Judge Me When I'm Wrong Read online

  “That would be Kelly, the courier.

  “How would you describe the girl?”

  “Like I said, pretty. A lot of hair and fancy high heels.”

  “Trina, the fashionista. What were they doing, Don?”

  “Smoking and talking. Fletcher was doing most of the talking, but the girl was making her points, too.”

  Charlie closed her eyes a second to catch the thought that sped across her brain. “I wonder how the ghost knew when to come back to the courtroom?”

  “Educated guess? Don’t you usually end the day at four?”

  “Most of the time. But not always. Let’s head to the office to debrief.”

  # # #

  Gil described, in detail, his achingly emotional meeting with Jason. There wasn’t much to say in response, but Don had a reaction.

  “At least he helped you clean up the Mustang.”

  Charlie, Judy and Gil glared at Don. Charlie had given up being surprised by some of the insensitive things that came out of Don’s mouth, but he still managed to stun her from time to time.

  “That’s the only thing you have to say about this boy’s pain?” Judy said, unable to help herself, then turning her shoulder to Don as she’d done so many times before. “Do you plan to tell Jason’s father about your conversation?” Judy asked Gil.

  Gil shook his head. “It’s not my place. Jason has to be the one to tell his father about his sexual orientation. But a few people are aware now that Jason’s gay, so he better not wait long.”

  “That’ll be a tough conversation,” Charlie said. “Maybe he could talk to his mother first.”

  “I made the same suggestion to him,” Gil said.

  Charlie shifted the meeting to the Canova trial. “There was an FBI witness on the stand today. Goulet looked like he was going to have a heart attack when he realized feds were in the courtroom.”

  Don nodded in agreement. “He slunk out of there like a turkey two days before Thanksgiving.”

  “I’m surprised he takes the chance of being in a courthouse where there’s bound to be all kinds of law enforcement,” Gil said.

  “He’s probably using an alias.” Don pulled himself closer to the table and turned pages in his notebook. “Plus, he really doesn’t look much like that photo the FBI gave us. He’s thinner now, wears glasses, and has shaved his head. I followed him to a house at 11415 Periwinkle Street in Taylor. Might be where he lives. He was there for several hours, and nobody else came or left. Then, like I told Charlie, he came running out at three-thirty, and I followed him back to Murphy courthouse. He parked, went in, and I watched from behind a hedge as he talked to some of Charlie’s jurors in the smoker’s courtyard.”

  “How do we find out what name he’s using now?” Charlie asked. “Anybody who comes into the visitors’ door at the courthouse has to show ID. You think they scan those?”

  Charlie’s question was met with “are you kidding?” stares.

  “Why don’t we start with the records for the house on Periwinkle,” Judy offered, “and Don running the plates on his car.”

  “Right, I still need to make that call,” Don said, taking a note.

  “So, here’s something,” Charlie said. “One of the jurors today confirmed my suspicion about bribery. She said she was waiting at the bus stop, and a man started talking to her about her jury vote.”

  “Was it Goulet?” Gil asked.

  “She said she’d hadn’t seen him at the courthouse, before or after he spoke to her, but she suspects some of the others have also been approached.”

  “Did she say who?”

  “The same ones Don saw chatting with the ghost today.”

  “I guess that proves you’re right-on about the jury tampering,” Gil said.

  “I think we should investigate the rest of the jurors,” Charlie suggested.

  “Why? Isn’t that getting into tricky legal waters?”

  “I don’t think so. There’s a presumption that jurors are anonymous, but the first amendment allows the public to know jurors’ names. Think about it; anybody sitting in the courtroom can identify jurors, at least by sight.”

  “But if you’re right that the ghost, or somebody working for him, is contacting certain jurors and not others, he has a lot more information than just what you all look like,” Don noted.

  “Right. So where’s he getting his information? Is he doing his own research like us?”

  Charlie moved to the whiteboard, and pulled out a red marker. She wrote and circled a name.

  “Earl Thompson,” Judy read aloud.

  “Maybe it’s the junior prosecutor feeding info to Goulet.”

  “That’s a reasonable theory,” Gil agreed.

  Judy opened a folder, and distributed copies of the one-sheeter she’d created. “Here’s what I know about Thompson so far.”

  “This is a great summary,” Charlie said, reading. “How’d you discover he’s the youngest in a family of eight?”

  “I found an article in his hometown paper in Arkansas. It was a small-town-boy-makes-good sort of thing.”

  “I never even heard of this city where he was born,” Don said.

  “You’d probably have to be Bill Clinton to have heard of it,” Judy quipped.

  “He certainly lives at a fancy address,” Gil noted. “That’s one of the new buildings on the Detroit riverfront.”

  “And he’s a man-about-town,” Judy added. “I found a half-dozen news clippings about his social activities. That’s not in the summary, but I have the copies.”

  “Let me see those,” Don said, reaching. “Yep, he’s the one I saw in Goulet’s car.”

  “His credit score isn’t too impressive,” Gil said. “Not for a single guy with the salary he makes. He’s probably overextended. That would make him vulnerable to someone who wants to pay for information.”

  “Okay. I want to find out fast which jurors have probably taken bribes,” Charlie said.

  “Will they have to go to jail?” Judy asked.

  “I don’t know. What’s the law on that, Gil?”

  Gil laced his fingers across his chest. “Well, jury tampering is a felony. But there’s also a charge called Bribe Received by a Juror, or something like that. I think it’s still a felony, but maybe a different class. I’ll have to look it up.”

  “Judy, here are the other juror names I was able to dig up. I’m not sure the spellings are correct. Tomorrow, see what you can find out about them. Concentrate first on Mr. Fletcher, the lady who works for Blue Cross—her last name’s Murphy—and this Pizzimente guy.”

  “You want me to stay with the ghost?” Don asked.

  “Yes. I need proof of a direct link between him and Frank Canova.”

  “And I guess I’m staying with the Ferry case,” Gil said.

  “Right. It’s the work that’s actually bringing in money.”

  # # #

  Charlie sat next to Mandy in a back booth at their favorite Mexican restaurant. They both had giant salt-rimmed margaritas, and they shared chips and salsa while waiting for their food. The tables at the neighborhood haunt were filled with jovial diners. Animal-shaped piñatas and strings of peppers hung from the ceiling, and the entire room glowed from the year-round Christmas lights strung along the windows and the chair rail. What the eatery lacked in imaginative décor was offset by the authentic, fresh, and tasty entrees created and dished up by the owner’s wife in the cocina.

  “Another margarita?” the waiter asked as he placed sizzling fajita combination platters on the table. The steam from the grilled steak and chicken pushed Charlie and Mandy back against the bench.

  “Not for me. I’m driving,” Charlie said.

  “Well, I’m not. So, ‘si’ to another margarita.” Mandy smiled.

  They dug into their food—elbows bumping—for two minutes before Charlie picked up the conversation where they’d left off.

  “So, I think the ghost has bribed some of the jurors.”

  “Have y
ou seen any money pass hands?” Mandy asked, capturing rock salt on her tongue.

  “Stop doing that.”

  “What?”

  “Sticking your tongue out like that. It makes me so hot.”

  “It’s probably just the salsa verde making you hot. Come on, answer my question.”

  “I haven’t seen any exchange of money. But there’s a group who regularly gathers to whisper. Don saw several of them talking to this Goulet guy—first at the casino bar, then today in the courthouse patio. I’m putting two and two together.”

  “But you can’t prove it.”

  “Mrs. Andrews says she was offered a bribe.”

  “But she also told you it wasn’t Goulet who approached her. It was someone else.”

  “Right. I think the only way to get proof is to show my hand.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think I just have to straight up accuse one of them of taking a bribe.”

  “You think someone will admit to it?”

  Charlie took a break from eating to think. She watched Mandy hold a flour tortilla across the palm of her hand, and systematically scoop a mix of steak and chicken, pico de gallo, guacamole, and sour cream into the center of the tortilla. She rolled the tortilla into what looked like a blunt, tucked the ends, then carefully cut it in half, pushing back the overflowing contents with her knife. Taking a big bite of her makeshift burrito, she chased it with a forkful of beans and chewed contentedly, rewarding her efforts with a long sip of her drink.

  “Have I ever told you that watching you eat is like having an orchestra seat at a Broadway musical?”

  “You’re not going to break into a Sweeney Todd song, are you?”

  “I would if Judy were here.” Charlie smiled at her girlfriend, then changed topics. “Look, I know the whole thing sounds weird.”

  “What whole thing?”

  “Trying to figure out this jury tampering business.”

  “No, it doesn’t sound weird. It sounds obsessive. You have Don following this guy around, and you’re checking into people’s backgrounds like some client is paying you, and they’re not. Ultimately, you have to tell the judge or somebody and it will all lead to a mistrial. Why not just do that now?”

  “I could be wrong. You said it yourself. I don’t have proof.”

  “You’re probably not wrong. The knitting lady confirmed your suspicions, and that guy in the courtroom is a red flag.”

  Charlie sliced up some steak and chicken, mixed it with a pile of rice and shoved it into her beans. She tore off a piece of tortilla, and with the aid of a fork scooped the mix onto the tortilla and into her mouth.

  “Olé.” Mandy roared at Charlie’s technique. Then she got quiet. She put her fork down until Charlie looked her in the eye. “Why are you pursuing this? What do you hope to accomplish?”

  “To see justice served.”

  “If you talk to the judge tomorrow, you’ll have done all that’s expected of you.”

  “What’s expected has never been enough for me. You should know that by now.”

  # # #

  “You want to put the Corvette in the garage?” Mandy asked as they pulled up to the house.

  “Nah. I’ll leave it in the driveway. I’ll be heading out before you in the morning.”

  “Okay. I’m going to walk Hamm. You want to come?”

  “If you don’t mind, no. Judy phoned. I want to call her back before it gets too late.” Charlie leaned over to kiss Mandy. “You’re right, Hon. I have become obsessed with this courtroom drama. I’ll ask to speak to the judge tomorrow.”

  Stepping through their front door, they were greeted by Hamm with jumps and twirls and frantic tail wags. He was a pleasant mix of Labrador and some other more high-strung breed. His welcome was always enthusiastic, but tonight it was driven by his need for the outdoors.

  “Okay, my boy, we’re going for a walk,” Mandy said, using her baby-talk voice and grabbing the leash.

  Charlie rubbed Hamm’s head and pushed his excited bottom to the floor so Mandy could connect the leash to his collar.

  “We’ll be right back. Tell Mommy we’ll be right back,” Mandy cooed, closing the front door.

  Charlie sat at the kitchen counter to call Judy, who answered on the first ring.

  “I got the information you wanted on most of the names.”

  “Wait, Judy. I’ve decided we’re not going to do any more investigating on the trial. Tomorrow morning I’ll send the judge a message about improprieties with the jury, and we’ll be out of it. Sorry to put you to so much trouble.”

  “No worries. All part of a day’s work. Have you discussed it with Don?”

  “Not yet.”

  “He’s out tracking the ghost right now, isn’t he?”

  “That won’t be a waste of time. We’ll be able to give the FBI specific information about Goulet’s whereabouts and his activities of the last couple of days. That’s a favor that might come in handy later. But I better call Don now.”

  “Okay, Charlie. See you tomorrow?”

  “Probably early. I doubt I’ll be on jury duty after I speak with the judge.”

  Charlie took a deep breath before dialing Don’s number. He wouldn’t be so understanding about standing down. He was hours into evening surveillance work, and he hated sitting around in a car.

  “What is it, Mack?” Don answered grumpily.

  “How are you doing?”

  “I’m bored and hungry. I’m parked up the street from a restaurant in Bloomfield Hills where ten minutes ago Allan Bateman was having a drink with Frank Canova and the ghost. They were all thick as thieves.”

  “Or put another way, it’s a billable attorney-client meeting.”

  “I’m sticking with thieves. Because after celebrity lawyer Bateman left, guess who showed up?”

  “One of the jurors?”

  “No.”

  “Are you gonna make me guess?”

  “Assistant prosecutor Earl Thompson. He’s in there now.”

  “Damn! Can you get a photo?”

  “I don’t think so. There’s no way to walk in without being seen. It’s kind of a fancy place . . .”

  Charlie jumped from her seat as the front door crashed open, shaking the walls. Mandy was screaming. Charlie dropped the phone and ran to the front of the house where she was met by a blast of cold air and a wide-eyed shaken Mandy.

  “Charlie,” she sobbed. Her coat was ripped. Her face had wide red blotches and was smudged with dirt. “They took Hamm.”

  Chapter 14

  Tuesday

  Charlie gripped the wheel of the Corvette with white knuckles. Despite the piercing cold from the open window, she wiped sweat from her eyes. They’d been circling the area for an hour looking for Mandy’s attacker. Every joint, every muscle, in Charlie’s body was tensed with fury, and the gun nestled in her lap gave her resolve. She looked away from the street at Mandy, who sat stony-faced and somber, curled in on herself and pressed against the passenger door.

  “I should have been able to stop him.” Mandy’s voice was raspy.

  “It happened too fast.”

  “If only I’d had my gun.”

  Mandy had been frantic when she’d burst through the front door, quickly pulled herself from Charlie’s embrace, and grabbed at the car keys. Charlie had only seconds to retrieve her gun from the hall closet and convince Mandy she was still too shaken to drive. They sped the three blocks to the spot where a man driving a late-model Mercedes had pulled to the curb, rolled down the window, and called Mandy by name.

  She’d pulled at the leash to slow Hamm, pausing to peer at the man in the shadows of the front seat, and had no time to react when the back seat passenger threw open the door and charged at her. Mandy backpedaled, falling against a tree. Hamm sprung forward in protective mode, but was stopped short by the leash looped around Mandy’s wrist. Hamm’s lunges wouldn’t allow Mandy to regain her footing, and she cried out as she slammed into the tree seve
ral times. Hamm’s furious barking and Mandy’s shouts drew the attention of people in nearby houses, and front porches suddenly lit up. The assailant kicked Hamm, and he yelped in pain and fell to the ground. Then the man hit Hamm in the head with a rock loosened from the tree box ledge. Mandy pushed to her knees to spring at the man, and that’s when he aimed a gun at her head.

  “Stop,” he yelled, unclipping the leash from Hamm’s collar. “Tell your partner to back off and mind her own business. This is a warning.” Without another word he dragged Hamm, stunned and hurting, into the Mercedes and it careened down the street.

  Charlie’s phone rang, and she put it on speaker.

  “Don?”

  “Mack, I’m in front of your house. Where are you?”

  “Mandy and I are looking for the son of a bitch.”

  “Did she get the plate?”

  “No. Everything happened so fast.”

  “Mack, both of those goons are long gone. They’d never stay in your neighborhood.”

  “We thought they might put Hamm out of the car. He was hurt.” Charlie teared up.

  “Come back to the house and we’ll figure out what to do.”

  # # #

  Grosse Pointe Park Detective Gino Solis sat across the kitchen counter from Charlie, Mandy, and Don. He wrote notes as Mandy recounted the details of the assault. Charlie had dabbed an antibacterial ointment on the scrapes on Mandy’s hands and cheek, but her torn shirt was streaked with grime and the back of her red hair was matted with tree bark and grass.

  “We’re going to record it as an assault and battery,” Solis said. “Strictly speaking this is Detroit jurisdiction, but because you’re one of ours, we’ll claim the case and put it on the front burner. I’ll have a couple of uniforms go back to the scene in the morning, check the tree box for any evidence, and talk to the neighbors on that block. This isn’t much of a description: Black, six feet tall, skinny build, dark clothes.”

  “Sorry. I was getting bounced around, and by the time I could focus on the guy, he was holding a gun, which got all my attention.”

  “You didn’t get a look at the driver at all?”