“One problem at a time. So, you can’t tell me
anything about the Claudia—Chip Goddard thing?”
Margo shook her head. “Don’t know anything
about it. I don’t think it lasted very long.”
“I need her name and address. What’s she
do?”
“She owns a beauty spa. Started out she was
supposed to be a partner with this other woman in a little beauty
and wig shop. The deal was the woman puts up all the money, and
Claudia was to run it and get a half interest. According to John,
the woman spent all of her money to equip the place and even
mortgaged her house to get more. As soon as it was up and running,
Claudia squeezed the woman out. She bought out the woman for
peanuts with an interest-only note, whatever that is, which she
never intended to pay off. She ended up with the entire business
without paying a dime. John laughed about it. He always said you
take your life in your hands when you start dealing with
Claudia.”
“What’s the name of the shop?”
“She changed the Lovely Locks Beauty Shop
into the upscale Broadmoor Spa. Business improved immediately, but
was still lousy until she got the bright idea to triple her prices.
As soon as she did, the business absolutely took off with
upper-class-wannabe Claudia strutting around showing off her
designer clothes and talking down to her upper-class-wannabe
customers. She insults them, and they think she’s kidding. They
come rushing back sending in friends.”
“Where does she live?”
“A nice apartment over on Holly...27th,
28th...look it up. Lives rent free, another Claudia scheme.”
“Screws the landlord?” Sandy didn’t think
that was too wild of a guess from the sound of things.
“That would be too much bother for her. She
doesn’t
screw the landlord, and that’s her angle and his
problem. Got all this from John. This young guy, Billy, inherited
the apartment building from his grandfather. Not a tremendously big
deal, four apartments, but they’re nice. Claudia is one of his
tenants. She’s trying to talk him into some real estate deal to buy
some supposedly fabulous property that would make him unbelievably
wealthy. She told him if he doesn’t get rich, he won’t be worthy of
her. The deal is Billy signs over his apartment building, and she
signs over the Broadmoor Spa...ha, ha, ha.”
“As if she’d ever in truth do such a thing.”
Sandy guessed. “Meanwhile, he gets nothing but teasing and
denial.”
“Sounds like you already know all about her.
Yeah, she’s playing him. Some groping, but he can’t quite get at
what he wants. He’ll lose interest if she comes across. She knows
that. John says the poor guy isn’t going to get anything even after
he does sign away his apartment building. She has him crawling the
walls. Why can’t I manipulate a man like that?”
“You’ve got to start practicing when you’re
about thirteen.”
She watched Sandy writing on her yellow pad.
“You write everything down?”
“Just making short notes on her.”
“Girls like us could never trick a man like
that.”
“Not girls like us.” Sandy raised an eyebrow
but kept on writing.
“I mean she’s got the good looks going for
her.”
“Not like us.” Sandy rolled her eyes.
“That’s right, you and I don’t affect men the
way she does.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“Can you imagine screwing for an entire
apartment building? Most of us would settle for dinner and a movie,
wouldn’t we?”
“Okay, okay, I’ve got it.”
Margo moved her chair back up to the table.
“Why are you interested in her? Oh, I get it, she dated your man.
You want to know if she’s hot. So ask him about her. Hey, worry
about your sex life on your own time—I’m paying fifty big ones for
this. Can we talk about me?”
Was she that obvious? “She’s the victim’s
sister. Of course, I want to talk with her.”
“Some cop said I should use you. And people
around the jail have heard of you. Did I make a mistake? You are
sort of chummy with the police.”
“It’s no problem for me, if you want to find
someone else. It’s early in this case. If you want out, now’s the
time. It’s not unusual for criminal lawyers to fraternize with the
prosecution.”
“Why don’t you just say you like screwing
cops? It’s your thing, nothing wrong with that.” She dropped her
head to her chest and then looked back up. “What the hell am I
doing here depending on you? I don’t know who to trust anymore, the
difference between you and me is you know when you’re getting
screwed.”
“Then back out now.” She didn’t want to tempt
Margo into firing her, yet she needed the woman to trust her and be
more cooperative.
“No, I’ll stick with you. Except I’ve got no
ten thousand. I’m in between jobs.”
“What do you do?”
“Bookkeeper. Find me a decent job, and I
could embezzle ten grand in no time. A little bookkeeper humor
there.”
“I want the ten thousand up front. I’m not
doing this for free.”
“How the hell can I do that now? Ask the
officer out there if they’ll let me make a run to the bank. Get me
out of here, and you’ll have your money.”
“Margo, do you have that much money? Do I
have any hope of getting paid for this?”
“I can get it.”
“How?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll get it.” Margo hesitated
then said, “I’ll have Richie bring it around to your office. Will
that be all right?”
“You’ve been in touch with Richie?” That
stunned her. “Where is he? I must meet him.”
“I’ll tell him to give you the ten grand
right away. Don’t worry.”
“I absolutely must meet him. I need personal
information on him, address, phone number, the works. Where’s the
guy from anyway?”
“Don’t know.”
“Don’t know? Is he from Nottingham or
Cucamonga or somewhere in between? You must know something. Take a
guess.”
Margo stared at her then looked away.
“Are you lying to me? What’s this ‘Richie can
get the money’ bullshit?” Sandy stared at her. “Oh my god, he’s a
drug dealer isn’t he? I’m defending a pack of pushers. Tell me this
isn’t happening.”
“It’s not that way. Well, maybe he offered me
a little blast once, but no, he has nothing to do with drugs. I
have the money, and I’ll have him get it. You’ll get your ten
grand.”
Sandy abruptly stood. “No cash. I want a
check. You understand? A check from a bank or written on someone’s
account. I don’t want some badass strutting into my office and
dumping a dirty, plastic grocery bag of smelly cash on my desk.
Don’t give me cash. My reputation is at stake here. I want some
sort of traceable check from a legitimate bank.”
“Cash would be a lot easier.”
“I don’t want to hear that. And you better
start coming across with the dirt on Richie.” She sat back down
shaking her head. “Okay, let’s get busy. Where did your husband
work anyway?”
“He was a diplomatic courier for the El
Salvador Consulate in Miami. He carries...carried sensitive letters
and files between the Miami consulate and San Salvador in a sealed
pouch.”
“What’s the Salvadoran connection with your
family?”
“None for me. John was born in Miami. Got
shuffled back and forth between families and learned Spanish along
the way. His mother is naturalized U.S. His father had Salvadoran
citizenship and lived there—I think he’s dead. Or maybe it’s
Claudia’s father who is dead.”
“Did John get much education?”
“Sure. Graduated from high school in Coral
Gables. Played basketball. Went to Miami-Dade CC.”
“So John was bilingual. No problem getting a
job at the consulate.”
“Next you’re going to ask what’s he doing
living way up here.”
“Okay.”
“Back a few years, it seemed all of South
America was buying condos in South Florida for investment. His
mother’s brother gave her the condo. I don’t know how John ended up
with it.”
“Park Beach to Miami is some commute.”
“Supposed to be temporary, however the bubble
burst and the condo market never actually came back. They couldn’t
sell, so they stayed. I like it up here. I loved the arrangement.
It wasn’t bad, as his schedule was two weeks on down there, and
then two weeks off up here.”
“Then there was trouble in paradise.”
‘A few months ago he stopped coming up here
on his days off. Found something new and different down there,
quite likely a whole lot different. When your husband’s been gone
for three weeks, he’s supposed to show up horny.”
“And that made you think about divorce?”
“That made me think about murder.”
“Don’t say that again. Perhaps it got you
upset.”
“Right, why should I mind splitting his
take-home pay with some tramp in Miami?”
“So you hated him.”
“Hate? Maybe not hate.”
“The police are going to ask you that, if I
decide to give them the chance. I wanted to hear how you
answered.”
The next item was another major happening her
client should have mentioned. “Move that chair up close to the
table here. Here’s a police report about a shooting earlier that
evening at the Community Center. Why didn’t you tell me about
this?”
“Don’t know anything about it.”
“Don’t know? It says here your car got a
bullet hole!”
“Oh...yeah. Well, I had just come out from my
Yoga class. John shot at me.”
“Apparently, it wasn’t important enough to
mention. Are you sure it was John?”
“Someone else would try to kill me?”
“Did you actually see him? That is the
question. Margo, can you please start giving me complete answers
without me dragging every frigging subject and verb out of you?”
She closed her eyes and put her hands to her forehead feeling the
developing headache. “Someone on the outside looking at us would
never guess we‘re on the same side.”
“What do you want me to say? I didn’t stop
and look, but I think it was him. When I heard the shot, I ran for
my car. He shot and missed. I don’t know how. He was right there in
the bushes. Some other people heard the shot and were running
around. I drove like hell to get out of there. It really pissed me
off.”
“Someone trying to kill you can do that. What
time was that?”
“We break up at seven.”
Sandy looked at the police report to verify
the time. “All right, where did you go then?”
“Where did I go?”
“Margo, you’re doing it again.”
“I don’t remember exactly.”
“What time was it when John was lying in that
messy pool of blood in his shower? When you heard the sirens and
took off?”
“Around nine or ten, I think. I’m just
guessing at the time. I didn’t look at my watch.”
Sandy closed her eyes and shook her head.
“You told Detective Jaworski you were home with your
boyfriend.”
Margo looked upward thinking. “I guess that’s
right I was home.”
“Can anybody vouch for that, other than your
boyfriend?”
Silence.
“Margo, according to this report you were
seen leaving, at least your car was seen leaving, John’s place as
police cars approached!”
“Let me think. Yeah, that wasn’t me. That was
Richie, I loaned him my car.”
“And that’s the same Richie who’ll vouch for
you being at home at that same time?”
“You’re trying to confuse me. He might have
left for a minute that night. I might have the times mixed up. Do
you have any idea what I’ve been through?”
“No I don’t. That’s what I’m trying to find
out. Please tell me what you’ve been through.” As frustrating as it
was, Sandy was eager to learn more about the murder and to begin
formulating some sort of defense. She swiftly wrapped herself into
the question-answer routine and was surprised how effectively her
previous field investigator work in Philadelphia had prepared her
for this type of client questioning. It seemed second nature. She
felt she was asking the correct questions, even though she had
doubts about some of the answers.
For the next hour, they talked. She made
numerous notes on her yellow pad—notes about John and Margo’s
personal history, relatives, friends and enemies, property, and
lifestyle.
Questions about Margo’s relationship with
Richie Grant resulted in a glowing depiction of an enthusiastic
lover. Apparently, his lone fault was he considered ripping off her
clothes foreplay. He supposedly had an excellent job, as well. Yet,
she still refused to give out details.
Sandy looked at her watch and pushed back
from the table. The lack of information regarding Richie was just
one obstacle. Another was Margo mixing up the truth. Strangely, she
sounded truthful about not being very upset with her husband over
the separation or even about him shooting at her. To hear her tell
it, she just brushed it off.
“Here’s how I believe we should proceed,” she
said adding it all up. “I want you to cool it with your hostile
wife routine. Nine times out of ten, the spouse is the murderer.
The odds go up to ten out of ten if she’s hostile. Believe me,
that’s what the police are thinking. Don’t help them with your
attitude. You were a loving wife, but not devastated by the
separation. You are not a hostile wife, you are a grieving
widow.”
“Isn’t it up to you to prove I didn’t kill
him?”
“It’s up to me to be certain you receive a
first-class defense, and your rights are protected.”
“Word it any way you want, but it’s my ass on
the line. And I still have to pay you, whether I go free or not. Am
I right or am I right?”
“You can’t handle all this yourself. My help
is worth every penny.”
“Fifty thousand is a lot of pennies.”
“I’m going to get the best possible outcome
for you, which may or may not be freedom. I’m a lawyer, not a
magician. You can always pick some stuffy male lawyer out of the
phone book, if you feel lucky.”
The woman looked over at her smiling. So
Sandy continued, “Okay, now I need your husband’s social security
number, so I can start investigating. Also, I need to get at any
financial or medical records of his you might have.”