1) A break-in gone bad, OR
2) One of the Zombies, OR
3) A teacher, OR
4) A student (parent of a student?) OR
5) Someone who hated Spike for a reason yet to be determined.
I suppose that's why Susan Doyle had sent me three pages of questions. Answer all of those, and you'll find your killer. Although Marian Wolinsky would have some of the answers, if I wanted to tackle the tough questions, I'd have to call him, the president of his own fan club, Duke Broussard.
Chapter 11
"Hello, Duke? This is--"
"Hey Darlin', what took you so long to call?" Duke was smooth. That's how he'd been married three times.
"Do you even know who this is?" I asked, laughing
"Of course I do, Darlin'. Jameson happens to be the name of my favorite whiskey and my favorite lawyer. I like to keep it simple. Besides, I have you on speed dial. You never know when you'll need your lawyer. I can't be huntin' for your number when I'm in jail, dead drunk, now can I?"
"Way to plan ahead, Duke," Man, I hoped I never got that call. "How have you been?"
"Life's grand! The only way I'd enjoy it more is if there were two of me." Duke could've been the poster boy for those 'Life is Good' shirts, except his stick figure would have a beer in its hand and a girl on either side. In fact, he was probably at a bar right now.
"Great! I knew you'd bounce back from your divorce." Please let him remember the offer he made me. I hate asking for favors.
He laughed. "I should thank Candy for putting my face on that billboard--I got so much business from that. And the ladies liked it too!"
I rolled my eyes. Lucky he couldn't see me.
"So, are you callin' to take me up on my offer?" he asked.
Yes! I jumped off my sofa and did a little dance. "As a matter of fact, I am," I said, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice.
"Sounds good to me, Darlin'. Why don't you meet me at The Big Easy on Harrison? They have blues music startin' at eight."
Of course Duke conducts his business from a bar! They probably hand out business cards for him, too.
"Okay," I said. "See you there. And thanks, Duke."
"You're welcome. You know, most of my dates don't thank me 'til the end, if you catch my drift." I could almost see him leering through the phone.
"What? This isn't a date--"
But he'd already hung up.
Chapter 12
I dressed with care for my 'appointment' with Duke, opting for business casual, as if I were attending an event at the Broward Bar, instead of an actual bar. And forget about lipstick--wearing lipstick around Duke was like waving a red flag at a bull. You were just asking for trouble.
I arrived before eight and parked close by. I was definitely overdressed for the muggy summer weather, but it couldn't be helped. As I crossed the street, I saw Duke sitting outside at the bar, drinking a beer. Who knew, maybe he lived there? He looked the same as ever: sandy brown hair cut shoulder length, designer jeans and a white Tommy Bahama shirt unbuttoned to show off his shark tooth necklace. And of course, a tan, he always had a tan. I wondered if he was wearing his favorite alligator boots. I still don't believe he killed that alligator….As far as I could tell, he hadn't changed at all since I'd seen him a year ago. I wondered if I had.
As I walked toward the bar, Duke saw me and started grinning.
"Look at you Miss Jamie, all lawyered up! Do I have a court hearing I don't know about?"
"Not yet," I said with a smile, "but the night is young. Anything can happen."
"Ain't that the truth? Why don't you have a seat and we'll get you a cocktail." He patted the barstool next to him. And they say chivalry is dead.
"I'll have a Pinot Grigio," I said to the bartender, before turning my attention to Duke. "How's work, keeping you busy?"
He polished off his beer and ordered another one. "Come on, Jamie," he said, looking me in the eye. "You didn't call me out of the blue to ask me how's work, did you? What's going on, you in trouble?"
Just then, the band started up inside the restaurant and I stopped to listen. They were playing a Muddy Waters song, and they were pretty good. I really needed to get out more…
I sipped my wine. "Am I that transparent?"
"No, girl, I'm just a damn good PI!" He gave me a wink and then laughed at his own joke. You can say that for Duke, he was easily amused.
"Okay, but before I tell you my long story that involves a heavy metal band, a murder, and a state attorney with political ambitions, I need to make one thing clear…"
Duke's green eyes were watching me closely, he loved a good story. "What's that, Darlin?"
"This is not a date."
Chapter 13
"Then I guess you won't mind if I check out the lovely ladies?" Duke said, with a leer.
I snorted. "Like you weren't going to do that anyway."
When the bartender pointed at my empty glass, I nodded. I figured what the hell-- this was my biggest night out in months, even if I was spending it with Duke Broussard.
"Just out of curiosity," I said, "On the phone earlier, what offer did you think I was accepting?"
Duke gave me a look. "The one where I said, 'Hey Jamie, let's you and me go out and celebrate, I finally got away from my crazy wife.' What'd you think I meant?"
"Oh, I remembered a different offer," I said. "The one where you said, "Jamie, you rock! If you ever need my help for anything, just call.'"
"Yeah, I vaguely remember that," he said.
"You'd remember more if you weren't always soaking your brain in booze," I teased.
"What fun would that be?" He laughed, showing off his perfect teeth. "Well, where's that story you promised me?"
And so, with blues riffs as my backdrop, I told Duke the tale of the music store murder and its oddball cast of characters. I explained what I'd learned so far and how, despite Adam's strange confession, and his fingerprints on the didgeridoo, I would stake my life on his innocence.
"Damn, Jamie! This sounds like a made-for-TV movie. Count me in. What do you need me to do?"
I'd been holding my breath waiting for Duke's reaction and I finally let it escape into a sigh of relief. I pulled out Susan Doyle's list of questions and we began to strategize. Duke would run background checks on Spike, the band and everyone who worked in the music store. If that didn't turn up anything, he would also check out the students and their parents. When he started telling me how he could get cell phone and bank records, I put my fingers in my ears and chanted: "La La La."
Duke rolled his eyes at me. "Okay, I get it, need to know basis only."
I said I would meet with Marian Wolinsky and Adam's therapist. We were just about finished when company arrived. A pretty redhead in a skin-tight dress and stiletto heels marched over to us looking furious. She glared at Duke and then slapped him hard across the face. I don't know why I was surprised.
"You pig! I can't believe you're cheating on me with her!"
"But Darlin', it's not how it looks, this is business!" Duke jumped up and continued his patter of explanations, trying to catch a break.
I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing. This was how I'd met Duke. His life seemed to be one long parade of angry women. I wondered if this one could afford a billboard…
Chapter 14
When I spoke with Dr. Simon the next morning, he agreed we had a lot to discuss and suggested meeting at his Plantation office at noon. Plantation is west of Hollywood and a twenty minute drive, so I left at 11:30, to account for traffic. My GPS showed that his office wasn't far from Plantation General Hospital. It's not a coincidence that lawyers have offices near the courthouse and doctors have theirs near the hospital; everyone wants easy access in case of emergency. Different kinds of emergencies, though…
In addition to Susan Doyle's polygraph question, I wanted to ask Dr. Simon if there was a safe way to question Adam. I needed to know why he said he was sorry when he saw Spike's body; w
hat 'bad thing' he did, why he thought it was his fault. Adam could be the key to finding the killer, if only he could communicate what he knew.
Dr. Simon's waiting room reminded me of a yoga studio: warm colors, new age music with nature sounds woven in, and a basket of herbal teas by the water cooler. There were no magazines on the table, only self-help books about finding happiness and inner peace, and some funny books of comic strips. Dr. Simon (or his decorator) had mastered the concept of Feng Shui. I really felt harmonized with my environment. And for people on the autism spectrum, like Adam, who can’t tolerate jarring external stimuli, this room was perfect.
Maybe it was the soothing cocoon of the waiting room, but as soon as I met Dr. Simon, I felt like I could trust him. A trim man in his fifties, he had an engaging smile and an openness that was welcoming. With his receding salt and pepper hair and wire-rimmed glasses, he reminded me of my old evidence professor, the one who gave me my only 'C in law school. I'd try not to hold that against him.
"Hello, Jamie, thanks for coming in," he said, shaking my hand. "Let's go to my office so we can talk."
I won't bore you by describing the office; suffice it to say, it was more of the same. And the chairs were super comfortable. I wondered if his decorator could make my house look like that…
"Jamie," Dr. Simon said, his intense gaze never wavering from my face, "I'm very concerned about Adam, I believe he's in crisis. Specifically, he is experiencing cognitive dissonance brought on by posttraumatic stress disorder, or PTSD, for short."
"Isn't PTSD what war vets have?" I squirmed in my chair. I wasn't expecting this.
"Yes, but it can affect anyone who has suffered a traumatic event, and Adam was severely traumatized by his teacher's murder. Adam is particularly vulnerable because of his Asperger's. He just doesn't have the coping skills." Dr. Simon took off his glasses and tiredly rubbed his eyes.
"What's cognitive dissonance? Is that part of PTSD?" I was trying to wrap my head around all of this.
"Cognitive dissonance is a feeling of discomfort resulting from holding two conflicting beliefs simultaneously. In Adam's case, he believes he somehow caused Spike's death, but he also believes he would never do anything to hurt people he cares about. He cannot reconcile these beliefs."
There was a tightness in my chest that wouldn't let up. It was like an iron claw squeezing the air out of my lungs.
"Isn't there anything you can do for him?" I asked.
"There are things we can try, but everyone reacts differently. One way to treat PTSD is to help the patient “reframe” the trauma situation to understand it in a new way. Adam's been having nightmares and so we've been working on dream revision therapy. That's a tool for reducing cognitive conflict which doesn't address the trauma itself. Sometimes it's enough to just treat the symptoms."
"Is it working?" I was pretty sure I knew the answer already.
Dr. Simon shook his head.
"What about medications?"
Dr. Simon referred to the chart on his desk. "Adam doesn't do well with medications. In the past, we've tried several anti-anxiety medications, as well as a few different anti-depressants. None of them helped, and some have made him worse." His shoulders slumped in defeat.
I couldn't accept that we were out of options. "Surely, there's something else you can try?"
"Hypnotherapy can be effective in treating PTSD--but there is a risk. Reliving a traumatic event, even under hypnosis, can cause further trauma. In other words, he could get worse. Adam is so fragile right now, I'm afraid he might become suicidal. Nevertheless, I believe it's his best option at this point, and his mother agrees. We're planning to start tomorrow."
My arms were crossed tightly across my chest and I was rocking back and forth slightly in my chair. I realized I was comforting myself the way Adam does. Maybe, deep in our DNA, we are all wired to respond that way.
I looked up at Dr. Simon. "I came here to ask you if Adam would be able to take a polygraph."
Dr. Simon looked horrified. "Are you saying he's a suspect in the murder?" I could feel my eyes tearing up. I nodded.
He jumped out of his chair, shaking with anger. "That would destroy him. I won't allow it!"
Chapter 15
It was a relief to know Dr. Simon was fighting for Adam, too, and I said so. Then, I told the doctor about my search for evidence to eliminate Adam as a suspect and how I believed that Adam, himself, held the answers. If only we could discover why he felt so guilty...
"Exposing the roots of the trauma is one of the goals of hypnotherapy," Dr. Simon said. "You and I have the same goal, but for different reasons." He smiled and it made me feel like all was not lost.
"Would I be able to watch your hypnotherapy session with Adam tomorrow?"
He shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Although his mother authorized me to speak freely with you, your presence would distract Adam. The observer would influence the observation in this case."
Then it came to me! I may not Tweet, but I wasn't a total Luddite when it came to technology. "Could I watch it over Skype?"
Dr. Simon laughed. "Of course! I'm sorry I didn't think of it, myself."
After we discussed the details, I asked him the question that had been gnawing at me. "Is there anything you can do to protect Adam if they press charges next week?"
He answered so quickly, he'd clearly thought about it already. "If intense hypnotherapy doesn't work, I'm recommending residential treatment for Adam. The best facility for him is located in New York and he'll need to stay for at least 30 days."
I grinned. I'd been right to trust Dr. Simon.
***
I was driving home when my cell rang. It was Duke.
"Miss me yet, Darlin'?"
"I don't know how I lived without you all this time." I said, laughing. "Did you patch things up with your girlfriend?"
"Let's just say, she was very happy with me before the night was over."
"WTMI, Duke! Hearing about your sex life wasn't part of the deal--" I almost blew through a red light, I was so busy yelling at Duke.
"Fine fine, don't get your panties in a twist. I have news for you."
"That's great! Whatcha got?"
"Well, I checked into your boy, Spike. Turns out his real name was Melvin Duane Shiprock. What kinda name is Melvin?" Duke was snickering.
"This, from the guy whose name is Marmaduke?"
"Marmaduke Broussard was my granddaddy's name and he was the best damn sports fisherman in Shreveport, Louisiana, I'll have you know."
"So, you're Marmaduke Broussard, the Second?"
"Third, actually."
"Well, I'm sure your granddaddy would be proud of how you're carrying on the family legacy," I said, trying not to laugh.
"You speak the truth, young lady. Now, back to Melvin, I talked to the guy who owns the diner next door and he told me our guy ate breakfast there the morning he died."
"And that's interesting…why?"
"He didn't eat alone. He was with another dude and they had a huge argument."
"Wow! But how do we find out who it was?"
"Way ahead of you, Darlin'. I showed diner guy pictures of Steve Michaels--that's the music teacher with the restraining order--and also the Zombie guys. And he ID'd one of 'em."
"You're killing me, Duke! Who was it?" I had just pulled into my driveway, but I stayed in the car.
"Darryl, the guitarist for The Zombies."
"Great job, Duke! You're amazing!" This was turning out to be a good day.
"There's more, Darlin'. Spike's credit card shows he charged a hotel room the night before he died, so I went there and talked to the front desk clerk. Turns out Spike had a lady friend with him. "
Terrific…
"I showed the clerk the one picture I had, and guess what?"
"I'm afraid to ask…" I said.
"It was Rosa Michaels, Steve Michaels' better half."
"So, now we have two suspects? Daryl and Steve?"
"Yup.
And, according to Spike's cell phone records, he talked to both of them the night before he died."
Chapter 16
"So, what do we do next?" I was so excited, I couldn't think straight.
"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm on my way to talk to Rosa Michaels," Duke said.
"Okay, I'll call Marian Wolinsky and try to set up a meeting with her. Let me know what you find out from Rosa. And Duke?"
"Yeah, Darlin'?"
"Try not to hit on her. I hear she has a jealous husband!" I laughed and hung up before he could say anything.
It was way past lunch time and I was starving, so the first thing I did when I got in the house was make a sandwich--a peanut butter, banana, and honey sandwich, to be exact. Now, I know what you're thinking, you're thinking that sounds gross, but you shouldn't knock it 'til you've tried it. I mean, it's not like I suggested you eat a sardine sandwich. Yes, somebody actually eats those. If you Google sardine sandwich, recipes pop up, I kid you not.
After a delightful dessert of dark chocolate (it's good for me, right? I heard that somewhere), I hunted up Marian Wolinsky's phone number, which I'd copied from Spike's probate file at the courthouse. I thought about calling Grace, but decided to wait until I heard from Duke. I was dying to hear what Rosa Michaels would say to him.
So--you know how you imagine what a person looks like after hearing their voice on the phone? Well, the opposite is true, too. Once you've seen a photograph of someone, you think you know what they sound like. I'm only telling you this because when I called Marian Wolinsky, the biker chick with multiple tattoos, I was blown away. She sounded like an educated New Yorker, with an attitude to match. I thought for sure I had the wrong Marian Wolinsky, but no, it was her. When I told her I was Adam Muller's lawyer, she said, "I have nothing more to say, I already talked to the cops." Before she could hang up, I told her I was also Adam's cousin, and that we were worried he was suicidal, and how much I'd appreciate a few minutes of her time. She softened her tone then and agreed to speak with me, for Adam's sake. We decided to meet at the Starbucks on Young Circle at four-thirty.
Death by Didgeridoo (Jamie Quinn Mystery Book 1) Page 4