Authors: Chris Culver
She shrugged. “If you had done as I asked, we wouldn’t have to have this conversation.”
“I’ve got almost two million dollars in cash in my car. It’s yours if you leave town and leave my family alone. With that much money, you’ll be able to go wherever you want and live in comfort for the rest of your life. You can even give your sister the will. When your mom dies, you’ll still get your money.”
Tess leaned her head back and looked contemplative. “Can I give you a counteroffer?”
I shrugged. “Sure.”
“How about you give me the two million dollars and then you kill my mom?”
I shook my head. “You’re not getting this.”
“No, I understand what’s going on very well. You’re trying to weasel out of your responsibilities. Like you always do.” She leaned forward, holding the pillow against her chest to cover herself. “When I left my journal out nine years ago, I did it to give you the strength to do the right thing. I understand now that I asked too much of you. You weren’t ready for that. It’s okay. Now, I’m giving you a second chance to be the man you’re supposed to be, the strong, righteous man I know you can be. I want you to take this opportunity and kill my mother. She deserves to die.”
“That’s not our call to make.”
“Truly?” asked Tess, her brow furrowed. “My mother took me on a family trip to Africa, where she let a stranger put his hands all over me. She let him hold me down and fuck me while the rest of the family went on a safari.”
“What happened to you—”
“Kill her,” said Tess, interrupting me. She scooted to the end of the bed and took my hand. “Please. I know the strength you have in you. I’ve felt it. Admit it. When you saw my journal for the first time, you felt your insides go cold, you felt your hands steady, and you felt strong because, for the first time in your life, you knew what you were put on earth to do. Think of all the people we could help if you would only come with me and let me guide you to become the man you are supposed to be.”
I pulled my hand away from her. “No.”
Tess looked at me contemptuously. “You’re deluding yourself if you think Katherine will ever make you happy.”
“How much longer do you think you can keep this up before you get caught? Another day? Two? Our story is going national. Your face will be on newspapers and televisions across the country. You can’t escape that. I’m trying to give you a choice. We can end this now. You take the money, and you go live your life wherever you want in peace. Nobody has to get hurt.”
Tess’s eyes narrowed. “Except that I was hurt. My family used me in the worst possible way, and you, the man who supposedly loved me, who was supposed to protect me, cast me aside like I was garbage. I wish I could forget that, but I can’t. I live it every day. You broke me, and it took me years to put myself back together.”
“If I could take everything back, I would, but I can’t.”
“I wish I could believe that,” said Tess. “I’m going to go to the bathroom, and I’m going to take a shower. When I get out, I want you gone.”
“What about my clothes?”
She crossed the room, retrieved my clothes from the bathroom, and then threw them at me from the doorway.
“I’m not going to kill your mother,” I said, gathering my pants and shirt from the floor. “I don’t care what you do to me. I want you out of my life.”
Tess slammed the bathroom door shut. I shook out my pants and then my shirt, causing my socks to roll across the ground, before walking to the bathroom door and knocking. She turned on the shower, so I tried the knob only to find it locked.
“My boxers are still in there.” I waited outside the door for about a minute, but she didn’t say anything. “Fine. Just keep them as something to remember me by.”
I got dressed sans underwear and left the room. Samantha met me at the foot of the steps. She wore a shapely, probably expensive cotton dress and tasteful makeup.
“You guys were kind of loud up there,” she said. “Everything okay?”
I looked up the stairs and then back to her. “Not really.”
Samantha nodded and blinked. Her eyes looked almost glassy.
“You want to sit down and have a cup of coffee?” she asked.
“I don’t know if I should be here when Tess comes out.”
“Then you don’t have to stay very long.” She stammered something and then looked away and then back at me, her bottom lip trembling and her face growing red. “I checked myself out of the hospital this morning, but I wish I hadn’t. This house is so crazy. I feel like I’m going to explode.”
I softened my voice. “I can stay a few minutes.”
We sat down in the drawing room, but neither of us ever went for that coffee. Truthfully, I think she just needed someone to be with her. Isaac’s mother and father were handling his funeral arrangements, but they were both elderly and in poor health, so Samantha was trying to help out where she could. Mostly, I sat and listened and offered encouragement when I could. When we heard the water stop flowing to the shower upstairs, it was time to go. I hugged her tight and reminded her that I was always only a phone call away, before walking to the front door.
The security company monitoring the neighborhood probably had a golf cart available to drive me to the front gate, but I didn’t want to wait for it. Besides that, the walk wasn’t very far, even in jeans made uncomfortable due to my lack of underwear. As I approached the front gate, the photographers, cameramen, and reporters stood straighter, and two security guards turned, I thought, to look at me. Instead, they seemed to focus behind me.
“Steven, hold up.”
I turned and saw Tess jogging towards me. Water slicked her hair back, and she wore a pair of pink tennis shoes and a thick white robe that she had to hold together. She held something in front of her, and it was only after a wind gust unfurled them that I recognized my boxer shorts.
“You forgot these, sweetheart,” she said, stepping close enough to me that I could feel her breath on my face. I took my underwear from her hand, listening to the sound of camera shutters opening and closing.
“What are you doing?”
“This,” she said, pressing herself against me. She kissed my lips and then held me tight against her and whispered. “You want options?”
“Yes.”
“Kill my mother, or I’ll slit Ashley’s throat with a box cutter and hire a group of thugs from East St. Louis to gang-rape your wife as she comes home from work.”
Tess started to step back, but I held on to her. “I could just kill you.”
She brought her lips to my ear. “You could try, but I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t like how it ends.”
She laughed and pushed away from me, almost playfully. I slipped my boxers into my pocket and watched as she walked away. When she disappeared into her house and I was sure she didn’t have any more surprises for me, I headed toward the gate while the reporters outside peppered me with questions. One wanted to know what Tess had just told me, while a second asked if she and I were back together. A third wanted to know how I felt about Dominique. I said “no comment” to everything they asked and pushed toward my car, not knowing what else to do.
I drove home but slowed when I spotted black-and-white patrol vehicles, uniformed officers, and a police minivan with its doors open in front of my house. Captain Morgan hadn’t brought a warrant on his previous visit, but somebody obviously had one now. I pulled into the nearest driveway, turned around, and parked two blocks up the road, hopefully far enough away that nobody would see my car. As I walked toward my house, one of the uniformed officers walked toward me, speaking into the microphone on his shoulder.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Are you the homeowner?”
I nodded.
“We’re executing a search warrant.”
“I can see that,” I said, crossing my arms. “Can you ask your CO to come out here, please?”
“He’s already on his way,” said the officer, pointing to the nearest cruiser. “Have a seat on that car. Captain Morgan will be with you shortly.”
The trees that lined my road filtered the late afternoon sun into a checkerboard pattern on the car’s black paint. I leaned against the rear bumper and felt the car sag beneath my weight as I waited for Captain Morgan’s now-familiar boxy shape to exit my home. He wore a brown suit coat, and he had an unlit cigarette between his lips and an envelope in his hand. He walked toward me, lighting up.
“I’m glad you weren’t smoking that in my house. Police officer or not, I’m pretty sure my wife would have killed you.”
Morgan didn’t even blink at the joke. “We’ve got a lot to do. Let’s not waste my time, please.”
“Fine. Why are you at my house?”
He took a long drag and blew it over his shoulder. “As my officer told you, we’re serving a search warrant. We knocked, but there was no answer. When we couldn’t find you, we asked a neighbor with a key to let us in. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course I mind.”
Morgan shrugged and flicked ashes from the tip of his cigarette onto the sidewalk. “Next time, we’ll just break the door down. We did you a favor.”
“Sure. Can I see the warrant?”
“That’s your right,” said Morgan. “First, though, I wanted to tell you that I picked up your mail. I didn’t want it getting lost.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking a manila envelope from his hands. I wouldn’t have opened it right away except that it was from my sister. I slid my finger along the flap and pulled out a notarized stack of documents my attorney had sent to her a few weeks ago. Rachel had signed the adoption papers. Ashley was ours, at least unless I went to jail.
“Something wrong, Mr. Hale?” asked Morgan.
“No. I just got the best news I’ve ever received,” I said, sliding the papers back into the envelope. I’d have a lawyer look over them as soon as I could to make sure everything was correct, but it looked like Katherine and I were parents. “Can I see your warrant?”
He reached into his jacket for a folded stack of papers and carbon copies. The papers were simple forms, and to my untrained eye, everything looked official; the proper boxes were checked, the prosecuting attorney and judge had signed the correct spots, and they described my house well enough that even a blind man could differentiate it from every other house on the street. Assuming the probable cause underlying it was sound, it’d hold up to scrutiny. I scanned until I found the section describing the property to be seized.
Any evidence deemed to have evidentiary value to the relevant case of homicide, to include, but not limited to, blood, gunshot residue, ammunition and firearms, fingerprints, cell phones.
Parsing the legalese, it meant they could search every drawer, closet, and other potential hiding space in the house, no matter how big or small. I handed the warrant back to Morgan.
“You’ll find gunshot residue on at least one jacket in the front hall closet. It’s probably rubbed off on some other clothes, too. You know how easily GSR travels.”
“Are you admitting to something?”
“I shot a firearm with Tess Girard at a gun range in Arnold, Missouri.”
“All right,” said Morgan. “Anything else you want to tell me? Do you have any firearms in the house that you might want to declare?”
“No.”
Morgan crossed his arms. “Since you’re talkative, why don’t we to go to my office and talk in private? We can clarify a few things, might be able to clear this up today. I’ll even drive you to and from.”
I shook my head. “I’ve been in your custody before. You kept me in an interrogation room for fourteen hours straight nine years ago. I’m not going to do that again.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Morgan. “And I’m sorry if you feel you were mistreated in our custody. If you ever feel that a police officer has mistreated you, you can fill out a complaint form online that will go directly to our Internal Affairs department. They’ll follow up where appropriate.”
I held back my scoff and started to stand. “I appreciate the offer, but no thank you.”
“Then maybe you’d like to supervise the search and make sure we don’t damage anything. Sometimes civilians like doing that.”
I started walking back toward my car, but stopped and looked over my shoulder. “I trust you. Just lock up when you’re done.”
Morgan might have said something, but I couldn’t hear him over the rush of blood in my ears. Whatever Tess put in the house, they were going to find. If I got lucky, it’d just ruin my marriage, but if not, I needed some help.
I drove to my office and called Morgan Rosenthal and Associates, Vince’s employer, on the way. Vince must have told them I might call because the secretary put me on the line with Barry Pruett, one of the senior partners, immediately. He warned me not to speak to anyone and counseled me to call him as soon as Morgan put me in custody. He even wished me luck. I wondered if the social niceties would add to my bill.
After I hung up, I went inside and paced in front of the windows overlooking Lockwood Avenue. I had searched the house well, but Morgan’s team searched homes for a living.
What else did you hide, Tess?
After approximately twenty minutes, I heard someone knock at the front door and then push it open.
“Are you here, Mr. Hale?”
It was Morgan.
I drew a breath. “Yeah. If you’re here to arrest me, my attorney has already advised me not to talk to you.”
“I’m here to talk.”
Of course, that wouldn’t stop him from arresting me if he thought it would stick.
“Are you done with the search?”
“It’s still ongoing, but I left a detective in charge who will treat your belongings with as much respect as possible. Can I come in now, or do you want me to stay on the street and shout questions up to you?”
I hesitated. “Come up, but I’m only going to talk on one condition. I want to know what gave you probable cause for the search.”
“I’ve got no problem with that,” said Morgan, already climbing the stairs. I pulled my rolling office chair to the couch and sat down. He sat on the sofa and stretched his arms back, getting comfortable. He nodded at me. “Nice office. I didn’t get the chance to tell you that the other day. It’s very modern.”
“It’s my home away from home,” I said. “I don’t often have guests, so forgive my lack of refreshments.”
“That’s quite all right.”
I didn’t say anything, thinking Morgan would take the lead. He seemed content sitting, though. I waited for maybe a minute before speaking. “You think I killed Isaac Cohen.”
“No,” said Morgan. “But I’ve got to ask questions, no matter how insensitive they might seem.”
“You already have the man who killed Isaac in custody. Moses Tarawally. He and Tess Girard killed him.”
“I thought you might say that,” said Morgan, wagging his right index finger at me. “That’s where we’re running into trouble. We haven’t found anything to connect Ms. Girard to Mr. Cohen’s death. So, humor me, please. Why would our millionaire heiress kill your friend?”
I was reasonably sure that Captain Morgan and I could go back and forth all night, and I was equally sure that would be a waste of both of our times. I kept Vince’s name out of it, but I told him the truth about what happened to Tess and what we did about it.
Morgan blinked and straightened when I finished. “That’s quite a story.”
“It’s the truth. There’s a black, leather-bound journal in my house. Read it. It’ll back up everything I said.”
Morgan mulled it over for a moment before leaning forward. “So you’re telling me Dominique Girard had nothing to do with Tess’s disappearance nine years ago.”
“No, I’m telling you he had everything to do with it. He let people assault his daughter. We protected her the only way we could think of.”
Captain Morgan continued staring at me, but then he reached into his jacket for a pack of cigarettes. “You care if I smoke?”
Instead of answering, I walked to the recycling bin beside my desk and pulled out an aluminum can. I put it on the coffee table.
“I don’t have an ashtray.”
Morgan lit up and leaned back. “Are you sure this is the story you want to roll with? It doesn’t sound very plausible.”
I cocked my head to the side. “Plausible or not, it’s the truth.”
“You realize that you’ve admitted to tampering with evidence at the very least. I could charge you with that.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “You can’t. Tampering with evidence is a class-D felony, which means there’s a three-year limit to bring charges. It’s been nine.”
Morgan smiled. “I see you’ve thought about this.”
“A little.”
“How did you know Miss Girard was in town?”
“She and I have been in contact for a couple of days.”
“Tell me the rest.”
I was honest with him and told him everything that had occurred since Tess’s initial call. Morgan asked a few questions, but mostly he listened and wrote things down. When I finished, he flipped through his notebook.
“That answers some of my questions and helps fill in my timeline, so thank you.”
“Anything to help the police. And now it’s your turn. What was your probable cause on the warrant to search my house?”
Morgan glanced up from his notebook but continued writing.
“We found the weapon used to murder Mr. Cohen. It’s a Colt 1911 chambered for a .22 long rifle cartridge. That sound familiar?”
“It’s the weapon I shot with Tess at the firing range in Arnold. It was her gun.”
Morgan smiled and put his pen down. “Your honesty is refreshing. Most of the time, the suspects I question lie or accuse me of planting the evidence against them.”
“I do aim for refreshing.”
“Your story explains why we found your prints on it, but I’d like you to clarify one more thing for me. Can you tell me why your prints were the only ones on the gun?”
I crossed my legs, squared my shoulders to him, and shrugged. “Shooter probably wore gloves.”
Morgan nodded thoughtfully. “See, I thought the same thing, but I talked to one of our evidence techs, and he said gloves would either smudge your prints or leave an imprint of their own”
I raised my eyebrows. “Tell your fingerprint technician to go back to school, then. Not all gloves act the same way.”
Morgan laced his fingers together and leaned forward. “Do tell. What gloves wouldn’t smudge your prints or leave an imprint of their own?”
“Possibly new suede. They might smudge a print a little, but they wouldn’t leave anything you could trace back to the wearer.”
“Really?” asked Morgan. I nodded and he curled his bottom lip into a smile. “I learn something new every day. Just to satisfy my curiosity, how do you know so much about the effect of gloves on friction ridge analysis? That’s what our evidence guys call fingerprint analysis, FYI.”
“I write crime novels. I research.”
Morgan’s eyes bored to mine. “You’re a very cool man, Mr. Hale. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“A few people,” I said, shrugging. “I’m actually a quite warm person, but only to people I know well.”
Morgan looked down at the notebook spread on my coffee table. “You’re not the only person I’ve spoken to about Mr. Cohen’s death, of course. I’ve also talked with Moses Tarawally. He’s looking to cut a deal, but to tell you the truth, I don’t care for the man. Gives me the creeps. You, though, I like. You’re a family man. I respect that, and because I respect that, I want to help you. To do that, though, you’ve got to help me. Tell me about the money you stole from Dominique Girard.”
I stood. “You want some coffee?”
“I’m just fine,” said Morgan. “Did Isaac find out about the money?”
I went to the coffee pot and dumped out the old stuff in the bathroom. “There is no money. Moses is lying to you if he says I have some.”
“So we’re not going to find a couple of million dollars in your house?”
“Correct. You will not find money in my house.”
“How about if we researched your finances? Would we find it in a brokerage account somewhere?”
I walked back into the office and put the coffee carafe back in place.
“You look in my brokerage accounts, you’ll find about fifty grand,” I said, walking toward the supply closet for coffee and a new filter. “Believe me, if I had a couple of million dollars, Katherine, Ashley, and I would be on the beach somewhere far away right about now.”
“Is there anything in your house that you’d like to tell me about? Save us all some time.”
I didn’t bother turning around to look at the police officer. “As you very well know, Tess and Moses broke into my house two days ago. If you find anything incriminating, I’m sure they put it there.”
“Sure,” said Morgan. “That sounds reasonable. Can I ask you where you were between six and midnight two nights ago?”
I turned around and crossed my arms. “I was with Ashley all afternoon, and then at 7:30, my wife and I went to an event at Ashley’s school. After that, we came home to find that someone had broken into our house and taken our dog. Vincent Pasquale and I went in search of my dog after that, only to find him dead at the River des Peres. While searching, we found a homeless girl who described Moses and Tess Girard as the people who dropped his body off.”
Morgan clapped his hands once and then pumped a fist in the air. “That’s what I was looking for. An alibi. Tell me about this homeless girl. What was her name?”
“She didn’t give me one.”
“That’s all right,” said Morgan, nodding. “I understand. What’d she look like?”
“That’s hard to say. It was dark and she was filthy. She had light brown skin, though, and brown hair. She offered us sex, so she might have a record.”
“I hope you declined her offer.”
“Of course,” I said.
“Where can I find her?”
I shrugged and then turned to my coffee pot. It wasn’t quite done, but enough had brewed that I could pour a cup. “I have no idea. Check the river.”
“I’ll have someone look into her.”
“Good,” I said, turning and walking back to the coffee table. I sipped my drink gingerly. “Are you going to arrest me now?”
“Not just yet,” said Morgan, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t go anywhere, if I were you, though.”
“Then if you don’t mind, I’m going to get back to work.”
“Don’t mind at all,” said Morgan, standing. He put his hands on his waist and leaned back, stretching. “You want me to come by when we’re done searching your house?”
“No need.”
“Good luck then, Mr. Hale.”
“You too, Captain Morgan.”
The police captain left through the front door. As soon as he was gone, I collapsed onto my sofa. This was going to be bad.