Poppy Harmon and the Hung Jury

by Lee Hollis

  “I sure wish you and the rest of the jury had convicted that son of a bitch. We’d all be a lot safer if Tony Molina was behind bars,” Rod said.

  Watching Tony’s casual and almost boastful return to the scene of the crime, Poppy was convinced that in this case Rod was 100 percent right.

  Chapter 12

  The guard inspected the contents of her purse thoroughly and once satisfied handed it back to Poppy and waved her through the metal detector. Poppy took a deep breath and followed the instructions. She had been through this routine many times before. Another uniformed guard, this one female, led her and a handful of other visitors down a long hallway that was painted turquoise. Poppy had never liked the color turquoise. They finally reached the receiving room and were instructed to sit down at the various tables that filled the space and wait. Five minutes later, the door opened and a parade of women, all in tan prison-issued jumpsuits, marched in and were reunited with their loved ones. There were a lot of tears and hugs. Poppy craned her neck to see if she could find her daughter. She started to worry that she might not be among this group, but at the tail end of the line, she finally spotted her.

  Her daughter, Heather, looked tired, her face drawn, her complexion pale. Poppy’s heart broke every time she came to visit her at the penitentiary. She hated to see her only child incarcerated. Although her sentence was nearly finished due to an overcrowded system and her exemplary behavior, the ordeal had been overwhelming for Heather. Every visit, once a week for the last ten months, Poppy had noticed a deadening of Heather’s spirit, a slow erosion of her will not to succumb to her challenging circumstances. Poppy had hoped Heather would take advantage of the therapists the prison provided in order to work through what had happened that led to her plea deal and two-year sentence. And although Heather reassured her mother that she would get the help she needed in order to stay positive, Poppy knew she had ignored her advice and was just keeping to herself in her cell and counting down the days until her eventual release. Poppy’s only hope was when that day came, Heather would then finally be able to emotionally deal with what had led to her arrest and her experiences behind bars so it wouldn’t haunt her for the rest of her life.

  During her first two or three visits in the weeks following Heather’s sentencing, Poppy had tried to get her to open up about what she had gone through and not bury her feelings, but Heather was not interested in dredging up those painful memories and refused to discuss them with her mother or anyone else, so Poppy finally had no choice but to let it go.

  Heather’s glazed eyes scanned the room and saw Poppy excitedly waving at her. She gave her mother a half smile and shuffled over to her. Poppy threw her arms around her slight frame and squeezed her tightly.

  “I’ve missed you so much, darling,” Poppy cried.

  Heather rested her head on her mother’s shoulder for a few seconds before pulling away and sitting down at the table. “I’ve missed you too.”

  “You look wonderful,” Poppy lied.

  Heather cracked another half smile and pushed her flat, matted, stringy brown hair behind her ears. “No I don’t, Mother, and you know it.”

  “Well, at least you haven’t lost any more weight. I’ve been worried you haven’t been eating properly.”

  Heather shrugged. “It’s hard when I wouldn’t even feed the mystery meat they serve around here to a starving stray dog I found in an alley. But at least the Jell-O is tasty, if not a little bland.”

  “Well, when you get out soon, I’m going to cook you a delicious homemade meal every night for a month!”

  Heather scoffed. “Mother, you can barely boil water.”

  “Okay, we’ll go out. My treat. We’ll start with prime rib and Yorkshire pudding at Lord Fletcher’s. You love that place. Chester and I used to take you there all the time when you were a little girl. And we’ll have Mexican food at all your favorite haunts. La Tablita, El Mirasol . . .”

  Heather folded her arms and stared at the floor. “Have you spoken with Harvey?”

  Harvey Kaplan was Heather’s attorney.

  “Yes, I did. He says your parole hearing is on the fast track, but he’s just not sure if it will be scheduled in a matter of weeks or months. Unfortunately, they have a very full docket. But he told me to tell you to just hang in there. He’s confident that when it does happen you will no doubt sail right through with flying colors and finally get out of here.”

  “I feel like I’ve been in this awful place forever,” Heather moaned.

  “It’s only been ten months, darling, but I understand why you’re so discouraged. You just need to stay strong. This will all be over soon.”

  Heather kept her eyes fixed on the floor. “How is Matt?”

  Poppy had expected the question.

  Heather asked it every time she came to see her.

  Poppy leaned forward and patted her daughter’s hand. “He’s fine. Working hard to help me keep this whole new private investigation business afloat.”

  “He hasn’t been here to see me in almost a month,” Heather whispered, looking up at her mother with sad eyes.

  “Has it been that long? Well, I’m sure he’s just lost track of time. Between working cases for me and driving back and forth between Palm Springs and LA for acting auditions, he doesn’t have much spare time.”

  Heather bowed her head and began wringing her hands together. “Does he still talk about me?”

  “Of course, darling. All the time.”

  It wasn’t a lie. Matt had dated Heather for a while before her arrest, and part of the reason he had so completely devoted himself to playing Matt Flowers, the de facto head of the Desert Flowers Agency, was to help Poppy make enough money to support her daughter once she was released.

  Poppy had asked Matt numerous times if he still planned on seeing Heather once she was out of prison. She hardly expected him to wait for her, but Matt assured her he was in this for the long haul. He was fully aware of all the circumstances behind Heather’s situation. She wasn’t some cold-blooded murderer. It had been an accident. Involuntary manslaughter. That was the legal definition. And the judge knew it, which was why he was lenient when it came to her sentencing. Matt had never wavered in his support of Heather, and although it had become more difficult for him these last few months to stay loyal and remain committed to his relationship with Heather, Poppy knew deep down when Matt made a promise, he was a man of his word. He was going to be there for her when she got out. However, with the obvious emotional turmoil Heather had been going through while in prison, and the challenges ahead upon her release, Poppy was deeply concerned about whether their relationship could survive when Heather was finally a free woman.

  “Do me a favor,” Heather said. “When you see him, give him my love and tell him I can’t wait to see him.”

  “Of course, darling,” Poppy replied, desperately trying to stay stoic and not dissolve in a flood of tears. “He will be so happy to hear that.”

  She could not break down in front of her daughter. She prayed Matt would still be there for Heather because her poor daughter had suffered enough, and she dreaded the idea of seeing her get hurt again.

  Chapter 13

  The drive back from the California Institute for Women in Chino was just under an hour and a half. Poppy left the facility around noon and expected to be back to her Desert Flowers garage office before two in the afternoon to rejoin her colleagues in the search for Lara Harper. She was just turning off the 10 Freeway onto Highway 111, which would bring her north of downtown Palm Springs, when her phone, which was in a holder attached to the dashboard, lit up with a 760 area code number she didn’t recognize. Poppy pressed a call answer button on her steering wheel and had to roll up the driver’s-side window so the whipping desert winds didn’t drown out the sound of the caller’s voice.

  “Hello, this is Poppy.”

  “Is this really Poppy? Poppy Harmon?”

  It was a man.

  His voice sounded vaguely familiar b
ut she couldn’t quite place it.

  “Yes, who is this?”

  “Alden Kenny.”

  The name didn’t ring a bell at first.

  She remained silent repeating it over a few times in her head.

  Alden Kenny.

  Who is Alden Kenny?

  The voice on the other end of the call finally answered the question for her.

  “I was a juror with you on the Tony Molina trial.”

  Of course. The young, arrogant holdout who was solely responsible for the unfortunate mistrial. She wanted to wring the little bugger’s neck at the time and had very little interest in ever speaking to him again, especially now with her mind preoccupied with worried thoughts about her daughter.

  “How did you get this number?” Poppy asked coldly.

  “I was sitting next to you when we were filling out the jury forms and I just happened to glance over and I saw you writing down your phone number.”

  “That was two weeks ago. How on earth did you remember it?”

  “I kind of have a photographic memory.”

  Poppy wasn’t sure if she should believe him, but she had no reason at the moment to doubt him, either, so she decided not to challenge him.

  “What do you want, Alden?”

  “I really need to see you.”

  “What for?”

  “I don’t want to discuss it over the phone. It’s better if we talk in person.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m very busy, and I’m not about to drop everything just because you say you want to talk to me, and you refuse to tell me what it’s about.”

  There was a long pause and Poppy thought he had hung up. But then he spoke and there was a sudden urgency in his voice. “It’s about the Tony Molina trial.”

  “What about it?”

  “Please . . .” he said, sounding fidgety and nervous.

  He was pleading with her. He sounded desperate. And that’s when her curiosity was finally piqued. She took a deep breath and made a decision.

  “Where are you?”

  “At home. I live in Cathedral City.”

  “I’m about twenty minutes away. What’s your address?”

  He rattled off a number and street address and she promised she would drive there straight away. After ending the call, she repeated the address to Siri, who mapped out the fastest route. In less than twenty minutes, she was pulling up in front of a modest nondescript house in a rundown area south of the 111. As she got out of her car, she looked around at the neighboring houses and empty lots, the whole area still years away from gentrification. The house next door was abandoned with busted windows and wildly overgrown palm trees out front.

  She walked up to the door of Alden’s house and rang the bell. She heard nothing inside. She pressed the doorbell one more time. Again, no sound. She assumed it was broken and so she rapped on the door with her knuckles. Still no answer. She waited a few moments and then banged on the door with her fist.

  Poppy was starting to get annoyed. Alden Kenny had sounded so desperate to see her and now he wasn’t even answering the door. She did an about-face and started marching back to her car when suddenly she stopped. Perhaps he was in the backyard and hadn’t heard her knocking. She turned around and saw a dilapidated metal gate that led around the house to the back. She debated with herself but decided to at least take a peek since she had driven all the way out to Cathedral City.

  Poppy walked back, unlatched the gate, and headed to the backyard, which was much larger than she had anticipated. There were several palm trees, an outdoor bar, and some patio furniture with colors faded from the intense desert sunlight. There was even an impressive large kidney-shaped swimming pool, given the small-scale size of the house.

  And then, suddenly her eyes fell upon something floating in the pool.

  It was a body.

  Poppy screamed.

  She could tell it was a man.

  He was floating facedown, but from what she could remember about his height and frame and blond hair when they had served on the same jury, she was certain it was Alden Kenny.

  Chapter 14

  “I wish I could say I’m surprised to see you here, but nothing about you surprises me anymore, Ms. Harmon,” Detective Lamar Jordan said wearily as he arrived on the scene. He was a tall, handsome African American man, very self-assured and charismatic. Poppy had crossed paths with him last year while investigating another case. She had heard recently that he had joined the Riverside County Central Homicide Unit and was now serving as a primary detective.

  “It’s nice to see you again, Detective Jordan,” Poppy said, mustering as much sincerity as was possible given their rather strained, contentious relationship in the past. Detective Jordan had not taken Poppy seriously as a detective when they had first met, and so Poppy had worked very hard to blow up his first impression of her, which she had done rather successfully.

  Detective Jordan gave Poppy a curt nod before brushing past her and walking to the edge of the swimming pool where Alden Kenny’s body had yet to be pulled out of the water by the forensics team, which was milling about, taking careful stock of the possible crime scene. Kenny was shirtless but still wearing pants, so the idea of him drowning while taking a swim was ruled out almost immediately. Jordan crouched down and lowered his sunglasses to the bridge of his nose in order to examine the corpse.

  Poppy couldn’t resist wandering up behind him so she could observe him as well. After calling 911 and waiting for the police to arrive, she had taken the opportunity to do her own preliminary inspection and had discovered some interesting details she wanted to share with Detective Jordan. But she knew better than to hit him with her thoughts all at once. Police detectives liked to do their own investigating before hearing from the peanut gallery.

  After silently studying the floating corpse, Detective Jordan stood back up and turned to Poppy, surprised to find her standing so close to him. She smiled apologetically and took a step back.

  “I see you’re continuing your little habit of stumbling across dead bodies,” he said with a withering look.

  “I wouldn’t call it a habit. I’d say it’s more a case of bad luck,” Poppy said.

  Detective Jordan folded his arms. “So what were you doing here?”

  He stared at Poppy with a stern look, but she was never one to be thrown off her game by an alpha male wannabe. She found it absolutely adorable that Detective Jordan actually believed he could intimidate her.

  “Mr. Kenny called me and asked me to come here,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “Why?”

  “He mentioned he wanted to talk to me about the Tony Molina trial, which we served on as jurors together, but he never got the chance to tell me any more than that,” Poppy said, glancing over at Kenny’s floating corpse in the pool. “Although I will add that when he called me he sounded awfully upset, like something was bothering him, or he was scared about something.”

  “Any idea what it could have been?”

  “No, I’m afraid not,” Poppy said, shaking her head.

  She crossed back over to the pool and stared down at Kenny. “Did you notice the bruising on his body?”

  This question seemed to startle Detective Jordan, who hemmed and hawed a bit before muttering, “Yes, I did.”

  “Well, do you suppose that’s a clear sign of some kind of struggle?”

  “Possibly . . .”

  “It appears to me that someone, or perhaps more than one person, might have held him under the water until he drowned.”

  “It’s probably best we don’t speculate until we have a report from forensics and the coroner about how he died.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t think there was foul play involved, am I right, Detective?” Poppy asked pointedly.

  He gave her a thin smile and didn’t bother answering the question because she already knew the answer.

  Instead, he walked over to Poppy, hovering over her since he was just about a foot tal
ler than she was, in another attempt to send the message that he was the big, strong detective in charge of this investigation and that she was simply a cooperative witness and not the able-minded sleuth she had proven herself to be during their last encounter.

  “So you two became friends while serving on the jury for the Tony Molina case?”

  “I would hardly call us friends, Detective. In fact, I was rather annoyed with him by the end of the trial.”

  “Why is that?”

  “He was the lone holdout. Everyone else on the jury wanted to convict, but Alden refused to consider the very strong evidence in front of him and insisted on voting to acquit Mr. Molina, which is why the trial ended with a hung jury.”

  “That happens a lot, I guess,” Detective Jordan said with a shrug.

  “Yes, it does. But in this case, I found Alden’s actions highly suspicious. After the judge dismissed the jury, I personally witnessed a look exchanged between Alden and the defendant, Mr. Molina.”

  “What kind of look?”

  “It happened very fast, but I got the distinct impression that they somehow knew each other. It appeared to me as if they might be up to something. . . .”

  “You think Alden Kenny was a plant?”

  “I have no proof of that, but the thought did cross my mind,” Poppy said.

  Detective Jordan jotted down a few notes on his small pad of paper with a pen and then stuffed it in his pants pocket when he was finished. The forensics team was now pulling Alden Kenny’s half-naked body out of the pool after having finished thoroughly photographing the whole scene.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Harmon, you’ve been a big help,” Detective Jordan said with a nod.

  “Do you have my number in case you have any further questions?” Poppy asked.

  “Yes, I still have it in my contacts from the last time we met,” he said before turning and heading away from the pool.

  Poppy took a step forward and called after him, “Will you please keep in touch about the case so I know what’s going on?”