Designed Intent

Chapter 61

Tuesday Morning

"Bobby," Gleason said softly as she filled Bobby's travel mug.

"Huh?"

"Bobby, would you ask Alex to be my witness?"

Bobby looked up from the examining the phone bill. "You want Eames to be you witness?"

"Is that all right?"

"Of course, Sweetheart," he said standing and moving to her, "I think you should ask her, though, not me."

"Well, you'll see her. You ask her." Gleason handed Bobby his travel mug.

He took it and bent to kiss her. "Honey, call her today and ask her. I'm sure she will be delighted. You ask her, it's only right."

Gleason sighed and nodded, "I'll call her this afternoon." Bobby kissed her again and left for work.

Gleason took the two books and the wrapping paper from the bottom chest drawer wrapped the two books after Bobby left. She had decided to give Bobby the erotic novel for their wedding and save the other, a book of short stories and poems, for his birthday. Rueben Lesky was Bobby's favorite author, known for his erotic writings. Lesky's craft turned the mundane sensuous in his poetry and prose. The first editions were in the original German, but not autographed.

Then she sat at the table and composed what she would write in each card. Gleason was a gifted linguist and could work magic with words. She sat and thought of her beloved, smiled and began to write.

When finished, Gleason returned the two wrapped books and their cards in the bottom drawer of her chest atop the new wedding-night sheets.

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Dr. Shinto read Mrs. Goren's blood and urine test results. He frowned, ordered a few more tests, including an x-ray, changed one medication and added one. Then, he called her son Robert and left a message for him to return his call.

"Dr. Shinto, is everything all right with my mother?"

"I read the note you left on Sunday about your concerns with your mother's physical health. We have observed the same increase in fatigue and her pallor. I ordered a few tests and the results have returned."

"Is she all right?"

"Well, her white blood cell count is high, indicating an infection of some sort. The infection is probably contributing to her fatigue and lack of color; although she has no fever."

"What kind of infection? Where?"

"That is what we are going to find out, Mr. Goren. I have ordered a few more tests, have changed her Risperdal to Geoden and I want to get an x-ray of her chest. We will know more in a few days."

"Do you have any idea what it might be?"

"At her age, it could be a number of things. It is too early to tell. If it is an infection, we can treat it. The change in her medication should give her more energy and will stimulate her appetite; both will make her stronger. Do not worry unnecessarily, Mr. Goren. She is in good hands."

Bobby hesitated, but trusted the staff at Carmel Ridge. "All right, Dr. Shinto, thank you. I'll call tomorrow. Thank you."

"Do not worry. Good bye."

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Gleason sat and remembered Mrs. Goren's request for new books for Christian. It was odd to think of the hallucination as a real person, actually do things for him. Mrs. Goren seemed to enjoy the little boy, he certainly seemed real to Bobby's mother. Maybe they would go to the bookstore tonight, get some books, and perhaps take them to his mother tomorrow evening.

She recalled the experience she had last week in the coffee shop with the little boy who was so friendly and looked so much like – like their son. Gleason recalled the miscarriage, how frightened she was when she knew she was pregnant and how sad she was when it was over. Even Estella had known she was pregnant. Gleason had known but didn't want to believe it. She had been so frightened.

Her thoughts went back to the day a few weeks ago when she and Bobby sat in Nero's and then walked to the park; she knew then that she was changing her mind about having a baby. Bobby wanted a child so badly; he had cried that day in the park. Bobby would be a wonderful father; he would be a better father than she could be a mother. Bobby has a sensitive side few men have and he knew what a good father would do. He had learned from watching his own father do everything wrong.

Bobby was all Gleason had and she had sworn to herself to make him happy. Could she do this – give him what he wanted? All of the reasons not to have a child lined up in Gleason's mind: she would be forty-three on her next birthday; Bobby would be forty-seven. They were too old to be parents; they were old enough to be grandparents. The risks would be so great; she was too old and working in Evanston. It would never work.

Gleason sighed heavily, rinsed her cup and set out to find a bra and fancy panties for the wedding.

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Tuesday Midmorning

"When will I see my lawyer? This is ridiculous. You are delaying my right to counsel." Krezemsky was furious.

"Yeah, well, we're sorry about that, but we wanted to get you a public defender fluent in Russian and English. That's a rare breed, even in New York," Bobby explained as the uniform removed the Russian's handcuffs. "Ah, here she is now."

The short, round, grey-haired woman entered the interrogation room and thudded her case onto the table. "Не говорите ничто," she said to her client.

"I will say what I want. I speak English perfect. We speak English. Get me out of here."

"What is my client being charged with?"

"Well, for starters, grand theft, accessory to grand theft, and the murders of five individuals, two with gun specifications," Eames offered.

The lawyer looked at each of the detectives and then at her client. She had passed the bar nine weeks ago.

"What do you have on him?"

"We have DNA that connects him to the thefts and the first three murders and fingerprints and DNA that put him at the site of the last two murders. He's looking at several long sentences."

At that point, ADA Carver entered the room; he did not recognize this lawyer. After the introductions, Bobby said, "Mr. Carver, I was just telling Mr. Krezemsky and his lawyer about the long sentences he is facing."

"That's correct; without a confession and going to trial, your client is looking at twenty-five to life for each of the five murders, served consecutively without the possibility of parole. In addition, he'll probably face fifteen to twenty-five on the theft of the antiquities with ten to fifteen for the conspiracy. Mr. Krezemsky will never see the light of day again."

"This is bullshit," Krezemsky mumbled.

The lawyer was way, way out of her league. "I see," was all she could offer. Everyone looked at her. "What are you offering?"

"Well, if your client confesses, we can combine the accessory to theft and theft charges, and the murders can be served concurrently. That's forty-five to life with the possibility of parole," Carver explained. "Take it or leave it."

The lawyer had no clue as to how to proceed. "May I speak with my client privately?" The three left and went into the watch room with Deakins.

"Think he'll give it up?" Deakins asked as they filed in.

"I got the idea his lawyer knows more Russian than law," Carver replied.

Suddenly, Krezemsky stood up, knocking over the chair and shouted to the lawyer in Russian. She backed away from him and two uniforms rushed in grabbing the man's arms.

"You better go see what that was all about," Deakins suggested.

Bobby and Eames rushed back into the interrogation room and found the lawyer in the corner already deciding to return to her life as a CPA. The two uniforms wrestled Krezemsky into a chair, each with a hand on his shoulders.

"Ok, knock it off," Bobby said to the thief. Eames nodded to the officers and they left.

Slowly the lawyer stepped to a chair and pulled it around to the end of the table, she didn't want to be too close to her client.

Bobby pulled out a chair, turned it around and straddled it, arms across the top of the chair back. Mr. Carver entered and leaned back against the mirror. Eames sat beside her partner. The Russian said nothing and scowled at the tabletop. Bobby glanced at his lawyer and she sat with hands in her lap, shaking her head as if she had no idea what was going on.

"You know, I've been thinking and I think you and Brine were thieves together in Russia," Bobby said. Krezemsky looked up at this. "I think you and he were stealing and selling on the black market and Brine got pinched and fled and you stayed behind, wetting yourself, afraid that you would be caught as well."

"Mr. Krezemsky, may I remind you that if you go to trial you stand a very good chance of dying in prison," Carver interjected.

"What so bad, huh? American prisons are like hotels. Three meals, television, no have to work, health care, and an exercise place – this is not so bad I think."

Bobby looked at Eames and then back at Carver. Eames offered, "No, see, the food sucks and so does the television, you DO have to work, and health care is at the discretion of the warden. Oh, and the 'exercise place,' it's a yard full of dirt."

The five individuals were quiet for a long moment.

Carver broke the silence with, "We can contact the Russian authorities and cooperate with them on connecting you and Brine, or Brinosovich, for your black market dealings over there. I am certain the Russian government would love to have you extradited back to them. As poor as American prisons are, they're a far sight better than the two-hundred year old tombs over there."

Krezemsky knew he had no choice. "All right, I tell you what you want to know."

Bobby sat up, squared his shoulders, and then stood, indicating to the ADA to take the seat. Eames stood and said, "I'll get a videographer."

For the next hour, Krezemsky detailed his association with Brine here and in Russia, how they met up once he had made his way to the US. He explained how he had learned about the three thieves and their special collection of items, how he had posed as a buyer, learning where the goods were and then killing them.

He said Brine told Turnbuckle about the stash in the apartment; and, knowing that Turnbuckle was a two-taker that he would want to snatch it. Krezemsky had decided to let Turnbuckle and Brine do the job and then he would delete Turnbuckle from the equation. When it all went down, Krezemsky decided to eliminate Brine as well, keeping the entire take for himself.

If it weren't for trace evidence, he would have gotten away with it.

"Take him away," Carver said when it was finished.

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Tuesday Evening

"Honey, this is very good," Bobby said, leaning over to kiss her.

Gleason smiled and said, "Do you want to go and get the children's books for your mum, Love? Maybe we can go up and see her tomorrow evening?"

"Yeah, let's do that. I, uh, I had a call from Dr. Shinto this morning."

"How is she? Is she ok?"

Bobby set down his fork and knife and sat back, "He said she has an infection. Her white blood cell count was high." He relayed the rest of the information and ended with, "Mom's getting older and so is prone to these things."

Gleason heard and saw his worry and took his hand. They shared a look and finished eating.

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The evening air seemed warmer as they walked the few blocks to the bookstore. Bobby held the door as Gleason entered. She had never been inside a bookstore specifically for children. "Is this where you found the fist ones?" she asked.

"No, I went to one of those big mega-bookstores. I thought this might have better choices."

They went different ways and looked and looked. After an hour of looking, sitting and reading, Bobby found Gleason sitting in a wing chair, reading. "Find anything good?" he asked.

Gleason looked up at him and he saw she had been crying. "Oh, Baby, come here." He pulled her to her feet and held her, rocking. She cried softly into his chest. "I know, Sweetheart, I know." Bobby had felt the same, being here with her, looking for books that should be for their own child.

He looked at her and pulled her close again, fighting his own tears.

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