Authors: James Grippando
Ryan went directly from K&G headquarters to Norm’s office. Norm was working alone in the conference room, preparing for tomorrow’s courtroom showdown. That Brent’s deposition had blossomed into a full-blown evidentiary hearing came as a surprise to Ryan. Norm wanted to talk strategy with his client. Ryan, however, unloaded a surprise of his own—the meeting with Kozelka, or at least with his right-hand man.
Norm listened without interruption, but Ryan could tell he was steaming.
“Big mistake,” said Norm. “I don’t see an upside to a stunt like that.”
“You got a better way to find out how my father committed rape and then turned it into blackmail?”
“You’ll never find that out. Not from Kozelka.”
“Had I already gone to the FBI, I would agree with you. But I made it very clear that I haven’t said anything to the FBI yet. Kozelka can keep the FBI out of this just by giving me the information I want.”
“Ryan, he’s not an idiot. If you don’t already know what information your father used to blackmail him, he’s not going to tell you. He’d be giving you carte blanche to pick up where your father left off and keep on blackmailing him. He’s probably
back in his office doing cartwheels, delighted that your old man took the secret to the grave.”
Ryan fell silent. “I hadn’t really thought of it that way.”
“Of course you haven’t. You’re a brilliant guy, but you haven’t had a good night’s sleep since sometime before your father died. You’ve hardly slept at all in the last four days. Your wife’s divorcing you. Your blockheaded brother-in-law appears to have beaten the crap out of her lawyer. Your sister’s a pregnant squirrel. Your mother has her head in the sand. Your father’s a convicted rapist. You’ve been chased by the Panamanian police. The FBI and the IRS are breathing down your neck. Need I go on? You have too much to think about. That’s why you should listen to
me
, damn it. Or do you want to add ‘FBI Most Wanted’ to your list of woes?”
“So maybe I could have thought this through a little better. But Kozelka does appear to hold the key. I was afraid that once I went to the FBI, he might never talk. I’d never find the truth.”
“The truth is, you made a terrible mistake. And you made it for one reason: you’re still protecting your father.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your obsession right now is to find out why Kozelka paid your father all that money. One option is to cooperate with the FBI and let them interrogate Kozelka, but then you’d have to tell them your father was a rapist and extortionist. The other option is to barge into K&G headquarters like an idiot and demand to speak directly to Joe Kozelka yourself.”
Ryan was suddenly angry, pacing the room. “Is it really that crazy to wonder why a man like
Kozelka would pay a rapist five million dollars?”
“You’re way too consumed by this rape question. Step back. You might even realize the blackmail has no connection at all to the rape.”
“Then why would the rape conviction record have been in the same safe deposit box as the Panamanian bank records?”
“Maybe the rape simply explains why your dad gave a two-hundred-thousand-dollar chunk of the money to Amy Parkens. You said it yourself before—it could have been his way of making amends for what he did to Amy’s mother. But the rape might have nothing to do with the reasons Kozelka or anyone else paid your father five million dollars.”
Ryan considered the theory quietly, saddened by its plausibility. He could think only of the horrified look on Amy’s face yesterday. “That would mean my father really did rape Amy’s mother.”
“Stop protecting your father, Ryan. It’s time to start worrying about your own neck.”
Ryan wanted to deny it, but the more the silence lingered, the more he realized: Norm was right. He answered in a calm, much quieter tone. “What’s done is done, I guess. The good news is, I’ve at least confirmed that Kozelka is the source of the funds.”
“And the really bad news,” said Norm, “is that you still have no idea what your dad used to blackmail Kozelka. Yet you marched right into his building and left him with the distinct impression that the Duffy family is still blackmailing him.”
“No way. I made it very clear that I wasn’t after money.”
“Blackmail doesn’t have to involve money. In a general sense, any time you use threats to cause
someone to act against their own free will, it’s a form of extortion.”
“I didn’t threaten him.”
“It was a veiled threat, Ryan. In essence, you told him to come up with the information you want by Monday at ten
A.M
., or you give Kozelka’s name to the FBI.”
“That’s extortion?”
“Legally, it’s a gray area. But if I were Kozelka, I’d take it that way.”
“What should we do?”
“Wait. And brace ourselves. We’re about to find out how Kozelka takes to threats.”
Joseph Kozelka sat behind his desk, still fuming. The entire exchange in the conference room had been caught on camera, broadcast on closed circuit to the television monitor in his office. To say Dr. Duffy had angered him would be a gross understatement. Kozelka, however, wasn’t the type to rant and rave. He stewed. Never alone. Always in the presence of those he held responsible. It was a power tactic that left subordinates melting with apprehension.
This afternoon, Nathan Rusch was one of those subordinates. He sat nervously on the couch, awaiting his boss’s reaction.
Job security was a rare luxury at K&G, especially for someone like Rusch, whose job was totally result-oriented. Rusch wasn’t part of K&G’s regular corporate security. He was a special security operations consultant, a term that covered just about anything. If Kozelka needed protection on a trip to a Third World country, Rusch could assemble a team that rivaled the Secret Service. If a disgruntled former employee threatened to expose K&G
trade secrets, Rusch was faster, cheaper and far more effective than any team of rabid lawyers. And if Kozelka was faced with blackmail, Rusch would tell him when to pay—and when to fight back.
Kozelka spoke in a controlled but biting tone. “How could she be so stupid as to leave a glass with her fingerprints behind in the bar?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“You’re the one who hired her.”
“It was on the quick. She came highly recommended.”
“I don’t see why you used her in the first place. You should have just snatched Duffy’s bag yourself.”
“We were hoping for more than just the bag. She’s a very talented woman. We thought he’d be tempted. Maybe go back to her room, where she could get him talking. It didn’t work out that way. Duffy didn’t take the bait.”
“Whatever. What’s the worst-case scenario?”
Rusch hated to deliver bad news, but he was always honest with Kozelka. “Duffy gives the glass to the FBI at their meeting on Monday morning. The FBI gets a match on the prints and apprehends her. After that, it’s in her hands.”
“What do you mean,
her
hands?”
“She either tells the FBI nothing. Or she talks.”
“What can she tell them?” He raised an eyebrow, threatening. “You didn’t tell her anything.
Did you
?”
He gulped. “She couldn’t operate totally in the dark. I told her a few things.”
Kozelka leaned back in his chair. He didn’t scream; it wasn’t his style. But this time he was stewing so hard his eyes were bulging. “What did you tell her?”
“Just the essentials. Like I said, we were hoping Duffy would pick her up in the bar, have a few drinks, get to talking. We had to give her some idea of what to pry out of him.”
“Have you been in contact with her since Panama?”
“Yeah. I used her on surveillance here in Denver. For obvious reasons, I preferred to involve as few players as possible in this operation. Since she was already in the loop, I figured I’d use her again. She
is
good. Or so I’m told.”
“Does she know too much? Is she dangerous?”
“I wouldn’t go overboard with worry. This should take the FBI nowhere. All the glass proves is that she had a drink with Ryan Duffy in the bar. That’s it.”
Kozelka folded his hands atop the desk. “Unless she panics. Unless there’s a warrant out for her arrest on six other unrelated scams we don’t know about. Unless the FBI offers to wipe her slate clean if she’ll tell them who hired her and what’s going on in this case.”
“That’s possible. But it’s premature.”
“I have just one thing to say to you, Rusch.” He leaned forward, staring him in the eye. “Don’t let it happen.”
The courthouse on Saturday was like church on Monday. Row after row of empty seats. Utter quiet in the halls. Lights and air conditioning were on in limited areas only. It had a way of making the proceedings seem both more and less important. It brought everyone in on their day off, but it was the last place anyone wanted to be.
With the exception of Phil Jackson. He seemed energized, if not happy.
Ryan tried not to look his way. He sat quietly beside his lawyer at the old mahogany table farthest from the jury box. Liz sat at the other table next to Jackson. While waiting for the judge, Ryan had glanced her way several times. He couldn’t help it. She had yet to make eye contact.
“All rise,” said the bailiff.
Judge Novak entered from a side door and stepped up to the bench. Norm had said he was old, but he looked even older than Ryan had expected. Huge age spots dotted his balding crown, like the markings on a globe. Hearing aids protruded from both ears. As he passed, Ryan noticed that he’d forgotten to zip up the back of his robe. Ryan looked away. It was hard to take a judge seriously knowing that his bony butt was clad in plaid Bermuda shorts.
So much for the judicial mystique.
“Good morning,” said the judge. “We’re here on the petitioner’s emergency motion for a temporary restraining order. As I’m sure the lawyers have explained to their clients, there is no jury in this proceeding. I am the trier of both law and fact. A word of caution to the lawyers. Spare me the usual histrionics you might use in a jury case. I’m eighty-one years old. I’ve seen it all.
“Mr. Jackson, please call your first witness.”
Jackson rose slowly, as if a little stiff in the joints. His face was slightly puffy. Other than the bandage over his eye, however, he showed few outward signs of the beating. Only on close examination was the faint purple discoloration on his cheekbone evident. It was hidden beneath the makeup. How vain did a guy have to be to wear makeup to an empty courthouse on a Saturday morning?
“Your Honor, our first witness is the petitioner, Elizabeth Duffy.”
Ryan did a double take. No wonder she hadn’t looked at him.
The judge scooted forward in his chair. “Another word of caution,” he said in a lecturing tone. “You may call your client to the stand, Mr. Jackson. But bear in mind that I have allocated only forty-five minutes for this hearing. I don’t intend to sit here and listen to everything that was wrong with the Duffys’ marriage. That is for another day. Keep the testimony limited to the issue in this hearing—that is, was Dr. Duffy involved in the attack on the petitioner’s lawyer, and should a restraining order be imposed against Dr. Duffy to prevent any further attacks.”
“Your Honor, I have one limited area of testimony I would like to cover with Mrs. Duffy. I promise it will take only a minute.”
“Proceed.”
Ryan watched carefully as Liz took the oath. She was dressed sharply in a Chanel suit. Either she’d sold her car or somebody had been fronting her some wardrobe money. She seemed nervous as she slid into the witness box. She still wouldn’t look at him.
“Ms. Duffy, please state your name.”
“Elizabeth Frances Duffy.”
“And you are married to the respondent, Dr. Ryan Duffy, correct?”
The judge interjected. “Let’s move it along. We can all stipulate they’re married, she wants a divorce, blah, blah, blah. Get to the heart of the matter.”
“Ms. Duffy, did you know Frank Duffy?”
“Yes, very well. Frank was Ryan’s father. He died of cancer just two weeks ago.”
“Did you have any conversations with him before he died? Specifically, any conversations about money?”
Norm sprang to his feet. “Objection. What does
that
have to do with the issues just framed by the court?”
“Your Honor, I would ask for a little latitude. If I fail to tie it all together with my next witness, you can deny my motion, hold me in contempt of court, and throw me in jail.”
“
This
I can’t wait to see,” said the judge. “Proceed.”
“Ms. Duffy,” said Jackson. “Did you have any conversations with Frank Duffy about money?”
“Yes. We spoke on the telephone about two weeks before he died.”
“Give us the gist of that conversation, please.”
“Objection, hearsay.”
The judge grimaced. “Isn’t it enough that Mr. Jackson said I could throw him in jail if he didn’t tie this together? Overruled.”
Liz lowered her eyes, speaking softly. “Frank knew that over the years, Ryan and I had many disagreements over money. He always wanted me and Ryan to stay together. So, in this last conversation, he told me to hang in there. He said money would come soon.”
“Did he tell you how much money?”
“No.”
“Did he do anything to identify any specific funds?”
Liz looked up, glancing briefly at Ryan. Then she looked at her lawyer. “Yes.”
Ryan felt a chill—more like a stabbing sensation. He recalled his conversation with Liz out on the front porch the night of the funeral. She hadn’t mentioned
this.
Jackson continued, “How did he identify the funds?”
“He gave me a combination.”
“You mean for a lock?”
“Yes. He didn’t say what it was for exactly. It was a very short conversation. He just, you know, intimated it had something to do with the money. He told me to check with Ryan. He would know.”
“What was the combination?”
“Thirty-six–eighteen–eleven.”
“Thank you, Ms. Duffy. That’s all for now.”
Liz rose slowly. Ryan watched, stunned. The numbers were right on. It was the exact combination to the briefcase in the attic. Dad had given her the combination. Not him.
Her
.
The judge looked across the courtroom. “Mr. Klusmire? Any cross-examination?”
Ryan caught his lawyer’s eye. They could read each other’s minds. This was dangerous territory. The FBI did not yet know about the two million dollars in cash in the attic. Any further examination could bust that secret wide open.
“No, Your Honor,” announced Norm. “No cross.”
“Mr. Jackson. Your next witness, please. And remember,” he said, smiling thinly. “If you don’t tie this together, there’s a nice cold cell waiting for you.”
“I’m confident I’ll be sleeping in my own bed tonight, your honor. The petitioner calls Brent Langford.”
Norm rose, speaking in his most apologetic tone. “Your Honor, I took your admonition on the telephone yesterday very seriously. We tried to bring Mr. Langford here. We called him repeatedly, never getting a response. Despite our most diligent efforts—”
He stopped in midsentence. All heads turned as the doors swung open in the rear of the courtroom. Brent was coming down the aisle. Norm and Ryan exchanged glances. The looks on their faces made it clear: This could not be good.
Brent’s footsteps echoed in the near-empty courtroom. He stepped through the swinging gate that separated the lawyers from the gallery, keeping his eyes straight ahead, looking at no one. His face was strained with concentration, even before he’d uttered a word. He looked like a school kid before an exam, trying to remember all the right answers.
As the bailiff administered the oath, Ryan could barely stomach the sight. There was Brent, promising to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Ryan had been there the last time Brent had staked his sacred honor before God and
witnesses—a deadbeat pledging to love, honor, and cherish a woman he had beaten before and would beat again. Vows meant nothing to Brent. Nor did oaths.
“Mr. Langford, please state your name.”
“Brent Langford.”
“You are Dr. Duffy’s brother-in-law, correct?”
The judge interjected again, louder. “Stipulations, Mr. Jackson, stipulations. I don’t need the family history.”
“Yes, Judge. Mr. Langford, you were served with a subpoena to appear at a deposition in this case, were you not?”
“Yes, I was. At my house in Piedmont Springs, last Tuesday afternoon.”
“And it was your understanding that the person responsible for issuing that subpoena was me, correct?”
“That was my understanding.”
“What did you do after the subpoena was served?”
He shrugged. “I’ll be honest. I wasn’t happy about it.”
“Did you talk to anyone about it?”
“My wife.”
“Anyone else?”
“Yes. Dr. Duffy.”
Ryan’s eyes widened. He knew Brent was a liar. He had no idea how big a liar. He quickly scribbled a note to Norm:
This is bull!
“How did that conversation come about?”
“Ryan called me that night on the telephone.”
“What did he tell you?”
“He said, ‘Brent, this deposition can’t happen. There’s too much at stake.’”
“Meaning what?”
“Objection,” said Norm, rising. “Calls for speculation.”
“Let me rephrase,” said Jackson. “What did you understand him to say?”
“Same objection,” said Norm.
The judge leaned forward. “There’s no jury in this proceeding, Mr. Klusmire. Let’s hear the evidence. The witness shall answer.”
“It was my impression that he had some serious money he didn’t want Liz to find out about.”
“How did you get that impression?”
“Because Sarah told me about it.”
“Objection,” Norm shouted. “Judge, now we’re moving from speculation to hearsay.”
“Sustained. Mr. Langford, you can tell us what you know firsthand, and you can tell us anything Dr. Duffy may have told you. But don’t go telling us things other people may have said.”
Brent replied in his most respectful tone. “Yes, Your Honor.”
Jackson continued, “Mr. Langford, are you sure it was your wife who told you about the money? Or was it Dr. Duffy, himself?”
“Objection. This is ridiculous. He’s coaching the witness right on the stand.”
“Overruled.”
“Come to think of it,” said Brent, “it might very well have been Ryan who told me about the money. Yeah. It was Ryan. Definitely.”
“Good,” said Jackson. “Now that we’ve cleared that up, I’d like to get a little more specific about this money Dr. Duffy wanted to keep from his wife. Do you know if that money was ever kept in any kind of suitcase or storage container that had a combination lock?”
“I don’t know.”
“Could it have been?” Jackson pressed.
“Objection.”
“Sustained.”
“Your Honor,” said Jackson, “I’m just trying to show that Dr. Duffy had motive to stop the deposition. He was concerned that if it went forward, Brent might tell me about the money that Dr. Duffy is trying to hide from my client.”
“The objection is sustained,” said the judge.
“No need to stretch, Mr. Jackson. You’ve made your point and tied things together. You won’t be going to jail tonight.”
“Thank you, Judge.” He checked his notes, then returned to the witness. “Mr. Langford, let’s turn back to this late-night telephone conversation with Dr. Duffy. After he told you the deposition had to be stopped, what did you say?”
“I told him I’m not a lawyer, I can’t stop the deposition from happening.”
“What did Dr. Duffy say to that?”
“He said this wasn’t about legal stuff. The only way to stop this deposition was for me to teach Liz’s lawyer a lesson.”
“Could you be more specific as to what he said?”
“Yes. I remember exactly what he said.”
“Please, tell us Dr. Duffy’s exact words.”
He blushed, as if embarrassed. “I don’t like to use profanity.”
Ryan nearly burst inside. Brent was
walking
profanity.
The judge added, “It is very important for us to hear Dr. Duffy’s exact words.”
“Okay. His exact words. He said, ‘Brent, I want you to beat the living shit out of that asshole Phil Jackson and teach him a lesson.’”
“What did you say?”
“I said forget it. No way.”
“How did you leave it with Dr. Duffy?”
“He got mad. He called me—a pussy. Some other things that don’t bear repeating. And then he said, ‘All right, I don’t need you. I’ll get someone else to do it.’”
“Did he say who he would get?”
“No.”
“What did you do next?”
“I didn’t know what to do. I was up the rest of the night worrying about it.”
“Why didn’t you warn Mr. Jackson?”
“That’s what I finally decided to do. I got up in the middle of the night and drove to Denver. Mind you, I was breaking ranks with my wife’s brother. It wasn’t something I could just do lightly. He’s family. I didn’t want to just call the police on him. I was going to talk to Liz and tell her about it.”
“But you didn’t get there in time.”
“No. I didn’t think Ryan would hire somebody that fast. Next thing I knew, you were in the hospital. After I heard what had happened, I got scared. I hung out in Denver that morning, not sure what to do. And then I just came home.”
“Thank you, Mr. Langford. I know it’s not easy to testify against someone in your own family. We appreciate your coming here today.”
“Cross-examination, Mr. Klusmire?”
Norm rose. “Your Honor, as I’m sure you’ve surmised, we’re surprised Mr. Langford is actually here this morning. And frankly, we’re flat-out stunned by his testimony. May I have a fifteen-minute recess to confer with my client?”
“Tell you what,” said the judge. “Take all the time you need. I was going to call a bladder break
myself, but it appears the problem may run deeper than that, if you know what I mean. At all events, I’ve heard enough testimony for a Saturday. This is a preliminary hearing, and the rules don’t require me to hear everything live in the courtroom before making a ruling. In the interest of fairness, however, I will defer my ruling until five
P.M
. Monday. The respondent shall have until that time to submit any written affidavits he may wish the court to consider.”
“But Judge—”
“Court’s in recess,” he said with a bang of the gavel.
“All rise!” shouted the bailiff.
Ryan stood at his lawyer’s side, confused. “I don’t believe this.”
The judge disappeared into his chambers through the side door. Brent stepped down from the witness stand and hurried past the lawyers. Ryan started toward him, as if to head him off. Norm stopped him.