Cons, Scams, and Grifts

Twenty-seven

In the ring, involved in the ultimate mano a mano face-off, Bart Heslip always had to outthink and outmuscle the other guy. As a repoman with DKA, he had to outthink, sometimes outmuscle, and always outwit the other guy. Still you against him, still mano a mano; but it didn’t leave you with raccoon eyes and ringing ears three days later. Not often, anyway. So since repo work depended on luck, intuition, and hunches as well as physical responses, Bart often winged it as an investigator.

Thus, he picked Larry Ballard’s brains about the case, got a copy of Ephrem Poteet’s photo, and drove up to Six Flags Marine World outside Vallejo in Solano County without phoning ahead. Here, according to Dirty Harry, Poteet had been a dip during the early spring months.

Bart expected to spend the day seeking out anyone who might remember the man who had picked their pockets. Instead, he found the park closed, its swooping futuristic rides silent. Marine World ran on a weekends-only schedule until Memorial Day.

“Isn’t there anyone around today who could help me?”

The red-faced porcine guard not only knew nothing, but was hostile in his ignorance. “Can’t bother nobody ’thout the head of security’s okay.”

“Where do I find the head of security?”

“He’s at lunch. But I got no authority for you to—”

“I’ll be back.”

Judge Valenti’s court reconvened at 2:30 P.M.. Looking over Dan’s shoulder at the Polaroids of Ellen Winslett, Giselle thought that if it had been anybody but Larry, she might have halfway believed...

Judge Valenti’s expression as he looked at the photos said he did believe. Even if Hec managed to get Kearny probation rather than actual jail time, Dan’s detective license would be gone. The damage award at the civil trial sure to follow would shut DKA down for good. Big John Wiley was getting his revenge.

Ellen spoke with lowered eyes, her hands twisting together like snakes in front of the big rounded tummy under her maternity dress. A sympathetic Valenti had to ask her to speak louder.

While collecting laundry for the washer, she heard noises in the garage and found a man “fooling around with” the Corvette her sister had left there the day before. Surprised, she dropped her laundry. The man, surprised in turn, knocked her down. She came to on the oil-stained floor with her husband standing over her. Her low, halting voice made the assault very vivid. The courtroom was deathly silent.

Scarbrough’s voice dripped sympathy. “Mrs. Winslett, I know this is very difficult for you, but could you point out the man who attacked you for the court?”

Ellen slowly extended her right forefinger at Kearny.

“That man sitting there. The one they call Daniel Kearny.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Winslett. That is all.” He turned to the judge. “Your Honor, that is the prosecution case. I am sure you will agree that—”

“I have a few questions on cross-examination,” said Hec.

Didn’t this little idiot know when he was beaten? For the press, Scarbrough gave a long-suffering sigh.

“Your Honor, Mrs. Winslett has undergone a terrible ordeal and it seems almost inhuman to subject her to—”

“I sympathize, Mr. Prosecutor, but the law is the law.” Judge Valenti looked at Hec Tranquillini with ill-concealed distaste. “Proceed, sir, if you have the stomach for it.”

Hec bowed slightly. “I do.” He turned to Ellen. “I will be brief, Mrs. Winslett. I just want to take you back to your garage at two-thirty on the afternoon of that fateful day...”

Fateful day? Giselle was almost as disgusted with Hec as the judge was. Couldn’t he see he was just making it worse?

“Is there any chance, any chance at all, that you are mistaken in your identification of Mr. Kearny as your attacker?”

“There is no chance at all,” Ellen Winslett said clearly.

Hec seemed to deflate. He shook his head in apparent sorrow. “Then I have no further questions of the witness.”

“Now, Your Honor, I’m sure you will agree there is more than enough evidence to bind the defendant over for trial—”

“But, Your Honor, I have a question of the court.”

Without waiting, Hec was hauling two sheafs of legal-looking papers from his briefcase. Something in his voice made Valenti’s eyes fix on those sheafs of paper with sudden interest.

“You have the right to be heard, counselor, but I can’t conceive of anything that could alter this court’s opinion.”

“I just want to know why, Your Honor, if these two are so totally unshakable in their sworn testimony that Mr. Kearny and only Mr. Kearny was in the garage that afternoon...”

He had thrown one sheaf down on the prosecution table in front of Scarbrough, was advancing on the bench with the other.

“. . that these fifty-two people whose sworn and notarized depositions I herewith hand to you...”

He was thrusting the second sheaf into Valenti’s hands.

“. . are equally sure that they were watching Mr. Kearny deliver the keynote speech to five hundred people at a convention in Chicago, Illinois, at the exact hour and minute these witnesses say he was attacking Mrs. Winslett here in Pacifica?”

Scarbrough was on his feet, screaming.

“Your Honor, this is an attempt to present evidence—”

Hec thundered, “This isn’t evidence, you fool! These are papers of impeachment proving that the prosecution doesn’t have a case. Never had a case.” He flung a dramatic arm at Kearny. “That man was not in Pacifica that day. Nothing anyone can say or do will make him have been there. He was in Chicago.”

The judge looked up at Hec from the affidavits with a very different expression on his face than he’d worn a few moments earlier. He said in subdued tones, “One of these appears to be a sworn statement by the senior United States senator from the state of Illinois. And another is by Mayor Daley of Chicago?”

“Yes, Your Honor. They both enjoyed the speech very much. Mr. Kearny was given a standing ovation.”

Scarbrough began, “Your Honor, I demand that—”

“Shut. Up.” Valenti spoke without raising his head from the affidavits. But after a few more pages, he did, to stare at Scarbrough with heavy brows drawn down over angry eyes.

“Mr. Prosecutor, subject to verification of these papers, it appears that Mr. Tranquillini is right. You have no case. Your only direct evidence is from eyewitnesses who have sworn repeatedly that the assault was committed by a man who could not possibly have done it. The most charitable view is one of mistaken identification. But I am not a fool, so I strongly suggest that your office look into the very real possibility that perjury for personal gain has been committed.”

“But Mrs. Winslett was severely beaten—”

“When? Where? By whom? Did you even ask Mr. Kearny or Mr. Tranquillini if the defendant was in Pacifica that day?”

Scarbrough cleared his throat. “In light of what these witnesses told me, Your Honor, I saw no need to—”

“Case dismissed,” said Valenti coldly. “With prejudice. Prosecution will bear all legal costs of the defense. You can only hope Mr. Kearny does not bring suit against this county for false arrest and you personally for criminal persecution.”

“I’ll appeal,” said Scarbrough intensely. “I’ll—”

“I also hold you, personally, Mr. Scarbrough, in contempt of this court. During my twenty years on the bench I have never had the court’s time wasted in such an egregious manner. Your fine is one thousand dollars cash. And I don’t want to hear another word out of you on this subject.”

“Your Honor, defense counsel led on my witnesses—”

“Two thousand dollars. If I hear another word out of you on any subject, any subject at all, the fine will be five thousand dollars and I will remand you to your own jail until it is paid in cash from your own pocket.” He slammed down his gavel. “This court is adjourned.”

But it wasn’t, not quite. Garth Winslett brayed, “Case dismissed? Court adjourned? We don’t get nothing?” He whirled on his wife, face contorted with rage and yelled, “You stupid bitch!” Then he smacked her in the eye with his big right fist.

Dan Kearny was on him from behind, wrestling him to the floor. Big John Wiley was sliding from the courtroom with a terrified look on his face. His wife was down on one knee beside her sister’s chair, holding the battered woman in her arms. They both were crying. Tardily, the bailiffs were taking over from Kearny. Giselle stood up, thinking complacently that Larry Ballard could come to the office again like a proper P.I.

But even then it wasn’t quite over. Because as Eloise was helping her sister to her feet, Ellen’s tear-filled eyes met Giselle’s for just one fleeting moment.

And, despite her battered face, she winked.

Then it was over.