Jurisa, my former office suitemate was a woman with a secret deeper than the number of her hair color. Her poor husband.
When the recording ended, Grayson stood and clicked on the lights. “Your security-guard friend, Culver DeClerk, will he speak with us? Testify?”
“Offer him a just-in-case immunity deal, so he’ll feel safe to talk.” I paused. “This evidence makes you look pretty silly for not fully investigating other assailants with motives. Jilted lover is an ancient motive for murder.”
Sebastian scoffed. “Shonky investigation.”
“It only speaks to motive for one bullet. We found two different bullets in one dead man.” Fredericks stuck up two fingers.
“Yet you arrested only me. Either you find the two-trigger happy killers, or I will. My bet is on me.” My voice firm, I ogled the Detectives. “I understand the 80’s big hair is re-emerging. And I have a few salon chairs to fill; perhaps I can enroll you two in barber school?”
“Not so fast. I promised you a trade,” Grayson said. He nodded at Fredericks, who swapped DVDs and hit play.
Sebastian leaned forward. “Evidence you forgot to turn over?”
“Evidence we just received via bank courier.”
That had my attention. All eyes on the screen, I triple-blinked at a figure who looked like me, but wasn’t.
Fifteen minutes later the DVD ended, but Grayson froze it on the last frame. “Here’s your copy.” He handed an envelope to Sebastian. “Care to explain?”
“I don’t know who that was, but it was not me.” I annunciated each word as slowly and clearly as I could and dubbed them with a dozen hit-slaps for thinking that disassembled mess looked like me.
“Your hair color and updo. Your jeans and cowboy boots. Your gait,” Grayson said. “Fredericks and I have witnessed your various looks and moves in the Courthouse.
All three men turned toward me. I felt like I’d forgotten to wear undergarments. I pointed at the semi-fuzzy bank film. “Look at the cowboy boots. Not my boot bracelet. I make my own boot bracelets and spurs.” I lifted my left boot and clunked it on the table. “One of a kind.”
Chapter Sixty-Eight
The next morning at Sparrow Hospital, I faced off with two more officers, one in plain clothes, the other in uniform, each conspicuously placed outside Laurel’s room at the end of the hall. I flashed my driver’s license and heard familiar laughter from her room, while the officers checked the approved-visitor list. I leaned in to see who was there.
Dinkie-Do in full glory: “Judge Briggs—”
Laurel showed her stop hand-sign. “Call me Laurel.”
“Judge Laurel,” he said, “my station is just not the same without you.” Dinkie-Do wore tight black thin-legged pants with a black shirt striped in thin florescent colors and a skinny lime-green tie. Silver loafers.
In a designer clay pot, a sturdy four-foot-tall blue spruce with a star on top sat on the bedside tray table. Several sling-backed high-heels hung at differing heights from the tree and the mate of each shoe hung by its heel on the rim of the pot.
It was a beautiful sight, deserving of a New York Macy’s window. Shoe frontals inward, heels pointed out, Swarovski crystal snowflakes hung alternating with pots of glimmering eye shadows and bedazzled needles.
Laurel’s hands lay crossed over her heart. “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful except my husband and children.” She touched the tree. Dinkie-Do turned it thirty degrees, and she gasped again. “Worth getting shot over.”
“Miss Laurel, you’re embarrassing me.” Dinkie-Do lifted one shoulder to his bent head. “Ooooh, look who’s joined us.”
I entered the rest of the way, and he hugged me.
“Love the tree, but I’ll be avoiding bullets, thank you.” I removed myself from Dinkie-Do’s grip, hugged Laurel, and then sat on the corner of her bed.
“I’ve got clients.” Dinkie-Do princess-waved. “Keep pumping iron so you get outta here. You’re in my book.”
Laurel shone. “It’ll take me a while to decide which shoes to wear.” She laughed, and he wiggled out the door.
“You look radiant.” I clasped her hand. “How’s Michael?”
“My doctors ordered him to go home to sleep.” Laurel could hardly keep her eyes off the shoetree. “Michael left after the second officer was posted at my door.”
“I feel so badly about—”
Laurel cut me off. “Feel the shoe leather, and the world is good again.” She stroked a heel and a crystal. It scattered small rainbows around the room. “Truth. What caused this, and what rids us of this?”
She knew me well. “My new theory: Maybe Donnettelli was vying for a Supreme Court appointment.”
Laurel didn’t blink. The silence spoke for her.
Head tilt. “You knew?”
“I didn’t know you hadn’t thought of that connection. How is it you’re surprised?” Laurel’s tone made me feel like a third grader. “Donnettelli liked to play with the big boys; it made him feel bigger. He was all puffery. You know that. And think about it: why else would he spend his time rubbing elbows with legislators?”
Surprised? I felt small and stupid; I did know that. “Guess I forgot to look at what was right in front of me.”
Laurel continued. “Political parties nominate Supreme Court candidates, which takes money, lots of money.”
“Hence the case-swapping, so he could get the decision he wanted.”
“Then somebody offs him and points the smoking gun at me. Why?”
“Well,” Laurel said patiently, like the whole world, except me, could see what was going on. “If you’re locked up for murder, Donnettelli’s playmate can go on with the scheme, and nobody’s investigating swapped cases anymore.” Laurel looked quite pleased with her analysis. “When you spoke out about that Manville case, you may as well have ordered the hit on Donnettelli yourself. He had to go.”
I felt as if I’d been backhanded, and I held onto the bed to keep from reeling. She was right. I’d denounced Donnettelli publicly for changing my Order. The letter Sebastian had sent to everyone was very clear. Any co-conspirator would have to do away with him. “I didn’t know he wasn’t acting alone.” This was awful.
Laurel placed her hand over mine. “Of course not. You were doing what you always do—speaking up for those who couldn’t speak up for themselves. Everyone’s focus should have been on getting justice for those families devastated by mesothelioma.”
Laurel made more comforting noises, and I realized she was showing signs of needing sleep.
“It wasn’t supposed to be a steppingstone for His Supreme Belligerence to the Supreme Court. Did you ever hear him talk about it?”
“I heard Noel on the phone the other day.” Laurel’s words were beginning to slur. “He told somebody you stole Mrs. Donnettelli’s boxers. Isn’t that funny?”
I numbly smiled in agreement, thanked her, and kissed her forehead. I couldn’t head out of the hospital fast enough. I speed dialed Dexter as I walked, and when the call clicked in, I didn’t wait for him to speak. “Meet me at the salon ASAP. Bring our sons. Please.”
I had a horrid feeling that before I got to my house, the cops, the Detectives, and the murderers would be there. I feared I’d hear: yes, there was evidence you withheld in your secret closet and in boxes that belonged to the man you killed. Damnation, I was tired of all that leading to me.
By the time the guys pulled up at the rear door of the salon, I was there and ready to brave that rolling den of testosterone.
Fifteen minutes later we pulled into my driveway. I gave the boys a key to the secret closet and told them what to do. Each son marched upstairs and down again—a box in hand and loaded it into the Hummer.
I put the key to the Hummer on the island near the patched Plasti-gal, phoned Dinkie-Do, and asked him to take a break, get a ride ho
me, and deliver the boxes to Mrs. Donnettelli. We didn’t want her missing her boxers.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Late in the afternoon, I was cleaning my station, when Sebastian came in and unexpectedly announced that the Detectives wanted a word. Behind him, Hunter led Detectives Grayson and Fredericks. I reached for the red-and-black can, spritzed myself, capped it, and returned it to my shelf.
Just the sight of those two Detectives annoyed me. I pointed the infiltrators to the back room, and followed them, closing the door behind me.
I sat at the head of the kitchen table and waited. And waited.
Hunter started. “Detectives are looking for a person of interest and want to ask you about it.”
“Someone who’s not me?”
Fredericks hunched over the table. “Not for publication.” He kept his voice matter-of-fact.
I felt bound to quiz him. “Related to Donnettelli’s murder?”
Fredericks kept it as bland as ‘shave it all.’ No creativity or inflection. I wondered what would happen if he sat on a wire brush in his boxers. “Judge Jurisa Haddes.”
“You’re searching near me? Seriously?” Not once did she ever travel outside her judicial suite to visit with me when we were colleagues, never sat next to me at one Judges’ meeting, never made any effort to speak to me in the parking garage, elevator, or at social gatherings when our paths inevitably crossed.
Fredericks made like he was reading from his little notepad. “You were both Circuit Court Judges. You were both involved with Donnettelli.”
“Not!” I felt faint. I never faint. But the thought that I was in any way involved with Donnettelli—I was about to faint.
“In a manner of speaking,” Fredericks said. “There’s big money here, and where there’s big money, there’s bound to be some action. We’re looking for her near the action.”
“No time for fighting.” Hunter winked at me.
Ugh!
Grayson showed a police-stop hand. “Common ground is swelling. I’m leaning more toward your thinking.”
Sebastian looked from Grayson to Fredericks and said, “So find Judge Haddes, charge her, and request dismissal of the charges against Nic.”
Grayson scratched his ear. “Just where would you stick that into the Constitution, Counselor? The magic word to charging is evidence.” Grayson dropped his voice.
I raised my voice. “The magic word is freedom. Mine. You interviewed Culver DeClerk?”
Fredericks said they had, and that Culver would testify about the video.
An affair was a reason to murder, but there was so much more here. “Did you speak with Haddes’s husband?”
Faces blanked, but I understood that silence. “They’re missing together?”
“Dog’s balls. Offer some lollies, and the public will tell you where they are.” Sebastian tapped a commanding finger on the tabletop.
“It’s hard to hide in a town, even inside a state, where you’re regularly in the media because of the cases you draw as a Judge. I know.”
Grayson cleared his throat. “Be on the lookout alerts for Judge and Detective Haddes went out to state and local units. And all public transportation has been notified.”
“Haven’t been missing twenty-four hours.” Fredericks flipped the pages of his notepad. “Her staff described a busy motion day, her trial pled, she’s off the rest of the week. He’s semi-retired.”
“If truly missing, maybe it is hunting season on Judges, and Judge Haddes is that next victim,” Grayson said. “You didn’t get along with her either, did you?”
I’m the suspect? Again? I didn’t scream, but I wanted to. I spoke in calm methodical words. “Perhaps her husband killed her. You said he’s missing. Isn’t the spouse the first suspect?”
“Or someone wants to make it look like that,” Grayson said matching my slow pace.
“Rubbish,” Sebastian said. “Quit being a cobber to this Haddes.”
Fredericks tapped on his notes and read: “The husband, Derrick, knew about her affair with Donnettelli. They’re in counseling.” Fredericks closed his notepad. “Solid information. Derrick’s a retired detective, thirty-five years, and still assists with cold cases.”
“We have regular contact with him.” Grayson’s voice lowered. “No contact this week. But not unusual.”
“Are you convincing us or yourselves? Use your authority to find them.” Hunter stood and pushed in his chair. “Hubby might’ve wanted revenge.”
Mmmm. Two people/two bullets, not leading to me. I liked it. But the bank accounts were still in my name, court case assignments had been changed, money made. Wrong cut, color, and product. And I still needed to get that Order corrected.
Chapter Seventy
By nine that night when I returned home, Dexter had made Chicken Kiev with all the fixings during which time he’d given the boys an intensive cooking lesson mixed with a lecture on admissible evidence. He’d learned a few things from me during our years together. The menfolk not only set the table but had dinner artfully arranged in its center. They decided to brainstorm while we ate. I liked how these guys thought.
“Suppose Donnettelli was murdered because he no longer wanted to cooperate—whatever the scheme?” I said while I filled my plate.
“Possible.” Josh clanked his fork against his plate.
“Suppose Jurisa,” I said, “who is personally involved with Donnettelli—is approached. She doesn’t want to cooperate—remember she got the asbestos cases after I left. Or, maybe Jurisa does cooperate initially, gets scared, and then decides to stop?” I met Dexter’s eyes.
“Maybe they kill Pete Dune to show Jurisa Haddes what will happen to her if she doesn’t cooperate,” Dexter said. “Or, maybe she was in it all along, and they want to keep her, but now she knows how they treat people who misstep, and she needs a reminder of what can happen to her if she betrays them.” Dexter passed me the serving platter while he spoke.
I nodded, accepted the platter, and passed it to Jake. I needed a few minutes before I thought about eating. I turned toward Dex. “Now, consider the fact that Noel got beaten, and Laurel got shot. They’re not dead, which translates in this scenario to more messages of how serious these thugs are about Jurisa cooperating.”
“You’re saying, she’s not running with her husband—she’s dead?” Dex sounded upset. “If Jurisa is dead, goodbye to your defense. You need her alive so she can confess she killed Donnettelli.”
“Damn. I do need her alive.” Never thought I’d say that. “It only makes sense to hurt Noel and Laurel to teach Jurisa a lesson, if they’re going to keep her alive.”
Dexter laughed. “Lover, that’s why you’re the Judge. You think clearly and ask the right questions.”
“I do have a question for you,” I said gently. “About Hunter’s man or men. Are they really there? Are they untrained floaters? Police Cadet dropouts? What’s the deal with them?” I had to know how they could be so inept.
Dexter stopped laughing. He focused on the napkin on his lap and spoke slowly. “I have a confession.”
Sheepish was not a good look for him. “Okay.”
“I figured placing cars around you and having a few part-timers checking on you was good enough.” He gulped.
I was speechless. He’d never been cheap with me or anyone else. And I felt stupid assuming there had been a human behind the dark-tinted windows. “I told you to let me pay and—”
“It wasn’t about the money.” He pinked. “I believed the mere presence of vehicles would scare anyone away, and if not, I’d be there for you myself.”
“You—”
He looked me full in the face and spoke right at my heart. “I wanted to be the one.”
Male ego and testosterone never ceased to amaze me. And appall me. I let it go, I couldn’t find the words.
“W
hoever is doing all of this, shooting Laurel, assaulting Noel, killing Donnettelli and Pete, sending me prank warnings to stop talking about Manville, blowing up my car, and shooting up Hunter’s truck—whoever it is has a goal in mind.”
Dexter drew in a deep breath and held it. I felt his arms around me despite his being seated across the table. “They want you to stop talking about Donnettelli’s case-swapping, so they can go on making big money. Simple as that.”
“And it had to be bigger than Manville,” I said. “About a million dollars bigger than Manville.”
Josh asked, “What if all the asbestos companies were paying Donnettelli on the QT—”
“Then Donnettelli messed with the wrong woman,” Dex said. “And she wouldn’t let it go. No, I mean, she wouldn’t let him off the hook.”
Et tu, Dexter? But he was right. If I hadn’t spoken out about Donnettelli changing my Order, he’d probably still be happily manipulating the judicial system and cheating victims out of help.
“No, I didn’t let him off the hook. I tied a freaking anchor around his neck and let him sink. That’s on me,” I said. “Now it looks like whoever was in it with him wants to put Jurisa in his place. Or Jurisa is the one trying to tie a noose around my neck. I’ll think about this after dinner.”
Chapter Seventy-One
I was with Hunter in his Escalade when I clicked in a call from Trisha.
“The alarm company—Firefighters have been dispatched to the café. Some sort of bomb or explosion discharged in the back of the building. Margo and I are headed there to meet—” Trisha’s voice was breathy.
“We’re ablaze?” I ordered Hunter to drive faster. The Escalade engine hit high cruise. “We have plenty of time to catch up with Hollywood. Get to the salon.”
“They’re securing the premises,” Trisha said.
“See you in a few.” I hated to cut her off, but I needed to think. I white-knuckle-gripped the door handle.
“This is ‘bout to get as entertaining as a June bride on roller-derby wheels,” Carlye said.
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