by Noel Obiora
“Amy, what’s wrong with you?” Melissa asked as she got on the phone after Rebecca went to call her.
“I feel like I am going to faint when I get up. I think I caught a bug.”
“I hope you didn’t catch anything, but you’ve not been yourself the past couple of weeks. But we need you here. This woman literally dared me to subpoena her. She said if we do, we’ll only find out what she has to say when she takes the stand.”
“So, what?” Amy asked, “We can depose her, too.”
“We won’t want to do that.”
“Why not?”
“I think she’s hired a lawyer, and he’s telling her what to say to us. She said we won’t want to depose her unless we want it on the record that one of the officers investigating the murder came back to ask her out that same weekend Goldie died.”
“What!”
“My sentiments exactly. But she will only talk to you. She said you’re the only one she’s going to talk to.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Please come. I’ll come get you myself and prop you up for the entire meeting.”
Amy dragged herself out of bed, showered, and dressed quickly, wondering how she would keep from throwing up at the office. The nausea aside, Lent began on March 1st, the day it first occurred to her that her fatigue and missed menses were related occurrences. This was also when she last spoke to Thomas. Time away from him was no longer just a wish but a practical necessity. If she were pregnant, she could not imagine talking to him without telling him. Having decided not to talk to Kenneth, it was just as well she did not talk to Thomas. She had wanted to tell Neda, but could not get herself to do so. Neda would worry too much and be in her space as much as Alana would. Both would think her too naïve to carry the pregnancy by herself, and Neda would call her mother for advice for Amy in place of Amy calling Alana. There was no substitute for Alana. So, she did not call Neda. Solitude became the paradox of her condition. She craved the time alone to understand her predicament as much as she craved someone to talk to about it. Alana, though she had been right about warning Amy that this might happen if she got too close, was out of the question precisely because Amy did not want to tell her she was right—again.
She called to confide in Edward, who was safely in the New York tristate area Angela flew in unexpectedly, and had a girls night out with Amy and Neda. The relief she felt from telling Angela and Neda felt like expiation. Neda said very little all night and watched Amy like she was observing a woman in a ritual ceremony, the kind primitive cultures hold. Every time Amy’s eyes met Neda’s, it seemed to Amy that Neda felt betrayed by all that she had known about Amy until that night. It was as if Neda were meeting her for the first time with a strong sense of déjà vu. Amy would smile and try to put her arms around Neda or squeeze her hand privately or pat her on the thighs, as if to say: It is well. Neda would smile sheepishly, almost nervously, as though she did not comprehend these gestures. To Amy’s surprise, she did not feel guilty for Neda’s sense that she had been misled by what she thought about her friend. Amy could not be blamed. Moreover, she had begun to worry less about what anyone thought about her the moment she feared she might be pregnant. She may no longer be carrying the Wilson crest alone if she was carrying someone else in her womb, and she didn’t care whom she was carrying, just that no one had the mandate on her identity any longer.
On arriving at the office, Amy found Rachel and her sister waiting in a conference room. Rachel had been difficult to locate since she moved without leaving a forwarding address, and while Amy did not think her absence would harm the case, she was afraid that the defense might call her. She was glad to see Rachel had come with her sister Amber.
Amber had the overweight plump of a sweets-filled child, Rachel, the water carved frame of an Olympic swimmer. Both had similar foreheads, evident from the sunglasses perched along their hairlines, which made them seem more alike than if they had not worn the glasses at all. An inch or two shorter than Amy, vulnerable searching eyes, and a disarming smile, Rachel cut an image Amy doubted she could trust. Helen had convinced Rachel to come back to LA and tell her story and Rachel was glad to unburden herself of it.
“There was a man,” she began. “The man…he asked me and Goldie to a party in Paris. His friend was throwing a party and all the girls invited would make five thousand dollars just for the week. Goldie was going to perform at the party. We didn’t have to do anything we didn’t want to if we didn’t take the money, but we still get the trip, all expenses paid and one thousand dollars for going.” Rachel paused and looked down on her hands.
“You guys went?” Amy asked to encourage her to continue.
“Goldie backed out. I went.”
“And took their money?” Amy asked. Rachel nodded.
“I met someone at the party. I knew it was the wrong place to meet someone, but he just seemed different…not seedy at all. After I came back, he started calling me and wanted me to visit him.”
“All expenses paid?” Amy asked. Rachel nodded. “And the five thousand dollars still?” Rachel nodded.
“For a week,” Rachel said. “After I went to see him, Goldie told me not to go again. She told me to stop taking his calls. So, I stopped. Then this man…who took us to the party—”
“Does the man have a name?” Amy asked.
Rachel appeared hesitant to answer.
“Between us?” Amber said, quietly.
“Sure, between us,” Amy repeated.
“Monsieur Arnot,” Amber said.
Rachel kept looking at her hands as Amber and Amy had this exchange, then she looked up when Amy asked her a question.
“You said ‘us,’ I thought Goldie didn’t go?” Amy asked.
“Another friend went…but no one was calling her back afterward… Monsieur Arnot insisted that I take the call from the guy I met there.”
“Why not?” Amy asked, the anger in her voice surprising her.
“We did not use our names when we went to the party. And he said these people have money and they are connected and they could ruin my career,” Rachel said.
What career? Amy wanted to ask, but swallowed streams of her own saliva, feeling a mild choke, and cleared her throat.
“Monsieur Arnot suggested Rachel should take this man’s call but tell him that she was married,” Amber said.
“Did he buy it?” Amy asked.
“Yes, but he wanted me to still see him secretly,” Rachel said. “But he stopped pushing to come to LA and I traveled out to see him.”
“A good thing she’s an actress,” Amber said. “I don’t know how you pulled that off.”
“Paris again?” Amy asked.
“No, closer. Cancun, Vancouver…but then one day he landed at LAX and called me. My sister was staying with me.”
“The man who introduced us…suggested that I ask Goldie if I could use her apartment because she was in London. We already kept each others’ spares in case we needed help or lost it and couldn’t find the manager.”
“How about telling him you couldn’t get away from your husband?” Amy asked.
“TI thought about doing that, too, but Monsieur Arnot said I should just get something on him, so if I want to break things off, I just say I will send a tape to his wife.”
“You mean blackmail him?” Amy asked, the alarm in her voice rising with each response. Rachel nodded.
“Monsieur Arnot said it would make him back off.”
“You sure trusted this man a lot,” Amy said, looking at Amber, who nodded. Rachel looked at her hands reflectively.
“That was exactly what Goldie said,” Amber said.
“I’m afraid I was beginning to like the guy I met, too, I just didn’t want him coming to LA. And when I told him I didn’t want anymore, he stopped.”
“Did you blackmail him?” Amy asked.
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“I don’t know, but Monsieur Arnot said he would take care of that. He put the wires and small microphones the police found on Goldie’s bed,” Rachel said.
“We have to stop here,” Amy said.
“Wait, there’s a whole lot more,” Amber said.
“You have told me too much already. Our office is supposed to give the defendant any information we receive that might point to someone else committing this crime. I’m sure you guys have been following the O. J. case.”
“Yes, but Rachel doesn’t think the man she was seeing did this. He was nowhere near LA when it happened. She checked.”
“Perhaps you’re right. But just a friendly piece of advice from me, you’ll need a good attorney.”
“I’ve got one. Helen hired a firm to represent me,” Rachel said.
“Good—Helen convinced us that you were the right person to protect Rachel if she comes forward,” said Amber. “As soon as you walked in, I understood what she meant. If you’re not going to be the attorney on the case, we are never talking to the DA again. The lawyer said it was our right, Fifth Amendment and all.”
Amy considered Amber for a while. She must have been all of twenty-three years of age, but far older than her elder sister in her wisdom.
“Don’t believe everything your lawyer tells you,” Amy said and got up. “Please wait here.”
Melissa had a paralegal preparing a subpoena for Rachel when Amy got to the office, and Amy had said she would come to Melissa’s office to pick up the subpoena after she had a chance to speak to Rachel and her sister. Kate was also in Melissa’s office.
“What did she say?” Kate asked before Amy could close the door.
“You were right, she placed the listening devices in the room to blackmail some foreigner, but she’s threatening to take the Fifth if I’m not the attorney on the case. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about, obviously.”
“You are trying the case.” Melissa agreed.
“Obviously, we need you at least for this woman,” Kate said.
All Amy could do was look from one woman to the other, unsure whether she even wanted the case anymore. Her life had become complicated enough, and as Neda had said, there would be other cases.
“I would have to take a lot of your other files from you, because this changes things,” Melissa added. Still Amy did not say anything.
“Can I think about this?” Amy asked.
Kate and Melissa looked at each other with slight surprise.
“I thought that this was what you wanted, and why you have been so down recently?” Melissa asked.
“No, believe me this has nothing to do with it.”
“When will you get back to us?” Kate asked.
“I just need a couple of days.”
“Okay, take a week,” Melissa said.
“Did Goldie know about those devices?” Kate asked.
“No, I don’t think so. I didn’t get that far. I had to stop her, it was everything you feared,” Amy said turning to Kate.
“What if the defense gets to her?” Melissa asked.
“I don’t see her talking to them. She hired a lawyer like you said,” Amy said to Melissa. “And if she does, she’ll tell us what she told them and we’ll be ready.”
“We’ll subpoena her just in case,” Kate said.
“I think she can help us find Monsieur Arnot,” Amy said.
“He’s the foreigner she was blackmailing?” Melissa asked.
“No, he put those devices there to blackmail the person and used her as bait,” Amy said.
“So, he probably heard Paul Jackson through those devices,” Kate said.
“Or he heard the person he blackmailed come back for Rachel, find Goldie, then kill Goldie,” Melissa said and shrugged. “There’s your trouble,” she added to Amy and Kate’s quiet stare.
“Son-of-a…” Kate started to say.
“Can I have the subpoena?” Amy asked, interrupting Kate. Melissa took an envelope containing the subpoena from her desk and gave it to Amy.
“There’s one in there for her sister, too, just in case,” Melissa said.
In Melissa’s office, for the first time since she left to meet Rachel and her sister, Amy began to feel queasy as she often did before her nausea and wanted to leave Melissa’s office immediately.
“I’ll come with you,” Kate said, but Amy turned around to stop her.
“No, I have another couple of questions for them. Just give me a few minutes before you join us,” Amy said and left the room.
Outside Melissa’s door, she stopped and held her midriff to gauge how close she was to vomiting, then returned to the conference room.
“Who used Goldie’s bed the day Goldie died?” Amy asked.
“Me,” Rachel said.
“And the foreigner?” Amy said.
Rachel shook her head.
“She doesn’t want to drag the person into this case.” Amber said.
“Monsieur Arnot,” Rachel said, before Amber could finish.
“And Goldie was okay with it?” Amy asked.
“She didn’t know until afterward. When Goldie got back, she wasn’t staying at her place anymore. I told her I needed to use her apartment again, and she just told me to call her when we were done, because she gave her car keys to someone and they were returning them to her apartment. But before I could clean up and call her, she just showed up at the apartment.”
“Did you say she gave the keys to Paul?” Amy asked.
“She didn’t tell me,” Rachel said. “She was playful about it, but she would not say who it was. She might have given the keys to Paul.”
“That man, Monsieur Arnot,” Amy said, her jaw tightening. “Do you know where we can find him?”
“I don’t know…” Rachel said.
“I think you do,” Amy said.
“I really don’t,” Rachel said, and to Amy’s continued incredulous expression, added, “Why would I know? He got me into a lot of mess.”
“Amy, please, you have to understand, my sister is not a call girl. We were not brought up like that…and I know that deep in her heart she blames herself for everything that happened, but she was just trying to survive,” Amber said.
“We’re going to need your help locating this Monsieur Arnot, if that’s even his real name.”
“That’s fine,” Amber said, but Amy was looking at Rachel and did not acknowledge Amber until Rachel nodded.
Amy put her head around the conference room door and invited Kate and a male colleague, both of whom she introduced to Rachel and Amber. The male staff handed Rachel and Amber the subpoenas and took their contact information. “The trial date is May 8, 1995. You contact our office at least two weeks before that date if you don’t hear from us.”
Rachel and Amber stood up to leave. As they passed by, Amy held Amber’s arm and Amber paused.
“I will do my best for her,” Amy said as though it was for only Amber to hear, but everyone in the conference room heard.
After Rachel and Amber left, Amy was left alone with Kate. “Good job,” Kate said smiling reassuringly, and extended her hand. Amy shook Kate’s hand and slowly sat down as though she could not bear her own weight standing. Kate watched her.
“Melissa said you weren’t feeling well. Are you alright?”
Amy looked up at Kate and smiled. She felt a strong urge not only to tell Kate she was convinced that she was pregnant, but to take it further and tell her the truth that she could not be sure it was Thomas’s. But for the fact she had not told Thomas, she would have confessed it to Kate.
“I’m fine,” she said. “I think I caught a bug. And then there’s the stress of this case.”
“What stress? You’ve handled it very well. These women came here asking for you by name because you went out of
your way to be nice to the victim’s mother, who in turn told them they could trust you.”
“It didn’t always feel like this, before today.”
“What do you mean?”
Amy paused to consider how to begin, or rather whether to begin. Something else she had noticed about her condition was that, aside from the subject of pregnancy, she no longer wanted to leave anything unsaid. She considered what she wanted to say thoroughly.
“You’ve never really spoken to me like this before…” Kate raised her eyebrow and pointed to a chair as though she was asking for permission to sit. Amy nodded.
“Have I offended you in the way I spoke to you in the past?”
“No,” Amy said, contemplating what to say. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure, please.”
“Why did you pick me for this case?”
“When I got the case, I was just heading home from court. They called me to say LAPD was looking for someone to be assigned to this case. I live off Olympic in the mid-Wilshire area, so I know the place well and decided to drive there and see the officers. When I left that place, I didn’t have a good feeling about the case. The woman was killed in her bathroom, her doors were locked—so no break-in. Nothing was taken; it appeared there was no sexual assault either. She was not in any committed relationship, and just got back from London, and there were professional listening devices in her room, and no eyewitnesses.”
“I was afraid that was why you assigned me,” Amy said grinning. She was truly happy to be finally having this conversation.
“I haven’t told you why yet. And it was not because it was a hard case that you would work your butt off on. Later that night, after I left the crime scene, the officers came to my house to tell me they had a suspect, an African American. This shit was like the O. J. case without Ron Goldman. Then that weekend, I did a bit of research and realized this son-of-a-bitch’s father was that Muslim Imam somewhere in the South Bay. That’s when I thought of you. Publicity was going to follow this case, and I didn’t feel I could handle it emotionally…because of things that were going on privately. You were starting that week and I just felt like you have been exposed to publicity all your life so you could handle it better than anyone else I could think of in the office.”