An Eye For Justice Read online

  Pascal walked over to the minibar and checked inside. Just a large bottle of vodka, almost full, lying on its side, and a cardboard carton of orange juice. She mixed herself a screwdriver, pouring herself two thirds of the glass full of Smirnoff, with just a dab of orange juice. And all the time O’Leary sat there unmoving with his eyes closed.

  Then his eyes snapped open and he looked over at Pascal. ‘So what d’you think you have, and what do you want?’ he said, studying his fingernails. ‘My daughter, Cara, loves me, but I wouldn’t expect you to understand that. People like you just don’t have the imagination to appreciate the purity of a relationship like ours.’

  ‘Spare me the bullshit rationalizations, O’Leary. I’ve seen the clips, so I have no intention of debating with you. No, what I want is simple information. But get this, O’Leary. From this day forward, you’ll be spending zero time with your daughter. That can be because you voluntarily agree to it and give me the information I want, or it can be because your sitting in jail for life without parole - your choice. What’s it to be, Michael?’

  He laughed. ‘That’s no choice, and you know it. I talk, I’m dead. These people don’t need to make threats. In fact it may already be too late. They’ve been watching me lately, and probably know you’re here talking to me right now.’

  ‘So they killed Helena and framed Calver? How’d they fix the CCTV?’

  He laughed again, manic. ‘You people have no idea who you’re dealing with do you?’

  ‘So tell me. Who they are. Schmidt?’ she said.

  ‘He’s just the enforcer. Behind him you’ve got malevolence on a grand scale and billions of dollars. An unbeatable combination, as you will discover,’ he said.

  Pascal took another sip of vodka and slowly began to pace around. O’Leary leant forward over the desk and carefully separated out another line from the motherlode, and snorted again, throwing his head back this time as if that might get the cocaine into his blood stream quicker.

  Pascal, watching him and trying to keep the contempt out of her voice, said, ‘if we went to the District Attorneys office and you agreed to testify, it’s a certainty you’d get immunity and witness protection. You’re talking about bringing down a major US corporation and a reclusive billionaire, and what DA is going to turn that down?’

  ‘You really don’t get it, do you?’ O’Leary said wearily. ‘Things may work like that in your hopeless bankrupt little country, but it don’t work like that over here. Big money rules the world here and always has done. Whatever I do, I’m dead. You coming in here, just about guaranteed that.’

  ‘Spare me the melodramatics, O’Leary,’ she said, tiring of his exaggeration. ‘Just—’

  ‘Look,’ he said, his face a deadly serious mask - maybe a shard of reality had made it through. ‘I’ll give you what you want, but I want something.’

  ‘You’re in no position to bargain, O’Leary.’

  ‘I want to see her, one last time,’ he said. Then seeing Pascal’s incredulity, he quickly added, ‘to talk to her, and say goodbye. You have my word,’ he said, looking Pascal full on, ‘I will not lay a finger on her.’

  Pascal held his gaze. She couldn’t arrest or imprison him and even if she called the cops he could still get to his daughter before they could intervene. But fact is she believed him. He could perhaps see even through a drug induced haze that whatever he did, his old life was over.

  ‘Also, I need to get something for you from home - proof,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Wait and see.’

  She could tell he wasn’t going to elaborate, but she needed to get something out of him now, just in case Schmidt got to him before they could meet again. ‘Okay, O’Leary, I’m thinking about it, but I want something now.’

  ‘I’ll give you a name: John Fossey. You check it out. Then you come to my house at.’ He looked at his watch - it was gone four already. ‘8 tonight.’

  Pascal was seeing Chantelle at 7, and didn’t want to blow that out. ‘Make it midnight,’ she said.

  He smiled. He’d have a bit longer to say goodbye. ‘Midnight it is.’

  She watched him. ‘And O’Leary….’ she said

  ‘Yeah, I know. Don’t touch her.’

  He looked solemn and wasn’t smiling anymore. She’d have to trust him. She finished her drink and left, leaving him sitting at the desk staring into space.

  * * * *

  Pascal wasn’t answering, so I got a cab back to the loft apartment. I wanted to ask Christoff a couple of questions arising from my cross examination of Stahl’s CCTV expert. But then my cell was buzzing again, and this time it was Pascal. ‘You trying to get hold of me, Calver?’ she said.

  ‘Yeah. Got a couple of days adjournment from the judge, so I thought we should get together, see if there’s anything I can do to help.’

  ‘That’s good, but right now I’m on the run, so we’ll have to talk later. Meantime I have a name, but no information on how its connected. I want you and Christoff to have a look, see if you can come up with anything.’

  ‘Shoot,’ I said.

  ‘Names, John Fossey,’ she said, and then spelled it.

  ‘I wont ask what you’re doing, Pascal, but you better be damn careful,’ I said as I hung up.

  I gave Christoff the name and he said he’d see what he could dig up online. I went to Morganna’s well stocked drinks cabinet and mixed myself a Scotch, then paced around the furniture sipping it and thinking hard. Then I went over to Morganna’s communal desk top computer, sat down and typed into a google search: John Fossey. Might as well all pitch in together I thought. After all, it wasn’t as if I had anything better to do

  Chapter 18

  It was half past seven when Pascal finally knocked on Chantelle Latifah’s door. On the way over she’d stopped off to get a bottle of wine, and now she was sipping a glass of it in the kitchen while Chantelle cooked up what she said was her specialty - Goat Curry. Pascal watched the big woman as she leant over a large pot, slowly stirring the contents with a long wooden spoon.

  When Pascal had last seen her, Chantelle had been wearing a big diaphanous gown, almost like a tent, and Pascal had assumed she was just very big lady, but now she could see that wasn’t the case at all. This time she was wearing dark green coloured jeans that clung to her in all the right places, a black peasant blouse tied with a large sash at the waist, and on her feet comfortable looking soft black leather pumps. The word voluptuous sprang to Pascal’s mind; the woman was seriously curvy. She caught Pascal’s admiring looks and smiled demurely; but Pascal could sense a kind of shyness in her look.

  Chantelle served up the food and they carried their plates and glasses through to the living room where they took their seats and tucked in. For a while no one spoke, then as Pascal was finishing up, she said, ‘man, that was good! Where you learn to cook like that?’

  ‘My Daddy was a chef in the US Navy,’ Chantelle said. ‘There wasn’t nothing he couldn’t cook good.’ She wiped her lips with a napkin and took a sip of wine. ‘A detective Daly called me about Montell, so I know it was you,’ she said.

  Pascal didn’t say anything. She’d fouled up with Chantelle before by jumping in too quick about her daughter; this time she’d just let her talk. Chantelle hesitated a beat as if struggling with some internal conflict. Then she said, with a kind of anguished look on her face, ‘Montell killed my little girl.

  ‘Then he came to me to pay off her drug debts,’ she said. She looked away, blinking as a tear snagged in her eyelash. ‘Oh, he didn’t kill her personally, I know that, but he supplied the poison that did. She OD’d seven months ago.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Chantelle. I didn’t know.’

  ‘How could you?’

  ‘What was her name, Chantelle? I’d like to know.’

  ‘Her name was Larissa,’ she said with a proud smile.

  ‘Its a lovely name.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Then there was silence again, but
it was an easy silence. They both sipped their wine, then Chantelle said, ‘I thought a lot about the story you told me about your friend, Hannah. I’ve been turning it over in my mind ever since, but I don’t see how I can help you. It all happened so long ago.’

  Pascal took a deep breath, a little frisson of excitement starting to flutter in her gut. But she immediately tamped it down, determined this time not to get her hopes up. She’d just try and play it honest and straight.

  ‘Hannah’s story is a lot older than yours,’ she said. ‘And she’s reliving it everyday in the Southern District Court, as we speak. And believe me, that’s taken a lot of guts. She’s taking on one of the most powerful corporations in the US - fearlessly,’ Pascal said.

  Then as a thought occurred to her, she added, ‘you know, you could go down their, to the court, if you get some time, and listen to her testimony.’

  Chantelle looked interested immediately. ‘You think so,’ she said. ‘They’d let me in?’

  ‘Of course they would. Its open to the public. Think about it.’

  ‘I will,’ she said, and Pascal knew she would.

  ‘Look, Chantelle, we really don’t know what we’re looking for, so what I want you to do is just tell me about your time working for Angel Milken.’

  Chantelle got up and walked over to a small writing desk set against the wall and picked up a large photograph - Pascal assumed it was of her daughter, Larissa - and carried it back to the couch where she sat down again. She held the picture in both hands, studying it intently. Then she began to speak.

  ‘You know I loved that job, until….until that day. They treated me real well.’

  ‘How did you get the job in the first place? I mean, I’m guessing Milken was a Nazi, and we all know their views on race, you being black and all..’ Pascal said, running out of steam and then feeling embarrassed at the cack-handed way she had tried to raise the issue.

  Chantelle didn’t seem to notice though, her eyes veiled and turned inwards as she reminisced. ‘It was his wife, I think who controlled the domestic household and did the hiring and firing,’ she said. ‘And he just went along with it. Also I think there were a lot of interviews for the role and each person they chose had a weeks try out. There were three before me, then I did my week, and they must have liked me because they offered it to me at the end of the trial period. That’s another thing you need to understand. I had very little contact with Angel Milken, other than him giving me the odd order when his henchmen weren’t around, like, “bring Coffee” or “clean my study” kind of thing. But he did give me a brief talking to when I started, saying everything that went on there was highly confidential, and any breach of that confidentiality would result in my immediate dismissal and a negative reference.’

  Pascal watched her some more, wondering how to bring up the rape incident without inflicting further pain on her. But in the end, Chantelle raised it herself, sparing Pascal the trouble. ‘As to the rape, it went down how I said it did,’ she said, holding Pascal’s eyes with what looked like a challenge to disagree if she dared. ‘I know now he drugged me. It was before date rape drugs really took off, but my daughter investigated it when she was doing her law degree, at college. She said that one of K Corp’s wholly owned subsidiaries was a pharmaceutical company, so it wouldn’t have been difficult for him to get the drugs. And if he didn’t get them there, then I’m sure his pet monster, Schmidt would have had no trouble sourcing them on the street.’

  Pascal thought for a moment, and then said, ‘why do you think it happened, and don’t take that the wrong way. But this is a guy who has, from what I have seen, monumental self-control?’

  ‘No, Courtney, I agree with you, and I’ve wondered over the years why it happened. He was actually incredibly good as an employer and there was never a hint of unpleasantness or, looks or inappropriate touching, before that. To be honest if someone had said he was attracted to me before it took place, I would have been shocked. That day, he had not seemed himself, and his wife was away, which was unusual, and he was drinking which was also unusual. I guess he got to feeling sorry for himself, and he came looking for me.’

  ‘So then they framed you with the smack baggy in the pillowcase, yeah?’ Pascal said.

  ‘Yes. Believe it or not I’ve never ever taken drugs.’

  ‘Oh, I believe you. Did you ever see or speak to any of them, after you were dismissed and went to prison?’

  ‘Only Schmidt, once, and that was enough. Just after I got out.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He turned up at my Mother’s which is where I first stayed when I got out the joint. He turned up, out the blue, when I was there alone. He said they could do it all again, if I ever said anything to anybody. Then he said he would kill me, and I believed him, so I never spoke to anyone, and just tried to rebuild my life.’

  ‘And now?’ Pascal asked.

  She smiled again but it was tinged with sadness. ‘Larissa’s gone, and I don’t care anymore about me. If I can help your friend Hannah get something back, lets just do it.’

  Pascal got up to get the half full bottle of wine and then she topped both their glasses up. As she moved, her mind was whirring away, processing everything Chantelle had told her. Problem was that there was no new information there that they could use. The rape was years ago, and statute barred, and there was nothing new there that would help Calver. As far as the world out there was concerned, Chantelle Latifah was a drug addict who had made false rape allegations against a pillar of the community and had gone to prison for it.

  She tried another tack. ‘What’s the deal with Schmidt? What do you know about him, and did you ever witness anything, anything in the penthouse, that you considered illegal, criminal or odd, or……whatever?’

  ‘That’s just it, there was nothing other than that one incident. That was bad enough I know, but it was completely out of character for him and in relation to my overall experience working there. As for Schmidt, the guy is truly scary. I mean Montell scared me with like, what can I say, just normal kind of fear you get when someone threatens you, but Schmidt? I don’t know. He never touched me physically, he didn’t need to. Again though, you need to understand that I saw very little of him either, and that was mostly because Angel’s wife flatly refused to have him in their living quarters unless it was an absolute emergency.’

  Pascal frowned. Another blow-out. She already knew that Schmidt was a very bad guy capable of killing without hesitation, but that didn’t really help either.

  Chantelle could see Pascal’s frustration in the stress lines on her face. ‘I’m not much help am I, Courtney?’

  ‘Hey. This is all good stuff, and I know Hannah will be grateful. But,’ Pascal said, checking her watch, frustration creeping into her voice. ‘Is there anything you can think of that struck you as odd. Something you may have seen that maybe didn’t make sense or that you didn’t understand?’

  Chantelle closed her eyes tight, thinking hard. Then she laughed softly to herself.

  ‘What?’ Pascal said.

  ‘Oh, its nothing. Silly.’

  ‘Chantelle,’ Pascal said, as if addressing a wayward child.

  She took a sip of red wine, and was smiling. ‘Well, he had a secret, concealed room. And I’m certain no one, not even his wife, knew about it. I caught a glimpse, I think. He never knew. But its concealed, with a secret doorway. I suppose it could be one of those secret bunkers for if criminals invaded the penthouse or a there was a nuclear war or something.’

  ‘But you don’t think so?’

  ‘No. I think he kept things in there.’

  This time Pascal felt a real frisson of excitement, at last, coursing through her veins. ‘Tell me what you saw, or know, Chantelle,’ Pascal said, looking at her watch again. She still had to see O’Leary at midnight. It was going to be a long night, but now she was excited. The adrenaline was kicking in.

  ‘It was my day off, and I always went to my mothers in the mornings on
those days, always, just not on that one particular day. Mum had a doctors appointment I think. But Angel obviously thought he was alone in the penthouse. His wife was out, as she was most mornings. As you know I had my own self-contained living quarters, like a 3 room flat. It was as I was leaving to go out to see a friend, I had to pass through a common passage that runs through their living quarters to get to the lifts. Angels office study door was open and I could hear him on the phone. I hesitated outside the door, as usually if anyone was around I would just say Hi, and that I was leaving the building, so they’d know, as most of the time I was there round the clock 24/7.’ She paused there for another sip of wine, smiling again as she registered how impatient Pascal was getting.

  ‘Would you like another drink, Courtney?’ she teased her

  ‘Chantelle…..’

  ‘Well,’ she continued, ‘I glanced through the office door, and was just going to wave, but he had his back to me. And the phone conversation had become heated. He was almost shouting and completely absorbed in the call, but its what I could see past him that shocked me. The far wall of his office was completely covered with bookshelves, but on that day, I could see they were like doors, and had slid open. And I could just see a large room the other side. All I could see was part of a picture on the wall near the door and that was all.

  ‘Then I saw he was finishing his call and would be putting the phone down, so I ran, I don’t know why, but I did. I ran on tip toes to the lift, and luckily it was there waiting and I jumped in and it went down.’

  Pascal held her eyes, riveted. Then Chantelle added, ‘later when I was cleaning his study, and I did it a number of times, I tried to see a join, or a seam, or a lever or something, but I couldn’t find anything. I even pulled some books off the shelves to look, and banged on it, but there was nothing. It was incredibly well concealed, but that’s the only thing I ever saw, and only the once. I have no idea what it was for but I do know that he spent time in there. Or I assumed that’s where he was, as when I was alone in the penthouse with him, he would disappear for periods when I couldn’t find him, and later I guessed that’s where he was at.’