by Mark Gilleo
Singleton looked down at his own waistline but didn’t respond.
The elderly Asian waiter with the notepad arrived at the table and took their order without a hint of personality before ambling off towards the kitchen.
“What do you have?” Singleton asked Dan.
“The killer of Marcus Losh is a terminally ill cancer patient.”
“Just how did you figure that out?”
“A long twisted game of connect the dots starting with Sherry Wellington. The murder of her baby daddy was case number one. Then a former waitress coworker of hers was pushed in front of a Circulator bus and died. We suspect the pusher in that case was also terminally ill.”
“You suspect a terminally ill woman? But you don’t have confirmation? Is she in custody?”
“No. She got away. But she had help.” Dan rubbed the back of his neck. “Someone with a blunt object. I had double vision for two days. I was also shot in the chest, by the way.”
“You look good for being shot. Did you lay eyes on the accomplice?”
“On surveillance video. A guy with a baseball cap and sunglasses.”
“Any ID?
“Not yet. But I’ll find him.”
“Do me a favor. Don’t find him in Virginia. I don’t want to clean up the mess.”
“I already had a DC detective ask me not to find him in the city.”
“You still have Maryland.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“What do you have on the deceased former waitress who was a coworker of Mrs. Wellington?”
“She wasn’t just a former coworker. She was a former coworker Mrs. Wellington claimed she had no contact with, but with whom she had lunch on the very day the coworker was killed.”
“Now that is curious.”
“It gets better. The guy with the baseball cap and sunglasses caught on video when the waitress dove into the path of the bus, well, this guy also showed up to buy a bike from a junkyard in DC.”
“A bike from a junkyard?”
“The pedal variety. The bike came off a minivan that went into the canal last week. The driver of the minivan crashed the same morning as the sniper murder in DC. Distance between the killing and the crash is about three miles. And we know from the ME and her doctor that the driver had terminal cancer.”
“So you have a guy in a baseball cap and sunglasses who is connected to the suspect in the sniper murder. And you have the same guy in a baseball cap and sunglasses who is connected to the pusher of this waitress. And you think the pusher of the waitress has cancer because… ?”
“She had a lollipop.”
“A lollipop?”
“That’s right.”
“My daughter has a jar of lollipops on top of the fridge at home.”
“Not like these. They’re morphine lollipops. Except it’s not really morphine. It’s something called Fentanyl.”
“For pain.”
“Bingo. Did you see the bank robbery the other day, at the BB&T downtown?”
“Sure.”
“Well, as it turns out, the alleged suspect in that case, who now happens to be my client, also had a morphine lollipop in her possession during the alleged bank robbery. When she was shown photographs of the guy in the cap and sunglasses during police interrogation, we hit pay dirt.”
“Another person with terminal cancer tied to the man in cap and sunglasses?”
“That’s right.”
“Did she confess?”
“She didn’t divulge anything that is admissible anywhere; thanks to attorney-client privilege.”
“Jesus.”
“But if I’m right, we have some terminally ill patients responsible for several murders, and maybe a bank robbery, right here in the DC area.”
“And you think Marcus Losh was killed by one of these terminally ill patients?”
“It’s my best guess. I can’t give you a name, but if I’m right, you’ll be able to locate Marcus Losh’s killer in the newspapers in the next month or two.”
“Are they planning to take out an advertisement?”
“No. They’ll be in the obituaries.”
The pho arrived and the conversation paused. Detective Singleton threw sliced hot peppers into his bowl of noodles. Dan Lord squeezed a large blob of Sriracha across a pile of bean sprouts.
Detective Jim Singleton slurped a mouthful of noodles. “Let’s say I believe you’re right.”
“Do you?”
“Of course not. And if I did, I wouldn’t admit it.”
“You aren’t alone.”
“That makes me feel better. Anyhow, let’s say I agree with you. Let’s say we have terminally ill people with itchy trigger fingers running around the Beltway and that one of them killed Marcus Losh. Why him? What did he do?”
“We believe the killers received financial compensation from a legitimate nonprofit in Alexandria.”
“So they kill for money?”
“We think.”
“For what reason? What did Marcus Losh do that someone would pay to have him killed?”
“I’m still working on that.”
“Well, that is called motive, Danno. It’s kind of important.”
“Thanks for the reminder. The good news is that we’re working on a lot of potential connections. All we have to do is tie Sherry Wellington to the dead EPA lawyer, or the dead EPA lawyer to Marcus Losh. Or the dead EPA lawyer to the dead waitress.”
“I get the idea.”
“Or any of the above to anyone connected with a potential cold case, which is a list the DC police are working on.”
“What have you looked at so far?”
“I have a technical guy who ran all kinds of crosschecks against the EPA lawyer, the congressman’s wife, the waitress, and Marcus Losh. Nothing concrete there. The DC detectives and I kicked around some ideas. At first we thought maybe they all met through something like narcotics or Alcoholics Anonymous. Off the record type of connections. I mean, we know that Marcus Losh had both an alcohol and drug problem.”
“Big time.”
“Our second thought was that they all served on the same jury.”
“It seems logical. A jury is something that ties people together from different backgrounds and when the trial is over, the group is disbanded.”
“Exactly. Maybe the jury put a bad guy behind bars.”
“And now he’s out and wants revenge.”
“Yep. It’s rare, but it happens. I followed up on the idea and I researched the jury information database for Maryland, Virginia, and the federal courts in DC. Ran all the names we had through PACER. I got nothing. Not a single hit on Sherry Wellington, the dead EPA lawyer, the waitress, or Marcus Losh.”
“Nothing?”
“Nope.”
“That’s very curious.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve been digging through Marcus Losh’s financial records. Keep in mind that we only have a couple of murders a year here in Arlington. The heat is on to solve this thing and solve it quickly.”
“I can imagine.”
“And my captain still thinks there’s a possible drug connection with Marcus’s death. So, as shit rolls downhill, I was tasked with guessing how much Marcus was spending on drugs versus how much he was bringing in with disability and income. The thought was maybe Marcus was quietly dealing and that’s what actually got him killed.”
“You mentioned that before. My drug contact says he wasn’t dealing.”
“That’s what you say. But you also just said that Marcus Losh never served on a jury.”
“Not in Maryland, Virginia, or in the federal courts, which covers DC. Those three locations are where he lived all of his non-military life.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure I have a bank statement that shows he was paid by the federal court for performing jury duty.”
“You’re kidding me…”
“As I said, I spent a lot of time looking at Marcus Losh’s finances. A
lot of time with old bank records. Salary paystubs. Disability payments. I’m pretty sure I logged an entry for a payment from the federal court system for jury service. The reason I remember is because the courts are still paying jurors with real checks. Most people don’t receive a lot of physical checks these days. Almost everything is electronic. On top of that, deposits are the least common banking transaction. It stuck in my mind.”
“When was this check received?”
“Quite a few years back.”
“Any chance it was seven years ago?”
“Could have been. If I remember correctly, the check was deposited into an account with Wachovia, before it was bought by Wells Fargo. The account had been closed for a while, but Marcus kept a lot of his bank records in a filing cabinet in the closet. I can double-check when I get back to the station.”
“Fuck me,” Dan said. He threw twenty bucks on the table and walked towards the door.
“Keep me posted, Danno.”
Dan waved his hand above his head as he exited the restaurant.
*
Detective Wallace pulled the phone from his breast pocket on the second vibration.
“Wallace here.”
“You sitting down?” Dan asked.
“You planning on giving me a coronary?”
“Maybe. I need a favor.”
“You can’t have one. You’ve reached your quota.”
“I need you to access the bank statements of the dead EPA lawyer. See if she received payment for serving on a jury sometime over the summer, seven years ago.”
“We already checked to see if she served on jury duty.”
“I know. I checked. You checked. She didn’t. Except that she did.”
“How can that be?”
“I think we’re going to find she did serve on a jury, but she is not showing up in the PACER database because it was an anonymous jury.”
“You have something concrete on this, or should I just close my eyes and jump down the rabbit hole based on a wild hair up your ass?”
“A lead from your colleagues at the Arlington Police Department. They’re still working the case of Sherry Wellington’s baby daddy. Records show he was paid for serving on jury duty.”
“I’ll look into it, but don’t most lawyers try to keep other lawyers off a jury?”
“They try, but lawyers serve on juries all the time. Besides, seven years ago your dead EPA lawyer was still in college. She wasn’t an attorney. She wasn’t even in law school yet.”
“I’ll check it out. Not sure what I’ll find. Seven years is a long time ago.”
“You may also want to go back and look at the court cases for the summer that same year. See if any heavy-hitters were put away. See if a guilty verdict put someone behind bars who would be a good candidate for revenge killings. We still need motive and we may be able to identify potential cases even if we can’t identify the jurors.”
“I’m on it. Where are you?”
“I’m going to see a friend at the courts.”
Chapter 45
Dan stood in line at the counter, overlooking the spread of possible toppings behind the sneeze guard, readying to ambush Jerry who was sitting at a table in the corner of the sandwich shop. A block from the courthouse, the narrow shrine to sandwiches was only open for lunch. Four hours a day, Monday through Friday. The owner, a large man known as Lunch Money to friends and foe alike, was rumored to clear half a million dollars a year. One foot of meat-stuffed bread at a time.
Dan took his sub in a white bag and approached his acquaintance in the corner. Jerry, wavy dark hair flowing to the collar of his dark suit, was flicking his thumb across the screen of his phone while his other hand shoved a tuna sub into his mouth at steady intervals.
Jerry, an employee in the clerk’s office for the DC Superior Court, slipped his smart phone into the pocket of his suit jacket and choked down a swallow of Chicken of the Sea.
“Dan. It’s been a while. Not ashamed to say it, but a small part of me was hoping I wouldn’t see you just yet.”
“I’m not sure what your complaint is. The last time I saw you, I was handing over three new laptops and enough cash to buy a car.”
Jerry looked around and took a sip from the straw in his cup. “What do you need help with today? More importantly, is it going to require staying up for seventy-two hours straight?”
Before Dan could answer, Jerry raised his hand and showed Dan his palm. “I’m just saying, if it’s something that’s going to resemble another sleep deprivation study, I’m throwing in the cost of prescription medication.”
“I’m looking to find a case for a trial jury that doesn’t show up in the official court records.”
“You mean you’re looking for a case involving an anonymous jury?”
“That’s right.”
“Do you have a case number?”
“No.”
“Perfect. I can’t help you.”
“Why is that perfect?”
“Because I don’t even have to make up some crazy reason for why I can’t help you. This time, it’s the truth.”
Dan cocked his head and raised his eyebrows. “That’s it?”
“You don’t like the easy answer?”
“I was hoping for a little foreplay.”
“Dan, you know I’m willing to push the envelope a little. Get you some information here and there in the name of capitalism, which is, after all, a cornerstone of this great country.”
“I’m willing to grease the wheels of capitalism.”
Jerry looked away for a second. “I can’t help you, but I can tell you that you’re not going to get anywhere without a case number. Maybe, just maybe, you could back into the case if you knew who the judge was. But an anonymous jury is anonymous. As you probably found out, the names of those serving on an anonymous jury are not in any database. They are not stored in any computer I’m aware of. The list for an anonymous jury exists in hard copy, usually in the locked filing system of the presiding judge for that case. I say ‘usually’ because there are some cases where even the judge does not know the identity of the jurors.”
“I know how it’s supposed to work, but how often does the government do anything exactly as it should?”
“In the case of anonymous juries, they come close. And what it means is you can’t just go digging around looking for a name until you find it. You need a case number. Then you will need a court order to access the records associated with that case. If you’re lucky, there may still be a physical record of the jurors’ actual names in the file. Maybe. Maybe not. Sometimes even the original list of jurors is destroyed at the conclusion of the case.”
“You’re not being very optimistic here, Jerry.”
“Optimism has nothing to do with it. And to be clear, even if you had the case number, I couldn’t help you. Not without jeopardizing my job and risking criminal prosecution. I couldn’t help even if I really, really, really wanted to—which I don’t. You can thank the press corps if you don’t like it.”
“Money?”
“Big cases are big stories and they sell newspapers. Reporters hound the courthouse on big cases and they are willing to pay for information. The courts have reacted, and now information—particularly on anonymous juries—is harder to get than ever before. On top of that, anonymous juries have increased something like eight hundred percent in the last decade. More high-profile cases involving terrorism and homeland security. People on these juries don’t want their names attached to these cases. And it isn’t just here in DC, it’s nationwide.”
Dan twisted the top off his water bottle and took a swig. “Can you get me the name of someone who is willing to take a risk and dig around? As I said, I’m paying.”
Jerry forced down a bite of sandwich. He took another drag from his straw and cleared his throat. “No, I don’t have a name. No, I wouldn’t give you one if I did. And, before you ask, no, I’m not going to start asking around.”
“I�
�ll make it worth your while as well.”
“Are you listening to me? It’s a federal crime to reveal an anonymous jury. If you want the information, you need a case number and a court order. Roll the dice there. I mean, there is no reasonable way for me to explain why I’m poking around on a topic I have no business being involved with. In my position, asking about an anonymous jury list would send red rocket flares, not red flags, red rocket flares shooting through the air.”
“Red rocket flares?”
“Big ass red flares. Like the Fourth of July.”
Dan turned away and glanced at the traffic on the street outside the window. His hand found its way into his sandwich bag and he unwrapped his roast beef sub without looking.
Jerry tried to finish his tuna sandwich in successive quick mouthfuls. Swallowing the end of his lunch, he spoke again. “Let me ask a question, Dan. How do you know you’re even looking for an anonymous jury?”
“Process of elimination.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know someone received payment for serving on a jury, but there is no record of that person ever serving on a jury. Process of elimination.”
“So you know who this person is?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you just ask him or her what the case was?”
“Because he’s dead.”
“Why am I not surprised? If they’re dead, who’s paying you for this?”
“Are you asking who my client is?”
“Well, yeah. You’re asking me to break the law.”
“A congressman’s wife.”
Jerry let a nervous laugh escape his lips. “Why don’t you ask her?”
“Because she has a problem with telling the truth.”
“No offense, Dan, but this is where I get off this bus. This conversation is over and it never happened. Come find me when you have something that’s not going to end with me moving to Alaska.”
Jerry stood from his seat and stuck out his hand. Dan shook it, still seated.
“Sorry I couldn’t help you this time around.”
“I’ll work it out.”
“I have no doubt.”
Dan watched as Jerry passed the long line of people standing at the sandwich bar. Three large bailiffs from the court stepped into the sandwich shop in full uniform. Before Jerry reached the door, he paused, looked at the bailiffs, and then turned around and came back to the table where Dan was still sitting. He slipped back into the chair he had just vacated and dropped his voice to a whisper.