Juggling Evidence (A Robin Starling Courtroom Mystery)

by Michael Monhollon

  Chapter 22

  I didn’t get away from the police until nearly midnight. My breaking into a stall in the men’s room to perform an emergency tracheotomy seemed to be difficult for the police to accept.

  “How did you know to cut into his neck like that?”

  “He wasn’t breathing. The Heimlich maneuver wasn’t dislodging the obstruction. His thyroid cartilage didn’t seem to be intact, and whatever he was choking on, he needed an alternative airway, and he needed it quick.”

  “You know him?”

  “I didn’t. I know who he is now, of course.”

  “You didn’t go into the Tobacco Company with him?”

  “No.”

  “You weren’t there to meet him?”

  “I was, but I didn’t know it. A man named Mark Walker called me around six and asked me to meet him there.”

  “A man named Mark Walker.”

  “But he didn’t show.”

  “He didn’t.”

  “I was having a drink with Paul Soldano and Mike McMillan while I waited for him. Then Paul came out of the men’s room saying there was this guy in there having trouble breathing.”

  “A guy you didn’t recognize when you saw him.”

  “I’d never seen him before.”

  “You’d never seen Mark Walker before either.”

  “No.”

  “I’ve looked him up. I understand his truck was stolen yesterday.”

  “I heard that, too.”

  “After it tried to run over one Robin Starling.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “And today you’re slicing open his throat.”

  “You’re talking like I tried to kill him. I saved his life.”

  “What did he want to talk to you about?”

  “He wouldn’t say. He asked me to meet him, said he would tell me everything then.”

  “And you went to meet him, even though you didn’t know him, didn’t even know what he looked like.”

  “Yes.”

  “Even though someone driving his truck tried to kill you last week.”

  “I’m representing a defendant in a preliminary hearing tomorrow. It’s the Nolan murder case. Mark Walker used to work for Nolan. I thought maybe he had information that would help me at the hearing.”

  “Like what?”

  “I have no idea. I had hoped to find that out.”

  The homicide detective beat a rhythm on the table with his knuckles. I only knew a couple of the detectives, and he wasn’t one I had met before. “See, that’s what I don’t like,” he said.

  “I don’t like it either,” I said. “Somebody hit him in the throat hard enough to smash his Adam’s apple, and I never got to talk to him.”

  “Any idea who?”

  “No. At a guess, I’d say it was whoever killed Derek Nolan.”

  “Except that the people who killed Derek Nolan are in jail.”

  “I’m working under the assumption that they’re innocent, and somebody else killed Nolan.”

  “And that somebody attacked Mark Walker tonight.”

  “Yes. Somebody at the restaurant. Somebody in the men’s room even. I saw a short man with blond hair go in and come out again just before Paul Soldano went in and found Mark Walker. There was somebody else, too, but I didn’t get a good look at him. It was somebody short, I think, somebody who was almost hidden behind this blond man.

  A corner of the cop’s mouth lifted, forming a crooked smile. “Everybody I’ve heard you describe is short,” he said.

  “I’m a woman who’s five-eleven. A lot of people look that way from up here.”

  He barked laughter. “Including me, I guess.” He held up a hand. “Don’t say anything. I don’t really want to know.” He got up abruptly and left the interview room.

  That was the way my interrogation had been going, by fits and starts. I got up to try the door of the room and was almost surprised to find it unlocked. I went down the hall in search of a women’s room. When I returned, the detective was standing in the doorway of the interrogation room, his arms folded over his chest.

  “Where have you been?”

  “Women’s room.”

  “I didn’t say you could go.”

  “My bladder told me I had to.”

  He grunted. “Come back in here, and we’ll try again.”

  I rolled my eyes, but went back in and resumed my seat.

  “Let’s go over a few things again,” the cop said.

  My upper lip rose.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. It’s what we’ve been doing—going over a few things again and again.”

  He ignored the implied criticism. “The way I understand it, this Mark Walker was going to meet you in the men’s room.”

  “No, he wasn’t going to meet me in the men’s room. What kind of sense does that make?”

  “It’s why I’m asking.”

  “I told you, I was going to meet him in the bar. He didn’t show. I was waiting for him when one of the guys I was with came out of the men’s room and said this man was in there. I didn’t know it was my guy at the time.”

  “But you went in.”

  “That’s right. I climbed into the stall. With my friends to help me, we got him stretched out on the floor and went about saving his life. How is he, by the way? I take it he’s not conscious yet, or you’d just ask him who attacked him.”

  “How do these friends of yours come in, this Paul Soldano and Mike McMillan?”

  “They don’t really. They were at the bar. I chatted with them while I waited for Mark Walker to show. I take it you don’t know how he’s doing.”

  The detective made a face. “They’ve got him on some kind of medication to reduce brain swelling, and they’re monitoring brain-wave activity pretty closely. I don’t know about the long-term prognosis.”

  I’d expected better. After a few seconds of silence I passed a hand over my face, taking in a big breath and exhaling it. I felt suddenly more tired than I’d ever felt in my life.

  “I can’t help but think you have some idea who did this,” the detective said. “A guess anyway. However wild it is, I’d like to hear it.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know anything about it other than what I’ve told you. Look. It’s late, and I’ve got to be in court at ten o’clock. If you want to go over this again, I’ll be right here in the courthouse tomorrow morning. Until then, I’m going home and get some sleep.” I stood up.

  “Please sit down. We’re not quite finished here.”

  “Or you can charge me with something and put me in a cell, and I’ll sleep there. In any case, I’m done.”

  “You’re not in a position to play hardball, Ms. Starling.”

  “I’m not playing, I’m deadly serious. Why don’t you call James Jordan? He knows me.”

  “Jordan can vouch for you?”

  “I don’t know. He can at least tell you that climbing into a stall in the men’s room isn’t that unusual for me.”

  “Doesn’t sound like much of an endorsement.”

  “I didn’t say it was an endorsement. I suggested you talk to him.”

  The detective nodded, pursed his lips. He looked down at his notes. Finally he looked up and said, “Get out of here. I know where to find you.”

  I didn’t make him tell me twice.

  The sky was clear, the couple of dozen bright stars visible over the lights of Richmond looking like diamonds against faded velvet. My car was at my office on the other side of downtown. A ride would have been helpful, but I didn’t want to hang around the police station long enough to arrange one and didn’t want to climb into the back seat of a police car for the second time that evening.

  It was cold, though, and I wasn’t dressed for it. I started out with my shoulders hunched and my arms crossed over my chest, my purse dangling from one hand. As I was crossing Marshall Street, a car started up halfway up the block. Headlights stabbed on, casting my shadow in front of me, and I
stepped up onto the curb as the car rolled toward me. It was a Toyota sedan of some sort, maybe a Camry. I focused on the license plate, intent on committing it to memory so I could recite it to a paramedic after they scraped me off the pavement and stowed me in an ambulance.

  A window slid down as the car came to a stop in front of me. It was Paul Soldano. A hint of stubble darkened the lower part of his face, looking odd on the rounded features. “Hey,” he said. “I hung around in case you needed a ride.”

  I exhaled as the tension left me, but exhaustion seemed to enter me along with the next intake of air. “Where’s Mike?” I asked.

  “He went home. He’s got an eight o’clock hearing. Also, he thought we’d missed you.”

  “I’m all in,” I said. “If this is some sort of approach, your timing is way off.”

  He held his hands up where I could see them. “I’m offering you a ride to your car because you look like you need one. That’s all it is.”

  I nodded, but my mouth was pursed suspiciously. “I may not look it,” I said, “but if the party gets rough, I can be a pretty nasty customer.”

  He laughed. “Oh, you look it. Mike says you could tie a guy in a knot and slam-dunk him in the nearest dumpster. Not me maybe. Me you might have to roll.”

  I felt a smile twitch the corner of my mouth. “Mike said that about you?”

  “No, I added that myself. You look like you’re freezing. Get in.”

  I nodded jerkily and pulled open the car door. “I think you’ve got to go up to 12th before you can turn right,” I said.

  “Got you.” He turned on 12th. Past Broad Street Road, the street changed names and curved left around the governor’s mansion. We doglegged back to 12th on Bank Street, which ran along the south side of Capitol Square. I had a glimpse up the sloping lawn to the white columns and the pitched roof of the capitol building Thomas Jefferson had designed.

  I glanced over at Paul. “How did you make out with the police?”

  “Fine. I simplified things a little, told them I heard the guy choking when I went to the restroom, came out and got you and Mike.”

  I nodded. “Actually, I think that’s the way I told it, too.”

  Paul glanced at me as he turned the corner. “Great minds think alike. Who do you think attacked him?”

  “I don’t know. My guess would be the partner he had with him a few nights ago when he broke into my house, but I don’t know who that was.”

  “This Mark Walker broke into your house? Did you report it?”

  “Sure.”

  “No wonder the police kept you so long.”

  “No wonder. His partner had small feet and wore Reeboks, but that’s all I know.”

  “Sounds like a story. Which way?”

  “Straight on through the light.” I pointed. “When you get to that office building, turn right. My parking garage is right next to it.”

  He nodded.

  “When did the police let you go?” I asked him.

  “A bit ago. About ten-thirty.”

  I glanced at my watch and felt my eyebrows rise. He’d been waiting over an hour.

  “What else have I got to do?” he asked rhetorically. “It’s not like I have a life.”

  He turned into my parking garage and wound his way up. When he pulled to a stop behind my car, I reached across the console and closed a hand over his. “Thanks. You’ve been a life-saver.”

  He gave me a smile. “Paid in full,” he said, but when I got out he stopped me with a “Wait!”

  I leaned down to look at him.

  “Would it be usurious to press a dinner invitation on you at some point?”

  “Interest on the debt?” I shrugged. “Give it a week, and try me at the office,” I suggested.

  I drove home through a city that seemed clean and empty, deserted except for me. When I got there, Brooke’s car was in the garage, but the lights were out and the door of her bedroom was closed. Evidently, my call from the police station, as brief as it had been, had been enough to relieve her anxiety.

  Light from a street lamp outside filtered through my blinds, providing enough illumination for me to put my purse in a rocker in the corner of my own bedroom and drape my clothes on it as I took them off. In the bathroom, I washed my face and brushed my teeth, then I stumbled toward my bed and slid between the sheets. For a moment the cotton sheets felt cool against my bare legs, then I was out.

  I woke to the whisper of my name and opened my eyes to daylight. Brooke was standing by my bed, looking down at me.

  “I’m sorry to wake you, but it’s eight o’clock,” she said.

  I jerked up into sitting position, my heart hammering, before I realized I didn’t have to be in court until ten. My heart slowed. “That’s all right,” I said. “I needed to get up.”

  “Some cinnamon scones just came out of the oven,” she said. “I made two for each of us.”

  “Better and better.” I threw back the covers and swung my legs out of bed.

  “But I do want a full account of what happened last night.”

  I nodded. “Over breakfast. Let’s get at those scones.”

  I had skim milk with mine. Brooke had coffee. When she was up getting a second cup, she took a step toward the window and said, “Did you know there’s a police car parked in front of the house?”

  “What? No.” I got up to look.

  “Huh,” I said. “I wonder if it has anything to do with last night.”

  “Could be. You were found crouching over the body of the man who broke into our house. In the men’s room.”

  “Men’s room probably didn’t help.”

  “With your pen sticking out of the man’s neck.”

  “The police kept harping on that, but the pen’s what saved the man’s life—if I managed to save it.”

  “So you don’t have any idea who attacked him?”

  “That’s something else they kept bugging me about.”

  “Huh.”

  We ate in silence for a while, each preoccupied with her own thoughts. At last Brooke said, “You’re mother called yesterday.”

  “I know. She got me at the office.”

  “You didn’t tell me your father came to visit you.”

  I nodded, my mouth full of scone. I swallowed and said, “I try not to think about it.” Even as I said it, I recalled the sense of his presence in the men’s room the previous night.

  “Why not?”

  I shrugged. “That bridge has burned.”

  “What?”

  “The ship has sailed, it’s done and dusted, it’s all over bar the shouting.”

  After a moment, Brooke said, “The eagle has landed?”

  “What?”

  “If you’re looking for another cliché.”

  I frowned. “That one doesn’t fit.”

  “Your father made an important small step.”

  “A giant leap wouldn’t excuse his past behavior.”

  “Was he looking for an excuse or for forgiveness?”

  I sipped my milk as I thought about it. “I don’t know what he wanted,” I said finally. “He said a relationship.”

  “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us,” Brooke said. “We used to say that at church.”

  “No fair quoting the incarnate God.”

  “We all need forgiveness.”

  She was beginning to sound as if she were my spiritual advisor. “If you mean me, of course I need forgiveness. I’m a mess. Pretty much my whole life needs forgiveness.”

  “Anything specific?”

  “Now you just want the juicy details.”

  Brooke grinned and put the last of her scone in her mouth.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll think about it. I don’t know what I can do, but I’ll think about it.”

  When I left the house, I drove around the block to see if the police car was still there. It was. I felt a twinge of unease, but that might have been a reaction to the eight-foot long tw
o-by-four that had been holding up one side of my front-porch roof since the attack of the mad pickup truck.

  I pulled in behind the police car and stopped. The cop in the driver’s seat studied me in his rearview mirror. Then he opened his door and got out.

  I unrolled my window as he approached. He was a young man with dark hair—no one I knew. “I hate to invite trouble,” I said, “but what’s up?”

  “Are you Robin Starling?”

  “I am.”

  “Could I see some identification?”

  I fished it out of my purse. “Is this normally how you begin a shadowing job?” I asked. “You ask the subject to produce documents to prove he’s the one you want to be following?”

  “He or she, as the case may be,” the cop said, taking my driver’s license.

  “Hey, you’re a poet and don’t know it,” I said, just to fill the silence.

  He studied my license, glancing from it to my face and back again, then he extended it toward me. “My feet show it,” he said. “They’re Longfellows.” He gave me a perfunctory smile as I took back my license. “Have a nice day, Ms. Starling.”

  “Would a copy of my itinerary make it easier for you, or should I just drive slowly?”

  “That won’t be necessary, ma’am.”

  The word gave me a turn. I’d lived to be ma’am’d by a cop.

  I pulled away from the curb and drove off, watching the police car in my rearview mirror. It wasn’t moving. I slowed at the corner and stopped, waiting for it to come after me, but it didn’t. Finally, I took my foot off the brake and let the car roll forward. I turned the corner, drove half a block and stopped. A minute passed, and the patrol car didn’t show.

  Putting the car in reverse, I drove backwards to the corner. The patrol car was still parked in front of my house, and it showed no sign of going anywhere.

  I shifted back into drive and drove forward, thinking. If they weren’t interested in me, it had to be the house, and that made no sense at all. I checked my rearview mirror and stayed alert to the cars around me, looking for a police car, marked or unmarked, to slide in behind me. There was nothing, though, not even the speed trap that occasionally slowed the traffic on I-64.

  Chapter 23