Such Wicked Friends

by Rod Hoisington

  “I know you had sex with both of us at the same time. I’m sorry. I should keep quiet. I’ve no claim on you. You’re free to see whomever you want whenever you want. I’ve no right to say anything. I don’t know why I’m so upset. I suppose I made some erroneous assumptions about our relationship.”

  “What makes you think that?” she sighed. “I thought you trusted me more than this.”

  “Without question, these past couple of weeks with you were exciting, Prissy. Coming together as we did was the good part. The bad part is Brad was also in your bed during that time. When did you fit him in for chrissake? In the evening after seeing me in the afternoon? In the afternoon before seeing me in the evening?”

  “Martin, calm down. Your face is getting red. I never did such things.”

  “You said you were keeping track on your calendar. Was I the red check mark or the blue? Did you keep track of your faked orgasms as well? You were just...letting me screw you, weren't you? I was starting to care for you, and you were just letting me screw you.” He glanced over to see if the guard had overheard and realized that of course he had.

  “I’ve never had sex with Brad.”

  “Don’t you see you’ve ruined everything? None of the intimacy was real. Is anything about you real? Well, you’re an actress. Easy for you. I read the police report...your fingerprints?”

  “When Jaworski first questioned me, I told him I had an affair because if I told them the truth, that he tried to rape me, they might think I was mad enough to kill him.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “I was in his car a couple of times when he took me down to look at new cars.”

  “Your prints were in the front and back seat.”

  “That’s right. I think I did sit in the back one time—while someone else was in the front. We were all going to another club. At the party, my prints were in the front because I fought him off.”

  “What were you in fact doing in his car?”

  “Okay, I’ll tell you, but he’s your friend and you don’t want to hear it. The night of the party, we were by the pool bar, you were off dancing with Jenna. Brad asked somewhat confidential like if I’d help him with a problem about Jenna. I brushed him off but he begged. He took my arm and led me into the garage telling me some sad story about how he’s not getting along with Jenna. So, we’re in the garage, he says let’s sit down and he opened the car door. I protested and said, only for a minute. He was insistent. Here I’m expecting him to start the story, and the jerk turns on the radio. He leaned back and says let’s do a quick backseater. Come on, Brad, I yelled and tried to leave. All the grabbing and fighting started. When we came out of the garage, he was mad. And that’s when he told everyone at the party I had come on to him.”

  “But they found a plastic cup from the party with your DNA. And they found a partial of your fingerprint on the key ring, the keyless entry gadget.”

  “The fob. The detective called it a key fob.”

  “Whatever. How did that happen?”

  “Guess I carried the cup in there during the party. Certainly not later in the middle of the night. Either that or Jenna pulled it out of the trash and planted it.”

  “And the fob?”

  “I told you, he turned the key so the radio would come on, and I reached over and turned it off.”

  He pushed his chair back and stared at her for a moment. “You know how this sounds? Lying about the affair and the fear of it becoming known. Plus, him giving or lending you a whole lot of money for your car gives you a great motive to kill him.”

  “Now what are you talking about? Brad didn’t give me any money. I paid for that car.”

  He threw up his hands. “I don’t know what to believe. Why didn’t you tell me all this before?”

  “I did tell you after the party that he grabbed at me. You’re his buddy. You sounded like he could do no wrong. You weren’t interested enough to comfort me. Look, I’m sorry he’s dead, but I had no reason to do it, and I’ve never had sex with him. You must believe me. I’d never treat you like that.”

  “I heard you failed the lie detector test.”

  “Of course I failed it. I was lying about having an affair. That got me all shook. After that the entire test went crazy.”

  “That’s why you need an attorney, to advise you not to talk and not to take such a test. They’re holding you without bail. Do you have money for an attorney?”

  “You going to give me some?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “If I never had sex with Brad, would you give me some?”

  He just stared at her.

  “Never mind. An attorney is already being arranged for me. I’ll have the top defense attorney in the Southeast.”

  “What are you talking about? How will you afford that?”

  “Let’s just say I’ve earned it.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Near sundown the same day, Sandy was back from her day-long excursion up to Palm Point and heading for Chip’s house. The information she brought back gave her a better picture of what Priscilla was all about. She’d decide later whether the trip was worth it. Knockers turned out to be more of a lounge than a bar. Actually slightly upscale. Not boisterous at all. The servers were attractive but otherwise seemed to be ordinary working girls. Management had a strict look-but-don’t-touch policy. The tips must be fantastic. Priscilla working as a server at the hot-bod place didn’t bother Sandy. It was honest work, and her philosophy was life is tough, look out for yourself and do what you can while trying to do better.

  When Sandy had entered Knockers in Palm Point, she knew Priscilla wouldn’t be at work that day since Chip had already phoned with the startling news of her arrest.

  The arrest of Priscilla for Brad’s murder was a serious complication for Sandy since she’d never come forward with the critically important fact that a suicide note existed. Her secret was tucked away in the back of her mind with the hope the distressing situation would somehow go away. She had never expected anyone to actually be arrested for his murder. There had been no murder. Now was the time to come forward with the note. She was overwhelmed with indecision on that point. She told herself that she needed time to consider the consequences.

  She was able to speak to three of Priscilla’s co-workers before the manager got on her tail and ran her out. She learned that the Bichadel Corporation office was just around the corner, and employees were regulars after work. The dating of the servers wasn’t unusual. The word was even the big honcho himself, Jack Bichadel, was occasionally in the place having a drink.

  All three of the servers she talked with considered themselves Priscilla’s friends. One in particular was devoted to gossip—nothing seemed too unpleasant or shocking to pass along. Unfortunately, from Sandy’s viewpoint she came up with nothing juicy about Priscilla. The worst thing said was she had no problem with dating men known to be married.

  Sandy followed up a couple of other leads around town hoping to satisfy her curiosity. Priscilla obviously wasn’t as unadventurous as she pretended to be, yet wasn’t much out of the ordinary. Sandy was now certain the job at Knockers didn’t embarrass Priscilla; she was lying and saying she worked in the Marriott dining room for some other reason. And Sandy knew what it was. She wanted to appear conservative with her job and plain as granny in her attire to become the wife of conservative Martin Bronner. Was that the extent of her deceit?

  Once back in Park Beach, as eager as she was to discuss her findings with Chip, it seemed far less important than Priscilla’s arrest. Sandy was now beginning to realize the situation was moving out of control.

  She was already under threat of disbarment for obstructing justice for lifting the envelope from Margaret’s dead lap. Now they would add an even more serious and consequential charge of wrongdoing for the withholding of evidence in the suicide investigation. Because of her actions all the time and expense of the criminal investigation by the police, and the considerable w
ork and expense of the state attorney’s office, to build a circumstantial case against Priscilla was wasted. Innocent people had been upset and subjected to interrogation. All because she hadn’t come forward with the suicide note.

  Wait until Moran found out about it. If she lost her law license, she’d be finished in Park Beach. Her reputation and credibility would be shattered. She might as well forget about Florida, Chip Goddard and her dream of being a lawyer. She’d slink back to Philadelphia, pretend nothing had happened and search for a new life.

  Sandy had done a lot of thinking about Priscilla on the way back from Palm Point. She was in jail unjustly and Brad’s suicide note was in Sandy’s desk. Sandy began to formulate a plan. If she could turn things a certain way her plan might work.

  Chip’s unmarked Crown Vic was in the driveway when she pulled up. She guessed he’d be on the couch with a beer watching the news waiting for her. He was. He was delighted to see the white cartons of take-out in her hands. “Bourbon chicken and brown rice,” she announced.

  “Good. I was about to go in and start something.” He wasn’t kidding. If she hadn’t brought something, he’d have apologized for not having anticipated their dinner. He’d have gone into the kitchen and quietly come up with something even if only a feeble baked potato and a wedge of cheese.

  “I drove up to Palm Point and checked out some of your eye candy at Knockers. I was nosing around talking to the girls when the manager came up. He took one look at me and told me if I was looking for a job, they were hiring next door at Happy Land Childcare.”

  “He didn’t say that.”

  “No, but women shouldn’t have the right to look that pretty. I look like a boy standing next to them. They have curves in places where I don’t even have places.”

  “Nonsense. You’ve got all the right curves.”

  “All the girls are nice looking.”

  “Yes, nice looking,” he said.

  “And nice bodies.”

  “Great bodies,” he said.

  “Hey, I didn’t say great bodies. I said nice bodies.”

  He was looking through a kitchen cabinet. “I forgot to get wine. We’re about out.”

  “Let’s get started on what we have.” He seemed preoccupied about something. “Chip, I came back with some intriguing highlights in the life of Priscilla Fowler. Why are you frowning?”

  “Just thinking about her. The court appointed a public defender. The judge denied bail at her arraignment this morning. She’s in a jail cell right now. She’s in real trouble. Why wouldn’t I be frowning? She’s in Martin’s group of friends.”

  “I’m surprised she’s arrested. I suppose the police have the goods on her.” She hadn’t thought much about the possibility that Priscilla did in fact kill Brad. Maybe the police were correct. True, he’d said he was going to kill himself, but that didn’t mean Priscilla couldn’t have killed him first. “Truthfully, I don’t think I ever liked her. One of her co-workers at Knockers said she has dated married guys up there.”

  “The guys probably told her they were getting a divorce. Men and women who cheat always say that. Anyway, it’s none of your business. Let’s get going with this so-called meal—I’m starved. Then I’ll tell you what I learned.” He poured the red wine. “I told you they identified her prints in his car. She gave her prints voluntarily. In fact, she was so cool Jaworski thought for a while he had a wrong number. He called her back in for another interview. This time she gave all the wrong answers. They have her placed in the garage. They have her shoe print from the garage floor. They found a plastic wine cup with her DNA. They think she enticed him into the garage with sex. Propped him up behind the wheel and so forth. You listening?”

  “I’m listening, yet I’ve heard nothing so far. It’s circumstantial.”

  “Here’s the clincher. Yesterday the crime lab determined that a pink marble pebble found in her right rear tire came from Brad’s driveway. That’s when Moran gave the go-ahead for the arrest warrant.”

  “I’m surprised there are any gravel driveways in Brad and Jenna’s ritzy neighborhood.”

  “Not gravel...pebbles. They have a traditional paver driveway, but they have pink marble landscaping pebbles that border the driveway on both sides. Her tire picked it up somehow. Either a stray pebble got on the driveway, or her tire got off on the edge.”

  “Again circumstantial. Who says she picked up the pebble the night of the murder?”

  “Another wrong answer for her. She denied ever driving to his house in that car.”

  “Not good. And folks wonder why attorneys tell clients not to make any statements.”

  He went on, “Police think she drove her new Prius back to Brad’s house after Martin took her home after the party. She must have found Jenna asleep on the couch and Brad still passed out on the chaise by the pool. She enticed him into his car. Got the car running and left him there to asphyxiate. Some evidence of a struggle, a scratch on the victim’s left forearm and a smeared handprint across the dashboard. Her prints were on the door, dashboard and elsewhere And they detected a pubic hair with her DNA on his cargo shorts. Her prints and DNA were in the back seat as well.”

  “All circumstantial.”

  “Sandy, the prisons are full of people correctly convicted on nothing but circumstantial evidence. Not unusual.”

  “Still, I’m going to love defending an innocent criminal defendant, if that’s the sort of evidence Moran goes to trial with. I’d point out, if I were her defense attorney, that Brad was a car salesman. Dozens of prospects are in and out of his car every week. And she indeed bought a car from him. Next, I would suggest they were having an affair. An affair would explain the DNA and every other piece of so-called evidence you just mentioned. Come on, what do they have that’s real?”

  “Her prints were on the key fob.”

  “Oh, oh! The keyless entry switch with his car keys? Now I’ll admit that isn’t good.”

  “And would you consider three hundred grand real? It seems Brad liquidated his retirement account for that amount. The money was deposited in his bank one day, and he transferred it out to an offshore bank the next.”

  She had a slight chill as she remembered Brad telling her about a three hundred thousand dollar gambling debt he had to pay—or else. “What does the money transfer have to do with Priscilla?”

  “Coincidentally, fifty G’s suddenly appeared in Priscilla’s account. She admitted the cash came from Brad.”

  “What? She admitted that?” Sandy knew Brad needed all of the money for the offshore gamblers. She was baffled. If Priscilla got fifty grand, it sure as hell didn’t come from Brad. So why did she claim it did? “Something’s wrong. It couldn’t have gone down that way.”

  “Why not? You know something I don’t?”

  “Are you certain about these numbers, Chip? Three hundred G’s passed through his local bank—in and out to an offshore bank?”

  “You’re not supposed to know any of this...but yes. The authorities are in the process of tracing where the money went.”

  “Did the money in Priscilla bank come from an offshore bank?”

  “I think so. I don’t know. Now you’re getting me confused.”

  “I believe that, you can’t balance your checkbook.”

  “Anyway, the next day she bought the Prius for cash. They had assumed the money in her account came from Brad even before she told them. They’re still checking on that little coincidence.”

  “First off, coincidences don’t mean squat in court. Second, the money movement doesn’t figure. Why would Brad wire three hundred grand offshore and have fifty wired back? Why wouldn’t he just hand her the fifty and send the balance offshore?” She’d love to see Priscilla in trouble because of her playing around deceiving Martin. Nevertheless, she was convinced Priscilla had nothing to do with Brad’s money. Clearly, Brad took three hundred grand out to pay for his gambling debt.

  “And there’s that other unfavorable piece of the puzzle you j
ust discovered. She’s been lying about her employment. She works at Knockers not the Marriott.”

  “I don’t see where that deception has anything to do with Brad’s death. However, I’d better brief Shapiro on what I found in Palm Point.”

  “Let eat before the food gets cold. We’ve just enough wine for two final glasses.”

  An extraordinary thought came to her mind as she set the kitchen table. She stood and walked across the room. She looked back at Chip before deciding to say it aloud. “It’s strange, Chip. All this circumstantial evidence against Priscilla would be meaningless had Brad left a suicide note. I mean, then Moran wouldn’t be grasping at circumstantial straws trying to build a case, and Priscilla would be up at Knockers right now shaking her cute booty.”

  “That’s wacky.” They settled in around the take-out. He poured the last of the wine. “He didn’t leave a note, so you can stop thinking weird thoughts. Why do you keep thinking Moran has it wrong?”

  “What’s the motive,” she said. “Let’s consider the possibilities. She told Martin that Brad attempted to rape her. He thought she was exaggerating. Could retaliation for the attack be her motive?”

  “Would a hot-bod waitress get that upset about being molested?” Chip asked. “It’s not all right, but some unwelcome ass patting goes with the territory. Every day they face boozy jerks who cross the line. So bring charges against the guy—don’t kill him.”

  “I’m glad you said it’s not alright, and the creeps should be reported.”

  “How about money for a motive? She gets big money from Brad, and then kills him so she doesn’t have to pay him back. I like that better.”

  “Or, if she was after Martin, maybe she killed Brad to keep him quiet about all their screwing. Or, how about a love triangle with Priscilla, Jenna and Brad.”

  “If you want a triangle, how about Priscilla, Jenna and Martin? Love triangles have built-in motives. Take your pick. Who can make sense of the jealousy and hate that goes on? Jaworski caught Martin fondling Jenna’s boobs. Please pass the rice.”