by Mark Gilleo
“They don’t give Fentanyl to healthy people. It’s used in addition to other pain medication, which I’m due for in another hour or so.”
“I’ll see to it that you receive your medication. The police cannot withhold that from you.”
Amy smiled weakly. “Thanks. And you know, from a legal perspective, all of these medications have serious side effects. Mind-altering side effects. Mood-altering side effects.”
Dan peered curiously at his new client. “How long are the doctors giving you?”
“Less time than I would like.”
“You know, there’s always the chance for a miracle.”
“No. There’s no chance for a miracle. Christmas would be a miracle. And that would be enough.” Amy again peered over at the detectives through the glass. “Mr. Lord, have you ever heard that cats know when they’re going to die and sometimes they will just disappear. Walk off to die alone.”
“I’ve heard that old wives’ tale, but I don’t know if it’s true. I never had a cat.”
“It’s not an old wives’ tale. And I did have a cat growing up. His name was Nuts. Lived until he was fifteen years old. We grew up together, me and Nuts. He was the closest thing I had to a sibling. Anyhow, one day I noticed Nuts didn’t want to eat. Then he started acting lethargic. My parents didn’t have the money to take him to a real vet, so we took him to Mrs. Carter on the next street over. Mrs. Carter had a million cats. At least it seemed that way when I was a kid. Anyway, Mrs. Carter took one look at Nuts and told me that he wasn’t going to make it to summer. Sure enough, one day in late spring I opened the door when I got home from school and Nuts made a break for it. Never saw him again. He knew it was his time.”
“I’m sure that was hard on you.”
“It was. But now I completely understand. I’m just like Nuts. He knew his time was short. And I can tell you this, as sure as Nuts was about his predicament when he slipped out the door and boogied across the yard and into my memory, I can tell you that death is on me. I’m not going to escape. There will be no miracle cure. No recovery. All I have is a stopwatch constantly ticking in my head and the love for my daughter.”
“Have you made arrangements for your daughter?”
“The best I could.”
“If there is anything you need help with, let me know. As a lawyer I can draft documents. Wills. Trusts. Whatever you need. We can go over some options later if you like.”
“Okay.”
“Good. I’ll prepare a checklist for getting your affairs in order. Is there anyone you have in mind to handle your affairs after you…”
“Die. You can say it. At first, it took me a while to spit it out. You have to ease into it. But after you say it a few dozen times, it becomes just another word.”
“I won’t hesitate next time.” Dan paused and then continued. “Now, I would like to ask you a question or two about today. You don’t have to answer me. That is your choice. But it would help me to know where I stand. It may help me to get you back on the street. Anything you say, anything at all, can never be divulged to anyone else. Do you understand that?”
“You go ahead and ask. Maybe I’ll answer.”
“Fair enough. But I hope my Q & A turns out better for me than it did for Detective Wallace.”
Amy smiled and Dan could see dimples in her sunken cheeks.
“Did the lollipop the detectives find belong to you?”
Amy nodded but didn’t verbalize her answer.
“And this Dr. Smithson that the detective mentioned, did he prescribe the medication to you for terminal cancer?”
Another nod.
“And would it be reasonable to conclude that your DNA may be on the lollipop they found at the scene?”
Amy didn’t nod but looked into Dan’s eyes with complete surrender.
“Well, that is certainly a strong chain of evidence that wouldn’t work in your favor. In the case of a trial, that is. Bank robbery is a crime, you know.”
“It may be a crime, but it’s not like killing someone.”
Dan digested that statement as Amy continued. “I mean, we bailed out the entire banking world a couple of years ago. The automobile industry. Fannie Mae. Wall Street. Whoever whined the loudest. So I figured, to hell with it. Banks are insured. Fifty thousand here. Fifty thousand there. It won’t make a bit of difference to anyone in the long term. That’s the cost of a work conference in Vegas for a couple of days for these companies. No one is going to blink at a few thousand dollars.”
“Except for the police. They don’t really care about the relativity of the amount in question.”
“And I don’t really care about the authorities.”
“They care about you.”
Amy nodded her head slowly and then hacked once, her hand finding her midsection.
“Do you still have access to the money from the bank?”
“I never admitted to robbing any bank or having money from a bank robbery.”
“That’s fine. But you should know there’s a good chance the police will locate the stolen money if you choose not to return it voluntarily. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think I have a good idea where the money is, and I haven’t even looked for it yet.”
“You do, do you?”
“Rock Creek Park. You live in Cleveland Park. The bank is near Metro Center. It’s the logical choice. And you have dirt on your shoes.”
“Did you know that Rock Creek Park is the largest urban park in the country? Did you know that the entire island of Manhattan or the entire downtown of Tokyo would fit inside the park?”
“I don’t know the dimensions, but I do know the police can probably narrow down your location based on soil samples. If they’re paying attention. From what I understand about your current outfit, you’re wearing your third set of clothes for the day. The first outfit was on your way into the bank. Your second outfit on the way out of the bank. And the third outfit is what you’re currently wearing. So you dumped the clothes you were wearing when you exited the bank somewhere between the spot where the taxi dropped you off and your apartment.”
“You pay attention, Mr. Lord.”
“I try. I wish I didn’t have to, but honesty just isn’t a strong suit in today’s society.”
“A thief is not necessarily a liar.”
“Duly noted,” Dan said. “Out of curiosity, do you have any idea what the federal sentencing guideline is for bank robbery?”
“Do you know what the sentence is for stage four pancreatic cancer with a zero survivability rating?”
“I would guess considerably shorter than the sentence for bank robbery.”
“Mr. Lord, let me be very clear. There will never be a trial. I will never be found guilty. I will never go to jail.”
“You’re already in jail.”
“It’s now your job to get me out. I know you can.”
“You just met me. What makes you so confident?”
“You’re talking to a woman with terminal cancer, a mother of a young child, someone who poses no flight risk, and someone in need of medical attention. In addition to that, any actions that may have taken place today could have been the result of current medication, which is largely considered to be the most powerful painkiller available. I think this is what my dad referred to as a slow pitch over the middle of the plate. You should be able to knock it out of the park. If you can’t, find me another lawyer and take what I told you to the grave.”
“Best case scenario, you will be in custody for a few days. The first step will be getting you moved to GW hospital for medical care, mental evaluation, and observation. It’s better than jail, though you’ll still be under police observation.”
“You mean under arrest.”
“Yes. I’ll pull some strings, call in a favor or two, and you should be in your own hospital room by lunch tomorrow. After that, I’ll start looking at legal options and precedence for getting you home. Maybe I can even keep you home. At least until Chri
stmas. I can probably have you back with your daughter, with an electronic monitoring device, in a week at the latest.”
“Whatever. If they charge me, they charge me. No jail. No trial. I don’t care about anything else.”
“I’ll do my best. But don’t think about changing your mind on the possibility of a miracle recovery. If you do, I may not be able to keep you out of jail forever.”
Amy again showed both dimples and a glimpse of teeth. “I’ll try to die in a timely fashion.”
“There’s one other thing. I want to ask you about the photographs Detective Wallace showed you.”
“I assume you heard me tell him I didn’t know the other girl with the lollipop. I can’t be the only person in the city with one.”
“I’m not talking about the woman in the photos. I’m talking about your reaction to the man in the cap and sunglasses.”
Amy stared at Dan. “I’ve never seen that person before in my life.”
Why is it so hard to find an honest client? Dan thought.
“You know, I’ve seen him before,” Dan said, pulling his shirt up from his waist. The ripe, black and blue, web-shaped bruise across Dan’s torso made Dan’s newest client wince.
“Ouch.”
“I owe him one. Or two.”
“Looks like you could use a lollipop.”
“I’d rather just know where I can find him.”
“I can’t help you with that,” Amy said before sighing. “But hypothetically speaking, what would you do if you locate him?”
“When I locate him.”
“Fine, when you locate him. Hypothetically speaking, I may not be around to testify. Not that I would.”
“I didn’t say anything about testifying. I’m talking about unofficial retribution,” Dan answered, clenching his jaws.
Amy flashed a look of surprise, turned towards the mirrored-wall and peered at the detectives in the interrogation room. She looked back at Dan. “You mean that figuratively, right?”
Dan shrugged his shoulders. “This conversation is protected by attorney-client privilege. Trust is a two-way street.”
Amy stared at Dan for a few long seconds. “So what’s next?”
“I’ll get your meds and start the ball rolling on your relocation. I’ll check in with you tomorrow. If you need to reach me, you have my card.”
Amy paused as if she had something profound to say.
“Are you going to be all right?” Dan asked.
“Just get me out. Give me time with my daughter.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Amy started to speak again. Her mouth opened and only silence escaped. She took a deep breath and managed to say, “Counselor…”
“Call me Dan.”
“If something happens to me or my daughter, please know that I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
Dan paused. “What are you trying to tell me?”
“Nothing. Forget it.”
“You’re going to have to help me to help you,” Dan said with a wink.
“You know how you just asked me who to contact in case anything happens to me?”
“When you die.”
“Yes.”
“I remember.”
“Well, if something does happens to me, I want you to locate an old friend of mine. Her name is Carol T. Sutton.”
“Do you have any contact information for her?”
“You’ll have to get that yourself.”
*
Dan watched as the handcuffs were tightened on Amy’s wrists and Detective Fields led her away down the hall. Wallace waited until Emily turned the corner with the suspect and then he grabbed Dan by the arm and pulled him into the interrogation room.
“You mind telling me what that was all about, Benedict Arnold?”
“Attorney-client privilege. No can do.”
“Sometimes you can be a real asshole.”
“And you need to learn to trust people.”
“I give trust when trust is earned.”
“No. You only give trust when trust is earned the way you want it to be earned. Don’t confuse the two. Don’t forget who nailed Nguyen’s murderer. You didn’t trust me then and I proved you wrong.”
“I’ll tell you what. Prove me wrong one more time.”
“I will. But I’m going to need your help with a few things.”
“Like what?”
“I want my client at home with her daughter.”
“In exchange for what?”
“The guy in the cap and sunglasses.”
“She’s going to give him to us?”
Dan lied, answering, “She is willing to provide additional information after posting bail and she is home.”
“I don’t think anyone is going to agree to that.”
“Yes they will. In the meantime, I want my client moved to GW hospital for care, observation, and a mental evaluation. With visitation rights. I was thinking tomorrow morning would be good for a transfer.”
“She’s a bank robber who was caught on video and identified by a witness. No one is going to let her go free.”
“This woman will never make it to a trial. I’m prepared to file every motion available, and invent a few more. She is under heavy medication, extreme stress, and suffering from terminal cancer. I can have any number of medical doctors attest to her condition. In addition to her medical state and diminished condition, she is a single mother and the sole provider for her child. She is also willing to provide meaningful information that may aid in solving two active murders.”
“Christ.”
“I don’t think my client is religious.”
“I still can’t let her walk.”
“I’m not saying walk. I’m saying walk with a limp. Let’s get her home detention. Push for a trial date that is, say, six months from now. Allow her to continue her treatment and milk every day of life she has left with her daughter. We get our information. We solve some murders. We save the taxpayers some money.”
“And in return?”
“In return, I’ll arrange for the return of the stolen money and maybe even give you some suspects on a couple of cold murder cases.”
“Just how are you going to do that?”
“If I’m right, I should be able to tell you something tomorrow. Come by the apartment in the afternoon. Bring your sidekick.”
“The one you’re sleeping with?”
“I haven’t slept with her yet, but as soon as this case is over, anything is possible.”
“I’ll keep that out of mind.”
“So we have a deal, right? Home detention. My client isn’t a flight risk. She has a small child, no other family, and she probably doesn’t even own a passport. She is very ill. Gravely ill. Getting her home detention should be easy. As my client put it, it should be a slow pitch over the middle of the plate.”
“I don’t think the captain or the DA are baseball fans.”
“And one more thing,” Dan said. “Try and keep her name out of the press.”
Chapter 40
Dan dropped two folders on the floor of his rented bedroom in Georgetown. Emily sat on the folded futon. Detective Wallace leaned back in the bird cage chair, spinning slightly. Both DC detectives watched intently as Dan removed photos from the top folder and spread them on the floor on the right half of the room.
When he had emptied the top folder, he placed it to the side. He opened the second folder and repeated the process on the left side of the room. When done, two sets of photos divided the old hardwood floor with an open space between them. Dan moved between the photos, adjusted into a cross-legged position, and checked his written notes on a yellow legal pad. Emily moved to the end of the futon closer to the photos. The afternoon sun shone through the window behind her, illuminating her hair.
Dan looked to his audience for approval to begin.
Wallace nodded down from his perch. “Bring it on.”
Dan began. “Let’s see if you guys can follow my
insanity. I spent about eight hours shuffling through obituaries and online death records for the last seven years and hopefully it wasn’t a waste of time.”
“Obituaries? Those can be a real pick-me-up,” Emily chimed in.
“Try reading a couple thousand of them.”
“I’ll pass.”
“At any rate, I was digging for information on one particular list of individuals. People with terminal cancer. Or more specifically, people who died of terminal cancer.”
“I think I’m going to need a drink to get through this,” Wallace said.
Dan pointed to an opened bottle of black label Jack Daniels sitting on the floor in the corner. “Take a nip if you need one.”
“Did you have a head start?”
“It was a full bottle when I started this morning.”
Wallace warily leaned out of the bird chair and Emily intercepted him, grabbing the bottle before he could find his balance.
Dan continued. “Based on what we know about Amy the bank robber, Beth the sniper, and Carol T. Sutton, I made a few assumptions to help me get to a manageable number of people with certain characteristics who died of terminal cancer.”
“Who is Carol T. Sutton?” Wallace asked.
“She is someone my bank robbery client identified as a friend, but in reality she’s another suspect. She is also dead.”
“And your client told you this?”
“She told me to contact Carol T. Sutton if anything ever happened to her.”
“And of course you checked her out?”
“I did. But the existence of Carol T. Sutton is inadmissible in any legal proceeding. It was offered to me under attorney-client privilege,” Dan paused and stared into Wallace’s eyes. “And that is what is known as trust and sharing.”
Wallace motioned for the bottle of liquor. “Noted. Can I ask why you use the expression, ‘terminal cancer’? These people died. Of cancer. So it was terminal by definition.”
“I considered that, and if you stick with me, I can explain.”
“What assumptions did you use?” Emily asked.
“First off, I limited my search by focusing on deceased individuals with young children. Then I further limited the search criteria to men and women who died younger than fifty years of age. Mathematically, I needed some filters to reach a manageable number and there just aren’t that many people over fifty with young children who died of terminal cancer in the given time period. I may have missed some people but, at the end of the day, what I have done should point us to everyone we need to find.”