“Are you hinting about my love life? Since you brought up the subject, what are we going to do about your love life? Some female friend I am...Let me think.”
“I’m not looking for a set up. I’ve always done all right.”
“Not counting the last one who is now in prison.” She couldn’t resist.
“Dating murderers doesn’t count. I never mention them on my dating site.” Unconsciously, he tugged at his collar. “You know those two police reports faxed to me yesterday? I requested the first one on the murder. Judy Naegler sent over the second one unsolicited. I didn’t even know about the Community Center shooting. Until then, we were totally unaware of the related incident.”
“Judy? You mean the pretty crime analyst you had a secret interest in? What are you doing here? Trot over there and give her a big thank you on the lips.”
“My interest is no secret to her, she’s aware of it. I botched up the first meeting. I intend to be Mr. Cool this time.” He gave her a sly smile. “Hey, look who is giving out advice to the lovelorn.”
“Touché, yet it’s not that bad. We’re still seeing each other.”
“Seeing each other as in bringing in the morning coffee, or seeing each other at the supermarket?”
“Perhaps things are a little strained. He’s been busy. I’ve been busy.”
“I don’t like to see you upset. Want to talk about it?”
The compassionate look on his face was an invitation to confess her concern. “Chip used to date the victim’s sister. He hadn’t seen her in years, he claims. Then he met with her for coffee earlier on the night of the murder. Got that?” She raised both hands and rapidly ran her fingers through her hair. “He met with her again.”
“All right, I’ve got it. Settle down. Where does this sister live?”
“Now she’s back in his life.” Her voice was rising.
“Relax. Does she live in Park Beach?”
“Right back into his damn life.”
“Probably lives in Park Beach,” he mumbled. She wasn’t looking at him. He didn’t know where she was, but it was somewhere else.
“Why the hell did he feel obligated to see her again?”
“Why the hell, indeed. Didn’t see her for years.”
“Yeah, you’re right, Martin.” Her eyes had been staring at the wall behind him. Now she looked directly at him. “Didn’t see her for years. I was just thinking that.”
“What’s that all about?” he said, just to be going along with her.
“Yeah, what’s that all about?” She shrugged her shoulders. “He met with this Claudia last Tuesday night. Supposedly, just for coffee. Chip said he agreed to meet her, because she claimed she wanted to return a book of Emily Dickinson poetry he had once given her. Obviously, a maneuver to see him again.”
“Obviously.” He now had a thoughtful look on his face. “Emily Dickinson, huh. For a nineteenth-century poet, she penned some pretty spicy stuff depending on how you interpret her metaphors. She wrote a great one that started, ‘Wild nights, wild nights. Were I with thee, wild nights should be our luxury.’”
“Martin! You know the poem. That’s the one.” She was almost bouncing “That was my favorite.”
“That poem was scandalous in Boston in the late 1890’s. I believe her genius was in describing the mysteries of passion in a very few words. Some suspect dear Emily wasn’t the virginal recluse everyone thought her to be.”
“Okay, stop composing her biography, and recite the rest of it. Do you remember?”
His eyes went up in thought and his lips silently mouthed the first stanza again. He shrugged. “Perhaps it’ll come back to me.”
“My guess is you loved poems as a youth, probably wrote a few.”
“I would read poem after poem thinking why do other people love this, and I just don’t get it? In time, I began to understand and did get it.” He hesitated, thinking. “For some reason, romantic poems take me back to a girl I never actually met. I was in the sixth grade and madly in puppy-love with her. She wasn’t in any of my classes. I’d look for her every day at recess. Long brown-haired Lisa. I would compose poems to her. I was endlessly preparing myself to speak to her, when unexpectedly she was gone. Moved away I suppose. I haven’t thought about her in years. You never know which moments you’ll remember forever.”
She let him watch Lisa playing in the schoolyard for a few more moments, then said, “Meanwhile, back on earth, we have Claudia calling Chip to return a book he says he never gave her. Does all that sound innocent to you?”
“No, it doesn’t. It’s normal for you to be upset, since an old flame came back into his life. It’s not normal for you to go all senseless over it. What does Chip say?”
Martin was on her side, as usual, and that was good. He obviously believed her emotional upset was justified. What would he think if he knew about the racy diary? “Chip claims the meeting was nothing but a bother. He dumped her long ago and has no interest in her now.”
“Your concern is justified. Nevertheless, you shouldn’t cut off Chip, until he proves untrustworthy. Innocent until proven guilty, remember?” He tapped the side of his head with his index finger. “Back up. You said he met with her for coffee on the night of the murder. I think the point isn’t that he met with her, but rather when he met with her.”
“Not for me it isn’t. And Chip didn’t seem concerned about the timing.”
“Why do I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me? Are you suggesting the meeting might indicate his involvement somehow in the murder?”
She shook her head at the ridiculous thought.
“Well, something else is going on here. You can’t discuss it with me?”
She couldn’t discuss the diary with anyone. Could she?
“Something to do with Chip and the book of poems?”
He was getting too close. She couldn’t just change the subject. It would help to discuss it. “The book she gave to Chip wasn’t a book of poems. It was her sexy diary cleverly hidden under the dust cover from a book of poems.”
“Sexy diary, you say?”
“Actually an erotic diary.”
“Erotic diary?” he questioned. “Am I too young to hear about it?”
“More like a pornographic diary. To tell the truth, I don’t know the difference.”
“If something turns me on, it’s erotic. If it turns other people on, it’s pornographic,” he said.
“You rascal. Are you taking this seriously?”
“I’m not going to get upset over what other people look at. Although, giving the diary to Chip does sound rather sleazy. What did he think of it?”
“He threw it away without ever looking at it.”
“That’s what you should do. Throw it out of your mind. It's not worth worrying about. Whether she wanted to entice him or annoy him, she failed.”
“You brush the entire thing away just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “And here I was worked up over nothing more than my lover possibly taking part in record-setting sex with another woman. What if she was writing about Chip in the diary?”
“Probably was entirely made up. Forget about it.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“From a man’s point of view, if I were interested in the woman, I would not throw it away. Chip threw it away. Next question.”
“I suppose Chip might also feel that way.” She gave a little shrug. “I guess that takes care of my overpowering suspicions.”
“You’re welcome.” He pushed the papers on his desk aside. “Now what about Margo Larena and your murder case?”
“There are happenings in this case I normally would discuss with Chip. Can’t now because it’s privileged communication.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“But you have no immunity from questioning either. If they asked you, legally you’d have to tell them I broke the rules by telling you things my client told me.”
“You never told me a thing. I kn
ow nothing.”
“I know you’re joking. I’d never put you in such an awkward position. I guess I’ll just consult with myself.”
“Perhaps you could simply tell me how you feel about the progress of the case without essentially revealing anything discussed with your client.”
“You mean just walk a hypothetical high wire between two buildings. What if I took you on as co-counsel on this case? Then there would be no client-privilege violations, and our discussions would be legal.”
“This is your big case, your first murder defense.”
“We could do it together, unless you just don’t want to be drawn into the dirty business of murder.”
“No, I want to help you without being co-counsel. I want it to be all yours. You’re the woman with the criminal mind, so to speak, and when you come out of this successfully, the glory will be all yours. There must be ways I can help you short of getting blood all over my clothes.”
“Maybe so, I’ll hold down the direct comments made by my client, and we’ll maintain the fiction of observing attorney-client privilege. Of course, this means occasional trips over to the police department for you and long talks with Judy Naegler while gazing deeply into her eyes.”
“Well, since you put it that way, consider me in. So what’s going on?”
“All we know for certain is in the two police reports. The story out of Margo’s mouth varies each time she tells it. With her the truth flickers on and off like a cheap neon sign. Basically, she was at the Community Center at seven, and someone fired at her hitting her car. Later that night, her husband is found dead in his condo across town.”
“What do you mean, someone fired? The police report has her telling the police it was John.”
“Why do clients always remember the wrong things? I don’t want it to be John. I convinced her she was uncertain, that she just assumed it was him. I want it to be an unknown assailant. The police are thinking, he fires at her, she gets mad, drives to his place, and offs him. If she’s not certain, and it’s an unknown assailant, it weakens that motive.”
“Who’s on the case?”
“You know them. Mel Shapiro is the ASA in charge of the prosecution. The assigned detective is Eddy Jaworski. I’m going over to the courthouse now and try to start up some communications with Shapiro. If you want, would you see what you can find out on her boyfriend, Richie Grant? Same name as the reality-show star.”
“Never heard of him.”
“Me neither.”
She knew that the police could find out about him much faster. The computer in Chip’s vehicle could access the Florida Department of Law Enforcement database and all manner of restricted information. In the past, Chip hadn’t hesitated to stretch departmental rules and run name and background searches for her. Something told her the present case was too sensitive to even ask him.
She said, “One way of checking up on this Richie would be to simply tell Jaworski the boyfriend was implicated, and let the authorities chase after him. The problem is they just might not be willing to share all they find out. No, I don’t want to let them know about the existence of Richie Grant until I can talk with him. At this point, they know she has a boyfriend but don’t know his name. If they knew his name, they’d come down on him, and he’d lawyer up.”
“I understand. What’s his address? What do I have to start with?”
“I just gave you all we have to start with—his name. He’s Margo Larena’s boyfriend. To hear her tell it, he’s hot and sexy in the sack. Does that help?”
“That’s more information than I care to know.”
“You could start by walking over to the police station and thanking Judy for faxing over that extra report.”
“I doubt if she wants to see me.”
“She does. Don’t you get it? She tried to get your attention by faxing over that second police report. I think you owe her a lunch. Come on. Lock up the office and walk with me. It’s a beautiful day.”
They walked together for two short blocks then split up with him going straight on to the police department and her turning toward the courthouse.
They knew him around the police building and getting on the elevator to the second floor without a visitor’s pass bothered no one. Walking down the second floor hall, he spotted Judy Naegler in her cubicle, and a hot tingle went up his spine.
She came out to greet him smiling warmly. “You’ve been up here a couple of times since our last conversation, but you never came by to say hello.”
“I was avoiding you. I thought you were still mad at me. Today, I have a good excuse. I want to thank you for sending over that extra fax on the Community Center shooting.”
“And?”
“And to apologize for how my friend impolitely interrupted us in the lobby that day.”
“I misunderstood the situation and overreacted. I thought she was your girlfriend. I picked up the phone to call you a couple of times but couldn’t go through with it.”
“You thought about phoning me?” He was surprised at that. “No, she wasn’t my girlfriend, but we’ve known each other since grade school. I haven’t seen much of her since her husband died. I suppose I should go out there and see how she’s doing. The three of us were buddies.”
“None of my business, but I’m curious. If she wasn’t your girlfriend, why were you intimate with her?”
“Never! I did my share of teenage lusting over her but never intimate...like you mean.”
“That’s not what Jaworski wrote in his report back then. When he walked around the house to her pool area, he saw you playing with her boobs.”
“Jaworski was mistaken. Don’t tell me all this going to start again.”
She couldn’t resist having fun with it. “I guess you could have been just trying to guess her weight.”
“She had just gotten out of the pool. We were sitting talking about old times. She had just lost her husband—my best friend. The three of us had grown up together. He wasn’t even buried yet. She took my hand and put it on her breast. She was flirting. I was consoling. She felt abandoned. I felt sorry for her and went along with it.”
“How very considerate of you.”
“Fine, so it’s not a secret around the police station,” he said. “I didn’t know it was out there for public consumption.”
“You’re right, it shouldn’t be, but it’s just too juicy.”
“Come on, I’m dying here. Give me a chance to tell you how it happened.”
“Tell me or show me?” she said with a straight face.
Then he grinned. “You have to be kidding.”
“I am. I’ve taken this far enough...I’ve had my fun.” She laughed and reached over and squeezed his arm. “There’s nothing to explain. You were two consenting adults in what was intended to be a private poolside setting. More power to you. She was lucky to have a caring friend such as you.”
He focused on her dark blue eyes and was lost in them for a few seconds. “Let’s start with lunch.”
She nodded okay. “Just remember to keep your hands to yourself.”
Chapter Eight
After watching Martin walk on toward the police station to make amends with Judy, Sandy continued on one short block to the county courthouse. She checked her watch. Shapiro had said to come on over during lunch hour—he had no appointments. She had no particular anxiety in meeting with the ASA. It was early in the case, and both sides were still gathering facts.
In the lobby, she kidded with the sheriff’s deputies as they cleared her through the security checkpoint. The elevators were straight ahead. A group of three men was already waiting at the elevator, talking and laughing. She stepped up and stood beside them. Then she saw him. One of the men was Lawrence Moran, the state attorney for the district.
The last time they met, she was standing contritely in his office being chewed out, while pleading for him to not try to take away her newly acquired law license. Later, she turned it all around on him by discoverin
g an embarrassing bit of his own malfeasance.
When the elevator door opened, she held back. Moran had not noticed her yet. He would as soon as she stepped out into full view. But the men waited for her. She could still turn and run. Screw him, she thought. What’s he going to do, yell and scream? She stepped boldly first onto the elevator. No one acknowledged her. The offices of the State Attorney, his assistants, and staff were on the third floor. The door opened, she stepped off briskly, and headed up the hall to the office of Mel Shapiro, one of the ASAs on the staff of State Attorney Moran.
She hadn’t crossed swords with Moran recently, but remained persona non grata in his large office suite down the hall in the opposite direction. She hadn’t pissed him off lately, as far as she knew, still the day wasn’t over. Before she went in Shapiro’s office, she looked over her shoulder down the hallway. The group of men was in the hall talking. Moran was standing at the side staring straight at her.
When she walked in, Shapiro stood behind his desk in his office and greeted her, “Ah, the good news is I’m going to see you more often. The bad is it’ll be in a courtroom.”
He was a gifted trial lawyer, and she wasn’t looking forward to going up against him. “Always nice to see you, Mel, wherever. How’s the bachelor father?”
He noticed her glancing over at the photo of the beautiful young girl on his credenza. “Did I show you her picture?”
“Not today.”
“She’s fine. Two more years to go up at Carolina State.”
“North or South? I forget.”
“I wish it were South Carolina State University, be easier for her to get down here more often. Happy and doing well—that’s the important thing. If you came to ask me to have a drink with you tonight, Sorry, I’m busy. I’ve been putting off rearranging my sock drawer.”
The slight blush just then on his face led her to believe he’d literally like to be in the place Chip Goddard presently filled in her life. She certainly wouldn’t mind him being there. He was tall and slender with old-fashioned horn-rimmed glasses that reminded her of her high school principal; except the principal had thin prissy lips, and Mel had...well, she wondered what it would be like if they were touching her. She did find him attractive and liked being around him, however she wasn’t looking beyond her relationship with Chip. She had never encouragd Mel, yet it was nice for her to think he was waiting around.
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