Читать книгу I Love You, Goodbye - Prentiss Sr. Grant - Страница 8

Harrison’s mind reeled as he drove toward downtown. Who was the suspect and what did the police know? He picked up his cellular phone and dialed information for the number to the home of Jeffrey Taylor. Certainly he was not at his office this time of night. But wherever Mr. Taylor was he had some questions to answer. Harrison was infuriated when he was informed the number was unlisted. While attempting to remain calm Harrison requested the number to the police station. Waiting for the telephone to be answered, Harrison mumbled to himself: “Don’t worry Mr. Michaels, I will keep you informed.’ Informed, my ass! I teach that little bastard what informed means!” Harrison’s mumbling had now turned into shouting although there was no one to direct it at personally. Officer Philip Jackson answered Harrison’s call to the station. Harrison told the officer who he was and demanded the District Attorney’s home number. Officer Jackson stated he could not give out that information but Mr. Taylor was currently at the station. “Tell that son-of-a-bitch he had better be there when I arrive.” As he hung up the telephone Harrison’s foot pressed harder on the accelerator.

Jeffrey Taylor was standing outside the front door of the station when Harrison arrived. There were two uniformed officers standing behind him pretending to be on a smoke break but by the way Jeffrey glanced at them when Harrison exited his car they were there for protection. Harrison had parked in a spot in front of the doors normally reserved for the police chief and was heading up the steps outside the station. His face was beet red and his eyes were locked on the District Attorney. “Mr. Michaels, how are you doing sir?” “Don’t give me that shit you son-of-a-bitch. You said you would keep me informed and I have to find out about this from the television!” Harrison was taking the steps two at a time and for a second Jeffrey wondered if he was going to stop. As the two officers moved to each side of him, the District Attorney held his hands up in front of himself. “Whoa Mr. Michaels, I had every intention of contacting you once I had more information. We haven’t even had the opportunity to interrogate Ms. Blaine.”

“Ms. Blaine? Elizabeth Blaine?” Harrison shouted. “Yes sir, Elizabeth Blaine. Your secretary, if I’m not mistaken.” Jeffrey’s hands were still reached out in front of him to stop Harrison’s assent. Harrison stopped at the top of the steps. This information clearly stunned him and the district attorney took full advantage of it. Placing his hand on Harrison’s back he turned to escort him into the station. Jeffrey smiled slightly to the officers who stepped away and allowed Harrison to pass. “We have her in interrogation room 2 down the hall,” he said as he pointed toward the other end of the building. “Why don’t we go in the chief’s office and sit down for a moment,” Jeffrey said, as he led Harrison away from the interrogation rooms. Harrison silently obeyed, all the while staring back toward the small sign hanging over a door which read “INTERROGATION 2”. His eyes remained fixed on the sign until the two entered the cluttered old office belonging to the police chief. The district attorney allowed Harrison to sit down before he began to explain the situation.

“We received an anonymous tip that a car was taken to a repair shop for damage to the right front fender. While this would normally not be considered priority, we are checking all leads in this case. Anyway, an investigator went to the shop and found Ms. Blaine’s car with what appears to be blue colored paint on the front fender. The paint is being tested to see if it matches the paint on your wife’s car.” Jeffrey paused at this moment to allow Harrison to adjust to this revelation. Harrison just sat there motionless, what little strength he had was gone. Harrison’s head dropped and he let out a sigh. “Do you know where the tip came from?” Harrison raised his head and was looking directly at Mr. Taylor. Jeffrey explained the police traced the call to a pay telephone across the street from Elizabeth’s apartment complex. The police figured it was one of Elizabeth’s neighbors but hadn’t had the opportunity to verify it yet. Harrison sat quietly for a few moments not knowing exactly what to think. Jeffrey allowed Harrison another moment before asking his question. “Do you know any reason Ms. Blaine would have for wanting your wife dead?” The question sounded inquisitive but Harrison quickly realized it was investigatory.

“What did you say? Do I know of any reason? Am I under investigation now, Jeffrey?” Harrison’s face had turned red by this point and he stood and pointed a finger in the District Attorney’s face. “Look you bastard, I’ve had about all of you I’m going to take.” “Now wait a minute Mr. Michaels, I didn’t mean…” Jeffrey had sunk as far back in his chair as humanly possible. “You didn’t mean what? My wife is gone and I can’t even bury her because of you. You tell me I will be kept informed and yet I find out you’ve arrested someone from that jackass on the television. Then I come down here and instead of telling me what’s going on, you start to interrogate me. I don’t need this and obviously you do not know who you are talking to.” Harrison began to pace around the office but before he could mount a second charge, the District Attorney took over. “That is not what I meant, Harrison, and I apologize if it sounded that way. Look, we don’t know anything about Ms. Blaine and I was only hoping for some help. No one has been arrested. Please sit down.” Jeffrey was careful not to fuel the confrontation and remained seated to assure Harrison he was not a threat.

When Harrison calmed down, Jeffrey explained what they knew to that point. Elizabeth had not admitted to anything and said she did not know how her car was damaged. Elizabeth claimed she saw the dent in her fender when she was leaving her apartment for work. She assumed someone hit her in the parking lot of her apartment complex. Elizabeth even reported it to her insurance agent. The agent allegedly directed her to the claims department and they told Elizabeth to get an estimate. The insurance company gave her a list of repair shops and she conveniently chose one in the suburbs. “Who made the call to the police?” Harrison was back in the conversation and actively looking for answers. “Like I said earlier the caller was anonymous.” The District Attorney explained that many crimes were solved on the tips of persons who don’t like to leave their name. In any event, the tip was correct and it was the first big break in the case. Jeffrey then asked Harrison if he could shed some light on Elizabeth. Harrison explained what he knew about Elizabeth. Basically she was one of his secretaries at the company. While she didn’t have an extensive formal education she was a good worker. Over the past few years Elizabeth had trained herself in business and shown a knack for it. Harrison was not aware of any boyfriends Elizabeth might have, stating he didn’t delve in the personal lives of his employees. Harrison’s philosophy was “as long as it didn’t interfere with the business it wasn’t my concern.” When Jeffrey questioned him about the wisdom of his thinking, Harrison responded he had over a hundred employees and didn’t have the time to worry about their private lives. A knock at the door interrupted Harrison’s discussion with the District Attorney.

“She’s asked for an attorney,” investigator Harold Anderson said as he stuck his head in the door. “What?” Jeffrey said as he shot out of his seat. Even Harrison noticed the panic in his voice. “She’s asked for an attorney. Everything was going fine and all of a sudden she said she would not answer any more questions until she spoke to a lawyer.” Mr. Anderson was trying to convince the District Attorney that it was not his fault the prime suspect just invoked her constitutional rights. Nothing hurts a prosecutor’s case more than to have a suspect ask for an attorney. Jeffrey knew the first thing an attorney would tell her is not to speak with the District Attorney’s office or the police even if she was innocent. If Jeffrey couldn’t convince Elizabeth to retract her request the case would become a lot harder. Jeffrey Taylor did not need to take any chances with this case. “I can’t believe this. What else can go wrong today?” The District Attorney’s words tailed off as he exited the office and headed down the hall.

Harrison stepped to the office door and watched as Jeffrey disappeared in a room near the end of the hall with Investigator Anderson following behind like a little puppy. He thought about staying around to see if anything further developed and began looking for a coffee machine when Harrison realized he did not have his briefcase. A sick feeling hit his stomach as Harrison wondered if he left it at the restaurant. His life would be over if his briefcase fell into the wrong hands. Harrison could feel his face turn pale and his legs began to weaken. Harrison was holding on to the facing of the door thinking to himself no one deserved the day he was having. Perhaps it would be better if someone found his briefcase. Harrison certainly would not have to worry about anything for several years, if he lived that long. He was just about to give up when he remember setting his briefcase down in his study at home. With a sigh of relief, Harrison wiped the sweat from his forehead, walked out the station door, down the steps and to his car.

Back inside the station Jeffrey Taylor sat down at the table across from Elizabeth. She was sitting with her head down on her arms. He looked around the room for a moment to gather his thoughts. Interrogation Room 2 was like most every interrogation room in police history: a bare cinder block room with a small wooden table and two chairs. There was a mirror on one wall, which even the most naive of persons knew had more cops on the other side then was in the room. Graffiti was written on every wall attesting to the fact that most suspects cared as much about the police as the police did about them. “Now Ms. Blaine, I understand you want to speak to an attorney,” the District Attorney said with a pleasant smile. “Do you really feel that is necessary?” Jeffrey knew better than to pressure Elizabeth into a retraction. If her decision even slightly appeared to be coerced a judge would throw out any statements made afterward.

“I have answered all the questions I am going to answer,” Elizabeth stated looking up at him for the first time. Her makeup was splotched and her eyes and cheeks showed evidence of her past tears. Her hair was messed up from where Elizabeth had impatiently run her fingers through it. She was a tired lady. “I have told you everything I know. So you can either get me an attorney or let me leave.” Despite her obvious resolve Jeffrey continued his quest. “I’m sure that is not necessary. My understanding is we are almost finished, if I could only ask you a couple more questions.” The District Attorney’s tone was pleasant and he looked directly at Elizabeth as he spoke. “I don’t even know why I am here.” Elizabeth blurted. “I think I am entitled to some information, don’t you?” With this statement Elizabeth sat back in her chair and folded her arms defiantly. “Of course, Ms. Blaine. We’re investigating Mary Michaels’ murder.”

“What! Mary Michaels murdered? Mrs. Michaels died in a car wreck.” Elizabeth sat straight up in her chair and a genuine look of concern came across her face as she realized she was the person the police were investigating. “That is what we thought at first but it appears now that someone ran her off the road.” Jeffrey’s tone was accusatory and his smile confirmed he thought Elizabeth was guilty. “And you think I had something to do with it?” Elizabeth suddenly became scared and tried to remember everything she had told the investigator who questioned her earlier. “I am not answering any more questions. I know how you people work. I did not do anything wrong: Besides I need to go home, I have to work tomorrow.” “I don’t think you need to worry about work. Mr. Michaels was here and knows you are under investigation.” There was a long moment of silence as Elizabeth realized the full content of Mr. Taylor’s statement. “Either arrest me or I am leaving.” Elizabeth’s statement was curt and she rose and moved directly in front of him as she spoke. The District Attorney looked up at her obviously struggling to make a decision. “I’m gone then,” Elizabeth stated as she walked past him and toward the door.

Investigator Anderson stepped sideways and blocked Elizabeth’s exit. His breath was strong and smelled of coffee and cigarettes. “Time to decide, Mr. Taylor.” Elizabeth said all the while never taking her eyes off Anderson. It wasn’t as though Elizabeth was that strong, only that she realized life as she knew it was over. There was no way she could go back to work. Even declaring her innocence would not make a difference if Harrison thought she had anything to do with Mary’s death. Their relationship was probably over. Also if anyone found out about their relationship, Harrison would be harassed, his career ruined and he would possibly be arrested. Elizabeth couldn’t have that. Harrison was suffering enough as it was. It was then Elizabeth decided no matter what she was going to protect Harrison. “Lock her up,” the District Attorney said as he got up from his chair and walked passed Elizabeth toward the door. As investigator Anderson was putting the handcuffs on her, the District Attorney looked back at Elizabeth. “You want an attorney? You had better get a good one because you will need it.” That said, he opened the door and walked out. Investigator Anderson led Elizabeth out the door behind the district attorney and down the hall to booking.

Booking was the first process of the arrest. It was here a suspect was photographed, fingerprinted and stripped-searched. At booking, Elizabeth was turned over to a female officer. Elizabeth never spoke throughout the entire booking process. To an observer she would have appeared as a lamb at slaughter. She obediently carried out the instructions of the booking officers as she was led through the process. First, Elizabeth was fingerprinted. The fingerprint procedure was not extensive; it consisted of rolling ink stained fingers inside pre-numbered blocks. The only problem is the ink does not wash off. To the trained attorney, a person who had been fingerprinted the day before is easy to spot. Following the fingerprinting Elizabeth was photographed. This can honestly be said to be the only picture you could ever take which will make your driver’s license photo look good. Of course after being interrogated for several hours and enduring several bouts of tears no one would expect to be magazine cover material. Some people believe this is done purposely as the arrest photograph is always the one given to the media. Even Mother Teresa would look guilty if an arrest photograph of her was shown on the evening news.

The final stage in the booking process is the strip-search. Elizabeth bowed her head as she slowly undressed until she stood before the female officer with one arm covering her breast and the other her crotch. “Hold your arms out to the side.” The instruction was cold and direct. Elizabeth grudgingly raised her arms out to each side as the officer ran her hands up and down her body. The plastic gloves worn by the officer were the same as the ones used by Elizabeth’s doctor, but the feeling was not. Walking behind her, the officer placed her hand on Elizabeth’s back and while giving a push directed her to bend over. Elizabeth felt nauseous and thought she was going to be physically sick when she felt the officer’s hand slide down her back and between her cheeks. She could not help but flinch when the first finger went inside her anus followed by the second entering her vagina. No one can understand the complete humiliation felt by someone having their insides searched for contraband. Elizabeth could not hold back the tears as she dressed in the normal orange jump suit and flip-flops of the county facility. She felt as violated as if she had been raped and left in a ditch to die.

As she was being led to the holding cell Elizabeth was told the words all arrestees long to hear: “You can make a phone call now if you want.” Looking back at the female officer in whose custody she was placed, Elizabeth slightly smiled when she was motioned to the pay telephones against the wall. Dialing a number she waited for the prompt from the automated operator and gave her name. When the phone was answered and the call accepted at the other end, Elizabeth stated she didn’t know whom else to call and turned closer to the telephone so as not to be heard by anyone. “What? I don’t know.” Turning back to the officer Elizabeth asked how much her bail was. “Bail will be set in the morning by the judge,” was the reply. Relaying this information to her caller, Elizabeth said she would be all right and would see them in the morning. She then hung up the telephone and turned back to the officer. “Thank you, I’m ready to go now.” As she resumed her walk toward the holding cells Elizabeth fought back her tears. No matter what happened from now on she was determined to be strong, at least on the outside.

The courtroom of Judge Jessica Smith was packed with reporters. The constant murmur was centered on who was Elizabeth Blaine. The District Attorney walked into the courtroom from the front door and was immediately mobbed. Stopping just inside the door to allow for more room around him, Jeffrey Taylor took center stage. “Ladies, Gentlemen, please I need to get through to counsel table.” Jeffrey’s voice sounded sincere but everyone knew he had no intention of going anywhere. “Who is Elizabeth Blaine?” The question echoed in the auditorium styled courtroom. Jeffrey did not know where the question came and addressed his response to the crowd. “Elizabeth Blaine is the secretary or more than likely the former secretary of Harrison Michaels, husband of the deceased.” “What’s the charge?” This question came from Mark Baker, writer for the National Gazette, a newspaper in the metropolitan area, which was known for its accuracy and integrity. “The charge ...,” Jeffrey paused for effect and to insure everyone was focused directly upon him. “The charge is capital murder.” “Will you be seeking the death penalty?” The question hung in the air and brought a silence to the room. Jeffrey smiled slightly as he prepared to answer relishing every moment of attention this case was bringing him.

“All rise,” the bailiff’s voice boomed and all eyes immediately were directed to the side of the courtroom. “The District Court of Washington County is now is session. The Honorable Jessica Smith presiding.” Jeffrey’s chest deflated as if he had been poked with a pin. From the look on his face it was evident that Judge Smith had upstaged him and he wasn’t happy. “Be seated.” Judge Smith was moving with speed and purpose as she ascended the steps and reached her bench. “It is the district attorney’s office …” Jeffrey Taylor had attempted to regain the spotlight he felt only he deserved. The reporters again turned back to Jeffrey and prepared their notepads and pens. “Mr. Taylor, certainly you are not holding a press conference in my courtroom, are you?” The District Attorney looked like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Your Honor, I was attempting to inform the press of the current situation.” Jeffrey was approaching the prosecutor’s table as he spoke. “I know exactly what you were intending to do Mr. Taylor and it won’t be done in my courtroom. Do you understand?” Judge Smith’s eyes remained on Jeffrey until he had reached the table. It was at this time she addressed the rest of the room. “I expect the individuals of the press to conduct themselves in a proper manner in my courtroom. I refuse to have the sanctity of my court diminished because of one case. If this becomes a problem I will not hesitate in closing the courtroom and expelling everyone. Understand?”

The silence in the courtroom accompanied by reporters, lawyers, and all others scurrying for seats answered the Judge’s question. No one dared challenge Judge Smith in her court. She had been on the bench for years and had a reputation for being a no nonsense judge who feared nothing; a result, perhaps, of being a woman in what certainly was, when she entered it, considered a man’s world. In order to succeed on the bench, a female judge had to be twice as hard as a man and twice as sure of herself or at least appear that way to the public. Jessica Smith was such a woman. When she attended law school Jessica Smith was one of only three women. Ostracized from the beginning, Jessica quickly learned she had to be the best to get any respect from her professors. The problem was, the more she excelled scholastically the more she was resented by her fellow male students. What resulted was a woman who finished in the top ten of her class and had a healthy disdain for all male attorneys. She practiced only a short time before she was elected to the bench. Jessica Smith was first elected due to an inept sitting judge everyone wanted to remove from office. The only serious contender was Jonathan Hobson who everyone knew would win in a landslide until he was caught “campaigning” with a twenty-year-old supporter. Jessica won the election and had been on the bench ever since. No reporter would risk missing the story of the year and possibly the story of the decade because he or she was thrown from the courtroom for defying Judge Smith.

Turning to her bailiff, Judge Smith instructed him to retrieve Elizabeth Blaine. The bailiff, a robust individual of about 240 pounds, disappeared through a side door and quickly returned guiding Elizabeth to the row of chairs behind counsel table separated from the audience by the bar. Elizabeth was still dressed in the orange county jumpsuit. Her hands and feet were shackled and although the bailiff was being extra patient it was clear Elizabeth had not yet learned to maneuver in chains. Reaching her seat Elizabeth sat momentarily looking like a sideshow attraction on display. When summoned forward by Judge Smith she rose immediately and approached the podium placed directly in front of the Judge. The bailiff never strayed more than two feet away from her. “Elizabeth Blaine, you have been charged by the State with capital murder. Do you understand the charge leveled against you?” “Yes ma'am.” Elizabeth’s voice was surprisingly strong given the situation in which she found herself. Although she answered the Judge’s question directly, Elizabeth never looked up at the judge instead staring down at her feet.

“Ms. Blaine.” Judge Smith’s voice was noticeably softer. She was not suddenly experiencing an awakening of her sensitive side or feeling a bout of pity on the defendant standing before her. Not Judge Jessica Smith. No indeed. She was making positively sure there would be no mistakes that could overturn a conviction on appeal. “Do you have an attorney?” “No ma’am, I have not had the opportunity to hire anyone yet.” “Well, Ms. Blaine, I am going to enter a ‘Not Guilty’ plea on your behalf. Mr. Taylor, is there a recommendation on bond?” The District Attorney did not hesitate at this opportunity. He leapt to his feet and began an oration on the strength of the State’s case. As he spoke he would periodically turn toward the reporters in the audience. He was just coming up to speed, informing the audience of the great work done by the police and his office when Judge Smith broke in. “Mr. Taylor, the question was for a recommendation on bond. Am I to assume the State has no recommendation since I have not heard one from you.”

Jeffrey Taylor’s irritation with Judge Smith was growing at a rapid pace but he remained professional. “Your Honor, given the seriousness of the charge the State would request a bond in the amount of $10,000,000.” The gasp heard from the crowd in attendance let the District Attorney know he had scored major political points despite the judge’s interference. Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open and she spun around to face the district attorney. Jeffrey looked over at her and smirked slightly. He wanted Elizabeth to know she had made a grave error in not cooperating with him. Elizabeth stared back at Jeffrey and turned back around to speak to the Judge. But before she could open her mouth Judge Smith raised a hand. “Mr. Taylor, this court has handled murder trials before and this one will not be treated any differently because of the identity of the victim. Bond is set at $250,000.” With that, Judge Smith pounded her gavel on the bench and announced a ten-minute recess to allow the courtroom to clear. She rose from the bench, instructed the bailiff to return Ms. Blaine to holding, and exited the courtroom.

Back in the holding cell, Elizabeth sat alone rubbing her wrists. Even though the handcuffs were not tight they were heavy and once removed left marks on Elizabeth. She wondered how she had gotten in this predicament. Then Elizabeth thought about Jeffrey Taylor and the look he gave her in the courtroom. What a smug son-of-a-bitch, she thought. Once this was over and she was cleared, Elizabeth vowed to do whatever it took to insure Jeffrey Taylor was defeated in the next election. Elizabeth’s solitude was broken with the announcement of a visitor. The guard opened the door and Janice Whittington walked into the cell. Elizabeth stood and hugged her so tightly Janice felt she would pass out.

“I’m sorry.” Elizabeth said as she released her grip and backed away. “Please sit down and tell me what you have found out.” It was quickly apparent that Janice Whittington was out of her element in the county holding cell. Her silk shirt and skirt were not the usual dress of visitors to the county facility. She walked slowly to the wooden bench built permanently along one wall, constantly staring at the floor covered with dirt, vomit and blood. Janice’s steps were as careful as if she were crossing a pit of snakes. Upon reaching the bench she looked down at the graffiti and stains and actually appeared to be ill. “I know it’s difficult to believe that people actually are kept here but it won’t kill you to sit.” Elizabeth was already on the bench looking up at Janice. Janice sat on the edge of the bench and placed her hands on her lap.

“Well, did you speak to him?” Elizabeth asked. “Not yet, I have an appointment later this morning. I don’t understand how you intend to hire him. He’s got to be expensive.” “I will take care of that once I get to speak with him. Here is what I want you to do. Tell Mr. Griffith that I need him to come here and bring a blank power of attorney form. Once he agrees to take my case I will sign the form and he can retrieve my bond and his retainer from my assets.” “Do you think you should trust him with your bank accounts?” Janice asked without looking up from the notes she had begun taking. “I’m going to trust him with my life. I should be able to trust him with my money. Besides how else am I to get out of here? It’s not like I can go to the bank myself.” Elizabeth’s tone echoed the frustration she was feeling. “I can go for you,” Janice said with a little trepidation. It was obvious she was trying to be a friend but didn’t want to get too involved. Elizabeth understood the position Janice was in and quickly let her off the hook. “No, you are risking too much already just helping me. You don’t know how vicious rich people can be. Until I clear my name, they think I did it and anyone associated with me can find themselves running into a lot of problems. Just make the appointment and get Mr. Griffith here. If you have to pay him to come, I will pay you back as soon as he gets me out or instruct him to repay you once I sign the power of attorney, whichever you want.” Janice nodded her agreement and the two women sat for a few moments in silence. When Janice rose to leave Elizabeth stood and thanked her. Calling for the guard Elizabeth noticed how Janice was looking at her. A cross between wanting to believe her friend was innocent and wanting to ask Elizabeth if she killed Mary Michaels. It was then Elizabeth realized everyone would look at her that same way. As the guard opened the cell door Elizabeth smiled at Janice and watched her walk away.