The Lost Years

60

Lloyd Scott was in his office on Main Street in Hackensack, a block away from the courthouse, when he received a call from Assistant Prosecutor Peter Jones.

“You’re telling me that the crook who broke into my house may have seen someone running from Jonathan’s house right after he was shot!” Lloyd exclaimed. Anger creeping into his tone, he demanded, “When in God’s name did you find this out?”

Peter Jones had been fully anticipating the hostile response. “Lloyd, I got the call from Gruber’s attorney, Joshua Schultz, a little less than twenty-four hours ago. As you well know, many defendants with serious charges pending try to tell us that they have valuable information on some other case. As you also well know, they’re not trying to help the prosecutor out of the goodness of their hearts. They’re looking to get their sentences reduced.”

“Peter, I couldn’t care less about what this guy’s motives are, and I’m speaking as the owner of the house he broke into,” Lloyd answered, his voice rising. “Why didn’t you call me right away?”

“Lloyd, calm down and let me tell you what happened yesterday. After I got the call from Schultz, I spoke to the prosecutor immediately. We followed up right away on Gruber’s claim that he was using a stolen E-ZPass tag when he drove back to New York after breaking into your house. His attorney gave us the information about the stolen tag and the record checked out. E-ZPass only activates on the George Washington Bridge going from New Jersey to New York, not the other way around. So we don’t know when Gruber drove out to New Jersey, but we know when he drove back.”

“Go on,” Lloyd said brusquely.

“We know he was on the bridge going back at ten fifteen. Mariah Lyons spoke to her father at eight thirty, and she panicked at ten thirty when she called him again and only got his voice mail. We know he was dead at that point. So, with this time frame, it is very possible that Gruber was in your bedroom emptying your safe when he claims he heard the shot.”

“All right. So what’s next?”

“Gruber gave us the name of the fence he says he used to get rid of the stolen jewelry. His name is Billy Declar and he runs some kind of dumpy secondhand furniture store in lower Manhattan. He lives in the back room. He’s got a long criminal record and was Gruber’s cell mate the one time he served a prison term in New York. We’re working with the Manhattan DA’s office to get a search warrant for his place.”

“When are you going to execute the search warrant?”

“They promised us they’d get it from the judge by three o’clock, and our guys will go right over there with them. For what it’s worth, according to Gruber, Declar has your wife’s jewelry intact. He was planning to take it to Rio in the next couple of weeks and sell it there.”

“Getting the jewelry back would be fine, but, obviously much more important, can Gruber give any kind of description of whoever he claims he saw leaving the house?”

“So far, he’s holding back on that because he’s still trying to make a deal, but I must tell you that he has already stated through his lawyer that it was not Kathleen Lyons. So, if the information about the fence turns out to be true, then Gruber will have established sufficient credibility for this office to arrange for him to sit down with our composite officer immediately and come up with a face.”

“I see.”

Jones knew that in the next minute, Lloyd Scott would be delivering an impassioned protest about the arrest of Kathleen Lyons. Hastily Jones added, “Lloyd, you must understand something. Wally Gruber is one of the most cunning crooks I have ever come across. The Manhattan DA is looking into other unsolved residential burglaries that he may have committed using the same kind of GPS tracker he put on your car. This guy knows if he can convince us that he was in your house at the approximate time of Professor Lyons’s death, it might work for him big-time.”

“I understand what you are telling me,” Lloyd Scott snapped. “Nevertheless, there was an ungodly rush to arrest and handcuff and incarcerate a frail, sick, and bewildered grieving woman, and you know it.”

Trying to keep his voice from rising, Scott paused, then added, “At this moment, I don’t care whether the jewelry is returned or not. I demand that you go immediately to the next step. I want Gruber to sit down with that composite officer and I want it to happen by tomorrow at the latest. If you don’t, I will immediately make such arrangements myself. And, frankly, I don’t care what you have to promise him. At the very least, you owe Kathleen Lyons that much.”

Before Peter Jones could respond, Lloyd Scott added, “I want to know right away what develops from that search warrant. I’ll be waiting for your call.”

As he heard the click that ended their conversation, Peter Jones saw his dream of becoming the next county prosecutor evaporating in front of his eyes.