not to release the details of the stolen diamonds to the media. Everyone assumes we are talking about pick-pocketing style of theft.”
“But not much hope to keep a lid on it?”
“No, not much,” Terrence said with a sympathetic sigh. “The DA will have to specify the stolen goods at the time of the hearing. The cat will be out of the bag then, at the latest.”
“Thank you for everything,” I said, meaning it. “Remind me to give you a big kiss when I get out of here.”
“I can’t wait for that, ma’am,” Terrence said, feigning a traditional hand kiss and signaling to the warden that the interview was over.
I settled down in my cell again, standard position, hugging my knees and blanket around my shoulders. The same matron warden served dinner in the early evening, white bread sandwiches with rubbery salad and two layers of corned beef. This time, I had no choice but to pick it up and wolf it down as my stomach was asking for some nourishment.
Just when I wondered if my hearing would start before bed time, I could hear shuffling and rattling in my section, and my cell door was opened by none other than Lieutenant Graves. He had a brown paper-wrapped package in his hands and a strange frown on his face.
“Lieutenant, please step into my office.”
He made two almost timid steps into the cell and placed the package onto the edge of the bed. “Your lawyer said to give you this, clothes for your court appearance.”
“Thank you. Will you turn around while I change?”
“Oh no, not necessary, I will leave right away, but there is one thing I had to arrange.”
I lifted my right eyebrow at him. “You are not talking about rubber hosing a confession from me?”
“I am glad you still have your wit, Mrs. Moonstone.” Graves gave a weak smile. He looked tired and burned out after two days of hunting down Oscar guests and court appearances. “There is a … gentleman to see you,” he said, and the way he hesitated before gentleman made me realize that the only thing needed to complete my luck today was—
“Fowler Wynn. He is….”
I interrupted Graves. “An insurance detective from England, thank you. I’ve met the ‘gentleman,’ as you called him. I have no interest at all in seeing him. I want to make you aware of some court restraining orders against him, prohibiting him from coming within one-hundred yards of me in the greater Chicago area.”
Graves obviously wasn’t aware of the fact because he glanced into the hallway, where Fowler Wynn was probably waiting for his entry. Graves licked his lips, unsure what to do, but then his wise cop sassiness took over. “Well, you know, technically speaking, Beverly Hills qualifies as the greater Chicago area, but let’s make an exception.” He cocked his head a little but didn’t smile, so I felt this was something serious.
“Listen, Lieutenant Graves,” I said. “I am aware that Fowler Wynn probably is one of your dream character witnesses in the case against me. But nothing he has ever claimed has ever been proven beyond any initial police investigation. That man has a crazy streak, and by some coincidence, he found his nemesis in me. Whatever he has shown you, look at it with critical investigator’s eyes and draw your own conclusions. It may save you embarrassment later.” That had been my longest speech so far in front of the police, and Graves seemed to be astonished that Fowler Wynn’s appearance had gotten such a prominent reaction from me. In order to put him back into his limits, I added, “And I want to make you officially aware of the fact that I want to have a lawyer present when there is any contact with the police or any witnesses. Otherwise, we will see my civil rights injured and note so at the court hearing.”
Graves looked again in the direction of the corridor, rubbed his tired gray face, and took some steps back. He was obviously unsure what to do. He held up one hand to indicate “one minute”
“But not much hope to keep a lid on it?”
“No, not much,” Terrence said with a sympathetic sigh. “The DA will have to specify the stolen goods at the time of the hearing. The cat will be out of the bag then, at the latest.”
“Thank you for everything,” I said, meaning it. “Remind me to give you a big kiss when I get out of here.”
“I can’t wait for that, ma’am,” Terrence said, feigning a traditional hand kiss and signaling to the warden that the interview was over.
I settled down in my cell again, standard position, hugging my knees and blanket around my shoulders. The same matron warden served dinner in the early evening, white bread sandwiches with rubbery salad and two layers of corned beef. This time, I had no choice but to pick it up and wolf it down as my stomach was asking for some nourishment.
Just when I wondered if my hearing would start before bed time, I could hear shuffling and rattling in my section, and my cell door was opened by none other than Lieutenant Graves. He had a brown paper-wrapped package in his hands and a strange frown on his face.
“Lieutenant, please step into my office.”
He made two almost timid steps into the cell and placed the package onto the edge of the bed. “Your lawyer said to give you this, clothes for your court appearance.”
“Thank you. Will you turn around while I change?”
“Oh no, not necessary, I will leave right away, but there is one thing I had to arrange.”
I lifted my right eyebrow at him. “You are not talking about rubber hosing a confession from me?”
“I am glad you still have your wit, Mrs. Moonstone.” Graves gave a weak smile. He looked tired and burned out after two days of hunting down Oscar guests and court appearances. “There is a … gentleman to see you,” he said, and the way he hesitated before gentleman made me realize that the only thing needed to complete my luck today was—
“Fowler Wynn. He is….”
I interrupted Graves. “An insurance detective from England, thank you. I’ve met the ‘gentleman,’ as you called him. I have no interest at all in seeing him. I want to make you aware of some court restraining orders against him, prohibiting him from coming within one-hundred yards of me in the greater Chicago area.”
Graves obviously wasn’t aware of the fact because he glanced into the hallway, where Fowler Wynn was probably waiting for his entry. Graves licked his lips, unsure what to do, but then his wise cop sassiness took over. “Well, you know, technically speaking, Beverly Hills qualifies as the greater Chicago area, but let’s make an exception.” He cocked his head a little but didn’t smile, so I felt this was something serious.
“Listen, Lieutenant Graves,” I said. “I am aware that Fowler Wynn probably is one of your dream character witnesses in the case against me. But nothing he has ever claimed has ever been proven beyond any initial police investigation. That man has a crazy streak, and by some coincidence, he found his nemesis in me. Whatever he has shown you, look at it with critical investigator’s eyes and draw your own conclusions. It may save you embarrassment later.” That had been my longest speech so far in front of the police, and Graves seemed to be astonished that Fowler Wynn’s appearance had gotten such a prominent reaction from me. In order to put him back into his limits, I added, “And I want to make you officially aware of the fact that I want to have a lawyer present when there is any contact with the police or any witnesses. Otherwise, we will see my civil rights injured and note so at the court hearing.”
Graves looked again in the direction of the corridor, rubbed his tired gray face, and took some steps back. He was obviously unsure what to do. He held up one hand to indicate “one minute”
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