Michael Gresham: Secrets Girls Keep Part 33

"Michael, Jana's here."

"What? What the h.e.l.l!"

"He says you told him to come by for the key to the boat. He says you're paying him to clean it. Is that right? Did you actually hire him?"

"No. Don't act alarmed. Give him a soft drink. Make him a sandwich. Suggest it's time for him to leave but if he doesn't get the hint just don't force it. I'm on my way."

"Okay."

I can't make it downstairs on the elevator fast enough. Marcel is off somewhere staking out police detectives as they stake out one of our clients. We need to know whether they're planting evidence, which we suspect. I try his number. No answer. I climb into my Mercedes and back out of my slot, squeal up the curve to the exit arm, and flash my pa.s.s. The arm lifts and I am out.

Lake Sh.o.r.e Drive takes ten minutes in traffic. Then I am headed north. Traffic is sluggish and slow, where it's ordinarily quite speedy. I fall in behind an eighteen wheeler even though trucks aren't allowed on this stretch. I pound the steering wheel and curse. Speed dial trying Marcel again. Still nothing.

My schoolboy mind urges me to call the police while my tough lawyer mind says to keep them out of it. Cops rushing in with drawn guns where my wife and baby are-the last thing I want. So I will think about it a few minutes as I drive.

Today is June first. I will remember this day forever as the day some a.s.shole took my life hostage. I resolve that this will never happen again. No client will ever have access to my private life again. Danny will have to find another job, something doing civil litigation where the risks are reduced. Or maybe probate and writing wills and setting up trusts. In fact, maybe that's where I belong, in a world unpopulated by crazy sons of b.i.t.c.hes who might take a liking to your wife, your kid, or your property. Never again, I vow. In my mind I'm cleaning out my files, giving everyone their money back, and closing down for good. I have enough money after a case I filed against a Mexican utility that I never have to work again. I pound the steering wheel. What have I done to myself? I cry it out against the windshield and no one hears. They know nothing about my oath as an attorney to help even the most evil son of a b.i.t.c.h on earth, that even he deserves a fair trial and a competent lawyer to stand up for him. But I'm done with all that. As of June first, put it on your calendar.

I dial Marcel again. No answer; it goes straight to voicemail. I tell him to call me immediately and come to my home immediately when he gets the message. Finally, I'm able to swerve out and gun it around the truck in a no-pa.s.sing zone. Rules of the road be d.a.m.ned. Nothing matters to me right now except my family.

Nothing else matters.

I floor it and the car lurches into pa.s.sing gear and I'm again racing oncoming traffic as I pa.s.s a slow-moving SUV in a no-pa.s.sing zone. The woman flips me off.

So be it.

50.

Danny returns to the family room and asks Jana to join her in the kitchen. Without being asked, she pours him a c.o.ke. He drinks it down and holds out his gla.s.s. He doesn't ask, he just holds his gla.s.s out. She refills it and drops in two more ice cubes. Then he sits back in one of the captain's chairs in the kitchen.

"So," Danny asks lightly, "how's the world treating you?"

"I never got to tell you this before, Danny. But when I was living here I used to watch you in the shower."

"Jana, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. That's totally inappropriate."

"I totally like when you drop the soap and I see your b.r.e.a.s.t.s. You turn me on, girl."

"Leave right now or I'm calling the police."

She pulls her phone out of her jeans pocket and begins punching numbers. Her eyes never leave his except to make the call. 911 rings one, twice, when he suddenly lunges at her. He doubles up his fist and swings at her head. She remembers the phone ringing twice and then she finds herself on the floor of family room, bound on her side with clothesline rope. Her legs are pulled up behind her as they would have been if she were crouching, then the rope went up her backside to her wrists, which were also tightly bound together. She is totally at his mercy.

He pulls a round silver object out of his pocket and steps over her, positioning himself behind her.

"I'm going to place this E string around your throat."

"No! Please, Jana. My baby!"

"Please Jana? Does that mean you would rather please me than die just now? Because either way, you're going to die."

"My husband will kill you. If he doesn't, Marcel will."

"Let them. I will die knowing I've had the best a.s.s in Chicago. Whattaya say, Danny? Care to buy yourself another ten minutes?"

"Yes, I do. Whatever you want, Jana. I'm willing to bargain it out. We could have s.e.x every time you come over, if that's what you want."

He begins laughing. Laughing and then she feels the very thin, high-tensile wire loop drop down over her neck. Then it tightens.

"I had another girl like this once. What was her name? Oh, yes. Amy something. Tanenbaum? That seems about right. Does that seem about right to you, Danny?"

Danny says, "You murdered that poor baby. I've always known it was you, Jana. You're lucky you had Michael defending you. Anyone else and you'd be sitting in prison today."

"You say that like I owe him. He's a grunt. I don't owe him a G.o.dd.a.m.n thing."

Danny claws at the knots behind her back where the rope encircles her wrists. Unable to get purchase on the knot, her efforts break away fingernails as she tries to claw her way through the rope.

He is watching her.

"Your fingers are bleeding."

"That's just a sign of how much I hate you."

"What? You hate me? Okay, darling girl. Here I come."

With that he reaches around and begins unb.u.t.toning her blouse.

Then his hand slips inside her shirt.

51.

I can't locate Marcel so I call the cops. They are warned that it's a hostage situation. They promise to wait until I arrive so I can talk to my "client" as I describe him. Most likely I can talk him down as one would a jumper from a rooftop, I explain to the 911 dispatcher. He's my client and he respects me but he has mental lapses, especially under great pressure. A duty sergeant comes on the line.

"Michael Gresham? This is Sergeant Hollingsworth. Your wife is being held against her will?"

"Yes, and my daughter."

"How old is your daughter?"

"A little over a year."

"Okay. What else can you tell me?"

"You need to understand the man is my client. He's probably just upset. Please let me arrive and speak with him before anything else. Will you agree to that?"

"We have to, I'd say. All right."

"Good, then I'll give you my home address."

"Does he carry a phone?"

"Yes."

"Give me his number."

I have to scroll through the phone log as I'm driving along the lake, but there it is, a call from months earlier. I give it to Sergeant Hollingsworth.

"I'm contacting CPD. We're going to ask you to stop at Channel View Road and wait there for a cruiser to bring you on up. What are you driving?"

"Mercedes 500. Black."

"Park on the northeast corner, please. And wait."

It's probably another ten minutes away. I press the accelerator and my high-powered car lurches ahead.

On the spur of the moment, I dial Jana's phone myself. No answer. Then I kick myself. I should stand back and let the police make that call.

The rest of the way up there's no pa.s.sing anyone. The traffic is tightly knitted together and I am left to stew and curse. Finally I make it to Channel View Road, drive across the intersection, and immediately park in a red zone. I shut down the car and climb out. Within moments a police cruiser, CPD, comes wailing through the intersection and swerves to the curb. His window lowers. Two cops, a huge shotgun dividing them.

"Climb in."

The back door opens and in I go.

And we're off.

52.

He has made a noose of the guitar string, pa.s.sed it around her neck, and he pulls her along down the hallway. The rope around her ankles has been removed and her blouse is unb.u.t.toned and her bra raised above her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She is crying. They pa.s.s the sleeping Dania's room and he stops and peers inside. "Good baby," he says. "Except you're a Gresham. That's three strikes right there, kiddo," he says to the sleeping child as though the mother isn't present.

Then he pulls and the tightening wire causes her to lurch onto her toes and tap-dance behind him as they reach the end of the hallway and enter her bedroom.

He unties her hands. He tells her to strip off all clothing and jewelry and she complies.

"Yes, the wedding ring too," he sets with a set smile. "We'll just pretend you're a virgin. Going in, at least," he laughs. He stretches her out on the bed, on her back, her naked legs spread wide.

When he has spent himself on her he rousts himself off of Danny, off the bed, and stands.

"You wait here. I'm going to see about little biscuit."

Danny hears Dania in her room, in her crib, singing a video song. She is suddenly gripped by the instinct to rush to her daughter' s side and protect her from Jana. The guitar string is still loosely coiled around her neck and she gingerly lifts it off and flings it across the bed. It hits the wall on Michael's side and falls to the floor, straightening out in its tensile flex as it falls harmless out of sight. Then she is moving toward the door and edging down the hall.

She hears Jana talking to Dania.

She peeks around into the door opening and there is Jana, seated in the rocking chair, rocking, and holding Dania on his lap. The little girl sits upright, her back to Jana, and when she spies her mother's face she reaches out toward the door with both arms. Jana looks up and sees Danny.

"Come in," he calls to Danny. "We were just deciding what to do with this little b.i.t.c.h."

"Give her to me. Please."

Danny approaches the man with her arms extended as if to receive her child. Whereupon Jana abruptly stands and whisks the child down the hallway, back into Danny's room, where he sets the child on the bed and turns around to face Danny.

"Where is it? Where's the guitar string? Or do I just snap her neck right now?" As he says this, he places a hand on the back of the little girl's neck. He squeezes until the child looks up with tears in her eyes.

"No," Danny says. "Don't!"

He squeezes harder.

"The string is on the floor on the far side of the bed. Let me get it for you."

She edges around the bed and retrieves the string. She comes back around the bed and pa.s.ses the string to Jana. He takes it in his hands and quickly refashions the string into a loop, pa.s.sing the distal end through the tiny washer meant to anchor the string at the guitar bridge. He holds it up, admiring his work.

Then, "Whose neck first? Mother or child? You tell me, Danny. Do I cut your throat with the string first? Or second. I'm waiting for your answer. Five-four-three-"

"Me! Do me first," she cries and reaches for the string.

"That's it. Drop it around your neck."

Danny complies, moving the loop down around her neck.

"Now come closer. Let's see how it works."

She steps to him and leans down as he motions with his hand to do so. He seizes the end of the string and suddenly yanks. The string snugs up around her throat and she can feel it bite into her flesh. A pain impulse rushes to her brain and she cries out.

"No!" she yells. "Not my baby, please, Jana!"

"Hush, sweet Danny, hush and shut your eyes. It won't hurt nearly as much if you just relax."

She shuts her eyes and waits.

He wraps the loose end around his fist and begins pulling the noose tighter.