Where There's a Will ....There's Murder

by Julie Ramson

  Standing? Up? Was she nuts? No way could I stand.

  Before I could ask about the other woman, she had flipped back the sheets and removed a tube in my bladder. Ouch! Then, turning to my IV, she said, “Why don't you look out the window while I do this? It tends to hurt less that way.”

  I turned my head and before I knew it, she had the needle out and was putting a band aid over my hand. I watched as she checked my vital signs but braced as she then said, “Now, let me help you see if you can stand.”

  “I don't think so,” I finally managed.

  She laughed and slipped an arm under me, turning and lifting me up in a deft movement.

  “Wait!” As I sat up, the room started to spin and I saw dark spots.

  Susie stopped, supporting me with her arm for a minute or so.

  “Okay, I guess,” I said as the room calmed down.

  She told me to step down gently and just stand there. I was convinced my insides were going to be outside but I tried. Surprisingly, I could stand but not real well.

  Susie sat me back on the bed and waited for a minute.

  “I have a question,” I began. “Wasn't there another woman in this room last night? An older woman?”

  She paused and took out a slip of paper from her pocket. “No, I don't see anyone one listed for this room.” She shook her head.

  “I thought there was another woman in here last night,” I said stubbornly. “An older woman, with gray hair? I called a nurse in to help her.”

  Susie shook her head again. “No,” she chuckled, “but then, you were just out of anesthesia and getting pain meds besides. Either one can cause weird dreams.”

  Maybe. I guess. But I would have sworn that woman was real.

  SNEAK PEEK AT MAGGIE’S THIRD MURDER MYSTERY – “FRAMED FOR…. MURDER”

  This may be Maggie’s most challenging case ever! Her best friend, Sam Napelli, is being framed for murder….two murders. First she finds the body of Gregg Simon, an ex-boyfriend, on her front porch – with a knife in his chest. A knife from Sam’s kitchen with Sam’s fingerprints on it. Then there’s another body – another ex- boyfriend, gunned down in Sam’s back yard – and the gun has Sam’s fingerprints on it too! Sam turns to Maggie – who may be in way over her head. Two new men enter Maggie’s life – Jake Harmon, the Detective assigned to help Sean find the real killer and Charlie McIvers, the attorney who offers to help Maggie with Sam’s case. Both want to help….and both want Maggie. Digs, away on an undercover assignment, surfaces again – and he wants Maggie, too! The testosterone flies!

  Sam is arrested and if Maggie doesn’t find the real killer – fast – Sam is going to prison for two murders she didn’t commit! Or, as you will read – the real murderer will put Sam next on his list of victims – and Maggie with her……

  “FRAMED FOR……. MURDER”

  PROLOGUE

  “You are just more trouble than you're worth.” Glaring at me, with a shake of the head, the voice went on. “I wanted her to rot in jail for what she did to him - to me - to our family! I didn’t want to kill her - that’s too easy!” A fist slammed against the wall. “I wanted her to have day after day of hell - to think about what she did! What she is!”

  Another glare at me. “But you had to screw everything up! You were going to save her! Keep her out of jail! Damn you!”

  Deep breath. “So now - okay. She might not go to Cook County Jail but she’ll still be in jail - my jail.” A smirk. “She’ll never leave - not breathing anyway! Or you either, Maggie. You either.”

  My heart was racing. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. I looked up and saw the eyes. Crazed eyes - why hadn’t I seen that before? How could I have missed that?

  We weren’t getting out of here. Not alive.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Several Weeks Earlier

  Richard J. Daley Courthouse,

  Chicago, Cook County

  Illinois

  “No further questions, Your Honor.” My opponent, Jason Miller, sat down. He represents Dr. Phillip Harris, the surgeon I am suing for medical malpractice. Jason had just completed his cross exam of one of the hospital nurses.

  Judge Williams turned to me. An older judge, he was of medium height with sparse graying hair and a few extra pounds hidden by his robe. He was a good judge, fair and knowledgeable. Plus he read the motions and briefs the attorneys gave him – a virtue missing with some of the other judges in Cook County. “Ms. Flaherty?”

  That’s me, Maggie Flaherty. I’m the attorney representing the deceased woman, Evelyn Keane, her husband, Walter and their children in this lawsuit. A solo law practitioner – though not initially by choice – I was determined to win this case. Not just for the money, but also because, in my opinion Dr. Harris is an overbearing, arrogant doctor who caused Mrs. Keane’s death through indifference and greed.

  Plus I just like to win.

  We were conducting the trial in a large courtroom in Chicago’s Daley Center. It was a high ceilinged room with wood paneling. The judge sat on a raised platform area – the “bench”- with the witness stand next to him on his right and another, smaller area on his left for his court clerk. The court reporter would sit with his or her stenography machine, and probably a laptop computer, on the floor in front of the witness stand.

  Directly to the right of the witness stand was the jury box which was a slightly raised area with six jurors seated against the wall and six seated in another row in front of them. Two alternate juror chairs sat next to the jury, furthest from the witness and closest to the spectator section.

  Attorneys do their questioning in front of the jury box and the witness stand. Usually the judge – referred to as “the court” - would demand the questioning attorney remain a certain distance back from the witness so as not to intimidate the person. If the attorney wants to get closer to the witness, even to show them a document, he or she must usually ask the court’s permission to do so.

  Trials are generally open and public proceedings which means anyone can come in and watch. The spectators enter through the courtroom door and sit on one of the benches behind the “bar” – a short metal fence with a swinging gate. This is the “bar” all attorneys need to “pass” in order to practice law.

  It’s intimidating to be there, let me tell you. I have now been practicing law for several years and still have major butterflies when I am on trial. Twelve people will determine how good a job I do for my client – and twelve people will render a verdict either for or against my client.

  When the judge turned to me, I stood, all 6’0” of me in heels. I had prepared obsessively. I put my papers and notes on the podium that stood several feet in front of the jury. I was wearing my “nail the defendant” suit - the one I feel comfortable and confident in. I had on my diamond spray pin - a gift from a friend in a former case. I was as ready as I would ever be.

  I glanced at the jurors to my left. They faced me at the podium as well as Mr. Keane, seated at the plaintiff's table, and the defense attorney, Jason Miller and his client, Dr. Phillip Harris, seated at the defense table. We had seven women, five men and two female alternate jurors. Eight of them had college degrees, a couple of them were retired government workers, one was an electrician, another a stay at home mom and two were school teachers. They were an attentive jury, listening carefully to every witness.

  “Yes, Your Honor.” I stood. “At this time, I would like to call Dr. Phillip Harris to the stand as an adverse witness.” Calling him as an adverse witness meant I could ask “leading” questions or questions which hold the information I want the jury to hear and to which the witness need only answer yes or no. He is an “adverse” witness because I expected him to be against me, and therefore hostile to my questions. This doctor was very hostile since he was furious that I had sued him.

  He had made his fury very clear to me at his deposition several months earlier. Good thing I’m not the sensitive type because he was nasty that day. I wanted the jury to see tha
t side of him today as well and since I have often managed to annoy other people I was pretty sure I could annoy him today too.

  Dr. Harris strode over to the witness stand, a tall, elegant man with silver hair, fine features and an air of command. He wore a dark blue suit, crisp white shirt and a red tie. A not so subtle picture of red, white and blue. He sat in the witness chair and looked over at the jury as the court reporter asked him to swear that he would tell the truth and nothing but the truth. He answered that he would in a clipped voice.

  “Dr. Phillip Harris, could you please tell us your occupation.” I kept my tone respectful.

  “I'm a surgeon here in Chicago.” He spoke carefully to me but his face was tight. I was about to attack his patient care and this man was not accustomed to having anyone question him, his judgment or his medical care. He caught himself and tried to rearrange his expression into one of patience, of benign tolerance for me, a mere lawyer who could not possibly understand the complexities of medicine. This was for the jury’s benefit and something I knew Justin had worked very hard with Harris on before trial. He struggled to keep his anger under control and his face neutral. I wanted to smile. No matter how much Jason had worked with Harris, he couldn’t hide that nasty disposition forever.

  ************************************

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Saturday. I burrowed under the covers only to yelp when I felt a nose – a very cold, wet nose – on my neck. Killer does not respect weekends. He believes, day off or not, I should get up early and walk him. I have explained to him exactly why he’s wrong a number of times but he ignores me.

  Just as I started to get up, my cell phone rang. Picking it up I saw Sam’s number. “Hi-”

  “Maggie! Please come! Oh God, Maggie! He’s dead!”

  “What? Sam, calm down. What are you talking about? Who’s dead?” I was on my feet, grabbing jeans and a sweatshirt.

  “The police are coming! Maggie, you’ve got to come right now, please!”

  “Of course, Sam! I’m on my way. Just calm down!”

  I flew out the door with Killer, hustling him into the back seat of my Honda CRV. I peeled it over to Sam’s and found several police cars already there. Sam has a small ranch style home on a lovely tree lined street. Normally very quiet, it was now filled with neighbors and cops. And a coroner’s van.

  Running toward the several stairs that led to the front door, I was shocked to see a body at the top, a man lying face down, blood all around him on the cement in front of her door. Two evidence technicians flanked the body. A cop stood at the base of the stairs and stopped me.

  “Sorry, Ma’am, this is a crime scene. You’ll have to step away.” He motioned me back.

  Right. Like he could stop me. I’d entered crime scenes before – sometimes without anyone really saying I could – kind of illegally - so one young cop telling me I couldn’t? Hah. I just smiled, walked around him and peered in through the front window. Sam was sitting on her sofa facing me, looking very small and pale. Tear tracks glistened on her face. Sean, my brother, and Jimmy Martin were in there with her, along with another man I didn’t recognize. They all looked grim.

  “I’m her lawyer,” I said, turning to the cop who had stopped me. “I’m here to see my client.”

  The young cop looked uncertain.

  “Sean!” I yelled through the window. “I’m here for Sam – as her lawyer.”

  The three men turned to me.

  “Maggie,” Sean said, with what almost looked like relief. He turned to the young officer. “She can come in,” he said, “But Maggie, go around to the back door.”

  The young cop reluctantly stepped aside so I could walk back past him to the sidewalk that led to the back of the house. I walked in through the garage and then through the kitchen into the living room. Sam jumped up, almost into my arms.

  “Maggie!”

  “Sam, it’s okay!”

  I drew her over to the sofa again and sat her down, giving a questioning look to Sean and Jimmy. Sean shrugged and Jimmy avoided my gaze. The third man just watched me. He was older, in a rather rumpled suit, with glasses, graying hair and a stern face.

  “Ms. Flaherty?” He finally spoke.

  “Yes. What is going on?” I had a protective arm around Sam.

  The man gestured to her.

  “Maggie, there’s a bo –bod- body on my doorstep!” Sam stammered.

  “I saw that.” I tried to stay calm.

  “Who is he?”

  “Gregg Simon.” She started shaking again.

  “Gregg Simon?” Shocked, I looked at Sean. “The Gregg that you dated a while back?”

  “Yes!”

  The third man spoke. “Mr. Simon was here last night and sometime early this morning was stabbed at your friend’s …. client’s front door. With her knife.” His voice was devoid of expression but his face clearly said he thought Sam had killed this guy.

  “Sam, don’t say another word. Nothing.”

  She nodded.

  “Sean, Jimmy, Mr.-”

  “Blaski.” He supplied. “Captain Morton Blaski, Chicago Homicide.”

  “Okay, may I speak with you?”

  I got up, patted Sam and repeated, “Don’t say anything, Sam. I will be right back.”

  I led them into her kitchen where several cops were dusting everything with a black fingerprint powder. Blaski tossed his head toward the door and the cops filed out. He was a big man, over six feet tall, with iron gray hair and a nose that had obviously been broken at least once. His eyes were a light hard brown. Thick bushy eyebrows made an almost straight line across his face and there were deep scowl lines along either side of his mouth. I turned to my brother.

  “What is going on, Sean?”

  Sean looked unhappy and uncomfortable. “Just what Sam said, Mag. She says she got up and went to get the morning paper and found him, lying on her front stoop, dead.”

  “And?”

  “And she called us. And you, apparently.”

  “Sean, you know that she wouldn’t - she couldn’t-”

  “Maggie,” Jimmy said, “the knife was still in his chest. It’s from her set on the counter.” His eyes registered his pain.

  “Does the knife have any fingerprints?”

  “Yes.” Blaski answered grimly. “Many.”

  I glared at him. “Have you taken my client’s fingerprints?”

  He just looked at me. Of course they had.

  “Okay, that’s it. She’s not saying anything else until I’ve talked to her.” My tone was clipped and I turned away from him.

  ANOTHER JULIE RAMSON NOVEL

  LIFELINES

  After thirty years of marriage, Kate Sloan discovers that her husband, Jim, has had another “fling” – this time with her best friend. Her decision to divorce him sets into motion a cascade of events that will forever change not only her life but the life of everyone she loves.

  Jim is involved in a near fatal car accident the night Kate tells him of her decision, leaving Kate struggling to find a way to help with his long rehabilitation and yet also become someone more than just Jim’s wife and her children’s mother. Jim, a surgeon at Chicago’s Northwestern Memorial, must learn to understand his past in order to realize the effects of his actions now. Their daughter Alex must confront her anger at both parents to resolve her own trust issues with the man she loves while David, their son, destroys his future and engagement to his fiancée, Emily, by his reckless behavior. Kate’s mother, a once happy, now miserable woman who relies on scotch to get her through the day, must release her own hurtful memories and open her heart to others.

  Kate’s story, sometimes told through the prism of her family and friends’ backgrounds and emotions, will touch each of us as we watch her emerge as someone who creates a job for herself as Story Lady at the local Learning Center, as someone who becomes involved with “her” children in her story program and as someone who learns to love a little girl – a little girl who may break her
heart. As Kate develops into a woman of strength, as she reaches to be more than she was before in this sometimes humorous, sometimes heartbreaking year, her family must also grow with her or be forever less than they could have been.

  PROLOGUE

  Chicago's spring can enter softly on sunny days warming gently into budding trees and blooming crocus or it can storm its way in on windy gales with bitter cold and rain. This Friday, April chose some of both, with a day of bright sunshine that looked warm and inviting through the window, but that also held the sharp bite of a winter wind not ready to give up its grip. The street that Kate and Jim Sloan lived on was actually in River Forest, a suburb just west of Chicago. Lined with large trees whose dark branches were getting ready to pop with leaves, the street held homes well cared for and large without being ostentatious. The neighborhood was established, made up of mostly middle aged families with older children and long standing ties. It was a comfortable area, content in its identity.

  The Sloans owned a large, two story red brick house on the corner of two neighborhood streets, just a block off a main avenue. It had a wide lot, with several front and back gardens that Kate planted, pampered and loved. But on this sunny, almost spring day, Kate Sloan's life was about to change, some of her relationships and major lifelines about to be severed.

  And her life and the lives of those she loved would never be the same.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Kate stood next to the king sized bed in the master bedroom, her husband’s shirt clutched tightly against her chest as the tears started to stream down her face. She began to rock back and forth as if that could ease the ache, not noticing that her tears stained the dark green silk comforter.

  Finally she stopped and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She threw the shirt back into Jim's suitcase, the one she'd been unpacking from his medical conference in San Francisco. Ha! Medical conference! Right! He promised, she thought, dully at first, then with a rising fury. He had promised her, damn him! She yanked open his dresser drawers and began to fling more of his clothes into the suitcase and, when it would hold no more, she ran down the stairs, through the kitchen and into the basement. She pulled out several very large suitcases they had used two years ago for their European trip and lugged them back up to the bedroom. Opening the first, she stuffed shirts and pants into it haphazardly. Then, sweeping her hand over the top of Jim's dresser, she pushed all the contents off it and into the suitcase as well. She crossed the room and flung open Jim’s closet door, grabbing more shirts and sweaters, pants, belts and jackets and jammed them on top of the other clothes until the suitcases would hold no more.