You Think You Know Me Pretty Well aka Mercy (20 page)
Read You Think You Know Me Pretty Well aka Mercy Online
Authors: David Kessler
“A restraining order?” said the warden incredulously.
“It’s only temporary. They’ve scheduled a full hearing at four thirty that my assistant is going to handle.”
“Then why did he issue it? The execution isn’t scheduled until a minute past midnight.”
The warden didn’t sound angry, just puzzled.
“I think the reasoning was that if the DA convinces him to let it go ahead then a TRO is easier to rescind than a fixed stay but, on the other hand, if
we
convince him to
halt
the execution, then the order’s already in place.”
“Okay, well I’m at the mercy of the system as much as your client,” said the warden, amiably. “I guess what happens now is in the hands of the court.”
“Yes. Look, I need to see Burrow to let him know where things stand.”
“Of course.”
A few minutes later, Alex was face to face with his client. He told him about the verse of the poem that David had found.
“A poem? You came here to ask me about a fucking p
oem
?”
Burrow was incredulous.
“No, I came to tell you about the temporary restraining order.”
“Which may get torn up in the next ten minutes.”
Alex just stared at him. It was like a Mexican standoff. Except that the threat and counter-threat weren’t physical. In fact there was no counter-threat. Alex owed Burrow nothing but his best professional services. And it was up to his client to be honest with him.
“Did you rape her, Clayton? Is that what she’s talking about?”
“You know nothing, Alex! You don’t know what it was like as a kid, surrounded by friends, cheering you on every time you found an easy target.”
“I know about bullying, Clayton.”
“You don’t know how easy it is, when everyone’s telling you what a great guy you are!”
Clayton was visibly distressed. But he kept the tears at bay by shouting. He was hiding his sorrow and regret behind a wall of anger. Anger was all he had left.
“Is that why you did it? For the plaudits?”
“What?”
“For the
approval
of your peers. You bullied her because everyone else was egging you on and giving you their approval when you did it?”
“Take a hike! Look, you’re not going to save me. We both know that. So why bother? Why not just get the hell out of here and forget about me?”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Why? ‘Cause I’m your client?”
“Partly.”
“I can always sack you! Then I won’t be your problem any longer.”
“Yeah, you can sack me. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to forget you.”
“You might as well. There’ll be nothing in it for you.”
“If you’re talking money, there’s not a cent in it for me now. I’m doing this pro bono.”
“Well
stop
!”
“That’s not the way I work.”
“You’ve done your best. I’ll write you out a satisfied customer statement before they strap me down.”
“What are you trying to hide, Clayton?”
“To hide?” He wasn’t even trying to conceal the tears anymore. “They’re going to kill me in less than eight hours – whatever that restraining order says. You think I’ve got something to hide?”
“No, I think you’ve got
nothing
to hide! ... But I think you’re trying to hide something anyway.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I think you’re trying to hide something from yourself. I think you’re trying to avoid facing up to what you did.”
“You think I’m a murderer? So why did you put in all this effort for me?”
“Did you rape her, Clayton?”
“
Yes I raped her!
I raped the goddamn motherfuckin’ dyke bitch! And I’ve regretted it ever since!”
The voice changer program worked better than he’d expected. That was just as well because he didn’t have the time to go out and buy one. The hardware type were probably not as good anyway. Technologically, they were never up to date. This one was dead easy to use, was free and he’d been able to obtain it without getting up from the desk in the office that they had let him use. All he’d had to do was log on to a software download site, read a few customer reviews and download the one he wanted. He didn’t have to buy the full version, because he wasn’t going to save any files, just change his voice as it came out the other end.
The banks in England were all closed at this time. But the major high street banks all had helplines. Some of these closed down at 20:00 or 22:00. Others worked till midnight, while a few even operated 24/7.
David was steadily working his way through these, logging on to various banking websites, phoning up using Skype, pretending – through the voice-changing software – to be Dorothy, explaining that “she” hadn’t used the account for a long time and had forgotten her log in details. If he had known at least some of the account details – like the account number or card number – he would have been able to do this online. But as he didn’t have any of these details, he had to do it by phone, where the security checks were supposed to be more rigorous. Of course the reality was that they were not. And that was what he was trying to take advantage of in this exercise in social engineering.
In case after case he was being told that they couldn’t find any trace of that name or account, and, once he was satisfied that that bank or branch could be eliminated, he told them that the account was over fifteen years old. The reason for this was that he had already established that if it had been left untouched for that period, the account would have become classified as a dormant account. That enabled him to end the conversation without arousing too much suspicion.
The trouble was, there was no way he could be sure of his assumption that she would have opened an account at a branch near the medical center. His reasoning was that she would probably have found a place to stay near the center and opened a bank account nearby. But what if he were wrong? What if she had found a place further out, which would have been cheaper? She could have been living anywhere in Greater London.
But he still hadn’t exhausted all the banks and branches on his list of the Finchley Road area, so he wasn’t on the verge of giving up. It was actually a
huge
list. Finchley Road was a long road and there were other major streets round it.
Finally, his luck started to change. He got hold of a bank and branch, explained about “her” “old” account that he thought “she” had just used “six years ago” – and was told by a young woman with an Indian accent that they had to go through some security checks before they could reactivate her account and give her the details.
“No problem,” said David, confident in all the information that he had assembled from Juanita for this part of the exercise.
“First of all, I need your date of birth.”
“April 1, 1980,” said David, the software disguising his voice and giving it that soft, feminine touch, enhanced by the deliberate nervousness that he was injecting into it.
“Next, I need to know your mother’s maiden name.”
“Segal.”
“Finally, the answer to the security question you set yourself. The question was, ‘Dog’s name.’”
A queasy feeling gripped David’s stomach and a column of heat rose up inside him. His cheeks flushed bright red. This was one question that he hadn’t prepared for. He couldn’t just end the conversation and then come back. That would just set off alarms. Even if he got through to a different operator at the call center, which he probably would, they might well have flagged the account by them.
He had to answer now and he had to answer correctly. But how? He didn’t have a clue what her dog’s name was. In fact he couldn’t even imagine her owning a dog. A dog could be a friend to someone who is otherwise friendless. But David’s father had told him that, according to Esther Olsen, it was Dorothy’s
computer
that was her friend. She never said anything about a dog, or at least his father hadn’t mentioned anything.
He had to play for time, or at least give himself an excuse for failure that would not arouse suspicions.
“I’ve actually had several dogs in the past ten years. I can’t remember which one it was when I opened the account.”
“Well I have to have an answer before I can give you the account details and password.”
David was frantically running dogs’ names through his head: Rex? Rambo? Toto?
Toto!
The dog from
The Wizard of Oz
! Dorothy’s dog! It had to be.
“I think the dog I had at the time was called Toto,” he said.
“I’m afraid that’s not the one I’ve got here.”
Damn!
Now he had blown it for sure.
“If you don’t remember, we may have to do some sort of written verification. That’ll only take seven working days.”
They hadn’t closed the door! He still had another chance!
“I really do need it sooner if possible.”
“Can you not remember the name?” asked the girl at the call center sympathetically, as she were almost willing “Dorothy” on to get it right.
Why would she choose this question for a security question if she didn’t have a dog? thought David. It made no sense. And then he remembered something.
The girl hadn’t said “Your dog’s name” – she had simply said “dog’s name.” In other words, the name of
a
dog.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to hurry you,” said the girl.
What name would Dorothy Olsen associate with a dog?
“
Clayton
!” David blurted out.
“That’s the one,” said the girl triumphantly.
The guard outside peered in, as if concerned that Clayton’s flare of anger was going to erupt into physical violence. Alex signaled him to back off. The guard sat down and returned to his newspaper.
Clayton was now avoiding the lawyer’s eyes and there was a break in his voice, as if he couldn’t trust his throat to hold it together.
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
He didn’t
want
to talk about it, but Burrow had finally broken and they both knew that he
had
to.
“It was on April the first … her birthday … her
eighteenth
birthday. I told her it was a birthday present… a coming-of-age present. It was my idea of a joke.”
“I presume she didn’t see the humor.”
Alex silently cursed himself for saying it. It sounded judgmental – which it was. But it was the wrong time to say it. Judgment was the one thing that Clayton was running away from.
“She didn’t show any emotion at all. She begged and pleaded at first … and then she just stopped. Silence. Like she didn’t feel anything … or didn’t want me to know what she was feeling.”
“That’s it?”
“I think she may have been crying … but you know … like … crying silently.”
“And how did you feel?”
“At the time … or now?”
“Stop jerking my leash, Clayton.”
“I’m not – ”
“You
are
!”
“At the time I didn’t feel a thing. No, I
did
feel a thing: I felt
satisfaction
! I was angry. She’d got me canned, remember. I was kicked out of high school because of her. I wanted revenge.”
“So how did you do it?”
“I lured her to a construction site that night and raped her.”
“How did you lure her?”
“I told her I’d kidnapped Jonathan.”
“And she
believed
you?”
“I’d stolen his cell phone. She called the number and I answered.
Then
she believed me.”
“So you lured her to this construction site and raped her there?”
“That’s right.”
“And then?”
“Then I let her go.”
“Weren’t you worried that she’d go running to the cops?”
“I told her that if she did I really
would
go after Jonathan.”
“And would you have done?”
“Of course not!”
“There’s no ‘of course’ about it. You were already a rapist. Why stop there?”
“I’m not a murderer.”
“Who said anything about murder?”
“You did—”
“No, I didn’t.”
“I mean, I did!” He looked embarrassed, confused. “I mean, I threatened to kill Jonathan if she told anyone. But I wouldn’t have done it.”
“Do you think she believed you?”
“I … I don’t know.”
