But she told herself to calm down. She was allegedly a competent lawyer and she knew enough to represent herself. If things went south, she could just terminate the interview. She knew from Bennie that there were plenty of investigations, ones that the public never heard about, which didn’t turn into charges because they were handled unofficially between lawyers and police. She was hoping that Patrick’s case would be one of them. She had truth and justice on her side, which should count for something.
Suddenly there was a knock on the door, and in the next moment it was opened by Detective Randolph. He met her eye with a tired smile, wearing the same dark suit he had on in court today, slightly more wrinkly. “Hi, Mary, if I can call you Mary?” he asked, extending his hand in a friendly way.
“Yes, of course.” Mary stood up and shook his hand. “Thanks for coming in.”
“Not at all. Call me Joe.” Detective Randolph came into the room, stepping aside for a shorter, slimmer man who looked in his thirties. He was handsome, with dark almond-shaped eyes set far apart, and a great smile. His dark hair was cut in a brush cut, gelled in a hip way, and he had on a dark suit tailored close to his trim, muscular body.
Detective Randolph gestured to him. “Meet my partner, Ted Jimenez. You can call him anything you like, but don’t be too nice to him. It goes right to his head. I call him Defective Jimenez, but he doesn’t think that’s funny.”
Detective Jimenez smiled at Mary, extending a hand. “Hi, Mary. Nice to meet you. As far as what you should call me, don’t call me Defective Jimenez. It’s not that funny. Call me Joe, too. That will confuse my partner all to hell. Or we should piss him off. I’ll be Young Joe and he can be Old Joe. “
Detective Randolph rolled his eyes, for Mary’s benefit. “Why don’t we just call him The Hot One? That’s how he imagines himself. We gave him a T-shirt last year that said The Hot One. You think he didn’t wear it? He never takes it off.”
Mary laughed, and so did Detectives Randolph and Jimenez, but she wondered if they were being genuine or trying a comedy routine to relax her, so she would lower her guard. It was a Machiavellian trick and she remembered that Machiavelli had even tried to use it against her, but she put him out of her mind for now.
“Sit down, please.” Detective Randolph gestured at her chair and sat down across from her, and Detective Jimenez took the other chair, but not before he slid a skinny reporter’s notebook from his sport jacket, with the pen attached, and set it on his lap as he sat down, flipping open the front cover.
“Mary, I’m going to take notes,” Detective Jimenez said, flashing her his killer smile. “I’m sure that’s okay with you.”
“It’s fine,” Mary answered, straightening in her chair. “I assume from the camera that the session is videotaped.”
“Don’t give us that much credit.” Detective Jimenez chuckled. “The camera is broken and hasn’t worked in ages. The audiotape never worked in the first place, and we don’t have the budget to repair it.”
“That’s criminal,” Mary said, and they both laughed again.
Detective Randolph crossed his legs. “Mary, I think the easiest way is for you to tell us what you know about Edward O’Brien’s death. I appreciate your volunteering to come in here. I regret that you got blindsided at the shelter care hearing today. If it hadn’t been scheduled, I wouldn’t have testified and given my theories or the results of my investigation. It really is too soon.”
“I understand that and thank you for saying it.” Mary believed him, and his tone sounded genuine. “I do think you’re off on the wrong track and that’s why I came in today. You testified that you thought Patrick injected his grandfather intentionally and you couldn’t be more wrong about that. You also testified, or at least you suggested in your testimony, that somehow I knew that and destroyed evidence of a crime. You couldn’t be more wrong about that either.”
“So let’s talk.” Detective Randolph met her eye directly.
“Exactly. That’s why I came in. I could’ve lawyered up, but I didn’t. I want to fill in the blanks about Patrick’s relationship to his grandfather, about Patrick himself, and about the timeline of events leading up to Edward’s death.”
“I appreciate your cooperation.” Detective Randolph blinked, his interest plain. “Before we begin, I have to advise you of your Miranda rights. I know you know them but I have to recite them.”
“Let me ask you first, do you really suspect a ten-year-old boy of injecting his beloved grandfather with insulin, intentionally trying to kill him?”
“Yes, tentatively,” Detective Randolph answered, his expression frank.
“He’s ten.”
“Mary, that doesn’t negate the possibility. We’ve had ten-year-olds who kill in this city. According to the facts I have, including the Complaint filed in Common Pleas Court, Patrick O’Brien is a deeply disturbed ten-year-old.”
Mary felt pained to hear it. It was the direct opposite of the sweet little boy she knew, but she let it go for now, changing tacks. “And you really suspect me of covering up a murder? A lawyer, a partner at my own law firm? A lifelong resident?”
“Yes. Again, tentatively.”
“Why?” Mary asked, trying to understand, because the notion was so absurd.
“To protect a child you obviously care about. For all we know, you could have been the one who injected Edward with the fatal dose.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Mary blurted out, shocked. “What are you talking about?”
“Okay, I’ll lay some cards on the table. In addition to Patrick’s fingerprints on the syringe, we found adult fingerprints, too. We don’t know whose they are.”
Mary kicked herself. The prints had to be hers, since she’d picked up the syringe to throw it away. “But why would I kill Edward?”
“To get custody of Patrick,” Detective Randolph answered, his tone reasonable. “I saw you in court. You want Patrick.”
“But I would never kill anybody to get him!” Mary said, though she couldn’t deny it was a theory, even if it was a bad one.
“Maybe so, but there are too many questions I don’t know the answer to. As I testified today, the only facts I have are that Edward died of an insulin overdose early Friday morning. I don’t know what happened between Thursday night and the time of your phone call to 911 on Friday night, reporting the death. By the way, I heard the audiotape of your 911 call. It’s too brief to answer any questions. You only said that you were ‘reporting the death of Edward O’Brien, a seventy-two-year-old and he died in his sleep.’ You also asked the dispatcher to tell the patrol officers, when they came for his body, not to run their sirens because it might upset his grandson.”
Mary remembered the call, and it made her nervous that Detective Randolph and Jimenez had already listened to the audiotape. They were seriously investigating her complicity in Edward’s death, and it was becoming clearer that even though she knew the idea was ridiculous, they didn’t have the facts to see it her way, at least not yet.
“Mary, I’ll lay all my cards on the table. I followed up with the patrol officers who came to the house after you called 911. I spoke with Officer Agabe-Diaz. He said that you had pulled some strings with Officer Diamond of the Twenty-fifth Precinct.”
Mary shuddered. She remembered that she had asked for the favor, and now it was coming back to haunt her.
“I followed up with Officer Diamond. Evidently you know his mother from some case you handled for her. You called in a favor and asked him to wait to call DHS to pick up Patrick. You said you wanted Patrick to spend a night alone in the house with you, after Edward died. Why, so you could coach him on his story? You’re a lawyer. You knew what he should say.”
Mary could see how every single good thing she did was getting turned against her and Patrick. She had to nip it in the bud before Detective Randolph dug in his heels.
“So you’re clearly very involved with Patrick after the murder. It’s reasonable to assume that you were involved be
fore, since you were the one who made the phone call. I have to suspect you, if only because there’s so much information that only you have. For example, I don’t know why you told the 911 dispatcher that Edward died in his sleep.” Detective Randolph started to count off on his fingers. “I don’t know what time you arrived at the house or why you were there. I don’t know if you discovered Edward’s body or Patrick did. I don’t know if anyone else was present. I don’t know your whereabouts at the time of Edward’s death.”
Mary felt her heart sink as he continued. It was even making sense to her that the police suspected her.
Detective Randolph was still talking. “I don’t know what you did to clean up the scene. I don’t know why you cleaned up the scene. I don’t know why you threw away the insulin cartridge.” Detective Randolph kept counting on his fingers. “We noticed the dust was unsettled on Edward’s night table and dresser. It looked as if some items had been taken. I don’t know who took them. If it was you, I don’t know what you took or why. I don’t know why you would wash sheets from a bed that no one was ever going to sleep in again, if you weren’t trying to destroy evidence.”
Mary sensed that Detective Randolph had stopped talking only because he was running out of fingers. She took a deep breath, because she knew she had a chance to clear this up. “So bottom line, there’s a lot you don’t know, but I can assure you, there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for everything. I didn’t cover up any crime because there was no crime to cover up. If Patrick injected Edward that night, he did so at Edward’s request, because that was what they did when Edward’s hand got too shaky to inject himself. Patrick is a wonderful ten-year-old boy and he’s innocent of any murder, completely innocent.”
“Now it’s time for you to put your cards on the table.” Detective Randolph leaned forward. “Still want to talk?”
“Yes,” Mary answered, without hesitation.
“First I’ll Mirandize you, and then we’ll get started.” Detective Randolph recited her Miranda rights, then turned to the form on the table, presented it to Mary, and took her through each of the questions that she had just read to herself, asking her to answer each one in writing, then sign the bottom of the form, so the waiver of rights was knowing and valid. Mary signed her name, knowing she was doing the right thing for Patrick.
So she began a detailed account of everything that had happened, starting from the morning that Edward had hired her and stopping at the day that the police had taken Patrick into DHS custody. Detective Randolph interrupted only to ask questions and he listened without apparent judgment, while Detective Jimenez took notes nonstop. When Mary was finished, she took a stab at getting them to close their investigation, though she knew it was a longshot.
“Detective Randolph, I hope that makes it clear to you that there was simply no crime in this case. If Patrick injected Edward, it was at his request, and Patrick wasn’t abused by Edward, so he had no motive to kill him. Now that you know the facts, I would expect you to shut the investigation down.”
“Well.” Detective Randolph’s expression remained impassive. “Mary, thank you so much. That was very complete. You answered many of the questions I had.”
“So I take it that’s a yes?”
“No.” Detective Randolph pursed his lips. “My partner and I will have to talk it over and get back to you. But you know that one critical piece is missing. I have to be able to talk to Patrick and ask him if he injected Edward that night.”
Mary hadn’t wanted to tell them about her visit with Patrick tonight, but she came clean. “I just visited him at his foster family’s home and asked him that question. Unfortunately, he’s been put on anti-anxiety medication, and there’s something wrong with the dosages. He was so lethargic that I couldn’t be sure he was understanding my questions. But if he injected Edward that night, it was clearly with Edward’s permission.”
“You may be correct, but we can’t take your word for it. We can’t close this investigation unless and until we talk to Patrick.”
“I have to think about whether I would allow that. Let me get back to you.” Mary had anticipated the request, but when it came to Patrick, her lawyerly instincts were taking over. Or maybe it was her maternal instincts. She picked up her purse and rose.
“One last question.” Detective Randolph stood up, hitching up his pants. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but how are you still Patrick’s lawyer? I understood that you weren’t declared his legal guardian today.”
Mary had anticipated that question, too. “I’ll get back to you about that, as well,” she said, opening the door.
Luckily, she knew the best criminal defense lawyer in the city.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Mary closed the door to the conference room for her emergency meeting with Bennie and John. She had called them both as soon as she left the Roundhouse, asking Bennie to represent Patrick and John to represent her. John had immediately agreed, but Bennie had agreed only to the meeting. Mary crossed to her chair but remained standing, to plead her case. Both of them were still dressed from work, though they were in completely opposite moods. John was supportive, but Bennie was cranky. Mary had her work cut out for her, to persuade Bennie to represent Patrick. Mountains had been moved more easily.
Mary cleared her throat. “Thanks for coming. Let me just explain why I called you here and why I need you both.”
“No.” Bennie crossed her arms, sitting in her typical seat at the head of the table. “DiNunzio, I don’t want to represent your ten-year-old. You have to find him somebody else.”
“Please hear me out, partner.” Mary had never called Bennie that before, but she was pulling out all the stops. “You agreed to meet with me, so at least give me a chance. Fair enough?”
“Fine.” Bennie sighed theatrically, then sipped coffee from her favorite mug, which read I CAN SMELL FEAR.
Mary began again. “I lost the shelter care hearing, and that means I’m not Patrick’s guardian. Now, Patrick is suspected of murdering his grandfather, but I can’t act as his criminal defense lawyer because I have a conflict of interest with him, in theory. For all the police know, I could’ve injected Edward with a fatal dose of insulin and I’m presently under some ridiculous suspicion of covering up evidence. I asked John to be my criminal defense lawyer and he agreed.”
John nodded. “I’ve done some criminal work, and I’m happy to represent you, if they don’t close the investigation.”
“God bless you,” Mary said, grateful. “So that means Patrick needs a criminal defense lawyer. He can’t be represented in a criminal case by Abby Ortega, his Child Advocate, because representation by a Child Advocate is confined to proceedings in Family Court. The same is true of Michael Harris, Patrick’s guardian ad litem, who should burn in hell anyway.”
John chuckled, but Bennie checked her watch, already impatient.
Mary faced Bennie, directly. “So this is where you come in. Patrick needs a criminal lawyer and I’m begging you to do it. You’re the best—”
Bennie frowned. “Hold the flattery. Rewind a minute. Why would the police close the investigation, like John said?”
“I went to the Roundhouse tonight and spoke to the detectives. I told them what I knew.” Mary hadn’t mentioned that in her phone call because she didn’t know how her former boss would react. Or rather she did know how her former boss would react, which was why she kept it from her.
“You did what?” Bennie asked, aghast.
“Let me tell you why, briefly.” Mary put up a hand, cutting off a tirade. “The police have major proof problems with Patrick’s case and they know it. I mean, consider how high the standard is in a criminal case, reasonable doubt—”
“I know the standard. Why would you ever walk into the Roundhouse and start talking? Have I taught you nothing?”
“How can they prove that Patrick injected Edward with the intent to kill him? They can’t. Even if they could suggest that Patrick’s motive was that Edward
was abusing him, which he wasn’t, they can’t prove motive beyond reasonable doubt. I met with Cassandra Porter at the Philadelphia Children’s Alliance and I know that she believed that Robertson was the abuser, so she will be vulnerable to cross-examination.”
Bennie rolled her eyes. “I don’t know who any of these people are—Cassandra, Robertson, whoever. I’d have to get completely up to speed on the case, yet another reason I don’t want to take it, and still, none of it explains why you went to the police—”
“Let me just finish,” Mary interrupted Bennie, probably for the first time ever. “I knew the police would have major proof problems and I also knew that a lot of their theories about me were based on a lack of information. I went to them to fill in the information, which rang true because it was. And I hope that given what they know about their proof problems, they’ll close the investigation, but not until after they talk to Patrick.”
Bennie thought a minute. “Okay, DiNunzio. I see why you went to the police and amazingly, I don’t think it’s legal malpractice.”
“Thank you,” Mary said, uncertainly.
“I agree.” John sipped his coffee. “I know that our go-to is not to cooperate with the police, but this is one case where it makes sense.”
“Thank you, John.” Mary smiled. “You’re the best.”
“What’s going on with you two, by the way?” Bennie frowned in confusion, looking from John to Mary and back again. “When did you get to be such good friends? The last time we were in this conference room together, you were at each other’s throats.”
“We made up,” John answered with a smile.
“I apologized,” Mary added. “I was completely wrong about him. John did an amazing job representing me in the shelter care hearing.”
“Yet you lost,” Bennie said flatly, eyeing them both.
“We got surprised by the murder allegations,” Mary said, for them both. “So now the only problem is that they want to talk to Patrick, and he needs a great criminal lawyer. That’s you.”