up at Lloyd Center. Turns out he's what they call a 'loss prevention
officer' at Dress You Up, that discount department store down at the
end by the movie theater?"
I nodded to let him know I recognized the name.
Chuck continued. "OK, so when I saw Rad's name on the list too, I was
psyched. I figured there might be some connection through Lloyd
Center. So I ran all of Rad's arrests at Lloyd Center and
cross-referenced them with Richardson's PPDS records. I found a report
from January where Rad was the arresting officer on a trespass that
Richardson called in. The trespasser was Andrea Martin."
"That's right. I remember. I ran Andrea's record in February as
background. She had no convictions, but I did see a real recent arrest
for trespass somewhere." I didn't pursue it, because even if I called
Andrea to the stand, misdemeanor trespass is not the kind of crime that
can be admitted into evidence against a witness. And her case hadn't
even been issued; it was just an arrest.
Chuck continued. "The somewhere was Lloyd Center. I pulled the arrest
report. Back in November, Kerry Richardson thought he saw Andrea
shoplifting in the store. He went and got the manager, Geraldine
Maher, and the two of them stopped Andrea outside in the mall. She had
receipts for the things in her bags, but Richardson insisted he'd seen
her sneak something. They figured she must have stashed whatever she
stole somewhere right outside of the store. They didn't call police,
but they did eighty-six her from the store. Richardson must have some
memory, because when Andrea came back into the store in January, he
recognized her and called police. Rad made the arrest. Andrea told
Rad she just assumed that the eighty-six from the store had ended by
then."
"I'm not surprised we didn't issue that. Sounds like she never
should've been excluded in the first place."
Ray Johnson was laughing. "So that's it? The whole defense is that
the vica whore, her mom's a trespasser, and Derringer's scum brother
says they were watching TV?"
I was just as bewildered. "I don't know what the hell Lisa's thinking.
The jury's going to hear about Kendra's background from me. I'll go
over it during voir dire, opening, and Kendra's direct, so Lisa doesn't
get any mileage by calling Fenninger. She can't get in those Lloyd
Center witnesses to impeach Andrea. And even if she did, who would
care?"
Mike Calabrese gave me a thumbs-up. "Lock and load, baby. That's what
I say."
I love it when a plan comes together.
I left the detectives at the Justice Center and walked over to the
courthouse to review my trial notebook one last time. I had already
outlined the topics I wanted to discuss during jury selection and had
written my opening statement, the direct examinations of the state's
witnesses, and the cross-examination of Derrick Derringer.
I no longer carried the anxiety I'd been shouldering all week about
Lisa Lopez's list of defense witnesses. She was desperate if she was
trying to get Kendra and Andrea's prior arrests into the record. No
wonder she'd been pretty quiet about the case when I'd seen her around
the courthouse lately. I had to admit a certain level of smug
satisfaction. If it hadn't been for her initial bravado, I'd feel
sorry for Lisa. She was going to spend her next two weeks stuck with a
major barker at trial, all for a scumbag sex offender who wanted his
free lawyer to present a preposterous defense that he and his dimwit
brother cooked up. But after Lisa's attempts to get under my skin at
arraignment, I was going to enjoy handing her a solid trouncing at
trial.
I called Chuck around seven to see if he was ready to go. We had
finally gotten around to rescheduling dinner with my dad. He agreed to
meet me at my car; I was uncomfortable letting the other MCT detectives
know that we were spending time together outside of work.
Dad opened the door before we could knock. "You sure the city can make
it through the night without you guys? I tell you, with the two of you
working together, the bad guys had better watch their backs." Dad
always found creative and not so subtle ways of letting me know that in
his view Chuck and I belonged together.
Dad was making his specialty, steak on the grill. Dad's like a lot of
men of his generation. Wouldn't think of putting together a full meal
in the kitchen, but sees cooking an entire dinner outside as one of the
great manly traditions, like hunting, fishing, or teaching a kid to
bat.
Dad took Chuck out to the deck to show him his new Weber while I poured
us some wine. Watching them crouched by the grill reminded me of the
summer the two of them built the deck. It was right after our college
graduation,
mine from Harvard, Chuck's from the University of Oregon. Chuck had
decided not to leave the state for college, a decision his parents had
harangued him for until they realized it would be bad form for the
governor and his wife to suggest their son was too good for the state's
best public university. By the time Chuck graduated, the former
Governor Forbes spoke at commencement of the pride he felt when his son
turned down the Ivy Leagues for U of O. That summer was also the summer
I told Chuck he had to fish or cut bait. I had vowed not to bifurcate
my life anymore between him and everything else. At Harvard, I missed
out on things that other kids experience when they go away to school,
because my heart had stayed with Chuck back in Oregon. When other kids
took summer internships on the Hill or in Manhattan, I had faithfully
returned to Portland, four years in a row. I decided law school would
be different.
So I'd begged Chuck during our senior year to live up to his potential
and apply to graduate programs around the country. He was accepted
into Stanford Business School and put down his deposit over Christmas
break when I sent my acceptance to the law school. By spring break, he
was saying that he hadn't gotten used to the idea of himself in
business school, and, by summer, he was thinking of pulling out.
So I told him to choose.
Of course, it wasn't as easy as that. I cried for two hours and told
him that I loved him and wanted to be with him and couldn't picture my
life without him in it. I said that moving to Stanford with him would
make me happier than I'd ever been, and then I told him to choose.
He chose to cut bait. He didn't know what he wanted to do, but he knew
he didn't want to go to California, and he knew he didn't want to go to
business school. He was thinking of becoming a cop.
I didn't handle it well. I laughed at him and asked what it would be
next: astronaut or firefighter. I told him he'd never grow up and
would never amount to anything. I pointed out that he'd been given