S
andy woke up
feeling sorry for herself, which she recognized as not a
particularly helpful emotion. After so much success in her defense,
Margo Larena had skipped out. Sandy felt like the child who travels
forward and backward along the numbered squares of a board game,
and just before winning lands on the most dreaded square. After so
much effort, wasn’t it unfair to be jerked back to the starting
point?
In truth, it wasn’t quite that bad, not
starting over bad, but she knew her attitude clearly needed a major
adjustment. Chip was good at such things, when they were
communicating. Martin was good. Jerry Kagan was even better. She
hoped his intellect would never leave his ageing body.
She phoned him and at noon was at the
Windward Bar and Grill waiting for her old friend. She sat in a
booth toward the rear watching as someone held the door for him
coming in. She stood as he approached maneuvering his cane and
slowly walking between the long bar and the tables with the
measured pace of the elderly. When she asked the retired lawyer to
lunch, she had forgotten that springtime had long ago left his
step.
He held out his hand. “What’s going down,
Miss Reid.” He smiled at his attempt to sound somewhat with it.
“Everything is going down and complications
are sending them lower. It’s so great to have a fresh set of eyes
take a look at my situation. How are you, Jerry?”
“My spirit is fine but my bones are tired.
It’s delightful to be having lunch here once again. And doubly so
with my favorite young woman, in spite of her having a frown on her
lovely face. Before we start chatting, would you mind if we sat at
a table instead of this booth? It’s easier for me to
negotiate.”
He didn’t seem to need much help, but she
held the chair for him anyway. She said, “Have I made a mistake
asking you here? We talk on the phone with such ease, and I keep
saying we’ll do lunch someday, but I’ve put you through some bother
coming here today haven’t I?”
He waved away all such thoughts. “Did I ever
tell you I used to work in the backroom here wrestling kegs of beer
in the summer between semesters? Do you have any idea how heavy a
keg is? This place has changed completely. There used to be large
double-doors right behind where you’re sitting. The name and
ownership has changed several times also. They used to call it The
Gold Chest. You know, from Florida’s east coast along here being
called the Treasure Coast.”
“I get it. A chest full of gold from one of
those old ships coming too close to shore and wrecking, leaving
treasure spattered along the reefs?”
“Exactly. I’m not quite that old, but that’s
where the name came from. Legend has it the settlers here would set
up false fires and beacons to purposely misguide the ships onto the
dangerous reefs, so they could salvage the supplies and goodies.
The town could live a year or two from the supplies and provisions
from just one wreck. Not to mention the valuables. That was just
the start, we’ve been living off the tourists ever since.”
So great to see him cheerful and talking.
“What do you want? I’m having a Bloody Mary. It might be the first
of many today.”
“The Sandy Reid I know would never succumb to
such a weak-willed temptation as drowning her sorrows. Have as many
as you wish, just not for the wrong reason.” He noted the distress
written on her face. “I’ll have an iced tea. Do they still have
that legendary soup and sandwich special here?”
They both ordered. She started explaining how
she had been trying to put together a successful defense in spite
of having the client from hell. “I started out struggling with what
the police were calling a simple domestic dispute. John shoots at
Margo—for a reason that isn’t at all clear—and misses. She becomes
angry, and follows him home. She goes in packing a .45 automatic
she got from Dirty Harry or God knows where.
“Are you familiar with the size and weight of
a .45 pistol? Don’t try to hide it under your clothing.”
“There’s plenty of room in my bra.” She
looked around wondering where her drink was. “I’m sure Shapiro
wishes the murder weapon were a skimpy little Smithy .25 caliber
you can hide up your sleeve. They haven’t found the gun. Just my
luck, when the bozo fired at the deputy and me, he didn’t use a .45
automatic. Anyway, she shoots him in the shower, then shuts the
shower door, because she used to live there and has wiped up that
damn floor too many times in the past. Her car is seen driving away
just before the police arrive.”
She paused and looked at him. “Might not be
what happened, but that’s more or less the police scenario I
thought I’d have to face, when the case went to trial.”
“And you are struggling trying to get to the
truth in spite of your client.”
“She keeps talking about her boyfriend,
setting him up as her alibi. Except, I could never find him to
talk. Supposedly because he was an illegal. Just as I’m beating my
head against the wall chasing him, the FBI waltzes in and says the
victim was one of the couriers involved in smuggling drugs between
Miami and El Salvador and might have taken off with three hundred
grand of drug money. Suddenly, I’m golden. Now there are several
thousand suspects who possibly want John dead to get the money
back.”
“Shapiro suddenly faced your defense of
insurmountable reasonable doubt. What’s the problem? Start booking
your vacation in Venice.”
“I took advantage of the moment to go back
into court and get the charge reduced from first to second, and my
client was released on bail.”
“Hooray for our side. I like that part.”
Their orders arrived, and he raised his glass briefly in a toasting
gesture.
She shook her head. “It all went to hell,”
she continued. “I stumble in on the elusive boyfriend searching
John’s condo. He shoots at me and later a deputy kills him. He
carried no ID and his stolen car had Dade County plates. Jaworski
immediately thought the guy was a Miami hood.”
“Her boyfriend a Miami hood? That makes no
sense. How was Margo acquainted with such a person? What’s his
name?”
“Richie Grant.” She shrugged. “Now Shapiro
can claim the guy and my client were in it together. The boyfriend
kills John, and they go after the money. Shapiro is now going for
conspiracy to commit murder.”
“In Florida they’re considered equally
guilty.”
“So, I got up yesterday morning expecting to
come down to the courthouse, make my pitiful argument about why her
bail shouldn’t be revoked, and watch her face as she realizes she’s
going back to jail. She remarked once that, if she ever got out,
she was never going back. I honestly never expected her to
skip.”
“She was more of a hindrance than a
help.”
“She’s a terrible client, Jerry. She’s
uncooperative, lies to me, and doesn’t pay. I’m going to miss
her.”
“You understand that with your client now a
fugitive, you can withdraw as her attorney and go back to your
peaceful life of staring out the office window. At this point, you
don’t actually have to do one thing more. You can drop out right
this instant. Not your problem.”
As they started in on their lunch, she said,
“And leave everyone believing it was my fault, believing I lost
control of a major case. Tomorrow’s headline is going to be ‘Murder
suspect flees. Attorney declines comment. Film at eleven.’ She
skips out and I get the attention as though I somehow broke the
law. Followed by letters to the editor about how I’m hiding her
because she’s guilty. Not the publicity I was going for.”
“This isn’t about the publicity. You’re upset
because you can’t have your heart’s desire to win your first murder
defense case and free your first client.” He put his soupspoon down
and stroked his chin. “Do you know anything about this Richie
Grant?”
“No.”
“Can you prove he was a member of the
Salvadoran or Miami drug gang?”
“No.”
“Your first step is to prove he was the
killer and part of the drug gang. Then you can worry about
disconnecting Margo, which will get her out of the conspiracy
charge.”
“How do I prove all that?”
“You investigate.”
“Law enforcement from all over South Florida
is already doing just that.”
“Yes, but they can’t do what you can do.”
“Jerry, in spite of what you’ve heard, I
can’t actually leap tall buildings with a single bound.”
“Picture yourself walking down the sidewalk
in a large city, and you see a bum walking right toward you. You
know he’s going to bother you and ask for something, probably
money. What would you do?”
“No eye contact. Step around him. Keep on
walking.”
“Of course, it’s easy. But Sandy Reid
wouldn’t confront people straight on like that, if she wanted
something. It’s not easy to step around Sandy Reid.”
“What would she do?”
“Your target is walking peacefully down the
street and gradually senses that someone is in step beside him. He
cautiously glances over and there is Sandy Reid walking step for
step. Without stopping, she asks him for information. He speeds up
and she speeds up. He slows and she slows. He can’t step around
her. He has the feeling that whatever he does, he isn’t going to
shake her. He’s stuck. It’s easier to give her what she wants.”
“So, I should ignore what all the forces of
law enforcement are doing. Go to Miami myself. Do the Sandy Reid
thing. Nose around. Locate people. Get on their side and walk along
with them until they give me what I want. Where did you get all
that?”
“From you. I’ve noticed that’s how you
operate.”
“I guess so. I just need to get pumped up now
and then.”
“Well, get yourself pumped up. And watch your
back down there in Miami.”
She started to drain the remaining half of
Bloody Mary, but he was watching. She took a dainty sip.
“I might not know enough to be helpful, but
let’s take a look,” Kagan began. “I’ve always said look for the
woman or look for the money. There’s no sex angle in this mess as
far as I can tell.”
There was the Claudia and Chip sex angle. She
wasn’t going to think about that. Aloud she said, “There might be a
John, Margo, and Richie love triangle, with Richie shooting John so
he could have Margo.”
“But he already had Margo. She was getting a
divorce.”
“All right, we’ll forget the sex and follow
the money. Margo might have known that John took off with the
money. Maybe she found it. She knew he hid things in the freezer.
Jaworski told me the crime scene crew found evidence of a leather
bag in with the ice cubes. Yes, now I’m thinking Margo might have
the money.”
“If she indeed has the money, it would
explain why she’s so deceitful and hesitant to cooperate with you.
She’s nervous and quirky because she’s afraid you’ll find out she’s
sitting on the money. She’s more concerned with holding on to three
hundred thousand dollars, than being accused of murder.”
“She did come up with ten grand cash for me
overnight. She must have had a whole lot more if she peeled off ten
grand for me so easily. Some woman we couldn’t identify had it
delivered to our office.”
“And since Margo was in jail it had to be
some other woman.”
“At the time, I was thinking Richie might
have some gal around to do it for him. Later, I realized it could
have been Claudia in disguise.” She saw him frown and explained,
“Claudia Mertens, the victim’s sister.
“You haven’t told me about her. Why didn’t
you suspect her immediately? We just said Margo has the money. That
makes her the number one suspect. If Claudia gave you ten thousand,
I would guess she got it from Margo. So, Claudia is another
suspect.”
“That’s not a real good fit. True, Margo is
Claudia’s sister-in-law, but they aren’t friendly. Still, Claudia
is a businesswoman with resources of her own. I suppose it’s
possible Margo pleaded with her to come up with ten thousand for
me.”
“What’s Claudia’s story?”
“Definitely, a capable and calculating type
of woman. She owns the Broadmoor Spa. About as stylish as you can
get this side of Palm Beach. Lots of brains under lots of
big-league blonde hair. Knows all the usual angles, plus a couple
of new ones she invented for herself.” She told him how Claudia’s
gun was involved.
She finished her lunch and pushed the plate
away. “I told you Chip once dated her.” Once dated sounded so
inoffensive to her, so vague, so harmless. “He met with Claudia for
coffee at seven the evening of the murder.”
“Really? You’re the one who never liked
coincidences.”
“I know it’s strange. She’s with a police
detective on the same evening her brother is murdered. I’ve always
considered that Margo, Claudia, and Richie all had the opportunity
to commit the murder.”
“So, that makes dead Richie suspect number
three. Wait a minute, back up. Did she call Chip for the meeting,
or did he call her?”
“She called him, of course.” Sandy didn’t in
fact know.
“Just as Claudia decides to go after Chip
again, her brother is murdered. I don’t buy that. Why was he
meeting an old girlfriend anyway?” he asked. “No wonder you seem
upset with him. You actually don’t trust him, do you?”
“I trusted him before I got a look at her.”
She meant it as a joke. Kagan probably took it as simple jealousy.
She didn’t want to explain that the jealousy didn’t just come out
of nowhere; the diary had set her off. “Claudia wanted to return
something to him.” No need to explain further; she wasn’t there to
seek emotional advice from him.
“So, Claudia planned that meeting, and she
wanted it for seven that evening. Why? I don’t get it.” He paused
to think. “She has coffee at seven, and the murder is in the middle
of the night. As an alibi for the murder, it was lousy.”
“All she accomplished by meeting with Chip
was to suddenly come out of the past and call attention to
herself.”