Part of me wanted George to get the bags and leave. The part that was afraid and wanted nothing more to do with any of this. But the other part, the stubborn part of me that can’t ever shut up, said, “Did you break into our cars, trying to get your bags?”
George flinched as if I’d hit him. “What? No. I didn’t even know you had them until today.”
“Someone did. Both our cars were broken into after I picked up your bags from the ME’s office. Once outside Michelle’s house, the other outside El Paraiso.”
George’s eyes darted around the room.
“Do you work at El Paraiso?” I asked.
George nodded.
“What do you do there?” I pressed, wondering how far I could push him.
He looked momentarily confused. I had almost gotten his guard down. “Oh, you know . . .” He waved his hands around, trying to distract me.
“Is it legal?”
“What?” George stared at me, his mouth agape.
I matched his stare. At this point all the runaround was making me angry, and with Laurie tucked away safely in the back bedroom, I felt brave enough to challenge him a bit.
“Whatever they have you do. Is it legal?”
“God, Kate, what are you asking me? I mean, I do . . . I do restaurant stuff.”
“Like what? Bus tables?” I probed.
“Yeah, like that.”
“George, I was there. I know you don’t bus the tables. None of the staff even know you exist.”
He paced around the room. “Sure they do. Like who? Who did you talk to?”
“What were you doing on the pier today, George?”
“Pfft, you know,” He waved his hand around and gave me his famous, charming smile, trying to disarm me. “Hanging out.”
“I don’t buy that, George. Your bags were found there a few weeks ago when they recovered Brad. I saw you there yesterday.”
“You were there yesterday?”
“Yeah. I called your name. You took off running. And you left your bag there!”
He shook his head back and forth. “Sorry. I thought I saw . . . I thought you were someone else.”
“Who?”
He shrugged. “I thought I was being followed.”
“Why would you be followed? And why did you leave your bag? How’d you get it back?”
“It’s not important.”
“How come you’ve been so hard to get a hold of?” I pressed.
“What do you mean?”
“When the police found your bags, they called here. We didn’t know where to find you. What’s up with all the secrets?”
“No secrets.”
“Where are you staying? Do you have a phone number or anything?”
“Yeah,” He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and jotted something down, then handed it to me. “Here’s my cell phone.”
“We tried this number before. No service.”
“Temporary thing. I threw some money at it last week, so it should be fine now.”
“What about the murder weapon?”
“What about it?” George asked.
“How did you know Brad was killed with one of your dad’s guns?” I asked.
“I don’t really know that. All I know is that it was the same type of gun.”
“How?” I pressed.
“I talked to an investigator, a PI. He said he was hired by Brad’s mother. To look into things. He told me Brad was killed by a nine-millimeter. Dad had a nine-millimeter Smith and Wesson.”
“Okay, so how did one of your dad’s guns, or one like it, come to kill Brad?”
I was treading on thin ice here. I knew George was jealous about Jim’s relationship with their dad. George had always thought that we had bought our home with inheritance money.
The truth was, we had worked hard and saved for a long time. George hated that scenario because it involved working.
Everything their father had owned, including hunting rifles or guns, had remained at Uncle Roger’s, where George had lived for a long time. As far as I knew, Jim hadn’t even seen those guns since he was seventeen years old.
George looked trapped. He appeared to be having a conversation in his head about whether or not to come clean with me. He settled on saying, “I had the gun.”
“What?”
“When my uncle kicked me out, I took the gun. I was on the streets for a while. You don’t know what that’s like. I had to find a place to crash every night. I needed it with me, you know, just in case.”
Our eyes locked. George studied me a moment, debating whether or not to continue. I waved my hand, indicating that he should spit it out.
He did a nervous little jig. “When I met Brad, he was putting together El Paraiso. You should have seen it when we started. The place was a dump. He hired me, as casual labor, you know, to paint and stuff. He let me crash in the basement.”
“What happened to the gun?”
“I don’t know. I always kept it with me. In my bag. Only sometimes I left my bags in the basement at El Paraiso, where I slept. No one messed with my stuff. No one really wants to go near a homeless guy’s bag.”
George paused before continuing.
“Well, I got a place now. I’m not sleeping at El Paraiso anymore, but then I was, you know, in June. Anyway, near as I can tell, someone must have taken my gun and killed Brad. I noticed it missing sometime in July. I was going through my stuff. I didn’t think anything about it, except that it sucked to be ripped off. I didn’t think anybody had been killed with it.”
“Jesus Christ, George! Did you report it?”
“Report it to who?”
“To the police!”
“Are you kidding? The gun was never registered to me. Besides, the police aren’t sympathetic to homeless people. I’m only telling you because . . .” He collapsed onto the couch next to me. “I don’t know why I’m telling you.”
“I’m sorry. Tell me. Go ahead and tell me. I won’t lecture you.”
George nodded. “When I heard they found Brad dead, I tried to remember, you know, remember anything unusual about that night. But hell, it was months ago. The only thing I really recall is that Michelle was upset when I brought over the cash. We talked for a while. She told me Brad had left her. We drank some, but that was pretty much it.”
“What cash?”
“Uh . . . you know, deposits from the . . . the restaurant.”
“Doesn’t the manager usually handle the cash?”
George scratched his head. “What?”
“Most restaurant managers make a night deposit at the bank, right? Why were you bringing the money to Michelle’s house?”
George jiggled his knee up and down so quickly it shook the couch. For a second I thought we were having an earthquake. He stood. “I’ve really got to run.”
I jumped up. “C’mon, George, were you having an affair with Michelle?”
“No. Of course not.”
“What about Monday?” I pressed. “The morning Michelle was killed.”
George looked around the room. “Can you get my bags?”
“Do you know who would want to kill Brad and Michelle? Who could have taken your gun? Who knew you had a gun?”
“I don’t know, Kate, geez. And I don’t want to know. Don’t tell anyone what I told you . . . the less you know about this, the better. I don’t want you to be involved.”
“I’m already involved!” I exploded. “And you’re up to your ears in ‘involved,’ George. What were your bags doing at the pier?”
“I forgot them there, is all. Stupid. Anyway, I’m taking care of everything. I went to see someone today who can help me.”
“An attorney?”
“No, no. Never mind. I’ve got to get back to the shop.”
“What shop?”
George’s eyes flicked back and forth. “I mean . . . you know, the restaurant, El Paraiso.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve really got to run, Kate. Jim will probabl
y be home soon and he’ll be frosted.”
After he left, I collapsed onto the couch, suddenly realizing how drained I was. I closed my eyes for what seemed a second, okay maybe five seconds, before Laurie let out a howl.
I took a deep breath, pried one eye open, and went to pick her up from her bassinet. She immediately nestled into me and quieted down.
I stared into her lovely face and tried to quell all the voices in my head. I sat and inhaled her scent and studied the curve of her cheek.
When would Jim be released? Were they really going to present a case to the DA? Should Jim have called me by now?
I decided I needed food to fuel my worry. I put on the baby carrier and shifted Laurie into it so I could rummage through our refrigerator. When was the last time I had gone grocery shopping? I spotted a container of leftovers and greedily pulled it out. One whiff and I could safely say there was nothing edible remaining in it. I dumped the container and continued to rummage. I found an apple.
I moved from the fridge to the freezer.
Jackpot.
I’d stockpiled frozen meals that had been on sale. I threw a chicken cordon bleu pasta dish into the microwave.
After eating the chicken, I threw in a Southwestern style cheese enchilada dish and topped it off with the apple for dessert. Oh, well, at least the apple was healthy.
The phone rang, interrupting my calorie counting.
Jim’s voice filled the line. “Honey?”
“Jim! Are you on your way home?”
“I’m still in jail.”
The frozen meals turned to stone in my stomach. “For how long?”
“I don’t know. The officer in charge isn’t very chatty. They told me I had one phone call. Can you call an attorney?”
“How can they hold you? George said he isn’t going to press any charges.”
“They’re charging me with assault with a deadly weapon. At first they told me they were releasing me, but then they came back and said I had one phone call. I’m really sorry, Kate. I hate putting you through this.”
“Assault with a deadly weapon! What weapon?”
“It doesn’t have to be a gun or anything, it can be your hands. The cop says he saw me strangling George. I need you to call me an attorney.”
“Who should I call?”
“I don’t know. Start with the phone book.”
“All right. Don’t worry, honey. I’m on it.”
“I shouldn’t have let George get to me like that. I should have kept my cool. Whatever George says or does, you and Laurie are my family. I can’t do anything to jeopardize you guys, like blow my top and land up in jail. I’m a father now.”
I heard noises in the background. It sounded like someone was rushing Jim off the phone.
“Gotta go, honey,” he said, hanging up.
I broke down in tears. It felt like something was tightening around my heart. I went to Laurie’s bassinet and picked her up. Smelling her sweet scent dried my eyes. I had to be strong for her. Fix things for her. Bring her daddy home.
I dialed Galigani’s hospital room. He had to know a good criminal defense attorney.
If someone had told me just a few short weeks ago that I’d be searching out an attorney for my husband, I’d have told him or her they were crazy. Now I hoped I wasn’t the crazy one.
Galigani’s phone rang and rang.
He’d had the open heart surgery this morning. The nurse who took my message told me he had gotten through it fine and was still in the intensive care unit. They expected to upgrade his condition in the morning.
I settled Laurie into the baby carrier and hopped online, hoping to find an attorney. I did a local search and pulled some profiles. There were several attorneys with nearby addresses. One had his picture on his website. He appeared to be in his late fifties and was smoking a pipe in the photograph. Something about the picture made him look capable.
The pipe maybe?
I glanced at my watch, almost 6 P.M.
Please be working late tonight, Mr. Crane.
I punched his phone number into my cordless.
“Charles Crane here. How can I help you?” the voice crackled.
I filled him in as best I could, asking him to meet him at the police station. He told me to relax, said it sounded like Jim could be released with a few phone calls.
I waited for Mr. Crane to call me back. I paced. I played with Laurie. I did laundry and even dusted. Boy, had things around the house been neglected!
I fed and bathed Laurie. I did everything I could to keep myself busy.
Finally, I lay down on the bed and stared at the phone, willing it to ring.
It didn’t.
It was 9 P.M. I was exhausted. I put Laurie into the bassinet. She fell sound asleep. No fuss at all. Of course. Since I couldn’t sleep, she’d find a way to peacefully sleep through the night. Where was the justice in the world?
I got online and caught up with e-mail. There was a message from Paula in my in-box:
Girl! What do you mean Michelle Dupree was murdered? And her husband, too? I can’t leave you alone for a minute without you getting yourself all caught up in a drama! I miss you. I haven’t heard from the Galigani guy, but don’t worry. If I do, I’ll tell him both you and Jim were at my place until all hours of the night. Just like in high school with our all-night parties! Can’t believe Michelle is gone.
I loved the picture of Laurie. She looks exactly like Jim, doesn’t she? I hope we’ll be coming home soon. David is getting all sorts of flak from his firm, and I really want to be home to start my own business. Be an entrepreneurial mommy! Oh that and the baby is due soon! Ha! Not that soon—four months—but who’s counting?
Love, love, love you guys! Write soon.
She had attached instructions on how to use the breast pump. Well, instructions was a relative term; it was a hand-sketched cartoon which she had scanned. The drawing showed me with boobs the size of basketballs attached to a monster machine. I responded to her e-mail and updated her on the additional hysteria in my life, including Jim’s incarceration, George’s visit, and my very first client.
The phone rang.
I leapt for it.
“Mrs. Connolly?” I heard a little puff in the background.
His pipe. Crane.
“I’ve been in touch with the police. I’m afraid they’re not going to release your husband tonight.”
“Why?”
“There’s an unresolved homicide they’re looking into.”
“I know. Brad, and there’s also Michelle Avery, but what does that have to do with Jim?”
“Well, yes, there’s those. But I meant another one. Svetlana Avery.”
My postpartum belly fell to the floor.
•