The Trials of Max Q, page 17
He vowed that if this was it, he would die with dignity, rather than beg for his life. He’d lived a full life and had few regrets.
“Since your boy Lawson ain’t worth a shit, I thought I’d help you out,” the man stated coldly.
George felt an object being shoved into the pocket of his suit jacket, followed by the sounds of the man rushing away.
The blindfold came off easily and George was able to catch a glimpse of his attacker as he fled. It was the kid he pegged as a pot-smoker. While he couldn’t see his face, the giveaway was the tattoo on his arm. It consisted of the letters J and M on the arms of a cross.
Then he heard an engine roar, followed by the screech of tires. Oh no—not my car! The Babe’s car!
George freed his hands, and when he reached into his pocket, he pulled out a plastic case.
Chapter 41
It’s Monday morning—one day before our deadline—and I’m still humming “Monday Monday” by the Mamas and the Papas, which my alarm clock drilled into my head this morning.
Kerri and Hal Metzer enter the conference room. I flash an insincere smile at my sister. “If you never leave, how can I ever miss you?”
She feigns a laugh. “You’re almost as funny as your case.”
Hal Metzer grows impatient. He unbuckles his leather briefcase and pulls out a pile of papers. “We are happy to see that you have finally come to your senses. This whole episode has been an exercise in futility, and proceeding would be a colossal mistake.”
“Before we get to that, I thought we might watch a little film,” I say, still smiling. I point to Shep and she places a DVD into the laptop computer that rests on the conference table. The video was provided to us by George Herman.
It begins with Laney Bang sitting on a bed, dressed stylishly in her birthday suit. It’s not just any bed; it’s the one she died in. We watch as her co-star enters the screen—Drew Anderson. I look at Kerri and Hal, but can’t detect any response.
Max Q approaches Laney like a man on a mission and climbs aboard the “SS Every Man’s Fantasy.”
We stare in amazement at what follows. I imagine it is much like how farmers reacted to seeing the cotton gin for the first time, doing the work of fifty men. It was hard to fathom it could be done that well. But not exactly enhancing the reputation of the wholesome, All-American boy who would risk his life to help an old lady across the street. I notice a slight squirm from Kerri. Her vacant look is priceless. But I can’t take satisfaction in her misery, all I can do is feel bad for Marissa.
The show must go on—Laney rolls on top of Max Q, reversing positions. They grind in rhythm until in the heat of the moment, Laney shouts out, “You’re with a real woman now—not that cold wife of yours!”
Anderson turns visibly angry. He uses his superior strength to roll back on top of her. He grabs her around the throat and shouts, “I told you if you ever said anything about Marissa again I’ll kill you!”
The lack of oxygen is turning Laney purple. I sneak a peak at Kerri and Hal, who seem to have turned the same color.
Shep looks at me fondly—she’s already apologized fifteen times for her doubts. She then ejects the DVD—we’ve made our point. I then let her do the honors. “We are going to formally prosecute your client, adding first degree murder.”
“First-degree?” Metzer scoffs. “Nothing on that video indicates forethought.”
“Whether that video was from last month or an hour before Laney was murdered, the bottom line is that Anderson left for his jog and had time to think about what he was about to do. And what he did was return with the intent to kill—it wasn’t murder with passion, or depraved indifference.”
Metzer dismissively waves his hand at me. “It’s a moot point. The video will be ruled inadmissible, then you’re out of luck, because you got nothing.”
Kerri comes to her client’s defense. “Drew is a good man and doesn’t deserve this witch hunt. You have no evidence he killed her, and all this tape will do is publicly embarrass him. Jack, if this is about that chip on your shoulder when it comes to me, then I will step down. But please don’t punish an innocent man. Don’t make this personal.”
While the narcissism is predictable, I am struck by the conviction in her voice. Although, I shouldn’t be totally surprised, since Anderson represents everything she’s been taught to believe in. In a way, he’s her dream guy.
But this isn’t about Kerri or me—it’s about evidence. “Your client and the victim were having an ongoing affair. It was a relationship sought by Laney Bang with intent to blackmail your client, which turned out to be his motive for killing her.” I point at the video that sits in the open tray of the laptop. “I guess he came through on his threat.”
I’m weak on the details, especially the part about where she put up no resistance and how that conflicted with the 911 call. But it should be more than enough to get an indictment, and it could be a year before we actually go to trial, so we’ll have time to compile all the evidence we’ll need. And if that doesn’t work, it seems as if Laney might have a guardian angel working on her side to provide us with information.
Kerri is indignant. “Your blackmail motive is weak. And there were other people present that night who had more motive to kill her. You’re a good storyteller, Jack, but you’re still lacking evidence.”
“That tape will be inadmissible,” Hal adds, in case we didn’t hear him the first time.
“I can prove it, and I will,” I say, remaining in law-swagger mode.
Kerri latches her briefcase and stands to leave. “You couldn’t get a jury to convict Drew Anderson if you had a video of him killing her,” she shouts at me on her way out.
I smile again. “Maybe I do.”
Chapter 42
Shep and I have no time to soak in our victory. We have scheduled a noon press conference. We know that Kerri will have all guns blazing in her spin-doctored response, so it’s important for us to file our charges as speedily as possible. I want no part of playing the media game, but Kerri was right when she spoke of the difficulty we’ll face in finding a jury willing to convict Drew Anderson. Avoiding the press is not an option for us. We can’t let the defense control the story.
Shep leaves to prepare the charge sheet for the press conference. I draw the short straw and have to inform Gifford Brown of our decision to proceed to trial. He takes the news in stride, pledging support.
The office is empty—all the ADAs are either scheduled for court, or at lunch. I return to my office and mentally prepare. I wonder who our video-providing angel is, and whether or not it’s a good thing. She’s certainly no angel, but my money is on Amber Jazz.
Right after the noon whistle goes off, Shep and I stand outside our offices in front of a lightning storm of flashbulbs. I get right to the point and read the charge sheet.
“State of New York, County of Otsego against Andrew Christian Anderson. Jack Lawson Chief District Attorney of Otsego County, in the name and by the authority of the People of the State of New York, informs the court that Andrew Christian Anderson has been charged with one count of first degree murder in the unlawful death of Darby Kelleher, alias Laney Bang.”
The press gasps upon hearing the words “first degree murder.” Nobody in their right mind believed we could charge Max Q in the first place, but if we did, the “experts” let it be known that it was a crime of passion.
When I finish reading, I make a strong comment about our belief in Anderson’s guilt, and how we will prove the charges beyond a reasonable doubt. I then take a few questions.
“Do you honestly believe there is a jury that will convict Drew Anderson?” asks a man from CNN, sounding like my sister.
“I think you underestimate the citizens of Otsego County. When you take preconceived notions about the defendant out of the equation, it is an open and shut case. We believe that when the jury hears the evidence, the myth of Drew Anderson will be just that ... a myth.”
A reporter from the New York Globe shouts out, “Jack—there was a search of a Manhattan townhouse this past Thursday, owned by the victim. Did evidence found there change your earlier opinion, and lead to this charge?”
“I had no earlier opinion. We viewed the accumulation of evidence and our conclusion was, and is, that Drew Anderson murdered Laney Bang with malice and forethought.”
I give our local guy Montini the last question. “How do you react to the critics that say you are just seeking fame, and that the evidence simply isn’t there to continue with this case?”
I hand the question to Shep, who says, “Sorry, Ira, we don’t have time for your question. We’re late for our lunch in New York with the mayor.”
With that, we abruptly leave the podium to laughter. She smiles at me—it went just as we planned it.
Chapter 43
We retreat to our office, where Jana informs me that I have visitors.
Shep and I enter to find a woman with the brightest orange tan I’ve ever seen. She is wearing tight yellow stretch pants with palm trees printed on them, and a pink T-shirt that matches her glossy lipstick.
A man with a military-looking crew cut sits beside her, wearing a more conservative outfit of plain T-shirt and jeans
“Can I help you?” I ask in an unsure voice.
“My name is Marcie Kelleher and this is my husband Steve,” the woman belts out in a shrill southern accent. “We are Darby’s parents.”
I’m momentarily stupefied. I never really thought of Laney Bang having parents or a family.
Marcie stands and wraps me in a hug. “We drove up here from Pensacola to take Darby back home. Steve and I are so grateful that you’re gonna send Drew Anderson to jail,” she states enthusiastically. “Even if we are Florida State fans.”
Steve remains seated with his head in his hands, appearing distraught.
I don’t have the heart to tell her that convicting Drew Anderson is a long shot. “Where are you staying? Perhaps I can talk to the county about helping you pay for your travel.”
“We’ve been staying at Darby’s place in the city.”
So that’s why the front door was unlocked. It seems as if the townhouse wasn’t as hidden as I thought.
Marcie remains talkative, “It’s hard to believe she’s gone. Seems like just yesterday she was this rambunctious little girl getting into all she wasn’t s’posed to on the military base.” She smiles at the fond reminiscence. “Darby always wanted to be a star and I’m so glad she reached that, even if she left us too early.”
My eyes wander to her husband, who doesn’t look like he’s found the same solace. His head is still buried in his hands and tears are streaming down his face. Marcie speaks for him, “Steve has been in the military for thirty years. So he’s seen his share of death, but when it’s your own daughter …” She lets the words hover over the room.
I’ve never worked a murder so this is all new to me. It’s said that to bury a child is the hardest thing someone would have to do in this life. I can’t imagine anything being more devastating than losing Reyanne, but I can’t argue with the notion.
But I also have a job to do, and see another opportunity to learn more about the victim. “Was it hard for you to accept what she … did for a living?”
“At first it was, it’s not exactly what you hope when you bring ’em home from the hospital, specially in the tight knit military world. I won’t lie to you, Jack, and tell you there wasn’t a real hard period where we weren’t on speaking terms with Darby. But eventually you realize how short life is.”
The term “short life” registers throughout the room. Even Shep, who is no fan of the deceased, has let her guard down and looks to be affected. Marcie gathers herself and continues, “But you learn to accept the choices of your children, even if you don’t agree with ’em. I’m so glad we made peace before she passed—I feel so bad for the girls …”
“The girls?” I inquire.
“Darby had two sisters who disowned her for what she did. I kept telling ’em that one day they’d regret it. And now it’s too late.”
As if awakened by his wife’s words, Steve removes his hands to reveal a face that is red with anger. He looks me in the eye and speaks for the first time, “I hope you put that bastard away for life. I can’t believe he killed my Baby Doll!”
I immediately know. I make intense eye contact with Steve to let him know that I do. He looks away like a coward.
My tone shifts dramatically. “You need to get out of here right now. And do not ever step foot in this office again!”
Marcie looks unnerved. I don’t know if she grasps what’s just happened, but I have an idea that she was aware of what was going on in that house and never said anything about it. It’s why Laney left the minute she turned eighteen, looking for a new life, and leaving Baby Doll behind.
“What was that about?” Shep asks after our visitors have left.
“Just a reminder about the importance of locking your doors. Especially at night.”
Chapter 44
The man sat at the corner table sipping on his second bottle of Foster’s. He scanned the room and listened to the heated chatter. Anderson did it. Anderson didn’t do it. Who else could have done it? Anyone but Drew Anderson—he’s Max Q for God sake!
He didn’t care who killed Laney Bang. He just knew he had a mission to complete—a mission for her. She dictated the rules and he would do anything to win her back, no matter the cost.
He was eavesdropping on a guy who sat at a nearby table. He was the only one in the place who wasn’t talking about the case. The man nicknamed him Mr. Baseball because he went on and on about the dreadfully boring Hall of Fame inductions from last weekend. Next to Mr. Baseball sat a woman named Ashley. The man was baffled as to what this classic beauty was doing with such an Average Joe.
They were soon joined by the stars of tonight’s theatrics. Jack Lawson and Jessica Shepherdson.
Not only would the thin Lawson be no match for the man physically, but he seemed to have misplaced the confidence he had displayed at today’s press conference. He would be easy prey.
The man’s eyes turned to Jessica. He would be getting a much closer look at her later in the evening, and was looking forward to it. She had a fire in her eyes that he had witnessed the last time they’d come together, which made her dangerous. But then again, he was always attracted to danger.
After another hour of debate and banter, the two lawyers said their goodbyes and departed Touch ’Em All. The man followed at a safe distance. Main Street was abuzz with tourists on the muggy night, making it easier to blend into the crowd.
His pickup truck was in the parking lot of the Lake Front Motel. He hurried to his vehicle and drove to Main Street.
Things were going as planned. Jessica was leading Lawson back to her car at the DA’s Office. There, they got into a BMW and drove up Route-80.
He followed closely behind. He knew it would be easy—his car was built for this.
With brute force, the front grill of his pickup smashed into the trunk of the BMW. Then rammed the swerving car once more. She began to speed up, but he easily caught her and pounded the back bumper again. He was enjoying himself, but knew it was time to finish the job.
He put on a ski mask and gloves, without missing a beat in the chase. He then sped into the oncoming lane, pulling even with the BMW. He was able to get a good look into Jessica’s eyes, and saw the same resolute determination as he had last time.
The man looked to the side of the road, noticing a five-foot embankment. He made a sharp right turn into the driver’s side door. Doors banged hard and the BMW moved toward the edge. He braked, dropped behind the car, and gave it a swift kick in the rear, sending it down the slope to a metal-crunching stop at the bottom. It flipped onto its side, tipped back onto four wheels, then collided with a large oak tree.
A loud thud echoed over the lake. The man pulled his truck to the side of the road and reached into the glove compartment for his machete. He worked his way down the embankment to the mangled BMW that was fizzing steam from the punctured radiator.
He opened Jessica’s battered door and dragged her out onto the ground by her hair. She cringed in pain and her pretty face was already bruising, but he was relieved he hadn’t seriously hurt her. She took a good licking, but nothing debilitating.
He forced her onto her hands and knees. With knife to her neck, he whispered into her ear, “Good to see you again, Jessica.”
Then purposely loud enough for Lawson to hear, he said, “Listen to me good. Drew Anderson is innocent. So you and your boyfriend back off this investigation. Do you understand!?”
She said nothing.
“Did you hear me?” he pushed the knife blade harder into her neck, coming perilously close to breaking the skin. He had always wanted to be an actor, and now he was getting his chance.
“Yes”
“I know that you two love the publicity, but if you don’t back off, the next headlines will be for your funeral!”
He could feel the pulse in her neck vibrate against the blade.
Predictably, Lawson came lunging at him. The running start made the punch even worse. His face rippled and he crumpled to the ground.
“Jack!” Jessica screamed out and hurried to her injured partner.
The man returned to his truck. He paused for a moment, allowing Lawson to get a good look at its powerful grill. It was part of the message. A message he delivered for her.
The Trial
Chapter 45
The case against Max Q is moving rapidly. Tuesday morning was a lawyers-only meeting before Judge Patricia Schanz. A woman in her fifties, sporting an unruly mop of hair streaked with gray. Her reputation is that she is pro-defendant—give the Miranda Warning with too much attitude and watch the charges get dropped—but it really didn’t matter, as her courtroom would just be a short rest stop in a long trial process.
