Silenced Witness

by Larry A Winters

  Grove shook his head. “I can’t do that.”

  “Why can’t you?”

  Grove spread his hands. “Because you’re not a good investment.”

  Hal’s mouth felt dusty. He licked his lips. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  “You’re going to have to.” The banker looked uncomfortable now. Hal realized he’d gone too far and hoped the man wasn’t about to call security.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m just eager for the opportunity to make us both a lot of money. All I need is a little flexibility. Maybe we could discuss—”

  Grove cut him off. “My advice? Fix your cash flow problem. Fix it quickly. Then come back here, and maybe we’ll have something to discuss.”

  “You’re turning me away? Just like that?”

  “Yes.”

  Hal rose. His legs felt unsteady. He almost knocked over the chair. “I am going to fix my cash flow.”

  “Good.”

  “But I won’t be coming back to discuss anything with you. I’m going to pay off the firm’s debt in full and then take my business elsewhere. Find a bank that’s interested in being a partner, not a pussy.”

  Grove’s eyebrows shot up—a gratifying sight. And then he really did call security.

  5

  Grannis House was exactly the kind of place Jessie pictured in her mind when she imagined her wedding.

  The manor itself, located just outside Philly, was stately and historic. Both on the outside and the inside, the building was beautiful without feeling over-the-top. The surrounding grounds were green and landscaped with flowers, plants, and a brook that made a peaceful gurgling sound as it rolled over smooth stones and under a small wooden bridge. The venue seemed custom-built to match Jessie’s dreams.

  So why did her stomach do a little flip as she and Leary drove up the property’s winding path, climbed out of Leary’s car, and headed for the entrance?

  Leary took her hand as he he opened the door. They walked inside together.

  On the day of the wedding, the building would be crowded with guests, catering staff, photographers, entertainment. But this weekday afternoon, the building seemed empty and almost eerily serene. Leary’s and her footsteps echoed in the high-ceilinged space as they crossed the marble floor.

  Darla Gabor emerged from a side door and ushered them inside as if welcoming them to her own house for a friendly visit. She wore a skirt and a sweater—an ensemble Jessie had become familiar with over the past few months, since she and Leary had picked a date and placed a deposit on the venue.

  They passed a lovely, curving staircase—Gabor had told them it made for absolutely gorgeous wedding party photos—through the door from which Gabor had come, and into her office. Unlike the public areas of Grannis House, Gabor’s office space was utilitarian. Several bride-and-groom photos adorned the walls, but these existed more to advertise local photography services than to decorate the space. One wall featured a cork board covered with notes from happy couples—handwritten thank-you cards, typed testimonials, even a few newspaper articles covering the wedding of a well-known comedian who’d chosen Grannis House for his venue.

  Gabor closed the office door and took a seat behind her desk. Leary and Jessie sat across from her.

  Leary had managed to keep hold of her hand. He was squeezing it now—their hands clasped together between the two visitor chairs—and she could feel his excitement vibrating from his hand to hers. She wished she was feeling the same thrill, but for some reason, she wasn’t. She felt distracted and disconnected. She forced her eyes to read the gushing thank-you notes on the cork board, but her brain kept returning to work. There had been a brutal murder in the Northern Liberties neighborhood, and Emily Graham, working the case, already had a suspect.

  Stop it, she scolded herself. Focus.

  “So,” Darla Gabor said, “Mark and Jessie. Your big day is only a few months away. Nervous?”

  “A little,” Leary said. He squeezed her hand more tightly. “But excited, too. Right, Jess?”

  “Yes, a little of both,” she said.

  Gabor nodded with a knowing half-smile. “I understand. Every couple I work with is nervous. There hasn’t been an exception yet. The good news is there’s a way to overcome it, and that’s by being prepared.”

  Jessie nodded. Gabor could have been talking about criminal prosecution—the same maxim applied.

  “Why don’t we take a few minutes and run through the checklist?” Gabor turned to her computer monitor. She clicked her mouse, bringing up a file. “I assume by now you engaged a photographer?”

  Jessie tried not to cringe. Leary had been trying for weeks to talk to her about photographers, but she’d been so busy. “We’ve narrowed it down to a few choices,” she said.

  A look of concern flitted across Gabor’s face, then was gone. “Okay. You really should make that decision soon, though. I know it feels like the big day is still pretty far off, but you’d be surprised how time seems to speed up the closer we get. How about music? Do we have a band? A DJ?”

  Leary cleared his throat. “We’ll nail that detail down soon, too. We’re on top of it.”

  “Work’s been busy,” Jessie said.

  “I understand. There’s a lot to do, planning a wedding. It can be a really challenging balance. I’m sure we’ll get everything settled with plenty of time to spare.” Gabor smiled warmly. “Let’s talk food.”

  Grannis Manor handled its own catering, and Gabor had several three-ring binders filled with glossy pages displaying the various options. The photos had definitely been taken by a professional food photographer, and the result was a mouth-watering menu.

  “It all looks amazing,” Jessie said.

  “Oh, I know. Isn’t it wonderful? But you really need to start making some choices. We need to select the hors d’oeuvres, the salad, the main course, and my favorite, dessert. Also, I don’t believe you’ve told me how you want to handle the bar. We can do a full open bar, just beer and wine, or there are other options.”

  Jessie felt anxiety stir inside her. More than anxiety—worse—closer to panic. She did not understand what was causing the feeling. Every day, she faced difficult choices. Choices like whether or not to charge a person with a capital crime—a bit more significant than whether to go with the chocolate soufflé or the carrot cake. But looking at Darla Gabor’s eager and helpful face, Jessie’s impulse was to flee.

  “Would it be possible for us to take some of these binders home with us?” she said. She risked a glance Leary. He had dropped her hand and his expression looked tight.

  “I suppose that would be okay,” Gabor said. “But….” She hesitated, then leaned forward. “Honestly, I was hoping to make a little more progress today.”

  “I know,” Jessie said. “A big trial I was working on just ended. I’m going to turn all of my attention to this now. You have my word. The next time we’re here, we’ll have answers for all of your questions.”

  “That would be outstanding.” Gabor pushed the binders across the desk to Jessie. “I know your wedding is going to be fantastic. I’m really looking forward to it.”

  Gabor watched her with an expectant expression, and Jessie had the distinct impression that the woman was waiting for a specific response from her, but she didn’t know what it was.

  Then Leary said, “We are, too,” and she felt like an idiot.

  Why wasn’t she acting like a normal bride-to-be?

  Leary held his peace until they returned to his car. Then he whirled toward her. “What’s going on, Jessie? If there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you’re not indecisive.”

  It was hard to meet his gaze. “I don’t know.”

  “I thought you might be a little more into this. It’s kind of a big moment.”

  “I am into it.” The car suddenly felt claustrophobic. She adjusted the A/C vents to blow air on her face.

  “You don’t even have a dress.”

  “I’m meetin
g with the seamstress tomorrow to look at a few options.”

  “At which dress shop? You’ve been to five already. It’s almost like you don’t want to find a dress.” He looked away and shook his head. His expression was rueful. “Do you still want to marry me, Jessie?”

  “Of course I do! I’ve been busy with work. You know that—you’ve been helping me. The Hatwal case. My other cases. But my docket is clearing up now. I’ll have more time.”

  “That’s what I thought. I figured with the Hatwal case over, you’d finally turn your attention to our wedding. But you haven’t.” Leary navigated the winding path toward the property’s exit. His mouth was a tight, thin line, his jaw clenched.

  “Tonight,” Jessie said. “Tonight, I will start making decisions about the wedding. Our wedding is my only priority now.”

  Leary nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. As he focused on the road, Jessie looked at the sideview mirror and watched the scenic manor and its grounds recede behind them.

  6

  Graham was at her desk in the homicide bullpen, working alone on the Edley murder. Novak had called her that morning to tell her he’d be late, but he hadn’t given her a reason—just told her he had something he needed to do. Hours had passed since then, and she was starting to get annoyed. Where the hell was he?

  When he finally came into the squad room, he was clutching a sheet of paper in his hand. His face looked eager and excited. Despite her irritation, Graham perked up, sensing good news.

  “You got something?”

  “Maybe.” Novak held up the sheet of paper. Graham could see two neatly printed columns.

  “Well, don’t leave me in suspense.”

  “Look for yourself.” He handed the piece of paper to her. “Got these off our victim’s iPhone this morning.”

  “You got through his password?”

  Novak flashed a crooked smile. “Didn’t need to. His face unlocked it. All I had to do was visit the morgue and aim the camera at his head. Technology, huh?”

  “That’s … morbid,” Graham said. She looked at the sheet of paper. A list of first names ran down one column of the page—all women, by the looks of it. The other column was phone numbers, all local. “No last names,” she said.

  “That’s how Edley had them saved in his contacts. Interesting, right?”

  Graham nodded slowly. Why would a man intentionally not include last names in his contact list? “Definitely unusual.”

  “There are sixteen names,” Novak said. “What do you say we divide the list in half, start knocking on doors? I’ll take the first eight, and you take the rest. We find out what Edley was up to.”

  Graham considered his idea. Something was tugging at her mind. Something about the idea of knocking on doors. Then she thought of Maxine Hazenberg, and it came to her. “Maybe we shouldn’t knock on doors. Not literally.”

  “What?”

  “What if he was trying to be discreet? What if all of these women are married, like Maxine Hazenberg? And that’s why he didn’t use their full names?”

  Novak looked doubtful. “Edley had what? A harem of married women?”

  “Do you have a better explanation?”

  “Not really.”

  “So maybe we should be discreet, too. When we reach out to these women.”

  “Okay,” Novak said. “We’ll make our approaches more carefully. Let’s see what we can learn.”

  “What else were you doing today?”

  “What do you mean?” Novak had already turned away, and when he answered, his back was to her. Was the timing an accident, or was he avoiding eye-contact with her?

  “I mean this morning. You said you needed to do something and then you disappeared. It couldn’t have taken you all that time to aim an iPhone at a dead man’s face. So where were you?”

  Novak shrugged, still not looking at her. “Just a personal thing. You want to run down this lead or what?”

  Graham peered at his back. He was definitely being evasive, but she decided to let it go for now. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

  She followed him out of the squad room. If he was hiding something important, she trusted him to tell her eventually.

  Turned out that was a big mistake.

  7

  Jessie’s office phone rang. She reluctantly pulled her gaze away from her computer monitor, where she was working on the negotiated plea agreement that would end the Mahesh Hatwal case, and picked up the phone.

  It was Warren Williams, the head of the Homicide Unit and her boss. “I need to talk to you. Can you come to my office?”

  It wasn’t really a question, so she closed the file on her computer and headed down the hall. Warren was waiting for her at his desk. He wore his usual expression—put-upon and world-weary.

  “I was just drafting the plea agreement for Hatwal,” she said. “The case should be off our docket by tomorrow.”

  He nodded. “Come in. Sit down.” There was a distracted look on his face.

  “Another murderer off the streets,” she said. “Kind of thought you might say, ‘Job well done,’ or ‘top notch.’”

  Warren looked up. “Have I ever said the words ‘top notch’?”

  “You have not.”

  “Sit down. Please.”

  She looked dubiously at the space between his doorway and his visitor chairs. While Jessie and many of the other prosecutors in the office were adopting a more paperless approach, maintaining their files on the office server as PDF and Word documents, Warren remained a true believer in the importance of hard copies. He kept everything, and the only place in his office not occupied with towering stacks of paper was the recycling bin next to his door, which held only an empty can of Coke.

  During her years working for Warren, Jessie had become adept at navigating his environment. She made her way carefully to the visitor chairs, removed a pile of trial transcripts from the seat of one of them, and sat down.

  “Okay. You have my attention,” she said. “Is there some kind of emergency?”

  Warren let out a humorless laugh. “Around here, it’s always an emergency.”

  She thought of the Kent Edley case that Emily Graham and Toby Novak were investigating. Graham had called her asking about spousal privilege—apparently their suspect had made a full confession to his wife. Was that what Warren was worried about? “Would this particular emergency have the name Oscar Hazenberg?” she said.

  If he was phased by her insight, he didn’t show it. “No. This emergency has the name Jessica Black.”

  “Now I’m intrigued.”

  “I’ve always been fair with you, Jessie. You know that.”

  She definitely did not like the sound of that. People didn’t usually bring up their own record of fairness unless they were about to be unfair. “What’s this about, Warren?”

  He sighed. “Listen. We both know if Oscar Hazenberg is arrested and charged, you would be the ideal prosecutor to handle the case.”

  “He is being arrested,” Jessie said. “At least, according to Emily Graham.”

  Warren looked away from her and let out another sigh. “I’m not assigning you the case.”

  Jessie was surprised by the spike of indignation she felt at his words. “I didn’t ask you to. But why?”

  “Because your wedding is two months away. I know that because your save-the-date magnet is on my refrigerator. And I know you had to put off a lot of the wedding planning decisions while you were busy with the Hatwal trial, and I appreciate that. So you should sit this one out. Focus on the wedding.”

  Jessie stared at him, not quite believing what she was hearing. “Are you serious?”

  “I can assign another prosecutor. Ransom expressed an interest.”

  “What is this? Are you trying use reverse psychology on me or something?”

  “No. I’m being sincere. Is that really so hard to believe?”

  She felt a rush of anger. “Would you say this to a man?”

  “What?”

&n
bsp; “If a male prosecutor was getting married, would you be saying this to him?”

  “I might, yes.”

  “I doubt it.”

  Warren rubbed his face. “Jessie, I’m trying to do the right thing here. That’s all this is. Your wedding is coming up, and whoever handles the Hazenberg trial is going to be very busy. I’m trying to be a good boss. There’s nothing sexist going on.”

  Jessie felt a queasy feeling. Judging by the dark circles under Warren’s eyes and the pallor of his skin, Jessie thought it was possible that he really was concerned about her, and that he had maybe even lost sleep over this decision. But it should be her decision to lose sleep over, not his. “A few minutes ago you said I would be your choice to handle the Hazenberg case. The fact that I’m getting married doesn’t change that. I can handle the trial and get married.”

  Warren reached down to a stack of documents next to his chair and came back up holding a file folder. He slid several glossy pages out of the folder. Photographs. He tossed them over the heaps of papers on his desk. They landed in her lap, face-up.

  Crime scene photos. The images were horrific, much worse than the pictures the newspapers and TV stations were showing. Kent Edley had not just been murdered. He had been mutilated. Mauled.

  “Are you sure this is what you want your mind focused on right before your wedding?” Warren said.

  Jessie put the photos on his desk, face-down. “That this man suffered so horribly makes me want to fight for him.”

  “There’s more bad news.”

  “I know. The spousal privilege issue.”

  “Well, yes, there’s that. But it’s not what I was referring to.”

  What could be worse news than the killer’s confession being potentially inadmissible in court? “What is it?”

  “Hazenberg’s defense attorney is Stanley Lockwood.”

  That statement surprised her. Jessie had been following the case, but as far as she had heard, Hazenberg had not yet retained defense counsel—much less a world-famous one. “Seriously?”