'But not the careers I'm interested in,' Amanda responded. 'The tapes from the fund-raiser aren't here.'
There was a television with a VCR in the den. Kate turned it on and slipped a tape into the VCR. She and Amanda watched quietly.
'Damn, I didn't know you could do that,' Kate said as one of Dupre's escorts engaged in a series of sexual contortions.
'I certainly didn't think he could do that,' Amanda answered. 'I don't know how I'll ever be able to appear in court with him again with a straight face.'
'If we give this stuff to the cops, they'll charge Jon with every prostitution crime in the criminal code, and the lives of every person on these tapes will be ruined,' Kate said. 'So, what do we do?'
'Good question,' Amanda answered. She looked troubled. 'I don't think we have any obligation to turn over these tapes. They're not evidence of any crime that's been charged. I'll call the state bar in the morning and talk to one of the lawyers who answers ethics questions, to see what they think.
'We've got to call the police about the shooting, though,' Amanda said. 'Those men could be seriously hurt. Now, go home and get some sleep.'
'If I can.'
Amanda placed her hands on her friend's shoulders and squeezed. 'You didn't do anything wrong, Kate. You just protected yourself. I'll see you in the morning.'
Chapter Forty-five.
On the evening of February 17, 1972, a clerk on a smoke break had seen three men gun down Jesus Delgado in the parking lot of a 7-Eleven in Northeast Portland. The clerk had written down the license number of the beat- up, dark blue Toyota in which the three killers had escaped. Moments after dispatch broadcast this information, the car passed Portland police officer Stanley Gregaros.
Stan was riding solo because his partner had developed a bad case of food poisoning early in their shift. The young cop followed the suspects as they zigzagged to a warehouse in a deserted industrial block. Gregaros crept around the side of the building expecting to find a gang of brutal thugs. Instead he saw three white kids in their early twenties, dressed in rugby shirts, crewneck sweaters, and chinos. They looked more like fraternity brothers than a trio of assassins. What gave the lie to the picture were the weapons, ski masks, and black clothing that the boys had piled on the hood of their car.
Gregaros knew that he should not approach three suspected murderers alone, no matter how uncharacteristic their looks and attire, but the only other car in the lot was a shiny black Ferrari--exactly the type of car these rich kids would drive. He feared that the frat boys would be gone by the time he radioed for backup, so he walked around the corner of the building and ordered the trio to freeze.
Gregaros expected the boys to quake with fear but, after their initial surprise, they had calmly followed his instructions to put their hands against the warehouse wall and spread their legs. While he was patting down his prisoners, Harvey Grant, the smallest boy, wondered aloud what the young policeman would do with fifty thousand dollars? Gregaros had laughed at the brazen and ridiculous bribe. Fifty thousand dollars was a lot of money for someone like Stan, who had been born poor, grown up hard, and joined the force after a tour in Vietnam with the Marines.
When Gregaros asked Grant where he would get that kind of money, Grant asked him if he knew that Jesus Delgado was the dead man in the 7-Eleven parking lot. Gregaros stood back and looked at the boys again. 'No, it's not possible,' he told himself. These guys couldn't be connected to Mexican gangsters. Then he took another quick look at the automatic weapons and ski masks stacked on the hood of the Toyota.
'Let us go and we'll take care of you,' Grant had said. 'Who knows, this might not be a one-shot deal. We can use a man inside the Portland police.'
Gregaros hesitated.
'There's a downside to rejecting the offer,' Grant continued.
'Oh?' Gregaros had said.
Grant had turned his head and smiled. Stan thought that he looked like one of those nerds on College Bowl.
'If you arrest us,' Grant said, 'we'll swear that we parked our car in this lot so we could smoke some weed, and found the Toyota just as it is, moments before you arrested us. It will be your word against ours. Do you know who we are?'
'Three punks who are starting to piss me off.'
'Bzzz! Wrong answer,' chimed in Wendell Hayes. 'You're looking at the sons of three very influential and very rich men.'
'Our daddies will never let us go to jail,' Grant said. 'We'll have the very best attorneys that money can buy, but we won't need them. Want to know why?'
'I'm listening.'
'You're the only witness and you'll be dead.'
Stan's response had been to pistol-whip Grant. The blow had brought the future judge to his knees. When he staggered to his feet, blood from a scalp wound trickling down the side of his face, there was a twisted smile on his lips.
'Police brutality,' Grant had said cheerfully. 'Now you're facing massive lawsuits and your credibility on the stand will be shot to hell. I'm just a little guy, sir, and you're a big brute. Boohoo. We'll have the journalists in a feeding frenzy and there won't be any pension for you. That's assuming, of course, that you're alive to collect it. Is that fifty thou sounding better?'
Gregaros had never regretted his decision to let the three boys go. He was rich beyond his dreams and more powerful than he ever thought possible, even if few people knew it.
