Played: “Sometimes you never know who is playing who, until the damage is done." (22 page)

The judge makes some notations on an unseen tablet then looks straight to William, purposely disregarding Joshua, and says, “At this time I will grant you a few minutes to surmise as to why I should not follow the petition of the prosecution.”

William shines a welcoming smile. “Your Honor, with all due respect to the prosecution in this case, there simply is not enough evidence to prove
any
crime has been committed, let alone that the defendant is responsible. And it is my understanding that any ongoing investigations concerning missing persons are based solely on a list of names written in a book. There is not any evidence that this is his book or that he’s the one who wrote the names in it. So I would ask that you realize the gravity of the situation—that is, these unsubstantiated claims are the telltale signs of a desperate prosecutor who is motivated by the spotlight.” Milkowski shakes his head. William carries on. “Now, my client has had some issues in the past, most due in part to alcoholism. And he has paid his debt to society.” William continues his narrative, speaking amid well-practiced hand gestures. “And I am pleased to inform the court that he no longer uses alcohol and attends Alcoholics Anonymous regularly.” Judge Cooper rolls her eyes, recalling the report she’d read detailing the cocktail Joshua was holding when police were dispatched to his home. She glances at him, seeing he is wearing his innocent-little-boy face as William adjusts, recatching her view. “Also, Your Honor, my client is a homeowner here in the great city of Seattle. And if need be, he could, with any reasonable conditions, be remanded into my personal care, where I would assume full responsibility for him while awaiting the dismissal of these charges.” Judge Cooper again rolls her eyes, this time blatantly. William, noticing her impatience, closes. “So, Your Honor, my client is in no way any threat to the community, and I am pleading with the court for bail to be set and to be set within reason. Thank you.”

All interest shifts to Judge Cooper. She scans over her notes, looks directly at Joshua, and replies, “I have already read statements from both the prosecution and your attorney concerning bail, and I set your bail at fifty million dollars.”

Rumblings begin to mount. Michelle mutters, “Thank God.”

Judge Cooper raps her gavel and, in a sharp tone, says, “Moving forward!” Then she spends a minute reviewing her paperwork and advances procedurally. “I am going to set a trial date for June 17.”

Joshua yells out unexpectedly, “I demand my right to a speedy trial!” Everyone listens intently, hoping for more, since his statement feels like only the fuse has been lit.

“I clearly instructed you to be quiet!” She waves her gavel, staring at him, signifying her control over his future. Then she adds in inflexible terms, “You will be silent, or I will have the bailiff gag you and strap you to a chair if I need too.” These are her only words, but other threats are made with her staunch expression. William also scolds him inaudibly as she waits for him to comply.

There is a tense moment of resistance before Joshua responds with a simple, “Yes, Your Honor.”

The room relaxes as she returns to her notes. “Fine, I will grant you your request and set trial for February 19—that’s six weeks from today. That is all,” she says sharply, before banging her gavel and excusing herself promptly.

Joshua is quickly escorted away as his father assures him he will be visiting him soon.

The reporters, disappointed he didn’t make a scene or utter some evil verse, scurry out of the courtroom to transmit the details to their awaiting stations. William joins them outside the court. And even in the early beginnings of his tirade, his skills and strategy are apparent. The drumbeat is scored, repeating over and over again of Joshua’s innocence while defending his right to practice the religion of his choice, making claims that this is a modern-day witch hunt. Then, unlike his son, he doesn’t let them down; he gives them what any one of them would literally kill for to have exclusively. He holds his hands high and says, “I have an extremely important admission to include.” All attention is on him. “I was not a good father, and I…” He bows his head with a hint of shame; his eyes moisten. The cameras are captivated, sensing something nuclear. William becomes visibly and uncharacteristically fragile and is obviously struggling to press forward. “Joshua…Joshua, my one and only son, is and always has been eccentric, to say the least; he suffers from numerous afflictions, including paranoia and schizophrenia. I know you think he’s a monster, but I assure you he is not.” William fights himself to keep it together, and his battle is heartfelt; compassion is extended to him by everyone in the hallway as he tells all. “My Joshua is a very confused young man…and Kimberly…his wife…is a figment of his imagination. She has never really existed!”

At first everyone is speechless, until one of them argues, “But we have her photo.”

William holds his hand over his forehead, giving his reply, “And if you visit his home, you will find the same portrait hanging in his living room. But I assure you: it was most likely stolen from the photography studio he worked at during college. Kimberly is simply not a real person! That’s why they will never find a body. She is made up—his supposed lover. She is not missing or dead; she’s merely his delusion!”

Thirty seconds later newscasters from around the world interrupt their broadcasts with various declarations.

“News alert.”

“Breaking news.”

“This just in…”

.

Chapter Thirty

“O
h my God, are you freaking kidding me! We have to prove that Kimberly is real! A woman who has no family except for… what…an aunt somewhere in the Midwest, and her best—maybe only—friend, Amberly, is missing; her boyfriend has committed suicide, and her husband is a freaking psychopath.” Michelle finds it difficult to mention a woman’s boyfriend and husband in the same sentence, but right now that is the least of her worries. She wants to pull her hair out, and Captain Jackson, her partner, and Ghost are not saying a goddamned thing. “Are you getting anything?” she demands from Ghost.

“I’m working on it,” he replies, without taking his sight from the computer screen.

“So what do we do now? We have to run around…and what?”

“Settle down,” Cools says, trying to quiet her so he can think. “All we have to do is get the marriage certificate, find a couple of strippers who’ll say that they knew her, and use the GPS tracking system from the yacht and locate her body. She’s out there—I know it!”

“No!” Captain Jackson jumps in. “It’s not gonna be that easy. I just spoke with Milkowski, and he tells me that this is unusually problematic; it’s a real tricky-sticky situation. And although he assures me it can be done—that is, convicting someone of murder without a body—it cannot be done if her very existence is in question. And have either of you even considered the fact that maybe she isn’t real? What if he’s messed-up in ways we cannot even imagine? No, our hands are tied. We have to prove Kimberly was an actual person, that she was in fact Joshua’s wife. And that is exactly what we’re gonna do. So, first things first.”

“Oh, I’m really beginning to hate this asshole—and his father! He’s a clever son of a bitch; you gotta give him that. This is going to be a gigantic waste of our time and resources.” Michelle’s statement of the obvious hangs in the air as Captain Jackson and Cools look at her the way she and Captain Jackson typically look upon her partner.

“I think I have something!” Ghost blurts out. “I mean…I’m getting nothing on…Look!”

“What?”

He peels his eyes away from the monitor long enough to explain. “You’re not going to like this, but I cannot find an actual marriage certificate for Joshua and Kimberly. I’ve searched every state, municipality, and every country they’ve been to. I double- and triple-checked before saying something.”

“You’re telling us they’re not legally married?” Cools asks, a bit staggered.

Ghost proceeds with caution. “No, I…I mean, yes, they are not legally married. And it looks like the fact that our computers said they were ever married in the first place originates from an arrest of Joshua two years ago for disorderly conduct. The arresting officer simply typed it in his notes from what Joshua had told him. But I promise you they are not and never have been married. And it gets worse. I’m coming up empty with her maiden name: Sharons. It is starting to look like it was an assumed identity.”

“So how do we prove who she is?” Cools asks.

“Well…uh…” Ghost coughs nervously. “It’s like this: when people assume fake identities and take steps to hide their true selves, it becomes extremely difficult to prove who they are. This is how it’s done in our international spy networks and with undercover DEA agents. About the only way is fingerprinting or DNA analysis.”

“No body, no DNA, no damn fingerprints. Great!” Michelle adds negatively, throwing her arms in the air.

“Yeah, but we do have her DNA; we have her DNA in her blood found on the yacht.”

Ghost responds carefully to Cools’s summation, “Well…yeah, in part you are correct; you have blood that has a DNA signature, but it doesn’t do you much good without anything to compare it too.”

Then Captain Jackson corrects them both by stating, “But we do have her DNA; it’s at the clinic where she and Amberly took their HIV tests.” He doesn’t even wait for their reply; he pulls out his phone and makes a call. “Fredo, I want you to get over to the clinic where Kimberly and Amberly took their HIV tests and get us what’s left of her blood sample. Better yet, get both of them.”

“Yes, Captain, I’m on it now.”

“Piece of cake,” Cools says, “we’ll get the blood samples, match the DNA, and problem solved.”

There’s a moment of silence as everyone thinks it through. Then Michelle changes the subject. “I wanna know why nothing is being said about, you know, when he the signed confession.”

“I’m not sure. It doesn’t seem to make much sense that he would say nothing or that William wouldn’t have at least mentioned it,” Captain Jackson replies, in a tone suggesting that is all he cares to speak of it. Cools’s demeanor tells her the same.

“He didn’t mention…he didn’t what?” Ghost asks, now looking at them nosily.

No one answers as he shifts his suspicious eyes to each of them.

Captain Jackson clears his throat. “It’s nothing for you to worry about Andrew Levingston…Ghost…whatever they call you! And it is nothing for you to speak of, if you get my meaning. After he signed the confession, we placed him in a cell, where he began screaming and banging his head into the concrete walls; he then made claims that we somehow beat him to talk. So let’s get something perfectly fucking clear: we never did anything to him. But just the accusation could make us look bad.”

Cools and Michelle wait motionless for him to respond. The tension is cut short with the chiming of his laptop. Ghost shifts his gaze back to his computer, where his expression pales even whiter. “Oh shit,” he squeaks out.

“What is it?” Cools and Michelle ask at the same time.

“It’s a reply to an e-mail I sent an hour ago to Natalie Hunsaker, Kimberly’s aunt in Minnesota, and only known relative.” He turns his laptop slowly, so they can all read the message. The monitor displays the same picture they have of Kimberly. And the text beneath reads, “This is not my niece. Who is this? How did you get my e-mail?”

In disbelief everyone reads the message over and over until another surprise rushes into the room.

JFK, catching his breath, rapidly says, “Captain, the number for the clinic was disconnected, so I Googled it, and a newspaper article came up from ten days ago: it burned to the ground, destroying everything.”

Michelle spins, flinging her hands in the air. “For the love of God!”

Cools begins to say something, but Captain Jackson cuts him off. “All right, that’s it; we’re gonna do some groundwork—starting right now! Cools, I want you and Robertson to go to the Kitty Club and get anyone—I don’t care if they’re coked-up hookers. You just get us some corroborating witnesses, anyone who can verify that Kimberly worked there and that she’s identified to be the wife of Joshua. Fredo!”

“Yes, Captain?”

“I want you to interview all of Joshua’s neighbors, getting the same! And Ghost, you better start getting me some goddamned answers, or the next time I see you, you’ll be delivering my pizza!”

The officers exit in a hurry, leaving their captain staring warnings into the young computer analyst. Cools leads Michelle to their cruiser in the parking garage. He moves fast, and before she can get in, he has lit a cigarette and removed the bottle from its hiding spot. He takes a straight drink. She knows better than to say anything since it will only start an argument. So instead she complains, saying, “Fine, that’s the way you want to be. At least roll down the window; I cannot stand your smoke!” He doesn’t respond; he just lowers the window and heads for the interstate.

Soon they’re cruising down the freeway at 15 mph in almost complete gridlock. Michelle reads out loud from her laptop. “05/20/2012: first degree arson, St. Luke’s parish: dismissed due to lack of evidence.” She ascribes more under her breath while changing screens. “Here it is. Ten days ago fire stations 35 and 51 were called to a multialarm fire at 2240 SW Challine Street in the business district of South Seattle. Firefighters couldn’t control the blaze and had to let the entire building burn itself out—a total loss. The two-story structure supported three businesses in the area: Martin’s Furniture, Computers Inc., and Challine Street Medical Clinic. Arson is expected to be the cause, and damage is set at over twenty-nine million dollars. What do you think about that, Brad? He burned down the damn building to destroy her DNA!”

“Yeah, I’m sure he did, but that’s a whole other case. Right now we just need to focus on what we can get today.” Just then the traffic begins to move, and thirty minutes later they’re pulling into the Kitty Club entryway that funnels them to its back parking lot, a ways off from the main thoroughfare. Being a guy, and somewhat of a car buff, Cools appreciates a few of the luxury automobiles stabled outside the club walls: a Porsche Carrera GT, Lexus LFA, Cadillac CTS-V, Acura NSX, and more. He wonders for a second if this is some kind of sports car club as well. Michelle seems not to notice, so he decides not to mention it. Besides, all she is mindful of, for the moment, is what is on the inside, because she’s never been in a strip club before and is looking forward to the experience. Cools pays the forty-dollar cover charge, and they enter into a dark hallway and, brandishing their badges, pass by two serious bouncers. The inviting music grows louder, and excitement mounts as they pass black curtains into an unexpected atmosphere. It is nothing like the seedy brothel she’d pictured. It is lavish and clean. Three round stages with shining silver posts form a triangle. Leather chairs and spacious tables surround them. The patrons are well-groomed and finely dressed men, wearing Rolexes and expensive suits. And the girls are beautiful, flawless, supermodels. Michelle studies them for the slightest of imperfections. The one on the center stage whips her glittering pink and blond hair, flashing naughty grins while seductively dancing to the music and lights, with red lipsticked lips pressed on her ass. Her large, round breasts, shapely legs, and flat belly are all accentuated by tight, mouthwatering skin. Michelle instantly feels sexual. Oh God, she thinks, if I were a man, I would want to play with her!