A Plague of Secrets (26 page)

“Until he met me.”

“And when was that?”

“About six years ago.”

Hardy had one hand over Maya’s own hand on the table and his other hand firmly holding her arm just above her elbow.

“So they broke off their relationship because of you?”

“Yes.”

Maya leaned over and whispered to Hardy. “Why is she saying this?”

Hardy thought he might know, but this really wasn’t the time to talk about it, so he shook his head very slightly and squeezed her arm tighter.

Braun frowned in their direction.

And Stier went on. “Yet, after this breakup, Mr. Vogler kept working for her at BBW. As his domestic partner, did you know Mr. Vogler’s salary there?”

“Yes. Ninety thousand dollars a year.”

A few gasps from the gallery greeted this intelligence.

“Did your partner share with you why he was paid so handsomely?”

“Your Honor”-Hardy showing some exasperation-“hearsay, relevance, facts not in evidence, conclusory. None of this entire line of questioning is probative.”

“It all goes to motive,” Stier put in, “as will be clear shortly.”

“Very well,” Braun said. “The objections are overruled. Go ahead, Mr. Stier.”

Stier repeated the previous question, and Jansey nodded with some enthusiasm. “She wanted to keep him around because she loved him. She thought she’d get him back.”

“And how did you feel about that?”

“I didn’t like it, of course. I resented it.”

“Did you ask him to quit his job?”

“Several times.”

“What reason did he give you for not quitting?”

“He couldn’t make anywhere near as much anywhere else. Besides, he could sell the marijuana out of BBW without any hassles. He had the perfect situation, he said. He couldn’t be fired. She was paying him just to keep him around.”

“So, to your knowledge, did Mr. Vogler tell you that Defendant knew about the marijuana sold out of her shop?”

“Yes, of course.”

Another whisper from Maya.
“That lying bitch!”

Another upper-arm squeeze from Hardy.

Stier paused for a moment. Pure theatricality. “Ms. Ticknor, did anything change between Mr. Vogler and Defendant in the last year?”

“Yes.”

“And what was that?”

“They started up an affair again.”

“And how do you know about this?”

“Dylan wasn’t coming home when he usually did and I called him on it.”

“So he admitted it?”

“Yes.”

“And what did you do?”

“I moved out. In with my parents.”

“When was this?”

“About this time last year. Say six months before-before he was killed.”

“And what happened next?”

“After a couple of weeks, he stopped it-the affair. He told me he’d made a mistake and begged me to come back to him, which I did. Mostly because of Ben. Our child. I wanted our son to have a father.” Jansey ran a fingertip under one of her eyes, then the other.

“Yes, of course,” Stier replied with an admirable sanctimonious-ness. He turned to the jury, including them in his heartfelt emotion. Now, returning to his witness, he cleared his throat. “After this second and most recent rejection of Defendant by Mr. Vogler, did things change at BBW?”

“Yes.”

“In what way?”

“Now she wanted to punish Dylan for dropping her, to fire him, but he couldn’t let her do that. He had too much stuff going on at the store. He couldn’t let it go.”

“So what did he do?”

“Well, mostly he threatened to tell her husband about the affair, and also some of the stuff they’d done in college.”

“In other words, he started blackmailing her.”

“If you want to call it that. Yes.”

“Thank you.” And turning, he said to Hardy. “Your witness.”

In spite of Maya’s outburst both she and Hardy had known the gist of Jansey’s testimony before she’d gone onto the stand-they had heard a similar version of it during the preliminary hearing. Hardy had hoped that much of Jansey’s testimony would never in fact be heard by the jury because so much of it was hearsay.

Well, that would show him.

But against the urge to hope, he was always prepared. Taking some pages from his binder, he walked up to his place in front of Jansey, handing them to her. “Ms. Ticknor,” he began, “do you recognize these pages which I’ve just handed to you?”

She glanced down at them, turned them over. “Yes. They’re transcripts of the talks I had with the inspectors.”

“You’ve had a chance to read them and to compare them to the original tape-recorded statements that you gave police?”

“Yes.”

“And they are a full and complete record of those interviews?”

“Yes, they are.”

“Ms. Ticknor, you’ve just told Mr. Stier that you knew that Mr. Vogler was blackmailing the defendant, right?”

“Correct.”

“And you’re absolutely sure about that?”

“Yes.”

“Now, Ms. Ticknor, I’d like you to turn to page two and read to the jury the highlighted section.” Jansey looked down, found the place, and read in a shaky voice.
“If he was blackmailing her, he could have just asked for a raise, and she would have had to give it to him, right
?
”

“Thank you. For the jury’s benefit, Ms. Ticknor, the
him
and
her
you use refer to who?”

“Dylan and Maya.”

“Good. So you were asking the inspectors a question about
if
Dylan were blackmailing Maya, isn’t that so?”

“I guess so, but-”

Hardy cut her off. “So, Ms. Ticknor, if it is true that you knew at the time that Dylan was blackmailing Maya, why did you have to ask the inspector something that you already knew?”

“Well, I-”

“Let me ask you again. Did you know for a fact that Dylan was blackmailing Maya?”

“Well, I don’t see how he could have-”

“
Ms. Ticknor
. Excuse me. Yes or no? Did you know for a fact that Dylan was blackmailing Maya?”

“Well, yes, he told me.”

“But is it correct that you have no explanation for that passage in the transcript that you just read?”

“No. I guess I was just confused.”

“Thank you.” Hardy kept right on. “Now you have just testified that Dylan told you that he was not afraid of Maya because he could tell her husband about their affair and she needed him for the marijuana business. Isn’t that right?”

“Well, yes.”

“Thank you. Now I’d like you to read another short excerpt from the transcript of the same interview. Page four, please, the highlighted section.”

Again, the witness found the spot and began to read: “
‘You’re right, though, about him not being afraid of her, or of losing the job.’

“ ‘But he never talked about why?’

“ ‘The most he ever said was that she owed him.’ ”
She looked back up at Hardy.

“ ‘The most he ever said was that she owed him.’ Are those your words?”

“Yes.”

“And you are referring to Dylan and Maya again, right?”

“Right.”

“So you’re saying that the most Dylan ever said about not being afraid of Maya, or of losing his job, was that she owed him?”

Again, a querulous, uncertain nod. “I guess so.”

“This isn’t a guessing game, Ms. Ticknor. Again. Either that’s what you said or it wasn’t. Which is it?”

“Okay, that’s what I said.”

“The most Dylan said about not being afraid of Maya was that she owed him, is that it?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.” Hardy turned to include the jury. “But you just testified that he said a lot more than that, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You just testified that he said he could blackmail her for two separate reasons. Would you agree that that’s different from that she owed him? Do you agree or not? Yes or no?”

“Well, that’s what I meant.”

“And how often did you have these conversations?”

“A lot of times.” She took her plea directly to the jury. “Just when we talked. It was just stuff he told me.”

“But when?” Hardy persisted. “If you didn’t know about any of this when you spoke to the inspectors, after Dylan was already dead, when could you have talked about it with him?”

Jansey threw an agonized glance over at Stier. “I don’t know. I’m not sure. But we did. I’m sure we did.”

The point made, Hardy left it. “One last short reading, if I may. The highlighted section in the middle of page five.”

By this time her voice had shrunk to a near-whisper, but she found her place.
“ ‘Did he say what she owed him for?’

“ ‘It wasn’t like we really ever talked about it.’ ”

“It wasn’t like you really ever talked about it. That would be you and Dylan, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Just one more thing, Ms. Ticknor. Tell the jury what the police found in the attic of your home.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean about a quarter million dollars’ worth of marijuana. That’s what I mean.”

“Well, yes, the marijuana was up there.”

“And that’s the marijuana that you have just told us Dylan was selling in Maya’s business?”

“Yes.”

“So naturally, you’ve been arrested and charged with having a very large stash of marijuana growing for sale in your house, haven’t you?”

“Well, of course not.”

“But you’ve just told us you knew it was there?”

“Yes.”

“Growing in your house?”

“Yes.”

“Providing the money that supported, at least in part, you and your child, right?”

“Well, I never took any dope money.”

“But the fact remains, you’ve never been arrested for or charged with possession of any of that sizable stash of marijuana. Did you ever discuss that possibility with the police?”

“Well, yes, they told me I wouldn’t get in any trouble.”

“Let me refresh your recollection, Ms. Ticknor, as to the order in which these conversations took place. First, you told the police you knew very little about what had happened, and nothing about the marijuana upstairs. Correct?”

“Well, that was my first statement.”

“Then, more than a week later, after police told you that you could go to jail for a very long time if they connected you to Dylan’s marijuana business, you recalled information that incriminated Maya Townshend. And then the police told you you wouldn’t be charged for the marijuana upstairs. Isn’t that pretty much the way it went?”

“Well, okay, but it’s not the way you make it sound.”

“Thank you,” Hardy said. “No further questions.”

It wasn’t as though
the media had lost interest in the trial, and today’s testimony sent the scribes and pundits scurrying from the courtroom to their telephones and keyboards to report on the newly revealed allegations of Maya’s infidelity, her subsequent rejection, and the added motivation this would certainly have given her to have murdered Dylan Vogler.

All this was, for example, on the evening news, which Hardy and his partners, over drinks, were watching on the huge TV they’d had installed in tasteful cabinetry on the back wall of the Solarium. Although as soon as the broadcast was done, Hardy hit the remote and turned the television off. “Never mind that none of it happened,” he said, “though I hate to quibble.”

Farrell, drinking espresso, was more or less back to being his old self, reconnected with his girlfriend, Sam, getting his hair cut with some regularity. Since it was after business hours, Phyllis had gone home, so Wes was comfortable enough coming downstairs with his dog and wearing his T-shirt, which today read “Eternity: Smoking or Nonsmoking.”

“You live to quibble,” he said to Hardy. “Quibbling gives meaning to your life, as anyone who knows you will surely attest.”

Gina Roake sipped her Oban, neat. “Are you sure?” she asked. “None of it happened?”

“Okay, when they were in college. But not since. Sorry, but I believe Maya.”

“So Jansey just perjured herself?” Gina asked.

Hardy, in trial mode, took a pull at his bottle of water and nodded. “All over the place.”

“Why?”

Wes chuckled. “I love when you ask that, Gina. Like perjury’s a surprise.”

“I’m not surprised so much as disappointed it keeps happening. And what’s in it for Jansey is, I guess, what I’m getting at.”

“I think, first, mainly,” Hardy replied, “is she’s in no-man’s-land and this is her ticket out. Early on, Stier or Schiff or somebody probably told her something like, ‘We’re not interested in how much you knew about Dylan’s dope business, or what you got out of it, or if you’re still in it. We’re interested in Maya killing him, and if you can help us out on that, we’ll just conveniently forget about the rest.’ So she’s heavily motivated to give them something. And what better than a bunch of stuff Dylan supposedly said to her, which no one can ever check or even refute? It’s perfect. And she probably thinks Maya did it anyway, that is if Jansey didn’t do it herself…”

“You think that’s possible?” Gina asked.

Hardy shrugged. “Somebody did. Jansey’s alibi’s squishy at best. She’s got a new boyfriend already, probably had him before. She’s one of the best bets to have gotten her hands on the gun. But, though I hate to say it, Maya still doesn’t look too bad for it either.”

“Attaboy.” Farrell had a strong and, it must be admitted, oft-justified prejudice that the client was always guilty. “Don’t wimp out on that now.”

“Don’t worry. I’m pretty secure, although I admit there’s a small chance I could still be swayed.”

“By what?” Farrell asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. A new fact or two.”

“Well,” Farrell said, “that’s not going to happen, not at this stage.”

“Actually, it might,” Hardy said. “In fact, maybe it already did.” He told them about Lori Bradford, new to Stier’s witness list. “I’ve already sent Wyatt out to talk to her, see what she’s got to say.”

“What’s in the police reports?” Gina asked.

A rueful grimace. “It seems they never got around to writing it up.”

“You shock me,” Farrell said.

“I know,” Hardy agreed. “It’s rocked my worldview. But the fact remains, she’s got to have something to say or Stier wouldn’t have made such a fuss about getting her on the witness list. Even if he’s not going to call her. He’s hoping I’m going to let her slide too.” He smiled at his two partners. “But I’m afraid I’m going to let him down on that. At least until I know what she’s got, or not.”

Seven-thirty P.M., killing time until Craig Chiurco’s expected arrival, Hardy sat at his desk. As was his habit, he was reviewing his files, hoping something among this amorphous mass of kindling might spark. The files now ran to four thick black three-ring notebooks, into which he’d crammed, in some semblance of order, forensics reports, police reports, interview transcripts such as those he’d used with Jansey in the courtroom today, photographs, private notes of Schiff and Bracco-the endless accretion of litigation.

At last, having reviewed his notes on Jansey’s testimony-forty-seven pages’ worth-for the second time, he closed the binder and leaned back into his chair. Though part of him yearned to recall her to the stand and pick apart individual strands of her testimony that he’d left unaddressed that afternoon-which was, after all, most of it-he also realized that he’d succeeded in doing his main job, which was discrediting her so that all of her testimony was suspect. Besides, he couldn’t ignore his gut feeling, his pure instinct, that there was nothing in her perjured story that, were the truth known, would likely change any juror’s opinion about Maya’s guilt. The basic facts remained-whether Maya had had an affair with him or not, Vogler had been blackmailing her, she’d been paying the blackmail (which meant she was guilty of
something
), she’d gone down to BBW and over to Levon’s.

Why? Why? Why?

Jansey was undoubtedly lying, but lying for all of her own, probably very good, reasons. In the end he believed that nothing she said was going to make any real difference.

Hardy got up, walked first over to the window where he looked down on Sutter Street, then came around to another recessed cabinet on the wall across from his desk, this one holding his dartboard. He opened the doors of the cabinet and slid them back into wherever they went, then grabbed his tungsten beauties from their slots and retreated to the dark cherrywood throw line in his polished white oak hardwood floor.

Twenty. Double twenty. Five.

From the board to the line.

One. Five. Twenty. Then one, one, five. Another four or five lost rounds-terrible, atypical shooting-before he finally rang up twenty, twenty, twenty.

Okay.

Leaving those darts where they’d landed, he lifted himself back onto the desk.

Chiurco, again in his coat and tie, sat in a wing chair across from Hardy in the more informal of the two seating arrangements in the office. He seemed nervous, so Hardy did the initial lifting. “So. Levon Preslee.”

“Okay.”

“Remind me. How did his name come up in the first place?”

“Wyatt had put me on Dylan’s old robbery conviction. He thought there might be some tie-in to whatever he was using to blackmail Maya. Or, even better, we might turn up somebody else who wanted to kill him.”

“So how’d you get to Preslee?”

“I just did a Web search. I found Vogler. That gave me the robbery in 1997. And there’s his codefendant, Levon. So I run him on the Web and find out he’s working for ACT. You’re not going to believe this, but he’s also listed in the phone book. I figure he works in the theater, he’s probably home during the day, so I drove out there. I didn’t even know that Wyatt had run across him, too, until I heard about that from you guys.”

“You didn’t call him first?”

“No, sir. I thought in case he wasn’t right with all this stuff, I might get better answers if I caught him off guard.”

“So then what?”

“Then I get into his lobby, and there’s this woman standing there at the door.”

“How’d you know it was Maya? Had you met her before?”

“No, but she’s our client. I saw her picture in the paper. It was her.”

“As it turns out, you’re right.”

“But anyway, I didn’t know what she was doing there, or what I should do, so I just stood there for a minute.”

“Then what?”

“Well, she told me he wasn’t home, and walked out past me. Mr. Hardy, honest to God, I think she was jiggling the doorknob like she was trying to get in, but I got there a split second too late, and I can’t be absolutely positive. But really, that’s what I think I saw.”

“Well, then, if that’s the best you can do for us, then that’s what we’re going to go with. At least it’s something. If I call you to testify, don’t try to improve it. That’s what you’ve got to say. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Okay, then. So write it up just like that and sign it, because if I decide to call you, I’ll need to give the discovery to the DA.”

“Cool.”

“Okay, then. Have a good night.”

“You too.”

“She’s an old lady,” Wyatt Hunt said, “but I don’t know where they got senile.”

Hardy had remembered to call home and tell Frannie he didn’t know when he’d be in-common enough during trials-but at the same time he’d remembered that he’d also forgotten to eat. So when Hunt had checked in after his meeting with Lori Bradford, saying he was at his own office just around the corner on Grant, Chinatown’s main street, preparing to go out to grab some Chinese, Hardy invited himself along.

Now they sat on high stools, sharing a tiny two-top in the front window, the only two customers, eating shrimp and pork and no sign of souvlaki lo mein à la Lou the Greek’s. A good thing.

“So what’s her story?”

Hardy chewed and listened while Hunt laid it out. For all of its simplicity the implications, Hardy realized, might be enormous-nothing less than a complete restructuring of the theory of the case. More importantly, there was no set of facts he could imagine that would be consistent with Maya having been involved in this two-shot scenario.

“No,” he told Hunt, “think about it. There’s only one shot from the supposed murder weapon, right? Right. So what did she do, shoot once-at what? Dylan? Some kind of warning shot? Unlikely. But the main thing is if there’s that second shot from the one gun, the magazine would have been light two bullets, and it wasn’t, just one. And to get back to that one, she would have had to reload. And that’s just plain absurd.”

“Stier’s going to say it didn’t happen, period. He’ll even use your own argument of no evidence. No second casing, no second slug, no nothing. It didn’t happen. It was a backfire.”

“Yeah. Right. I know. But let’s pretend for a minute.”

“All right. So what do you see?”

“Got to be two guns.”

“Two?”

Hardy, into it, put down his chopsticks. “Whoever came to shoot Dylan had his own gun and knew Dylan carried, so he stuck him up at gunpoint for the other gun first.”

“Why? Why didn’t he just shoot him, bang?”

“He knew him. Maybe first he thought they could talk it out, whatever their differences were. Maybe Dylan tried to stall him somehow.”

“So they had a meeting planned? With Maya too?”

Hardy shook his head. “I don’t have that one figured yet. How would this woman, the one you saw tonight-”

“Lori.”

“Right. How would she be on the stand?”

“Pretty good, I’d say. Sincere and smart. Knew exact times for the shots and remembered the day and date even after all this time. She’s no dummy, Diz.”

“So. What is it? Did Stier just not believe her? I mean, why leave her out up front instead of trying to find some way to explain her story? And, PS, it’s pretty easily explained, as you’ve already done about a minute ago.”

“He might not have known about her.”

“Till when?” Then Hardy pointed a finger, recalling the tense lunchtime gathering at Lou’s with Glitsky and Jackman and the inspectors. “Maybe lunchtime today, huh?”

“The thought crossed my mind, to be honest.”

“This could do it,” Hardy said. “For the verdict, I mean.”

Hunt popped a shrimp. “It might,” he said, then cocked his head with a question. “Is there something else? Besides the verdict?”

“There’s who really did it, Wyatt. If it wasn’t Maya. And if there were two guns…”

The idea set back Hunt in his chair. “Well, now,” he said, and stared out the window into the misty street. “An innocent client? Wes swears that never happens in real life.”

“I know. He’ll be devastated, but he’s been wrong before.”

After a minute, Hunt came forward again, elbows on the table. “But so, on the other thing, I’ve been dying to know what you found out.”

“What other thing?”

“Tess Granat? The hit-and-run? I Googled it after lunch.”

“Thank God for Google,” Hardy said, really wishing that Hunt hadn’t brought this up again. “Everything that’s ever happened, there it is.”

“Except Dylan Vogler. His early life, at least.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that except for the few days right after he got shot, I think our friend Dylan might be the only human being Google hasn’t found and chronicled.”

“You looked?”

“Diz. Google’s half my life, maybe three quarters. It’s where you look first. Which brings us back to Tess Granat, who was very real and very chronicled. So what’d you find out?”

Hardy picked up his tea and blew on it. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? She wouldn’t say, or what? Even if she wasn’t involved, she must have known all about it.”

Hardy could see there wasn’t anything to do but come clean. “It was a privileged conversation, Wyatt. I can’t talk about it.”

Hunt broke a smile. “Diz. Dude. I’m your investigator. I’m covered by the privilege.”

“Well, just because I can tell you doesn’t mean I should. And don’t think it doesn’t break my heart.” Hardy put his cup down, moved on. “But, listen, I don’t know if we’re going to need that anyway. This Lori Bradford, as I said, might do it all by herself. We’ve got to get her subpoenaed.”

“As our witness?”

“Absolutely. And ASAP, I think.”

Hunt took a small notebook from his jacket pocket and made a note. “I’ll have Craig come by your office for it in the morning.”

“That’ll work,” Hardy said. “I’ll make one out first thing and leave it with Phyllis. Give the boy some meaningful labor, work through his problems.”

“Well, I’m hoping he’s over them. Kids, you know. Love.”

“I’ve heard of ’em both,” Hardy said.

“Anyway, if Craig doesn’t show, I will. Don’t worry. And I got Lori on tape tonight, anyhow, for what that’s worth. It’s back at the office, locked up.”

“Excellent.” Hardy put away the last bite of pork and looked at his watch. Quarter to ten. Blowing out heavily, he shook his head. “Sometimes I think I’m getting too old for these things anymore.”