The Jury

by Fern Michaels

  “Can I see those plate numbers?”

  Maggie set her coffee cup down and walked over to the kitchen counter where her purse was. She pulled out a small notebook and then ripped off the page. “I don’t want to know who those cars belong to, so don’t tell me. You can leave now, Ted.”

  “What time did the NSA get home last night?”

  “No idea. I left at nine thirty. My company showed up at ten thirty, just ten minutes after I finished walking Daisy. Go, Ted!” At the door, Maggie managed a tiny smile. “Thanks for…for worrying about me, Ted. I’ll try to return the favor sometime.”

  Ted took a really good look at his colleague. He decided he liked what he was seeing. He shuffled his feet as he jammed his hands into his pockets. “You wanna take in a movie, maybe go to dinner first?”

  Maggie’s bright-green eyes blinked rapidly. “You mean like a date? You show up at the door, ring my bell, bring me flowers, that kind of thing?” Her tone suggested it was the next thing to picking up the Holy Grail.

  Shit. When was he going to learn to keep his mouth shut? “Yeah,” was all he could say.

  “OK. When?”

  When? That must be a yes. Confirmation. She wanted a specific time, a date. “Well, how about tomorrow night?”

  “OK. You aren’t going to blab this around the office, are you?”

  “Who, me? Nah.”

  The door closed behind him. Ted finally picked up his feet and headed for the elevator. He had a date with Maggie Spritzer. He started to whistle. He was still whistling when he made his way across the lobby and out to his car.

  He actually, honest to God, had a date with Maggie Spritzer.

  His next stop: the police station.

  Every building in the world has its own distinctive smell. The Post building smelled like paper and ink. A pleasant if not overpowering scent. The police station smelled of stale sweat, burned coffee, mold and more sweat. The smell matched the baby-poop-yellow walls, the dirty wood floors, the cigarette-scarred desks, the wearyeyed detectives, and the incessant sound of ringing phones.

  He’d been here a thousand times, maybe more, during his career at the Post, so Ted knew where he was going — the detective’s unit and his old friend Bobby Sanchez. He rapped sharply on the glass door before he opened it. Detective Sanchez groaned and pretended to fall off his chair.

  “The answer is no, no, and no.”

  “How do you know I want you to do something? Maybe I just stopped by to see if you got divorced yet. I worry about you. Did you? Get a divorce?”

  “No, I didn’t get a divorce. My wife loves me. It’s my job she hates.”

  Ted looked at his friend. He was an ugly man with a head of black, unruly, curly hair that refused to be tamed. But you forgot the ugliness the minute you looked into his big dark eyes that were so full of compassion you had to do a double take. His grin was infectious. Ted found himself grinning in return.

  “I will never understand how you got that beautiful wife of yours to marry you. You look like you fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down.” They both laughed.

  “OK, whaddaya want, Ted?”

  There was no use pretending he was here for a social visit. “I need you to run two license plate numbers for me. I’ll send your wife some flowers and sign your name on them.”

  “Christ, Robinson, don’t do that. She’ll think I did something and am sending her flowers out of guilt. Don’t you have any other friends in the department you can ask to do your dirty work?”

  “Well, yeah, but I like you best. C’mon, it will take you five minutes and you’ll make me a happy man.”

  “Gimme the numbers. You do know I could get my ass in a sling if the captain finds out I’m doing favors for you? Reporters are the enemy around here.”

  “I always give you guys good press.”

  “And that’s the only reason I’m doing this. OK, here it is. The first one is registered to Alexis Thorne. The second one is registered to Myra Rutledge. Now are you happy?”

  Damn. I knew it. I knew it! “ Bobby, my cup runneth over. Thanks, buddy. I owe you one.”

  “You owe me a hundred and one. So, how are you feeling? I tried and wanted to see you after my initial visit in the hospital. Crazy damn hours, my wife, the kids. Shit, there’s not a free five minutes anywhere in my day. You really OK, Ted?”

  “I have my moments. A twinge here, a twinge there. There are some things I still can’t do. Maybe I’ll never be able to do them again. I have to live with it. I’m back at work part-time. Life goes on.”

  Sanchez pointed to the paper in Ted’s hand. “Do those numbers have anything to do with what happened to you?”

  “Always the detective, huh? The short answer is, yes.” Ted looked at his watch. “Bobby, you want to go to an early lunch?”

  “Can’t. Got desk duty.” He motioned to a brown bag on the corner of his desk. “Thanks for asking, though. Ah, listen, Ted, if there’s anything I can do for you in regard to…” He pointed to the paper in Ted’s hand. “Just ask. I can get some of the guys to watch out for you.”

  “Thanks. You’ll be the first guy I call if I need help. I mean that, Bobby. Call me if you find some free time and we can pound a few beers. See ya.”

  “You got it. Remember now, do not — I repeat, do not — send my wife flowers.”

  Ted laughed as he closed the door behind him.

  Eighteen

  Jack Emery’s assistant took one look at her boss and quickly scurried away to avoid what she called “one of Jack’s moods,” which were cranky, really cranky, and then pissed-to-the-teeth cranky. From her cubicle she could see him throw his briefcase across the room. Things must have gotten hateful in court today. She then opted to make herself scarce when she heard his phone ring at the same moment she saw a tall, lanky man make his way toward Jack’s desk. Friend or foe? From the look on her boss’s face it looked like foe. Better to get herself out of the line of fire.

  “That ugly look on your face tells me you’d like to kill someone,” Ted Robinson said cheerfully. “I hope it isn’t me,” he added as an afterthought.

  Jack jerked at his tie to loosen it before he removed his suit jacket. He tossed it on to another chair. “I lost in court today. Police screw-up. What are you doing here, Ted?”

  “I got good news and bad news. The good news is I have a date with Maggie Spritzer tomorrow night. The bad news is those fucking gold shields paid her a visit and sent her dog to the vet. They scared the living hell out of her. They didn’t harm her though. Sometimes intimidation is worse than a physical beating.”

  “Well, Ted, I’m happy for you and your date. I warned you about those guys. You have to back off and warn Maggie to do the same thing. Anyone who hurts an animal is a crud in my book…There’s more, isn’t there?” Jack said, working at the still-too-tight tie that he seemed to think was strangling him.

  “Yeah. See this,” Ted said, holding out the slip of notebook paper with the two numbers Maggie had given him. “These license plate numbers belong to two of the ladies at Pinewood. Alexis Thorne and Myra Rutledge. Maggie was staking out the NSA’s house in Kalorama last night. The ladies of Pinewood did some drive-bys. I have to believe they were doing what Maggie was doing, but on the move as opposed to parking and watching. Then two women with dogs managed to check out the Woodley yard, front and back. Maggie couldn’t make out the features of either woman.”

  Jack’s insides started to churn. “You here for advice or to confide?” That sounded good to his ears. He had to call Nikki and warn her.

  “Heavy on confiding and light on the advice.”

  “Is this about the fact that the NSA is possibly separating or maybe worse, going for the big D word? In this town people get divorced every five minutes. What’s the big deal? Is this a scoop thing, a byline, a picture of the NSA above the fold, what? I’m not getting it.” Jack realized his words sounded like a crock of the dark-brown stuff. Even he couldn’t believe th
ey’d just spewed from his mouth.

  “If this were a perfect world, I’d probably think like you’re thinking. But what were the ladies of Pinewood doing out there at night, driving around, letting their dogs pee on the Woodleys’ shrubs? I notice you didn’t say anything about our mutual buddies with their impressive, I - cando - whatever - I - want - to - you - and - you - can’t - do - a - damn - thing - about - it shields.”

  Jack snorted as he stretched his neck muscles. “You know what it means, Ted. It means you tell Maggie to mind her own business, that the NSA’s private life is his own and doesn’t concern her. Now, you’re sticking your nose into it. Let it lie, for Christ’s sake, before your new best friend gets hurt. The world really doesn’t give a shit if the NSA gets a divorce or not. A bunch of bullshit gossip isn’t worth getting thrown into the hospital for. Tell Maggie Spritzer I said that, too.”

  Ted sucked on his bottom lip for a full minute before he replied. “What about the ladies of Pinewood?”

  “The gold shields will tell you it’s a free country and they can drive all around Kalorama twenty-four-seven and unless they commit a crime there’s nothing anyone can do. The road is a public road. As for the dogs, we all know dogs are unpredictable. If they have to go, they go. If they see a squirrel or a bird, it’s fair game.”

  Ted looked so disgusted that Jack knew he wasn’t going to get past square one with the hard-nosed reporter. He waited, knowing exactly how Ted was going to respond.

  “You’re so full of bullshit, Jack, your eyes are turning brown. Those gals are setting up the NSA and we both know it. I’m thinking it has something to do with the NSA’s wife. It’s called Reporting 101. I’m going to stake out Kalorama tonight myself.”

  “Well that’s a dumb-ass move if I ever heard one. I suppose that’s in Reporting 101, too?”

  “Did I mention that Maggie actually spoke to the NSA himself? It took a few calls before he actually called her back. He was not warm and fuzzy about it either.”

  Jack slapped his hands on the desktop. Papers scattered in all directions. “What does that tell you, Ted? Back off, forget it. He’s the one who sent the shields after Maggie. Do you want to see her get hurt? The next time they might really hurt the dog and rough up Maggie. Do you want that on your conscience?”

  The look of disgust was still on Ted’s face. “Man, you have changed. What happened to fearless Jack Emery, rising star in the District Attorney’s office?”

  Jack wished he could wipe the smug, disgusted look off his friend’s face. “He got smart is what happened. I like my life just the way it is, thank you very much. I’m all healed up and I want to stay that way. You go ahead and do whatever it is you feel you have to do so you can get your name in the paper. The day after it appears, it’s old news and dogs and cats are peeing all over it. Get the hell out of here, Ted, I have a ton of paperwork to do and I’d like to get out of here before midnight. All I had to eat today was a stale bagel and I’m starved, but I don’t have time to fucking eat. Say hello to Maggie for me.”

  Ted was dismissed and he knew it. Something stank where Jack was concerned. Maybe he should be staking out Jack instead of the house on Kalorama. Yeah, yeah, that’s exactly what he should be doing.

  Jack raced over to the door and closed it the moment Ted left the office. He looked around to see where everyone was. Gone. Great. He yanked out his cell phone and dialed Nikki’s number. Her greeting was cautious but he closed his eyes at the sound of her voice.

  “It’s me. Here’s the short version. Just listen. Maggie Spritzer of the Post was staking out the NSA’s house in Kalorama last night. She copied down two license plates belonging to Alexis Thorne and Myra Rutledge. She also spotted two women with dogs. Said dogs were racing around the NSA’s front and back yard. In addition to all of that, those guys that Martin sicced on me paid her a visit and put her dog in the dog hospital and scared the living crap out of her. You’re on a real slippery slope, Nik. It’s all I know. Call me the first chance you get, OK?”

  “Will do. Thanks, Maddie. I appreciate you calling.”

  Maddie? Nikki must be surrounded by people and didn’t want them to know who she was talking to.

  Jack felt the beginnings of a headache. Now what the hell was he supposed to do? He’d warned Nikki. He’d tried his best to bluff it through with Ted Robinson. He yanked at his cell phone and called Mark Lane. He didn’t bother with pleasantries but got right to the point.

  “I want you to put a tail on Ted Robinson at the Post. He just left here. He’s probably on his way home but I figure he’s going to head out to Kalorama after he takes care of his cats and has some dinner. His home address is in the Rolodex. Try to pick him up at home. Use Moody, he hates reporters. Tell him to call me on my cell on the hour. Just for tonight. I’ll let you know if I want to continue tomorrow night. Thanks, buddy.”

  Jack looked down at his cluttered desk. Well, shit, all this crap would still be here tomorrow if he wanted to cut out now. He was still bristling at his defeat in court. What the hell was that dumb-ass cop thinking when he entered the guy’s apartment without a search warrant? Probable cause, my ass. He looked in the corner where he’d tossed his briefcase. It would still be there tomorrow. He decided to go home to wait for Nikki’s call. Tomorrow would damn well take care of itself.

  Nikki slapped the cell phone shut. The others were looking at her expectantly. She would have to tell them something, improvise as she went along.

  “That was Maddie, our…silent spy. She took it upon herself to go out to Kalorama to see if…” Nikki shrugged. “If there was anything to see. She said there was a parked car down at the end of Benton Street and she copied down the license plate and then cajoled a cop whom the office had represented at one time to run the plate. It belonged to a Post reporter named Maggie Spritzer. Before you can ask, I don’t know if she saw us or not. If she did, she didn’t let on to me. Maddie is the epitome of discretion. With all the drive-bys we did last night and with Kathryn and Alexis walking the dogs, I think it’s safe to say she’s got our license plate numbers and she might have seen Alexis and Kathryn clearly. Right now there is no way to know if she did or not.” There was no way she could let the others know the rest of what Jack had told her.

  Kathryn jammed her hands in her pockets. “So, what exactly does all this mean, Nikki? Are we on or are we off?”

  Nikki looked to Myra and Charles. “I say we go for it and stop futzing around with drive-bys and stakeouts. Let’s hit the place around eleven tomorrow night. We have all day tomorrow to firm up what we’ll do. I still think we should do the flower thing. Myra and Yoko can do that in the morning. If they come up with any good intel, we can use it at night when we go in, but I think we should vote on it. The reason I think we should do it tomorrow is that if Spritzer is simply on a stakeout mode, she’s not ready to go public.”

  Every hand in the war room shot upward, including Charles’s.

  “Then it’s settled. All right, let’s get busy and make our plans. We’ve got —” Nikki looked at her watch — “less than thirty hours to bring it all together. Get started. I’ll be back in five minutes. I left my briefcase in the kitchen.”

  Jack answered his cell phone, his mouth full of chow mein. He gulped and swallowed. “I hope you took my message seriously. Are you going to call it off?”

  “I took your message very seriously. We put it to a vote. But to answer your question, no, we are not going to call it off. Listen, Jack, I have to get back to the others. I’ll try to call you later.”

  Jack looked at the cell phone in his hand and then down at the white box of shrimp chow mein. Damn, he hadn’t even gotten to the hard noodles yet, or the sweet and sour soup. He closed up everything and stuck it in the refrigerator. Then he changed his clothes, hanging his suit up and pulling on fleece-lined sweatpants and a hooded sweatshirt. At the last minute he switched his black socks for heavy wool ones and put on his Nike running shoes. He jammed his keys and wallet into
the zippered pocket of his sweatpants. His gun went into a second zippered pocket. It felt uncomfortable and yet comforting at the same time. If he stuck it in the back of his waistband he just might shoot off his ass. Better to be uncomfortable.

  In the kitchen he looked down at his bottle of Tsingtao. He loved Chinese beer. Well, he wasn’t about to give that up. Besides, he needed to think and not go off half-cocked. What was Nikki going to do? Maybe he could outthink her and head her off at the pass. Maybe he should consider what he would do if he were Nikki. For starters, he’d jump the gun. Knowing reporters were on the scene, he’d create a diversion of some kind to get rid of them. Then he’d storm the house on Kalorama and choke the life out of the fat little NSA. But that was him. Nikki and her merry band of cutthroats probably had a very well-thought-out plan of action. Since the shields were tailing everyone, the outcome could turn into a free-for-all with the girls going down for the count. Unless…

  Jack drained the bottle of Tsingtao and longed for a second. Ah, well, he’d have something to look forward to when he got home.

  Outside in the crisp October air, Jack sniffed. Somewhere, someplace, someone had burned leaves. It was against the law but nobody obeyed the law these days, he thought bitterly. It was blustery, the wind ripping through the naked branches of the trees. It was a scary, mournful sound to Jack’s ears.