The Next Victim

by Jonnie Jacobs

  Kali wasn’t sure what she’d meant except that she and John seemed never to have anything to say to one another. “What about the woman he’s accused of murdering? You said he knew her. Did he ever talk to you about her?”

  “Sloane? She’s Reed Logan’s sister.”

  “Oh, my God. I didn’t know.” Reed Logan had been John’s friend at USC. Although Kali hadn’t seen him in fifteen years, she’d seen a lot of him when she was in law school at Berkeley, and Reed and John were working together at a management consulting firm in San Francisco. “That’s awful. Poor Reed.”

  Sabrina nodded. “He’s lost two people close to him now.”

  “Had you met her?” Kali asked.

  “Years ago, in L.A.” Sabrina stared into space for a moment; then she tucked her legs under her and turned to Kali. “They dated, you know. John and Sloane. More than dated, actually.”

  “When was that?” Kali wondered if a lovers’ quarrel could have led to murder.

  “In college and after. They broke up for a while, but they were together again right before Peter and I got married. They must have split up again because John brought some other woman to the wedding. Do you remember? The one who clung to him like Saran Wrap. Sloane was off traveling through Europe, he said.”

  “Vaguely.” What Kali remembered was that John and her father had both had too much to drink. They’d argued and ended up pummeling each other in the fountain outside the hotel.

  “John told me at one point that Sloane was married and living in L.A. No children, I think. She was apparently very involved in charitable work.”

  “Society stuff?”

  “Maybe. But she was also, like, save the dolphins, stop global warming, help the needy. And not at all interested in the family business. I learned all this after she returned to Tucson last year and started agitating to get John fired. He was really pissed. I mean, it was John who helped Reed turn the business around when it wasn’t doing well after the senior Mr. Logan’s death.”

  “She wanted him fired?” Was this what the detective had meant by “conflicts at work”?

  “I know,” Sabrina said, misunderstanding the source of Kali’s dismay. “It’s so unfair. John said Sloane didn’t understand the difference between a business and a charity. He wished she’d just go back to saving the spotted whales or whatever, and leave the running of the company to him and Reed.”

  Corporate intrigue. A motive made in prosecutorial heaven. Kali’s stomach clenched. “John benefited from Sloane’s death, then?”

  Sabrina shook her head. “Don’t even go there, Kali. That’s so . . . so—”

  “So obvious.”

  “You’re disgusting!” Sabrina shrieked. “How can you possibly think your own brother is a murderer?”

  “You think most killers don’t have families? Being somebody’s brother doesn’t make you a saint.” Kali set her glass on the ebony-stained coffee table. “Sloane and John argued the night she was killed, remember? That’s what it must have been about.”

  Sabrina put her hands over her ears. “Stop it! Stop right now.”

  “All I said was—”

  “What’s with you anyway?” Sabrina wailed. “I should think you’d be on his side.”

  Kali knew that being a suspect didn’t mean you were guilty. She was a defense attorney, for God’s sake. Yet here she was, buying into the detectives’ case. Why? Maybe because the facts supported it. Or maybe it had something to do with never admitting to herself how much John’s indifference had hurt. Or perhaps, suggested a tiny voice in her head, it was simply easier to blame John than look at her own faults.

  Kali pushed the question from her head and stood up. “Come on, let’s eat.”

  Though the coleslaw tasted of mayonnaise and the bean salad of oil and salt, the roasted chicken was surprisingly good. Kali went back for seconds while Sabrina pushed food around on her plate and polished off another vodka tonic.

  Suddenly Sabrina rocked forward and pointed at the television, which she’d turned on when they sat down to eat. “Look,” she sputtered, “it’s John.”

  In split screen, their brother’s face—a photograph Kali had never seen—appeared, along with that of a woman. Kali reached for the remote and turned up the volume.

  “... died sometime late Tuesday night. He drowned in the backyard swimming pool of his home. Sheriff’s detectives had considered him the prime suspect in the recent double homicide of Logan Foods heiress Sloane Winslow and her housekeeper, Olivia Perez. Although there has been no official word on the status of that case, sources tell us that police are not actively pursuing other leads at this time.”

  “Good God,” Sabrina wailed. “Now it’s all over the news. Can they do that? Can’t we sue them for defamation or something?”

  “Sshhh.” Kali wanted to get a good look at Sloane. The photo showed a smiling woman in her early forties. Her blond hair was just short of shoulder length and layered to frame her face. Her eyes were a deep blue-green, her teeth straight and white. There were freckles across her nose and fine lines around her eyes and mouth. Not a Hollywood beauty maybe, but Sloane Winslow was stunning in a timeless, wholesome way.

  “You can’t let them get away with this,” Sabrina insisted. She stood up and began pacing between the sofa and the television.

  “Get away with what? All the reporter said was—”

  “If he was alive, you’d help him, wouldn’t you? If for no other reason,” Sabrina added sarcastically, “than because you’re Ms. Big-Time Defense Attorney.”

  Sabrina’s tone stung. “You’ve done okay for yourself,” Kali said defensively.

  “You’re the big success, though.” Sabrina stopped her pacing and planted herself near Kali. “You’re the star.”

  Kali didn’t think she lorded her achievements, such as they were, over her sister, or anyone else. And Sabrina certainly had many things Kali did not—a loving husband, kids, financial security, and a lifestyle that included exotic vacations and expensive jewelry.

  But Sabrina was right about one thing: whatever her doubts, Kali would have stood by John and made sure he had a chance at the best defense possible.

  He wasn’t alive, though, and she’d turned her back on him when he’d needed her.

  Never mind that he might have drowned regardless. Her own culpability lodged in her throat. Was that what made it so hard to admit that John might be innocent?

  “He called me,” Kali said after a moment.

  “I know. You told the cops that.” Sabrina plunked herself back down on the sofa and reached for her drink.

  “Several times over the last few days. I was in the mountains where I couldn’t pick up my messages.” Not entirely true, she reminded herself. She’d received one message and ignored it. “When I finally reached him Tuesday night”—Kali’s throat constricted at the memory of her own self-righteousness—”he said he needed my help.”

  Sabrina set her glass down with a loud clunk. “I thought you said you didn’t talk to him, that he was busy or something.”

  “He was drunk.” Kali paused. “I told him I’d call him in the morning.”

  “Oh, no.” Sabrina started whimpering again. “How could you?”

  “I didn’t know he was going to die.”

  “Maybe if you’d taken the time to talk to him, he wouldn’t have.”

  “What, I was going to stop him from drinking? From popping pills? It’s not my fault he’s dead.” It really wasn’t, she told herself. But guilt had a mind of its own.

  Sabrina glared at her, then looked away. “Maybe not. But you never gave him a chance to tell his side of things. I’m sure he had an explanation for all that . . . that evidence the cops say they have. You owe him, Kali. You owe it to John to clear his name.”

  Kali felt the tug of something inside her. “What if he really did it?”

  “He didn’t.”

  “You don’t know that, Sabrina. Not for sure.”

  She was silent f
or a moment. Her lower lip quivered. “Will you at least look into it?”

  “There’s nothing—”

  “You’re a lawyer. You know how to talk to cops and figure things out. Please?”

  Kali would be in Tucson through the funeral anyway. That would give her time to get a better handle on things. She’d ask around, see what she could learn. Maybe she’d find some answers. If nothing else, she might be able to ease her own conscience. “Okay,” she agreed, “I’ll look into it.”

  Chapter 8

  The next morning, Kali pushed through the wide double doors of Logan Foods’s corporate headquarters into a carpeted lobby. The rosy-cheeked receptionist smiled. “Good morning,” she chirped. “How can I help you?”

  Kali had played this scene through in her head during the drive in, trying to come up with a plan. Would Reed Logan talk to her? Did he blame John for his sister’s death? She assumed word of John’s accident had reached at least the higher levels in the corporation, but she couldn’t be certain. She hadn’t settled on an approach that covered every contingency, so she said simply, “I’m John O’Brien’s sister.”

  The young receptionist’s smile faded. “Oh.” She looked momentarily confused, then stammered, “I’m sorry. We’re all in a state of shock. It’s very sad what happened.”

  “Thank you.” Kali wasn’t sure what response was called for, but “thank you” covered a lot of ground. “I’d like to see Reed Logan, please.”

  “Mr. Logan isn’t in today.”

  So much for planning. She tried to think who else might be able to talk to her about her brother, but she knew nothing about his position there other than his title. “How about my brother’s secretary, then?”

  “I’m, uh . . . I’ll see if she’s available. Why don’t you have a seat?”

  Kali sat down in one of the upholstered chairs while the receptionist picked up the phone and carried on a brief and muted conversation. A few minutes later the door to the inner offices opened. It wasn’t a woman who greeted her, however, but a slender, sun-scrubbed man in his early fifties. He had a narrow, serious face and a full head of reddish brown hair. Frameless bifocals perched low on his nose.

  He offered a hand. “I’m A. J. Nash, general counsel for Logan Foods.”

  “Kali O’Brien.”

  “I hope you won’t mind if I ask to see some ID. The press has been hounding us this past week, so we have to be careful.”

  Kali showed him her driver’s license and Nash offered a nod of condolence. “I’m so sorry for your loss. John was a great guy.”

  He escorted her to his office, which was smaller and more spartan than she expected, leading her to believe that much of the company’s legal work was handled by outside counsel. Nash would be the point person, but not someone who wielded a great deal of power or influence.

  “Please, have a seat. Would you like some coffee? It’s actually a step above what you find in most offices.”

  “No, thank you.”

  Nash waited until Kali was seated, then settled himself and straightened some papers on his desk. Kali noticed a folded newspaper among them. This morning’s edition, no doubt, which contained an account of John’s death and a recap of the earlier murders. She and Sabrina had read it over breakfast.

  “What can I do for you, Ms. O’Brien? Did you come for your brother’s personal effects?”

  “In part. My sister and I will have to settle his affairs. But I want information as well.” She’d come to see Reed, but in many respects the attorney was actually a better choice. He wouldn’t be as personally invested.

  “Information about stock options, death benefits, and the like?” He reached for a file from the stack to his left.

  Kali’s mind hadn’t even begun to deal with the minutiae of her brother’s estate. She was still reeling from the shock of his death.

  “That too,” she said. “But what I really want is to know about Sloane Winslow’s murder.”

  Nash sat back in his chair and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. His expression was pained, but softer too. More human. It suited him better than the bland mask of corporate counsel.

  He sighed. “It’s been a terrible week for us. Terrible every way you look at it.”

  “You know the police considered my brother a suspect?”

  Nash nodded. “The police spoke with a number of us and the local media have been on the story from the start.”

  “What was the general feeling here—that the police were right, or that they were way off track?”

  Nash cleared his throat, looking uneasy. “Nobody wanted to believe it. John is . . . he was a likable guy. He got along well with people, myself included.”

  Kali nodded and waited for Nash to continue.

  “We all knew John had a personal ‘in’ with Reed, and to be honest, in the beginning it was a bit of a concern for those of us who’d been with the company for many years. But John never took advantage of their relationship. He was well liked and respected.”

  “Nobody wanted to believe it,” Kali prompted, “but?”

  “But as more and more evidence pointed in his direction . . . Nash made a gesture of helplessness with his hands. “I assume the police have gone over their reasons with you?”

  “In broad terms, yes. I understand that there was some tension between him and Sloane Winslow.”

  “Well, yes.” Nash hesitated. Kali couldn’t tell if it was simply because he was unwilling to speak ill of the dead, or if he held back for other reasons. “They had different visions for the company,” he continued finally. “John and Reed were focused on maximizing profits with an eye toward being bought out by one of the larger chains. Sloane wanted to keep it in the family.”

  “Is it true she wanted to get rid of John?”

  The hesitancy again. “She was lobbying to replace him,” Nash said reluctantly.

  In other words, the cops had been right. John had motive. At least in theory.

  “How did Reed feel about it?” Kali asked.

  “He was the one who brought John on board. I think he felt like he was caught in the middle.”

  “Did the police question him?” Sloane might have been trying to oust John, but Reed shared John’s vision for the company—a vision that was now more secure with Sloane dead.

  Nash again pushed his glasses higher on his nose. “They questioned all of us. Reed was never a suspect, if that’s what you’re getting at. He was at a business function the night Sloane was killed.”

  “Does he think John did it?”

  “You’d have to ask him that. The official company position is that guilt or innocence is best left to the legal system.”

  Kali imagined that as general counsel, Nash had a hand in formulating that position. Not that she could fault him for it. It was a by-the-book response, one that she herself would recommend in a similar situation.

  Nash checked his watch. “Is there anything else? I’m sorry to cut this short but I have a meeting in a few minutes.”

  “You mentioned options and insurance,” Kali said. They hadn’t been on her mind when she came in, but since she was here, she might as well gather what information she could.

  “There’s a company policy for one and a half times annual salary. You and your sister are the beneficiaries, though I have to warn you most of John’s compensation came in the form of bonuses and options, not salary.”

  That John had listed her came as a surprise to Kali. No matter what the sum, she was oddly touched.

  “It’s with Global Mutual,” Nash continued. “We’ve already notified them of John’s death, so I imagine you’ll be hearing from them soon. I’ll have Alicia make sure you’ve got the necessary documents.”

  “Alicia?”

  “John’s secretary.” Nash rose from his chair. “And as soon as we’ve had a chance to go through his office, we’ll box up John’s personal effects and get them to you. Where are you staying?”

  “At John’s. My sister
and I both.”

  He nodded. “If there’s any way I can help, please give me a call.” He looked at her straight on, his eyes intense but warm. “I mean that.”

  Kali slipped the strap of her purse over her shoulder and headed for the door. “I appreciate your taking time to speak with me. I know you’re busy. I can find my own way out.”

  Nash started to follow, but when his phone rang, he nodded a farewell in Kali’s direction instead. “Your brother will be missed around here.”

  Kali brushed past an empty secretarial desk and started down the carpeted hallway she’d come in. But instead of continuing straight to the front exit, she took a left near the water fountain.

  Waiting for the company to send John’s things was well and good if all she was interested in was salvaging some commemorative letter opener or paperweight and stale packs of chewing gum. But Kali wanted a glimpse of the unsanitized John. She wanted to sit at his desk, to look through his drawers and papers, to get a feel for where, and maybe how, he spent his days. After so many years of keeping John at a safe distance, she now wanted to know everything about him.

  And it couldn’t hurt to talk to his secretary.

  Passing a middle-aged woman carrying a stack of file folders, Kali did her best to appear lost. “Excuse me. I’m looking for Alicia. I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere.”

  “You sure did, honey.” The woman pointed her down the hall in the other direction. “Alicia’s just past the stairwell, John O’Brien’s office.” This last was accompanied by a catch in the woman’s voice.

  Kali thanked her and headed back. Beyond the stairwell, the hallway fanned out into a sort of anteroom leading to two large offices. She passed first by Reed Logan’s empty office, then came to the plaque that listed John’s name. A Bridget Jones-plump young woman with long, scarlet nails and a cherubic face was engrossed in sorting the mail on her desk.

  “Hi,” Kali said. “Are you Alicia?”

  The woman jumped and looked up. “Oh! I didn’t hear you coming. Yes, I’m Alicia. Are you here to see Mr. O’Brien? He’s”— she brushed the ash blond hair from her face, her expression sober—”he isn’t available right now.”