JP sipped his coffee and listened as Celia continued to tell her story, periodically writing notes on his notepad.
“When she turned up pregnant I was devastated. I was so angry at them both, but I kept it to myself in order to keep my daughter home with us. But as soon as she turned eighteen she left. I kept hoping she’d come to her senses and leave him, but she never did. I tried to help her financially at first, mostly for the sake of the children. Eventually I realized she and George were just wasting the money. Frank continued to help Dana. He could never say ‘no’ to her.”
Frank looked at Celia and wrinkled his brow. Celia didn’t seem to notice. JP wrote a note on the pad indicating that there was a discrepancy in what Frank and Celia said about helping Dana. Each blamed the other. “But they ended up homeless. How did that happen?”
“Their priorities had become so skewed. Everything they had was all going to drugs and alcohol at the end. We begged them to let us have the boys, but that was George’s meal ticket. He wasn’t about to let go of them. In retrospect, I realize I should’ve reported them to CPS years ago, but I didn’t.”
“So, how are you and Dana getting along now?”
“On and off. The plan was for her to stop using drugs and then come live with us and the boys. For the first time, she was finally talking about leaving George.”
“You say ‘was.’ Has she changed her mind about coming home?”
“No. I guess not. Some days she is reasonable and others she’s like the old Dana.”
“You mean like when she was drinking or using drugs?”
“Yes. She gets so angry at me. She just screams.”
Celia finished her coffee and Frank reached over and took her empty cup from her. “Excuse me,” Frank said, looking at JP. “Would you like more coffee?”
“No, I’m good. Thank you.” Frank walked out of the room.
“Do you think she’s still using?” JP asked.
“She says she’s not. Her attitude has been worse since George died. Maybe she’s grieving. And the worst part about George dying is that now he’s like a hero to her and I think she lashes out at me because she can’t berate him.”
“Let’s hope that’s what it is. If you see any signs that she might be using or drinking again, please let us know. Ms. Brown needs to keep those children safe.”
“Of course. Those children have been through enough.”
JP recalled the smell of brandy in her coffee and hoped he was wrong. Perhaps it was one of those fancy flavorings, he thought, but he knew better. Just then Frank returned with a full mug of coffee and handed it to Celia. She wrapped her hands around the mug as if she were cold, just as she had done earlier. The sun was shining in the room, making it comfortably warm. Too warm, JP thought, to warrant her behavior. Perhaps it was habit.
JP looked from Celia to Frank. “Do either of you know anyone who would want to kill George?”
“Anyone he ever met,” Frank said.
“Now, Frank,” Celia said. “The man is dead.”
“And the world is a better place for it. I’m not suddenly going to pretend I liked the man.”
“It’s true. He wasn’t very well liked.” Celia said. “But we didn’t see much of him last year. He came by here about a week ago, even though there were court orders for him not to come to our house. His visitation is supervised at another location.”
“So, he came here to see the boys?”
“I don’t think so. At least he never asked to see them. His eyes were dilated and they looked glassy. He wasn’t alone, either. Another man drove him here.”
“What did he want?”
“He never said. He asked if he could come in and I told him it wasn’t a good time. The other guy didn’t take it too well. He started spouting off about how I wasn’t very hospitable and he called me a ‘rich bitch.’ That’s about the time Frank came to the door and asked them to leave. The guy put his face right next to Frank’s and said, ‘Who’s going to make me, old man?’ I was scared, but it didn’t sit well with Frank. He moved closer to him and said, ‘I am, you little punk.’ And he told him to get off our property. I thought the man was going to hit Frank but before he could, George took the guy’s arm and pulled him away.”
“What did he look like?”
“He was tall with short, reddish hair,” Celia said.
Frank added, “He stood about six-foot. He had strawberry blond hair—short, but in need of a haircut—and a thin, gaunt, red, freckly face. His nose wasn’t remarkable. A poor attempt at growing a beard left peach fuzz on his chin. His blue eyes were deeply set; they were possibly more exaggerated because his face was so thin. And he had a scar about an inch long that ran across his left eyebrow.”
“Your eyes are keener than a rat’s in a trash pile after the carnival left town,” JP said. “Had you ever seen him before?”
“No. I just make it my business to study a man before I annihilate him.”
Frank’s voice conveyed neither anger nor humor. It was just businesslike. JP wondered if that’s how he became so rich or if that was at least how he maintained his wealth. He couldn’t remember reading anything in the reports about how he accumulated his money. He would see what he could find out.
“Did they leave then?”
“Yes, but the guy yanked away from George and grumbled something like, ‘I told you this wouldn’t work. I want my money, man.’ And then he turned around and jabbed his finger in the air at us and yelled at Frank, ‘This ain’t over, old man.’”
Chapter 11
Bob and Sabre were already seated at a corner table with the usual pink polyester tablecloth and single, fake flower vase when JP walked into Pho’s. Sabre spotted him as he passed through the archway into the room. Her eyes followed him as he sauntered to the table, admiring his ‘cowboy’ demeanor. He never hurried when he walked unless there was a real crisis. His plain, black Stetson hat and his basic boots spoke to his simple nature. But he wasn’t simple, Sabre thought. In fact, he was very complicated. He just didn’t like a lot of conflict or drama, at least not outside his profession. He didn’t talk much about himself, which made it difficult to get to know him. JP remained a mystery to Sabre. For a second she wondered about his love life. She imagined he was slow and methodical about everything he did.
“Hi, kid,” JP said to Sabre as he approached the table. He nodded his head at Bob, “Bob.”
Sabre found herself blush a little, embarrassed about her recent reflections about JP’s personal life. “Have a seat,” she said, as she moved into the chair nearer the wall and freed up the chair next to her. JP sat down. Sabre felt uncomfortable by his closeness. She searched for the reason and blamed it on her earlier thoughts.
The waitress approached just as JP sat down.
“I know what I want,” Bob said.
“Of course you do,” Sabre said. “You never get anything but the 124.”
“Can you get the 124 with chicken instead of pork?” JP asked.
Bob shook his head. “Not for me. I like the pork.”
“Number 124 come with chicken and pork,” the waitress said in a heavy Vietnamese accent.
“Could you please bring us two orders of rice paper rolls while we decide?” Sabre said. She sat her menu down and asked JP, “How did Celia’s interview go?”
He gave a detailed account of the visit, including his suspicions about the brandy in the coffee and the visit from George and his friend. “I’m going to try to track down the man with George and see if it helps find the killer. Frank gave me a good description of him, but I don’t have a name.” He looked at Bob. “I was hoping I could speak to your client and see if she knows who he might be.” He turned to Sabre. “The boys as well,” he said.
“Sure,” Bob said. “In fact, Dana is coming to my office this afternoon. I’m meeting her right after lunch. You can talk to her then, if that’ll work for you.”
“And I’ll make arrangements for you to see Marcus and Riley w
hen you leave there,” Sabre said. “You should have time to get to the school before Riley leaves. He stays late several days a week in a special study hall so he can catch up from all the school he’s missed. He wants to play football in the fall, but he has to bring his grades up now or he won’t be able to participate in the summer program.”
“That’ll be better than talking to him at his house,” JP said. “And Marcus?”
The waitress came back with the rice paper rolls. She set them down in the middle of the table and placed three small plates with dishes of sauce in front of each of them. “You ready for order now?” she asked.
“I’ll have the #124,” JP said.
“I’ll have what he’s having,” Bob said.
“Me too,” Sabre handed her menu to the waitress and turned back to JP. “I’ll call when we leave here and set up the time for Marcus. Maybe around 6:00?”
“Sure.”
The conversation turned to sports, then local politics. There was a judge up for re-election, whom Bob and Sabre thought to be one of the best on the bench. However, it was recently discovered that he and his wife were involved in sex-sharing, where several couples would meet and exchange partners. The adults were all willing participants and weren’t violating any laws, but it was sure to affect the outcome of the election.
The waitress returned with their dishes and walked away.
“This doesn’t look right,” Bob said. “They’ve changed the way they fix the pork.” He took a bite of the meat. “And it’s really dry.”
“Yeah, it’s not very good,” Sabre said. “So, do you think Judge Harris will get re-elected?”
“Probably not. The public will be more concerned about his private life than what kind of judge he is,” Bob said and then took another bite. “This is awful. It’s about as dry as my sister-in-law’s Thanksgiving turkey.”
“I agree,” JP said. “They won’t re-elect Harris. There’s a very active religious group campaigning against him. They don’t even mention his work, just his immorality.”
“Why would they change the pork?” Bob said. “It’s all I’ve ever eaten here. Now I need to find another dish or we’ll have to go somewhere else for lunch.”
Sabre took another bite of her meat and removed a small, thin bone from her mouth. The meat was not very tasty, so she set it aside and finished the rest of her dish. “This really is awful pork.”
They continued to chat as they finished their meals. The waitress returned with the check. Bob said, “I have to ask. Why did they change the pork in the #124?”
“You no order pork. You order chicken…#124A.”
“No, I ordered #124.”
The waitress looked at JP. “You ask for chicken.” She turned to Bob. “You say, want same as him.”
Bob raised his right hand slightly and waved it back and forth, smiling as he spoke. “It’s okay. I’m just glad you still have the pork.”
By the time the waitress left the table, all three were laughing. “I can’t believe we ate the whole thing and didn’t know it was chicken. I should’ve realized it when I compared it to the Thanksgiving turkey,” Bob said.
“Or when I found the tiny bone. Pigs don’t have tiny bones.”
“We were just so set on eating pork,” JP said, still laughing. His phone rang. JP looked at the name on the screen and said, “Excuse me.” He stood up and walked out of the restaurant to take his call.
When JP returned, Bob and Sabre were still chuckling about their keen observation skills. JP looked somber.
“What’s wrong?” Sabre asked.
JP wrinkled his forehead. “That was my friend Greg Nelson. He’s a detective with the San Diego PD.”
“I remember him,” Sabre said. “He was on the Murdock case. Nice guy.”
“Yeah, that’s him. Well, Klakken won’t give me any information on the Foreman investigation so I asked Nelson to keep me updated.” JP looked straight at Bob and hesitated.
“What’s the problem, JP?” Bob asked.
“Remember they found a cigarette butt in a baggie tucked in Foreman’s waistband?”
“Yeah, why?” Bob asked.
“It has your fingerprints on it.”
Chapter 12
JP sat with Bob in Bob’s office as they waited for Dana to arrive for her appointment.
“I hope she gets here soon or I’ll miss Riley at school,” JP said. Bob didn’t respond. He stared at his desk as if he were studying a scratch on the edge of it. “Bob,” JP said a little louder.
Bob looked up. “What reason can you think of for one of my cigarette butts to be in Foreman’s possession?”
“He lived on the streets. Maybe he just picked up your butts to smoke later.”
“And put it inside a baggie and concealed it in his waistband?”
“Okay, not likely.”
“So, what do you really think?”
“Perhaps he was trying to frame you or prove something. There is no indication that the guy was crazy. Conniving, stupid, and maybe even mean, but not crazy, so I think it was a calculated move. The question is whether or not it had something to do with his murder.”
“Yeah, it’s not every day they find a dead guy with my fingerprints in his pants.”
“Not even the time you went to the Brass Rail Bar?”
Bob gave JP a sideways glance. “You’re a funny guy.”
“Seriously, you know Klakken will be calling you soon to ask more questions. Maybe we should try to figure this out first.”
“What do you mean?” Bob asked.
“They’re going to want to know how many times you saw Foreman, when, where, etc. So, why don’t you tell me first.” JP took his notebook from his pocket and reached for a pen on Bob’s desk.
Bob thought for a moment. “If I were advising a client in this situation, I’d tell him not to say anything to the police.”
“Why? Does your hypothetical client sound guilty to you?”
“Not necessarily, but first of all, I wouldn’t know for sure if he was involved in the murder, and second, even if he were innocent he might say something else that could implicate him.”
“So, is that the way you want to play it?” JP asked.
“I don’t know. I know I didn’t kill him, but because my fingerprints were on him I could be implicated some way.” Bob cocked his head to the side. “Do you think I have reason to be concerned?”
JP sighed and chose his words carefully. “Klakken is good at what he does, but when he gets his claws into something, getting him to let go is tougher than trying to put a dress on a worm.”
Bob chuckled. “I’ll answer your questions first and let’s see how it sounds.”
“Okay. Let’s start with the first time you saw anyone on the Foreman case.”
“Dana came into my office with her stepfather, Frank Davis, to retain me on the dependency case.”
“How did they happen to pick you?”
“Sabre referred him to me at the detention hearing. Frank didn’t like the attorney who was appointed by the court so he asked Sabre for a referral.”
“Why would he ask her?”
“Because she was representing the minors. That’s not unusual. It happens all the time. Anyway, she gave him three names—Richard Wagner, Roberto Arroyo, and mine. I was at the top of the list. They came to me first and retained me.”
“Okay, when did you see them next?”
“We had a jurisdiction hearing about a week later. Dana, her mother, and stepfather were there, but not George. The boys were detained with the grandparents. Dana and George were both given supervised visits with the children as long as one or both of the grandparents served as the supervisor, but George’s visits were more limited than Dana’s.”
“How so?”
Bob reached inside his pocket and took out a full pack of cheap cigarettes. “Dana could go to their house three times a week. George had his visits elsewhere and only once a week. That’s all the grandparents were
willing to supervise for him, and since he didn’t appear in court that’s all his attorney could negotiate for him. Dana had already enrolled in drug treatment and the plan was for her to leave George, clean up, and then move in with her mom. We continued the jurisdiction hearing in hopes the social worker would go along with that plan, which she was amenable to, but only if Dana did everything she was supposed to.”
“Was Dana doing what was expected of her?”
“I thought so, but then George came with her to an appointment we had at Sabre’s office.” Bob opened the cigarette pack and removed a cigarette. He put it in his mouth, then took it back out, held it upright between his finger and thumb, and tapped it on the desk as if he were packing it down.
“Why were you meeting at Sabre’s office?”
“Because there was a gas leak in our building and we were shut down for a couple of days, so I made arrangements with Sabre to use her office.”
JP made a note on his pad. “Was she there? Sabre, I mean?”
“No, it was late Friday afternoon and everyone had left already. I would’ve put the meeting off except that Dana’s hearing was scheduled for Monday morning.”
“And that was the first time you saw George?”
“Correct. I talked to them both for a bit, but he was flying high. When I asked him to step out so I could talk to my client privately, he flipped out. He started cussing at me and saying I just wanted to break them up like everyone else. I told him to get out so I could help his wife or they could both leave and she could hire someone else. To tell you the truth, I felt a little uncomfortable. I was alone in the building and I had no idea what this guy was capable of.”
“Did he leave?”
“Dana convinced him to go. She had to practically push him out the door. On his way out, he raised his fist to me cussing and grumbling something I didn’t quite catch because Dana was yelling, ‘That’s ridiculous. That’s just stupid.’ By then I hoped she would leave, too, but she didn’t. She closed the door behind him and sat down. Then she made all the excuses for him— how rough life has been, now he was losing her and the kids, and blah, blah, blah. I took the information I needed from her, advised her as to what she needed to do for and at the hearing on Monday, and I left there as quickly as I could.” Bob tapped the cigarette again.
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