Motion to Dismiss (A Kali O'Brien Legal Mystery)

by Jacobs, Jonnie

  “You managing okay?” I asked.

  “As well as can be expected.” Despite his shrunken appearance, Grady’s voice was strong.

  I relayed Marc’s message about ComTec. Grady nodded noncommittally, but I noticed his grip on the phone intensified.

  “How much longer until the hearing?” he asked.

  “It’s set for a week from Wednesday.”

  “Good.”

  I didn’t want to mislead him. “That’s only one step in a long process. Nothing is going to be resolved until trial.”

  Grady sat up straighter, shook his head. When he spoke, his voice had the ring of authority. “I can’t wait that long. I need this cleared up now.”

  What he needed was a reality check. “I’m afraid the judicial system isn’t overly concerned with a defendant’s needs.”

  He shot me a quick look of surprise. “It is when the case is pure crap. That’s what the preliminary hearing is about, isn’t it? To throw out the cases that should never have been brought to begin with.”

  “In theory. But practically speaking it’s rare—”

  “I don’t give a shit about the way things usually go.” Grady’s voice was intense. “I want this settled next week at the hearing.”

  “You don’t understand!”

  He cut me off again. “It’s you who doesn’t understand. I want you to sock it to them hard, you got that? Show the prosecution their case stinks.”

  The sympathy I’d been feeling moments earlier was clouded by rising irritation. “That’s not the best way to handle it.”

  “Says who?”

  “Me.”

  His mouth was tight. “I’m paying the bills here.”

  “But I’m the attorney.” I took a breath and tried to explain.

  “The more we give them at the prelim, the easier it will be for the D.A. to put together a winning case at trial. They’ll be able to see how we’re thinking, and what our line of defense will be. We don’t want to show our hand before we have to.”

  Grady leaned forward so that his face was almost touching the glass. His eyes were narrowed and his forehead shone with a film of perspiration. “I can’t afford to wait,” he said brusquely.

  “You can’t afford to jeopardize your best shot at a winning defense either.”

  “That’s for me to decide.”

  “You hired me to give you the best defense I can.”

  He shook his head. “With all due respect, there’s no way in hell you know what’s best for me.”

  “But I do know the way the system works.”

  “I don’t give a fuck about the system. Nina needs me. I’ve got to get out of here.”

  Nina. I reminded myself that I was doing this for her. The thought helped quell my rising irritation. “I won’t deny that it would be easier on her if none of this had happened, but Nina is a strong woman. She’ll manage.”

  “She’s having my baby, dammit. I want to be there for the birth of my son. And think about Emily. How strong is she? How well will she manage?”

  “Don’t you think it’s better that they get along without you for a year, even a rough year, than for decades?”

  Grady licked his lips. He rocked back in his chair and locked his arms across his chest. “The company needs me too. If I don’t get this turned around soon, the press will destroy me. I won’t let that happen.”

  “We’re talking fifteen to twenty-five years, Grady. Maybe life. Your freedom is at stake here, not just the damn company.”

  He bent forward again, clasping his hands between his knees. “You think I don’t realize that?”

  I rubbed my forehead. “Look, I know you’re used to calling the shots. But this isn’t something you can make go away just because it’s a nuisance in your schedule.”

  “You’re not listening. If the company goes down the tubes, I’m on the street. Everything I own is in the business. I’m leveraged to the hilt.” His voice thickened. “Think about Nina. She’s already got the pregnancy and cancer to contend with. You want to add poverty to the list?”

  In my view, poverty with a loving husband at your side was preferable to poverty with a husband in prison, which seemed to be something Grady was overlooking.

  “Their case can’t be very strong,” Grady urged. “Mostly it’s that little girl’s story about seeing a convertible parked in front of the house.”

  “That’s damaging, Grady.”

  He waved a hand as if dismissing the thought. “You know how kids get confused. You ought to be able to tear her testimony to pieces.”

  “You’re forgetting the size-ten shoe print at the side of the house, the phone call to your office, your clothes that are conveniently missing.” I took a breath, reminded myself that Grady was my client, not my adversary. “And now there’s a new development.”

  “What is it?” An edge of wariness had crept into Grady’s tone.

  “I spoke with Deirdre Nichols’ sister yesterday. She apparently heard the message you left on Deirdre’s machine.

  A vein in Grady’s temple throbbed and his gaze flattened, but his expression remained neutral. “Which message was that?”

  “The one where you threatened her.”

  The look in his eyes was suddenly charged. “I what?”

  “Threatened. As in drop the case or ‘you’ll live to regret it, but not for long.’”

  “She says I left that message?”

  “You didn’t?”

  Grady shook his head in disbelief. “You think I’d be stupid enough to put something like that on tape?”

  Nothing about being stupid enough to make a threat in the first place, I noticed.

  “Does she have the tape?”

  I shook my head. “Says she doesn’t.”

  “There you go. The woman has obviously made up her mind that I’m guilty. She’ll say anything to see me put away.”

  “You think she’s lying?”

  “Damn right. I know she’s lying. Or maybe it was someone else who left the message. Ever think of that?”

  I wondered, not for the first time, why righteous indignation and outright falsehood often sound so much alike. I wondered which I was hearing in Grady’s voice.

  “Could be a lot of things,” Grady added. “Like I said, she probably has it in for me.”

  “Actually,” I told him, “she offered to speak out for leniency if you’d plead to a lesser charge. She’s worried about the effects of a trial on Adrianna and Emily.”

  Grady shook his head emphatically. “Not a chance. No way am I going to end up in prison for something I didn’t do.”

  “That’s more or less what I told her. But still, it’s an option you ought to consider. Going to trial is a gamble. You may end up with your freedom, but you could just as easily end up behind bars.”

  “But I didn’t kill anyone.” His voice rose.

  “At this point, whether you did or not isn’t the issue. The issue is whether the jury believes you did.”

  “That’s outrageous.”

  “It’s also reality.”

  Grady’s shoulders sagged, and for the first time, I saw fear in his eyes. “God knows I’ve done some stupid things in my life,” he said. “And I admit that I messed up royally by sleeping with Deirdre. It happened before I even thought about it. But I love Nina. I love her with all my heart, and I did not kill Deirdre Nichols. I swear to you, I didn’t.” His gaze met mine. His voice was barely audible. “You do believe me, don’t you?”

  I looked through the glass at Grady, a man I’d never really warmed to. A man who at times made me uncomfortable. Yet there was something genuine in his expression at that moment. Though I hadn’t expected to, I found myself nodding.

  “Yes, I believe you. And so does Nina.”

  Grady closed his eyes. “Thank you,” he said.

  Chapter 27

  On the way back to the office, I stopped off at Stoneridge Mall, which was, aptly, only a stone’s throw from the freeway. It wasn’t
so much that I was in the mood to shop, but I wasn’t eager to return to the stacks of paper waiting on my desk either. More than anything, though, I simply wanted to immerse myself in the ordinary, to wash away the gloom of jail that clung to my skin like an invisible web.

  I wandered the mall, bought some purple eyeliner I didn’t need, and a pair of green suede pumps I needed even less. As I was leaving, I relinquished all claim to sanity and bought an oatmeal and raisin cookie to nibble on the way home. Two hundred calories, nine grams of fat—and worth every one of them, I thought, until I remembered that Deirdre had been making a similar type of cookie the night she was killed. That simple reminder of life caught short added to the gloom.

  <><><>

  By the time I arrived back at the office, Rose had left for the day. I made myself a cup of coffee, went through my messages and returned a few phone calls, then got down to work. It was almost dark outside, and the rain had begun again.

  Marc showed up a little before seven, lugging a pizza box and six-pack of beer along with his briefcase. Three flights of stairs and he wasn’t even breathing hard.

  He shut the outer door with his foot. “No anchovies, right?”

  “Right.”

  His grin brought a twinkle to his eye. “All these years and I still remember.” He set the box down on my desk. “Half with, half without.”

  Just like countless evenings we’d spent together during law school. Memories rolled over me like a wave and caught me by surprise. I felt an unexpected flutter in my chest.

  “How’d it go with Grady this afternoon?” he asked, uncapping a bottle before handing it to me.

  “He wants a full court press at the prelim. Doesn’t want to wait until the trial to make his case.”

  Marc nodded. “It’s a long, hard wait when you’re sitting behind bars.”

  I moved aside the stack of papers I was working on and spread a double thickness of napkin on my desk. Then I pried a wedge from the section of pizza without anchovies. Between bites, I filled him in on my conversation with Grady.

  “I think maybe I’m beginning to believe he didn’t do it,” I said in conclusion. Or maybe I just wanted to believe. I was still having trouble sorting it all out.

  Marc made a vague acknowledging gesture.” I’ve been telling you all along that he didn’t.”

  “Are things at ComTec really as shaky as Grady says?” I asked.

  “You mean financially?”

  I nodded, wiping my finger on a clean napkin.

  “A company that’s growing like ComTec has to invest huge amounts of money and resources. The payoff comes down the line, usually by taking it public. That’s where they are now, at the break point. ComTec needs an infusion of capital from new investors to keep afloat.”

  “What will happen if they don’t get it?”

  Marc took a swallow of beer. “The venture capitalists will pull out—they’re not about to throw good money after bad—and the company will fold.”

  “Sounds heartless.”

  He laughed. “People don’t invest in a start-up company out of social conscience.”

  “If ComTec doesn’t make it, what does that mean for Grady?”

  “He’s borrowed against everything he owns and poured it into the company. He stands to make a bundle if things go right, but he’ll lose his shirt if they don’t.” Marc paused. “A lot of us stand to lose if the offering doesn’t go through.”

  “You’ve invested in ComTec yourself?”

  “Small potatoes really, but it’s a lot to me.” He rocked back in the chair, using the wastebasket as a footstool, and took another long swallow of beer. His fingers worked the label, peeling it away in strips. “Remember all those long discussions we used to have about money?”

  “Vividly.”

  He smiled. “You were such an idealist.”

  “And you, on the other hand, thought the road to happiness was paved with dollar bills.”

  “I still do. But now it’s not the money I care about so much as financial security. How about you? Didn’t you ever find yourself distracted by dollar signs?”

  I shrugged. My youthful ideals hadn’t fared well against the realities of student loans and the cost of living in the Bay Area. After almost three years in the D.A.’s office, I’d jumped ship for private practice in one of San Francisco’s fast-track firms. Six years later, when the firm dissolved, I’d found myself back at the starting gate. I’d played the game straight and by the rules, but I was a long way from financial security.

  Marc regarded me thoughtfully. “You know what else I remember? Those nights we’d drink champagne in the Jacuzzi, by candlelight.”

  Again, that flutter in my chest. Glimmerings from the past that I’d worked hard to banish from my mind. “How come you’re spending so much time on memory lane tonight?”

  “They were good times. I miss them.”

  I about choked. Miss them? That was something like murdering your parents and then begging for mercy because you were an orphan.

  “Don’t forget,” I said tersely. “It was you who brought those ‘good times’ to an abrupt close.”

  Marc’s eyes met mine. His expression was unreadable. “I haven’t forgotten.” Then he rocked forward, sending his feet to the floor with an abrupt thud. “Guess we’d better get to work. Anywhere in particular you want me to start?”

  I surveyed the numerous mounds of paper, now restacked on the credenza behind me. I picked one at random. “Take this. I haven’t had a chance to go through it yet, but it should contain stuff from Madeleine relating to the crime scene. See if you can put it in some kind of order, then make a summary sheet.”

  As Marc returned to his own office, I was still trying to wipe the pizza sauce from my hands. I suspected that my office would smell like anchovies and grease for days to come.

  An hour and a half later he was back. The disorderly pile of papers I’d given him was neatly fastened with a heavy black clip. “I thought you said Deirdre Nichols’ date book was missing.”

  “It is. At any rate, it wasn’t booked into evidence.”

  He tossed the bundle on my desk in disgust. “Sloppy police work. They took it, all right. They just never bothered to log it in. Who knows what else they’ve overlooked?”

  “You mean it’s here?”

  “A photocopy.”

  “Did you have a chance to look at it?”

  He nodded. “Skimmed it.”

  I found the relevant pages and flipped through them. “Doesn’t look like anything is missing.”

  “That was my take on it, too.”

  I checked the pages of the calendar, and then names in the address book. Adrianna’s school, dentists and doctors, a couple of restaurants, and a lot of names I didn’t recognize. Tony’s number was listed, as well as Grady’s private line.

  “Nothing there that jumps out at me,” Marc said. “How about you?”

  I shook my head.

  “Scratch that defense scenario,” he said. “Too bad, I kind of liked it.” His voice took on an element of melodrama. “A woman with secret, high-profile connections. Or low-life connections if you prefer,” he added parenthetically. “Killed for what, or whom, she knew.”

  I cut him short. “We’d have had trouble arguing that in court, no mater what. Not without corroborating evidence.”

  “Nonetheless, it was a theory ripe with possibilities.”

  “Madeleine knew I’d asked about the date book.” I placed the clipped bundle on my desk and frowned. “I wonder why she didn’t say anything?”

  Marc laughed. “She probably hasn’t gotten around to looking at her own stuff. Besides, she’s not going to help you any more than she has to.”

  “Maybe,” I said, not altogether convinced. The rules of discovery require prosecuting attorneys to make case documents available to the defense, and in my experience they’ve generally been pretty good about it. But a prosecutor who wanted to play hardball could easily stall or forget to includ
e a particular item.

  “If Madeleine was trying to be difficult,” I added after a moment’s reflection, “she would have withheld the date book until we asked for it rather than sending it along with the other discovery materials. Especially since it was never logged into evidence.”

  Marc shrugged. “Maybe she’s simply disorganized.” He checked his watch. “You up for some ice cream?”

  Another ritual from our days together during law school. I wasn’t sure how much of this old times stuff I could handle. “I still have work to do.”

  He leaned across the desk and touched my chin. “I’ll go out and bring some back, how’s that? You still into coffee ice cream with fudge sauce and whipped cream?”

  Not for years. But suddenly it sounded wonderful. “Okay, you’ve talked me into it. Make sure you carry it right side up.”

  “I haven’t made that mistake ever again.” Marc traced a finger across my lips. “I won’t be long.”

  I went back to my evidence chart, marking possible arguments next to each item I thought Madeleine would introduce. I was lost in thought, trying not to overlook any of the tiny, telling details that might make a world of difference, so the first brush of cool air registered only in the back of my mind. Then I felt a stronger draft and heard the stairway door click shut.

  “That was fast,” I called out. “What happened, did you forget your umbrella?”

  There was a shuffling sound at the far end of the hallway, then nothing. No response, no footsteps.

  “Marc? Is that you?”

  Silence.

  I felt a prickly sensation at the back of my neck. Through the open door of my office I could see into the firm’s empty, but lighted, reception area. Beyond that was the dimly lit hallway leading to the stairs.

  I stopped breathing and listened. Not a sound. Outside, the sky was dark. I could see my reflection in the rain-spattered glass. I’d just about decided my imagination was playing tricks on me, when the lights went off, plunging the office into darkness.

  Fear shot through me like an electric current. For a moment I couldn’t move. Then, with a swell of terror, reason returned. I groped blindly on my desk for the phone, knocking the cordless receiver to the floor with a deafening crash.