A Case of You

by Rick Blechta

  Eventually, Michael said, “Do you want to take this to the bedroom, O’Brien?”

  She sat up. “Lead the way, Quinn.”

  “I thought you were tired.”

  “Never!”

  Sleep didn’t come easily afterwards, though, at least for Shannon.

  Michael rolled over and was snoring within minutes. Men! she thought, but her smile was fond.

  Slipping out of bed and into her robe, she went back to the living room. The pile of papers looked as daunting as ever.

  Turning to pick up the two nearly empty whiskey glasses, she spotted the CD Curran had handed her when she’d dropped him at the Holiday Inn near Yorkdale Mall. Palmer had not given him an easy ride, but in the end hadn’t made anything stick. She’d wanted the info first hand, so she’d offered to drive down and fetch him. In the middle of rush hour, it hadn’t been a pleasant journey, but it had given them time to talk further about Olivia.

  “Listen to it,” Curran had said as he’d stuck his head back inside her car. “It will explain a lot.”

  Someone had written on the CD “Olivia demo #1”.

  Crossing the wide room, Shannon slipped the disc into the player, turned the volume down low and sat back on the sofa to listen.

  Absentmindedly, she took a sip from one of the whisky glasses.

  After a short piano introduction, Olivia’s voice glided out of the speakers in a deeply moody rendition of the Joni Mitchell song “A Case of You”, done here as a ballad. The lyrics, brought alive by Olivia’s voice, came across with such painful intensity that Shannon could scarcely breathe. This was exactly the way she had felt when her marriage had begun to fall apart, and she was desperately trying to decide if it was worth saving. Halfway through the song, she realized she was weeping.

  The song disappeared into the mists, and Shannon hit pause to recover her self-control. I’ve heard this song many times before, she thought, but it’s never hit me with such intensity. It felt like Olivia was singing about me.

  Starting the CD again, the next song had the same sort of effect, and the next. Every song reached out to touch her in some personal way. It was as if Olivia could cut right through the music and lyrics, grab you at a very visceral level and not let go. Each performance had tremendous emotional impact.

  Lost in her thoughts, Shannon almost didn’t hear the muffled ring of her cell phone. Sliding to the other end of the sofa, she fished it out of her shoulder bag. “Shannon O’Brien.”

  It was her answering service.“Sorry to bother you so late, Ms O’Brien, but you said we should. A Ms Stein just returned your call. She said you can call her now if you like. If not, then tomorrow after ten a.m.”

  There would be other nights to get a good sleep.

  Pulling her notebook and pen toward her, Shannon dialed.

  “Stein. Whaddaya want?” Even though she’d worked in Florida and now in Washington, the reporter’s accent sounded right out of New York City.

  “This is Shannon O’Brien.”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry. I thought it was the night desk calling to bug me about a story I’m doing.”

  “If this isn’t a good time to talk...”

  “Nah. It’s fine as long as we don’t go on too long. They’ll get my damn copy when I’m good and ready to give it to them.” There was the soft clicking of a computer keyboard in the background. “You don’t mind if I continue working while we talk, do you?”

  “No, that’s fine. And thank you for calling back.”

  “So this is about Olivia St. James? That’s an old story to be bringing up.”

  “Would it surprise you to know that she was recently singing with a jazz trio in a Toronto club?”

  “What?”

  Shannon gave the Reader’s Digest version of the situation, and at the end, Stein responded with a low whistle.

  “Well, knock me over with a feather! So what can I do for you?”

  “I need information. After having read all the accounts of what happened in Florida six years ago, I think you’re probably the best person to give it to me.”

  “That obvious? It’s one of the reasons I’m in Washington now – not that I’m complaining.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “One does not mess with the St. Jameses, my dear, and I had the temerity to do that. So, like I said, I’m working to deadline. Hit me with what you really need to know, and we can always talk again another day.”

  “Okay. First up, the last of your stories said that Olivia was institutionalized somewhere in California. Do you know exactly where?”

  “Not off the top of my head, but I can put my hands on the information without much trouble. Give me your email address, and I’ll fire it off to you.”

  “Great. From your articles, it’s pretty clear you had sources other reporters didn’t.”

  “No, I had sources other reporters didn’t bother to cultivate. They just toed the party line. That’s not my style.”

  “Would any of those sources speak with me?”

  “They might, but I’ll have to check with them first.”

  “Lastly, what’s your take on the St. James murder? Reading between the lines, I think you did have to pull your punches, at least a little.”

  “You can’t imagine,” the reporter laughed. “Cutting to the chase, the whole thing stank. To my mind, the girl was guilty as sin, and they did a lot of fancy stepping to prove that she was mentally incompetent. Odd? Definitely. But mental? I’m not so sure. The drugs might have been a contributing factor. She was a pretty heavy user. But it fits with the way that family does things to get her shuffled off to some institution rather than have to face the public scandal of a murder trial.”

  “They had enough clout to do that?”

  “I think so. Anyway, I’m not that against what the outcome was, except for the manipulation part. After all, what’s the difference? She gets sent away for good, the state doesn’t have to foot the bill for incarceration or the cost of a trial. Everybody wins.”

  Except Olivia, Shannon thought. “What if she wasn’t guilty?”

  “Unless you know something I don’t, there’s no way that’s possible. Although no one actually saw her clobber her brother, she’s the best bet. Two of the investigating cops told me that off the record. Now I get to ask you a few questions, okay? This situation you’re describing in Toronto sounds worthy of a follow-up story, and where I’m working now, the St. Jameses can’t touch me.”

  “I’d rather you held off on any story for the moment. I don’t want anyone to know I’m poking around – especially after what you’ve been telling me. I will feed you anything I find, though, before anyone else gets it. You have my word on that.”

  “Fair enough. I’m too busy at the moment with a brewing lobbyist scandal, anyway. So, any idea how our Olivia turned up in Canada?”

  “I don’t think they let her out of her cage, if that’s what you’re asking. My guess is she escaped and managed to make it this far. Then, because she started singing with the jazz trio, she got some press. The people in California were on the lookout and sent two bounty hunters to nab her and bring her back.”

  “A jazz vocalist?” Stein said with a raucous laugh. “I wonder if the cops in Florida know about this.”

  “That’s one thing I want to check. An easy guess, though, is that this institution, or the St. James family, or both just wanted to get her back without anyone knowing she’d been gone.”

  Next morning at six, though she’d only had four hours sleep, Shannon had left Michael’s apartment before he’d even crawled out of bed. She wanted to get to the office and hopefully finish her day by midafternoon. Luckily, he was used to her behaving this way when she was hot on a case, teasingly calling her Miss Monomania.

  After talking to Stein, she had decided she’d like to speak to Olivia’s nanny – sooner rather than later. With two other cases on the go for O’Brien Investigates needing at least a bit of her attention, she had a full dance car
d, and it wouldn’t get any shorter if she did what she really wanted to do: head home to Rachel and Robbie. With the business going crazy lately, she’d been away a lot, and the guilt weighed heavily on her. Better to start early, and if everything worked out, salvage a bit of downtime with her kids. Maybe she’d treat them to pizza and a video. That was, if Rachel didn’t have a hot date. Shannon had hardly seen her the past two weeks.

  Having called Jackie Goode about an early start, she picked her up at the corner of King and Jameson, and they circled around the bottom of the city on the Gardiner Expressway before hitting the Don Valley Parkway north.

  “Sorry to drag you out so early on a Saturday,” Shannon told her new recruit.

  “Not a problem,” Jackie yawned, “but I’m afraid I didn’t get a lot done last night. Guess I finally hit the wall.”

  “Well, I had a bit of a busy evening.”

  As they drove past downtown, Shannon related the phone conversation with Ellen Stein as accurately as she could remember it. Little by little, she was beginning to regard Goode as an associate rather than a raw recruit on tryout. The work Goode had done so far was solid and businesslike.

  Shannon pulled into the Tim Hortons on Woodbine for coffee and muffins. Even though she’d made a quick cup before leaving Michael’s, she could feel herself drooping already from lack of sleep. Goode looked as if she could use a jolt of caffeine, too.

  Back in the SUV, they cracked open their steaming coffees and sipped gingerly. Even though cars and trucks were blasting up and down Woodbine, somewhere nearby Shannon could hear a robin singing, the first one she’d noticed. She suddenly felt the pull of the outdoors and wanted to chuck the whole thing, grab Michael and take to the paths through the woods near her farm.

  On the other hand, there was work to be done and a suddenly hot investigative trail to follow. As she turned the key and the engine roared to life, Goode spoke.“I’m beginning to think this whole situation stinks.”

  Shannon glanced over as she put the vehicle in gear. “In what way?”

  “Everything is just too damn convenient. The mother’s dead, the father’s dying, the son is poised to take the reins of the family fortune, and the mentally weak daughter falls apart. From what you’ve told me, Stein’s thoughts headed in the same direction.”

  “Not really. She seems quite firm in her belief that Olivia did the deed and got what she deserved. The fact that a trial was short circuited didn’t make that much difference to her, since the cost of Olivia’s incarceration would be borne by the rich family rather than the state.”

  “Hmmm. Perhaps we should take the time to look at other stories Stein has covered.”

  Shannon smiled. Good instincts, or considering how insightful her new recruit was proving, should she start thinking of it as Goode instincts? “I’ve already done that. Stein definitely leans left on the matter of the rich paying their own way. Perhaps she allowed this to colour her opinion. Her writing can be pretty strident.”

  Not wanting to disturb the flow of their conversation, Shannon pulled into her parking space in front of the office and shut off the engine. Rolling down her window, she heard another robin singing at the top of a nearby pine. Again the call of the wild...

  Goode broke off a piece of her bran muffin and popped it in her mouth.“Friends will tell you that I have the unfortunate tendency to see conspiracies behind every bush, but considering what we now know, don’t you have any misgivings?”

  “In regards to what?”

  “Let’s put it this way: I’d really like to find out more about this stepmother. Everything seems to have worked out pretty damn well for her, don’t you think?”

  Now it was Shannon’s turn to fall silent. That possibility hadn’t occurred to her. She’d want a lot more information before heading down that road.

  Jackie continued, “How about I tackle the hit-and-run on the mother? Going back that far, not every story has made the newspapers’ online archives, or I may have missed something.”

  “Your time would be better spent tracking down how Olivia got herself out of the institution in California. We also need to make sure she’s been taken back there. We’re only assuming that’s the case. And after all, that’s what we’re actually getting paid to do. Looking for bogeymen behind every tree isn’t the way to go about this. We have to keep our eye on the ball.”

  She got out of the SUV and unlocked the door to the office. Jackie followed.

  Inside, the message waiting light was flashing on Janet’s phone. Crossing the floor, Shannon picked up the message but played it back on the speaker phone, when she realized it was from Ellen Stein.

  “Hello, Shannon. It took a bit of doing, but I finally dug out my notes on the St. James thing and figured it might be best to talk on the phone. Assuming that they haven’t moved her someplace else, Olivia St. James was institutionalized at Sunnyvale. It’s in a pretty remote location near the California/Nevada border. Nearest town is Portola, and the nearest city with an airport is Reno. Sunnyvale specializes in lushes and dopers of the rich and famous, with a few crazies thrown in. Hope this helps. Oh, and don’t forget: I got dibs on anything you find.You promised. Get in touch if I can be any further help.”

  Jackie had a sour expression when Shannon turned to say, “Well, there are your marching orders. Could you start checking out Sunnyvale for me? But be discreet. I don’t want them to know we’re nosing around. It may not make a difference, but you never know.”

  Shannon went into her office, shut the door and got to work catching up on the other cases her business was handling. One of her other operatives was due in at ten for a briefing, and if she didn’t hop to it, she’d have nothing to give him.

  Shortly before noon, Jackie stuck her head in the door.“I’ve just had a very interesting phone call. Want to hear about it?”

  Shannon stopped making notes on the client report she was putting together. “What do you have?”

  “First, some background. Sunnyvale is a very chi-chi place, only the best of the best need apply. Check out their website. You’d think it was a resort where you go to get fit – not fixed. But some of their methods sound downright weird. It’s also not the kind of place you can check yourself out of. You have to sign a commitment to stay there for a certain length of time. They won’t just let you walk away if you feel like it. Anyway, I decided to call them up and see if she’s there.”

  Sighing, Shannon asked, “Do you think that was wise? I asked you to be discreet.”

  “We weren’t going to get any useful information poking around that way. This place is très exclusif.”

  “Better come in and tell me about it.”

  Jackie entered the office and perched on the end of the client chair. “I pretended to be from one of the Florida papers, you know, following up on the tragic story after six years.

  “Got put on to an assistant director who probably couldn’t answer a question straight if his life depended on it. At first he stonewalled me, saying that it was policy not to give out any information on their ‘residents’, as he called them. He wouldn’t even say if she had ever been there.

  “Intimating that I’d got the information about her being there from a reliable source within the family, I asked again how she was doing. After another round of stonewalling, I decided to pull his tail to see if I could shake anything loose. ‘I’ve gotten a very interesting call from a colleague in Toronto claiming that Olivia St. James has been seen in that city. Care to comment?’ He nearly dropped the phone.

  “He put me on hold for about five minutes and—”

  “Let me guess,” Shannon said, rather annoyed that her instructions had been ignored. “They told you that she was indeed there and has been there continuously since put into their care.”

  Goode looked a little bit crestfallen that her thunder had been stolen. “Was it that obvious?”

  “What else would you expect him to say? But at least we know where she is.”

  Chapt
er 9

  The sound of my cell phone ringing was about as welcome as finding the tax man at the door with two Mounties standing behind.

  Rolling over with a groan, I picked up the bedside clock radio and held it in front of my face.

  Even though it was only quarter past ten at night, I’d already been asleep in my hotel bed for nearly an hour. It felt like a year since my life had gone into the garbage can. It hadn’t even been a day yet.

  Reaching for my cell, I only succeeded in knocking it onto the floor. Managing to find it before it switched into voicemail, my voice came out as a croak. “Andy Curran.”

  “You idiot!” my ex-wife screamed at me.“How could you have been so goddamned stupid?”

  I rubbed my free hand through my hair. I really didn’t need this right now.

  “The cops were just here hassling Jeremy and me. You can’t imagine what it felt like to find out someone has been murdered on our front porch! You could have at least phoned to tell me. And where the hell are you? I called the house just now, and there was no answer.”

  “First of all, Sandra, it’s not your house any more. Remember?”

  She was right, though. I should have contacted her, but every time I’d thought of it was the wrong time to make a call. After the police had interviewed me for the second time, the only thing I’d been able to think about was a nice, soft bed with fresh sheets and closing my eyes. I didn’t know when I’d ever been this weary.

  I don’t think she even noticed my opening salvo. “It’s all about this little chickie you took up with, isn’t it? I knew the moment I heard about her what a sleazebag she was. And you allowed our daughter—”

  “Back off, Sandra! I’m not in the mood for any of your sanctimonious crap. I’ve had a really bad day, and if you can’t talk to me reasonably, I’m going to hang up, and you can do your screaming at the dial tone.”

  There was silence for a moment, then she said with a lot less heat, “Tell me what happened.”

  So I told her.

  “And your girl has gone off. That’s really quite pathetic, Andy.”