Friend of the Departed

by Frank Zafiro

  “No,” I said. “I don’t think so, either. But he wanted the same thing Cole did. For me to stop investigating this case.”

  “Detective Cole wanted you to stop interfering with our official investigation,” Kincaid corrected.

  “Let’s not bandy semantics,” Harrity said. “The point is that the motivation of Stef’s attacker was to stop his further investigation into this matter. Your assertion is that this individual was not a member of RCPD?”

  “Absolutely not,” Kinkaid said through gritted teeth.

  “That being the case, who else would benefit from such a cessation of activities? Surely not my client, who knew that Stef was investigating on my behalf.” He looked over at me. “But if someone else committed this murder, it only stands to reason that whoever that person is would want to end Stef’s efforts at uncovering additional facts that were initially overlooked by the police.”

  I noticed Richie Matsuda twitch slightly. His face turned red again, but he said nothing.

  “Even accepting your premise, which I don’t necessarily, that doesn’t mean it was someone at Stoker, Shelley, and Bynes,” Hinote said. “And your client is still the most likely suspect. There’s motive, and physical evidence.”

  “The vehicle damage, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  Harrity shook his head. “It’s inconclusive. Did you find any human hair when you searched it? Blood?”

  Hinote didn’t reply, but I saw Katie shake her head behind him.

  “I thought not,” Harrity continued.

  “The damage is not a smoking gun,” Hinote admitted. “But I’ll let a jury decide what it means.”

  “And if you fail to check into the facts that Stef has uncovered, I will point that out to the same jury. We’ll have a literal slide show of police mistakes and leads not followed. When I’m finished, my client will appear to be very much the victim she actually is.” Harrity stared at Hinote pointedly. “I will pummel you on this, Patrick. And you know it.”

  Hinote sat perfectly still, meeting Harrity’s gaze. Everyone else sat quietly, watching and waiting. Kami Preston completed scratching out a sentence, and stopped, her pen poised over the yellow paper.

  Finally, Hinote spoke in a slow and clear voice. “If you and your associate would give us the room, please?”

  Harrity nodded immediately. He rose and headed toward the door. I stood and followed him, limping slightly.

  Outside, he gave me a confident nod. “Good job.”

  “Did it work?”

  “Of course,” he said. “It isn’t a matter of working or not. I gave him the facts. Patrick is an intelligent man. He knows that even if Marie Brassart did kill her husband and even if she acted alone, if he fails to explore reasonable investigative leads that might prove exculpatory, he will lose in court, and badly.”

  “Then what’s there to discuss?”

  “Nothing. He asked us to leave the room in order to preserve some of the dignity of the detectives in the room. Theirs is a continuing relationship, and he can’t afford to alienate them. But right now, he is doubtlessly instructing them to conduct exhaustive follow up on the matters we’ve put before them this morning.”

  “That shouldn’t take long.”

  “It won’t.”

  Sure enough, within five minutes, the door opened and the reverse procession tramped past us. Matsuda was first, striding so quickly that he was almost running. Katie followed, refusing to look at me as she walked past. Kinkaid exited the room with Hinote and Preston.

  “I appreciate the information,” Hinote told us. “The police will be conducting further investigation to make sure we have a comprehensive picture of this…situation.”

  “Can I expect updated discovery information?” Harrity asked.

  “Of course.”

  We shook hands all around. Kinkaid walked us out, closing the glass doors behind us wordlessly.

  “Now what?” I asked Harrity.

  “I’ll be in touch,” he said. “And I’ll have my office cut you a check. Again, nice work.”

  I wasn’t so sure he was right, but it sounded good all the same.

  45

  “Coffee?” I asked her.

  There was no hesitation on her end of the phone. “All right.”

  “I was thinking The Bean House, up on Northwest Boulevard.”

  “I know where it is.”

  Of course you do, I thought. Next she’d be telling me that she knows this city like the back of her own hand. Every patrol cop does.

  We set a time. I spent the hours in between napping on the couch, and trying not to think too much about the earlier meeting. I was mostly unsuccessful. Matsuda’s comeuppance should have brought some kind of satisfaction with it, but all I really felt was relief. Knowing that the police weren’t looking at me in a criminal sense was a weight off my shoulders.

  Katie’s silence throughout the entire meeting was troubling but I tried to put myself in her shoes for a minute. What could she say? Her partner had screwed up on a case. Her case, since she was the lead detective. And the guy bringing it to their attention was…what? An old lover? Some guy she hated now?

  For a long time after I left the job, Katie was on my mind almost as much as Amy Dugger. What I lost there. What could have been. And the times since then that we’ve interacted were all either bittersweet, or just plain bitter. In the past couple of years, when I’ve thought of Katie, I mostly wonder what she thinks of me now. After yesterday, I had a pretty good idea.

  Used to be, those thoughts haunted me.

  Lately, though, I’ve come to realize that I don’t care so much.

  The Bean House was a little too trendy for my taste but I picked it because I knew they had a wide range of coffee. Why that should matter was a mystery to me, since I took mine black. But I didn’t know Anna well enough to know how exotic she liked her java.

  In the end, it didn’t matter. She arrived, gave me a nod and a hint of a smile, and took the house drip black.

  “Kenyan,” she said, as she took the seat kitty-corner to me.

  “The blend?”

  She nodded. We both tried it, nodded our joint approval, and then were silent for a few moments.

  “So I spent some time at the investigative division yesterday,” I finally said.

  “Yeah? Were you under arrest?”

  I smiled slightly and shook my head. “I passed some information about a case along to homicide.”

  “A Good Samaritan, huh?”

  “It was more about self-preservation than anything. I was tired of Cole and his crew eyeballing me.”

  She gave me a slightly distracted nod, then leaned forward, beckoning me. I leaned forward until our faces were only a few inches apart. “Are we going to talk about work every time we get together? Because I can get that on shift, you know?”

  “No,” I said. “We don’t have to.”

  “Good.”

  And so we didn’t. We talked about everything and nothing. Some of it was serious, and some of it made both of us smile. Her smile was brief, but radiant, maybe even more so for its brevity.

  I forgot about everything else.

  There was only her, and for a little while, that included all my demons, all my regrets.

  “Tell me something,” I said at one point. “Your name. The Poe poem. Is there a story behind that?”

  She shrugged. “I’m sure there is, though I’m not privy to the whole thing. I do know Annabel Lee was the name my mother insisted on. My father is a pretty stern man, very traditional Chinese. As far as I saw while growing up, she never resisted his authority much, at least not outwardly. But after I became an adult, and I started seeing my parents as people instead of just my parents, I realized how strong she really was. She just chose her battles.”

  “And your name was one?”

  “It seemed that way. She loved American literature, including Poe. She used to read ‘The Raven’ to my sister and me every year at Halloween u
ntil…” She trailed off momentarily.

  I reached out and touched her hand. “We don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to.”

  “No, it’s fine.” She took a breath and continued. “She loved the poem ‘Annabel Lee.’ I asked her why once, and she said that the only thing greater than love was regret. At the time, I had no idea what she meant.”

  “And now?”

  “Now, I’m not sure. Maybe I have an idea, but it’s wispy and hard to grasp. All I know, it that it’s a hell of thing to tell a kid named after the damn poem, though, don’t you think?”

  I laughed. “I do.”

  She smiled for a moment with me, then it faded to something a little more serious. “There’s another piece to it, too, though. In the poem, the guy’s true love is whisked away to a tower by people in her family, and she dies of some kind of illness there. Instead of moving on, he just keeps loving her. He doesn’t give up, even though she’s dead.” She glanced at me. “What do you think of that?”

  I considered. Then I said, “I admire his dedication, I suppose. No one likes a quitter.”

  She nodded. “Tenacity is good.”

  “But,” I said, “sometimes you’ve got to be able to let go of the past.”

  She smiled again. “Are you good at that, Stef?”

  I smiled back. “No. I’m horrible at it. You?”

  “Probably worse.” A shadow seemed to flicker in her eyes, but she shrugged it away. “Anyway, my father was not going to allow his children to have names that were not Chinese. So according to him, my first name is On.” She pronounced it own. “It means peace.”

  “But your birth certificate?”

  She grinned. “My mother made sure that said Annabel.” She glanced down at her watch.

  “Do you have to go?”

  She pressed her lips together and nodded. “I’ve got a family thing.”

  “Don’t sound so excited.”

  She didn’t smile at that, only shrugged. “Sometimes I think ‘daughter’ in Chinese also means ‘duty.’”

  “I wish I could say I understood,” I said, “but like I told you, both of my parents took off a long time ago.”

  “And your grandmother never made you feel that way?”

  “Never,” I said. “The only duty I ever felt regarding her was not to disappoint her. And that was more about me feeling that way than her demanding it.”

  “Well, she was definitely not Chinese.”

  “Pravda,” I said.

  She crinkled her nose. “The old Soviet newspaper? What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “I’m impressed. But I didn’t mean that. It’s just the Czech word for ‘truth.’ My grandmother used to say it a lot. The truth was important to her.”

  Anna stood. “Well, the truth is that if I’m late, my father will view it as disrespect. And that will make the entire visit even worse.”

  I stood with her. “All right. See you soon.”

  There was a moment of silence, one in which either of us could have initiated something. I didn’t know what – a kiss, a handshake, even a light touch on the shoulder. But the moment passed, and Anna nodded at me once. “Soon,” she repeated, and left.

  46

  The next morning, Harrity called me in the late morning with an update.

  “The police have been busy,” he said after a businesslike greeting. “They’ve re-interviewed Thad Richards, and subpoenaed the accounting for Stoker, Shelley, and Bynes. Richards was apparently less than wholly cooperative.”

  “What about the goon he hired?”

  “They didn’t share any information about him. However, I doubt they have any. It is likely that only Thad Richards knows who that person is, and as I stated, he was not cooperative.”

  “What’d they get from the financial records?”

  “I don’t believe they’ve received them yet.”

  “I thought they had a subpoena.”

  “They do. But they have to give the company a reasonable amount of time to comply with it. It isn’t the same thing as a search warrant, in which the evidence is seized.”

  “Then they should have gotten a warrant instead.”

  “I concur. But I sense that following my advice is not high on their priority list.”

  I smiled. “Probably not.”

  “Besides, getting a subpoena instead of a warrant, while less intrusive, also serves as a delaying mechanism.”

  “They’re dragging their feet?”

  “A little, perhaps.”

  I sighed. “I guess no one likes being told how to do their job.”

  “Very true. In the meantime, I would like to hire you for some pre-trial work, if you’re available.”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. What I need is a detailed background interview of Marie Brassart.”

  “Won’t you be doing that?”

  “I will. Tomorrow, in fact. But I’d like a pre-interview first.”

  “Why?”

  “Several reasons. My interview will focus on factual elements that impact legal strategy. In conducting such an interview, it is entirely possible that I’ll miss salient facts that indirectly pertain.”

  I interpreted what he said, then shook my head, though he couldn’t see it. “I doubt that. You’re pretty thorough.”

  “I make every attempt to be. But I’m also human.”

  “I’m waiting on the lab results for that one.”

  The sound from the other end of the telephone may have been a small laugh. “There are other reasons. At times, my method of interviewing can be intimidating to some people.”

  “I could see that being the case.”

  “Additionally, the very nature of the client relationship sometimes causes barriers, whether purposeful or not.”

  “So you think she’ll be more relaxed and open with me?”

  “It is a possibility, yes. In any event, I will get the benefit of your pre-interview prior to my interview with her tomorrow afternoon.”

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll do it.”

  “Excellent. Please stop by the office and I’ll make sure Maureen gets you a digital recorder. Just return it to her and she’ll transcribe your interview.”

  “Do you want a report from me?”

  “An executive summary, if you would. But you can brief me in person, if that’s your preference.”

  I thought about the last time I had to write anything meaningful in a professional sense and realized I still wore a badge when that happened.

  “Verbal is fine,” I said. “I’ll go out to see her after lunch.”

  “Perfect,” Harrity replied. “Maureen will call ahead so that you’re expected.”

  Expected? I thought.

  That’d be a first.

  47

  Marie Brassart looked more relaxed than any of the other times I’d seen her. I mentioned that to her shortly after we sat down in her living room.

  “Do I?” she asked. “Yes, I suppose I probably do. I feel better about things, anyway.”

  “It’s the Harrity Effect.”

  She looked at me askance.

  “Now that he’s in your corner,” I explained, “you’ve got to be feeling more confident about your situation.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I’m sure that has something to do with it. That, and…” Her eyes drifted to Jeni, who sat next to her. She reached out and squeezed Jeni’s hand. “And finding some peace with myself.”

  Jeni smiled back, though hers had some shadow to it.

  I put the digital recorder on the coffee table. Both women stared at it like it was a wart. “Just so I get everything right,” I assured them. “This conversation is covered by attorney-client privilege.”

  “You’re not a lawyer,” Jeni said flatly.

  “No, but I’m acting as the agent of her lawyer.” I motioned toward Marie. “So this is a protected dialogue. Harrity was very clear about that.”

  “It’s all right,” Marie sa
id. “If I can’t trust my own attorney, who can I trust?”

  “You fired your own attorney,” Jeni reminded her.

  “Not because I didn’t trust him.” Marie pointed at the recorder. “Go ahead, turn it on.”

  I activated the recorder, stated my name and the date. Then I asked both women to do the same.

  “What shall we talk about?” Marie asked, her voice one of false whimsy.

  “Let’s start with your marriage to Henry Brassart. How long were you together?”

  “Together eleven years. Married nine.”

  “Any issues in the marriage?”

  She smiled. “Have you ever been married, Mr. Kopriva?”

  “Call me Stef,” I said. “And no, I haven’t.”

  “Then perhaps you don’t know.”

  “Know what?”

  “That every marriage is full of issues. In fact, that may be exactly what a marriage is.”

  I thought about my own relationships and how complicated some of them had been. Maybe she was right. Maybe marriage was even more complicated. But I wasn’t there for philosophy.

  “Did he hit you?”

  “Henry? Oh, heavens no. He was a kind man.”

  “Were there financial problems?”

  She shrugged. “Not until recently. And that hadn’t become a problem yet, but I was aware that if things had continued status quo, we would have been facing some financial difficulties. That was why he was considering selling the house. More than that, it was the reason he planned to strike out on his own.”

  “Who had he told about that plan?”

  “Well, me of course.” She stopped. “Actually, I can’t say ‘of course.’ We didn’t talk as much as we used to.”

  “But he did tell you?”

  “Yes. And given the state of our relationship, I think that indicates he was close to a decision, or had already made one.”

  “Who else did he tell?”

  “I don’t think anyone else, although he said he was close to telling Thad Richards, and then the rest of the partners.”

  “Why Thad first?”

  “I’m not certain. But Thad struck me as sort of the lynchpin of the corporation. I think he handled most of the business details, and made sure everything important was communicated to the partners.”