Judge Me When I'm Wrong Read online

  “How can I help you?” he said.

  Gil mentally added the word neighbor. “I wonder if you can tell me what’s the easiest way for me to look at back issues of the local papers.”

  “You don’t have to wonder anymore. I can assist you with that. We have only one newspaper, the Gazette. The last ten days of the paper can be found in those drawers.” The librarian pointed beyond the terminals to a row of built-in counters.

  “I’m also interested in looking at back issues of the college paper.”

  “We don’t keep the hard copies of the university newspaper. You’d have to go to the Upjohn Library on campus to find those.”

  “Is the campus paper archived?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m interested in looking at the issues from February. I assume it’s best for me to search on the web for those?”

  “You’re absolutely right to assume that. Here’s the Wi-Fi information you’ll need to log on to a terminal.” He handed Gil a preprinted slip of paper.

  “Thank you, Mr. Thornton, for your help.”

  “Happy to be of assistance. Have a wonderful day.”

  Between the Gazette and the campus newspaper, Gil found a dozen news stories and editorials about the fraternity rape—half published in the week following the February assault. The incident had prompted a maelstrom of protests, and calls for additional scrutiny of campus fraternities. Initial news accounts of the sexual assault offered Maya anonymity, referring to her only as a nineteen-year-old female student. But in April, Maya’s father, Wallace Hebert, testified at a public safety hearing, making an emotional appeal to the men in the audience to talk to their sons about a woman’s right to consent. After, that Maya’s full name was included in the news stories about the fraternity party rape. In June, the university’s new female president announced she had commissioned a study on the prevalence of sexual assault on her campus. The resulting report noted a dramatic increase in the number of assaults in the last five years—many of them associated with Greek life. The campus police downplayed the accuracy of the report, but the university later issued a new process for reporting, and investigating, campus assaults, with a role for a newly-formed task force composed of faculty, administration, and students.

  In August, there was one news story about preparations for the grand jury inquiry and the announcement of the campus police superintendent’s resignation. It was clear Maya’s brave action in reporting her assault had made an impact on the culture of the university.

  # # #

  Two hours later, Gil was headed back to Detroit with copies of the news stories and a tentative appointment to meet Maya’s friends on Thursday. He punched his dashboard console to answer the call ringing on his mobile phone.

  “Are you already headed back?” Detective Holt asked.

  “Yes, but I’ll be back day after tomorrow.”

  “I’ve been cleared to give you the link to the video.”

  “The link?”

  “Yes. The video is on a website.”

  “I thought you had a physical record.”

  “We do. Our techs were able to make a copy.”

  “I see. Well, how do I get the link?”

  “I’m emailing it to you now. You should be able to click on it from your phone. Usually the video will play automatically.”

  “Wait a minute. I’ll call you back. I’m coming off the interstate.”

  “Okay. Call me after you’ve seen it.”

  Gil took the next highway exit and pulled into a gas station. He idled along the parking lane, and stared at his phone. The message from Holt was highlighted as unread. Gil didn’t use his phone to listen to music or watch videos. He wasn’t a Luddite, but neither he, Charlie, nor Don were up to date on phone technology. Up until early last year, Mack Investigations had used BlackBerry phones, the standard issue of federal agencies and a carryover from their Homeland Security days. Now they had the latest 2007 flip phones. After a couple of tries using his thumbs, the way he’d seen Judy do, he resorted to punching the small keyboard with his index finger. The link navigated to a grainy five-minute video. Despite viewing it on the tiny screen, it clearly showed the assault of Maya Hebert. It also showed a lanky, shadowy Jason Ferry leaning against the wall. Gil called Holt.

  “Did you see it?” she answered.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. We’ve heard there may be more video.”

  “It’s unfathomable to me that people will videotape a crime but do nothing to stop it.”

  “It’s a new day. People even show footage of themselves holding or using the property they’ve stolen. We’ve been able to nab a lot of people that way.”

  “Most criminals aren’t very smart.”

  “No, but they think they are. You wouldn’t believe how many people commit crimes they’ve seen on Law and Order.”

  “Don’t they watch the part where they get caught? ” Gil asked, sharing in the detective’s laughter.

  “I have something else for you, Acosta. We found out your client is a fairly frequent visitor to a club called The Apartment.”

  “The Apartment?” Gil asked, jotting it in his notebook. “What street is it on?”

  “It’s not in Kalamazoo. It’s in Grand Rapids.”

  “What?”

  “I know. It’s a long way to go to visit a nightclub. Unless you’re gay, and trying to be on the down-low.”

  # # #

  The Mack partners gathered around the conference table. Five years ago, Charlie, Don and Gil, former agents of DHS, had inherited Judy from the previous tenant of their office and formed their company. They’d had rough spots along the way, like earlier in the year when an investigation caused Gil injury and emotional trauma. He couldn’t save an informant who was brutally killed, and Charlie feared he might walk away from investigations work. Somehow, he’d managed to come to grips with his internal conflicts. He never talked about how.

  Now, Charlie listened intently as Gil described recent revelations in the Ferry case.

  “I spoke by phone with Maya’s high school friends. They were interviewed only once by the campus police; otherwise, they’ve tried to stay below the radar. But they told me a few things,” Gil said, looking at his notes. “They were very excited to be going to their first college party, but they were underage and their parents thought they were doing a sleepover with Maya. They didn’t know any of the people at the fraternity party, but they met lots of boys and they had a lot to drink. They don’t remember passing out, but they do remember waking up in the living room, and Jason telling them Maya had already left the party. They confirmed that Jason walked them to Maya’s dorm, but the building was locked, and without Maya they couldn’t get in. They went to an all-night diner for a few hours, then went home in the morning.”

  “Did Maya tell them what happened?” Charlie asked.

  “Yeah. But they wouldn’t talk about it. At least not on the phone.”

  “What about the local police? Did you speak with them?” Don asked.

  “I met with Candace Holt. Charlie’s met her. She’s a detective and has been very helpful, but the campus cops have jurisdiction in the investigation.”

  “Here’s the report they filed,” Charlie said, shoving a folder toward Don. “They did the basics, nothing extra.”

  “Charlie, I sat outside the fraternity house today. Some of the houses have security signs, and I bet that includes some cameras. There was sure to be some footage of the comings and goings at the house that night, but I don’t think the campus police ever looked into it. If they did, the information wasn’t in the report.”

  “It was a sloppy investigation all right. Or maybe just halfhearted.”

  “I think somebody agreed with you, because the head of campus security resigned in late summer.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Charlie said.

  “I have a lead on some new evidence,” Gil added. “I’ve already told the Ferrys about it—a video that might exone
rate Jason. It’s posted to a social media website used by the college kids. Something called Flickr.”

  “Never heard of it,” Charlie said.

  “Neither had I. I can’t keep up with all that stuff. I’m meeting with Maya’s friends Thursday, and I’m hoping they can fill me in on what this Flickr thing does.”

  “The Ferrys must have been delighted to hear about the video.”

  “Mrs. Ferry was. Of course, the judge wouldn’t show it. He’s a hard man to please,” Gil said, shaking his head. “It’s gotta be tough for Jason to live up to that man’s standards.”

  “What’s he like?” Don asked.

  “The judge?”

  “No. The kid. He’s a star athlete, isn’t he?”

  “Basketball player. Good student, and well-liked on campus. He’s a good-looking kid. Maya’s friends got all giggly when they talked about him.”

  “Does he have a girlfriend?” Judy asked.

  “Probably a lot of them,” Charlie responded. “He carries himself like a guy who grew up in privilege. He’s pretty sure of himself, don’t you think, Gil?”

  “Yes. And no. He broke down when I pressed him on why he didn’t try to help Maya. He didn’t have an answer.”

  “His folks insist it’s because he doesn’t want to be the one to rat out his fraternity brothers,” Charlie said.

  “Makes sense,” Don said. “I can respect it. Loyalty and all that.”

  “I’ve got one more thing.” Gil looked at his notebook, flipped through a few pages, and then closed it. “I’m not sure what to do with it. Detective Holt implied that Jason might be gay.”

  “What?” Charlie was incredulous.

  “I’ll be damned,” said Don.

  “How would she know that?” Charlie asked.

  “Before the campus police discouraged Kalamazoo PD’s involvement, Holt and her partner investigated all the Gamma Squared members charged with the rape. Holt says Jason frequents a gay bar in Grand Rapids.”

  The overhead light flickered. Charlie reached for her sticky notes and the Ferry folder. She jotted something on one of the green notes and stuck it in the folder.

  “Judge Ferry won’t like that information,” Charlie stated.

  “Even if it gets his son off the hook?” asked Judy.

  “No,” Charlie and Gil answered in unison.

  “Besides, being gay doesn’t necessarily mean Jason couldn’t be involved in the frat party rape,” Charlie said.

  “I guess not.” Judy nodded.

  “Especially if he’s trying to fit in with the boys and hide his sexuality,” Gil added. “I’ll call Jason tomorrow. Maybe arrange to talk to him in person. He’s probably deathly afraid of his father finding out he’s gay. I can tell you firsthand, it’s no fun to be on Judge Ferry’s bad side. I bet Jason already knows what that feels like.”

  The Mack partners finished their meeting with an update on the surveillance cases—a husband intent on proving his wife’s infidelity; a wife seeking the whereabouts of her husband’s mistress; and an insurance company wanting to avoid a big cash payout on what they believed to be a fraudulent claim.

  “All those investigations are going smoothly,” Don reported. “No problems at all with the subcontractors. We also got a call today about taking on another case. A lady who’s trying to track down her ex-husband so she can get his name off the deed of her house.”

  Charlie gave Don a knowing stare. Her eyes filled with boredom and disdain.

  “I know you hate ’em, Mack. But they keep the cash coming in the door.”

  “Don’s right about that. The domestic cases have brought in more than a fifth of our income this year,” Judy said.

  “The numbers don’t lie, Mack,” Don added.

  “Whatever,” Charlie said.

  “Anything shaking at the courthouse?” Gil asked.

  “Another mostly tedious day, but the defense attorney is Allan Bateman. He’s provided a few minutes of entertainment.”

  “Oooh. He’s that good-looking blond lawyer who’s on TV all the time,” Judy purred. “If things got dull, I’d just gape at him.”

  “Many of the female jurors, one or two of the men, and the lady court reporter and clerk agree with you, Judy. Look, I’m back at it at eight in the morning, so unless there’s something else to discuss, I’m done.”

  “Do we meet tomorrow when they let you out?” Judy asked.

  “Only if something new comes up. I’ll check in during one of my breaks.”

  Chapter 5

  Wednesday

  Day three of Charlie’s civic duty included listening to back-to-back audio recordings, and reading transcripts. After lunch, the court clerk announced that jurors would work until 6 p.m. to hear a last-minute witness. The groans in the jury room turned to cheers when she also announced that, because prosecutors had to attend to an emergency in an appellate case, jurors would have tomorrow off. At the afternoon break Charlie retreated to the solace of the window seat to decompress from the courtroom’s penetrating fluorescents and the monotonous transcripts. She poured coffee from her thermos and stared down at the courtyard. The flirtatious Mr. Fletcher was now among the smokers, obviously having reversed his quitter’s status. Fletcher and three other jurors formed a tight circle at the edge of the patio. At one point he looked up, and Charlie instinctively pulled back from the pane. She turned away from the window to take in the jury room.

  Sitting at the conference table, an older lady knitted what appeared to be an afghan. Skeins of yarn and needles protruded from the canvas bag in front of her. From an earlier conversation, Charlie knew the woman had been a teacher in the Detroit public schools and had known her mother, Ernestine, a former high school principal. One of the alternate jurors was asleep on the sofa. The only other person in the room was the youngest juror on the trial, a twenty-something guy from Bloomfield Hills. The kid was hunched over a thick book at one of the worktables. Charlie strolled toward the young man with curiosity.

  “I’m surprised you still want to read after the day we’ve had with those transcripts.”

  He looked up, removed his glasses, and pinched the skin between his eyes. “I have to study. I’m taking the LSAT this weekend. I’m thrilled to be off tomorrow to have an extra day to prepare.”

  Charlie peered over his shoulder at the text on his desk. “Ah. The PowerScore bible. I used that one, and the Kaplan book.”

  “You’re an attorney?”

  “Yes. But don’t practice. I keep up my certifications and renewals. I’m Charlie, by the way.”

  “Clint. My father’s an attorney. My mother too.”

  “And you’re following in their footsteps?”

  “Something like that. They gave me a year after college to try my hand at being a working musician. I milked it for another six months, but since they’re paying my rent and most of my other expenses, I felt I owed it to them to take the LSAT and try to do well.”

  “I get it.” Charlie held up her thermos. “Would you like some coffee? It already has cream and sugar.”

  “No thanks, I get my caffeine from Mountain Dew or energy drinks.”

  # # #

  The late witness in the trial was Canova’s former accountant. Former, because he’d spent the last two months as a guest of the state prison on the east side of Detroit. Prisoners usually came to court in their state-issue blue uniforms with the orange band sewn across the shoulders, but the accountant had been given the privilege of dressing like a civilian. Harvey Rush wore plain black cotton slacks, a white polo shirt, and a black cotton jacket. The man’s bulging eyes, narrow nose, and long neck reminded Charlie of a weasel. He fidgeted and constantly wrung his hands, but was a very effective prosecution witness.

  “What’s your occupation, Mr. Rush?” Gene Spivak asked.

  “I’m a CPA. Well, I used to be.”

  “And did you work for Mr. Canova in that capacity?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long did you work
for Mr. Canova?”

  “From 1997 to a year ago.”

  “Please describe the kind of work you did.”

  “I took care of all Frank’s taxes. I filled out the forms, kept all his receipts, and gathered the other documents. He had a few overseas cash transfers, and I managed those. I set up his accounts payable and receivable ledgers. His bank statements came to me.”

  “Frank is Mr. Canova?”

  “Uh, yes. Sorry.”

  “Did you make bank deposits for Mr. Canova?”

  “I made the electronic check deposits and transfers. A girl in the office handled the cash deposits. I also worked closely with her.”

  “What is her name?”

  “That’s Ms. Kendra Vaile.”

  “Did Mr. Canova keep a lot of cash on hand?”

  “He has a cash business. So, yes, there was a lot of currency moving around. But we had security protocols in place.”

  “Could Mr. Canova have kept cash off the books that you wouldn’t know about?”

  “Well, yeah, that could easily happen.”

  “Mr. Rush, can you tell me why you are currently incarcerated?”

  “I was convicted of fraud six months ago for failing to report cash transactions to our outside auditor.”

  The testimony went on like that for a while. The CPA admitted he had systematically fudged the books of the Fleetstar company, hidden cash transactions, and filed false tax records. Allan Bateman’s cross-examination focused on what Canova knew of Rush’s illegal activities. In the end, it came down to whether to believe a convicted crook’s word against an alleged crook.

  At six, the judge adjourned for the day, and Charlie gathered her phone and laptop from a downstairs locker. She’d left her Corvette parked in the reserved space of the building where Mack Investigations had their office, and after sitting all day she was looking forward to the walk.

  There was a break in traffic on Gratiot, and as she darted across the street she noticed the bald man she’d seen at the courthouse. He was sitting in a parked car. He quickly dipped his head when she looked his way. Charlie’s sixth sense tapped her shoulder. She walked a couple of blocks toward downtown, then doubled back to the courthouse. At the corner—out of the man’s line of sight—she aimed her cell phone camera at the driver’s window. Before she took a second photo, she depressed the keypad, as Judy had shown her, to zoom in on his face.