Chapter 2: Custody

Jerome Washington checked his image in the glass door ahead. He was wearing his best suit for the occasion and he made sure that his tie was centered. Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door and entered the foyer of the Westbrook Tower. He strode over to the reception. The receptionist looked up.

“How can I help you, sir?” she asked politely.

Jerome liked that. Receptionists were not always polite when they saw a black man. This girl had manners.

“Jerome Washington, attorney at law. I need to deliver papers to one Tyler Westbrook. I believe that he has his offices here?”

“Let me check whether he is available, Sir,” came the answer.

The girl typed rapidly into a computer and then pressed enter. It took a few minutes, but then she looked up.

“Mr. Westbrook is currently in a meeting, but somebody will be down here presently to discuss your business with you.”

“Thank you,” Jerome smiled. They were trying to run him off, probably by some fancy suit from legal.

The man who approached Jerome was a surprise. He was a Latino, and his suit was from the rack much like Jerome’s.

“Mr. Washington? I am Santiago Echeveria. I am a junior associate in our legal department. Miss Wistar sent a note that you have some paperwork to drop off?”

“Maybe. Are you Mr. Westbrook’s personal legal representative?”

“No, I am employed by Westbrook Corporation.”

“Then I am afraid that you came down here for nothing, Mr. Echeveria. This is a personal matter that concerns Mr. Westbrook, not his company. I thought it better to deliver it here rather than at his home.”

“A personal matter you say?”

“Yes. Private.”

“Let me make a quick phone call then,” Echeveria said and walked to the opposite side of the foyer. He gave his cell phone a thorough workout before he joined Jerome again. “Mr. Westbrook’s personal assistant will see you. Mrs. Carling is authorized to act for Mr. Westbrook.”

Jerome shrugged. At least he would get in now. Echeveria led him to an elevator which they entered. He pressed the button for the 25th floor and the elevator shot upwards. Less than 20 seconds later, the door opened again and Echeveria guided Jerome to a desk where an elderly matron sat.

“Mr. Washington, Mrs. Carling,” Echeveria told her. “Good day, Mr. Washington.”

“Thank you, Mr. Echeveria,” Jerome answered and turned to Mrs. Carling handing her his card. “Jerome Washington, attorney at law, Ma’am.”

“I see, Mr. Washington. Could you state your business, please?”

“I am here to serve Mr. Westbrook with papers. It is a private matter and I chose to do it here rather than at his private residence.”

Mrs. Carling’s eyes narrowed. “You can leave those papers with me, Mr. Washington.”

“Yet I need Mr. Westbrook to sign this receipt in person,” Jerome answered unperturbed.

“I see. Can you wait for a minute or two? I am sure Mr. Westbrook can sign the receipt. May I have those papers?”

Jerome nodded and handed them over. The lady then put the entire envelope into some high-tech scanning device. A green light blinked and she took it out again and went to a door across the reception area. Before she reached it, a grey-haired man stepped out.

“Olivia, I need the Wentworth contract. Can you ... Is anything the matter?”

Mrs. Carling held the envelope and the receipt form.

“Mr. Washington over there is an attorney. He claims that these papers concern you personally.”

Jerome distinctly heard the whispered question, “Ambulance chaser?”, to which Mrs. Carling judiciously shook her head. Shrugging, Westwood signed the receipt and ripped open the envelope. Jerome could see his eyes going wide but then he started to read. After reading through all seven pages he looked up at Jerome.

“Mr. Washington, I presume?”

Polite. Jerome nodded. “Indeed. Mr. Westbrook?”

“Yes. Would you mind stepping into my office with me so I can get the whole story?”

Jerome nodded. Be polite. “It will be my pleasure, Sir.”

“Coffee, Tea or soda, Mr. Washington?”

“Thank you, Sir. Tea, with cream, no sugar, if that is possible.”

“I’ll see to it,” Mrs. Carling declared while Westbrook led the way back to his office. Once inside he indicated a plush visitor’s chair and sat down behind his cluttered desk.

Westbrook pressed an intercom button. “No interruptions, please.” Then he turned to Jerome. “Mr. Washington, if I interpret this correctly, a Miss Irina Berusova claims that I am the father of her — what? — fifteen-year-old son Daniel. I am confused. I do not know of any Irina Berusova. Please enlighten me.”

“Very well, Mr. Westbrook. It is possible that you knew Miss Berusova under her stage name, Iris Angel. She was part of the entertainment during your bachelor farewell and she claims that you and she retired to her hotel room afterwards. She also claims that you and she had sexual intercourse during that night. Miss Berusova became pregnant and she is certain that the child is from you, Sir. She asks for a paternity test to settle the matter.”

Westbrook had turned just a little pale. “Iris? There was this girl Iris. Rather lanky if I remember, pale blonde and with a thick Russian accent.”

“Miss Berusova provided me with an old photograph that depicts her sixteen years ago,” Jerome said smoothly and handed over the print.

Westbrook looked at it and Jerome could see the recognition in his eyes. “Good God! Is that why she tried to come here a few weeks later?”

“Indeed. One of your people threatened her with the police and the INS according to her statement.”

“Good God! I had no idea obviously. These papers state that you demand a DNA test to establish paternity?”

“Yes, Mr. Westbrook. It’s the standard procedure.”

“I see,” Westbrook sighed rubbing his temples. “I admit to my surprise and my dismay. If this claim is justified then I have indeed shirked my responsibilities.” He opened a drawer and handed a card to Jerome. “This is Mr. Halloway’s card. He is my personal legal adviser. Please contact him to set up the necessary steps. If I am indeed that boy’s father there will be no need for a lawsuit.”

“I am delighted to hear that, Mr. Westbrook. I assure you that my client is not seeking publicity.”

Not three days later, Danny’s and Irina’s blood had been drawn for comparison, and Jerome Washington could report that Tyler Westbrook had undergone the same procedure. Two certified laboratories, one in New York and one in Chicago, were tasked with running the tests. Results could be expected within two weeks and Jerome expected a speedy conclusion of this case. Whatever settlement Irina would get, he would get his 25 percent. Westbrook seemed to be a decent enough dude.

He was preparing to leave his office for lunch when his wife/receptionist stuck in her head.

“Urgent call, Jerry. Ms. Berusova. She’s being held by the police.”

Jerome picked up. “Yes, Irina. What’s the problem?”

The accent was heavier than usual betraying her nervous tension.

“I am at 3rd District headquarters. I’m held for manslaughter. The men I told you about, they came after me and I had to shoot them.”

Jerome thought quickly. “Where’s your son?”

“At school. I don’t know what to do.”

“Irina, just take it easy. I’ll be over in twenty minutes. Don’t talk to the cops. Wait for me. Tell them you won’t talk without your lawyer being present. You know that from the cop shows, right?”

“Right. But what...”

“One of the things you’ll have to do is give me temporary custody for Danny. I can present that at school to pick him up. Let me talk to Doris about taking him in for a few days.” He looked up and Doris was giving him the “OK” sign. “Just relax, Irina. I’ll see you in a few!”

When he had put his coat on, Doris was already printing out the temporary custody form.

“I’ll ready the attic room, Hon,” she declared. “Is it bad?”

“She apparently shot two guys. Let me get the full story first.”

“Sure, Hon. I’ll put a notice on the answering machine that you won’t be available this afternoon.”

“You’re the best, Doris.”

“I know,” she smiled. “Just help the woman. She doesn’t deserve any more shit in her life.”

When Jerome arrived at the police station he was directed to an interrogation room where Irina was facing two detectives. Jerome could see that their notepads were empty.

“Hi, Detectives! I’m Jerome Washington, Ms. Berusova’s attorney and for the time being my client will exercise her right to refuse answering. Let me get the story first, okay?”

They left the room and Jerome sat down opposite Irina.

“Tell me what happened!”

Irina looked at him. “I was at home, cleaning. I heard doorbell and I went to open, but I looked through spyhole first. I saw Ellis and Larry, two men for whom I worked. I knew they were bad. They paid me for whipping scenes. They hurt me. Then they choked me with hands around my throat. My agent, Sly, I mean Sylvester, was in next room and heard me when I was able to cry for help. He came in and beat them up. He brought me to doctor for wounds. I have pictures.”

“That’s good. So those two guys were standing in front of your door. What happened next?”

“They knocked on door, really loud. They shouted for me to open and called me nasty names. I went to bedroom to fetch gun. Sly had given it to me, after the Kaçanis had beaten me up, for protection. Larry and Ellis were really beating on door now and I was afraid door would break. I raised gun and fired through door. I just wanted them to go away. I was afraid.”

“Was that gun legal, Irina?”

Irina shook her head. “Who would give me gun permit?”

“Okay, we have a problem. You fired through the door. Were they trying to break the door?”

“They banged hard against it. It was shaking. I was afraid. They had guns.”

“Did you see that?”

“When I looked through spyhole, I saw Larry had gun in waistband.”

“Okay, a big point in your favor. Let’s hope the cops found it. Now, the doctor who treated you. Can I have his name?”

“Dr Slesac. He has office on Woodmont Avenue.”

“All right. I’ll check with him. Now, this Sylvester, does he have a last name?”

“He is friend. I can’t rat on him.”

“Irina, you need to beat a manslaughter rap.”

Irina shook her head. “He helped me. He is friend. Leave him out of this.” Then she smiled. “Gun is not from him. I found it in limo I got as compensation from Kaçanis and kept it. It must have been the Kaçanis’.”

“Be careful, Irina. Once they catch you in a lie, things will be much harder.”

“This is how I got gun.”

“Oh, well. Let’s see what the cops have.”

Jerome went to the door and asked the detectives to come back in.

“Can you give me an idea what you have on my client?”

The older detective shrugged. “Tenants in Ms. Berusova’s apartment building called in about shots being fired. When the first unit arrived on the scene, the officers discovered two dead males on the third floor landing. The victims were identified as Ellis Danning and Larry Goldwater. The apartment door had five shot holes in it. Inside the apartment they found Ms. Berusova kneeling on the floor with a gun in her hand. She surrendered the gun to the officers.”

“Did the door show damage apart from the shot holes?”

The detective nodded. “It looked like somebody had been trying to break it. Our techs are examining it.”

“My client claims that at least one of the men was armed.”

The detective nodded. “Danning was carrying heat. So, will Ms Berusov give a statement?”

Jerome thought briefly. So far Irina’s story was checking out. She could only win if the detectives were pointed in the right direction.

“I think you should tell them what happened, Irina.”

Irina nodded and exhaled deeply. “I am porn actress, okay? Larry and Ellis, they produce porn. SM stuff, like spanking, whipping, caning. They hired me, three times. They whipped my ass until it was bleeding, but the money was good. Third time I worked for them, they beat me much harder and I screamed. One guy, Ellis, he started choking me. I was tied up, but I could scream once more. My agent, he was waiting outside and he heard me scream. He came in, they fought, and he beat them. Then he freed me. We took the money they owed me and left. Maybe they wanted revenge? Maybe they wanted to throttle me some more. I don’t know. They banged on door. I looked through spyhole and I saw Larry having a gun. I did not dare to open door. They were beating against it and it was shaking. It is old door and I was afraid it would break open. I went to my bedroom and took gun. I shouted for them to go away, but they screamed at me and banged against door harder. So I shot, I don’t know, four, five times. Must have been five because gun was empty then.”

“You admit to shooting through a closed door?”

“I was afraid. They were bad men. I shot so they would go away.”

The detective scratched his head. “I need to get the DA involved. I see at least an illegal possession charge plus manslaughter. Miss Berusov, can you prove that they hurt you before?”

Irina nodded. “My agent drove me to doctor. Dr Slesac on Woodmont. We took pictures too. I have them at home. I have doctor’s bill.”

“Your agent, does he have a name?”

Irina exhaled. She looked trapped. Her shoulders sagged. “Sylvester Damiani, Sly. He is good man. He saved me.”

“I see. To be honest, we know Mr Damiani, but not as a good man. Where did you get the gun?”

Irina sat straight and her Russian accent receded as she concentrated.

“Last year, I was abducted by goons, by the Kaçanis.” The detective looked up with interest. “They beat me up, broke my cheekbone, my knee, my arm, because I would not work for them. After they were killed, I sued estate for my medical bills and injuries. Their family settled and gave me three limousines which I sold to pay my hospital bills. When I cleaned car, I found gun under seat in one of them. I kept it. I was very afraid then, after the beating. I kept it at home, hidden, so my son cannot find it. I never carried it outside.”

Again, the detective nodded. “We’ll run that gun through the databases.”

“So, Detectives, what now?” Washington asked.

“As I said, we’re holding Ms Berusov for 24 hours or until the DA’s office had a chance to view the case. I suspect the DA’s office will want to charge her for illegal firearms possession. Right now, we’ll interview that doctor and Mr. Damiani to check out her story. Now, Ms Berusov has a child?”

Irina nodded. “My son Daniel. He’s at school.”

“I’ll take him in for the night,” Jerome said. “My wife is preparing the guest room.”

“Okay with me,” the detective shrugged. “Ms Berusov will stay in custody, but you can confer with her some more.”

“I’d like that, detective,” Jerome answered.

The detectives left them alone then and Irina grabbed Jerome’s sleeve.

“You must call Danny’s father. If they charge me, he must look after Danny!”

That was actually a good idea. If Irina was being charged, somebody had to look after the boy. Jerome went out to make a phone call.

It took only five minutes to get through to Tyler Westbrook. Jerome explained the events of the day in brief sentences before he described the situation they were facing. Westbrook asked a few questions and then seemingly made a call on another line. Ten minutes later, he came on again and made his offer. Independent of the outcome of the paternity testing, he would place Daniel in a private boarding school, the Peter Parker Preparatory School, in the boonies north of Philadelphia. They were specialized in problem cases and offered excellent teaching combined with therapeutic care. Admittedly, they mostly housed the poor rich kids who had fallen afoul of narcotics laws, but it was the best such institution in the State.