by Rick Blechta
Now, I wouldn’t consider myself a Casanova or anything, but when I was single and playing in a bar band, I’d taken home my share of young ladies. I only had one experience that I knew of with a virgin, and Olivia didn’t strike me as one during the two nights we’d slept together. I didn’t think she had a ton of experience, but she certainly knew her way around.
“I saw her panhandling at Union Station. When did that start?”
“About two weeks after they hit town. She had to pull her weight somehow, and since they were both illegals, they couldn’t get regular jobs.”
“They were saving up to go to Europe or something,” Donna added.
“Really?”
“Yeah, that was their goal. Go to Europe and start over.”
“Wouldn’t Maggie have been making a good buck? It wouldn’t take long to save up for a couple of plane tickets.”
“Boy, you don’t know much! When they got here, they had the clothes on their back, and that was it. We had to take them in until they got on their feet.”
“That’s how come we know so much,” Shelley added. “We turned them on to an apartment in a building near ours. We didn’t socialize much once they moved in, but we were over there a couple of times.”
“The cops admitted to me that she had some high-class clients. Surely she’d charge them accordingly.”
Donna and Shelley looked at each other. Shelley spoke. “We don’t like to speak bad about a dead friend, but a good bit of her income went up her nose. She tried hard to stop with the toot but kept falling back.”
“But how much do a couple of plane tickets cost?”
“Think, buddy! They had no ID. You try crossing borders without good ID, you’re gonna get nailed.”
“How did they get into Canada then?”
“They never said.”
“Did they say where they crossed the border?”
“Not that I remember, but I got the impression it was someplace in the middle of nowhere.”
“And they arrived in Toronto in...” I led.
Donna again. “Musta been the end of November. We’d had that big dump of snow the night before. Right?”
Shelley thought for a second. “November twenty-first.”
“What can you tell me about the way Maggie and Olivia got on?”
“Even when she was real strung out, Maggie looked after the kid.”
“Yeah, there was some weird bond between those two,” Donna added. “They were so different. Olivia hardly said boo, but you couldn’t shut Maggie up, especially when she was high.”
“Olivia never did any drugs?” I asked.
“Not that I saw. She was like a mouse most of the time. She’d sing along with the radio if she didn’t think anyone was listening. She did have a real nice voice. Sort of gave me the shivers, though, when she sang. It felt like she was crawling around inside my head.”
I pushed my plate away. My stomach felt like I’d swallowed a bowling ball. “So Maggie worked at home most of the time. Did she ever have any trouble?”
“Once or twice a client tried to get a little rough, but she could handle herself. She kept a knife between the mattress and the box-spring. Knew how to handle it, too.”
A rare flash of inspiration hit me. “Did she also carry a knife on her when she went out?”
“She would have been stupid not to, considering she did outcalls. Yeah, she had a sweet little switchblade. Got it from a punk on Yonge Street.”
“In her handbag or on her person?”
Donna guffawed. “You sound just like a cop when you say that. Cops get a hard-on saying things like ‘on her person’.”
“In a sheath she’d sewn on the inside of her boot,” Shelley answered.
How had Maggie been strangled with no struggle if she had a knife and apparently knew how to use it? Or had she hurt someone, and we didn’t know? I’d certainly heard nothing about a knife from the cops.
“So the cops haven’t talked to you?”
“The cops don’t even know we exist. So far, neither of us has been busted in this town, and we want to keep it that way.”
It was getting late, and the conversation had meandered several times into long discourses on the problems of sex trade workers – as both ladies called themselves. That’s when I’d suggested a bite at Fran’s, hoping it would focus our discussion.
Shannon O’Brien would have been much better handling this. Maybe I could get Shelley and Donna to talk to her. Obviously, some of the information had to get to the police, and she would know the best way to do that.
Donna ordered a refill on her Coke. Shelley looked like she was ready to split.
“You said when we were down at the Salamander that you knew something the cops didn’t, and you wanted to tell me. What is it?”
Shelley said, “First, you can’t tell no one where you heard this. I don’t want some whack job coming after us. And I don’t trust the cops as far as I can throw them. Not even the lady cops. They’re sometimes worse than the men.”
“Believe me, I am honoured that you came to me. My lips are sealed.”
Donna giggled. “Ain’t you the gallant?”
Shelley frowned. This time it was directed at me. “The night before she was murdered, she came to the bar I was working. Fortunately I wasn’t occupied. She was in a real state. Olivia had called. Somebody had found her and taken her away. I didn’t know what the hell Maggie was babbling about, and she seemed really wasted to me.”
“Did Maggie say when Olivia called?”
“I don’t know. Sometime that afternoon, I think.”
“And you?” I asked, indicating Donna.
“I was occupied, so I didn’t see her.”
“Did Maggie say anything else?”
“Only something about if they’d got Olivia, they’d be coming after her because she knew too much.”
“About what?”
“How the hell should I know? She was almost incoherent. Said she wasn’t going home, that she had someone who could help her. I guess she meant you.”
“Did she mention my name?”
Shelley raised an eyebrow comically. “Not unless you can think of another ‘asshole drummer’ she knew.”
That figured. “Was there anything else?”
“Only that if something happened to her, we should make sure you knew to go after some guy named Sonny Vale.”
***
Shannon woke up feeling as if she’d gotten hit over the head with something hard and heavy. Her brain was throbbing, and her eyes felt as if someone had thrown a handful of dirt in each.
It had been a long, tough night, after a long tough day. Following her call from Jackie, she’d called the number Ellen Stein had supplied.
The phone rang three times, and a woman answered. “Hello?”
“May I speak to Joseph Menotti, please?”
“I’ll see if he’s free.”
Her hand muffled the phone, but Shannon could hear talking. “Who’s calling?”
“My name is Shannon O’Brien. I was told to call after nine.”
A male voice came on the line. “What can I do for you?”
“Good evening, Mr. Menotti. I really appreciate you agreeing to talk with me. Did Ellen Stein give you any background?”
“Call me Joe. She said you wanted to talk about Maxine St. James.”
“That’s right.” Shannon wrote the date and time on a fresh page in her notebook. “In what context do you know her, Joe?”
“We started our careers at the same law firm.”
“And that was?”
“Nineteen years ago. The firm was Holden Westerman.”
“Can you describe Maxine St. James for me?”
“Her name was Kingman in those days. Let’s see...more ambitious than any two people I know – and I know some pretty ambitious people – smart, good legal instincts, quick to adapt. That woman could turn on a dime. Have you met her?”
“This afternoon.”
“Then you also know how beautiful she is. Maxine did not hesitate to trade on that in order to get ahead. When we started out, the salary was not all that great. You know, you’ve got to get an apartment, nice clothes, things like that. Well, I think she spent half her salary on clothes the first year – not frivolously either. She dressed to be noticed at all times. It was pure class, but you were also very aware she was a woman. Do you know what I’m trying to say?”
“Yes, I do.”
“She could also deliver the goods. Pretty early on, old man Holden put her on the St. James account as a junior, doing the things requiring legwork, nothing glamourous, but she made the most of the opportunity. Within a year she was the go-to person for anything to do with St. James.”
“Ellen told me she thought Maxine had been having an affair with Bernard St. James. Did she get that from you?”
Menotti laughed. “That’s a journalist for you. All I told her was that they would meet together a fair bit, more than you might expect. Although as history proved, they got married awfully quickly after the death of his first wife.”
Now came the meat and potatoes of the interview. “I’m going to make some statements, and I’d like you to agree or disagree with them. I’d also like you to elaborate if you’d care to.”
“Or refuse to answer. Tell me something, Ms O’Brien, do you have any legal training?”
“Only what you’d get to become a cop. That’s what I did before I went out on my own. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, what you’re suggesting is a pretty interesting tactic, that’s all.”
Reading between the lines, Shannon knew that Joe wanted her to know that he was no fool. She’d have to handle this just right.
“Your questions?” he prompted.
“Maxine would do whatever it takes in order to get what she wants.”
No hesitation. “Yes.”
“Even if that might involve operating in grey areas of the law.”
“Possibly.”
“No elaboration?”
“No.”
“People were surprised when she married Bernard St. James.”
“Not many.”
“She changed after she married him.”
“She hardened. She left the law firm immediately, of course. Bernard would never allow a wife of his to work.”
“And did it surprise you that she acquiesced?”
Menotti laughed again. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I didn’t know private eyes used words like ‘acquiesced’.”
“I grew up with my nose in books. I was planning on being a librarian at one time,” she shot back with amusement.
“Touché! To answer your question, I don’t think Maxine stopped working. She was more involved than ever in the St. James fortune.”
“To the point where she might have been calling the shots?”
“You have to understand that I wasn’t involved in anything to do with the St. James account. I’m only aware of things through hearsay.”
“Good hearsay?”
“I’d say so. In any event, nobody ordered Bernard St. James to do anything. He had a very commanding personality.”
“Even after he became ill?”
“Maybe he backed off a bit then. Maxine certainly would have been the one to turn to in that case.”
“Another statement: Maxine has handled the family fortunes well since the death of her husband.”
“Yes.”
“Do you think close family members would have gotten in her way?”
Menotti thought for a moment. “Are you speaking of the son or the daughter?”
“Let’s say both.”
“Strike the daughter off. From all I’ve heard, she’s a flake. As for the unfortunate son, I met him once or twice at functions. He seemed capable enough.”
“Better than his stepmother?”
“I’d have to say no, but he was young when he died so tragically. No telling what he might have become. But to respond to your question, he would certainly have given Maxine trouble. His father had groomed him to take over.”
“Do you have any knowledge of the contents of Bernard St. James’s will?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t tell you. Next?”
Shannon got that little message loud and clear. “Maxine made out awfully well in the way things turned out. Maybe too well.”
Again silence, then, “Possibly.”
“Maxine might have had something to do with the murder of her stepson.”
“I won’t respond to that.”
“She could have had something to do with the death of Lydia St. James.”
“That’s really stretching, Ms O’Brien. I find it surprising you want to go there.”
“Okay. She had something to do with the institutionalizing of her stepdaughter.”
“Of course she did. That’s common knowledge.”
“But she might have manipulated the situation.”
“I told you, the daughter is a flake. I don’t think anything would have to be manipulated. Has someone told you that might be the case?”
“My client thinks so.”
“And that client has met her?”
“Olivia St. James had been singing with a jazz trio for several months in Toronto until last week.”
“What?”
“That’s the same response I’ve gotten from everybody,” Shannon said. “I find that interesting, don’t you?”
Menotti’s response was thoughtful. “Very.”
“Would it surprise you that Maxine St. James insists that her stepdaughter’s condition is no better than it was when she was institutionalized six years ago?”
“In the face of the previous statement? Yes and no.”
“Yes and no?”
“The yes is obvious. But the no side of the equation... You’ve insinuated a few things, Ms O’Brien, that I find very disturbing. If what you’re saying has any basis in truth, then these are very serious charges indeed. Did you voice any of this to Mrs. St. James today?”
“Not really. But as it turns out, she has already made some moves against me.”
“That is very telling. What are you going to do next?”
“I’m going to be careful.”
Menotti laughed. “I’ll bet you are. And I think that’s wise.”
“I just want to go back for one more statement: you only knew Maxine Kingman through work.”
“Stein didn’t mention anything to you?”
“No. Why?”
“Because I was engaged to Maxine for three months. She called it off, then about a year later, she was married to Bernard St. James.” He yawned. “It’s getting late. Is that it?”
“If you had to tell me one more thing about Maxine St. James, what would it be?”
“Watch your step.”
Sitting in a booth in the airport’s coffee shop, Shannon was faced with a conundrum.
Her brain told her that the next logical step for her to take would be to go to Florida to talk to the cops down there about the St. James murder. What she might find out could solidify some of the suppositions she was forming.
But after her lengthy conversation with Jackie the previous evening, she felt she also needed to pay attention to what was going on in California. Maybe her next move should be out there.
Overriding all of this were several things needing her attention back in Toronto. If she was going to California or Florida, they had to be taken care of that day.
Looking at her watch while she emptied her coffee cup, she saw she’d have just enough time to call Andy Curran before her flight back to Toronto. She definitely needed to talk to him face to face before the end of the day.
It wasn’t even eight o’clock yet. Curran had played the previous evening and probably hadn’t gotten home until after two at the earliest. She hated to bother him.
Her worst fears were confirmed when the phone rang five times before a very groggy voice croaked, “Hello?”
“Give me a minute.” He was as good as his word and sounded more together when he came on the line again. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m still in New York. I need a little guidance.”
“Have you had any luck?”
“Quite a bit, but I don’t have time to go into it now. Will you be home this afternoon? We need to talk.”
“I’ll be home. I’ve got a couple of students late in the afternoon.”
“Good. I’m going to drop by and lay everything out for you. I’ll call first. Gotta run. Bye.”
Westchester County is a tiny airport, and the plane that day was one of those little puddle-jumpers. She put the flight to good use, writing up all her notes on the laptop, which helped her organize her thoughts. So focussed was she on this task that she didn’t have time to be anxious about being up in the air.
Once the plane had landed, she called home to let her mom know she’d be around for dinner, then headed to her office.
Traffic was a bit heavier than she’d hoped, so she didn’t pull in at the headquarters of O’Brien Investigates until nearly eleven thirty. Flashing past Janet’s desk with a wave, she dropped into her seat and picked up the phone in one movement.
The line rang twice before Jackie picked up. “You’re late,” she said cheekily.
Shannon looked to the heavens for strength.“I just got in from New York. Traffic was murder.”
“And?”
“If I could be assured that it would be useful, would you be willing to go into Sunnyvale to check up on Olivia?”
“Yes.”
“That’s pretty definite.”
“I’ve been thinking about it, too. I can’t come up with any other way to make sure she’s okay. Doesn’t sound as if they or her stepmother would throw the doors open wide, and going through the courts would take too long. Let’s do it.”
“Not so fast. This has to be planned out. I’m going to catch a flight out tomorrow and also bring in some local help.”