Read Online Pearls of Asia: A Love Story by Lee Geiger - Free Book Online
Authors: Lee Geiger
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spouse, don’t you? The other spouse.”
“Or the other woman,” replied Mayes.
PAUL OSHER’S OFFICE WAS on the thirtieth floor of One Embarcadero Center, one of the premier office buildings in San Francisco. After making Mac and Mayes wait for twenty minutes, a perky blonde bimbo secretary ushered them into a corner office the size of the SFPD’s entire homicide and narcotics bullpens. Combined.
“Good afternoon, Inspectors,” welcomed Osher, who remained seated at his desk without bothering to shake their hands. The picturesque view of San Francisco Bay behind him was stunning, extending from the Golden Gate Bridge all the way past Angel Island, with a hundred tiny white sailboats in between. Standing next to Osher was his attorney, Ray Woodson, who glared at the detectives without saying a word. Woodson, a tall, thin man who fancied himself more of a Mafia consigliore than a mere lawyer, was dressed in white slacks, white blazer, and some kind of brown Italian loafers with tassels that Mac could never afford. Or ever want to.
“Mr. Osher, we’ve checked your alibi and verified that you were in Los Angeles at the time of your wife’s murder,” said Mac. “You also told us you loved your wife and that you’ve been faithful to her since the day you were married. Do you still stand by that statement?”
Lawyer Woodson made his presence felt immediately. “What does that have to do with the case? He doesn’t have to answer that.”
“I’ll be happy to answer that,” responded Osher. He reached for a cigar humidor on his enormous glass desk and pulled out a Montecristo 2. Mac wondered if Osher smoked cigars because he liked them or because he mistakenly thought they made him look taller. “Yes, I stand by that statement. Why do you ask?”
Mac looked down at his notes and paused before asking his next question, giving Osher the impression he was having difficulty putting the pieces of the puzzle together. This was Mac’s mode of operation. He never went into an interview without knowing exactly what he was looking for.
“Well Mr. Osher, can you help me out here? We’re trying to understand the large deposits and daily cash withdrawals associated with your bank account.” Mac pulled out bank statements with numerous transactions highlighted in yellow. “Can you tell us what’s going on here?”
Osher put on his reading glasses and looked over the statements. He handed them over to Lawyer Woodson. “You have a subpoena from a judge to get these from the bank, I assume?” asked Woodson in a futile attempt to justify his thousand-dollar an hour fee.
“Of course we did,” replied Mayes. “Do you think Wells Fargo would have handed them over without one?”
Lawyer Woodson glanced at them, nodded, and handed them back to Osher. “You don’t have to answer any questions about this, Paul. This isn’t a court of law and you’re not under oath.”
“I’m fine with this,” said Osher. He took a draw on his forty-dollar cigar. “The truth is, I always like to carry cash on me. I use it as walking-around money for tips, wagers, cab fares, that kind of stuff. I’m also a very generous man, Inspector. I’m sure I have the highest paid shoe shine guy in San Francisco.”
Mayes presented credit card receipts and asked about the frequent trips in and out of the country. Osher glanced at Lawyer Woodson, who nodded his head. “My job requires me to travel, and taking side trips to Vegas or Mexico helps me to relax. You guys got something against laying in the sun and playing a little golf?”
Lawyer Woodson had heard enough. “Okay gentlemen, he’s answered your questions. This interview is over. Unless you have any evidence that Mr. Osher was involved in his wife’s murder, then I suggest you come back with a grand jury indictment. I can assure you that Mr. Osher was not involved, and that he will help you in any way he can once you identify a suspect.”
Mac and Mayes said their
“Or the other woman,” replied Mayes.
PAUL OSHER’S OFFICE WAS on the thirtieth floor of One Embarcadero Center, one of the premier office buildings in San Francisco. After making Mac and Mayes wait for twenty minutes, a perky blonde bimbo secretary ushered them into a corner office the size of the SFPD’s entire homicide and narcotics bullpens. Combined.
“Good afternoon, Inspectors,” welcomed Osher, who remained seated at his desk without bothering to shake their hands. The picturesque view of San Francisco Bay behind him was stunning, extending from the Golden Gate Bridge all the way past Angel Island, with a hundred tiny white sailboats in between. Standing next to Osher was his attorney, Ray Woodson, who glared at the detectives without saying a word. Woodson, a tall, thin man who fancied himself more of a Mafia consigliore than a mere lawyer, was dressed in white slacks, white blazer, and some kind of brown Italian loafers with tassels that Mac could never afford. Or ever want to.
“Mr. Osher, we’ve checked your alibi and verified that you were in Los Angeles at the time of your wife’s murder,” said Mac. “You also told us you loved your wife and that you’ve been faithful to her since the day you were married. Do you still stand by that statement?”
Lawyer Woodson made his presence felt immediately. “What does that have to do with the case? He doesn’t have to answer that.”
“I’ll be happy to answer that,” responded Osher. He reached for a cigar humidor on his enormous glass desk and pulled out a Montecristo 2. Mac wondered if Osher smoked cigars because he liked them or because he mistakenly thought they made him look taller. “Yes, I stand by that statement. Why do you ask?”
Mac looked down at his notes and paused before asking his next question, giving Osher the impression he was having difficulty putting the pieces of the puzzle together. This was Mac’s mode of operation. He never went into an interview without knowing exactly what he was looking for.
“Well Mr. Osher, can you help me out here? We’re trying to understand the large deposits and daily cash withdrawals associated with your bank account.” Mac pulled out bank statements with numerous transactions highlighted in yellow. “Can you tell us what’s going on here?”
Osher put on his reading glasses and looked over the statements. He handed them over to Lawyer Woodson. “You have a subpoena from a judge to get these from the bank, I assume?” asked Woodson in a futile attempt to justify his thousand-dollar an hour fee.
“Of course we did,” replied Mayes. “Do you think Wells Fargo would have handed them over without one?”
Lawyer Woodson glanced at them, nodded, and handed them back to Osher. “You don’t have to answer any questions about this, Paul. This isn’t a court of law and you’re not under oath.”
“I’m fine with this,” said Osher. He took a draw on his forty-dollar cigar. “The truth is, I always like to carry cash on me. I use it as walking-around money for tips, wagers, cab fares, that kind of stuff. I’m also a very generous man, Inspector. I’m sure I have the highest paid shoe shine guy in San Francisco.”
Mayes presented credit card receipts and asked about the frequent trips in and out of the country. Osher glanced at Lawyer Woodson, who nodded his head. “My job requires me to travel, and taking side trips to Vegas or Mexico helps me to relax. You guys got something against laying in the sun and playing a little golf?”
Lawyer Woodson had heard enough. “Okay gentlemen, he’s answered your questions. This interview is over. Unless you have any evidence that Mr. Osher was involved in his wife’s murder, then I suggest you come back with a grand jury indictment. I can assure you that Mr. Osher was not involved, and that he will help you in any way he can once you identify a suspect.”
Mac and Mayes said their
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