Cash Call, A Stan Turner Mystery Vol 5

  Chapter 26

  Reluctant Witness

   It was 11:55 a.m., and I was camped out in the lobby of One Main Place. I looked nervously at my watch. Marilyn Watson, an eye witness to the killing of Anant Ravi was supposed to meet me. She had resisted this meeting, canceling several times for one reason or another. I wasn't sure what her problem was, but I needed her testimony desperately. I watched load after load of humanity pop out of each elevator, anxious for an hour of relief from the day's toil.

   At 12:15 I was about to give up when I spotted a well-dressed young lady lingering in the lobby. Not knowing exactly what Marilyn Watson looked like, I walked over to the woman and said, "Mrs. Watson?"

   "Yes, are you Stan Turner?"

   "Right. . . . I'm so glad we finally were able to get together."

   "I'm sorry I had to cancel last time, but my daughter was sick."

   "I understand. Let's go get some lunch. How much time do you have?"

   "I've got an hour."

   "Good. This is your turf, where do you suggest we eat?"

   "There's a deli downstairs in the basement."

   "Good. Lead the way."

   We made our way down the escalator to the underground mall and walked a few blocks until we came to a place called Max's Deli. We went inside and found a table. After ordering lunch, I began to question her.

   "So, you have a daughter. How old is she?"

   "Eight."

   "Are you married?"

   "No, divorced."

   "It must be tough bringing up a daughter alone."

   "We get along okay."

   "I've got an eight-year-old daughter myself. She's sweet, but she's got three older brothers watching out for her. I pity anyone who tries to date her."

   "Four kids! I don't know how anyone could keep up with four kids."

   "Luckily, my wife takes care of them. I don't have to worry about them until I get home at night."

   "I wish all I had to do was stay home and watch my baby."

   "That would be nice. . . . So tell me, where were you going on the day Anant Ravi was killed?"

   "I was on my way to Texas Commerce Bank. I had been paid and needed to deposit my check."

   "Where were you when you first saw Mr. Ravi?"

   "I was traveling northbound on Wycliff Avenue. I stopped for the light signal at Lemmon Avenue. Mr. Ravi was crossing the street just off to my right."

   "Why don't you tell me what you saw?"

   "Like I said, I had pulled up to the traffic signal when I noticed a well-dressed man waiting to cross the street. The light changed and I started to go across the intersection when I noticed this brown car barreling down on the intersection apparently trying to beat the light. I delayed to let him clear, but I noticed the man had started to walk across the intersection, oblivious to what was happening. I knew almost immediately that he was going to get hit because he was walking quickly across the street looking straight ahead."

   Marilyn began to cry and continued, "It was horrible, the brown car hit the man and he flew straight up into the air. Then he came down on the car's front window smashing it."

   "Oh God. What happened next?"

   "The body kind of rolled along the top of the car and fell to the pavement. The man in the brown car finally slammed on his brakes, and the car spun completely around and came to a stop."

   "Did the driver try to stop before he hit Mr. Ravi?"

   "No."

   "Did he try to swerve out of the way or evade him in any manner?"

   "No, he just hit him head on without even slowing down."

   "How fast was he going?"

   "I'm not sure."

   "Well, was he going about as fast as the other traffic?"

   "No, faster."

   "Well, how fast do you think?"

   "Fifty-five, maybe sixty."

   "When the car came to a halt, what did the driver do?"

   "He just sat in his car."

   "He didn't get out at all?"

   "No, several bystanders went over to see if they could do anything for the victim. I found a pay phone and called the police, but the driver just sat there until the police came. They should throw the book at him. It was a horrible thing he did."

   "That's what we're hoping will happen. Did you give a statement to the police?"

   "Yes, I told them what I saw, and they said they would be in touch. A private investigator called me too."

   "Really?"

   "Yeah, he said he worked for some lawyer."

   "Right. That would be the driver's criminal attorney, I'm sure. . . . Well, I'm going to need your testimony at trial. It probably won't be for a year or two."

   She frowned. "I can't testify."

   "What?"

   "I don't want to get involved. I've already told everybody that happened. The investigator said I didn't have to testify if I didn't want to."

   "Well, that's not true. You can be subpoenaed, but I don't want to do that. You said it was horrible seeing Mr. Ravi killed. Don't you want to see Mr. Banks brought to justice?"

   "He'll get off anyway. It doesn't really matter if I testify or not."

   "That's not true. If he was speeding, then he was negligent as a matter of law, and Mr. Ravi's family can recover damages against him. Your testimony will be critical."

   "The investigator said I could be in serious trouble if my testimony wasn't one hundred percent accurate. I can't afford to get into trouble. I've got my daughter to think of."

   I shook my head. "Believe me. You can't get into trouble by testifying. Mr. Banks' investigator is just trying to scare you because he knows your testimony will hurt his client."

   "Maybe so, but I can't afford to take any chances."

   "Listen, the only way you can get into trouble is if you don't testify when subpoenaed, or if you are untruthful. Just get up there and tell the truth, and everything will be fine, okay?"

   "We'll see."

   You'll see?! I glared at her. I was shaken by her attitude. Her testimony was just what we needed to nail Richard Banks and get a big judgment, but now I had to worry about whether she would show up or, if she did show up, whether she'd have a lapse of memory.

   That night after dinner I went to my study to work on some wills that I had brought home to finish. The clients were coming in to sign them the next morning, and I still had a few corrections to make. When I opened a drawer, I saw Jim's gun. I had brought it home with me after Don had tried to commit suicide.

  "Why do you have a gun?" Rebekah asked.

   "It's Don's. I figured I better hang on to it until he gets better. There aren't any bullets, so it's harmless."

   She frowned. "I don't care. I don't like having it in the house."

   "I'll lock it up in the drawer to my desk. Only you and I have a key, so it should be safe to keep it there."

   She looked at me skeptically, then turned, and left the room. My thoughts turned back to Don. I wondered how anyone could be depressed enough that he'd put a gun in his mouth. Then I remembered the Marine Corps when I was so depressed about my court martial and the possibility of losing Rebekah, that I had considered downing a bottle of pain pills. Luckily, I hadn't done it, but I did understand, to some extent, what Don was going through.