If this wasn’t enough, he’d just received a text from Mortimer mentioning, of all people, Thomas. And saying I have to meet with him as soon as we recess today. Have to meet with him? Nobody tells me what I have to do. But then again, maybe Mortimer knows what’s going to happen tomorrow.
Hollister’s mind shifted back to the witness list that was public. He saw Rose’s name on the list. The manager at the townhouse. He briefly saw him in the corridor as well. No doubt he was there to testify about how secure the perimeter of the townhouse was. Hollister found that amusing. Originally, he had been exploring any number of ways to breach the supposed airtight security of the complex perimeter in order to maintain his influence over his protégé Wells. But he concluded it was just easier to rent a unit in the complex and avoid the hurdle altogether. Chump change for me to rent a unit and render access and security moot.
* * *
THOMAS WAS ALSO WORRIED about what tomorrow would bring. He, too, had no idea why he had been subpoenaed. That asshole Lotello must somehow be behind this. I may have to do something about him yet. And Hollister? What do they possibly think they can get out of him that would hurt me?
CHAPTER 112
Thursday, August 6, 4:45 p.m.
HOLLISTER DROVE STRAIGHT FROM the courthouse to meet with Mortimer. He was promptly ushered into the attorney’s private office. “What’s so damn urgent, Jonathan? What is it you have to tell me about Thomas?”
“Sorry, Blaine, but I think we’ve got a problem. Lotello came here today. He says you’ve not been forthcoming with me. That you’re definitely involved in the murder of Wells. Maybe the murders of DiMarco and Johnson, too. Lotello thinks you may actually be the killer.”
“The fuck are you talking about?”
“Lotello says he has an eyewitness who places you at Wells’s townhouse right around the time she was murdered. He says either you killed the senator or must know who did. You can’t leave me in the dark, Blaine. Not if you expect me to be able to help you.”
How could Lotello have an eyewitness? No one could possibly have seen me coming away from Wells’s townhouse. Lotello’s got to be bluffing. Unless Thomas is planning to set me up for some reason. Why would Thomas do that? It’s one thing for Lotello to game Mortimer, who doesn’t know squat. It’s another thing for him to use Mortimer to try to game me. “Calm down, Jonathan. This is all bullshit. I didn’t kill anybody. I don’t know shit. Who is Lotello’s supposed eyewitness? Did he say? Is it Thomas?”
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me, but he did mention Thomas. He asked me if I know him. He said he’s some kind of government operative. All I know is that he’s under subpoena like you are. And that he tried to piggyback on our motion to quash your subpoena. What do you know about him?”
“Nothing. But he’s been sitting outside the courtroom every day. It seems like Klein intends to call him as a witness tomorrow. I have no idea what he’s going to say. I don’t even know why she’s planning to call me. I do wonder if Thomas is planning to point the finger at me for some reason. Saying he saw me at Wells’s place?”
“That’s certainly what Lotello implied. Could Thomas—or anyone else, for that matter—have seen you coming out of Wells’s townhouse on the night she was murdered?”
“No way, Jonathan. Not possible. I was never in her place.”
“Well, then, we’re just going to have to wait and see what happens tomorrow when you’re called to testify. Do you know who’s going to be called first between you and Thomas?”
“No. But I seem to be ahead of Thomas, based on the way the lawyers and the judge mentioned our names in court today. If that means anything.”
“By itself, that doesn’t mean a thing. It could be nothing more than an alphabetical listing of your and Thomas’s names. It could go either way. Whatever Klein wants to do.”
“So what do we do tomorrow?”
“I’ll be there. Sitting in the gallery. You shouldn’t have any problem if you’re telling me all you know. Just tell the truth. If you’re asked a question you can’t truthfully answer without getting yourself in trouble, you’ll have to glance over at me. I’ll be watching. If you do that, I’ll stand up, identify myself to Brooks as your lawyer, and ask for a recess so we can speak before you’re required to answer. If necessary, I will advise you to assert your Fifth Amendment right not to answer because to do so would incriminate you.”
“Jonathan! How many fucking times do I have to tell you? This is complete horseshit! I haven’t done anything. I don’t know anything.”
“Blaine, you’re my client. I’m totally on your side. You don’t need to shout at me, but I can’t figure Lotello. Why would he be lying to me? To us? What can he possibly stand to gain by doing that?”
“I don’t know, Jonathan. Maybe he’s as goofy as Norman. Or maybe Thomas, or someone, has been feeding him something phony that he’s bought into.”
“Lotello’s hardly nuts. You shouldn’t underestimate him. It may be that Thomas or someone else is looking to make you the patsy. And has persuaded Lotello that you’re the killer. But why you? Why would anyone be pointing the finger at you?”
“How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t know. I thought Norman was the killer. Maybe it’s not Norman after all. Maybe it could be Thomas.”
“But why would Thomas be gunning for you? Why not Norman? Why not anyone other than you? Why you, Blaine?”
“I don’t know, Jonathan. I don’t get it. I guess we’ll find out tomorrow. I need to go. I’ll see you in court in the morning.”
“I’ll be there a little before eight thirty. Get some sleep. Calm down. You’ll need to be on your toes tomorrow.”
Hollister didn’t respond.
* * *
HOLLISTER WALKED OUT OF Mortimer’s office. He drove back to his home, too preoccupied to spot the car following him from a distance. Unaware of the small GPS device planted underneath his car. Transmitting his location to a remote cell phone tracking app.
CHAPTER 113
Thursday, August 6, 8:30 p.m.
HOLLISTER REALIZED HE HAD no idea where Thomas lived. Alone, staring at his computer screen, he was scrolling through seemingly benign online government records accessible solely because of the Freedom of Information Act. After a few minutes, he stumbled upon an address. He hoped it would prove current. Guess there’s only one way to find out.
Hollister read through the material one more time. It was consistent with the weird personality Thomas was quietly displaying in the courthouse. He was a real freak, an absolute spook. Thomas is apparently turning the finger on me. But why? Have to pay him a visit. But I have to be very careful. Seems like he could be dangerous.
Hollister turned off his computer.
* * *
THE GPS DEVICE WAS WORKING fine. Hollister had no reason to know he had been tailed home by a car too far behind him to be spotted. The driver parked down the road almost two blocks away from Hollister’s home. Unlikely to draw any attention, but still within the range of the GPS. The driver sat there. Waiting. Watching. He wondered what the hell Hollister was doing. If he’s gonna make a move, it’s got to be tonight. Hey, how about that? Right on cue. Here he comes now! Time to rock and roll.
Hollister pulled away from his home and drove off. Destination unknown to his shadow. Who again followed from a safe distance. Making sure Hollister was still none the wiser. How cool is this GPS stuff? A readily available app downloaded on a run-of-the-mill untraceable throwaway cell phone for a cost of just a few bucks.
CHAPTER 114
Thursday, August 6, 9:15 p.m.
HOLLISTER DROVE SOMEWHERE OUT into the suburbs. If he noticed anyone following him, he wasn’t showing it. About forty minutes later, Hollister slowed considerably as he passed a fairly new, well-kept apartment complex. He glanced at the building but kept on driving. He finally pulled over, parking a little more than a block away.
The man trailing Hollister pulled over closer to the ap
artment complex itself to avoid any chance of being spotted by Hollister. Moments later, Hollister got out of his car and walked back to the apartment building. He entered the lobby through the glass front doors.
The man knew he had to be careful now. If he got too close, he might be spotted. If he fell too far behind, he might lose Hollister’s whereabouts inside the building. Fortunately, he was able to see Hollister through the glass doors. Hollister was examining a building directory.
* * *
HOLLISTER WAS BEWILDERED. HE was sure he was at the right address. The one he had found online. But Thomas’s name was not on the building directory. He was about to conclude that he had written down the address incorrectly. Or that it was no longer a good address. And then it hit him. Although the sign outside said no vacancies, one of the units on the directory had no name listed opposite it. Just like the spook Thomas was to hide in the shadows. Even on a building directory. How ironic, Hollister thought. Thomas was able to keep his presence off a building directory but not off the internet. Hollister headed for the elevator.
* * *
THE MAN THOUGHT HE had lost Hollister. Then he saw the elevator dial rotating and realized it was probably Hollister. He watched the dial stop on the third floor and raced to the stairwell.
* * *
HOLLISTER KNOCKED ON THE third-floor apartment unit door he hoped belonged to Thomas. There was no answer. Disappointed, he knocked again. Louder.
This time a voice responded. Coldly. “Yeah? Who is it?”
“Thomas?”
“Who wants to know?”
Hollister knew he had him. “Blaine Hollister, Thomas. We need to talk.”
“Hollister? A little too late, isn’t it? Why would I want to talk to you now?”
“Knock off the bullshit. You and I both know what you’re up to. You’re not taking me down. I won’t stand for it.”
“Don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Fuck off. Get outta here. While you still can.”
“Last chance, Thomas. We need to sort things out before we both have to testify tomorrow. Open the damn door. Or you’ll wish you had.”
* * *
THE LAST REMARK PUSHED Thomas’s buttons. He wasn’t used to being challenged like that. First Lotello. Now Hollister. Enough was enough. He wasn’t going to let anyone other than maybe the president talk to him like that. He yanked open the door and moved right up into Hollister’s face. Thomas loomed over Hollister. He aggressively jabbed a finger in Hollister’s chest. “I’ve been watching your ass in the courtroom all week long. Who the fuck you think you are? Coming around here like this in the middle of the night.”
“Cut the BS,” Hollister spat. “You’ve been setting me up. I don’t know why, but I’m warning you: you’re messing with the wrong guy. People have tried that before. It doesn’t work. I’m still here. They’re not.”
“You motherfucking son of a bitch! You think you can threaten me?” Hollister was caught off guard. He tried to back away. It was too late. Thomas caught him with a hard right to the side of his head.
* * *
HOLLISTER BARELY MANAGED TO stay on his feet. Thomas had really stunned him. He had to regroup. Get out of there fast. While he still could. Thomas was even crazier than he had suspected. He wasn’t prepared to deal with this. He had to cut and run. For now.
“You’re dead meat, Thomas!” Hollister turned and ran to the elevator. He didn’t know if Thomas was going to chase after him. He knew he couldn’t stand around waiting for an elevator. He kept going and found the stairs.
* * *
THE MAN FOLLOWING HOLLISTER had carefully peered out from the stairwell. Just in time to see Thomas catch Hollister with a solid roundhouse to the face. And to see Hollister barreling toward the stairwell. He just managed to duck back into the stairwell before Hollister spotted him. Need to get back to my car. Pick Hollister up again from there.
* * *
THOMAS DIDN’T PURSUE HOLLISTER. He just stood there. Trying to regain his composure. Don’t know what Hollister plans to do next. No way am I showing up at court tomorrow. Fuck the subpoena.
* * *
HOLLISTER HADN’T NOTICED HIS shadow. He made it back to his car. The pain in his jaw was throbbing. He slammed the accelerator to the floor. The car immediately screeched away from the curb. He got the car under control and slowed down. The last thing he needed was to be pulled over by some cop. I don’t get it. Why would Thomas blow my cover? How could he possibly know about me? What’s he gonna say in court tomorrow? I don’t know. But I don’t have a choice. I’ll have to be there in the morning. Take my chances. See what happens. Bluff my way through things best I can. Hopefully, my word will trump Thomas’s. One thing’s for sure: if I get through this tomorrow, Thomas is toast. No one pulls something like that on me and lives to talk about it. No one!
* * *
BET THAT WASN’T WHAT Hollister had in mind. Me either. Two hours later, parked down the street from Hollister’s house, watching paint dry. Enough. I’ve had it. Time to call it a night.
CHAPTER 115
Friday, August 7, 1:15 a.m.
LOTELLO DIALED THE NUMBER he had for Leah Klein.
“Hello? Who’s calling? At this hour?”
“Ms. Klein? It’s Frank Lotello.”
“What time is it, Detective?”
“A little after one. Sorry to be calling at this hour.”
“Detective, what kind of a jerk are you? First, you’re nowhere to be found when you know I’m trying to figure out what to do with Hollister and Thomas tomorrow. Scratch that. This morning. Second, now you call me in the middle of the night. I don’t know whether to be relieved or angrier with you than I already was. Please tell me this call at this obnoxious hour has been worth waiting for.”
“Guilty on all counts, Ms. Klein. And I’m afraid this call’s not going to make it any better. But I figure the devil you know’s better than the devil you don’t.”
“Not a very good start, Detective. What can you tell me that makes any sense at all? That will give me any clue what I’m supposed to do in court this morning?”
Lotello worried about telling Klein too much. Possibly causing her to go off half-cocked. His instincts told him this was not yet a lost cause. “Here’s what I can tell you.”
* * *
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, KLEIN understood enough to know that she couldn’t call either Hollister or Thomas to the stand. And that she had no meaningful explanation to offer Brooks. Lotello hadn’t really told her anything specific. Just that he had hoped to have some ammunition by now that would be helpful to Norman. But that he didn’t have it yet. Yet? Is he kidding me? Does he actually think I’m going to count on him again? And when was he planning on giving me something more? After the jury comes in? All my fault. Should never have trusted him. Well, at least he had the guts to call me. To step up and take the heat. He could have just left me hanging. Have to give him that. What little that is.
It was going to be incredibly embarrassing to try to explain to Brooks why she would not be calling either Hollister or Thomas. After prevailing on Brooks to hold off the motions to quash and keeping the two of them tied up under subpoena since the beginning of the trial. She was even more worried that if she didn’t come up with something good, this could go beyond her personal embarrassment. End up possibly hurting Norman as well.
CHAPTER 116
Friday, August 7, 8:15 a.m.
BROOKS HAD BEEN ANTICIPATING this morning from his first meeting with Lotello. And from the moment he saw Hollister and Thomas on Klein’s witness list. He had permitted Klein to raise the highly tenuous defense of justifiable homicide largely because of the mysterious circumstances behind Abrams’s death.
And the guilt Brooks felt not being more attuned during Abrams’s final telephone call to him. Just before Abrams’s death on the very eve of the original Norman trial date. Was Bernie crying out to me for help? Did I miss something in that call? Did I let my dear f
riend down? Thomas was a White House insider. If he was somehow responsible for Bernie’s death, then—hard as it is to believe—maybe our government can constitute the kind of threat to our citizenry to support the defense of justifiable homicide that Klein has raised on Norman’s behalf.
Deep down, Brooks knew he had let his emotions get the better of him. He was counting on Lotello and Klein to come up with something. To bail him out. Given that Klein had wanted to keep Hollister and Thomas under subpoena, he hoped there was something there. I’m not going to miss something a second time. I owe Bernie—and myself—at least that much.
At eight twenty-five, Brooks was putting on his robes and was about to take the bench. If nothing else, he would remain punctual. There was a knock at the door to his chambers. “Enter,” he replied.
It was his administrative clerk. “Good morning, Judge. Ms. Klein has asked if she could briefly meet with you and Mr. Reilly in chambers before we get under way.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know, Judge. I asked. She wouldn’t say.”
Brooks was short with his clerk. “You know damn well I’m not in the habit of conducting private audiences. Especially when I don’t have the agenda. I don’t like this at all. But I can’t keep the jury waiting futzing around with whatever this is. Bring Klein and Reilly in here. Tell them to make it quick.”
Klein and Reilly entered Brooks’s chambers. “Good morning, Judge,” Klein began.
Reilly followed suit.
“Skip the niceties. What’s this all about?”
“Judge, we have a slight problem. As you know, the defense has two witnesses remaining in its case, Blaine Hollister and Thomas Thomas. That’s in addition to the possibility of my calling James Ayres again, which I’ve decided I don’t need to do. Mr. Thomas is a no-show. At least so far. I cannot call Hollister if I don’t have Thomas.”
Brooks-Lotello Collection Page 63