Legal Thriller: Michael Gresham: Secrets Girls Keep: A Courtroom Drama (Michael Gresham Legal Thriller Series Book 2) Read online

  "I don't know what Father Bjorn has in the way of assets. My guess is that he knows people who will step up for him and help him make bail for his son."

  "Are you one of those people?"

  "Your Honor, it would be against the law for me to make bail for a client so of course I won't be doing that. However, it is quite within my rights to request that the defendant be released into my custody when he actually makes his bail. I am requesting that be done."

  "Mr. State's Attorney, the Court will set bail unless the proof is evident and the presumption great, and in those cases defendants don't get bail. What are you prepared to tell us about the proof and the presumptions at play here?"

  The State's Attorney comes to his feet and immediately launches into what he's been cleared by his superior officers to reveal today in court. This is usually a ticklish proposition for the prosecution because, one, they need to tell enough to stop the setting of bail, while, two, they don't want to give away the whole case against the defendant.

  "Judge," says the SA, "the victim in this case is the daughter of our Mayor, Abraham Tanenbaum. The girl's name is Amy and she was fourteen. Amy was last seen in the company of the defendant Jana Emerich at Wendover High School as she traversed the football field around to the public restrooms. Our witness will say she saw Amy enter the bathroom by herself. Our witness then turned away to watch the game and when she again looked up she no longer saw the defendant. She has no idea where he went, but she didn't see him again that night. The next morning, the dead girl's body was found underneath the bleachers where the night before she had sat beside the defendant, laughing and cheering as the game progressed. Also, the defendant’s red muffler was found near the girl’s body—evidence that he had been there with her beneath the bleachers. For these reasons—the fact the defendant was the last one seen with the victim and the fact no other person was seen by our witness at or near the restrooms, and the fact of the muffler’s proximity to the dead body—it's the State's position that bail should be denied as the proof is evident and the presumption is great that Jana Emerich was responsible for the death of Amy Tanenbaum. Thank you."

  The judge swings her gaze back to me. "Mr. Gresham?"

  "Whatever the circumstances looked like to the witness, the fact remains that nobody can tell this court that Jana Emerich committed this terrible crime. It's no different than saying we're arresting the police officer who takes a defendant to jail and the defendant later hangs himself in his cell. There's just no continuity, no evidence linking the original act--walking the girl to the restroom--with the fact of the murder--which occurred who knows where and when? The presumption here is not only not great, there is no presumption at all. My client should be admitted to the benefits of bail and we implore the court to do the right thing. Particularly in light of his ties to the community with his father being a very well-known member of our community, and I again tell Your Honor that I am willing to take on the responsibility of supervising the defendant while he's out on bail."

  "Gentlemen, the court, after taking into consideration the arguments of counsel, and the factual representations, will set bail in the sum of one million dollars with the standard conditions of release. Is there anything else, gentlemen?"

  We both--the SA and I--agree there are no further issues between us and the court moves on to the next case. Jana Emerich is fetched by the same deputy and reattached to the chain with the other prisoners. I step into the hallway and Father Bjorn follows me there. Danny emerges and stands apart from us, waiting.

  He raises a hand before I can say anything.

  "Thank you, Michael. I have a parishioner or two who I can call on for the cash bail. Ten percent is required?"

  "That's right. They can come here to the clerk's office and make bail and your son will be released about two or three hours later. You should be here when that happens so you can have a chance to meet with him and tell him where you're at with all this. He needs to hear it from you, Father."

  "Agreed. We'll have him out before the sun goes down."

  "If you do, and after you're done having your talk, please bring him to my house."

  "The church registry has your address."

  "Yes. We'll be looking for you."

  "Care to walk me out?"

  "No, Danny and I need this time to discuss our new houseguest. We’ll walk out alone.“

  He extends his hand. We shake.

  "Thank you, Michael. I don't know how I can ever repay you."

  "You've already repaid me. You all but raised me as a kid."

  He smiles. "Well, I did a top job, I would have to say."

  "I'm glad you think so. I hope it's true."

  "See you tonight, Michael. Leave a light on."

  "We'll be ready, Danny and I. For whatever is coming down the road."

  "It will be good. I've got good feelings about this."

  I say no more.

  The good feelings are his alone. As for me, I'm astonished it even happened.

  We're about to take in a seventeen-year-old boy who is accused of murdering a classmate.

  And all we know about him is that we don't know anything about him.

  I have to pinch myself and make sure I'm not dreaming all this up. Did I really just agree to this?

  Danny and I walk toward the elevators, away from the courtroom, where more and more rocks are being turned over.

  14

  The owner of three Chicagoland GM dealerships accompanies Father Bjorn to the Clerk's office at the Cook County Courthouse. The auto dealer will put up the bail money for Jana's release. The price: one million dollars, of which ten percent must be paid in cash. They wait in line, talking. Father Bjorn is still dressed in his black suit and cashmere overcoat. He looks wilted and pressured, but hopeful.

  The GM dealer's name is Anwar T. Bledsoe, a jocular, smiling man wearing an open-neck shirt, blue blazer and gray slacks, and whose wrists and fingers are adorned with the mandatory Rolex, an ID bracelet made of 14k gold, a cat's eye pinky ring, an enormous diamond studded wedding ring, and a Super Bowl ring that once belonged to J.D. Dimant. Bledsoe purchased the NFL championship ring on eBay for seventy-five thousand dollars. A gold Cross pen is clipped to the front of his shirt and in his shirt pocket is a blank check from his dealership's general account.

  While they stand waiting at the counter, Bledsoe reads the notice posted on the wall explaining how to make out bail checks to the Clerk, and he begins writing on the check with the Cross pen. He leaves the amount blank, thinking there may be hidden costs such as those that pay the overhead at his dealerships. Their turn in line comes and, to Bledsoe's surprise, there are no hidden add-ons. He makes the check payable to the Clerk of the Cook County Superior Court in the amount of one hundred thousand dollars and calmly hands it across the counter.

  The clerk then disappears for a good ten minutes while forms are filled in and printed out. Then the priest and the car dealer are presented with a bail receipt in the case of State v. Jana S. Emerich, Defendant. They are told to proceed down the street to the jail, where they will present their receipt and the Sheriff will check his online records to confirm the receipt, whereupon the young prisoner will be processed out.

  At seven-thirty Monday night a black Cadillac pulls into my driveway and three men step out. Danny answers the door, as I am busy at the Jenn-Air grilling pork chops. On the nearest burner the water is boiling in a half-full pot, ready for the rice.

  Danny calls me into the living room, where she has settled the trio in and is taking drink orders. I turn off the stove before joining them. The car dealer puts in his order for the Glenlivet 12 single malt we keep around; Father Bjorn chooses coffee; and Jana Emerich says he would like a bottle of water. I immediately sense discomfort and I sit down across from Jana, hoping to join in and break some more ice.

  "So..." I say to Jana, "you're out. That's a good thing."

  "Yeah," he says and sniffs. "I stink. Can I take a shower?"

&n
bsp; "Sure" I say, "but let's talk here a few minutes first with your dad. He's probably got some ground rules for how this is going to work and I know I do too."

  "Like what kind of rules?"

  "Well, general living rules," Father Bjorn says. "The usual stuff. Like the bail conditions said, no illegal drugs, no alcohol, no firearms, no--"

  "Yeah, I get all the no's. But what are some of the yeses? Do I just get to go to school and study? Can I still go to football games?"

  Father Bjorn looks at me. He can’t answer because Jana was released to me and Danny. I say, "Well, as long as we have you home by a decent hour, I don't see why you shouldn't go to a game. Father?"

  "That sounds fine to me. I know Jana loves football and wants to get out with his friends. It all sounds pretty wholesome."

  "I agree," I say. "But there needs to be some guidelines. This is your lawyer speaking. I'm going to send Marcel, my investigator, with you to the games. He'll keep out of sight; you won't even know he's around. But he's going to keep an eye on you so nobody can claim you've done something bad again. Especially so no one can claim you violated the conditions of your release. Fair enough?"

  "I'm cool with that," says Jana. "I don't really have any friends anyway, so nobody's gonna even notice anything."

  "Another guideline. You are never to break off from the group. Always stay with the crowd. We don't need someone saying you went off and did something wrong. When you're with the group you've got a whole bunch of witnesses around you. Especially this: never go off alone with a girl. They will--"

  "Afraid I might choke out another one, Mr. Gresham?" the teen asks.

  I smile. "No. That's not my fear at all. My fear is what someone might say you did. That's why no alone time with anyone, boy or girl. It all gets back to staying with the crowd."

  "What about at school, Michael?" asks Father Bjorn.

  "That's a good question. Are there ever times where you're alone at school?" I ask.

  Jana shakes his head. "Only to hit the john during class. Sometimes you're alone in there."

  "Do you need a hall pass to do that?"

  "Nope. Just the teacher's okay."

  "But you do have hall monitors?"

  "Man, where have you been? We have armed security and cops in high school anymore. Hall monitors were like fifty years ago."

  "That sounds even better, where you're concerned. The more eyes on you, the better. Eyes equal witnesses, and as long you're a good boy and don't do dumb stuff, you'll be in compliance with your conditions of release. Now. I have heard that in California you were smoking pot. You need to know that Illinois looks very dimly on pot use, especially by minors. If you get caught here even with one joint--even with just a roach--you will find yourself back in jail faster than you can blink. This judge won't put up with even a single, tiny violation. So the rule is: pot, no. Same for alcohol. You must be twenty-one to drink in Illinois. You're not only not twenty-one, you've also been told by your judge that one of the conditions of your release is no alcohol. Or drugs.”

  At that moment, Danny returns with everyone's order. As she passes his bottled water to him, I see Jana make eye contact with my wife and I see a him flash her a faint smile. I think this is a good sign. It never occurs to me that it might mean anything else.

  "You also have a curfew," I remind Jana as I read down through the court document releasing him. That's nine on school nights, eleven on weekends. You also are required to remain in school or, if you drop out, to obtain employment. As your lawyer, I'm telling you that you will not drop out, that you will make great grades. How were your grades in California?"

  He sits back in his chair and pushes the long brown hair from his face. He shakes his head. "Tell you what, I never missed the honor roll in over three years. I'm right at the top."

  "That's terrific," says Father Bjorn. "I was always on the honor roll too."

  The son ignores the father, taking several long swallows of the water in his bottle.

  "Final thing to note, you cannot commit a crime. If you do, just like all the rest of them, straight back to jail. This means some crime as minor as shoplifting. Or vandalism. If they catch you with a can of spray paint beside a graffiti wall, you're headed back to jail. Or if you swipe an apple from a farmer's market, back to jail."

  "Can I have people over to my room?" he asks from left field.

  Danny shoots me a look and shakes her head.

  "For right now, we would prefer you wait on that. Let us see how it goes with our new family unit and get used to each other. Then we can talk about bringing in other people. Fair enough?"

  He nods and wipes his mouth. "Guess so. You sound like you know what you're doing, Mr. Gresham. I'm just lucky as all hell you're giving me a place to stay. I want to finish school and start college next September. So I'll do everything by the book. You can count on it from me."

  The words are the right words. But the feeling behind them--well, that feels incongruent. He is more in a surrender mode than a compliance mode. More like he is being forced at gunpoint to comply rather than jumping at the chance to comply and stay out of jail. It worries me. I look for Danny's check-in with me, but she has broken off into a whispered conversation with our new houseguest and doesn't meet my eyes.

  Father Bjorn is increasingly uncomfortable chit-chatting with Bledsoe about the car business while at the same time unable to resist the opportunity to stare at his newfound son. I can see that he is amazed at the turn his life has taken and that he is eating it up, getting to be with his son and getting to have an impact in his life. Even under such perverse circumstances, he is involved in the world of human flesh and blood.

  Finally, I say, "Well, everyone, I guess we can open it up to questions now. Jana, this is a good time for you to ask away. We're all here to help you and we need to know what you don't know."

  The young man looks across the room and focuses on the far wall.

  "I can't think of anything. But if I remember, I'll just whistle," he says, and emits a short, sharp whistle. It is a wolf whistle, actually, and he follows it up with a huge smile at Danny. She blushes and looks down at the floor. Without thinking, she brushes the part on the side of her head with her fingers, pulling her hair away from her forehead and adjusting the silver barrette she's wearing. She wets her lips with her tongue and turns to smile at me. I return her smile and notice that Jana hasn't taken his eyes off her since the whistle. I imagine he's having to deal with having a woman around who isn't going to be after him to take care of her, unlike his mother. He's probably thinking hard about that and I know it will take some getting used to.

  So I ignore his interest in my wife.

  "Can I bring my snake from Uncle Tim's?"

  "Snake?" says Danny, almost as a cry. "Please tell me you're joking!"

  "No. It's a small python. It eats mice. It won't hurt your baby."

  "Oh my God," says Danny, "just the image of that--"

  "Let's give the snake thing a few days," says Father Bjorn. "These kind people are dealing with enough without that."

  "Thank you," Danny says.

  She shivers and rubs her hands on the sleeves of her sweater.

  Jana watches her. He's very open with his eyes.

  Taking her in and doesn't give a damn who sees.

  15

  On the trip back from Uncle Tim's where we’ve gone to pick up Jana’s things, even though I'm driving I can hardly keep my eyes off of Jana, who's riding in the passenger seat, his pet python wrapped completely around his lower right arm. I gave in and brought the snake along when I saw the look of disappointment on Jana’s face as we were leaving without his pet.

  "His name's Leonard," says my houseguest. "He's a Ball Python. That's just about the most popular snake there is."

  "Why ball?"

  "I don't know."

  He is petting the snake and scratching its head. I can just see this thing wrapped around my daughter's neck. It's a horrible image and I change the topic.<
br />
  "Are you up to going out on my boat with me?"

  "Are you kidding? Hell, yes!"

  "Let's drop off Leonard and his cage and get him locked in, and then we'll drive down to the yacht club."

  "Yacht club? You seriously belong to a yacht club?"

  "Of course. It's where I keep my boat. It's no different than belonging to a golf country club. You get the idea."

  "Lots of drinking and grab-ass and card games. Am I right?"

  "Pretty much. Throw in a few regattas, a New Year's Eve blowout, and costume parties, and you've got the full picture."

  "What kind of boat you got?"

  "Sundancer. It's a three-fifty model," I add, guessing that he knows nothing about Sea Ray boat models.

  "Thirty-seven foot. I know your boat exactly."

  "How's that?"

  "When we lived in Santa Monica, I worked on a boat cleaning crew. We saw lots of Sundancers, Mr. Gresham."

  "Why don't you call me 'Michael?' That okay with you?"

  "Okay. So Michael, what are we fishing for?"

  "I like trout and salmon. We have King and Coho in the lake."

  "You eat your catch?"

  "Pretty much."

  "I wonder if Leonard would like fish. Probably not. He prefers pinkies."

  "Pinkies being what?"

  "Baby mice. He loves them."

  Again, the image. I try to remember whether the snake’s enclosure is lockable. That will have to be a must, some kind of lock.

  "I doubt that he'd like fish. Besides, I eat the fish. He can stick to the mice."

  "Fair enough, Michael. Damn, I can't believe you have a 'Dancer!"

  "You like being on the water?"

  "I do. I even crewed a little back in California. I loved going out on day trips."

  "What was your job?

  "Jack-of-all trades. Mostly baiting hooks for rich people. Tossing chum into the water to get things going. That kind of stuff."

  We ride along in silence, then. Several miles later, as we're passing a Starbucks, I pull suddenly across two lanes and fall in line at the familiar green sign. I'm up for a sweet Starbucks drink, something like a mocha.