Joel Goldman - Motion to Kill

He first met B.J. when they shared a client who had been charged with embezzling three million dollars from his employer at the same time he was making a workers’ compensation claim against the company. The client pled guilty to the embezzlement charge and the DA agreed not to prosecute him for what turned out to be a fraudulent injury claim.

B.J. returned his call as Mason crossed the state line into Kansas. He was already at the courthouse on another case and would wait for Mason. Thirty minutes later, they were ushered into an interrogation room in the county jail across the street from the courthouse.

The room was a bleak display of tax dollars at work, off-white walls, white ceiling tiles, and green linoleum, wooden table, four chairs, and no windows. They excused the deputy sheriff who was there to protect them from Pamela and then listened as she declared her innocence and screamed at them to get her out of the goddamn jail.

“If I’d have wanted to kill that no-good bastard, I’d have shot him with my own goddamn gun!”

Jail was a true class equalizer. Dressed in an orange prisoner jumpsuit, her hair tangled, her makeup smeared, and reeking of bad breath, body odor, and stale booze, Pamela had morphed from an upscale Mission Hills widow into a drunken bag lady charged with murder.

“We’ll try to get you out of here as soon as we can,” Mason said, “but I can’t represent you.”

“Why not?” she snapped as she threw herself into one of the metal folding chairs.

“Because I could be a witness. You need the best lawyer you can get, and that’s why I asked my friend B.J. Moore to be here.”

B.J. was pear-shaped and shaggy haired, and his suit looked as if he had picked it up where he’d dropped it the night before. Women liked him because he was cuddly. Men liked him because he was without pretense. He had a knack for making people comfortable with him.

“Please don’t take offense, Mr. Moore,” Pamela said, “but I don’t know you, and I’d rather have someone I know.”

“Mrs. Sullivan, I’m more interested in how you feel after your case is over. Let me figure out if I can get you home for dinner. If you’re still here at breakfast, you can hire somebody else.”

B.J. looked into Pamela’s eyes as he spoke, holding the gaze until she softened, fussed with her hair, and dipped her chin.

“Okay,” she said.

B.J. took her hand. “Good. Let’s get started.”

Kelly was waiting in the hall.

“What’s she doing in a Kansas jail for a murder she supposedly committed in Missouri? And why was she only charged with conspiracy?”

“She was arrested in Kansas. The DA went for the conspiracy charge because he wanted to grab her and the headlines. It’s easier to back off of that than a murder charge if he can’t make the case.”

“Doesn’t sound too bright to me.”

“That’s never been an obstacle to elected office.”

They walked across the street and sat in the shade of the gazebo in the center of the Courthouse Square. Mason nodded at the few familiar faces passing by. A groundskeeper rambled away, leaving them alone except for the yellow jackets feasting on the flowers planted nearby.

“The sheriff’s detective on Harlan’s case says it looks like a burglary that went bad,” Kelly said. “They’re trying to find out if anything’s missing. Where’s his family?”

“Two kids, one on each coast. His wife died a couple of years ago. Do you really think Pamela murdered Sullivan?”

“I didn’t arrest her. The Johnson County DA is up for reelection, and he’s grandstanding. That doesn’t mean she didn’t kill him, but I wouldn’t have gone for the arrest until I had better evidence.”

“I thought it was your case. What happened?”

“I needed a search warrant for Pamela’s house. The DA had to get it for me because I’m out of my jurisdiction. We may have found something, and he decided to charge her with conspiracy to commit murder so he could hang on to the case.”

“Based on what?”

“We found a syringe and a vial of an unidentified substance. If it turns out to be insulin, he’ll claim she planned the murder in Johnson County, which gives him his conspiracy count.”

“What happens to the murder charge?”

“The crime was committed at the lake. We’ll charge her there and Kansas will extradite her so we can try her on the murder charge first. The DA still looks good when he ships her down to us.”

“Which gets me back to my first question. Do you think she did it?”

“He was cheating on her and she knew he had exposed her to HIV-not bad for a motive.”

“How did she find out that Sullivan was HIV positive?”

“Sullivan’s doctor, Charlie Morgenstern. Sullivan tested positive for HIV last year during his annual physical. He told me that he threatened to tell Pamela if Sullivan didn’t.”

“So she had a motive. What about the means?” Mason swatted away a bee that threatened to land on her sleeve. “Let’s walk.”

They brushed shoulders as they stood, letting the contact linger for an extra moment, smiling and admitting that they’d taken a small step.

“She’s been volunteering at a hospital, which means she could have had access to insulin. We’re checking it out. And she fed him his last supper, so she had the opportunity.”

“That doesn’t explain how she could have given him the insulin. I doubt if she sneaked up on him and stabbed him with the needle or talked him into letting her inject him with a fatal dose. Did you question her?”

“She’s watched a lot of TV. When we arrested her, she called you and didn’t say another word. How is she?”

“She’s actually quite well except she says that orange is not a good color on her.”

“Okay, I deserved that. Are you going to represent her?”

“No. That’s one case of malpractice I’m not going to commit. She’s talking with a friend of mine, B.J. Moore. He’s topflight. If she did it, why would she keep the vial of insulin lying around? She can’t be that stupid.”

“The jails are full of stupid criminals. That’s why cops have job security.”

He looked at her for some sign that she’d give him an honest answer to his next question, but he kept getting lost in her eyes.

“Do you have another question, Counselor?” she asked, grinning as if she could read his mind.

“Yeah,” he answered, clearing his throat and losing his nerve. “What are the odds that both named partners of a law firm under investigation by the Justice Department will be murdered within a week of each other in unrelated crimes?”

She lost her grin, glaring at him for an instant. “I thought of that, but there’s nothing to connect them. Pamela’s not strong enough to snap someone’s neck, and I don’t know of any reason she had to kill Harlan.”

“That’s my point. Maybe someone had a reason to kill both of them. That would exclude Pamela.”

“That’s the problem with you amateurs. How do you explain the syringe and the vial we found in her dresser drawer?” She couldn’t hold back a satisfied smile.

“How do you explain that there were break-ins at both homes?” He enjoyed her annoyed, tight-lipped response. “That’s the problem with you pros. You’re too smug. Pamela told me they had a break-in about a month ago.”

Their teasing had the familiar ring of a mating dance. They didn’t know each other well enough for serious emotions. But chemical reactions were as good a place to start as any.

“Don’t get cocky. I’ll follow up on the burglaries. If you’ve got any better suspects, you’d better tell me at dinner. If I don’t like them, you buy.”