Phillip Margolin - Fugitive

“She wanted me to take care of her husband before he could file.”

“What did she mean by ‘take care of’?”

“Kill him. Murder him.”

“There’s no question in your mind about that?”

“None. She said she wanted him dead and how I did it would be left up to me.”

“What was your response to Mrs. Pope’s request that you assassinate a member of the United States Congress?”

“I told her she was nuts; that I wasn’t going to kill anyone, no matter how much money she offered me. Especially not a member of Congress. I mean, I’d have the whole federal government after me: the FBI, the CIA, the Secret Service.

“To tell the truth, I was also offended that she had such a low opinion of me that she thought I’d kill somebody for money. And it was pretty clear that she was using me. I mean, she acted like she loved me and she hinted that we could get married after Junior was out of the way, but I know she didn’t have any real feelings for me.”

Rose shrugged. “She was great in bed, but she lost interest as soon as she climaxed, if you know what I mean.”

Burdett chose to move on rather than follow up on that topic.

“How did the defendant act after you refused to help her murder her husband?”

“She was very upset. She called me names, insulted my manhood.” Rose shrugged again. “Mrs. Pope was used to getting her way with men and I think she was shocked that any man could refuse any request she made, no matter how crazy.”

“Did anything happen while you were arguing?”

“Yes, sir. Charlie Marsh showed up. It was obvious that he wanted to impress Mrs. Pope by coming to her rescue.”

“What happened?”

“He hit me when I wasn’t prepared. Then he had his bodyguard rough me up.”

“Did the bodyguard display a weapon?”

“Yeah. I didn’t get a good look at it but there was a gun in his waistband. He made sure I saw it.”

“Was there anything distinctive about the weapon?”

“I do remember a fancy handle.”

Burdett asked permission to approach the witness and showed Rose the murder weapon.

“Is this the gun Mr. Marsh’s bodyguard was carrying?”

Rose took the revolver and examined the grip. “I can’t be certain,” he said. “I only saw the handle for a second. But this could be it.”

Burdett returned the exhibit to the table holding the evidence, before continuing to question the witness.

“Did you hear anything Mr. Marsh said to the defendant or anything she said to him after you fought?”

“No. The bodyguard hauled me away and threatened to beat me up if I didn’t leave immediately. To tell the truth, after my conversation with Mrs. Pope I was pretty anxious to get as far from her as possible.”

“Did you have any more contact with the defendant after your argument?”

“No, sir. She did cancel her tennis lessons, but she did that with the pro shop.”

Burdett consulted his notes. Then he addressed the judge.

“No more questions on direct, Your Honor.”

“Mr. Jaffe?” Judge Hansen asked.

Frank had no idea how to cross-examine Rose, so he did the only thing he could think to do.

“It’s getting late, Your Honor,” Frank said. “I wonder if we can recess for the day?”

Judge Hansen glanced at the clock. It was 4:45. “Very well, Mr. Jaffe. We’ll reconvene in the morning.”

Frank had maintained a stone face during Rose’s devastating testimony. As soon as the jury left the courtroom, he leaned over to his client.

“He made that up,” Sally Pope said before Frank could get a word out.

Her voice was tight with anger.

“It’s a crime to commit perjury. He could go to prison if I prove he’s lying. Why is he doing this?”

“I can think of two reasons he’d lie under oath. One is revenge. When we went into the garden, I told Tony I didn’t want to see him anymore. He was upset when I broke it off.”

“Rose doesn’t strike me as the type who’d lose sleep over a woman telling him their affair was over. No offense, but I’m guessing you’re not the first club member he’s seduced.”

“I know for a fact I’m not. And, for the record, I seduced him. But Tony is used to being the one who breaks off the affair and I think I bruised his ego.”

“What’s your other idea?”

“Senior got to him just like he got to Jarvis. Tony’s not real big on ethics. He’d have no compunction about lying under oath if he was paid enough. Hell, if I had offered him a quarter million dollars to kill Arnie I bet he’d have done it.”

Frank was about to say something else when Herb Cross pushed through the courtroom doors, sporting a wide smile.

“What’s up?” Frank asked.

“I found the photographer.”

“Great work. Have you talked to him yet?”

“No, but I know where he lives. I figured you’d want to come along.”

Hey, is this Jack Rodriguez?” Herb Cross asked as soon as someone answered the phone. Cross was calling from Frank’s car, which was parked across the street from a poorly maintained rental home in a rundown section of North Portland. Weeds outnumbered grass in the overgrown postage-stamp front lawn, and the small Cape Cod hadn’t seen a new coat of paint in recent memory.

“Who’s this?” was the cautious answer.

“Are you the private detective?” Cross asked, trying to sound as paranoid as the man to whom he was speaking.

“Yeah,” Rodriguez answered, perkier now that he smelled a buck. “What can I do for you?”

“Look, I don’t feel comfortable talking on the phone, if you know what I mean.”

“Certainly. I definitely understand the need for confidentiality. So, where do you want to meet?”

“Do you have an office?”

“No, I find it’s better not to draw too much attention to myself.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right. Mr. Jarvis told me you don’t have an office. I forgot.”

“Who?”

Cross heard panic in the PI’s voice.

“Otto Jarvis, the lawyer. He gave me your number. He said you do really good work.”

There was dead air. When Rodriguez spoke, he sounded very nervous.

“Here’s the thing. I just checked my calendar and I forgot about a project that’s going to take me out of town for a while. So I don’t think I can do anything for you right now.”

“Oh man, that’s disappointing, because Mr. Jarvis said you’re the go-to guy if someone thinks their wife is, uh, you know what I mean.”

“Not really, and I think you have the wrong guy, anyway, because I don’t know this Jarvis guy. So, good luck with your wife.”

The moment Rodriguez hung up, Cross called Frank, who was stationed near the back door of the PI’s house.

“He denied knowing Jarvis, but he got very panicky as soon as I mentioned his name. I figure he’ll be coming out any minute. I’ve got the front.”

Cross put the cell phone in his pocket and started across the street. He saw a curtain move. He hoped Rodriguez would make a break for it so they wouldn’t have to figure out how to get in his house. He also hoped the PI didn’t have a gun.

FRANK HAD SWAPPED his suit for a black leather jacket, a black turtleneck, and black slacks, which-along with his thick upper body and broken nose-made him look like a thug. As soon as he heard the back door open and close, he stepped around the corner of the house and into Rodriguez’s path.

“Where you headed, Mr. Rodriguez?” he asked as the PI skidded to a stop. Rodriguez was skinny and about five foot seven. His long black hair was greasy and unkempt and Frank saw acne scars on his sunken cheeks. The lawyer didn’t think Rodriguez would try to fight but he looked like he might be fast, so Frank clamped a hand on his forearm.