“On Pine Street, this house?”
Anna glances at me, annoyed, but doesn’t deny it. “Two years ago, I am robbed. Thieves break in through the back door, take all my sterling silver. A hundred years old. My grandmother’s. I bring it over from Poland. They also take a pendant my mother gave me when I was sixteen.” Anna shakes her head, then continues. “So I call the police. After a very long time, one policeman shows up at my house. He takes a statement, tells me to call my insurance company. And that’s it. I never hear nothing more from the police. The next month, I am robbed again. I come home and my TV is gone. I go upstairs, where the rest of my jewelry is. It should be there because after last robbery I buy heavy safe and hide it in the closet. Except now I find the safe is gone, too!
“So. Another call to the police. Another long wait. The same policeman shows up and takes a statement. I ask him what has been done on the first robbery. He looks at me like I’m crazy. He says they almost never arrest someone for burglary because the burglars come when no one’s home to see them. He says they can’t arrest someone if they don’t know what he looks like. That’s when I know I am going to have to do police job for them. I buy cameras for the backyard. Good ones, too, weatherproof, can see in complete darkness. They come with digital video recorder and DVD burner.”
“You had the cameras pointing at Jennifer Yamura’s house?”
“No. One camera I point into my yard, the other in the alley. But that second one, something hit it, lifted it a bit, so it shows back of girl’s house. Lucky for me,” Anna adds, and smiles. Then shrugs. “Not so lucky for others.”
“Why haven’t you gone to the police with the video?” I know the answer already, of course, but I have to go through the motions.
Anna sighs. “I am tired, Mr. McFarland. And I’m getting old. I want to go home.”
“And you want to fly first class.”
Anna smiles. “At the front of the plane, in one of those seats you can lie down in. And when I land, I take suite at the City Park Residence Hotel. Call Emeryk, talk to his bovine wife, tell her I’m back, and rich.”
“Your house on Pine Street must be worth a pretty penny.”
“It’s like Titanic,” says Anna Groszek. “Underwater. I refinance to make the repairs. Now is worth less than balance on mortgage.”
I look across the park, my eyes taking in Rouge, the upscale restaurant on Eighteenth Street. I say nothing more, wait for Anna to say what she’s really here to tell me. It doesn’t take long.
“Three million. For the videotape. Tell your Mr. Hanson.”
“What?” I start to jump up but catch myself, sit back down, look directly at Anna Groszek. “That’s crazy. He’ll never agree to that.”
Anna looks back at me, her blue eyes cold, matter-of-fact. “I know all about your client, Mr. McFarland. He’s a very rich man. Crazy for him not to pay. I know all about you, too, Mr. Criminal Attorney. And that prosecutor—the one who wears the fancy suits, wants to be the next DA, then mayor—how happy do you think he would be if I were to call him instead of you? Ach. The three of you. Moe, Larry, Curly. One, two, three. Three million.”
For the first time, I wonder whether Anna might be slightly unhinged. But her eyes appear lucid, and her tone couldn’t be more serious.
“Still, you didn’t go to the DA . . .” I study her face for confirmation.
She shrugs. “He has no money.”
I nod. This is a business deal to her, pure and simple. She has an asset to sell, and she’s peddling it to the highest bidder. David Hanson.
“And what if my client says no? What if he’d rather take his chances facing that tape than giving in to blackmail?”
Anna Groszek shakes her head. “I put my faith in you. Your client will not like the amount, but you will persuade him. You must persuade him. You know this. He must pay, or all is lost.”
I look down at the ground. Of course she’s right. “Where will you want the money wired?”
“Ha!” Anna blurts loudly. “Wired. I want cash, Attorney McFarland. I want to see the money, have it in my hands. It will be for me to deposit it in a bank and wire it to Poland. Then I give other copy of video.”
“What assurance do I have that you won’t give a copy of the video to the police once you get the money?”
Anna Groszek stands up and looks down at me, her icy eyes flaring. “You have my word. That is your assurance.” She turns away.
“Wait,” I say, standing. “Where . . . when . . . ?”
“Two weeks from today,” she answers, turning back to me. “Bring it to my house. Use the front door.”
And with that, Anna Groszek turns again and walks away.
17
MONDAY, OCTOBER 1
The following Monday, at two o’clock, I’m standing by the reception desk going over some phone calls with Angie when Vaughn walks up.
“I’m ready when you are,” he says. I look at him, uncomprehending. “The Hanson case . . . it’s all laid out in the war room.”
“Right. Good,” I say. A couple of days ago, I told Vaughn to lay the case out on the table in the small interior conference room that we call the “war room.” I do this with every case, a month or so before the trial. Vaughn and I review everything in detail, figure out the prosecution’s strengths and weaknesses. Then we turn to our case, decide the best order to present our witnesses and evidence, and put our own case under a microscope. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Angie watches Vaughn walk away, then turns back to me. “Do you feel all right? You don’t seem yourself. Are you sick?”
“Maybe a little,” I say. “Change of seasons.”
Half an hour later, I’m sitting in the war room, and Vaughn is in the midst of his presentation. The way he sees it, Devlin Walker will open up with Matthew Stone, the leader of the crime-scene unit. “They start by showing the body pictures to get the jury hating Hanson right away. Stone will also testify that David’s hair and prints are all over Jennifer Yamura’s house. After the CSU witness, Devlin will . . .”