Family Secrets

Ben helped Lane to a chair.  He leaned against the table, his back to the two-way mirror shielding Lane from the prying eyes of the police and his friend Mickey.  He took her chin in his left hand. “All right, tell me what’s going on.  Try to keep it calm and slow.  Okay,” he said as he stroked her hair with his right hand.

Lane nodded and related the events of the day as she remembered them; begi

“So, you let Mick into the house to look for his sunglasses.  He didn’t have a warrant, right?”

“No, he didn’t have a warrant.  Why would he need a warrant to look for his sunglasses,” Lane asked as she began rubbing her right temple.

Ben smiled. She was the smartest woman he’d ever known and as he’d said to himself many times, she was the most naïve.

“You mean did he have a warrant to look for the screwdriver,” she said, still rubbing her temple.  “Ben, I don’t know how that screwdriver got under the bed or why it was there.  What I do know is that I was in full stress cleaning mode on Sunday.  I cleaned thoroughly under the bed.  And there was nothing at all under it when I was finished.”

“Okay, Red.  That’s all I need to know.  Let’s get the detective back in here.  Don’t answer anything unless I give my approval.  And, don’t volunteer anything.  Answer only what they ask.  If you’re not sure about anything, whisper your question to me. Do you think you can do that?”

Lane nodded.  She knew Ben didn’t think she was stupid.  She knew he was just trying to protect her from herself.  She hoped she could let him.

Ben rapped on the door.  Mick and another man, who introduced himself as Lieutenant Franklin, entered the room.  Ben sat down to Lane’s right and held her hand.  Mick sat across the table and Lt. Franklin stood by the door.  This may be Lane’s first police station interview, but it sure wasn’t her first experience with intimidation.  She’d guess the Lieutenant was a novice compared to her. She’d done union negotiations with the CWA of the AFL/CIO, which was one of the most powerful labor unions in America.

Mick placed a small tape recorder on the table.  He stated the date and time for the record.

“Ms. Parker, we’ve brought you in to answer some questions.  Counselor, Ben Bellini, represents you.  You’re not under arrest.  Is that clear?”

Ben squeezed Lane’s hand.

“Yes,” she said.

“This afternoon at approximately 1:00 p.m., I accompanied you to your home to look for a pair of sunglasses that I thought I may have left there yesterday. Is that correct?”

Again, Ben squeezed her hand, silently communicating that she should answer the question.

“Yes.”

“I entered the house and began my search with your permission.  Is that correct?”

Lane waited for the cue from Ben.  There wasn’t one.

“Ms. Parker?” Lt. Franklin nearly barked.

She turned to Ben and whispered to him, “What do I say?  He did enter the house to look for his sunglasses with my permission. I’m not sure about the phrase ‘began my search’”

Ben whispered back. “Yes, he did enter to look for his sunglasses with your permission.  He didn’t have permission to look for anything else.”  Ben looked at the detectives.

“Define search, Detective McGuire.  My client has already agreed that you entered the house with her permission to get your sunglasses.”

“All right, Counselor.  Ms. Parker, were you present when I pulled my sunglasses and another object from under your bed?”

Ben squeezed Lane’s hand and watched Lt. Franklin as Lane answered.  He knew the relationship between Lane and Mickey was i

“Yes.”

“Did I remove that object with your permission?”

Lane looked to Ben and whispered to him, “I gave him the bag he put it in, but the truth is, he didn’t ask if he could take it.  He just told me to get a bag and to call you.”

“Detective, my client tells me you didn’t ask for permission to remove the object.”

“McGuire!” Lt. Franklin barked and jerked his head toward the door.

“Detectives. The recording,”  Ben said.

Mickey reached over and turned it off.

The two detectives walked into the hall and Ben resumed his place leaning against the table.  He put his hands on Lane’s shoulders and began rubbing.

“You’re doing fine.  How’s your head?  Since you’re only here for questioning, I can stop it if your headache’s back.”

“I’m okay.”  Lane said as she rolled her head from side to side.  The shoulder rub felt good and would help to stave off the tension headache.  “I want to get this over with.”

“What the hell was that about, McGuire?  You did an illegal search and seizure?”  The veins on Lt. Franklin’s temple bulged.

“Come on, Lieutenant.  I was invited there. I had permission to look under the bed. I found the weapon.  No need for a warrant.”

“Lieutenant, I have to agree with McGuire on this.  He didn’t need a warrant.  The suspect obviously invited him in and gave him permission to look under the bed.  This was no illegal search.”

The ADA turned to Mick.  “But, I do have to ask if you have a personal relationship with this woman.”

Mick ran his hand through his hair.  They knew he played round ball with the counselor.  Since most of Ben’s clients lived on the Missouri side of State Line, this was the first time they’d ever had a professional encounter.  She was just a friend of Ben’s.  Yeah, like Angelina Jolie is just a friend of Brad Pitt’s, he thought.

“No.  I drove her home Tuesday because she had a debilitating headache.  Hell, she’s had a headache since the minute I met her.  It’s all semantics.  I found the weapon.  She gave me the bag.”

Franklin smiled.  “She’s the one who lost her lunch all over you Saturday.”

“Yeah, she’s the one.”

“I think I’d let her do just about anything she wanted to me,” Franklin said as he put on his game face and opened the door.

The detectives re-entered the room.  Everyone assumed his or her positions.

McGuire looked at Ben and nodded toward the tape recorder.  Ben nodded and Mickey turned it back on once again stating the date and time.

“Did you provide for me the plastic bag into which I put the item?”  Ben squeezed her hand.

“Yes.”

Mickey held up a plastic bag.  “Is this the object?”

Ben squeezed, Lane answered, “It looks like the object you found.”

“Had you ever seen this item before today?”

Ben squeezed Lane’s hand.  “I don’t think so.”

Mick threw the bag on to the table.  “Would you like to take a closer look, Ms. Parker?”

Lane leaned toward Ben. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it, but I’ve read about this kind of thing.  I say no, and the next thing I know, he produces a receipt that shows I purchased it five years ago.”

Ben smiled.  Lane was a smart woman who knew how important it was to protect herself.  Ben paused for a moment and wondered what Mickey’s tactic was. They might have wanted her to pick up the bag and provide them with fingerprints.  It didn’t make sense, he knew that as Chief Privacy Officer, she was bonded and had fingerprints on file and readily available to the authorities.

“Pick up the bag, look at it, and just say you don’t recognize it.” Ben said giving her hand a squeeze.

Lane picked up the bag, turned it over in her hand.  It was a Philips head screwdriver.  It was thin, about six inches long, and had a red plastic handle

“I don’t recognize it.”  She said as she placed the bag back on the table.

She rolled her head and started rubbing both temples with tense fingers.  Mick looked at Ben.  He recognized the signs of Lane’s headache.  He’d seen first hand the toll her headaches had taken on her over the last several days, and he didn’t want to be the cause of her pain.