Beyond Reasonable Doubt (Keera Duggan), page 10
“Thompson tried a good case. His closing was strong, under the circumstances. Patsy created just enough reasonable doubt to get Jenna off,” Keera said.
“We know that?”
“Patsy spoke with several jurors after the trial and, as was the common conclusion reached in the prosecutor’s office, those jurors didn’t necessarily believe Jenna to be innocent. They believed Kohl could have been the person who pulled the trigger, and if that were true, then there had to be reasonable doubt; didn’t there?”
“Shrewd,” Harrison said.
He hit play on his computer, and they watched the black-and-white video footage from the condominium complex until Jenna left the building lobby.
“She leaves the building at 7:27 p.m.,” Harrison said. “I picked her up outside on building security cameras, walking east on Republican Street.” He pulled up pictures of Bernstein, in disguise, on his laptop at various points of her walk. “She turns left onto Eastlake, continues over the I-5 freeway, then eventually will make a slight right onto Belmont Avenue. Here, let me show you.” Harrison brought up a map with a blue line he’d used to mark Jenna’s walk. “She said she turned left on Bellevue Place, then left again on Boylston Avenue.” He clicked the mouse pad, and again brought up images of Bernstein walking along the designated path. Each picture noted the camera’s location by address. It also noted the time the picture had been taken. As Jenna had said, the path was in the direction of Volunteer Park.
“She turns right on East Prospect, and that’s when we lose her,” Harrison said.
“Nothing showing her entering Volunteer Park?” Keera asked.
“The last traffic camera is at the intersection of East Roy and Broadway. That’s it.” If the State couldn’t put Jenna in the park, it made the prosecution’s case that much more difficult. But Harrison wasn’t finished. “However . . . as Ms. Bernstein advised, Wednesday is food truck night in Volunteer Park during the summer months, which attracts a crowd. No public cameras to speak of, but . . .”
“Somebody with an iPhone?” Keera asked.
Harrison shook his head. “No. Nor is there a public camera in the park. I imagine everyone would scream invasion of personal privacy, until someone got robbed or shot, then those same people would bitch about the lack of cameras. But that’s my own personal diatribe. I won’t make you stand beneath my soapbox and listen.”
“I think you just did.”
“Did I?” He laughed.
“No public cameras, but . . . ,” she said, to get him back on track.
“I wondered if it was possible one of the food trucks had a camera, you know for theft and such. I made a call to Bitchin Burritos and determined they did, a camera pointed right at their line of customers.” With his accent, “Bitchin Burritos” sounded like a delicacy. “They even have a sign that says: ‘Smile. You’re on Candid Camera.’”
Harrison pulled up the photograph.
“Oh shit,” Keera said. Jenna stood in a line, looking directly into the camera. “They’ll be able to put her in the park.” She leaned closer. “What is she looking at?”
“I presume the menu above the truck window at which the customer—not me, mind you—orders their grub. Why? What do you think she’s looking at?”
“It looks to me like she knew the camera was there and is looking directly into the lens, to document her alibi that she walked to the park to eat.”
“You’re dripping cynicism,” Harrison said. “That would require some extensive, premeditated planning; would it not?”
“Not for Jenna,” Keera said.
“We may need a bucket to catch your drips, Ms. Duggan.”
“Doesn’t it seem more than a coincidence she would just happen to be in the general location at the time of the murder?”
“Bad luck, no doubt,” Harrison said.
“The worst luck, I’d say.”
“Oh no, the worst luck is yet to come.”
“More?”
“I’m afraid so. Take a look.” Harrison pulled up a map of the park. “I circled the house Kohl was renting and marked a red line indicating an easement through the park.” The easement came out directly at the back of the property. “I took a ride out to the house following my discovery and walked the path. If someone did not want to be noticed, then wearing a disguise and walking through a park without cameras to an easement leading directly to the back of the house would certainly be a way to do it,” Harrison said. “Perhaps the question we should be asking isn’t Could she have done it? Perhaps the question is Why would she do it? Not to be the bearer of yet more bad news, but a source says the US Attorney and Kohl were talking about a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
“I don’t know specifics yet, but my source says Kohl was going to testify against Bernstein in the federal case, say Bernstein knew about the misrepresentations and fraud, in exchange for his receiving a lighter sentence.”
“How reliable is your source?”
“Very.”
Keera gave it some thought. “I doubt it’s something I can confirm.”
“Why not?”
“Thompson would not have missed documents substantiating what your source is telling you in the first trial—that Jenna knew of the LINK’s failings—had those documents existed. He would have used them to cross-examine Jenna and prove to the jury she was lying. And it’s even more doubtful the US Attorney will talk to me and tell me what evidence Kohl intended to produce against Jenna with their case against Jenna still pending.”
“Wouldn’t the lack of documents make Kohl’s testimony all the more pivotal, and therefore killing Kohl all the more imperative?”
She nodded. “It would.”
“Let me ask you something. You don’t seem to like this woman much. Am I warm?”
“Burning up.”
“Why not?”
“Jenna and I grew up together. Our parents started out friendly, I think more for each of us than themselves.”
“Meaning?”
Keera explained that her siblings were out of the house and Jenna was an only child.
“Enemies?”
Keera gave Harrison’s question some thought before answering. “It was never that blatant. Jenna was always more subtle. I only know a few people who would outright say they didn’t like her, myself being one, but I also don’t know anyone who would call her a friend. We had a saying in high school. ‘Nobody likes Jenna as much as Jenna.’”
“A narcissist?”
“Definitely, though I’m not sure that’s adequate either. Even when Jenna was doing something for you, you had the feeling you were being manipulated, that you’d regret it later, because she’d call in that favor when she needed it.”
“Sounds like you’re describing a sociopath.”
Keera nodded. “I’ve certainly considered that possibility.”
“Can you back it up?”
Keera could. “Better I tell you a few stories,” she said.
“I do love a good story,” Harrison said and sat back.
Keera told him about Lake Chelan, and he seemed genuinely concerned and intrigued. Then she said, “Later, in high school, my friend Loren and I wanted desperately to see the band Coldplay, who was coming to KeyArena on their concert tour. The problem was the show was sold out. I looked at the secondary market prices, but they were going for amounts way out of our league. Jenna overheard us discussing this in the school cafeteria and said her father knew a guy at KeyArena and could get tickets. The problem was: You never knew when Jenna was telling the truth and when she was fabricating for dramatic effect. Jenna liked nothing more than to be the center of attention, the person who could solve everyone else’s problems. As I said, the caveat was Jenna always expected reciprocation, which could often be a bitch. I had learned to never ask her for help, with anything, because I didn’t want to be obligated to her. But Loren couldn’t help herself. She basically pled with Jenna to get tickets, and each time Jenna would respond with something noncommittal like: ‘I told you my father’s working on it’ or ‘I haven’t talked with him for a few days.’”
“She was stringing your friend along.”
“It got to the point, as it always did with Jenna, that I regretted she had even overheard us. Finally, early February, when I’d given up hope and had resigned myself to not going . . .”
“She got the tickets.”
“No. She said her father could get them, but the price was eighty-five dollars each, which was forty-five dollars over the ticket price. When I questioned her, she said the tickets were more expensive because they were on the floor.”
“Too crowded for me,” Harrison said. “Never my style, but . . .”
“But this was also typical Jenna, always seemed to do what no one else could, but at a price. I still had doubts, and the cost was more than I wanted to pay, but I was working part-time at the firm and had the money. For me, the bigger question was whether I wanted to be indebted to Jenna. I didn’t.”
“But you really wanted to see Coldplay,” Harrison said. “A dilemma.”
“I agreed to front Loren the money, and I agreed to drive all of us, including Jenna’s friend, Michelle.
“Later, as I was walking to class, I saw Jenna standing in the hallway. What I remember, distinctly, is she closed her locker, turned, and made eye contact. She didn’t smile, and it wasn’t an expression of acknowledgment, but it was a look I had seen before.”
“Meaning what?”
“The look meant I got you. And it made me shiver.”
“The plot thickens.”
“Anyway, Jenna made a big production when the tickets arrived—like the moment in the movie Willy Wonka when Charlie finds the golden ticket in the chocolate Wonka Bar. Jenna reveled in the attention, as she always did.”
“I would have bet it was all bullshit.”
“I’m not done yet.”
“Tension, like a good thriller.”
“When I picked up Jenna and Michelle the night of the concert, I got out of the car to thank Mr. Bernstein, but Jenna hurried out and said he wasn’t home, though his car was in the driveway.”
“She didn’t want you talking to her father? Why? Do you think she overcharged you for the tickets?”
“I’ll shorten the story. Jenna held all four tickets all the way to the door, and when I asked for a stub for a scrapbook, she wasn’t going to give me one. Then, finally, she handed one to me and I noticed the price—forty dollars. She was quick to add that the price didn’t include all the service fees.”
“What did you do?”
“I let it go. I didn’t want to ruin Loren’s night or mine. Money has never been that important to me, but it has always been important to Jenna,” Keera said. “Anyway, the concert was great, and after it ended, Jenna wanted to get something to eat, but Loren had a curfew. Jenna, however, wasn’t taking no for an answer. She said, ‘You owe me for scoring the tickets.’”
“And there it was,” Harrison said. “Payback.”
Keera shook her head. “That would have been far too benign for Jenna. I suggested Dick’s.”
“Never heard of it.”
“A man of your refined tastes would not have. Dick’s is Seattle’s iconic drive-up hamburger stop. It’s ridiculously inexpensive and fast, which would have allowed us to eat for just a couple of bucks and get Loren home on time. Jenna vetoed the idea. She wanted to go to a diner in the University District because a certain waiter worked there. When the hostess finally seated us, it was eleven fifteen.
“The waiter was this tall, good-looking guy about our age. Jenna flirted with him the moment he came to take our order. He was a sophomore at UW and a member of a fraternity. Jenna gave him her best smile and asked if they had any parties we could attend. And he said they had parties, but during the week: ‘To keep you high school girls away and avoid any trouble with the intra-fraternity council.’”
“I can’t imagine that went over well.”
“No, it didn’t, and an unhappy Jenna was never a good thing. When the bill came, Jenna snatched it from the table, slid from the booth, and walked toward the cash register at the front of the restaurant. I figured she wanted to stiff the waiter his tip because he had rejected her.”
“She had other ideas?”
“After several minutes, when Jenna hadn’t returned, Michelle’s cell phone rang. Then she said she had to go to the bathroom and got up. Shortly thereafter, my cell phone rang. It was Jenna.”
“Where was she?”
“With Michelle, outside in the parking lot at a window, holding my car keys and laughing. She said, ‘Dine and dash.’ I tried to get her to come back and settle up, but she refused. Loren and I didn’t have near enough to pay the bill. So after debate we slid from the booth and bolted for the back door. By this point, the restaurant manager and waiter knew something was up. Jenna had pulled the car from the parking slip, pointing it toward the exit. I made it out the door, but the waiter grabbed Loren. I wasn’t going to leave her.”
“What did Jenna and the other girl do?”
“They left.”
“In your car?”
Keera nodded. “And for good measure Jenna flipped off the waiter as she drove away.”
“What did she do with your car?”
“She drove Michelle home, then had Michelle follow her back to my house, where she parked the car and left the keys under the floor mat. The night manager called my father, and when he got to the diner, his expression of disappointment just about killed me.”
“A daughter disappointing a father. Always painful.”
“The manager said he had a daughter of his own, and he didn’t want to see us get a police record, which I don’t know would have happened, but it was enough to scare us. Anyway, as Patsy paid the bill, the waiter said to me, ‘It wasn’t your idea; was it?’ When I said it wasn’t, he said, ‘You need some new friends.’”
“I would agree.”
“On the drive home I told my father I’d pay him back, but he said it wasn’t about the money, and it wasn’t.”
“Certainly not. Were the other girls punished?”
“Loren was grounded.”
“But not Jenna?”
“My dad wanted to call her parents, but I talked him out of it.”
Harrison nodded. “You took the high road and sacrificed yourself.”
Keera shook her head. “No. I didn’t want to get Jenna angry and give her a reason to retaliate—and she would retaliate. I wasn’t scared of her, but I worried about Jenna ruining Loren’s senior year.”
“You did take the high road.”
“I realized that no good came from being indebted to Jenna, but something bad always did, and I vowed to never again be indebted to her.”
“Which raises another question.”
“Which is?”
“Will you take her case . . . if they charge her?”
“They’re going to charge her, JP.” She pointed to the screen. “This just about ensures it.” Keera wasn’t going to tell Harrison about John Bernstein saving her senior year and protecting her father or about the firm still running in the red. “As much as I don’t like it at times, and as much as I don’t like Jenna, this is my job now, to provide a defense, even to the reprehensible.”
“You don’t sound like you’re convinced.”
“I know,” she said. “Because I’m not.”
“As I said, the plot thickens.”
Chapter 12
Seattle, Washington
Keera spent Sunday morning on a long run and, upon returning home, enjoyed a breakfast of granola with fruit, orange juice, and mint tea. She needed to eat healthy again after weeks of eating fast food on the go. Her cell phone rang. Ella.
“I’m calling to remind you it’s the first Sunday of the month.” The first Sunday meant a family dinner at their parents’ home in Madison Park. “I have you down to bring the salad.”
“I’m on vacation,” she said. “I only came in Thursday because you and Patsy asked me to.”
“Nice try. Maggie already outed you for being on a staycation.”
“What difference does that make?”
“You know Mom’s rule. You’re not in a foreign country. You’re not having a life-threatening medical emergency. And you still have a pulse. You’re obligated. And your responsibility this month is salad.”
Keera stifled an urge to scream and contemplated stabbing Maggie in the hand with her dinner knife.
She ran errands she’d put on hold, and played a game of chess online with a new opponent who went by the moniker White Walker, clearly a Game of Thrones fan.
Late that afternoon, Keera put her large wooden bowl in the back of her car behind the driver’s seat. The bowl contained lettuce. In separate plastic bags she’d brought grape tomatoes, chopped walnuts, hard-boiled eggs, and fresh bacon bits. In a jar she’d brought homemade vinaigrette dressing. She didn’t put the dressing on the salad because Maggie complained it made the lettuce wilt. She didn’t include the accouterments because her family members couldn’t agree on the time of day if they were all staring at a stopped clock, let alone what they liked and disliked on their salads.
