by Tracy Weber
“Given the circumstances,” Officer Alex replied, “we would like to confirm the victim’s identity as soon as possible. To do that, we need Mr. Massey to look at the tattoo.”
She didn’t fool me. If all they wanted was for Michael to look at a tattoo, they could have shown him a photo. They were trying to get him alone, hoping he would say something self-incriminating.
And he very well might.
I flashed on the vomit green inquisition room I’d been detained in the day of Monica’s murder on Orcas Island. I’d been innocent—I’d tried to save her, in fact—but in the stress of the moment, it didn’t matter. I would have said anything to get out of that suffocating space. Loitering in a morgue with your dead wife’s faceless body couldn’t be any easier. Michael needed protection—from himself. He needed an attorney.
“Michael is obviously in shock,” I said. “I’ll bring him to Seaside tomorrow. He’ll make the identification and answer all of your questions.” That would give me the rest of the evening to strategize with our friend and attorney, Dale Evans.
Michael blinked as if coming out of a trance. “No. I want to go tonight. I need to know if it’s Gabriella.”
“Michael, no. Before you go anywhere, we should call Dale.” I glanced at Officer Alex. “He has the right to an attorney, right?”
Shannon replied with a high pitched squeak. “An attorney? Wait a minute. Is Michael under arrest?”
“Who said anything about him being under arrest?” Boyle leaned forward, looking suddenly friendly. “Mr. Massey can consult with an attorney, of course, but I’m not sure why he’d want to. Unless he’s hiding something …”
Michael’s shoulders squared. “No. I’m not waiting. Gabriella is my responsibility. I owe her that much.”
I’d seen that stubborn expression before. Michael would accept no argument. I picked up my purse. “Then I’m going with you. You’re in no condition to drive.”
“There’s no need for that, Ms. Davidson,” Officer Alex assured me. “We’ll drive Mr. Massey to Seaside and bring him back home when we’re done. That will give us a chance to talk on the way.”
Which was exactly what I was afraid of.
I nudged Shannon, hoping she’d insert reason into Michael’s insanity. She shook her head and mouthed the words, Let him go.
I placed my hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Promise me you won’t say anything until I call Dale.”
Michael shrugged on his jacket and spoke to his sister. “Take care of Kate for me.” He trudged behind the police officers. The door clicked hollowly shut behind them.
I plastered my palms against the window and stared through the glass, overcome by a deepening sense of dread. Why on earth would Shannon need to take care of me? The request felt ominous. The words of a man expecting to be gone for a very long time.
My breath fogged the window. The police car swallowed Michael and carried him away.
eight
I spun to face Shannon. “How could we allow Michael to drive off alone with the cops like that? We should have forced him to call a lawyer.”
Shannon shook her head. “That would have been a colossal mistake, Kate. Alex Lewis is sharp.”
“How do you know her?”
“She’s one of my real estate clients.”
I gaped at her, incredulous. “You’re trusting your brother’s freedom to someone you only know as a customer?”
“Believe me, realtors—good ones, anyway—spend a lot of time getting to know their home buyers. We learn secrets even their families don’t know. She and that Boyle character don’t always see eye-to-eye, but she’s a good cop. I trust her.”
“It sure didn’t seem like it when you blockaded her from your house.”
Shannon glared at me. “I didn’t have all of the information then, now did I? I thought she and Boyle were here to harass Michael about public drunkenness. Lots of people get stupid during Sandcastle Week. I figured if I made getting to him hard enough, they’d move on to the next drunken idiot. I’d never have made such a fuss if I’d known Gabby was dead. Murder is serious. If Michael didn’t go with them to identify her body, it would have looked suspicious.”
“It already looks suspicious! Don’t you get that?” The frustration in my voice covered my fear. “Let me spell it out for you.” I counted off the points on my fingers. “One: Michael was planning to sue Gabriella for divorce, and she was fighting him on it. Two: He didn’t come home last night. Three: Boyle saw Michael and Gabriella fighting less than twenty-four hours before her death. Four: I found the body.” I groaned and buried my face in my palms. “Why did Bella have to sniff out that damned body?”
“Five,” Shannon added, sounding a little testy herself. “You lied to the police. You knew the dead woman was Gabby all along, didn’t you?”
I didn’t reply. Then again, I didn’t have to. The shame on my face spoke volumes.
“Kate, why didn’t you tell the police it was Gabby? Don’t you see how guilty that makes Michael look?”
Tears burned the backs of my eyes. “I wanted to warn him before the police questioned him.”
Shannon’s sarcastic smirk matched the tone of her voice. “How’s that working out so far?”
I had to admit, my decision to withhold Gabriella’s identity seemed pretty stupid in hindsight. Nothing had gone the way I had planned. I hadn’t been able to forewarn Michael, and my caginess provided one more reason for the cops to suspect him. To suspect both of us, actually. At the rate things were going, Michael wouldn’t be the only one who needed a lawyer.
I pulled out my cell phone. “I’m calling Dale.”
“Dale’s your attorney?”
“Yes.”
“Is he any good?”
I didn’t reply. The answer was too complex for a ten-second explanation. Dale was more than a “good” lawyer. He was practically legendary. Or at least he had been, until he abandoned his high-profile Seattle law firm to “retire” in the country. He was also Michael’s and my friend, and, as of recently, my mother’s life partner. She lived with him on Orcas Island, where they ran a rescue for goats and donkeys. He’d represented me over a year ago when I was suspected of murder. There was no one I trusted more to get Michael out of this mess.
He answered on the third ring. After a quick hello, I jumped right to the problem. I skipped both the niceties and the details about Michael’s relationship to Gabriella. That was a story for a less urgent time. Instead, I told him that I was calling from Oregon, that I’d found another body, that Michael was a logical suspect for her murder, and that he was currently riding in a police car on his way to identify the body.
Dale interrupted. I could almost feel his white whiskers tremble through the phone line. “Wait a minute. You think Michael’s under suspicion for murder, and you let him ride along with the police?”
My mother, Dharma, spoke in the background. “Dale, is that Kate? What’s going on?”
Dale shushed her, a dangerous move with a woman as hot-tempered as my mother. He was taking the situation seriously. Good.
“Tell Dharma I’ll fill her in later,” I said. “I tried to reason with Michael, but he wouldn’t listen. He insisted on going to Seaside with the police and—”
Dale shushed me, too. “Kate, I’ll call you back and get the details in a few minutes. We don’t have time to waste.” The line went dead.
Shannon’s eyes begged for good news. I shrugged. “He said he’ll call back.”
We stared at each other in uneasy silence for what felt like a century. Ten real-time minutes later, my cell phone rang.
Dale’s muffled voice spoke on the other end of the line. “I’m in my office. Your mother’s pissed because I won’t tell her what’s going on, and I’m sure she’s trying to listen through the door, so I’ll need to keep my voice down.” He sighed. “I suspect
I’ll be sleeping with the donkeys tonight. Everyone believes in attorney-client privilege until it applies to someone they love.”
He wasn’t wrong. I’d hated it when Dale had withheld information from me about Dharma’s case. I guess turnabout really was fair play.
Dale continued. “Michael didn’t answer his cell, but I got hold of an attorney buddy of mine in Seaside. He’s going to intercept Michael and those police officers at the morgue. My friend doesn’t generally practice criminal law, but he knows enough to order that man of yours to keep his mouth shut. Did the police Mirandize him?”
“No. At least not before they left.”
“Then we may be in luck. They won’t ask him too many questions until they read him his rights. As long as they don’t do it before my friend intercepts them, Michael shouldn’t get himself into too much trouble.”
I hoped he was right.
“Now tell me, Kate. What in tarnation is going on? Why are you in Oregon, who was this murdered woman, and why do the police suspect Michael of killing her?”
I filled Dale in on everything, starting with Michael’s marriage, continuing through his confrontation with Gabriella, and ending with the police officers’ visit to Shannon’s house. Dale was silent through the entire ten-minute monologue. When I finished the story, he asked a single question. “Michael’s married? Are you kidding me?”
Make that two questions.
I surprised myself by jumping to Michael’s defense. “It wasn’t a real marriage. Gabriella was in the US on a guest worker visa. Michael married her so she could get a green card.”
Dale grumbled under his breath. “The idiot. That’s a felony.”
So was murder. And a much more serious offense than marriage fraud. “Their marriage seems pretty irrelevant right now, Dale. What do we do?”
Dale replied after five interminable seconds of silence. “For now, we wait.”
“Wait?” The word came out sounding more like an accusation than a question. I’d been waiting all day. Waiting had eaten a hole in my stomach. Waiting had pushed Michael into that police car. Waiting could easily bisect my carotid artery.
The tone in Dale’s voice brooked no argument. “Until we get more information, waiting is the best we can do. My attorney friend said he’d call as soon as he knew anything. If we’re lucky, Michael’s situation won’t be nearly as dire as you think.”
Lucky?
If Dale needed luck, Michael was in more trouble than I thought. When Dale represented a client, he never relied on luck. He relied on experience, sharp wit, and a genius grasp of the law. Then again, we were in Oregon, not Washington. Dale might not even be licensed to practice law here.
My mouth went dry. “Dale, I’m scared.”
His voice softened. “Kate, you have to trust me. I’ll help Michael, I promise. Have him call me tonight.” Softness amped up to sternness. “And don’t you go quizzing him without me present, either. You’re his girlfriend. Not his wife.”
“I know that, Dale. You don’t have to remind me. His wife is the one who’s dead.”
“I wasn’t referring to your complicated relationship. Since you’re not married to Michael, you can be compelled to testify against him in court. The less you know, the better.”
The thought sobered me silent.
Dale continued. “I’ll assess everything tonight. If I need to, I’ll head on out to Oregon tomorrow.”
“You’re willing to consult with Michael’s attorney?”
“Heck no. I’ll be his attorney, if he’ll let me.
Relief washed through me. “You’d do that? Come all the way to Cannon Beach and represent Michael?”
“Of course,” Dale chided. “Did you think I wouldn’t? You’re family. Besides, I kinda like that boyfriend of yours.” He paused, and I imagined him frowning. “I used to like him, anyway. I’m beginning to wonder about his character, or at the very least, his common sense. I mean seriously. Not telling you he was married?”
“He made a mistake, Dale, but he’s still the same Michael.” My voice softened. “And I still love him.”
“I know you do, Kate-girl. We all do. Don’t worry yourself. I’ll be his attorney. Unless you think he can find someone better?”
The question, of course, was rhetorical. There was still one potential barrier, however. A barrier I was almost afraid to ask about. “Can you practice law in Oregon?”
Dale chortled. “You think I’d volunteer to be Michael’s attorney if I couldn’t? The bar association part’s easy. Washington and Oregon have a reciprocity agreement. The bigger hurdle is the travel. I’ll need to arrange coverage for the farm, and it’s a ten-hour trip from Orcas to the Oregon coast. The earliest I can get there will be late tomorrow afternoon. Hopefully this is all a big false alarm, and it won’t come to that.”
“Dale, you’re a gem. I can see why Dharma fell for you.”
Dale affected his fake southern drawl. I imagined him blushing underneath his white, Santa-like whiskers. “Well, shucks, Missy Kate. Aren’t you as sweet as a petunia?” His voice grew serious again. “Try not to worry until we know there’s something to worry about. But make sure Michael calls me. Tonight.”
I clicked off the phone and turned to Shannon, who’d been standing over my shoulder for the entire conversation.
“I couldn’t tell from my end,” she said. “Was that good news or bad?”
“Both.” I absently drummed my fingers against the cell phone’s case. “Dale says all we can do right now is wait.”
Shannon frowned. “I’m not very good at waiting.”
“Neither am I, which is why we’re not going to do it.” Dale had told me not to quiz Michael, but he didn’t say not to do anything. I’d spent the past several days refusing to let anyone tell me about Michael and Gabriella. Time for that to change.
I lifted my cell phone again and pressed the autodial button for Rene.
Forty-five minutes later, Rene, Shannon, Bella, and I huddled around a glass-topped table in Shannon’s living room. Rene had laid out a buffet of multicolored tortilla chips, four kinds of dip, and gooey peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. I sat on one end of the couch, notebook and pen at the ready. Rene sat on the other, smothering blue chips with hummus. The rich, garlicky smell would have made my stomach growl if I’d had any appetite. Bella curled between us, delightedly chewing on an extra-large ostrich tendon Rene had brought for her.
Michael wasn’t back from Seaside yet, so our information-gathering session was happening without him. Since it was past the twins’ bedtime, Sam had opted to stay at the rental house with the girls and the puppies.
Frankly, I was glad. As much as I loved spending time with Rene’s family, tonight my monkey mind was swinging on hyperdrive. I could barely muster the attention to put together a complete sentence. I’d never have been able to focus in the midst of sleep-deprived infants and mischief-making labradoodles.
Shannon handed Rene an oversized glass of Chardonnay and perched on the edge of a guest chair. “Okay, Kate. Now that you’ve called this meeting together, what are we doing, besides binge eating and waiting for Michael?”
Rene dipped a yellow chip into a vat of deep red salsa. “Oh, honey, this is no binge; it’s a light snack. And isn’t it obvious? We’re creating our sleuthing plan.”
“Sleuthing plan?” Shannon asked.
Rene cocked her head and eyed Shannon curiously. A textured smear painting of salsa and corn crumbles decorated her chin. “You don’t know, do you?” She leaned over the table, grabbed a cookie with one hand, and pointed at me with the thumb of the other. “Kate here is the yoga equivalent of Sherlock Holmes. I’m her sexy Watson. Kate tracks down killers all the time!”
“That’s a gross exaggeration, Rene,” I said.
“You’ve solved four murders in the past two years. That’s one hundred pe
rcent of your cases. The Seattle Police Department doesn’t come close to that solve rate.”
Shannon leaned away from me, body stiff, mouth open. I couldn’t tell if she was impressed, horrified, or a little of both.
“I’ve been peripherally involved in a couple of murder investigations, that’s all,” I assured her. “My mother says it’s some sort of …” I hesitated, trying to figure out how to describe the yogic concept of dharma (life work) without going too deeply into yoga philosophy. “Some sort of gift, I suppose.”
“A gift? Do you mean you’re psychic?” Shannon asked.
“I wish. More like I’m dumb enough to stick my nose into other people’s problems.” I shrugged. “I’ve mainly been lucky in the past. I doubt I can do much to solve Gabriella’s murder, but I’d like to at least wrap my arms around what happened. Otherwise I’ll drive myself nuts pacing the hallway.”
I deliberately downplayed my intentions. Gandhi would take up gunslinging before I’d let Michael get charged with a crime he didn’t commit. But if Shannon was anything like her brother, she’d try to talk me out of getting involved. That was an argument best saved for later. With Michael.
Shannon’s expression was dubious, but she played along. “Okay then, how do we start?”
“Good question,” I replied. “Honestly, I’m not sure. Why don’t you fill me in on the history between Gabriella and Michael?”
Shannon stiffened. “History? Like what?”
“Like how did they meet and why did Michael end up marrying her?”
Shannon took a long, slow sip from her wine glass, as if trying to decide whether or not to answer. When she spoke, she avoided eye contact. “What has Michael told you about their relationship?”
“Not much,” I replied. “Actually, I wouldn’t let him. I wasn’t ready to hear his side of the story.”
Shannon set the glass on the table and frowned. “I don’t think I should talk with you about it behind Michael’s back. It seems disloyal.”
Rene interrupted. “Kate’s trying to help him, remember?”