‘And your cachet.’ Ethan clasped his hands on his lap. ‘Must be difficult, knowing when to time the best deals. Bad timing or unsatisfactory negotiations could really damage a client.’
Anya was unsure if the investigator was angry or trying to provoke the agent. According to Kirsten, and the designer,
they had been unable to get through to Janson’s management. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have needed to go to the hotel that night. Anya wanted to know why Horan was blatantly lying.
The agent’s phone rang at that moment and prevented him from responding to Ethan’s comment. ‘Can’t talk long, Terri. Yes, it’s a meeting.’ He mouthed ‘Terri Janson’ for their benefit and headed towards the window. Ethan sat forward and scanned the desk’s contents.
‘This morning I leaked the rumour that you’re being courted by multiple cosmetic companies, as the ideal woman, mother and wife.
Covergirl
already want to meet you.’ Horan threw his head back and laughed. ‘Things are going better than we imagined.’
As Horan finished the call, the assistant appeared with two cans of drink and a packet of aspirin, and left.
Anya found it odd that despite the threat of rape charges looming over his client, Horan seemed so upbeat.
Ethan reached back and picked up a set of women’s underwear. ‘Bit small for you, I would have thought.’
Horan leant across and snatched them from him. ‘These are for some of my clients from the Lingerie Football Alliance. Victoria’s Secret are close to doing a special line for women who like to keep fit.’
Anya had never heard of the alliance.
‘Don’t suppose you play?’ Horan looked her up and down.
Ethan stuck his hands in his pockets. ‘Women in lingerie playing American football. It was supposed to be huge but somehow it hasn’t got the following some predicted. They dress in these,’ he flicked his fingers towards another set on the table, ‘in an attempt to prove they’re equal, even though they play on a small field, the shoulder pads reveal their breasts and the spectators aren’t exactly admiring their ball skills.’
‘It’s a valid sport,’ Horan retorted. ‘They’re hard-working girls. Who better to promote sport and fitness in the middle of an obesity epidemic?’
Anya found it difficult to believe someone had even come
up with the idea, let alone found women to take part or, in Horan’s case, exploit. For now, though, she needed to focus on the assault charges.
‘Mr Horan, I presume you are aware that Pete Janson and other clients of yours are accused of sexually assaulting a woman at the Rainier Hotel the night of 12 August.’
He popped the aspirin, gulped some sugary caffeine and swallowed. ‘Look, if I had a dollar for the number of times women accuse my clients of improper treatment, disrespect, having sex, not having sex … Hell, I’d be a lot wealthier than I am now. In fact, a couple of years ago one whacko put Liam McKenzie through hell when she accused him of attacking her with a knife. It was a witch hunt the way the police went after him. But you know what? The judge found he’d acted like a hero and saved her from killing herself.’ His hands returned to the back of his head. ‘All I can say is thank God for justice in this country.’
Anya made a mental note to look into the case. In her experience, if it was established he’d saved the woman, it didn’t make sense that prosecutors pursued the case, knowing how unlikely a successful conviction would have been. Then again, a high-profile conviction could reflect well on a number of careers. Maybe an ambitious prosecutor was prepared to take the risk for the publicity.
Horan continued, as if for Anya’s benefit. ‘These guys are as famous as movie stars, only with much better bodies. They’re recognised everywhere they go and women want to sleep with them, for lots of reasons: fame by association, the thrill of screwing a star, because they have money. Some of them want to catch a husband and don’t mind if he’s already married. My clients are walking targets for any ambitious, gold-digging or psychologically disturbed woman.’
Ethan mirrored the agent’s body language. ‘So you’re saying it’s difficult for them to be seen in public because members of the opposite sex lust after them? I know just the thing that will make sure they go out in public without being harassed or hit on.’
‘Are you suggesting bodyguards?’
Ethan winked. ‘That’s the great thing. It’s a lot less expensive than minders. How about this – a style of clothing that is loose, comfortable, looks good on any shape and will guarantee your clients don’t get harassed in public?’
He suddenly had Anya’s attention as well.
‘Go on …’
Ethan moved to a whiteboard and began drawing in black. He outlined what looked like a long kaftan. On top of a head he sketched a veil, with a small opening for the eyes.
‘In certain Islamic countries, the burqa is worn for those very reasons.’
Anya smiled but Horan didn’t seem to see the humour.
‘You will find these latest claims are completely unfounded, and my clients have made police statements to prove it. One word against five, would you fancy those odds?’
Anya felt her pulse rev. She could not believe how smug the man was. He would represent anyone, no matter what they did, if it meant making money. And he would turn a blind eye to the next Kirsten Byrne. His protection of the players guaranteed there would be more like her.
‘And in case you hadn’t heard, your so-called victim has already hired a lawyer. Another case of the green pocket syndrome.’ He patted his shirt pocket. ‘She’s after a payout to keep quiet but we’re going to fight this all the way.’
The meeting was over.
Outside, Ethan paced before the elevator. ‘The ink on that Jordan–Janson contract is fresh. They didn’t even bother to date it before yesterday.’
‘Why would he sign a contract with a designer unless it was in his best interest?’
‘The asshole’s smarter than we gave him credit for,’ Ethan said. ‘Think about it.’ The elevator doors opened and they entered. ‘Cheree Jordan sent Kirsten with the proposal, which she left in Janson’s hotel room after the assault. Horan’s done the deal to further discredit Kirsten’s story. The figures on the contract are a lot less than the ones Kirsten showed you.’
‘How much difference are you talking?’
‘From what I just saw, two hundred grand less and only three percent of sales. My guess is, Horan knows about the rape and is in damage control. And Cheree Jordan knew she had him by the balls and twisted hard. They deserve each other.’
Ethan’s version of events made sense. ‘So by signing the deal, it looks like they’ve been in negotiations for a while and makes it seem as if Kirsten went to the party of her own volition. The lesser amount to Janson could mean Kirsten slept with him to get a better deal for her boss.’
‘Or acted independently of her boss’s wishes to secure the deal. Cheree sacked Kirsten and tells the staff she resigned, or slept with a client to secure the deal – anything to make her look like a manipulative opportunist. Hell, she tried to tell us Kirsten stole the dress.’
It was Kirsten’s word against her former employer’s. Now Horan was involved, it would look like the deal was in place well before the function at the Rainier Hotel. The case for the prosecution was rapidly falling apart.
E
than’s text said he was in a conference room one floor up from the ballroom if Anya needed anything.
She decided to see how he was in person.
Papers were spread across the table around his laptop. If he was using a system to keep track of the documents, it was not immediately evident.
His face unshaven with raccoon-style shadows under his eyes confirmed what she suspected.
‘Did you get any sleep at all?’ She slid into a chair to his right.
He sat back and clasped his hands behind his head. ‘I needed to do some paperwork. It couldn’t wait.’
He hadn’t been at breakfast, so she assumed he hadn’t eaten.
‘I’ll be right back,’ she smiled.
A few minutes later she returned with a cardboard box containing two lattes, giant muffins and croissants filled with ham and cheese.
‘I should find more reasons for you to stay longer.’ Ethan’s face unfolded into a smile, revealing deep dimples in both cheeks. He looked younger when he smiled with his eyes. There was something very endearing about Ethan Rye, and it had taken her by surprise. She was enjoying the time they spent together. More than she wanted to admit.
As he helped himself to a warm croissant, she wondered what other tasks he was responsible for, apart from babysitting Australian doctors.
She picked up a paper with Peter Janson’s name on it. His earnings and outgoings were here in detail, including his credit card statements. The amount of information Ethan had access to was extraordinary. She hoped he hadn’t checked her financial records. It seemed a gross invasion of privacy.
She held up the printout. ‘Does this have something to do with the rape victim?’
He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. It flopped forward immediately.
‘I’m looking for cash withdrawals, regular payments to persons unknown, anything unusual to suggest he paid people off. For example, women he may have assaulted in the past. Cases that didn’t make it to court.’
He washed the last bite down with some coffee.
‘In that case, maybe you should check Horan’s company records.’
‘Still working on that. By the way,’ he frowned, ‘you don’t need to know how I got access to these documents because you never saw them.’
‘Fine.’ She assumed obtaining the information breached a number of privacy laws. Besides, if they were obtained illegally, none of the contents would be admissible in court. It would, though, give Ethan the chance to explore certain potentially useful avenues. If Jim Horan could fight dirty, it was only fair that Kirsten Byrne had someone in her corner too.
The next croissant disappeared from the box.
‘The records supplied before the drafts are full of gaps and were done by a contract company. It happens sometimes when Lyle Buffet wants certain players in a hurry. What he doesn’t know is that some services only check state prisons, so if an offender is on parole, or has finished serving a sentence, they show up as a negative criminal record.
‘Online searches only cover twenty-nine states, so I’m still
waiting on word back from three court runners. They have to manually check local courthouses for any other criminal histories for our boys.’
After a couple more mouthfuls, he stopped chewing and checked his watch. ‘Don’t you have another seminar, the one on drugs, violence and sex?’
‘Not for another hour and a half. The business manager wanted to swap times. If you need a hand with anything …’
She wanted to help Kirsten Byrne and Linda Gatby in any way possible. And Lyle Buffet and the other owners needed to know who on their team was likely to damage what they were trying to build.
Ethan raised both eyebrows. ‘If you really want to stay, you could read through some of these background checks and police reports.’ He passed across a highlighter pen. ‘You know what we’re looking for. Past form, complaints.’
She read about Clark Garcia. The twenty-two-year-old had grown up in Los Angeles and had been in trouble for stealing a car at the age of fifteen. He and a friend had taken a Lincoln for a joyride and been caught with a gun under the passenger seat. Garcia had been driving. His lawyer successfully argued that he was a model student at high school, a star footballer and had been forced by the friend to steal the car.
Six months later Garcia was involved in a break and enter at the school principal’s house. It seemed that the principal withdrew all charges, so Garcia would be free to play in the school team.
While at school, he lived with his mother, who worked nights at a 7-Eleven store, while he minded his baby brother and sister. The father died of a heart attack, aged forty-two, when his son was starting high school.
From what she read, Vince Dorafino hadn’t fared much better. His mother had left when he was a child. He grew up in foster homes and attended Byzantine High School in North Dakota. He was accused of sexually assaulting a minor, but pleaded guilty to a lesser charge. The judge gave him probation
given his sporting abilities and character references from his coach and principal.
The sound of an email dropping into Ethan’s inbox interrupted Anya’s reading. She looked up curiously.
‘This is about Liam McKenzie,’ Ethan told her. ‘Moved States a number of times, which explains why his criminal record has been tough to trace. He follows a similar pattern to the others. Grew up with his parents, older brother and younger sister.’
He took another sip of coffee and leant back. ‘You’ll love this. At the age of sixteen, he was arrested for beating a girlfriend who supposedly wanted to break up with him. She suffered black eyes, a bruised cheek and a broken wrist. She later recanted her story and said she bruised her face when she slipped on the sidewalk and hit her head. Police report says no prior episodes.’
The story was very familiar to Anya. Four women were murdered every day through domestic violence in the US alone. And up to four children a day were killed by a family member or partner of a parent. Until society refused to accept any violence towards women and children, then deaths and serious injury would continue to be commonplace.
She had seen many teenagers with low self-esteem and lack of a stable home life who thought love was what a boyfriend said, not how he behaved. They believed beatings were the price of being loved.
Ethan continued. ‘On another occasion, he was accused of beating a gay man he claimed had come on to him. Despite the victim having severe head injuries, the judge found that being propositioned by a gay man was provocation and McKenzie had acted in self-defence.’
‘That’s consistent with the comments he made in the lecture. He wasn’t Robinson Crusoe with his homophobic comments but that exoneration might explain why he was so cocky.’
She thought of what Kirsten had said about her assault. For someone so homophobic, McKenzie was the one who had initiated the anal rape.