Читать книгу Guilty or Not - Alice Zogg - Страница 6

The law offices of Rosenthal, Wachterman, & Vogel was a busy place. Paralegals rushed about trying to meet deadlines while secretaries furiously hammered away on their computers. The receptionist was hard at work arguing with someone on the phone, so Huber sat down in the reception area.

She looked at the décor. It had obviously been chosen to create an image. The antique coffee table next to her seemed made of solid oak. On the walls hung two impressionist prints by Camille Pissarro, Boulevard Montmartre and Avenue de l’Opera. Centered between them, she observed an elegant French commode.

At the front desk, the receptionist ended her call and asked, “May I help you?”

“I’m R. A. Huber and have an appointment at noon with Mr. Wachterman.”

The receptionist pushed a button on her phone and announced, “I have Mrs. Huber here.”

Moments later, a young woman appeared and greeted Huber with, “I’m Pamela, David Wachterman’s secretary,” and ushered her into an inner sanctum. Huber followed her down a hallway, where Pamela stopped in front of an open door and stepped aside, saying, “Go on in, please.”

In contrast to the reception area, Wachterman’s office looked plain. The spacious room lacked any kind of ornamentation. There were bookshelves sagging under the weight of legal tomes, a file cabinet, and a large desk cluttered with paperwork and stacks of files. The lawyer, a lanky man in his forties with deep-set gray eyes and brown buzz-cut hair, sat behind his littered desk, pen in hand, writing away, old-fashioned style. He looked up when Huber entered and got to his feet, revealing a bone- colored shirt, a brown-and-blue striped tie, and a tan Armani suit, the jacket of which hung over the back of his chair.

The secretary said, “If you don’t need me any longer, I’ll take my break.”

“Sure, Pam, go ahead,” he said, and she left, closing the door.

The lawyer motioned Huber into a chair while settling back into his own.

Huber said, “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I’m aware that my appointment is cutting into your lunch time.”

He brushed it off with a flip of the hand and then said, “I know what you’re all about. I looked you up.”

“Oh?”

“Jonathan Lighthart mentioned that he planned to hire a private eye. When you called my secretary for an appointment and mentioned my client, Rachel Penrose, you made me curious. I learned that you are a licensed P.I. with an excellent track record.” He looked her in the eye and continued, “I’m still curious; what made someone like you go into that line of business?”

Huber said, “You mean, is this little old lady from Pasadena up to bumping heads with criminals?”

“Something like that,” he replied, amused.

“My age and size are actually an advantage. People tend to underestimate me. As it happens, I’m good at detective work. Folks tend to open up to me and part with information they’d hold back when questioned by the authorities. I have an un-muddled mind and can solve puzzles with logic. And most important, I’m stronger than I look and an excellent shot.”

He cleared his throat and said, “If you can find us another plausible suspect, more power to you.”

“You don’t think that’s possible?”

“Anything’s possible, and we’re only in the early stages of discovery, but it looks bleak for Rachel. Although I will argue that the evidence against her is circumstantial, there is no denying that the prosecution has a strong case.”

“Do you believe that she is guilty?”

“It doesn’t matter what I believe; I’ll defend her to the best of my ability.”

Huber gave him an intense stare, but he kept a poker face.

She said, “I learned only the main facts from Dr. Lighthart; there is plenty more I need to know before I can start my investigation.”

“Go ahead.”

“I forgot to ask what Rachel does for a living.”

“She is a speech therapist.”

“Do you know the name and profession of the other woman?”

“What other woman?”

“I mean the person who had an affair with Steven Moretti.”

He fingered among his messy pile of papers in front of him, grabbed a folder and looked inside. Then he gave a brief smirk and said, “An affair is an overstatement. Her name is Jasmine Dewitt and she works at Club Marzipan as a stripper.”

“Interesting.”

“She’ll be the prosecution’s key witness.”

Huber asked, “May I trouble you about giving me names of the victim’s close family, business associates, as well as friends that could have an impact on Rachel’s case?”

He laughed now outright and said, “You want it all, don’t you!” Then he got serious and continued, “Since we are on the same team, I’ll give you the info under one condition: You report back to me as soon as you have a lead.”

“Agreed.”

“I’ll have my secretary send you a list of potential witnesses.”

She reached into her purse and, handing him her business card, said, “I appreciate it, thank you.”

“Anything else?”

“Who discovered Steven Moretti’s body?”

He gave her a puzzled look and then replied, “I guess the paramedics. They tried to revive him, but were too late.”

“I take it that he was alone when he died. Did somebody report him missing?”

Wachterman replied, “He called 911 himself.”

And peeking at the file in front of him he added, “This is what we know. Moretti called 911 on Sunday, April 8, at 6:30 in the evening, telling the dispatcher that he felt extremely ill. He complained of nausea and vomiting, abdominal pain, and diarrhea, which had started hours earlier. He first thought that he suffered from the 24-hour flu, but then got progressively worse. His heart had been racing, and when he made the call, he felt drowsy. By the time the paramedics got to him, he had apparently had a seizure, ending in a coma that led to his death.”

Huber said, “That report definitely puts me in the picture. I presume that the authorities found oleander leaves mixed in with Steven Moretti’s loose leaf tea he drank that day. Correct?”

“That is so. The poisonous leaves had been cut down to the same size as the tealeaves and were found blended in with the tea in the canister where Steven Moretti kept it. The police also discovered the used substance in the victim’s trash. And of course, the autopsy revealed oleander in his stomach.”

She asked, “Had Mr. Moretti made a will?”

“None came to light as far as we know. I will point out to the jury that the two had not been married yet, so Rachel Penrose is not inheriting Moretti’s money. And I’m sure the prosecution will claim that this was not a murder for gain, but rather a passion crime.”

He looked at his watch and asked, “Anything else?”

“No, I think that’s it. I’ll see Rachel Penrose to start with, and then I’ll go from there.”

“Good luck. I hope you’ll get through to her.”

“Why do you say that? Is she uncooperative?”

“Unapproachable is more like it.”

“How do you mean?”

“You’ll see for yourself.”