“Shapiro suddenly faced your defense of insurmountable reasonable doubt. What’s the problem? Start booking your vacation in Venice.”
“I took advantage of the moment to go back into court and get the charge reduced from first to second, and my client was released on bail.”
“Hooray for our side. I like that part.” Their orders arrived, and he raised his glass briefly in a toasting gesture.
She shook her head. “It all went to hell,” she continued. “I stumble in on the elusive boyfriend searching John’s condo. He shoots at me and later a deputy kills him. He carried no ID and his stolen car had Dade County plates. Jaworski immediately thought the guy was a Miami hood.”
“Her boyfriend a Miami hood? That makes no sense. How was Margo acquainted with such a person? What’s his name?”
“Richie Grant.” She shrugged. “Now Shapiro can claim the guy and my client were in it together. The boyfriend kills John, and they go after the money. Shapiro is now going for conspiracy to commit murder.”
“In Florida they’re considered equally guilty.”
“So, I got up yesterday morning expecting to come down to the courthouse, make my pitiful argument about why her bail shouldn’t be revoked, and watch her face as she realizes she’s going back to jail. She remarked once that, if she ever got out, she was never going back. I honestly never expected her to skip.”
“She was more of a hindrance than a help.”
“She’s a terrible client, Jerry. She’s uncooperative, lies to me, and doesn’t pay. I’m going to miss her.”
“You understand that with your client now a fugitive, you can withdraw as her attorney and go back to your peaceful life of staring out the office window. At this point, you don’t actually have to do one thing more. You can drop out right this instant. Not your problem.”
As they started in on their lunch, she said, “And leave everyone believing it was my fault, believing I lost control of a major case. Tomorrow’s headline is going to be ‘Murder suspect flees. Attorney declines comment. Film at eleven.’ She skips out and I get the attention as though I somehow broke the law. Followed by letters to the editor about how I’m hiding her because she’s guilty. Not the publicity I was going for.”
“This isn’t about the publicity. You’re upset because you can’t have your heart’s desire to win your first murder defense case and free your first client.” He put his soupspoon down and stroked his chin. “Do you know anything about this Richie Grant?”
“No.”
“Can you prove he was a member of the Salvadoran or Miami drug gang?”
“No.”
“Your first step is to prove he was the killer and part of the drug gang. Then you can worry about disconnecting Margo, which will get her out of the conspiracy charge.”
“How do I prove all that?”
“You investigate.”
“Law enforcement from all over South Florida is already doing just that.”
“Yes, but they can’t do what you can do.”
“Jerry, in spite of what you’ve heard, I can’t actually leap tall buildings with a single bound.”
“Picture yourself walking down the sidewalk in a large city, and you see a bum walking right toward you. You know he’s going to bother you and ask for something, probably money. What would you do?”
“No eye contact. Step around him. Keep on walking.”
“Of course, it’s easy. But Sandy Reid wouldn’t confront people straight on like that, if she wanted something. It’s not easy to step around Sandy Reid.”
“What would she do?”
“Your target is walking peacefully down the street and gradually senses that someone is in step beside him. He cautiously glances over and there is Sandy Reid walking step for step. Without stopping, she asks him for information. He speeds up and she speeds up. He slows and she slows. He can’t step around her. He has the feeling that whatever he does, he isn’t going to shake her. He’s stuck. It’s easier to give her what she wants.”
“So, I should ignore what all the forces of law enforcement are doing. Go to Miami myself. Do the Sandy Reid thing. Nose around. Locate people. Get on their side and walk along with them until they give me what I want. Where did you get all that?”
“From you. I’ve noticed that’s how you operate.”
“I guess so. I just need to get pumped up now and then.”
“Well, get yourself pumped up. And watch your back down there in Miami.”
She started to drain the remaining half of Bloody Mary, but he was watching. She took a dainty sip.
“I might not know enough to be helpful, but let’s take a look,” Kagan began. “I’ve always said look for the woman or look for the money. There’s no sex angle in this mess as far as I can tell.”
There was the Claudia and Chip sex angle. She wasn’t going to think about that. Aloud she said, “There might be a John, Margo, and Richie love triangle, with Richie shooting John so he could have Margo.”
“But he already had Margo. She was getting a divorce.”
“All right, we’ll forget the sex and follow the money. Margo might have known that John took off with the money. Maybe she found it. She knew he hid things in the freezer. Jaworski told me the crime scene crew found evidence of a leather bag in with the ice cubes. Yes, now I’m thinking Margo might have the money.”
“If she indeed has the money, it would explain why she’s so deceitful and hesitant to cooperate with you. She’s nervous and quirky because she’s afraid you’ll find out she’s sitting on the money. She’s more concerned with holding on to three hundred thousand dollars, than being accused of murder.”
“She did come up with ten grand cash for me overnight. She must have had a whole lot more if she peeled off ten grand for me so easily. Some woman we couldn’t identify had it delivered to our office.”
“And since Margo was in jail it had to be some other woman.”
“At the time, I was thinking Richie might have some gal around to do it for him. Later, I realized it could have been Claudia in disguise.” She saw him frown and explained, “Claudia Mertens, the victim’s sister.
“You haven’t told me about her. Why didn’t you suspect her immediately? We just said Margo has the money. That makes her the number one suspect. If Claudia gave you ten thousand, I would guess she got it from Margo. So, Claudia is another suspect.”
“That’s not a real good fit. True, Margo is Claudia’s sister-in-law, but they aren’t friendly. Still, Claudia is a businesswoman with resources of her own. I suppose it’s possible Margo pleaded with her to come up with ten thousand for me.”
“What’s Claudia’s story?”
“Definitely, a capable and calculating type of woman. She owns the Broadmoor Spa. About as stylish as you can get this side of Palm Beach. Lots of brains under lots of big-league blonde hair. Knows all the usual angles, plus a couple of new ones she invented for herself.” She told him how Claudia’s gun was involved.
She finished her lunch and pushed the plate away. “I told you Chip once dated her.” Once dated sounded so inoffensive to her, so vague, so harmless. “He met with Claudia for coffee at seven the evening of the murder.”
“Really? You’re the one who never liked coincidences.”
“I know it’s strange. She’s with a police detective on the same evening her brother is murdered. I’ve always considered that Margo, Claudia, and Richie all had the opportunity to commit the murder.”
“So, that makes dead Richie suspect number three. Wait a minute, back up. Did she call Chip for the meeting, or did he call her?”
“She called him, of course.” Sandy didn’t in fact know.
“Just as Claudia decides to go after Chip again, her brother is murdered. I don’t buy that. Why was he meeting an old girlfriend anyway?” he asked. “No wonder you seem upset with him. You actually don’t trust him, do you?”
“I trusted him before I got a look at her.” She meant it as a joke. K
agan probably took it as simple jealousy. She didn’t want to explain that the jealousy didn’t just come out of nowhere; the diary had set her off. “Claudia wanted to return something to him.” No need to explain further; she wasn’t there to seek emotional advice from him.
“So, Claudia planned that meeting, and she wanted it for seven that evening. Why? I don’t get it.” He paused to think. “She has coffee at seven, and the murder is in the middle of the night. As an alibi for the murder, it was lousy.”
“All she accomplished by meeting with Chip was to suddenly come out of the past and call attention to herself.”
“That’s what she wanted to do,” Kagan exclaimed. “Her meeting Chip at seven wasn’t an alibi for John’s murder. It was an alibi for Margo’s murder. She expected John to shoot Margo that evening at seven, and wanted to be with a police detective when it happened.”
She picked up on it, “John must have told Claudia he intended to shoot Margo. Or they planned the murder of Margo together, that might be it.” She sat back smiling. “Next question is why? She wasn’t blocking his divorce.” Then she smacked herself on the forehead with the palm of her hand. “The money!”
“Yes, follow the money. This definitely brings Claudia into all this. He used her gun. And her statement about the gun sounds phony. She didn’t know her gun was missing, really? Maybe John borrowed it, really? And didn’t tell her, really? It all sounds like the stuff I was always stepping in on my grandfather’s farm. She is more involved than you seem to think. Tag the murder on Claudia and your client walks.”
“I would dearly love to see Claudia in cold hard handcuffs instead of those soft pink ones she described in the—.” She caught herself. “I mean, which she no doubt has hanging from her headboard.”
They declined another drink. He stood from the table and gripped his cane. “I have three suggestions for you. Number one, go back to investigating the Sandy Reid way. Prove the Miami hoodlum was the killer and has no connection to your client. Second, assume that Claudia is involved more than it appears. And lastly, there is no Chip and Claudia thing going on. Why are you trying to complicate the situation? Her meeting him again has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with murder. So get your head on straight.”
Wow. That was the kind of hard talk Chip would sometimes lay on her. She probably needed it. But then again, Jerry’s heart wasn’t at stake here.
“You know, we don’t see enough of each other,” she said. “I’ve certainly enjoyed meeting with you today. You’re one of the good guys.”
“At these infrequent times, I do enjoy seeing and talking with you, as well. I’m so pleased you chose the specialty of being a defense attorney. Jails are full of people wrongfully convicted because of inadequate legal representation, unfair persecutions, and faulty evidence. Without a doubt, you will be outstanding.”
Almost blushing, she thanked him and offered him a ride home, “My car’s at the office. Wait here, I’ll run over and get it.”
He declined, explaining he preferred to wobble over to the courthouse and see some old friends.
She hurried back to the office thinking of his first suggestion to prove the Miami goon was the killer. Martin was just stepping out the front door as she came up.
“Have you eaten?” he said. “It’s already one o’clock, and I’m just going to lunch? Will you join me?”
“Thanks anyway, just had lunch with Jerry Kagan. Tell me, how long would it take me to drive to Miami?”
“Three hours for a sensible person. Two for you. What’s in Miami?”
“Killers, guilty people, answers, I hope. I’ve never been there.”
“Unless you stay over, you’ll be driving back in the dark. Miami can be dangerous at night, if you make the wrong turn.”
“I grew up in Philly, remember? Any city is dangerous at night if you don’t know the neighborhoods. Anyway, I should be out of there before it gets too late.”
“I hope so. You want me to go with you?”
“No, if I decide to stay over, I’ll get in touch.”
“Please do that, and keep the top up so you’re not on display the entire time you’re down there.”
She blew him a kiss and went inside. She phoned Jaworski. “Eddy, do the police have photos of Richie Grant in the morgue?”
“The M.E. has them, and I’ve one or two views also.”
“As defense counsel am I legally entitled to photos?”
“I don’t know from legally entitled, but if you want a copy drop by and get it. Judy knows where they are.”
She grabbed her briefcase and hurried out to her car. Once settled in the front seat, she fumbled in the side pocket of the briefcase for the wrinkled and smeared notepad slip she took down from the condo refrigerator. Groveside Motel, Coconut Grove. Looks like a good place to start, she said to herself. She punched the address into her GPS.
Next was a quick stop at her apartment to change into her one and only business suit—four hundred bucks, mind you. She looked in the mirror. Her hair was a mess. Screw it, she’d tie it back. I’m driving with the top down anyway. I’m going goon hunting. How good do I have to look for that?
Chapter Twenty-six
Sandy faced the possibility her client would be found guilty of either murdering or conspiring to murder her husband. In Florida, either charge can bring life imprisonment or a lethal injection. The best case would be that Richie acted alone in the murder, and Margo wasn’t part of it at all. She’d love to prove that. Even better would be to blame it all on Claudia. Wouldn’t that be fun?
So far, she couldn’t prove anything that would keep Margo out of it. Richie Grant was firing his .38 all over the place, yet there was no proof he fired a .45 at John. And she knew nothing about him.
When the facts don’t add up, you investigate. You run around and get people upset. You walk beside them and get them talking. You might end up with more facts. Then again, you might hear the sickening sound of a promising lead bashing a brick wall.
She didn’t need to go knocking on the doors of the Salvadoran drug gang. The FBI was already all over that part of it. They were worrying about all the drug stuff and might take weeks to find out anything about Richie Grant. Her goal was to prove her client innocent. She needed to get the story on Richie and prove he killed John with no connection to Margo. She needed to know more about Richie. She needed to connect Richie Grant with the Miami drug gang and disconnect him from her client.
John Larena had another life down in Miami. Margo made a wifely guess that he had some sweetie down there helping him pass those long boring nights in Miami. Wives usually guess right about such things. It should be worth the trip. She’d do some checking on his Miami life starting with the girlfriend. All she had to do was somehow locate her somewhere in Dade County without having a name or address.
She took out the note she had found under a magnet on John’s refrigerator, the note with the smeared phone number. At least the 305 Miami area code was legible. Geez, if she could only make out the entire phone number.
She headed for the Groveside Motel in the Coconut Grove area of Miami.
Two hours later, she was rolling under a bright blue sky along elevated I-95. Passed the airport exit on the right, the Miami Beach causeway exits on the left, and on into the midst of the skyline buildings of downtown-Miami. She glanced at the dashboard clock; she had just missed the start of the rush hour.
Heading on south, I-95 became US-1 and South Dixie Highway. Her GPS told her to turn east on SW 27th Avenue down to Bayshore Drive which meandered amongst the canopy of banyan trees with their thick multiple trunks spread out above ground almost to the edge of the road.
When she turned off Bayshore, the GPS voice soon announced, “You have arrived at your destination.” She braked and glanced around, no Groveside Motel. She backed up. Sandwiched between two large condominiums was a small two-level motel just waiting to be sucked up for several million.
An attractive teenage gir
l with sun-streaked hair and wearing a white sleeveless midriff and white short-shorts, was behind the front desk.
“Hi, Kathy, how’s it going?” Sandy read the girl’s nametag. “You the manager?”
The girl turned. “Chuck, get out here. Wow, your car is wicked cool. What a hunk magnet that must be. Why don’t you let me drive it?”
“Drive it? You can’t even touch it,” Sandy said it with a smile, but she was serious.
“If I had a cool car like that, I’d never get out of it. Except I’d need a larger back seat.”
Chuck was shorter than the girl, twice her age, and twice as tanned. The victim had written on one of this motel’s memo pads, had they ever heard of him? She was about to find out if the motel memo lead was worthless. “I’m John Larena’s sister, Claudia. He ever speak of me?”
Chuck said, “Lady, I don’t know what the fu...what you’re talking about.”
Kathy spoke up, “Larena, Larena, number twenty-six. Get with it, Chuck.” She held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Claudia. John isn’t here. Haven’t seen him for a week.”
Bingo. “I know. That’s why I’m here,” Sandy said, thinking fast. “He won’t be back for some time. He wanted me to check about any money he owed you.”
“He’s a monthly, pays in advance.” Chuck said. “If he’s not coming back, if this is about getting a refund, forget it. We don’t give refunds on monthlies.”
Sandy pretended to look disappointed. “No refund, huh. You sure you can’t do it?” She gave him her flirty look. Boy was she good.
He shook his head.
“John needs some of his things. May I get some stuff out of his room?” Look around; maybe find something to lead her to the girlfriend.
Kathy said, “I’ll take her up there, Chuck.”
His hand went up like a traffic cop. “Stop. You want something out of his room, you bring me a signed note from him.”
“Why are you giving me a hard time?” Sandy acted as though upset. “You know how far I had to drive? What if I had him phone you?”
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