Chapter Twenty
Karen Wyatt had been to the theater with Barry Clay, a doctor who had been an expert witness in a case she had tried several months earlier.
They had spent a lot of time together when she was preparing his testimony, and he had asked her out after the trial ended.
She liked going out with Barry because he was funny and kind, and he had his own successful career, so she didn’t worry about her money motivating his interest.
Karen and the doctor had gone to a club to hear a local singer after the theater, and she hadn’t gotten to bed until two in the morning.
She was bleary-eyed when she got to the office and was having trouble tracking the facts in a dense opinion in a complicated probate case she was handling.
When Morris Johnson walked into her office, she was grateful for the interruption.
“A little birdie just told me that Billy Kramer and Cynthia Woodruff are back in Portland and that Woodruff is cooperating with the DA,” the investigator said.
“Who is this miniature avian?”
“Uh-uh. I still have friends in the PPB, and their identities are on a need-to-know basis.”
“Why haven’t we gotten discovery?”
“Maybe it’s because Oscar Vanderlasky has the case?”
Karen pulled out her phone, set it on speaker, and dialed Vanderlasky.
“Hi, Oscar. I hear Cynthia Woodruff is back in town and assisting your investigation.”
“Where did you hear that?” Vanderlasky demanded.
“I have my sources. Anyway, since I know you’re a stickler for following the rules of criminal procedure, I assume you’ve got a bunch of police reports that set out what Miss Woodruff and Mr. Kramer have told you.
Can I send my investigator over to your office to pick them up, or are you going to messenger them to me? ”
“When I have discovery for you, I’ll let you know,” Vanderlasky said, barely able to contain his anger.
“I’m not going to have to waste our valuable time filing a motion with Judge Stark, am I?”
“Do what you want, Wyatt. You’ll get discovery when I’m ready to give it to you.”
Karen disconnected and smiled. “I’m guessing we’ll get the reports sometime tomorrow.”
When Jack Blackburn walked into the contact visiting room, Karen thought that he looked worse than the last time she’d been with him.
He had been slim. Now he looked emaciated, his shoulders slumped, there were dark circles under his eyes, and he gave Karen the impression that the short walk from the door to his seat across the table from her had used up all of his energy.
“How are you doing?” she asked, concerned by her client’s deterioration.
“It’s tough in here. I’m not sleeping, and I’m scared.”
“Then I have some news that might cheer you up. Billy Kramer and Cynthia Woodruff were arrested in Arizona, and they’re back in Portland. Kramer isn’t talking, but Woodruff has an immunity deal, and she’s told the detectives and the DA some things that help your case.”
Jack sat up straight. “What did she say?”
“She explained that Billy set you up with the Jag. Then he called the cops and told them you stole it. I’m sure that the DA was going to argue that you killed Mr. Cogen when you were stealing his car.
Woodruff’s testimony proves that you didn’t steal the car.
Billy gave it to you. If we can show that you didn’t steal the Jag, your motive for murder disappears. ”
It took a few seconds for Blackburn to digest what Karen had just told him. Then his eyes teared up.
“Thank you, Miss Wyatt. You’re the first person who ever stood up for me. No one else has ever done that, and I want to thank you.”
Karen’s eyes started to tear up too. She squeezed Jack’s hand.
“I’m going to do my best to get you out of this mess. Just hang in there.” She stood up. “I’m going to talk to the DA who has your case. I’ll let you know what I find out. Keep your fingers crossed.”
The first thing Karen noticed when she walked into Oscar Vanderlasky’s office was his wall of fame decorated with framed clippings from his best wins as a lawyer and as a tennis player.
Under the framed clippings was a bookcase.
Trophies and awards attesting to his superiority in law and athletics cluttered its top.
“Nice trophies,” Karen said.
Oscar leaned back in his chair and greeted Karen with a smug smile. “I earned every one of them, and I’m going to add another headline soon.”
Karen sat across from Vanderlasky. “I hope you’re not talking about the murder charge.”
“I am—and every other charge in the indictment.”
“How do you figure that, after talking to Cynthia Woodruff?”
Vanderlasky shook his head slowly. “Karen, I’m surprised.
You’re usually so sharp, but you don’t appear to have a grasp of the facts.
Your client may have gotten the Jaguar from Billy Kramer, but he knew who really owned it, because Terrance Cogen’s name and address are on the registration.
Does Blackburn drive the car to Cogen’s estate to return it?
I say he does, but Billy has disappeared and Cogen accuses Jack of stealing his car.
Maybe he asks Jack in to get him to confess.
Who knows? What we do know is Jack and Terrance have a beer and a milkshake together.
Jack poisons the shake, then bashes in Cogen’s head when he passes out.
What’s his motive? We know from Cynthia that he is in love with the Jag.
He can’t give back his dream car, so he kills its legal owner so he can keep it. ”
“That makes no sense, Oscar. If he drives to Cogen’s estate looking for Billy Kramer, why would he have poison with him? And how in the world would he ever be able to keep that car? A guy like Jack? Every time he took it out, it would be like he was trailing a neon sign with the word STOLEN on it.”
Vanderlasky shrugged. “Ask your client to answer your questions. The fingerprints on the beer glass are going to send Mr. Blackburn to OSP.”
Karen stood up. “I hope you change your mind when you’ve given this case more thought. I’d entertain a plea to auto theft if you drop the murder charge.”
Vanderlasky smiled. “Nice try, Karen, but your boy is going down.”
Karen walked out of Vanderlasky’s office, afraid of what she might say to the conceited bastard if she stayed any longer. Then her anger drained away, and she felt sick about what she was going to have to tell Jack Blackburn after she’d foolishly built up his hopes.
When she calmed down, she ran through Vanderlasky’s argument.
The key was the beer glass with Jack’s prints on it that placed him at the murder scene.
She smiled. There was no doubt in her mind that Billy Kramer took that glass from the bar where he’d met Jack and carried it to Cogen’s house.
If she could get Kramer to admit what he’d done, Vanderlasky’s case would fall apart.
Her smile morphed into a frown. How was she going to get Kramer to admit that he’d planted the beer glass?
The only reason he would have done that was if he knew Cogen was dead in his living room, and he would only know that if he’d seen the body.
That could have happened if Kramer murdered his boss or found the body after someone else killed him, which created a problem.
If Kramer didn’t kill Terrance Cogen, he would supply the police with overwhelming evidence that he did, if he confessed to planting the glass and tricking Jack Blackburn into taking the Jag to frame Blackburn for the killing.
How could she get Kramer to confess to planting the glass when that confession would put a noose around his neck? That was the question.