Chasing Suspect Three Read online

  “Margo...Larena, is that right?” She said after checking her yellow legal-size pad. “I’m Sandy.” She held out her hand.

  “I’m screwed.”

  Sandy slowly pulled her hand back. “Okay, why don’t we skip the formalities?” She understood a night locked up behind bars could ruin your day. “Hey, you want me to get you one of those vending machine coffees?” She was still hoping to start the relationship. “No? Okay. I read about the case in the newspaper.”

  The woman didn’t waste any time coming out with the attitude. “So you’re Sandra Reid, huh.” The woman stared at the visitor’s badge. “And you are what I’ve got on my side?”

  “Hey, you called me.” Sandy had done enough smiling. “How’d you get my name?”

  “I don’t remember. Everything happened so fast.”

  “Did you choose me because I’m involved with Detective Goddard?”

  “No, I remember now. One of the cops who arrested me whispered that I should call you.”

  “So, tell me what happened.”

  “I got arrested, what do you think? Next thing I know I’m out here in jail, and some uniformed bitch is feeling me up and peeking in my bra. Someone’s going to pay for this.”

  “I mean before that.”

  “That’s what I’m telling you. The cops came to my place. They’d been there the day before and were nice, so I let them in again. This time they say I’ve done something wrong. All of a sudden they say they’ve got a right to push me around, they’ve got a right to put handcuffs on me, and I’ve got a right to eat shit.”

  “It’s terrible what you’ve been through.” Sandy couldn’t hold back a long sigh. She would earn her money on this case assuming the woman wanted to engage her. “Look, all I know is you’ve been arrested for first degree homicide. Tell me your story from the start.”

  The woman was beginning to settle down. “What is this, Friday? Well, the police found John murdered two days ago. That is, I found him, but I got the hell out of there when I heard the sirens.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  She gave Sandy a strange look. “You’re joking, right?”

  Sandy said, “I read the newspaper story. So that was your husband. I’m sorry for your loss.” She was afraid to ask if the woman had killed him. “You sent for me, because you want me to defend you, right?”

  “Whatever to get me the hell out of here.”

  Someone had violently murdered her husband, and this was all about her. “You’ve been arrested for first-degree homicide. You can’t bond out on that, not in Florida. You might be here for many months.”

  For an instant, Sandy wondered if this was in fact happening. This would be her first murder defense case—not counting the client who took out his neighbor’s dog with an assault rifle. She hoped Margo was innocent; regardless she’d gladly take her as a client and defend her.

  She was afraid to ask point blank if she was hired. She hoped the woman couldn’t detect the slight tremor in her hand as she started writing down details such as name and address. She’d keep writing and acting as though it was a done deal. Maybe the woman would go along with it. “How long were you married?”

  “We are separated...divorcing.”

  Sandy didn’t hear the answer. She was picturing herself in the courtroom standing in front of the judge. Your Honor, although this is my first case, I move that the charges against my client be dismissed on the grounds my sensational defense is going to totally devastate the state attorney regardless of the evidence he comes up with. She made a hard blink and said, “I’m sorry Mrs. Larena, what did you just say?”

  “Call me Margo. We are separated...divorcing.”

  “Of course, was the separation amicable or hostile?”

  “He wanted me dead.”

  Sandy fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I’ll put down ‘hostile’ for now. Why were you divorcing?”

  “Three reasons from column A, two from column B—.”

  “So the address you just gave me is yours not his.” She kept making notes on her yellow pad. “How long married and how long separated?”

  “Married three years, been separated about three months. Had to move out. He owned the condo before we were married—the Coral Palms on Eighth Street.

  “And that’s where he was shot?”

  “I know nothing about the shooting. So don’t even ask me. I walked in, and there he was out dead in the shower stall. The water running certainly made a mess.”

  “What’d you do then?”

  She hesitated. “I heard the sirens and got the hell out of there fast. The next day cops were knocking on my door scaring the holy hell out of me. They told me they were very sorry, but my husband had been killed. I said I knew he had been shot. They asked how I knew it was a shooting. I didn’t know how to answer, so I started crying. The cop said he was sorry, but they had to talk with me. He asked if he could come in and look around. I said no, because...hello? They might find stuff. He gave me this card—some Polack...Jamiski, or something.” She reached in her coverall pocket and handed over the card. “I thought everything was going to be cool, but they came back and arrested me.”

  It was Eddy Jaworski’s card, a detective friend of Sandy’s. “Jaworski, you better hope he’s Polish. They’re known to be fair-minded and intelligent.” She didn’t know much about Poles, yet that pretty much described Jaworski, and the woman deserved to be squelched.

  “Oh, didn’t know that. Maybe I should get him for my lawyer. Anyway, he asked where I was Tuesday night when John was shot. I told him, home with my boyfriend.”

  “I need your boyfriend’s name and address.”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t want him in this.”

  “Geez, he’s your alibi. His name, please?” she said louder.

  “None of your business.”

  Sandy put down her pencil and pushed back from the table to emphasize her upset. Regardless, there was no way she was going to let this client get away. They stared at each other. Sandy won.

  “Okay...Richie Grant, but you’re not getting his address. Don’t you try and contact him.”

  “Richie Grant?”

  “Yeah, he has the same name as that reality TV show star. You know, the sexiest man alive.”

  “If you say so.” She’d never heard of him. Did you give his name to the police?”

  Blank stare.

  “Did you just say boyfriend, or did you say his actual name?”

  “I just said boyfriend. I didn’t think of using his name until just now with you.”

  Another deep breath and sigh for Sandy. She went on, “I’ll need his address eventually.”

  “I’m not telling you about him.”

  “Margo, if I’m going to defend you, I need to know the truth about everything.”

  “Are you going to defend me?”

  Sandy couldn’t hold back the broad grin. “Yes, I would like to.”

  Sandy took another thirty minutes to get some further basic demographic information. She explained the spouse is always a suspect in such homicides, and the fee would depend upon the complexities of the case. She thought it a bad time to mention in Florida first degree could mean the death penalty.

  “You’ve handled a lot of murder cases like mine, haven’t you?”

  Geez, why did she have to ask that? “I’m not new to criminal law. I’ve been handling murder investigations both here and up in Philadelphia.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “I’m a fully-licensed lawyer and have had many clients in criminal defense cases.”

  “Cases like mine?”

  Long pause. “You are my first murder client.”

  Margo shoved her chair back and stood. “Now she tells me.” Before Sandy could speak, the woman headed for the door.

  “Margo, wait. Just give me a minute.”

  The woman turned to listen, her hand on the doorknob, an icy look on her face. The deputy was watching through the large glass
window.

  Sandy stood. “Look, I can help you. I know I can. Your case is the type of situation I’ve been preparing myself for all my life. Let me help you, we need each other.”

  “Your needs don’t mean shit to me. Practice on someone else.”

  “Girl, you are making a mistake.” She turned her back to Margo, and slung her briefcase onto the conference table just to add a little drama. It slid halfway across. “I’m not going to beg,” she said loudly with her back to the woman. She started fiddling with her briefcase as though packing up to leave. “I’m just going to tell you not to go out that door. Let’s talk about what happened and get ready to confront the police and the state attorney.”

  She wasn’t facing the woman, so couldn’t gauge the reaction. “Believe me, sister, once they get geared up, you’ve no idea the hell they’re going to bring down on you. I’m not talking sticks and stones. An entire avalanche is headed your way. But I say, bring ‘em on. We can handle them.” She truly needed this case, yet she wondered if she had gone too far with her theatrics. She waited. Then she heard the sound of the door opening and clicking shut behind Margo.

  Chapter Four

  Sandy drove back to the office fearful that she had mishandled the awkward meeting with Margo Larena at the jail that morning. Yet she was unsure how she should have proceeded. She was determined not to let such a major defense case slip out of her hands and away from her bank account without a fight. After all, wasn’t she the best possible lawyer for Margo? She would meet with the woman again and convince her. Victory in such a notorious murder trial would make Sandy’s reputation, not to mention every one of her remaining car payments.

  Martin was out somewhere, which wasn’t unusual, as he was not office bound and could easily handle his few clients part time. Unlike Sandy, he did not depend upon income from his law practice. His practice tended toward legal contracts, giving legal advice, and bankruptcy. She usually had one or two small personal injury or property damage cases going with an occasional DUI. All incredibly boring. She was energized by clients who had been dumped on or had innocently run afoul of the law.

  In the middle of her desk, she noticed the police report for the Larena homicide marked “preliminary.” On top of the report was stuck a memo from Martin, “Did you notice the murder in the newspaper this morning?”

  She read the police report pausing to check dates with her calendar. She took out the yellow legal pad with her notes from her meeting with Margo. Going back and forth between the report and her notes, she tried try to match the facts as given in the police report with the few logical statements made to her by Margo. She gave up after two hours. The possibility that it was a waste of time, and that she had seen the last of Margo added to her frustration.

  She decided she’d drive back out to the jail in the morning and attempt to regain her trust. The woman was definitely unpleasant to deal with. A night in a jail cell is intended to adjust your mental outlook, and it certainly does. To that, she could personally attest. She hoped the woman’s outrageous attitude was temporary and not an everlasting personality quirk.

  She folded the papers and headed for Chip’s house for the inevitable glass of wine and a needed bit of comfort. Also, to make up for avoiding his bed the night before.

  He must have gotten off duty early. When she got to his place, he had already changed clothes and had stretched himself out on the sofa checking his iPad, looking fine in a white polo shirt and knee-length cargo shorts. She gave him a kiss. How could anyone doubt a beautiful guy who looks like that? “Would you like to compare the relative craziness of the day with me, Chip?”

  “Not especially. Some of my days get somewhat soiled. Don’t care to relive many of them.”

  “Let me guess. Today you had too many clowns and not enough circuses.”

  “That’s about it. Why don’t I just concede that today you take the crazy-day prize?”

  “We’d better forget it anyway, because I can’t tell you just how off-the-wall a certain woman is since it’s privileged communication.”

  “Oh, a client.” He grinned. “You don’t mean a criminal defense case?”

  “Yes, a big one!” She jabbed the air with both fists and threw him a beaming smile.

  He got up and hugged her. “Finally, your first serious honest-to-God client.”

  “Except she walked out on me.”

  “Meaning?”

  “She’ll cool it and we’ll get back together. She’s defensive but desperate.”

  “What’s the charge?”

  “Murder in the first,” she said proudly.

  A quizzical frown crossed his face. “What do you mean, murder? Here in Park Beach? We get barely a handful a year. The most recent one was Tuesday night. The John Larena shooting that I was called in on.”

  “That’s the murder I’m talking about. I think I’m going to defend his wife.”

  He moved in front of her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Tell me you aren’t going to do that.”

  “What are you doing, Chip? I know you might be part of the prosecution against my client. And I know State Attorney Moran is going to have a fit imagining our pillow talk passing secrets.” In the past, Chip had given her inside information he thought she should know about, if he had no conflict of interest. “We’ll just have to keep that part of our lives separate from one another. Margo Larena deserves a defense even if guilty, and I certainly deserve my first client.”

  “You can’t do it, Sandy.”

  Why did he say it like that? She stepped back from him. “It’s not as though I need your permission.” Her voice was rising and her face turning red. “Even if I lived under your roof, you don’t forbid me anything.”

  “Of course, I’m sorry I phrased it like that. I don’t mean I forbid you to do it. I meant I don’t want you to do it. I met your client, Margo Larena. Around three years ago.”

  “So you’ve met my oddball client. Did you know her husband, John?”

  “No, I met her before they were married.”

  A wild thought struck her. “You mean you dated her?” If he’d been attracted to someone frumpy like Margo, she didn’t know this guy at all. Her voice was tense. “She isn’t the one who gave you that book of poems?”

  “Oh no, but I went out with her sister-in-law, John’s sister.”

  Now she could breathe again. “So what? I certainly don’t care who you dated. It’s old news.” She gave him her most accepting smile.

  She knew about one former girlfriend, the legal secretary, now called an administrative assistant, who still worked in the County Clerk’s office. In fact, Sandy saw her occasionally around the courthouse and had spoken with her. Everyone in Park Beach seemed to know that the attractive redhead had lived in this house with him for a couple of years. Thankfully, she was now married, which took her out of the game. They remained friends and Sandy liked her as well. No secrets there.

  The ones with secrets would be the writer of the scorching diary, and the guy who had been swinging from the bedroom chandelier with her.

  She could handle all this old girlfriend stuff. Chip was almost forty; of course, he had a past. She didn’t care about previous girlfriends. Just so he didn’t call out their names during lovemaking. The past was past. And that’s where old girlfriends should be buried. They shouldn’t keep popping back up like some desperate ghoul who won’t stay dead.

  “Geez, that’s wild. You once dated the victim’s sister. Interesting since you’ll be investigating the murder. Yet I don’t see why I can’t defend the victim’s wife.”

  “It would be too confusing around here, not to mention causing multiple raised eyebrows around the courthouse. The victim’s sister is the one I met with for coffee the other day, the one who I guess wanted to reconcile. You know that poetry book I threw in the trash? She’s the one who gave it to me.”

  Chapter Five

  Sandy and Chip had spent the night quietly together with each not venturing acr
oss the centerline of the bed for at least that night. To avoid reopening the discussion the next morning, she pretended to be groggily half-asleep while listening to him fussing around preparing to go in early. Between thoughts of Chip’s former girlfriend eager to seduce him with the aid of her sexy diary, and his not wanting Sandy to represent Margo, who might not even want her as her attorney, she had plenty to disturb last night’s sleep. He gave her a forehead kiss and touched her hair before leaving. That helped her mood immensely.

  At the office that morning, Martin appeared to have his head deep in a pile of bankruptcy papers, so she just waved on the way to her desk. The question on her mind was, should she go ahead and represent Margo Larena in spite of Chip’s objection? She would wait to ask Martin. Meanwhile, she would run her dilemma passed her old friend Jerry Kagan.

  Before he retired, Kagan was one of the few gutsy defense lawyers willing to go up against the scheming State Attorney Lawrence Moran. When she first stormed in from Philadelphia to rescue her brother from the murder charge, they teamed up. By the time they were done, Moran was shamefully embarrassed, and his case was destroyed. As a result, they had earned Moran’s everlasting animosity. The episode restored much of the prestige Kagan had enjoyed in his younger years.

  Kagan answered his phone with a typical remark about how delightful to start the morning hearing her voice. How could he help her?

  “As you know, Jerry, I sometimes get mixed up in situations that often conflict with Chip’s position as a detective on the police force.”

  “Much to the consternation of the police chief and the state attorney.”

  “Well, this one’s a conflict with Chip. Did you read about the Larena murder?”

  “The morning newspaper is in front of me as we speak. Is that Chip’s case?”

  “Jaworski is the leader but Chip’s on the team. Get this—he used to go with the sister of the victim.

  “Hey, it happens. It’s a small town.”

  “Here’s the kicker. They arrested the victim’s wife, first degree. I agreed to represent her. We didn’t exactly click at the first meeting, but I think she wants me.”