray in the middle of the square, faux wood table surrounded by four brown, molded plastic chairs.

  Okafor sat and Sullivan took the chair opposite her. Kaye ended up in the middle.

  “Ready?” Okafor asked.

  Sullivan nodded, then asked, “Can I ask questions?”

  “Of course,” Okafor said. “In fact, I’d encourage it, and I expect Detective Kaye,” she looked at him, “to give you forthcoming answers. Detective, you have the floor.”

  Kaye leaned forward, put his elbows on the table, knitted his fingers together and looked Sullivan squarely in the eyes.

  “It was the back gate lock, really. It was the big inconsistency and didn’t fit with the vandalism report. If he’d have just picked it up, who knows, you might have gotten away with it. But you couldn’t ask for a key ahead of time, either. Somebody w
ould have remembered.

  “You still might have gotten away with it, even after calling Smithers’ wife and complaining about me, if you hadn’t called Internal Affairs. That, and that you tried to keep me from getting my hands on the surveillance images and system logs from the house.

  “But you made me curious, so I dug deeper. Let me tell you what I came up with.

  “First, I know you’ve been providing Chase Storm, real name Dennis Bettencourt, unauthorized access to your vacant, high-end listings as locations for his porn shoots and that his van, which you told me belongs to the cleaning service I can never reach, matches the one on the security videos.

  “I know that you lied to other realtors about the availability of the house for showings on the day before, and the day of, the murders.

  “I know you usually drive a white Escalade, but I have a witness who identified you as the driver of a black Explorer that entered the already open gate of the house on the morning before the murders. I know you know that the cameras and motion sensors time out if the gate is left open – in this case by the landscape maintenance crew – and there would be no record of your visit.

  “I know you didn’t come alone. My witness perfectly described Dennis Bettencourt as getting out of the Explorer, carrying a large duffel bag.

  “I know that once you got inside you disabled the security system, including interior motion sensors and the back yard cameras, and you didn’t reactivate them when you re-armed the system and left. My witness also says you left alone.

  “I know you made the vandalism report on the evening of the shootings. I know you told Office Devon there was no need to check upstairs because you’d already checked, and everything was okay.

  “That all combines to tell me that you left Bettencourt at the house overnight on Monday. At some point he cuts the lock, shoots Avi Geller and Nicole Ingram, then returns to the house. He stages the vandalism and hides upstairs when Officer Devon comes to take the report, then leaves with you on Tuesday evening after Devon clears. After all, what better witness at the scene than a police officer? And you fully reactivated the outside cameras and interior motion sensors when you left.

  “I know where you got the Explorer, and I think I know where you got the gun. I’ll be bringing in your cousin and your brother-in-law for questioning as soon as I can.

  “By this afternoon I’ll have search warrants for Dennis Bettencourt’s DNA and the house in Paloma Canyon, and we’ll turn your listing, sold or not, upside down and inside out. He was there for almost thirty-six hours. We’ll find something.

  “I know why Bettencourt shot Nicole Ingram, and when I talk to him I’ll find out why he shot Avi Geller.”

  Kaye stared at Sullivan, who looked down and stayed quiet.

  “I didn’t know Dennis was going to kill Avi Geller,” Sullivan said finally. “I swear.”

  “That can help you,” Kaye said, looking at Okafor, who nodded.

  “Why are you telling me all this?” Sullivan asked, her voice subdued.

  “Because,” Kaye said, “I want to hear your side of the story, how you got swept up in all this. You don’t fit, Megan. You are a very square peg jammed into a very round hole, and, honestly, I don’t get it. How does a successful woman like you get sucked into something like this?”

  “This is your only chance to grab the brass ring, Megan,” Okafor said. “Cooperate. Tell us what you know. There’s a lot more going on here than I think you know about. Right now you’re looking at two counts of conspiracy to commit and accessory to murder, obstruction of justice, and perjury. That adds up to hard time, for a long time.”

  Sullivan sat quietly for almost two minutes.

  Kaye and Okafor waited.

  Finally she looked up and said, “I’ll tell you, but I want a deal first. In writing.”

  Okafor studied her for a moment, then said, “Let me see what I can do,” before leaving the room.

  Sullivan reached for the pitcher and a glass, poured herself some water and gulped it down.

  “Let me tell you something about deals,” Kaye said. “If you’re interested, that is.”

  Sullivan looked at him and nodded.

  “Make sure that the deal the DA offers is on the charges and not on the sentence.”

  “Why?”

  “A judge doesn’t have to accept a plea deal or a sentencing recommendation, but they seldom turn down the plea deal because it saves them from presiding over a trial. They can only sentence you for the charges you plead to. But they could, and sometimes do, ignore a sentencing recommendation and throw you into a deep, dark hole for as long as they want to.”

  “You’re telling me this because…?”

  Kaye shrugged. “You ever been in jail?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so. You cannot imagine what it’s like. You won’t do well, Megan.”

  “Are you trying to scare me?” she asked, studying him closely.

  “If you’re not already scared, I’ve badly misjudged you. Just telling you the truth.”

  The conversation stopped and the two sat silently across from each other for almost fifteen minutes before Okafor opened the door and came back in.

  “Okay,” Okafor said as she sat down and slid a piece of paper and a pen across to Sullivan. “I did the best I could. If what you tell us pans out, we’ll drop all the charges except one count of conspiracy in exchange for your testimony against Dennis Bettencourt and anyone else charged in the murders of Avi Geller and Nicole Ingram.”

  “How much time could I get?” Sullivan asked.

  “Actually,” Okafor replied, “you could be sentenced to the same time as if you committed the murders, but we’ll make a sentencing recommendation that recognizes your cooperation and hope the judge agrees. But I can’t promise you that.”

  Sullivan looked at Kaye, but didn’t say anything as she reached out and grabbed the paper and pen, signed, and slid it back across to Okafor.

  Okafor scanned the document, then took a small recorder out of her purse, dictated her name and office, and the date and time, then laid it on the table. “She’s all yours, Detective. I’m just going to sit here and listen.”

  “Okay, what do you want to know?” Sullivan asked.

  “I guess my first question,” Kaye said, “is how you got involved with Dennis Bettencourt?”

  “Howard Feinmann introduced me to Dennis and his ex-wife, Carol, at the Spring Fest dinner at Paloma Canyon Country Club,” Sullivan replied. “I went with the Gellers.”

  “Carol?” Kaye asked.

  “Yes,” Sullivan said, nodding. “She’s an assistant manager there. She went back to her maiden name after they got divorced. They have a daughter, and they share custody. They keep it civil for the little girl’s sake.”

  “So it was Carol Soares who tipped Dennis off about Avi Geller’s tee time?”

  “I don’t know. I do know she called him pretty often.”

  “But it was Dennis who decided he needed to be in the house on Tuesday.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know how Howard Feinmann knows Dennis?”

  “Howard was Dennis’s lawyer when Dennis got arrested for getting drunk and hitting Carol. But that was a long time ago. By the way, Carol didn’t want to press charges, but the police made her.”

  “Right,” Kaye said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “So Feinmann introduced you to Dennis. Did Avi and Ziva know Dennis already?”

  “I don’t think so,” Sullivan replied, “but I’m not sure.”

  “Who recommended Howard Feinmann to you as your lawyer?” Kaye asked. “Ziva Geller?”

  “No, it was Dennis who referred me to Howard after I started getting all those calls and texts. I really thought for a while they were coming from you.”

  “For a while?” Kaye asked. “You don’t still believe it?”

  “No,” Sullivan said. “At first I did, but then Dennis said something that made me wonder.”
r />   “What did he say?” Kaye asked.

  “That he had a tech friend who was working on making you look bad, and we wouldn’t have to worry about you much longer.”

  “Why did you call your friend about me the night I told you I couldn’t wait for you?”

  “Dennis told me to.”

  “The same with making the formal complaint to the department?”

  “Yes,” Sullivan said, looking down. “And the whole restraining order was his idea, too. He said it would get you fired.”

  “Megan,” Kaye said softly, “did you know Dennis was going to kill Nicole Ingram?”

  She nodded without looking up.

  “Ms. Ingram,” Okafor spoke up, “I’m going to need a verbal response to the question, please.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Ingram said. “Yes, I knew Dennis was going to shoot her, but at the time I didn’t know her last name.”

  “Do you know why?” Kaye asked.

  “Dennis told me she was one of his regular, uh, performers, I guess you’d call them, you know, in his movies. He told me she had something written down that he wanted, and if she gave it to anybody else he would be ruined. He said he wasn’t going to let her do that. But I swear I didn’t know he was going to shoot Avi, too.”

  “Do you know why he did that?” Kaye asked.

  “At first I thought it was my fault.” Sullivan replied. “Ziva told me several months ago she thought Avi was messing around, and when I told Dennis that, he told me that Avi was screwing one of his stars.”

  “Was that before or after he told you about Nicole Ingram having something that could ruin him?”

  “It must’ve been before, because when he told me about the Nicole that could ruin him, I didn’t put it together that it was the same woman. I guess in my mind I couldn’t picture Avi Geller having an affair with a two-bit porn actress. After Dennis…you know…shot them…we had a big fight about it. He told me somebody else told him to, and he didn’t have a choice.”

  “Who told him that?”

  “I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me. But he told me I’d better keep my mouth shut.”

  “Tell me about the gun.”

  “It belonged to Dennis,” Sullivan said. “He said he bought it from a guy in another state and never registered it, so we’d be in the clear.”