Presumption of Guilt

by Marti Green

  “What did he tell you?”

  Ellen began fidgeting with her hands. She started to speak, then stopped herself. Instead, she got up from her chair and walked over to the window overlooking the tree-lined backyard. Tommy remained silent, waiting until she was ready. Finally, she turned around to him and said, “This is my favorite time of year. I couldn’t bear to miss it.” She walked back to her seat and sat down. “Am I going to go to jail? Do I need a lawyer?”

  “I’m not an attorney,” Tommy said softly. “But it sounds to me like your ex-husband broke the law, not you.”

  “Even if I kept quiet about it?”

  “Even then. There’s a marital privilege. You couldn’t have been compelled to testify against your husband, much less turn him in.”

  Ellen exhaled deeply. “He was very angry that I’d been going through his papers, but I wouldn’t let it go. I kept insisting he tell me where the money came from. When he said, ‘the jail,’ I wanted to die. I grew up in Hudson County. My family has been here for generations. Everyone knows me and I know everyone. I begged him to give it back. He laughed at me. It was the beginning of the end of our marriage. When we divorced, I refused to take any money from that account.”

  Fourteen million dollars. The final tab on the jail was almost thirty-five million over the bid price. Who got the rest? Was it Joe Singer? Was anyone else in on the scam? All these questions needed answers, but one question was paramount: Was Joe Singer killed to silence him? Tommy looked over at Ellen. “Did your husband ever tell you who else took money from the jail project?”

  “No.”

  “Did Joe?”

  “I don’t know. He was such a straight arrow. I can’t imagine him cheating the county, but then I never thought Quince would either.”

  “Now, here’s the most important question. Did you ever hear anyone threaten Quince or Joe about the money?”

  Ellen shook her head. “But when I tried to push Quince for more answers, he told me it was better I didn’t know, that my ignorance would keep me safe.”

  Back in the office, Tommy recounted his conversation with Ellen Michaels for Dani and Melanie. “Hey, I thought you’d be more excited about this,” he said to Dani.

  Dani herself was a little surprised by her subdued reaction. Part of it was certainly fatigue—her ribs were getting better, but it was still hard to get a good night’s sleep. “No, it’s good,” she said, smiling at him. “It means the anonymous letter writer was right about money being skimmed from the jail. It’s just—it’s a giant leap from theft and fraud to murder. Even if Michaels, and probably others, engaged in massive theft, it doesn’t mean Joe and Sarah Singer were killed to keep them quiet about it. We need something to tie the two together.”

  “Doesn’t it create an alternative motive for the murders?” Melanie asked.

  “Sure,” Dani answered. “And if Molly were being tried now for the first time, it would be great information to have. The jury might believe it more likely that they were killed for that reason than because their seventeen-year-old daughter was spoiled. But it’s not a first trial. It isn’t even an appeal. ‘Might’ isn’t good enough. We have to convince the judge that this is new information which would probably change the verdict.”

  “We can’t even be sure that Joe Singer knew about the skimming,” Tommy pointed out. “Ellen had no idea who else was involved.”

  Dani stood up and started to pace. “We have a bigger problem. Ellen was still married to Quince when he admitted to the skimming. She can’t testify to it because of the marital privilege.”

  “Yup,” Tommy muttered.

  “Let’s not get discouraged. We still have a lot of work to do, but it’s progress. Let’s lock it down if we can. Can you get Ellen Michaels to sign an affidavit? Even if we can’t use her statement at a hearing, it may be useful in other ways.”

  “Maybe. She seemed genuinely concerned about Molly.”

  “Okay. You go ahead with that. And let’s all of us try to figure out who else might have been involved.”

  The meeting over, Dani looked through the file once more. It was her practice to reread documents many times, and nearly always she’d find new tidbits on subsequent readings. When she got to Finn’s testimony, she paused. It had never felt right to her that he’d testified against Molly, especially considering that by the time her trial had come up, he’d known she was pregnant with his child.

  Finn’s father was at the top of Dani’s list of potential participants in the theft scheme. Could he have had something to do with Finn’s testifying against Molly? She picked up the phone on her desk. It was time to set up a meeting with Finn Reynolds.

  CHAPTER

  22

  The elder man waited in the hotel room. When the knock on the door came, he opened it to his visitor. “Do you want a drink?” he asked his guest. The visitor shook his head.

  Both men sat down in the two club chairs by the window. The heavy curtains were closed.

  “Why am I here?” the visitor asked.

  The elder man took his time. He was embarking on a course he’d once thought impossible for him. Yes, he’d relished power. And had used that power to obtain personal wealth. But he wasn’t a monster. At least, he hadn’t thought he was. Still, he’d always known what needed to be done and had taken steps to ensure it happened. This time could be no different. “The investigator knows about Quince’s take on the jail.”

  “How?”

  “Ellen Michaels.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “She called Quince and told him.”

  The visitor spread his fingers and ran them through his thinning hair. He waited for the elder man to continue.

  “Quince says we shouldn’t worry. He’ll say Ellen is bitter over the divorce and made it up.”

  “Do you think that will end it?”

  With a note of sadness in his voice, the elder man said, “No.”

  “You want me to take care of it?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I have your blessing on this?”

  Reluctantly he answered, “Yes.”

  The visitor nodded. He knew what he had to do.

  CHAPTER

  23

  Finn paced nervously by the front door. That lawyer—Dani Trumball—was due any moment. Almost as soon as he’d agreed to the interview he’d regretted the decision. He felt caught in a tug-of-war, both sides pulling so hard he felt he might tear in two. It was time for him to do the right thing, but what was right? His father had given him life, had nurtured and loved him. Once, he thought it was his duty to protect his father. Was that still true? Or was his duty to his daughter higher? Didn’t she have the right to be with her mother?

  His pacing stopped when the doorbell rang. He put his hand on the doorknob to open it, yet hesitated. He didn’t know what to say. At the second ring, he opened the door and pasted on a smile. “You must be Dani Trumball.” The woman before him was smartly dressed in a navy pinstriped pantsuit and a pale-violet silk blouse. Her dark-brown hair cascaded in waves down to her shoulders. Although she only came up to his chin, she had an air of authority.

  “And you must be Finn Reynolds.”

  “I am.” He waved her inside and brought her into his living room. He was grateful that Kim was, once again, at the gym. He felt jittery enough without his wife scrutinizing everything he said about Molly.

  Immediately after taking a seat, Dani said, “As I told you over the phone, my office is representing Molly Singer. You were her boyfriend when her parents were murdered, right?”

  Finn nodded.

  “It surprised me that you testified against her at her trial.”

  She didn’t waste any time. Right for the jugular. Finn didn’t know what he’d expected, but not this. Maybe some small talk, something to warm him up, put him at ease. Instead, the fi
rst comment she made was the one he’d feared. Did he tell this woman the truth, that he’d testified against the girl he loved to protect the father he loved?

  He needed to slow things down, to think some more, despite having agonized over the meeting all morning. He blinked rapidly and cleared his throat before answering. “I only told the truth. The district attorney asked me questions, and I answered them.” Finn looked down at his hands. They felt clammy; he looked for something to wipe them with, then brushed them against his pants.

  Dani smiled. “I’m sure it was a very confusing time for you. You were only nineteen yourself then, right?”

  “That’s right.” He felt unnerved by the way the lawyer looked at him, as though she knew what he was thinking.

  “Did you think Molly murdered her parents?”

  “Of course not. She loved them. Even when she got angry at them I knew she was just blowing off steam.”

  Dani’s eyes seemed kindly, her smile warm. Finn wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to admit that he’d picked up the phone one evening, anxious to speak to Molly even though he’d just left her fifteen minutes earlier. He wanted to tell this woman who sought to free Molly that he hadn’t hung up when he heard his father on the extension. He wished he had. He wished he hadn’t heard Alan Bryson tell his father that if Joe Singer talked, it would ruin things for everyone. “Convince him to shut up or someone will shut him up,” Bryson said to his father. “You’re in as deep as all of us.”

  Those words were ingrained in his memory, as though deeply etched with a burning stylus. When he heard that the Singers were killed, he knew his father was involved in some way. And he knew he had to protect him.

  “It just seems surprising to me,” Dani said, “especially since you knew Molly was pregnant by the time of the trial, that you offered up information about your private conversations to the DA.”

  Finn shrugged. “He asked me, and I answered truthfully.”

  “No one but you and Molly would know what you discussed. So if you said nothing to him, he wouldn’t know about those conversations.”

  “I suppose.”

  “I wonder if your testifying had something to do with your father.”

  Finn blanched. What did she know? Could she have found out his father was involved in something terrible? Even he didn’t know what it was—only that it was something that needed to be kept quiet, at any cost. It was time to make a decision. Tell this woman who was trying to help Molly about the conversation he overheard, or continue the silence he’d kept for twelve years.

  “What do you mean?” Finn asked, cringing inside, aware that he once again was betraying the mother of his child.

  Dani shuffled through some papers in a folder, then pulled out one and placed it on her lap. “When your father was a legislator, he approved payments of more than thirty-five million dollars over budget for the construction of the Hudson County jail. That money went into the pockets of several people. We know Quince Michaels was one of that group. We believe your father was another.”

  Was that the big secret? Finn wondered. Was his father a thief? He was ambitious, that much Finn understood. But steal money from the county? It didn’t seem like his father. Still, he’d been involved in something bad, something so wrong that it couldn’t come to light. And this would be something to hide.

  “What makes you think he took money? Do you have any evidence?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. But isn’t that why you testified against Molly? To protect your father?” Her voice was soft, a siren luring him into her confidence, inviting him to reveal what he knew.

  Finn understood this was his chance to right a wrong, to take the first step in bringing Sophie’s mother back to her. Still, he hesitated. Life had seemed uncomplicated when he was a teenager. Sure, raging hormones often heightened the importance of every act, big or small, and sometimes left him confused. Even so, his parents had instilled in him the importance of a moral compass, the need to differentiate right from wrong. And, without their saying so, he understood that loyalty to the family trumped everything. When Molly was on trial, his family was his mother and father. He had his own family now, Kim and Sophie and Graham. What would happen to them if he told this lawyer the truth? Would they escape the fallout from his father’s culpability or be tainted by it, as Sophie had always been tainted by Molly’s conviction? He didn’t know the answer. He couldn’t take a chance.

  “I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time, coming here,” he said. “I testified at the trial because the DA subpoenaed me. He asked me questions and I answered truthfully. I wish Molly wasn’t in jail, and I don’t believe she killed her parents. But I had nothing to protect my father from. As far as I know, he’s never done anything wrong.”

  The door to Frank Reynolds’s office swung open without a knock. When Frank looked up from his desk and saw Finn standing in the doorway, he smiled and motioned his son to come in. Finn entered the room and closed the door behind him.

  “This is a nice surprise,” Frank said. “To what do I owe the honor?”

  Finn’s face was set in a rigid mask. He sat down in the chair opposite the desk and began to wring his hands. He’d debated coming to his father’s office. The secrets in the family had lasted more than twelve years, and the unspoken words had allowed them to live harmoniously. Now he’d come to ask questions he should have asked a long time ago. And he knew the answers would likely change his relationship with his father forever.

  “Molly’s lawyer came to visit me today.” Finn let his words sink in as he examined his father’s face. He saw no reaction.

  “Well, I suppose that’s to be expected. You were Molly’s boyfriend back then.”

  “She told me Quince Michaels and others pocketed millions from the jail project.” Now Finn saw the reaction he’d expected. It was just the tiniest perceptible narrowing of his eyes, tightening of his lips, but Finn saw it. His father remained silent. “You approved the money for the jail, didn’t you?” Finn continued.

  “Not just me. Mary Jane Olivetti did as well. All the paperwork we got justified the extra payments.”

  “Her lawyer thinks you took money as well.”

  “I hope you told her that’s ridiculous.”

  “I did, Dad. That’s exactly what I told her. I’m just not sure I told her the truth.”

  Frank got up from his chair, walked around the desk and sat on its edge, next to his son. “Why would you say that? You know me.”

  “I do know you. I’ve known about you for twelve years and let my girlfriend be railroaded because I’ve known you.”

  Frank stood up and walked over to the window. He paused there with his back to his son, looking outside without saying a word. Finn let the silence fill the room. The soft tapping of a keyboard could be heard from outside the office. Finally, Frank turned around. “What do you know?”

  “I heard you—on the phone with Alan Bryson. Before the Singers were murdered.”

  “What? What did you hear?”

  “I heard him tell you that Joe Singer had to be kept quiet. That if he talked if would be bad for everyone, including you.” Finn’s voice grew louder. “You took money, didn’t you? You lied about the cost of the jail construction and pocketed the extra money. For all I know, the bunch of you killed the Singers to keep them quiet.”

  Frank came back to the desk and sat down in the chair next to Finn’s. He reached over and took Finn’s hand in his own. His face looked drawn, his eyes weary. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “I did a terrible thing back then, but I had nothing to do with the Singers’ murders. I swear to you, I know nothing about that.”

  Finn wanted to believe his father, this man he still loved and had revered, so much that he’d pushed away his memory of that phone call. “I need to know everything. I need you to tell me the truth.”

  Frank hesitated. “Ok
ay. I owe you that,” he said, then proceeded to tell his son everything he knew.

  CHAPTER

  24

  Tommy drove up to Hudson County with an affidavit in his briefcase for Ellen Michaels to sign. He hadn’t called in advance to set up an appointment. He didn’t want to give her time to think it over. Present it to her, get her signature, then leave. He thought he might drive over to the county jail next, take a look at it. After all, the jail was supposedly the catalyst for the murders.

  Unlike his own town, where remnants of color remained on the trees, the leaves were already dying as he got closer to Andersonville. He pulled into Ellen’s driveway, hoping he’d catch her in. He was prepared to wait as long as necessary if she wasn’t. Waiting was often the essence of good investigative work. Boring as hell, but necessary.

  A car was in the driveway. A good sign, he thought. He parked, got out of his car, then rang the bell when he reached the door. After a few moments, a gray-haired woman appeared. She looked him up and down, then said, “Can I help you?”

  “Is Ms. Michaels in?”

  “And you are?”

  “Tom Noorland.”

  “Is she expecting you?”

  “No, but she knows who I am.”

  “I’m sorry, she’s not seeing anyone now.”

  This was an unexpected wrinkle. He’d been prepared to wait, but not to be turned away. “Is she ill?” Tommy asked.

  “She’s fine. Now, really, I have to ask you to leave.”

  Persistence was another essential for investigators. Tommy rarely gave up easily. “Would you at least let her know I’m here? It’s urgent that I speak to her.”

  The woman hesitated, then said, “Wait here.” She closed the door on Tommy and left him outside for almost ten minutes. When the door opened again, Ellen Michaels stood inside. Her eyes were red and puffy. It looked like she’d quickly applied makeup in an unsuccessful attempt to conceal the signs of recent crying.