Chasing Suspect Three

by Rod Hoisington

  “Here we go again. It might have been only one. What did she say about me?”

  “You smell good in bed.”

  “A lucky guess.”

  “It’s not funny.”

  The waitress appeared and hovered politely while Sandy finally picked up the menu. They had eaten there a few times before, but that night the menu might as well be printed upside down, it made no sense to her at all. “Just tell me your special...never mind...I’ll take it.”

  The server started explaining the special.

  “I said I’d take it,” Sandy snapped.

  He waited until the waitress went away. “Sandy! What’s with you?”

  “You say you didn’t consummate the relationship?”

  “Consummate? What are you a lawyer or something? We never consummated, because I never instigated.” He leaned across the table and spoke slowly, “I want to say one thing to you and to the American people. I did not have sexual relations with that woman.” He waited in vain for her to at least smile. “Okay, now that you have me thinking back on it, we went out for drinks the first date, as I recall. At first, I thought she was interesting. At some point, I realized she was narcissistic, controlling, and a possible nutcase. A good rule is to never sleep with anyone more neurotic than you are.”

  “It takes a few nights to determine that, I suppose.”

  “Nights?”

  “I meant dates.”

  “As I recall, she was in a Defensive Driving class I was conducting. We went out for drinks one night after class. So, that’s one date, if you want to call it even that.”

  “How many nights did the class meet?”

  “Five.”

  “So, you also saw her five times in class.”

  “You are becoming tiresome.” He angrily snapped off a piece of breadstick in the corner of his mouth. “What else can I tell you? Where are you getting your information?”

  “I can’t believe I’m acting like a schoolgirl.” She was afraid to mention the diary. “I’m too upset to continue here.” She placed her napkin on the table and stood. “I must sort out things in my mind. Give me time, Chip.” She turned to leave.

  He stood and called after her, “And where does the fact, I love you, come in?” She kept walking, and all heads turned as he slammed his napkin down on the table knocking over his water glass.

  Chapter Eleven

  After a restless night, Sandy phoned Chip first thing. He wasn’t answering. Served her right for her childish behavior at the restaurant. She absolutely must get back in control of her emotions. She left a contrite message and went to the office. Stay busy and forget him for the day. She was already at her desk when Martin came in and set a huge container of takeout coffee before her.

  “You’re spoiling me. I asked for a small black. You got me one of those Super Duper Latte Deluxe jobs.” Although she preferred the solid taste of unadulterated black coffee, it was sweet of him to keep bringing her the jazzed-up creation. Almost like some love offering. He’d be embarrassed to hear it described that way.

  “Can we talk?” She took a sip and decided the fancy latte wasn’t all bad. “My first big defense case isn’t going the way I had hoped.”

  He carefully took the top off his hot coffee and sat down in front of her desk. “You wanted the drama of an innocent client unjustly accused and you riding to the rescue.”

  “Don’t quite have that, do I? Wife shoots philandering husband—pretty much ho-hum stuff. The trial won’t even make the evening news. If I could get the charge reduced, and then show a bunch of justification, maybe the jury would be sympathetic.”

  “Was she abused? Now there’s a common defense. Then the jury gives her a medal for shooting him.”

  “No abuse and I can’t just make things up. I don’t even know what justification I could use. Their relationship hit the rocks, but it sounded like the ordinary antagonism that goes with a separation.”

  “Except hubby took a shot at her a couple of hours earlier,” he said.

  “Good point, the prosecution will make him out to be a threat to her—a hot-headed Latin with access to a gun.” She thought about her last remark. “You know, he has no hot-headed history. In fact, he was doing his thing in Miami and pretty much ignoring her. Why all of a sudden did he turn on her and try to kill her?”

  “My guess it was over money. Since they were divorcing, it might have something to do with some settlement they were discussing. He didn’t like what she was demanding, or vice versa.”

  “Could be.”

  “Or perhaps he wasn’t the one who fired at her at the Community Center, and it has nothing to do with the divorce. Who else wanted Margo dead? For that matter, who else wanted John dead? He worked in Miami. Maybe he crossed someone down there.”

  “The prosecution will maintain it had everything to do with the divorce. The court sent me a notice our case is going to the grand jury tomorrow. We don’t know what evidence Shapiro will be presenting. Of course, her attorney isn’t permitted to attend. However, I’m certain they’re going for the usual spousal domestic violence. I wonder how they know it was Margo who shot him at his condo? I would love to have the evidence come down to merely circumstantial.”

  “Even then she’d still be indicted tomorrow,” he said. “Prosecutors usually get their way with grand juries.”

  “Nevertheless, the case might not be that simple. Margo didn’t seem all that upset with him. She just moved out and took a new boyfriend. Of course, she’s a bit of a doormat.” She gave him a sly smile. “Could it be a love triangle? Maybe Richie pulled the trigger.”

  “Ah, the boyfriend,” he replied. “A woman uses sex to get her boyfriend to knock off her husband. Wait until Hollywood hears about that.”

  “Richie does seem right for this, a shady character with no past.”

  “He’s beyond shady. He doesn’t even cast a shadow. I couldn’t find anything on him. The only Richie Grant in existence is the reality show star and he’s filming a segment in Bora Bora. What do the police say about him?” he asked.

  “I haven’t mentioned his name to them. Somehow, I thought I’d do my checking first without getting him all excited and going to a lawyer. Claudia knows him, but claims she doesn’t know where he lives and hasn’t seen him lately. I’m debating whether I should tell Shapiro about Richie, so they can start looking for him. They have much better resources including the FBI.”

  Someone calling out from the office front door interrupted them. The wrong time for the mail carrier. She walked down the hall and saw a young man in a green uniform step in and close the door behind him. He held a small padded envelope in one hand and a clipboard in the other. “Delivery, package for Sandy Reid...needs a signature.”

  “That’s me, but I’m not expecting anything.” She signed and took the small package. “No return address on here. Who’s it from?”

  The man shuffled through his papers. “Just says our office downtown. Someone left it there for local delivery.” The man turned and left.

  Martin walked over. “You want me to open it?”

  “As long as it’s not full of white powder.”

  He torn the perforated tab from the package and opened the envelope. He pulled out half-inch thick bundles of crisp one hundred-dollar bills. He counted the bundles. “A normal wrapper holds one hundred bills. I’d say you have ten thousand dollars here.”

  She hurried and opened the front door and looked out at the street. “Delivery guy’s gone. Geez Louise, that’s my retainer—part of it anyway, and I told her no cash.” She picked up and held a bundle in each hand as though guessing the weight. “Cash is a lot of fun, isn’t it?”

  “I’ll put it in the office safe.”

  “I wanted a check from her. Imagine the bills I could pay with this. My part in helping out the economy is overdue.”

  “Why don’t I go over to the office of the delivery service and see if I can find out who sent it.”

  “Good. They must
have a name, and get a description of whoever left it there. It’s probably Richie. I’m going back out to the jail. Margo has some explaining to do.”

  “This isn’t street money, Sandy, if that’s what you’re thinking. This isn’t old beat up bills. This money came fresh from a bank. Look at the wrappers.”

  Chapter Twelve

  On the drive out to the county jail that afternoon, Sandy recognized one of her most dreaded feelings. The feeling she was losing control. Not good for someone who functioned on a gutsy personality. She understood that most of the world never would be under her control. That was fine. She didn’t have to be in charge of everything as long as she felt in charge of herself and in charge of her own destiny. When at times she felt out of control, she had to remind herself to just relax, have faith in herself and her abilities. Let things work out for themselves. Let go a little and let life happen.

  She knew that Margo lacked self-confidence. Other people had always given her directions; she probably hadn’t made any major life decision herself. Whoever had been in her head lately wasn’t giving her good directions. Now she was isolated in jail, she was lost, and she wasn’t following Sandy’s lead.

  Sandy had enough. This wasn’t one of those times to relax and let things happen. Margo was out of control, and Sandy didn’t intend to be taken down with her. Either Margo starts following orders, is honest and helpful, or she can shove it. The money and career boost would be nice; nevertheless, Sandy just couldn’t operate this way.

  After checking in at the jail processing area, she found Margo waiting in the same small conference room. She got right to it. “Margo, I don’t think you realize I may be the only thing standing between you and a lot of hard time.” She paused to let the words sink in. “Now I don’t care if after this case is over, you intentionally destroy your life. But as long as I’m defending you, I’m demanding your truthfulness and cooperation.” She raised her voice, “You must start doing what I tell you.”

  Margo’s mouth was half open, and she appeared shaken by the words. She looked away from Sandy, down at her hands.

  “And stop that dumb act of yours, it’s pissing me off. Look at me! You have to be absolutely open with me. You need to tell me about all of your actions before and after the time of the murder. I must know exactly what happened.” She received a look that made her wonder if Margo was getting any of this. “The prosecution will parse every syllable I utter in the courtroom for some discrepancy. They’ll latch on to any little inconsistency and twist it into a lie. If the jury gets the idea you’re lying, you’re dead.”

  Was there any chance this was getting through to her?

  “For example, why didn’t you tell me you received a text from John the night of the murder?”

  “I don’t remember anything like that.”

  “You’re still playing with fire.” She took a folder from her briefcase. “The police have your phone. I’ll read you the text you received from John, ‘I missed you tonight, but you might as well start squirming now because I’m really going to nail you next time.’ Do you remember the text now?”

  “Are they allowed to nose around in my private affairs like that?”

  “The moment those cuffs clicked on, you no longer had any private affairs. Everything in your life suddenly became public. If you stay in jail very long, your dignity and self-respect also are at risk. Think about people walking passed your cell and looking in at you as if you’re some caged animal.” Sandy put on an exaggerated frown. “Tomorrow the assistant state attorney is going to tell a grand jury that you should stand trial. For one thing, he will read that text message and claim it made you so angry you charged over and shot John before he could shoot you.”

  Margo was quiet for a long moment and Sandy started thinking perhaps what she had said was actually sinking in.

  Then Margo said, “Oh, that text, it wasn’t from John, Richie sent it.”

  “Richie!”

  “Trying to be sexy. He gets a little horny sometimes. Bless his heart.”

  Sandy reread the text using the new horny assumption and raised her eyebrows. “Oh, that’s cute.” She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She wagged her finger at Margo. “Don’t lie and embarrass me again.” Was there no end to this woman’s deception? “Geez, what an explanation. If you’re lying to me, if John did send the text, the police will find a record of sending it on his phone. What can you tell me about his phone? Do you think the cops have it already?”

  “Lots of luck with that. The consulate has an assortment of phones. Some work in South America, some in Europe, some here, some everywhere. To hear him describe it, he just reaches in the bin and pulls one out.”

  “At least that’s good news.” Even if they traced the number to one of the consulate phones, she’d still make them prove in court that John sent it. She smiled to herself; she’d use the ridiculous explanation with a straight face. Let them laugh. It would be up to them to disprove it. “What about Richie’s number? If he sent it, a record should be on his phone.”

  “The cops have my phone. I think his number is in the directory.”

  “I don’t know what to believe from you. Do you realize they could take you out of here and put you in a real hard-core prison for the rest of your life?”

  “If I ever get out of this place, I’m never coming back. Never, never, never. Now you remember that.”

  “If you don’t like it here, then start helping me.”

  “Did you get the money?”

  “That’s another thing. I told you I didn’t want cash. The cash you had delivered does me no good.”

  “Then give it back.” Margo chuckled. “No really, just put it in the bank.”

  “I don’t do highly suspicious things like spilling out ten grand at a bank teller’s window. No one uses cash anymore. Where did it come from?”

  “I’ll have to think. Oh, I believe Richie sold his car. I told him I needed the money. He’d do anything for me.”

  “That’s not good enough.” In fact, Sandy thought it was a fairly reasonable explanation. “Okay. Tell Richie I want proof he ever owned the car and proof he sold it—old title, names, something written. You know, I’m not sure your word means anything to me anymore. If you’ve passed off drug money to me, my professional reputation could be tarnished forever.”

  “Well, I’ll tell him, but deals aren’t nice and neat in his world.”

  “This is the way I intend to stay out of his world. As it stands now, you haven’t paid me. Get me a check for ten grand, and you can take the cash back. You’ve got one more chance.”

  “Be fair. I can’t run around and scrape up the money any other way right now. I’m stuck in here. Richie is a life saver. I don’t want to piss him off.”

  Sandy was now at the point where everything the woman said sounded like a lie, “Margo, you’re still blocking me. I’ve had it with you. I’m giving you twenty-four hours to produce Richie.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ll expect him to show up at my office before five tomorrow afternoon, or I’m notifying the court that I’m no longer representing you. You’ll have lost a damn good lawyer, and can sit in jail and rot. Got it?” She gathered up her papers and left without saying another word to the woman.

  She sat parked at the jail a few minutes to settle down and then phoned Martin to see if there was any more bad news. “I just left Margo at the jail. I gave her an ultimatum. She promised to have Richie show up at our office tomorrow. Don’t hold your breath.”

  “I’ve something new for you,” he said. “You’re not driving are you?”

  “Why, is it going to shock me off the road?”

  “No, I just didn’t want you driving while using your phone.”

  “Go ahead, Nanny, what do you have?”

  “I checked at the office of the delivery service. It’s a local company that has boys on bikes running items around the city. The package was left for delivery by some dark haired woman, medium height, thirty or so, sungla
sses and a scarf.”

  “Name and address?”

  “Phony and phony”

  “An unidentified woman just leaves ten thousand in an envelope and walks away? That has to be drug money. That’s one of Richie’s disguised associates. Who wears sunglasses and a scarf in Florida?”

  “Cheating wives and Russian spies.”

  She pulled out of the jail parking lot and headed back to the office not believing for one minute that Margo would suddenly begin cooperating. She had wanted to talk with this Richie before the police came down on him and spooked him into silence, no chance of that now. Let the cops locate the guy. She’d wait about arguing it was Richie who left a horny message, not John leaving a threat. Shapiro would laugh her out of his office over that one. She’d wait and bring it up, when all this got to a plea bargain stage.

  Three miles down the road, she saw traffic backed up at a light. As she slowed she intuitively glanced in the rear view mirror to be certain the driver behind was alert to the slowing traffic. The dark blue sedan that had been behind her had pulled off to the side of the road.

  The sedan would have been completely erased from her mind except a few minutes later she noticed it had passed enough cars to again be two cars behind her. And that’s where it stayed, in spite of her speeding up, slowing down, and changing lanes. She was now approaching Park Beach city limits. The police station was on a parallel street only five blocks away.

  When she made the second turn toward the police station, the sedan turned off the opposite way. When it was out of sight, she made a fast U-turn and went after it. Perhaps she could get close enough to snap the tag with her smartphone. When she caught up, the sedan slowed down and pulled to the curb. She also pulled over and waited. The driver got out and looked back at her. He was tall, slender, wore dark sunglasses, and looked exceedingly normal in his dark business suit.