"You bastard. Why don't you come after me? Little boys go after little girls. Susan deserved a man."
"Why, you . . ."
Kevin O'Connel couldn't find the next word. His anger boiled over.
"Hit me, you bastard," she hissed. "Hit me."
Josie put her chin up, praying he would do just that - assault her on the street because she could put him away for a long time if he did that.
"Ms. Bates."
The sound of her name was like the crack of a rifle. Josie started. Kevin O'Connel dropped back, letting go of her as he gave Horace Babcock a look that could have drilled a hole through the detective's skull.
"She's friggin' fine and this is a private conversation. So if you don't want your ass kicked, take a hike."
"Why don't you take one with me?" Babcock suggested. In one graceful movement the red-haired detective had a howling Kevin O'Connel on the ground, cuffed, and was reading him his rights. When he pulled O'Connel up and set him on his feet, Babcock took a moment. "Ms. Bates? I believe there's a marshal inside who can assist. Do you mind?"
***
It took three minutes for her to find one of the deputies and another one to turn a cursing, sputtering, pissed-off Kevin O'Connel over to him. Babcock smoothed his hair, buttoned his jacket. When he had collected himself he asked. "An unhappy client?"
"An unhappy spouse of a client. He takes exception to the civil judgment against him. Thanks. I don't get rattled often but this guy is doing it for me." Josie picked up the American flag pin that had come off Babcock's lapel. She handed it to him.
"As well he should," Babcock murmured as he put the pin in place. "Lunch will help."
Josie wasn't all that hungry but the company sounded good. He ordered two Polish sausages and sodas from a street vendor who was happy for the business. They sat under the shade of a tree on a low planter wall. Babcock offered Josie a napkin. He opened her soda. Fast-food chivalry. They finished half their meal before either of them spoke.
"You know, he almost killed his wife when they were together. Why do men think that force is the only answer?"
Josie took a drink and let the cold can rest on one knee. The hand holding the hot dog rested on the other. She stared straight ahead, feeling tired and inept. She wasn't reaping the benefits of her victory for Susan and she had been stonewalled in her effort to help Grace.
"Do you want the psychology of it or the reality?" Babcock asked.
"Reality." Josie shrugged.
"Men are violent because that's what men do."
"Thanks. That explains it." She laughed without mirth. "Luckily it's not all men."
"It is all men, Ms. Bates. Every last one of us," Babcock said thoughtfully. "It's a struggle every day to keep that impulse to lash out in line. It's our nature."
"I disagree. I know some men who would never dream of attacking a woman," Josie argued, thinking of Archer and Matthew, her father—and didn't each of them have a good reason at one time or another?
"We don't all attack with our fists and the severity of the attack depends on what we have to lose. Men like to win, or haven't you noticed?"
"Fascinating. A philosopher cop."
"It gives me perspective."
Babcock crumpled the yellow paper that had wrapped his lunch, got up and threw it in the trashcan. When he sat down again he crossed one leg over the other and put on his sunglasses as if he was settling in after a picnic. Josie finished off her sausage, too, but held on to the crumpled wrapping like a stress ball. He turned the conversation smoothly.
"Have you collected from him?"
"Just enough for his lawyer to cry 'good faith.' My client found a part-time job to tide her over." Josie sighed. "The good news is, he doesn't know where she is. She's safe."
"But he knows where you are."
"Yes. He does."
"And when he makes bail—which will probably be before you even finish court today—he's going to be angrier still."
"I'll get a restraining order." Josie handed him the hot dog wrapper. Both of them knew a TRO wasn't worth the paper it was written on, but she would follow the law, protect herself with it as best she could and, when it didn't work, she would find another way. "Thanks for the lunch and the rescue."
"My pleasure." Babcock rose, too. "Would you like me to call in some favors? Perhaps have some of my colleagues look in on your client?"
For a second, the briefest of moments, Josie thought about it. Finally, she pushed back her long bangs and decided not to take him up on his offer.
"No thanks, Babcock. When the cops take notice of someone in the neighborhood where my client is living everyone talks. I don't want to draw that kind of attention to her," she said. "We'll just pretend that particular client doesn't even exist. But I appreciate the offer. I don't think anyone has ever given her that much thought."
"You have." He reminded her of that, then handed her his card. Josie turned it over. His home number was on the back. "If you change your mind. If either of you need help."
"Thanks," Josie said.
Straight as an arrow, done in court for the day, Babcock took his leave. In another time he would have been a knight. He was an anomaly and he was also wrong. Not every man had the potential for violence. If she had to bet, Josie would put her money on Babcock and Archer as the men who would keep their cool no matter what. And not every woman was a victim. She was proof of that.
Feeling better, ready to finish the day, Josie turned back to the courthouse. Things were looking up. Kevin O'Connel was off the street at least for a while. That was one less thing to worry about. But as Josie headed to the building, she hesitated. Standing in the shadows of the overhang was Grace McCreary. Josie started toward her. She was steps away, ready to greet her, when Grace dropped her cigarette and walked into the building alone.
CHAPTER 30
"Mr. Douglas. Can you identify this report for the court?"
P.J. Vega came at Tim like a bull elephant charging. Tim's eyes darted toward Josie but P.J. thrust out the papers and insisted on his attention. He craned his neck before pulling back like a tortoise to its shell.
"That is a report by the Independent Voters for Fair Spending Practices."
"And the purpose of that report is to track projected and actual spending of political campaigns, is that correct?" P.J. asked.
"Yes." Tim moved uncomfortably. He pushed back his hair. It refused to stay put and called attention to the dark circles under his eyes. His nails were bitten to the quick. The tribulations of the McCrearys were wreaking havoc on poor Mr. Douglas and now P.J. was scratching at his door.
"And can you tell the court what that report says about Mr. McCreary's campaign spending?" P.J. pressed.
"It says that Mr. McCreary spent one point two million dollars in the early part of his campaign and another million and a half in the last three months."
"Does the report also outline Matthew McCreary's projected spending for the upcoming final months of the primary?"
"It does. The budget for that time was five million, with three committed to broadcast and the remainder allotted to targeted print ads and direct mail."
"And what are the actual costs for media that is booked as of today?" P.J. asked.
"One point two million dollars in print and broadcast," he said quietly.
"Isn't it true that there was more than four million dollars in broadcast media actually booked two months ago?" P.J. withdrew the report and gave it to the judge for his perusal.
"Yes," Tim answered.
"And was more than half of that media buy canceled two weeks before Mrs. McCreary's death?" P.J. continued.
"Yes, it was," he answered.
"Why was that, Mr. Douglas?"
"Because . . ." Tim began with a lie but finished with a half-truth. "Mr. McCreary's margin was solid and the decision was made to restructure our budget to save as much money as possible for the upcoming general el
ection."
"Really?" P.J. plucked another piece of paper from her table. She handed it to the judge, who handed it back after a cursory examination. "This shows that, at the time that media buy was canceled, Mr. McCreary's lead was well within the statistical margin of error. Wasn't there another reason your media budget was slashed?"
"I said it was restructured," Tim objected, but he was no match for the prosecutor. A look from her egged him on. "We were being cautious, waiting for an infusion of cash based on pledges that came from various fund-raising events."
"Who was the largest pledge donor?" P.J. raised a brow casually.
"Mrs. McCreary," Tim answered miserably.
"How much did she pledge?" P.J. pressed.
"Three million dollars in loans to her husband's campaign during the last quarter for a total of six million altogether for the primary and general election."
"And did you expect Mrs. McCreary to make good on that pledge?"
"No, I did not," Tim mumbled. P.J. took a step forward and Tim's head snapped up, answering the question before she could ask it. "Mrs. McCreary had decided not to fund as originally planned. It happens all the time. You never count on anything in politics—especially money."
"How did you find out that Mrs. McCreary's money would not be forthcoming?"
"Mrs. McCreary told Grace McCreary," Tim answered reluctantly. "Then Grace told me. We canceled the television and radio schedules but—"
"Thank you, Mr. Douglas."
"But there were other sources of funding—" Tim insisted.
"Your Honor." P.J.'s bracelets jangled as she motioned in a dramatic plea for help to control this unruly witness.
"Mr. Douglas, answer the questions put to you," Judge Belote instructed and P.J. picked up where she left off.
"Was the defendant angry when Mrs. McCreary told her of her intent?"
"I didn't hear the conversation. I don't know."
"Was the defendant angry when she told you about it?"
Tim hesitated. He looked at Josie but her hands were tied. There was no objection to be made.
"Right here, Mr. Douglas. Look right at me," P.J. instructed heartily. "Was the defendant angry with Mrs. McCreary?"
"Yes."
"How angry was the defendant?" P.J. pressed.
"Very," he admitted.
"Did she raise her voice?"
"Yes."
"To whom?"
"To her brother, Matthew McCreary."
"And what was his response?"
"I don't know. They were talking on the phone. It wasn't a conference call."
"What did the defendant do after she informed her brother that his wife was no longer helping to fund his campaign?"
"Grace canceled a block of ads and television spots. She asked one of our volunteers to type the confirmations and then she left the office."
"Do you know where she went?"
"She said she was going to see Mrs. McCreary," Tim answered.
"Did she see Mrs. McCreary?"
"No. Michelle wouldn't see her."
"To your knowledge, did Mrs. McCreary respond to any of her sister-in-law's attempts to see her or speak to her after the conversation regarding campaign funds?"
"Not that I know of. I didn't think she'd refuse Grace anything but she refused to talk to her for two weeks. Grace was stunned. She was hurt."
"So, Mrs. McCreary refused to see her sister-in-law for two weeks before her death?"
"Yes."
"And Michelle McCreary died the night she relented."
"Yes."
"Curious, isn't it, Mr. Douglas?"
"Mr. Douglas," Josie began. "When did you notice a change in Mrs. McCreary's attitude toward her husband's campaign?"
"She never changed. It was always the same." Tim was a little more relaxed now that Josie was asking the questions. "Mrs. McCreary was never a part of our everyday operations or planning."
"But you did notice that she was less engaged than usual in the weeks prior to her death."
"Yes, definitely." Tim nodded. "Mrs. McCreary usually liked to keep track of her husband's schedule while he was out of town. She would often call in to talk to Grace. She didn't do that in those last weeks."
"Why was Mrs. McCreary not involved in her husband's election efforts?"
"Public appearances had to be precisely controlled if she was involved. She was uncomfortable in public and with politics in general."
"What would happen if Mrs. McCreary were to find herself in an uncontrolled situation?" Josie asked.
"Michelle became extremely agitated, very nervous. If a reporter showed interest in her—asked about her background and such—she would immediately leave an event. Sometimes without telling us."
"How would she explain her behavior?"
"She didn't explain her decisions to the staff," Tim said, implying what everyone knew. Michelle McCreary lived in a world of special consideration. Rules, even courtesy, did not apply.
"So, you might characterize her behavior as headstrong and erratic?" Josie asked.
"Yes, I would."
"Paranoid?" Josie pressed.
"I often thought so." Tim kept his eyes on Josie, not daring to look at Matthew or Grace.
"Do you think she was unstable?"
"Objection. This witness is not a behavioral expert, Your Honor."
Josie rephrased.
"What was your assessment of Mrs. McCreary's worth to the campaign, Mr. Douglas?"
"Negligible, because of her unpredictability," he answered.
"Did the defendant share your views on Mrs. McCreary's worth to the campaign?"
"No, she did not. Grace held Mrs. McCreary in high esteem and believed her to be a vital part of her husband's campaign. Actually, Mrs. McCreary was more relaxed when Grace was around. I could see the possibilities, I just didn't have as much faith as Grace."
"When it became clear that Mrs. McCreary would not be honoring her financial commitment, did the defendant contact her brother?"
"Yes."
"Did she scream at him?"
"No."
"Did she throw things?"
"No."
"Did you hear her threaten Michelle McCreary?"
"No."
"Did you believe the defendant was so angry that you should go with her to protect Mrs. McCreary?"
"No," he scoffed. "Those two were as close as sisters. Money wasn't going to come between them."
"Do you know of anything that could come between them?"
"I can't imagine what it would be."
"Mr. Douglas, did Grace McCreary try to kill Michelle McCreary the day she found out about her refusal to fund?"
"Not that I know of."
"Do you remember a luncheon on August twenty-eighth attended by Grace McCreary and Michelle McCreary?"
"I do," he said guardedly.
"Did Grace McCreary call the emergency operator and ask for an ambulance to be dispatched to the Beverly Wilshire Hotel?"
"She did. But it was—"
"Please just answer the questions I ask," Josie warned. "Was Grace McCreary hurt?"
"She was not."
"Then why did Grace McCreary summon the paramedics just before that luncheon began?"
"Because Michelle was sick."
"Mrs. McCreary wasn't really sick, was she, Mr. Douglas?" Tim shook his head as Josie put a hospital admission form in front of him. "Mr. Douglas? Why did Grace McCreary summon the paramedics?"
"Grace called because Michelle McCreary had made a mistake when she was taking her anti-anxiety drugs."
"Mrs. McCreary OD'd, did she not?"
"Yes, she did," Tim answered reluctantly.
"Do you know why Michelle McCreary overdosed?"
"No," Tim said quietly. "She just did."
"Do you know why she might have stepped off the balcony of her penthouse?"
"I guess she just did," T
im muttered as P.J. got to her feet insisting that the last question and answer be stricken from the record.
CHAPTER 31
Dr. Norton was Michelle McCreary's psychiatrist and, now that she was dead, he had no problem testifying to her struggles with confidence, depression and paranoia. Her father's outrageously overbearing, some say abusive, behavior where women were concerned, his misuse of power, his total disregard for his wife and daughter colored Mrs. McCreary's view of herself, the world and her relationships. Her mother, delicately unhinged herself, self-medicated with alcohol, was indifferent to her daughter. It was no life for a child and it left its mark on the woman Michelle McCreary had become.
Michelle believed she should atone for her father's sins and gain her mother's acceptance by being modest, pious and pure. For a long time she believed she could act as a spiritual surrogate. She would record her father's sins, confess them and earn him absolution. Unfortunately, Mrs. McCreary's piety could be rather rigid and she suffered from a high degree of social and sexual dysfunction. She was an intelligent woman, just not a very happy one.
"Was Michelle McCreary suicidal, Doctor?" P.J. asked.
"Borderline at times. But that was before her sister-in-law became a factor. I saw a marked change for the better after that. Mrs. McCreary was wary at first but came to rely on Ms. McCreary's company."
"Was she suicidal the last time you saw her?"
"No, she was not," the doctor answered. Satisfied, P.J. turned him over to Josie.
"So Michelle McCreary liked her sister-in-law?" Josie spoke from where she sat.
"Yes."
"She depended on her sister-in-law?"
"Yes."
"She loved Grace McCreary?"
"Yes."
"And on August twenty-eighth when Mrs. McCreary overdosed, was that because of something Grace McCreary did or didn't do?" Josie got up, pen in hand. She pointed it at the witness as if directing his testimony.
"No. I believe the event to which Mrs. McCreary was taken was a trigger. The only part the defendant played, to my knowledge, was in convincing Mrs. McCreary that she should attempt a public appearance on her own—that is, without her husband. It took Michelle McCreary some time to recover from this episode and I had to adjust her medication."
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