03_Cornered Coyote (10 page)

"Do you know if the psychologist was in touch with any of the other guests after that weekend?"

"No. I never talked to any of them again. I began to worry that Jeffrey wouldn't be able to make the anti-aging hormone or Freedom because of his declining mental condition. I’d never taken the pill and preferred to use the original anti-aging hormone. One afternoon several months after the Memorial Day weekend, I went down to his lab. He'd stopped giving me the hormone. Fortunately, I'd figured out where it was and learned to inject myself. There was almost no Freedom left. When I went down to his lab, he was the worst I'd ever seen him. He was out of control. I’d prepared his favorite foods, hoping I could get him to make Freedom and the anti-aging hormone for me. I suggested we spend the rest of the afternoon in our bedroom. Then he told me hated me and that I would never get either one of them again. I truly believed he was insane and I feared for my life."

"Maria, it sounds like he was insane. Rational people don't intentionally addict people. I feel sorry for those poor people who were unsuspecting victims."

"Yes, I know, but back to Jeffrey. He was eating with his hands and there was a large butcher knife on the lab table next to him. He looked at me with a hateful look in his eyes and his hand started to reach for the butcher knife. I knew he had a gun he kept in the lab because he was worried that someone would try to steal his discoveries. I backed up to the desk where he kept the gun and got it out of the drawer and held it behind my back. He suddenly stood up, grabbed the butcher knife, and raised it over his head in a threatening manner.

“I didn’t know if he intended to scare me or kill me. What I do know is that he was holding the butcher knife over his head as he charged towards me. He screamed that I was a fucking bitch and he was going to kill me. It was the most frightening thing I’ve ever experienced, even worse than when I was being gang-raped. I’d never in my life held a gun or fired one. I closed my eyes, pulled the trigger, and the gun went off, killing Jeffrey. I couldn't believe it, but I knew I had to leave. I was afraid I'd be charged with his murder and go to prison for the rest of my life."

"From what you've told me, it sounds like self-defense. If you hadn’t fired the gun, he would have killed you. There is a thing in law called 'justifiable homicide.' I'll probably use that as your defense. Go on."

"I packed some clothes, got in my van, and headed towards Phoenix. I stopped at a rest area, placed the gun in a cardboard box, and put it in the trash. A little farther down the road I pulled off the highway and put on a burkha to disguise myself. I went to our bank, withdrew some money, and put the rest of it in an account I'd opened in the Cayman Islands. I abandoned the van in a Wal-Mart parking lot, called a cab, and went to the Sky Harbor airport in Phoenix. I saw on the monitor that there was a flight to France which was leaving soon. I'd read about Provence in a magazine and it seemed like the right place for me to go."

"I can only imagine how you must have felt. You poor thing! You must have been terrified."

"I was. I landed in Marseille and began reinventing myself. I went to a real estate agency and the realtor showed me a cottage in the village of St. Victor la Coste. A few months after I got there I began working as the luncheon chef for Henri Bendel, the owner of Henri’s Restaurant. I met Jordan there and we fell in love. I landed here yesterday and was arrested as soon as I cleared immigration. That's pretty much everything."

“Did you know that the Riverside DA is up for election and that he was really pressured to arrest you because of an article that was in some tabloid?”

“I think Jordan told me about it. I don’t quite understand the importance of it.”

“Well, the DA doesn’t want it to look like he’s not following the letter of the law by letting you go free. He has to look good to his constituents and arresting you for murder as soon as you returned to California is one way to do it. To change the subject, did you know about Jeffrey's manic-depressive medication?"

"I knew he took a pill daily for it and he told me it kept the highs and lows under control. In the last few months it seemed that he was exhibiting a lot of the symptoms associated with a manic-depressive condition. He would go for days without sleeping and then sleep for days. He often talked so fast I couldn't keep up with what he was saying. Certainly his personal grooming became non-existent towards the end. Why would that be in the file?"

"Evidently he’d stopped taking the drug prescribed by his doctor and made his own. The autopsy showed that Jeffrey was ingesting ingredients similar to those found in the drug his psychiatrist prescribed, but with one difference. He badly miscalculated one of the ingredients and from what the autopsy indicates, excessive amounts of that ingredient were found in his body. In such high doses, insanity is almost certain. Couple that with a manic-depressive condition that was not being treated properly and it’s no wonder he was acting like he did."

"Brian, I had no idea. I didn't know he was self-medicating. So tell me, where do we go from here?"

"You mentioned that the psychologist, Sean, who was at the Blue Coyote Motel that Memorial Day weekend, had given you his card. Do you still have it?"

"I don't know. I'll look for it if you think it's important. Why do you want it?"

"I'd like to talk to him. If we could get the other people who were there over the Memorial Day weekend to testify on your behalf during the trial, that would be a huge help, particularly if they thought Jeffrey appeared to be insane. It would help explain why you fired the gun. Can you think of anyone else who would have seen Jeffrey the last few months of his life and might testify on your behalf?"

"No. He never left the motel property and spent almost all of his time in the lab. I handled everything from buying supplies to banking. I don't think any of our guests, other than the six I mentioned, ever saw him."

"Maria, I know how hard things are right now. I'll meet you at the courthouse tomorrow. We're scheduled for a 9:00 a.m. hearing. I want you to plead not guilty. I truly believe you're not guilty and I think I can get you acquitted."

"Brian, there’s one other thing. Jordan talked to your friend Slade while I was being photographed and everything. Anyway, Slade told Jordan he'd made arrangements for me to be in isolation for a couple of weeks. What happens after that? I've heard so many stories about what happens to women in jail. After the gang-rape, I don't think I could survive something like that again. Can you help me?"

"Don't worry about it. I'll talk to Slade. He has a knack for pulling a rabbit out of a hat. This evening I want you to look for the psychologist’s card and if you can't find it, try and remember his last name. Bring it with you tomorrow. See you then and try and get a good night's sleep. Stay where you are. I'll let myself out.”

CHAPTER 15

Brian walked down the front steps of Jordan’s home and turned to his left, following the narrow sidewalk to the street. Beachfront property was very expensive in Southern California. In order to build as many homes as possible overlooking the beach, by necessity they were close together and built on narrow, deep lots. The house next door to Jordan’s was so close it blocked the setting sun.

As he opened his car door he noticed a silver Lexus pulling into the driveway behind Jordan’s house and realized it must be Maria’s fiancé.

"You must be Brian Meeks," Jordan said, putting out his hand as he got out of his car. "I'm Jordan Kramer. How did it go with Maria?"

"It's nice to meet you. I've heard good things about you from a number of people. Evidently you're a legend in the art theft world," Brian said, shaking Jordan's hand. "Maria told me everything that happened leading up to Jeffrey's death and following it."

"Thanks again for taking her case. Knowing Maria, there is no way she could murder someone. As you said, I don't know the details yet, but I've been around a lot of lawbreakers and Maria doesn’t fit the profile. If I can be of help, please call me. I know she's terrified about going to jail. Evidently Slade's the one who hired you and arranged for her to be in isolation for a few weeks. What happens after that? She's much too beautiful and sensitive to spend time in jail."

"I'll be honest. That worries me, too. I'm going to call Slade as soon as I get in my car and see if he can do something about keeping her in isolation. I'm good in front of the judge, but Slade has a long reach behind the bench. We'll do everything we can to make sure she'll be okay. Try not to worry."

"Thanks. I appreciate that. Well, nice meeting you. I better go see how she's doing."

* * * * *

Slade answered on the first ring. "Hi, Brian. How’d it go with Maria? Gonna be able to save what I unnerstan’ is a very nice ass?"

"I think she's going to make a very good impression on the jury. Have you met her?"

"Nah, ain't been that lucky, but I hear she's easy on the eyes."

"She's far more than easy on the eyes. No man can look at her and not get a hard-on. Yes, she’s more than easy on the eyes, but that's the problem."

"Whaddya mean? Thought bein' easy on the eyes was what every woman wanted? Guess I missed the memo on that. No wonder I've got ex-wives," he said, laughing.

"Slade, I know you've got ties to some people I don’t want to meet or defend, but you've got to figure out a way to keep her safe. She's going to be the cause of every wet dream in that jail starting tomorrow night. I met her fiancé or whatever he is, Jordan Kramer. He seems like a nice guy. He mentioned you'd arranged for her to be in isolation for a few weeks. What's going to happen after that?"

"I gotta lot of things in the works. Got a few chits I'm callin’ in. Things may work out for her. You never know."

"Slade, you know I don't take a case unless I think I can win it. Since you haven't met her, you probably don't know the whole story, do you?"

"Can't say’s I do. And I know ya’ took a gamble on this one fer’ me. Jes' want you to know I ‘ppreciates it," he said, taking a big slug out of his can of beer.

"She was gang-raped when she was twelve and she's prone to depression."

"Wha?" Slade said, spitting beer all over his desk. "She was gang-raped? At twelve? Jesus, I didn't know that. Poor kid."

"You can imagine her state of mind. She's terrified. And I don't want a depressed client on the stand who's a bitch for the shot caller for some lesbian jail gang. I'm counting on you, Slade. Her arraignment's tomorrow. Talk to you in a few days."

CHAPTER 16

After Brian left, Maria stretched out on the couch, lost in thought. Although she'd liked Brian, he hadn't guaranteed her that she’d be acquitted. Realistically she knew he couldn't. She'd read how members of the public were often certain a jury would bring in a guilty or not guilty verdict and then when the foreman read the verdict, it was the complete opposite of what the public had thought would happen.

Jordan practically assured me I wouldn't be arrested if I came back to California and look what happened. Tomorrow night I'll be spending the first of many nights in jail. I can't even begin to tell Jordan how terrified I am.

Just then the door from the garage opened and Jordan walked in. "I didn't expect you to be back so soon. Did something happen at work?" she asked, swinging her legs off the couch and walking over to hug him.

"Yeah, you might say that. I've been suspended from the force and put on what is called ‘administrative leave.’ Guess I'm in a state of shock."

"My God, Jordan! Oh no! This is all because of me. I know it. You're one of the best detectives they have," she said, her voice tinged with surprise and fear.

Jordan walked over to the couch, sat down, and put his head in his hands. He was quiet for several moments. When he raised his head, she saw unshed tears shining in his eyes. "Yes, that's all true,” he said, his voice cracking. “It's about what happened in Provence. Chief Lewis, the police chief from Laguna Beach…"

"I remember his name, Jordan,” she interrupted as she began crying. “He's the one you were texting and calling when you were in Provence, the one who hired you to go there and solve the mystery of the art thefts that occurred in Laguna Beach. I can’t believe they’d do this to you. Tell me everything. This is so wrong.”

"That’s the one. He and Captain Raymond called me into his office a little while ago. They told me a Parisian art dealer had been making his annual trip to Provence looking for artwork for his gallery. He spotted California Impressionistic paintings in two of the galleries and thought that was odd."

Tears ran down Maria’s cheeks. She put her arms around him and hugged him, then sat back so he could continue. "Oh God, Jordan, did they find out you didn't tell them you'd located all of the paintings?"

"More or less. Anyway, the Parisian dealer called an Interpol investigator whose area is art. He told the Interpol guy about the pieces he'd seen and then the Interpol guy went to Provence. One of the galleries had a hidden security camera. He asked the owner if anyone had expressed interest in the painting and how he’d acquired it. He told them he’d bought it from a Frenchman who lived in the United States. He said that a couple of months ago an American had been interested in it and also wondered where it had come from. The owner of the gallery offered to give the videotape from the security camera to him. The Interpol investigator and I have met at several conferences over the years and he identified me as the American in the videotape. He took the videotape and showed it to the second gallery owner who confirmed that I was the one who had shown interest in the California painting he had in his gallery.

"To make a long story short, the Interpol man matched the paintings up with the stolen Laguna Beach paintings. He called Chief Lewis about it. After he talked to the Interpol guy, he realized I'd lied for some reason, and called Captain Raymond. They've turned the matter over to the Police Commission who will hold a hearing in a few weeks. They'll gather evidence and give it to the Commissioners who will decide whether or not I should be fired or reinstated. I’m now on what is called 'administrative leave,' another term for 'there's a damn good chance you'll be fired.' "