Deadly Judgment (Detective Sarah Spillman Mystery Series Book 5)

by Renee Pawlish

  Olivia sat down on an overstuffed chair and folded her arms over her ample bosom. “This detective,” she looked at Chad, “says you don’t want me talking to Felix right now. But I can talk to him if I want to. He’s my brother, and you have no right to tell me what to do.”

  “That’s not what I said.” Chad had a deep voice, and he was not bothered one bit by Olivia’s tone. “I didn’t want you to talk to your brother until after Sarah talked to you.”

  “Yes, that’s true,” I said. I stared at Olivia. “You can do what you want. I need a few minutes of your time, and I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss you.” I tried for an easy manner.

  She remained hostile, fire in her eyes. “What do you want?”

  I sat down on a wooden rocker near the entry. “Something smells good. Cinnamon?”

  “I’ve been baking. My daughter has to take cookies to school tomorrow.”

  “Oh, nice,” I said.

  Chad sat back and let me do the talking. His eyes twinkled with amusement. My guess was he’d had his fill of Olivia’s hostility and was enjoying seeing me get a dish full.

  “You need to make this quick. I have to go out.” Olivia glared at me.

  “You’re close to your brother, aren’t you?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Yeah.”

  I glanced around. The room was tastefully decorated, the furniture classy, but void of many personal touches. White walls were bare except for a painting of flowers hung above the couch and some framed photos of a little girl with dark hair and eyes on the mantel above a brick fireplace.

  “Do you have other brothers and sisters?” I asked.

  She shook her head.” It’s just Felix and me. He looks out for me.”

  I tipped my head, feigning bemusement. “Have you been in some kind of trouble that you need looking out for?”

  She blushed. “I got into a bad marriage, you know? He wasn’t very nice to me. I should’ve known better, should’ve left him, but I got pregnant. I stayed with him longer than I should have, and if it had been just me, well … but I had my daughter to think about. She’s at school now.”

  “That must’ve been tough,” I said.

  She wrinkled her nose distastefully at me. “Felix helped me out. I didn’t have any money, and I lost my job, so it was good he was around. He looks after me still, and my daughter.” She looked at the floor.

  “It’s nice to have people watching out for you.” When she didn’t say anything to that, I went on. “What was it like to see your brother on trial?”

  Her head snapped up. “He didn’t do anything. It was all a mistake, and yet he’s paying for it.”

  I glanced at Chad, and he gave me a look that said, “Haven’t we all heard that before?” I looked back at Olivia.

  “He had nothing to do with distributing drugs?”

  She shook her head vehemently. “Felix worked at a construction site. He didn’t do anything like they said.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I’m his sister, and he tells me everything.” It must have sounded lame to her, too, when she said it aloud, and she blushed. “I just know. He’s innocent.”

  I made sure not to look at Chad, as I was sure I’d get another look.

  “You were at the trial every day, correct?” I asked.

  She pulled her hair back out of her face. “He’s my brother, and I wanted him to know I supported him. There wasn’t anybody else there that believed in him.”

  I frowned thoughtfully. “Where are your parents?”

  “Dead.” She uncrossed her arms and sat back in the chair. “Our father died of a heart attack a long time ago, and my mother died of cancer about five years ago.”

  I knew her mother had died, but I didn’t know how. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like.”

  Her chin jutted out. “We made do. Felix is a strong man, and he handled everything.”

  I glanced around at the furniture. “And he helped you out?”

  “He does what he can.”

  “Where do you work?”

  “I don’t have a job. Felix –” She stopped talking.

  “Did he pay for this place?”

  “I don’t have to answer that.”

  She was right; she didn’t have to. I turned my questions to the trial.

  “You weren’t happy with Judge McCleary,” I said.

  The spark returned to her eyes. “He was totally unfair. Felix was innocent, and the judge should have known that.”

  “The jury convicted him.”

  She swore softly. “They were wrong.” I couldn’t tell if she really believed that, or if she was just blindly supporting her brother.

  “But you focused on Judge McCleary. I read that you yelled at him after he sentenced your brother.”

  She hesitated. “It was emotional. What the judge did was wrong, and I worried about my brother going to prison.”

  “Felix was angry, too. He told McCleary he would get even.”

  “So?”

  “Do you know what happened to Judge McCleary?” I asked.

  She glanced away. “What?”

  I watched her closely. “He’s dead.”

  She pursed her lips and wouldn’t make eye contact. “What happened?”

  “He was murdered. You didn’t know?”

  Her eyes came back to me. “How would I know that?” Her voice held an edge to it.

  “It was on the news. Or someone could’ve told you. Or …” She pressed her lips together. I went on. “The judge had received some threatening notes. Do you know anything about that?”

  She looked away again and shook her head. Her foot wiggled. Laughter came from the TV in the other room.

  “Olivia,” I said softly. “I need you to tell me the truth.”

  She met my gaze with force. “I don’t know anything about notes. Obviously other people didn’t like the judge, either.”

  “On the contrary, he seemed well-liked.”

  She snorted. “The fools.”

  “You’ve talked to Felix since he went to prison.”

  “How do you know that? Oh,” she said. “You checked.” She sneered at that. “What? Did the prison record our conversations?”

  I ignored that. “What did you talk to Felix about?”

  She glared at me. “That’s none of your business.”

  “You told Felix you’d take care of something.”

  “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

  I rested my hands on the arms of the rocker. “No, you don’t. But if you were involved in Judge McCleary’s death, I’ll find that out.” The foot kept wiggling. “Did you go after the judge?”

  “No!” she said. “Why would I do that?”

  “Maybe you took care of things for your brother. He couldn’t get to the judge from prison, so you did. Or maybe he paid somebody to do it, and you passed along the money.”

  She shook her head slowly. “No, that’s not what happened.”

  A little slip. “What did happen?”

  She looked at me fearfully. “I’m not saying any more. Felix didn’t do anything to the judge, and neither did I. Although that judge deserved whatever he got.”

  “He deserved to be murdered?” No answer again. I stared at her. I tried another tactic. “We’ve been following you, and we know you were over near the judge’s house.”

  It was a lie, but I wanted to see what she would do. She twirled her hair nervously.

  “No I wasn’t,” she said, unable to look me in the eye.

  She was lying, and she wasn’t very good at it. My instinct said she had probably been by Judge McCleary’s house. Whether she had murdered him was another thing.

  “Like I said, the judge received some threatening notes, and we’ll be able to trace those notes to see where they were mailed from, and possibly how they were produced, the type of printer.”

  She jutted out her chin. “No, you can’t. I’ve seen on TV, and you
can’t trace that stuff.”

  She called my bluff, but I didn’t let her know it. “You’d be surprised how far forensics has come along.”

  She didn’t say anything to that.

  “We can test them for fingerprints and DNA, too.”

  “So?” Her chin jutted out.

  “Please tell me the truth,” I said. “If you don’t, it will only make things worse.”

  “I am telling you the truth.”

  “Where were you last night?”

  “I was at the library with my daughter. They have a Monday night reading club. I meet a friend of mine there. Our daughters are the same age. You can check with her.” Her eyes were wide with triumph.

  “Which library?”

  “The Columbine one, south of here.”

  “What’s your friend’s name?”

  “Morgan Stith.” She stared at me.

  “Her number?” I prompted.

  “Oh.” She got up and left the room, then quickly returned with her phone. “I don’t have the number memorized.” She looked it up and gave it to me. I typed it into my phone. She remained standing.

  She glared at me. “I think you need to leave now. I’m not involved in anything wrong.”

  I glanced at Chad, and he shrugged. She pointed at the door, and we stood up and went to the foyer. We stepped outside, and she slammed the door behind us.

  “I think you’ve made a friend there,” Chad said as we walked down the sidewalk.

  I gave a short laugh. “What was she like before I got there?”

  He shrugged as he got out his car keys. “After I told her who I was, and that another detective would be on the way, she clammed up. I don’t think she said two words to me.” He looked back at the house. “It’s a helluva case you’ve got.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “She’s guilty of something. What, I’m not exactly sure.”

  “Yeah, I’d say she was hiding something.”

  “Thanks for the help.”

  He nodded with a smile, walked me to my car, then went to his.

  Chapter Twelve

  I watched Chad Lattimore pull his car into the street, then I put the Escape in gear and followed him to the end of the block. He was headed back to the station, but I had other plans. I drove around the block and parked at the corner, where I could still see Olivia Hartnell’s house. I had a hunch about her, and I wanted to see if I was correct. It was almost eleven, and the neighborhood was quiet, most kids likely in school, most adults likely at work. I turned on the radio to a hard rock station on Sirius satellite. Harry tends to favor ’70s rock music, some jazz and R&B, but I sometimes like something with a more raucous beat. Not unlike Tara, I thought ironically. I continued to watch Olivia’s house, and my gut feeling was soon rewarded. Her garage door opened, and a blue BMW pulled out of the garage. The car backed into the street and went in the opposite direction. I waited until it reached the corner and followed. The BMW turned right and disappeared. I gunned the engine and raced to the other end of the block and looked left. The BMW was up ahead. I waited to allow some distance between my car and hers, then turned and followed.

  Olivia drove to Kipling, then went north. I stayed back behind several cars. If she knew she was being followed, she didn’t drive like it. She stayed in the left lane, even when it backed up and she could’ve switch lanes to make a light. I stayed with her, wondering where she was going. We continued north, the traffic heavy. We passed Sixth Avenue and drove on. I tried to think if there was anything I’d read about Felix Robinson, where he might’ve had reason to be in this part of the city. I drew a blank.

  The BMW finally turned west on Colfax, then turned right into an Auto Zone car parts store. I zipped to the next block, turned onto a side street, and parked. I got out and dashed to the corner. Olivia’s BMW was parked in front of the building, and she got out and strode inside. I tried to see in the big glass windows, but the sun’s glare prevented that. I debated what to do. Should I try to get a closer look and risk being seen? I didn’t have to make that decision, as a moment later, Olivia walked back outside with a stocky man whose black hair was slicked back. He wore dark pants and a gray short-sleeved shirt. He walked with Olivia through the parking lot, and they stopped by her car. Their conversation appeared to be heated, both of them at times throwing up their hands. More than once, Olivia jabbed a finger at the man, her face twisted with consternation. He finally held up his hands, shushing her, and she seemed to calm down. He put his hands on her shoulders, looked her in the face, and spoke again. She nodded and finally gave him a small hug. They spoke for a minute more, then he gestured at her car and opened the car door. She got behind the wheel, and he stepped back and waited as she drove off.

  I slipped back down the side street and watched the BMW pass by. If I needed to talk to Olivia again, I knew where to find her. I hurried to my car and drove into the Auto Zone lot, then parked. I pocketed my badge and walked inside. The store was clean, but smelled of engine oil, a little like a garage. I didn’t see the man Olivia had spoken to. Another clerk stood behind the counter, and he looked up at me without smiling.

  “Hello there. How can I help you?” His name, John, was stitched on a patch on his shirt.

  I thought fast. “I need a headlight for a ’65 Mustang,” I said. I happen to own just such a Mustang, although I don’t drive it regularly. Compared to today’s vehicles, it doesn’t handle well at all, especially in the snow. And it’s not exactly an inconspicuous car. I looked around for the other man, but didn’t see him.

  John raised his eyebrows. “Wow, that’s a great car to have. If you’re looking for original parts, we don’t carry that kind of stuff.”

  I frowned. “Hmm. Where would I get something like that? I guess I could look online.”

  The man Olivia had been talking to emerged from between shelves behind the counter. He gave me a curt look, then spoke up.

  “Yeah, you could try online. I think there might be a Mustang store across town. I don’t remember the name.” The patch on his shirt said “Victor.” He shrugged. “Sorry.” He eyed John. “I’ll be in the back if you need me.”

  “Sure thing,” John said.

  “Darn.” I made a show of being disappointed, but I was really stalling for time, trying to figure out how I could get Victor’s last name.

  John put his hands on the counter. “Try looking up what you need online. If you have the car manual, that should help you figure out the right model for the headlight. If you need help, come back in and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks, that’s very nice of you.”

  I was about to turn away when I saw business cards in a holder near the register. I saw Victor’s name on one, so I picked it up. Victor’s last name was Marko, and he was the manager of the store. I had to contain my glee.

  “You like driving the Mustang?” John asked.

  “In the summer,” I said. “It’s fun to drive around town.”

  He shook his head. “Those old cars aren’t good on slick roads. I had an old Camaro. Man, that thing was fun to drive, but I wrecked it.”

  “That’s too bad. Thanks for your help.” I rushed out the door. I wasn’t trying to be rude, but I had what I’d come in for, and it wasn’t a headlight. I had Victor’s contact information, now I wanted to know more about him. Why had Olivia Hartnell rushed to talk to him in person right after I’d chatted with her? And did he know Felix Robinson?

  Chapter Thirteen

  After I left the Auto Zone, I stopped at a Noodles & Company for a quick lunch, and as I ate, I called Spats.

  “What’s up?” he said.

  “I need your expert skills,” I said. I told him what had happened with Felix Robinson at the prison, and about my conversation with Olivia Hartnell and her visit to Victor Marko. “I want to know who she’s been talking to, and if she had any plans to go after Judge McCleary, and if she talked to Felix or to Victor Marko about it. You have a way with judges. I need a warrant for Ol
ivia Hartnell’s phone records.”

  “I have a way with judges. Uh-huh.” He laughed. “I’ll get on it, and if we get the warrant, which we should, I’ll work with the phone company to get the recs.”

  “Thanks.”

  I ended the call and immediately called the station and asked for detectives to follow both Olivia and Victor Marko. I was put in touch with Detectives Iles and Antonopoulos, and I told both of them about the subjects, and that if the two made contact again, I wanted to know about it. Then I mulled over my conversation with Olivia. She had seemed sure of her alibi, but that didn’t mean that she hadn’t helped her brother hire someone to kill McCleary. Or, she could’ve hired someone without her brother knowing, because she was angry with the judge for sentencing her brother to prison. If either scenario had occurred, was the person she hired Victor Marko, or someone else? I shook my head at the possibilities, then tried Olivia’s friend, Morgan Stith. The call went to voice mail. I left a message, identifying myself and asking her to call me. I wondered whether Olivia had already talked to Morgan and coached her on what to say to me. If so, that couldn’t be helped.

  After a few more hurried bites of pasta, I looked up the Columbine Library, called them, and verified that they did have a Monday night reading club that started at 6:30 and lasted for an hour. I thanked the librarian who’d provided the information and finished my hurried meal, still without any answers. Flat clouds obscured the sun as I drove back to the station. I had just sat down at my desk and was about to research Olivia Hartnell and Victor Marko when I heard Rizzo bang down his desk phone and call my name.

  “Spillman!” He called with such force, it surprised me. I jerked my head up to look at him. His office door was open, and he stood in the doorway, his brow wrinkled with concern. He jerked a finger at me.

  “Get in here.”

  I stood up, startled by his manner. I hurried into his office. He motioned for me to close the door, then thrust a finger at a chair for me to sit. I glanced at him, then at the wall behind him that was plastered with awards and pictures of him with local dignitaries. I was having trouble making eye contact. Was I in trouble?