Lawful Deception

by Pamela Samuels Young

  When they’d shown up and asked if the record exec would be willing to answer a few questions about Bliss Fenton’s murder, Fletcher turned whiter than white and said he needed to make a call first.

  “He’s not going to talk to us,” Thomas predicted. “He’s in his office right now getting instructions to lawyer up.”

  “Maybe. But rich guys like this dude think they’re smarter than everybody else. He’ll talk to us anyway, then slip up and say something incriminating.”

  “Let’s hope.”

  Ten minutes later, Fletcher invited them into his office. “I’m willing to cooperate in your investigation,” he said. “But I just consulted with a lawyer friend of mine. She wants to be present when we speak. So once she’s available, you guys can come back and ask me all the questions you want.”

  “If we can’t talk to you now, we won’t be coming back.”

  Mankowski let Fletcher enjoy a few seconds of relief, then added, “If you don’t talk to us now, the next time we speak will be at the police station. And it’s not half as nice as this swanky place.”

  Fletcher stuck out his chest and he seemed to stand a little taller. “So be it.”

  Mankowski hated rich guys.

  “Will you be represented by the same lawyer who lost that fraud case you filed against Ms. Fenton to get out of paying child support?”

  Mankowski could see that Fletcher was a little shocked that they’d done their homework.

  “I didn’t file that lawsuit to get out of paying child support. I filed it because what Bliss did to me was outrageous.”

  “Sounds like it wasn’t what she did to you, but more like what you did to her.”

  Fletcher’s left hand balled into a fist. Mankowski liked the fact that he was getting to the guy.

  “Bliss committed fraud,” Fletcher pointed out.

  “Not according to the court.”

  Fletcher lifted his chin just slightly. “As I said, when my attorney Vernetta Henderson is available, we’ll call you to make an appointment.”

  This time Mankowski was the shocked one. He eyed Thomas, then turned back to Fletcher. “You’re represented by Vernetta Henderson?”

  “Yeah. You know her?”

  “I do. She’s a pretty sharp cookie. I guess a guy like you would only hire the best.”

  “We went to college together. We go way back.”

  “I’m glad she’s your lawyer. You’re going to need a pretty good one.”

  This time, Fletcher didn’t bite. He stared back into Mankowski’s hard eyes, trying to appear as if he wasn’t intimidated. But a bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face, giving him away.

  Fletcher made a show of glancing at his Rolex. “Both Vernetta and I have pretty tight schedules. I’m not sure when we’ll be able to get down to the station.”

  Mankowski wanted to slug the prick. Instead, he pulled a card from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to him. “I’d suggest you make it sooner rather than later.”

  CHAPTER 65

  Jessica felt drained from everything that had happened that day, but staring down at a sleeping Jonas brought her peace.

  Talking to the police for hours had been difficult. Jessica had patiently answered their questions, when she’d actually wanted to crawl into a corner and sob. Despite all the chaos Bliss had created, she still loved her friend, flaws and all.

  How crazy is that?

  Thank God she had pressured Bliss to name her as the guardian of each of her children a month or so after Harmony was born. At first, Bliss had resisted, insisting that nothing was going to happen to her. But Jessica didn’t give up the fight, and now she was glad she hadn’t.

  Jessica planned to contact Fletcher tomorrow. He’d probably be anxious to hand over Harmony. For now, she was just glad Jonas was all hers.

  She heard the front door open and braced herself for a conversation she knew would be difficult. But she didn’t care. This time, she was going to get her way.

  “Jessica! Where are you?”

  Continuing to lovingly stare at Jonas, Jessica didn’t answer. She still had so many things to work out.

  What she’d found on Paul’s computer had tilted her world sideways. Jessica had already made up her mind that she was not going to leave. Nor would she even confront Paul about what she knew. Pretending is what she’d done her whole life. It wouldn’t be hard to simply go on pretending.

  Besides, she had no stomach for a divorce battle. Her only goal in life now was to be the kind of mother Bliss’ children deserved. Children were better off being raised in a two-parent home and that’s what she intended to provide for both Jonas and Harmony.

  “Honey, are you okay?”

  When Paul stepped into the room, Jessica ran to him and he embraced her with a gentleness she had not felt in months. “I just heard about Bliss.”

  Jessica examined his face, as if searching for signs of guilt, then melted into his chest and cried.

  Suddenly, Paul noticed the sleeping child. He stared over at Jonas, then down at Jessica. He seemed to know her intentions.

  She pulled away from him. “We’re raising him. I know you don’t like children, but you’ll come to love him.”

  Paul’s chest filled with air. “It’s been an emotional day for you. We can discuss this another time.”

  “Nothing’s going to change. I also intend to get custody of Harmony. They should be raised together.”

  “Look, Jessica, I didn’t sign up for this. We need to discuss—”

  She stared him dead in the eye. “And there are some things I didn’t sign up for either.”

  By the way his eyes avoided hers, Jessica knew he understood the full scope of what she was conveying. And like her, Paul appeared willing to act as if his misdeed had never occurred. To let it float out to sea undisturbed.

  “If Fletcher McClain wants to raise his daughter, no court’s going to give you custody.”

  “I’m going to be Harmony’s mother.”

  Paul’s face clouded with apprehension, as if he was concerned about her mental stability.

  He hugged her again and kissed the top of her head. “There’s no need to talk about this now.”

  “And there’s also no need to talk about it later because I’m not going to change my mind. I plan to fight Fletcher for custody of Harmony too. He didn’t want her from the moment she was born. I can’t stand by and let her be raised by a woman who hated her mother. Mia will make that child’s life hell.”

  “Honey, I think you may be in shock. Why don’t you lie down for a while?”

  Paul tried to lead her out of the room, but she pulled away. “I want to be here when he wakes up.”

  Sitting down on the end of the bed, she stared at the sleeping boy. He looked so small in the huge bed. Paul threw up his hands and left the room.

  Jessica smiled at the child, her child. The child she had longed for and now finally had. She had no idea why people insisted on having their own children when there were so many kids who needed good homes. She would have been perfectly happy adopting, and now she could.

  After what she’d handed over to the police, Jessica was certain that any day now, Fletcher McClain would be arrested for Bliss’ murder.

  Then, not just Jonas, but Harmony would be all hers too.

  CHAPTER 66

  Special found a parking spot half a block from Bliss’ Playa Vista townhouse. The place was still roped off by crime scene tape, but there were no cop cars in sight. She watched a scruffy-looking guy with a camera taking photos of the place from every possible angle.

  She was about to exit the car when her phone rang. She pulled it from her purse.

  Darius again. She started to stuff it back in her purse, but thought about what Vernetta had said. Maybe he would be good to have around
when she needed help with her investigations. She should hear what he had to say. Just for laughs.

  “Hey, babe,” Darius said when she answered.

  Special grimaced. “Oh, so it’s like that? I’m your babe, huh?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “About our little misunderstanding.”

  “Is that what you’re calling it?”

  “Let’s not do this on the phone. Meet me for dinner tonight.”

  “I’m busy.”

  “Okay, tomorrow night then.”

  Special wanted to scream. Truth be told, she did want to see him again and she hated herself for that. “I’ll think about it,” she mumbled, then hung up.

  Resting her head against the headrest, she closed her eyes and reminded herself that in a few weeks Darius would be a memory just like all the other jerks she’d encountered. Special didn’t know how many more failed relationships she could handle. Hell, maybe Bliss Fenton had it right. Screw them, before they screw you. Or in Bliss’ case, after they screw you. She glanced at the expensive townhouses that lined the street. She would love to be living large like this.

  For now, she needed something to keep her mind off of Darius. And solving Bliss’ murder was going to do just that.

  She grabbed her phone and climbed out of the car.

  “What happened?” she asked, walking up to the photographer. Playing dumb was the best way to get information.

  “A woman was murdered inside that townhouse last night. Shot five times.”

  “Wow, the police usually don’t release that kind of information. How’d you learn that?”

  “I overheard two cops talking,” the guy said, as if he’d gotten the scoop of the year.

  Special frowned. L.A.’s finest. That was nothing short of amateur hour.

  The guy took a few more pictures and left.

  Special lifted the crime scene tape, then crept over to the patio. The glass door was locked, but she peered inside and could see all the way into the living room. She gasped at the large bloodstain, which must’ve been the spot where Bliss had been shot. She jotted down some notes.

  Gunned down near the doorway. Shot five times.

  So many shots meant it was personal. And personal meant the killer was probably someone who knew her. It was not looking good for Fletcher McClain. She tugged on the door again, not that she expected it to suddenly spring open. And, of course, it didn’t. She headed back to the sidewalk and did a double take when she saw two men walking toward her.

  Judging from the startled looks on their faces, they were just as surprised to see her.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Mankowski barked. “This is a crime scene. Don’t you see that tape? You’re trespassing.”

  “Good afternoon to you too, detective.”

  “I said what are you doing here?” he repeated.

  “Working a case.”

  “What case and who’s the client?”

  “I’m sorry, but that’s confidential information. You should be nice to me. I might solve this case for you too.”

  Mankowski’s nose twitched. He had no rebuttal for that. Special had indeed provided information that cracked another murder case they were trying to solve. It was the same case that led to Girlie Cortez’s suspension from the Bar and Mankowski’s desk duty.

  “I suggest you get on the other side of that tape. Right now.”

  “Calm down, cowboy. We’re both on the same team.”

  “No, we’re not.”

  “I want to know who killed Bliss Fenton as much as you do. So what information can you share? What time did the shooting happen?”

  “You need to leave.”

  She ignored his directive and kept talking. “Have you pulled the video from the traffic cameras at the intersection of Jefferson and Playa Vista Drive? That’s the closest intersection. Whoever killed Bliss probably drove through there.”

  “We know that,” Mankowski growled. “Now run along and play CSI someplace else.”

  Special got such a kick out of razzing them.

  “You should be nicer to me. You might need my help again.”

  “If I remember correctly, you’re not a licensed investigator,” Mankowski sputtered. “You could get arrested for perpetrating.”

  “I’m not licensed yet. But I’m a fully authorized investigator-in-training. I’m apprenticing with Girlie Cortez’s former investigator. You remember her, don’t you? Your ex-girlfriend.”

  Mankowski’s face flushed with color.

  “Aw man, you’re blushing like a teenager,” Special teased. “You still have the hots for her even after she punked you, huh?”

  “Who’s your client?” Mankowski demanded again.

  “Like I just said, that’s confidential. Looks like you and Girlie will have a chance to reconnect.”

  “Just what do you mean by that?”

  “You don’t know?” Special asked.

  “Know what?”

  “Girlie Cortez represented Bliss in a fraud case her baby’s daddy filed against her. You do know about the fraud case and the uber-rich Fletcher McClain, don’t you?”

  Thomas shoved his hands in his pockets, while Mankowski’s face went from bright red to pale white.

  “Yep,” Special continued, “if you wanna know about Bliss Fenton and her dirty deeds, Girlie Cortez will have all the news that’s fit to print.”

  CHAPTER 67

  By the time I make it back to my office, Fletcher is there waiting for me. We spend the first twenty minutes in a heated argument.

  “I don’t care what Mia says. She’s not a criminal attorney,” I tell him. “You’ll cause yourself more harm than good by talking to the police.”

  Fletcher throws up his hands. “But I have nothing to hide. They’re going to think I killed Bliss if I refuse to talk to them.”

  “And they’re still going to think you killed her even if you do talk to them. The police are not interested in your side of the story. If they were, they could simply have you write down a statement. What they want is a confession or for you to say something incriminating. That’s why they call it an interrogation and not a conversation.”

  I’ve often had a similar debate with clients who insist on testifying at trial, who give too much credence to their perceived powers of persuasion. They’re confident that they can convince the jury of their innocence, even when all the evidence points toward their guilt. Once they take the stand and the prosecutor butchers them like a pig, the damage is done and I can’t undo it.

  Fletcher runs a hand through his hair. “It’s my decision and I think it’s best for me to talk to them. I can handle those two cops.”

  His confident declaration is almost laughable. Fletcher is essentially a hustler at heart. He’s pulled off business deals others thought were impossible. As a result, because of his history of success in the business world, he thinks he can talk himself out of hell.

  I turn to my computer and start typing.

  “What are you doing?” Fletcher asks.

  “Preparing a short statement for you to sign. I want it in writing that you insisted on talking to the police against my advice and counsel.”

  Fletcher shrugs. “Whatever.”

  “And just to be clear, I’ll represent you during the interview, but after that, I’m done. You’ll need to find yourself a new attorney.”

  He smiles smugly. “After the interview, I won’t need a new attorney because they’ll see I didn’t do it and move on to another suspect.”

  I do my best to prepare my naïve client for what’s to come. I try to cover everything the police might possibly ask him regarding Bliss’ murder. Throughout our practice session, Fletcher repeatedly professes his innocence. Almost to the point where he erases my doubts
about his involvement.

  Three hours later, we’re sitting in an interrogation room at police headquarters waiting for the fun to begin. The room still reeks from the last interrogation. At least one of the former occupants was long overdue for a bath.

  I was quite surprised when Fletcher told me that the two detectives who tried to question him said they knew me. This was turning out to be old home week. Mankowski and Thomas were the same detectives involved in my last case against Girlie Cortez.

  The door eases open and in walks the massive Mankowski, followed by his sidekick Thomas.

  “So we meet again,” I say, pretending as if I’m happy to see them.

  Mankowski extends one of his huge hands. “Glad to see you’re in such good spirits.”

  I shake his hand, then do the same to Thomas. They don’t bother to greet Fletcher again, but merely nod his way.

  “Let’s get started,” I say. “My client wants to help in any way he can.”

  I recognize that in the police’s eyes, Bliss’ paternity case and Fletcher’s failed fraud lawsuit gave him a boatload of motive for wanting Bliss dead. Cops often zone in on a suspect with tunnel vision, refusing to see other possible scenarios. My job here is three-fold. One, to make sure my client doesn’t say anything to incriminate himself. Two, to find out what evidence the cops might have. And three, to help send the detectives down another path to solving their case.

  Thomas remains standing near the door, while Mankowski takes a seat across from us at a small metal table. I suspect their respective positions during interrogations have been predetermined from years of working together. One cop focuses on the questioning, while the other hovers above, analyzing the suspect’s body language, looking for signs of fabrication.

  “We’ll need to know your whereabouts between eight and ten o’clock last Tuesday night?”

  Fletcher has his arms crossed and he’s slouching in his chair like one of his hip-hop artists.

  “At a listening session at my office. Listened to the entire CD for one of our new artists. At least six other people were there who can verify that.”