Death on a High Floor (45 page)

Oscar got up and started pacing. “That’s not how prosecutors think, Robert. Let me guess. Spritz suggested you were in on the deal, right?”

“Right,” I said.

“So,” Oscar said, “they’ll call this your second murder. To silence someone who was going to rat you out on the first. Did Spritz suggest you had to kill Simon because you drew the low card?”

“No, he said I drew the short straw. Of course, I didn’t draw anything, and I didn’t kill him.”

“Right,” Oscar said. “But I’ll give fifty-fifty odds they arrest you tomorrow in open court for Harry’s murder. Right after Spritz testifies and reveals their new theory. The press splash will make the DA’s heart sing.”

“Well,” I said, “the press splash will be even bigger if the cops leak it right. Because the real killer, whoever it was, left an
Ides
on the body, right beside the dagger.”

“Jesus,” Oscar said, “now I’ll give eighty-twenty odds they arrest you tomorrow.”

“I’ll give odds they won’t,” Jenna said. “They’ll wait until they have an absolutely airtight case against Robert. If they can make one out. For now, they’ll just live with the murder they’ve got.”

“Hey, look guys,” I said, “like I said before, I could care less what they do. One murder, two murders, whatever. I’m paying you all good money to figure this out. I didn’t kill Simon. I didn’t kill Harry. And I got you some damn good information tonight about what was really going down at M&M. Not to mention that it sounds like Daniel Boone was telling the truth about who he saw. So figure it out. I’m going to bed. By the way, I recorded my conversation with Spritz and the bartender on the mechanical pencil Frederick gave me. Here it is.” I tossed it to Jenna and left.

When I reached my bedroom and sat down on the bed, the adrenaline pump that had been sustaining me shut down with a bang. I barely managed to get my clothes off and climb under the covers before sleep hit me.

When I awakened, I felt refreshed. I must have dreamed, but I had no recollection of what I had dreamed about. I stretched, got out of bed, took a long shower, and got dressed. As I finished knotting my tie, I glanced down at my watch. It was already 7:00 a.m., and court started at 8:00. Which meant no time for breakfast. And, indeed, when I got to the kitchen, Jenna had already finished eating and was standing by the door, ready to go. There was no sign of either Oscar or Uncle Freddie.

She handed me a banana. “Here, Robert, eat this. You’re going to need something. We can dig up some food for you at the courthouse if we get there in time. Maybe the traffic will be light today and we’ll be early.” I took the banana, and we headed for the garage and Jenna’s Land Cruiser. She opened the back door for me.

“Forget it,” I said. “I’m sitting up front.”

“Well, you certainly are Mr. I’m-in-Charge-Today,” she said. “Do you want to drive, too?”

“No. You drive.” I got in the front seat.

When the garage door opened, I could see that sometime in the dark of night, the Blob had re-formed, larger than ever, and had now oozed over into the neighbor’s yard. Jenna noticed it, too. “The police must have tipped them off that you’re a suspect in Harry’s murder,” she said. “That would explain it.”

“They’ll leave when they hear about Daniel Boone,” I said. “I hope his neighbors in Santa Monica won’t be too annoyed when they Blob-up wherever it is that he lives.”

We drove slowly down the driveway, gently pushing the expanded Blob out of the way. I didn’t bother to give them the thumbs up. Instead, I turned my head and stared directly at them. As if
they
were the hunted ones. I conjured up my fantasy of the night before, about giving them the finger. And then I did it. For a long and rather joyful ten seconds. So they would be sure to get it on film. I thought I saw shock on their collective blobby faces.

“That wasn’t very smart,” Jenna said.

“I’m tired of being smart.”

“That was pretty obvious when you got out of the car last night at the
DownUnder
.”

“Well,” I said, “I got you a lot of good stuff last night. And I have utter confidence about your ability to use it to knock this whole case right out of the ballpark.”

“I’m glad you have confidence,” she said. “Because I have none. I have no idea what I’m going to do today. With Spritz or anybody else. For example, I don’t know whether to use what you learned last night or ignore it. Frankly, I think it’s likely bullshit. A diversion to throw us off.”

“Why don’t you use it to find out what Spritz knows about Harry’s murder? Oscar keeps saying a prelim is free discovery for the defense. So if I’m going to be charged with killing Harry, too, we might as well find out what Spritz knows.”

“Good point,” Jenna said. “I’ll do it.”

“I’m starving,” I said. “I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday afternoon.”

“Eat the banana.”

“Oh right.” I had put it on the console between the seats. I picked it up, peeled it, and began to eat. By the time I finished, we were merging onto the freeway, heading downtown.

“Jenna, what did you make of Stewart wanting a tea bag?” I asked.

“What are you talking about?” she said.

“Oh, I forgot. You were on the phone with Spritz when I was telling Oscar and Uncle Freddie about it. After Spritz left last night, Tommy Flannery, the guy who owns the
DownUnder
,
told me that Spritz and Stewart were both there on the morning of the murder. Dining separately. Perhaps the pen, which I assume you listened to, didn’t capture that conversation.”

“Yes, I did listen to it,” she said. “And you’re right. I had trouble making out your conversation with the bartender. Maybe he wasn’t as close to you as Spritz when he was talking. But what’s that information prove, exactly? Stewart eats there all the time. It’s even where he invited you to breakfast so he could feed you the line that Harry did it, remember?”

“Well, maybe so. But here’s the deal on the tea bag, according to Tommy Flannery. Right before Stewart left the
DownUnder
on the morning of the murder, he asked Tommy for a tea bag. Then just stuck it in his pocket and took it with him.”

“Maybe he used it to hide drugs,” Jenna said.

“Could be,” I said. “But it’s not all that hard to get your own tea bags. Why would he need to get one from Tommy Flannery at breakfast?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Stewart is one strange dude. Has no friends, collects butterflies, always wears heavy makeup, for God’s sake. So maybe the tea bag’s just another weird fetish.”

“Stewart wears makeup because he has bad skin. And I collect ancient coins,” I said. “Do you think that’s a weird fetish?”

“I’m beginning to think so,” she said.

It broke the tension. We both laughed.

I was still hungry. “Do you have any more food in the car?” I turned around to search in the back seat. Maybe there was a day-old pizza or something else that Jenna hadn’t finished.

“Look in the glove compartment,” Jenna said. “There’s like a whole bag of jelly beans left. Not that you need more carbs after that banana.”

I opened the glove compartment. Sure enough, there was an almost full bag of jelly beans stuffed in there amidst God knows what else. I ate all of them. They tasted great.

“Robert, do you think you’re losing it?”

“No, why?”

“Well, you just ate an entire bag of jelly beans. Which is not exactly your usual style. Not to mention the sugar rush it’s going to give you. On top of whatever other rush you’ve got going.”

I ignored her comment. “By the way,” I said, “what makes you think Stewart’s telling me Harry did it was a line? Harry is a prime suspect. After all, Boone said he was there that night, and Harry was the guy who had the secret compartment built, among other things.”

“Well, Mr. Smarty Pants, if Harry killed Simon, then who killed Harry?”

She had a good point. I had no idea who had killed Harry. I tried to think it through, but it made my head spin. I didn’t have long to think about it, though, because the traffic was light, and we were soon heading into the underground parking garage at the courthouse.

Jenna pulled into a parking space, turned off the ignition, and pulled up the emergency brake. “I very seriously think Stewart killed both of them,” she said.

“Stewart?” Even though technically he’d been a suspect, I really couldn’t imagine it.

“Yeah, Stewart.”

“What’s your evidence?”

“Okay,” she said. “First, Stewart was at the
DownUnder
the morning of the murder. So he was in the vicinity. Second, he was hanging around, waiting to take you home a couple hours later.”

“I don’t know that he was hanging around. I had the impression he was there by happenstance.”

“Maybe,” she said. “Third, he saw the dagger collection at the party and probably stole it. Because the dagger used to kill Harry was in Stewart’s office.”

“Harry and a lot of other people were at the party. Plus there’s no proof Stewart stole the dagger, and it was Harry who had the secret compartment built,” I said.

Jenna wasn’t really listening to my points. “Fourth, Stewart had also stashed a fake
Ides
in the secret compartment, along with that coin book.”

“Harry could have put that stuff there,” I said. “Including the dagger. And we don’t even know if Stewart knows about the compartment.”

“Fifth,” she said, “Harry’s killer left a souvenir. Another
Ides
. If Stewart had one in his possession—the one we found in his office—he probably had others.”

“Yeah,” I said. “But those clues could point just as much to Harry.”

“Robert, the clue that points away from Harry is that someone killed him, too.” She looked at her watch. “Shit, we’ve got to get going or we’ll be late.” She grabbed her briefcase from the back seat, opened her door, and started to get out. Then she turned around again and grabbed a large purse.

“A purse?” I said. “That’s something I don’t usually see.”

“I thought I might need it today to hold some stuff Uncle Freddie is looking for. Anyway, I do own them, you know.”

I proceeded to get out on my side and walked beside her, heading for the elevators.

When we reached the elevator lobby, I pushed the button, and we waited in silence for an elevator to arrive. When it came, we found it empty, so we were able to talk freely as it ground its way slowly upward.

“There was one more thing,” Jenna said, “that makes me think it was Stewart.”

“What’s that?”

“Something one of my friends at KZDD told me.”

“Which was what?”

“It was info from a reporter who’s been doing interviews about the case. She was the one who texted me yesterday.”

“You said that wasn’t about the case.”

“I didn’t know then that it was. Anyway, she told me that lots of people had agreed to be interviewed. That all of them had been eager to talk to her about their history with you but utterly unwilling to talk about the crime. Except for Stewart.”

“He talked about the crime?”

“No, but he kept trolling for details of what
she
knew about the crime. Like he was trying to put a story together. I thought about it, and that’s exactly what the killer would do.”

“You could be right. You know, that day he drove me home, he did ask what the murder scene looked like.”

“He did? You never told me that before,” she said.

“I never thought it was important. Anyway, all that stuff is circumstantial, and there’s no motive unless you want to buy into the drug thing. So even if you’re right, how are you going to prove it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Great,” I said, as the elevator doors opened.

When we walked into the courtroom, the clock showed 7:59 a.m. We had made it with only one minute to spare. Benitez and crew were already at their table, and Oscar was already at ours. I didn’t see Spritz, but I did see Stewart, who was again sitting in the back row. I resisted the temptation to wave this time.

I was about to ask Jenna what he was doing there, but didn’t get the chance because at 8:00 a.m. sharp, Judge Gilmore took the bench. She looked expectantly at Benitez. “Well, Mr. Benitez, is Detective Spritz going to be with us this morning?”

Benitez rose, looking a bit nervous. “Well, Your Honor, I expect him momentarily.”

“Is he a late riser?” the judge asked.

“Um, no,” Benitez said. “He was just finishing something up. He will be here momentarily. In the meantime, I have two very quick witnesses to put on. So as to save the court’s time . . .”

Judge Gilmore cut him off. “Which Detective Spritz has been wasting.”

“Um, yes Your Honor.”

“All right,” she said, “go ahead with your two quick witnesses. But if Detective Spritz isn’t here after that, I’m going to strike all of his direct testimony.”

“Yes, thank you, Your Honor,” Benitez said. It is odd how often lawyers, in their search for deference, can be heard thanking judges for threatening them. “The People call Sergeant Von Drady.”

Drady, who had apparently been sitting in the back of the courtroom, walked to the witness stand and was sworn. Benitez chose to question him from the table.

“Sergeant, did you arrest the defendant in this case?”

“Yeah, at LAX. Well, actually on his plane when it landed.”

“Did you conduct any kind of search?”

“I frisked him. And, uh, so then, you know, I searched his suit jacket. On the seat next to him. Needed to make sure it didn’t have weapons in it.”

“Did you discover anything during the search of his jacket?”

“Yeah, in the pockets. Two silver coins. I learned later they’re called the
Ides denarius of Brutus
.”

So, I thought to myself, they
are
going to try to put the coin motive together in this hearing. This was the first piece. I wondered when they would get to the drug part.

“I have no further questions, Your Honor.”

“Any cross, Ms. James?”

“Yes, Your Honor. Briefly.”

Jenna, too, stayed seated.

“Good morning, Sergeant Drady,” she said.

“Good morning.”

“Sergeant, in your search, did you find any drugs or drug paraphernalia on Mr. Tarza’s person, in his suit jacket, or anywhere else?”

“No.”

“When you arrested Mr. Tarza, was Detective Spritz also present?”

“Yes, he was.”

“Are you Detective Spritz’s superior?”

“Objection,” Benitez said. “Beyond the scope of direct.”

“Overruled.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Have you supervised him at all in this investigation?”

“No, I don’t have that responsibility.”

“Who does supervise Detective Spritz?”

“Well, Detective Spritz has been with the Department so long at such a high level that he can really pretty much supervise himself. You know what I mean?”

“So you were just along for the ride?”

“No, I had been specially assigned to assist in what was expected to be a high profile case. And I was present for the arrest, I’d point out.”

If Drady had understood Jenna’s dig, he certainly didn’t react to it.

“Is there someone in charge of the Robbery-Homicide Division?”

“Your Honor,” Benitez said, “I renew my objection to this line of questioning. It’s gone well beyond the scope of direct.”

“Overruled. But why don’t you finish it up quickly, Ms. James?”

“Thank you, Your Honor. Do you recall the question, Sergeant?”

“Yeah, sure. And the answer is, yeah, and the officer in charge is Captain Fernandez.”

“Does he actively supervise Detective Spritz?”

“You’d have to ask him.”

“I have no further questions, Your Honor.”

“Nothing further, Your Honor,” Benitez said, without waiting to be asked. “The People call Maria Hernandez.”

Maria, who is M&M’s communications supervisor, walked to the stand. She’s an attractive woman in her early forties, dark haired and stylishly dressed. During the time she reported to me, I used to think that she looked more like a lawyer than most of the lawyers. She sat down in the witness box and was sworn.

“Ms. Hernandez,” Benitez began, “could you tell the court your job title?”

“Yes, I’m the Communications Department Supervisor at Marbury Marfan.”

“Thank you. And what are your duties in that position?”

“I supervise all of the firm’s personnel in the areas of communications. That includes mail services, overnight mail services, fax services, messengers, and copying services. Sometimes we also do travel arrangements for lawyers, although mostly these days, with the Internet, they or their secretaries do it themselves. I also serve on the Liaison Committee on M&M’s e-mail policy. I report to the managing partner.”

“So do you pretty much know what goes into and out of the firm?”

It was an overly broad, dumb question. Maria answered it as such.

“Not in a detailed way, obviously. I supervise and set policy for the general process.”

“Okay. But are you familiar with the firm’s business records in regard to communications?”

“Yes.”

What Benitez was trying to do, albeit in a slightly clunky way, was to lay the foundation that Maria was familiar with the firm’s business records, so that he could get one of those records admitted into evidence as an exception to the hearsay rule—a business record kept in the ordinary course of business, with the basis for admission laid by someone familiar with the records.

“Does the firm keep a log of overnight packages that it sends out?”

“Yes, we do.”

Judge Gilmore, who had been sitting in her usual chin-on-left-hand pose, interrupted.

“Mr. Benitez, I can see that this is all going toward laying the foundation for admitting a business record of the firm. Isn’t this a document to whose admissibility you and Ms. James can stipulate to so that we can save time and get on to Detective Spritz?”

She looked at Jenna, who was the one, obviously, with the power to stipulate in this situation.

“Your Honor,” Jenna said, “this is one of those documents where we have offered to stipulate that it was found in the firm’s records and says what it says. But not that it’s authentic, or was kept in the regular course of business, nor to the truth of the statements written down on it—all of which Mr. Benitez insists we stipulate to.”

“I see,” the judge said. “Okay, please proceed Mr. Benitez.”

Benitez resumed. “I’d like to have marked, for identification as People’s 89, a document consisting of one page of lined paper, dated November 7 of last year at the top, and filled with 30 rows of data, divided into six columns marked Requestor, Recipient, Destination, Date, Method, and Charge. I’m handing two copies to the clerk, including one for Your Honor. Ms. James already has a copy.”

The clerk marked the document as People’s 89, handed one to the judge and one to the witness.

As we waited for the routine to play itself out, Maria smiled at me, and I smiled back. We had always gotten along well. I didn’t imagine she was there by choice.

“Ms. Hernandez,” Benitez said, “do you recognize this document?”

“Yes, it’s a page from a paper log the firm keeps of overnight mail sent.”

“What do the columns mean?”

“The first column is the name of the sender, the second the recipient, the third the recipient’s city, the fourth the date it leaves the firm, and the fifth the carrier being used, Fedex, DHL, UPS or whoever, and we always put the tracking number there, as well. The sixth is the charge code. Client, in-house charge, personal, or whatever.”

“Do you supervise those who prepare this sheet?”

“Yes.”

“All right, could I draw your attention to line 27?”

“Sure.”

“What does that say?”

“That on November 7 last year, Mr. Tarza sent a package to a Mr. Chen in Shanghai, via DHL, and it was to be charged to him personally.”

“No further questions, Your Honor.”

So, bam! Just like that, the DA had dropped in another piece of incriminating evidence. Or maybe it was just a plink meant largely for the Blob. Because it was easy to see how even a first-year lawyer could render the testimony almost useless, at least without a couple more witnesses.

“Ms. James?”

Jenna walked to the podium.

“Good morning, Ms. Hernandez. I have just a few quick questions.”

“Okay.”

“Did you personally enter the information on Line 27?”

“No.”

“I notice there are lots of different handwritings on the document. Do you know why that is?”

“Yes. Many different people in the department can enter the data, plus the secretaries of the various lawyers. The goal is to capture the charge and be able to know the document is out there, not to determine who wrote in the entry.” She sighed slightly. “It’s not a great system, since, particularly at night, people can come in and take an overnight envelope without entering any information, or only limited information, on the charge sheet. I’ve been trying to get the firm to change the system for years.” She sighed again. “Without success.”

Benitez looked a bit perplexed at the complex answer Jenna had just received with no prompting. One no doubt helpful to where Jenna wanted to go. Mary smiled at me again. I wondered if she was helping me out because she liked me or because of her feelings about Simon. She had loathed him. Maybe she didn’t care who had killed him. Hell, maybe she did it herself.

Jenna followed up.

“Do you know who filled in that entry?”

“No.”

“To your knowledge, has anyone claimed to have seen Mr. Tarza or his secretary fill out that entry?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Do you recognize the handwriting on Line 27?”

“No.”

“Do you recognize it as the handwriting of anyone on your regular staff?”

“It is not.”

“Have you made an effort to determine whose handwriting it is?”

“Yes, we were asked to do so by the LAPD. But we’ve had no success, despite substantial effort. And that particular entry is in blocky print, which makes it especially hard to match to someone.”

“So anybody could have written the entries on Line 27?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you. I have no further questions.”

“Redirect, Mr. Benitez?”

“A few.”

Jenna and Benitez changed places at the podium.

“Ms. Hernandez, were you able to find a receipt for the shipment in the firm’s records?”

“No.”

“Did you follow up on the DHL tracking number to learn from DHL to whom the referenced package was sent?”

“Yes.”

“Who
did it actually get delivered to?”

“Objection! Hearsay.”

“It is,” Benitez started to say, “a business record of . . .”

“Counsel,” Judge Gilmore said, “the DHL tracking number and the listed recipient may be business records of Marbury Marfan, but seems to me the information linked to the tracking number—like where the package, whatever was in it, actually went—is a business record of DHL, not the law firm. So I’m going to rule anything further along that line from this witness inadmissible hearsay.”