Jeff Sherratt - Guilty or Else

Why didn’t she brew coffee like everyone else? “Oh, I’d love some.”

Mrs. Wilson left to fetch the refreshments and I let my eyes wander around the room. The place was spotless. But a number of modern paintings hung on the walls-if you could call them paintings. They looked like someone’s nightmare, dark and gloomy with red streaks running through them. A sick mind at work.

I automatically sat up straighter when Mrs. Wilson returned. “Do you like my paintings, Mr. O’Brien? I never took an art course or anything, just paint what comes to me in my dreams.”

“They’re wonderful.” Okay, I lied.

“You’re too kind.” She held a platter. On it were two tall glasses filled with ice cubes floating in a reddish pink liquid. She handed me one of the glasses. I took a sip. Delicious! How long has this stuff been around? I asked myself.

“This is a great drink,” I said. “What’s it made from?”

“Hibiscus flowers. I grow them in the backyard.”

I set the glass down on the coffee table in front of me. Mrs. Wilson sat prim and proper, taking little bitty sips of her hibiscus concoction, smacking her lips from time to time. I asked her about the argument, and she proceeded to tell me what I already knew from the police report. The truck was in the driveway, where it stayed past her bedtime. Gloria and Rodriguez argued, she said, for about ten minutes. She had spotted them earlier in the evening arguing on the driveway. After the argument ended, around six, Gloria went back into the house. Mrs. Wilson went to bed at ten, took a sleeping pill, and didn’t hear or see anything after that.

“Did you hear what they were saying when they argued?” I asked.

“No, I wasn’t listening. I just heard a loud voice.”

“Whose voice was it? Miss Graham’s or the accused?”

“Gloria’s. She seemed very agitated. You know, waving her arms around and shouting.”

“But you couldn’t hear what she was shouting about, is that correct?”

“No, I was too far away.”

“What was Rodriguez doing?”

“Rodriguez?”

“The accused.”

“Oh, he just mostly listened.”

“Didn’t he shout back?”

“I couldn’t hear. I was too far away.”

“Did he look angry or upset in any way?”

“His back was to me. I couldn’t tell if he was upset.

Couldn’t see his face.”

“Was he jumping up and down, waving his arms around, anything like that?”

“If he did, I didn’t see it,” she said, shaking her head slowly.

I didn’t want to press too hard. Maybe I should ease up a little.

“I just have a few more questions, Mrs. Wilson.”

“You can call me Vera, that’s my name.”

“Vera, you’ve been very helpful. You have a keen sense of observation.”

“I’m not a busybody or a snoop.”

“Of course not,” I said. “But you’re doing the right thing, volunteering the truth. No one else in the neighborhood came forward like you did.”

“I just want to be a good citizen.”

“I understand. Now let’s see if you and I can figure this thing out, together.”

“I’ll help if I can.”

“Of course you can. Now let’s review: Gloria seemed furious and Rodriguez just stood there. He told me Gloria wanted the trees moved. Do you think that made him angry, fuming mad? What do you think?”

“I don’t know if he was angry or not.”

“Well, it takes two people to have an argument. Do you think maybe it was only Gloria who was upset?”

“She seemed upset.”

“Upset about a few trees? Rodriguez moved them. He said it was no big deal.”

“Maybe she was upset about something else,” she said.

“But not at my client?”

“Perhaps not. I don’t know.”

“Telephone records show that Gloria called her boss’s hotel that afternoon. Sometimes bosses can upset people.” I let the last statement hang in the air and waited for Mrs. Wilson to respond.

We just sat, looking at each other. After a few moments, Mrs. Wilson started to fidget. She reached over to the end table and picked up a framed photograph, an older guy.

“My late husband, Raul would get calls from his boss here at home once in a while. He’d get upset.” She smiled at the picture and put it back.

“Perhaps rant and rave a little, after the call?”

“Oh yes.” She had a tender look in her eyes.

“But not really directed at you, of course,” I said.

“No. Raul was just blowing off steam.”

“Maybe that’s what happened with Gloria. What do you think?”

“Yes. Maybe that’s what happened,” she said.

“So, perhaps Rodriguez and Gloria hadn’t been arguing at all. Gloria could have been just blowing off steam,” I said.

“Well, the police said they were arguing.”

I almost jumped out of my skin. “The police? They weren’t there at that time. Didn’t you tell the cops that they were arguing?”

Her eyes opened wide and she said in a startled voice, “No, I just told them what I saw. They said it sounded like an argument.”

I sat down. “Mrs. Wilson-I mean Vera?”

“Yes.”

“There was no argument, was there?”

“Gloria was just blowing off steam.” Mrs. Wilson sat there with a blank look on her face, sipping her red drink, and rocking back and forth ever so slightly.

After leaving Vera Wilson’s, I drove around for a while. I was tired of the police and their hard-nose tactics. Tired of lying cellmates. Tired of guys like Fred Vogel selling me out. Tired of getting nowhere. And I was tired of being tired.

Without thinking, I found myself going south on the Long Beach Freeway. I instinctively exited at the Willow off-ramp and headed for the airport. Vogel had lied to the police. I knew for a fact the plane had been flown those extra two hours. Karadimos and his gang of Elvis impersonators had gotten to him, I was sure of it. But how did Karadimos find out so fast that I had talked to Vogel?

I wondered if he’d see me. Probably not. I wanted to knock him on his ass. Maybe he’d knock me on my ass, but I still wanted to confront him face to face. I wanted him to tell me about Karadimos.

I pulled into the Executive Aviation parking lot, sat in my car, and thought. Would it do any good to challenge him? If I got tough with him, would I be accused of trying to intimidate the witness again, making the situation worse? The cops might even start investigating the bribery charge all over again. The way the circumstances stood now, I couldn’t call him as a witness for the defense. He’d obviously lie on the stand. I’d look like an idiot and lose the case.

I went into the building. “Vogel here?” I asked the clerk working the reception counter.

“Ain’t here,” the scrawny kid said. “He’s on vacation.”

“Don’t give me that crap, he was here yesterday. No one starts their vacation on Thursday.”

He ignored my statement for a moment. Then without looking up at me he said, “Called in this morning, said he’s taking a few weeks off.”

I felt my temperature rising, the pressure building. I needed a release. Suddenly, I lost it. I reached over the counter and grabbed the guy by his shirtfront. I pulled him across the ledge. His head snapped back and his eyes opened wide in surprise.

“I want to see Vogel. Now, Goddammit! Get his ass out here,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Hey, lemme go!” he shouted. “I’m not kidding, mister. He’s not here. Go and see for yourself.”

What in the hell was the matter with me? I looked around the lobby; people stared at me. I felt foolish. I was acting like an out-of-control juvenile. I let go of the kid.

“Nah, I believe you. If he calls in tell him to get in touch with me.” I tossed my card on the counter.