CHAPTER FIFTEEN•
The Fifth Week—Head Held High
I tossed and turned the entire night. I kept reaching out across the bed for Jim, only to be jarred awake by the coldness of the empty sheets. Of course, since I was awake, Laurie was asleep. I checked her breathing a few times and found the rhythm of the rise and fall of her chest soothing.
Svetlana murdered? Mr. Crane had told me she had been shot, killed by a 9mm luger bullet. Ballistics had determined that the bullet had been fired from the same gun that had killed Brad.
Same gun.
George’s gun. Or one like it. But what were the odds of that? It had to be George’s gun.
Had to be the gun registered to Jim’s father. How could we prove that Jim had never had possession of the gun?
I didn’t want to think of Jim’s lack of an alibi for June fifteenth. I didn’t want to think about the police possibly moving forward with a trial against Jim. I didn’t want to think about my bed being empty, trying to raise Laurie on my own.
I thought, instead, of fighting like hell to get the love of my life out of jail. Fighting like hell to find the real murderer. Keep your mind on what you want, Kate, and off what you don’t want, I reminded myself.
I needed to find the murderer. I needed to get Jim off the hook and to launch my new career. I had no option.
At 4 A.M. I fed Laurie. She immediately went back to sleep. I got up and made coffee. I reviewed my to-do list from the day before and modified it.
To Do:
1. Free Jim.
2. Interview Kiku (bring own water!).
3. Call Winter Henderson re: hippie chick alibi.
4. Find Brad and/or Michelle’s and/or Svetlana’s killer.
5. Tummy time!!! (in progress).
6. Make OB appointment.
7. Stop being rude.
It took me a while to understand my Stop being rude entry. Then I finally remembered the thank-you cards.
What the hell. It was four-thirty in the morning; may as well start somewhere. I completed the thank-you cards and fell into an exhausted sleep. Laurie woke me at 7 A.M. with hungry cries and I figured then was as good a time as any to begin my day.
Laurie and I waited in a stark white room to see Jim. There was a rectangular table in the center with four chairs around it and an all-too-familiar two-way mirror hanging from the wall. Jim appeared, escorted by a deputy sheriff. Jim was dressed in an orange jumpsuit, which immediately brought me to tears.
His face broke into a sad smile. “You don’t think it’s my color?” He embraced Laurie and me. “It’s so good to see you guys. I had an awful night.”
“Me, too. Couldn’t sleep.”
The deputy sheriff retreated out of the room, presumably to watch us through the mirror, giving us a false sense of privacy.
Jim absently brushed my hair off my face. “You look exhausted. Did you talk to my attorney?”
“He called me last night. He’s meeting us here at nine.”
Jim pulled a chair out for me. “So you heard about Svetlana Avery?”
I nodded, sitting. “What do you think happened?”
Jim sat next to me and rested his hand on my thigh. “All I could gather is that she was shot.”
“She must have known something. When I told her about Michelle’s death, she nearly passed out. She told me she had a migraine coming on. It seemed odd to me at the time, but maybe she was afraid.”
Jim looked surprised. “When did you even meet with her?”
“The other day. She called the house.”
“Why did she call us?”
“Well, actually, I called her, but never mind that.”
Jim looked unconvinced. “You think she knew who killed Brad and Michelle?”
“Why else would she end up dead?”
Jim reached for my hand. “You can’t investigate anymore, Kate. I can’t stand the thought of anything happening to you.”
“I have to. You’re in jail.”
“Leave it to the pros, honey. This Crane guy will figure it out. He sounded pretty confident last night when I spoke with him.”
As if on cue, the door to the meeting room opened and Charles Crane appeared, escorted by the same deputy. The deputy waited for Mr. Crane to settle his briefcase onto the table and nod before closing the door.
Mr. Crane had a sweater wrapped around his shoulders and an unlit pipe between his teeth. He looked like his photo. He was small in stature with silver highlights in his dark hair.
He introduced himself as he took a seat across from us. “Not to sound insensitive, Mr. Connolly, but do we need to have our conversation in private?” Crane glanced in my direction.
“Anything you want to discuss with me, you can do so in front of my wife.”
Mr. Crane nodded, clearing his throat. “As you’re aware, you’ve been charged with assault with a deadly weapon, for fighting with your brother. The victim, George Connolly, is unavailable. Or, in other words, has not stepped forward to press charges. Therefore, if the case is to be presented to the DA, it will most likely be deemed ‘insufficient grounds for arrest’ and the case will be dropped.”
I rocked Laurie back and forth in my arms, trying to dissipate my nervousness. “So, they’re going to let Jim go?”
“Under other circumstances he would have already been released, but homicide left a request for inquiry under the name ‘Connolly’,” Crane said.
Jim exhaled. “When the cops booked me, they saw my last name and had to hold me so that McNearny could talk to me, right?”
Crane blinked his affirmation.
“You talked to McNearny?” I asked. “What did he want to know?”
Jim shrugged. “About George. When I’d seen him last, where he was staying and what he was doing, who he was friends with. All that kind of stuff.”
Crane tapped his unlit pipe. “Once the police have you in custody, they like to hold you as long as legally possible. Make you nervous, hope anything you’ve conveniently forgotten about your brother might be remembered.”
Jim rubbed at his bloodshot eyes. “I really don’t know anything—”
“I do. Well, a little.” I filled them in on my conversation with George the previous day, including the cell phone number he’d given me.
“This may help,” Crane said. “If we can bring George in, it will take the pressure off your husband. The police don’t consider Jim a serious suspect, they’re just trying to squeeze information out of him.”
“That’s a relief,” I said.
“But there’s bad news, too.” Crane continued. “I’m told they want to have you participate in a lineup this afternoon, Mr. Connolly. They say they have an eyewitness who saw a man leaving Svetlana’s apartment yesterday afternoon.”
“That’s not a problem. I can do the lineup. I never even met the woman and I was nowhere near her apartment. Well, actually, I can’t say that. What I can say is that I don’t even know where she lives. I was with Kate all morning at Pier 23.”
“Unfortunately, we don’t have a choice in the lineup. You have to do it. I wish you didn’t. You don’t know how many times people mistake someone’s identity.”
I sighed and pressed my head into Jim’s shoulder. He squeezed my hand. “Everything is going to be fine, honey.”
We looked at Crane for reassurance. He grimaced. “Is there much of a resemblance between you and your brother?”
I left the station feeling agitated and distressed. I needed to stay busy in order to keep myself from turning into a nervous wreck about Jim’s situation.
First thing, I dialed Jim’s office and told them he was still too sick to go into work. Next, I decided I should see the woman, Kiku, who had the appointment with Galigani. Her apartment was near San Francisco State University. Parking would be a unique challenge.
As I circled around her building, I reflected on the lineup.
Jim and George did look
alike; they had the same coloring and handsome features. But Jim was almost a full head taller than George. I prayed that would account for something. Then again we didn’t know anything about the description of the man leaving Svetlana’s place. It could have been anybody. Maybe it wasn’t George, after all.
I found parking close by and silently thanked the parking gods or goddesses, then threw in a prayer for Jim for good measure.
I rang the bell. A heavily pregnant woman wrapped in a red kimono answered the door. She was all of about four feet tall. Okay, maybe five feet, but barely that. The baby extended from her abdomen as though she had slipped a basketball under her kimono. Her pregnant belly was much more pronounced than mine had ever been, even when I was nine months along.
Maybe she’d have a boy. Could the old wives’ tale be true, about boys extending outward and girls curling around?
“Hi, sorry to disturb you. Are you Kiku?”
She nodded, resting her hands on her belly.
“I’m Kate Connolly. Did you have an appointment with Investigator Galigani today?”
“Yes,” Kiku said with a heavy Japanese accent.
“Unfortunately, he’s in the hospital. Open heart surgery.”
Kiku’s face creased with the appropriate amount of concern one usually displays when hearing about someone else’s misfortune.
Should I go so far as to say Galigani sent me?
Before I could decide, Kiku opened the door and motioned Laurie and me inside.
Her apartment was small. We entered straight into the living room. I could see into the tiny kitchen. There was a door to the left, which I assumed led to the bedroom. The place was sparsely decorated in soft feminine tones, and I could tell by the couch and the paintings that she had expensive taste.
She motioned me toward the sofa. I sat down, placing Laurie’s bucket next to me.
Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to bring Laurie along. But this woman was pregnant. She couldn’t be a murderer, right?
Kiku admired Laurie. “Beautiful baby girl. Big blue eyes!”
“Yours will be beautiful, too. When are you due?”
“Soon. Soon.”
We smiled at each other as Kiku reached out and stroked Laurie’s little foot. “Tell me, was labor difficult?”
It seemed odd that for nine months all I had thought about was Laurie’s arrival and the upcoming labor. Stressing out about how I would handle everything. And yet now, one month later, I had hardly given labor a second thought.
I looked at Kiku’s pregnant belly. “Don’t worry about it. It’s really not that bad, not like you’re imagining. But I had the epidural, so I guess some people would say that’s cheating.”
After opting for pain relief during labor, I justified my choice by comparing the epidural with modern transportation. If someone said to me, “Women have been having babies without any pain medication since the beginning of time,” my response was, “Yeah? And they also walked everywhere, because they didn’t have a car. Now we have cars and pain medication. So, guess what? I had the epidural and we drove to the hospital.” People didn’t bring up the epidural after that.
“Tea?” she asked.
“Sure.”
Kiku waddled to the kitchen. I dug out my notebook from Laurie’s diaper bag and reviewed my notes.
The note “next time interviewing suspect bring own water” stared me in the face.
Oops.
I’d forgotten to pack water. Writing things down didn’t help if I didn’t read them in time. When was my memory going to come back?
I glanced around the living room. Kiku appeared to be living alone.
Could she have been Brad’s other woman? She was short, whereas Michelle and Svetlana were both tall. Kiku was definitely in their league where looks were concerned. Her dark hair shone brightly and her complexion was flawless. Svetlana and Kiku were both immigrants. Maybe Brad had a weakness for . . . what? Accents?
A baby on the way?
Could it be Brad’s?
If he’d been expecting a child with Kiku, it would give him a strong motive to leave Michelle. Galigani suspected his murderer was the other woman, but could five-foot Kiku have killed him? Shot him, maybe. But ditch his body in the bay? How? Could she have had the strength? And why? Lover’s tiff?
And with Brad dead, what motive would she have had for murdering Michelle and Svetlana?
Although the women were not dumped, only Brad. Did this mean two murderers?
Kiku reappeared with a tray of green tea and ginger snaps.
“How long have you been in the country?” I asked.
“Two years.” She propped her legs on the chair across from me, her movement constricted by her large belly. “Hard to stay on my feet.”
“I know.”
My feet had swelled so much during my pregnancy that I’d had to purchase size eight shoes, an entire size larger than usual, and never mind the style. They were shoes that not even my grandmother would have worn, but boy, were they comfy.
I watched Kiku delicately sip her tea.
I was so thirsty.
A pregnant woman wouldn’t poison a new mom, would she?
I remembered Michelle sprawled across her living room floor.
Forget the tea.
“Do you know why Galigani wanted to meet with you?”
She nodded. “Meet about Brad.”
She didn’t look brokenhearted. This couldn’t be the “other woman,” unless she was acting. Maybe she was secretly falling apart.
I played with my teacup, hoping she wouldn’t notice that I wasn’t actually drinking anything. “How did you know Brad?”
“He hired me,” she replied.
“You work at El Paraiso?”
She sipped her tea. “No. Not now. Before.”
“How long did you work there?”
She tilted her head in thought. “Two months.”
“Why did you leave?”
“My English is not so good. Too hard to work in a restaurant. People talking, talking, talking all the time. I go to beauty school now.” She smiled shyly and covered her mouth as she giggled.
“Your English is fine,” I said.
“Much better now. I study.”
I glanced at the fine paintings covering her apartment walls. Where was a beauty school student getting all this money? “Are you working?”
“No. Not now. Later. After baby. Now I study. Beauty and English!” She giggled again.
I self-consciously ran my hand through my tangled curls. “I need to get a haircut.”
“No problem. You come back. I can cut for you.”
I laughed. “Sure. Why not?” I paused. “Kiku, did you know Brad was killed?” Her expression was oddly blank as she nodded. “He was killed on June fifteenth. I’m investigating his murder.”
How could I politely ask if Brad was the father of her baby?
I mumbled, “Do you know who would want to kill Brad?”
Kiku’s eyes grew wide. “No,” she whispered.
I glanced at Laurie, still in her car seat bucket. She was examining a toy I’d attached to the strap. I felt at a loss. Obviously, Galigani had wanted me to meet Kiku, but why? I didn’t know what questions to ask or what to do. I felt foolish. This kind, pregnant woman couldn’t have shot Brad. What was I doing here? I stood in frustration, ready to leave. My movement caught Laurie’s eye and she began to cry.
Kiku jumped up in distress. “Oh little girl! Little baby!”
I laughed, remembering the panic of the first few days when Laurie’s cry would set off all sort of alarms inside me. “She’s okay. Don’t worry.” I freed Laurie from the bucket to find her jumper soaked through. “She needs a diaper change. May I use your bathroom?”
Kiku indicated I should walk through the bedroom. I grabbed Laurie’s diaper bag and headed toward the bathroom. Kiku’s face still reflected a certain amount of terror. Oh well, she’d get used to life with an infant.
Ins
ide the bathroom, I pulled out a clean jumper for Laurie and quickly went through the diaper routine. I turned her onto her tummy on the diaper pad and washed my hands in the sink. Laurie was now able to hold up her head and at least not have a fit when placed on her tummy. I studied my reflection in the medicine chest. I looked tired and frazzled. On impulse, I opened the medicine chest. A prescription for Valium stared me in the face.
I gagged. From my research online I knew the drug Michelle had died from, diazepam, was the generic form of Valium. Kiku had a prescription for Valium. The label showed a fifty count of five-milligram tablets. I rattled the bottle, then opened it. Ten pills remained. The date on the prescription was November of last year. Before Kiku’s pregnancy. Before Michelle’s death.
Laurie complained from her position on the floor. I gathered her and all the diaper paraphernalia. When I opened the door to the bathroom, Kiku was waiting for me.
“Everything okay?” she asked nervously.
I gave her an exhausted nod and followed her back to the living room.
While I settled Laurie into her car seat, I asked, “Kiku, do you recall where you were on June fifteenth?”
She tilted her head thoughtfully to the side. “I think June fifteenth Horoaki graduate.” She opened a drawer from a side table and pulled out a photograph of a handsome smiling young man.
Was he the father?
I made a note in my notebook and smiled at Kiku. “Oh! Who’s Horoaki? He’s so cute!”
“My brother.”
“Where did he graduate from? San Francisco State?”
“No. Dental school, UCSF.”
Her alibi could easily be checked out.
“Ah! Good career ahead of him. Thank you for the tea.” I swung Laurie’s diaper bag onto my shoulder. “One more thing. Where were you Monday, October first?”
Kiku smiled. “Monday? Shopping. Why?”
“Brad’s wife, Michelle, died on Monday. I was hoping maybe you knew something about it. Had seen or heard something....”
She frowned, her delicate forehead creasing in the middle. “I didn’t know Brad’s wife . . .”
I picked up Laurie’s bucket and headed to the front door. “How about yesterday morning?”
Kiku looked confused. “Yesterday more shopping. Why?”
I smiled. “Of course. You have to get all the baby goodies ready before D-day.”
I glanced around the apartment. It didn’t look like she had purchased all that much, but she could have been window-shopping, too.
Kiku pressed her hands against her belly. “What was yesterday?”
“Svetlana Avery, Brad’s ex-wife, was killed.”
Kiku gasped, her complexion paling. She covered her mouth with her hand. “Poor people. Everyone killed?”
“Did you know Svetlana?”
Kiku shook her head furiously back and forth.
I closed my eyes and sighed. Something wasn’t right. She had Valium, along with another million people in the world. Did it make her a killer? She claimed she didn’t know Michelle or Svetlana. What did Galigani know that I was too stupid or inexperienced to figure out on my own?
“Thanks for your time, Kiku. If you think of anything that can help me with my investigation, will you call me?”
Kiku wrote down the number I rattled off. I’d have to add another item to my never-ending to-do list—print business cards!
I waved to her as I stepped out. “Good luck with the birth. You’ll have fun with your new baby. You’ll love being a mom.”
I checked my voice mail as soon as I reached the car. There was a message from Crane; he’d tried the number I’d given him for George and got a “temporarily out of service” message. I threw my cell phone to the floor on the passenger side and screamed out my frustration, startling Laurie enough to make her cry, too. Great!
“Sorry, petunia,” I mumbled.
Laurie continued to fuss. I put the car in drive and pulled out. The motion soon settled her down.
I aimlessly headed to Pier 23. No George in sight. Okay, Plan B.
I glanced at my watch as I parked in front of El Paraiso. Not quite lunchtime.
I pulled the baby carrier out of my trunk and put it on, then picked Laurie up out of the car seat and adjusted her inside the carrier. She immediately nestled herself between my breasts and fell asleep.
I walked into the restaurant. It was the lull before the noontime rush. The hostess with stud piercings on her face was sorting menus at her podium. She glanced unenthusiastically at me.
“Hi. Is George Connolly working today?”
She frowned and fingered the stud through her eyebrow. “George Connolly? We don’t have anyone here by that name.”
“Okay. How about the manager, Rich Hanlen?”
“Oh. He’s not in yet. He usually comes in around noon. If it’s important, he’s probably across the street.” She lifted her chin in the general direction of the window.
I looked through glass and saw a bar. “Café du Sur?” I asked.
She’d already gone back to sorting the menus.
I crossed the street and pulled open the door of Café du Sur. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim interior. A country song was playing on an old-fashioned jukebox against the wall. The bar was practically deserted, except for the bartender, Rich, and two older men playing dice. They all looked up at me as I came in.
Perfect. If I could talk to Rich here, I wouldn’t have to suffer through another conversation in his dark office, especially with Laurie in tow. There was no way I wanted to risk that again, although I felt Laurie was much safer now nestled next to me in the baby carrier rather than in the stroller.
The bartender moved down the bar toward me. Rich stood and picked up his drink, as a slow look of recognition crossed his face. I couldn’t very well say he was happy to see me.
I managed a weak hello and a wave. He broke away from the other men and met me in the middle of the bar, along with the bartender.
I felt like an idiot. What kind of mother would take a four-week-old baby into a bar?
Rich placed his empty glass on the counter and said, “I’ll have another and whatever the lady would like.”
The bartender nodded and turned to me. “Ma’am?”
I’d have to get used to the “ma’am” thing quickly. It seemed to be happening far too often these days. On the bright side, I could have something to drink here without worrying that the bartender would poison me.
“How about an orange juice?”
The bartender poured my juice and prepared an Irish coffee for Rich in silence. I watched with longing as the bartender piled the whipped cream onto the coffee, but resisted the urge to change my order.
After we were served, the bartender retreated to the end of the bar where the older men were sitting, out of earshot, although still safely in sight.
“What can I do for you?” Rich asked, placing a twenty on the bar to cover our drinks.
“I’m really in a bind. I need to know where George is. I saw him yesterday, he told me he works at El Paraiso, but your hostess says he doesn’t.”
Rich played with his glass. “Oh, she doesn’t know him. If you’re looking for him, why not try his old lady? I mean, the baby’s due anytime, so he won’t be far.”
I felt my heart thumping in my throat. I tried to swallow it down and act casual. My shock must have shown.
He raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t know you were going to be an auntie? Gal by the name of Kiku. She’s very nice. I’m sure you’ll all be one happy, cozy family.” He stirred the cream into his coffee and took a self-satisfied sip.
I fought the childish impulse to smash his face into the cream.
Kiku was with George?
“May I ask where you were yesterday morning, say between the hours of nine and noon?”
He frowned. “Here at the bar. Why?”
“Svetlana Avery was found murdered yesterday morning. Shot.”
His face paled. “Holy shit.”
“A witness saw a man leaving her house. Any idea who that could have been?”
Rich paused, then took a long drink and shook his head. “Nope. I knew her when she was with Brad. Good-looking chick, I’m sure there was no shortage of men in her life.”
“What about Monday, more or less around the same time, nine to noon?”
He studied me a moment. “Monday was when Michelle was killed. Are you trying to pin these murders on me?”
“Not at all. Can you tell me where you were?”
Rich swung on the barstool and called, “Hey, Burt, can you come here a sec?”
The bartender sauntered over. “Another?”
“No,” Rich said. “Can you tell the lady where I was on Monday from nine to noon?”
Burt smiled, then turned to me. “Rich was here, sweet-heart, sitting right there on that barstool, having a couple of Irish coffees.”
“How ’bout yesterday?” Rich pushed.
“Same.”
“Thanks, Burt,” Rich said.
Burt nodded, then retreated back to his corner.
I drank my juice and decided on a different tactic. “Rich, I need your help.” I softened my voice. “I’ve been hired by Brad’s mother to find out what happened to him.”
His shoulder rose as he inhaled, then dropped a degree as he let out an audible sigh. “I already told you I don’t know what happened.”
“Who was he sleeping with?”
“Back to that? You’re relentless, aren’t you?” He studied first my face, then tried my breast, which due to the baby carrier was pushed to the side and conveniently located for his perusal.
I shifted on the barstool. “You won’t find the answer there.”
He laughed, a curiously embarrassed laugh. And I thought he was beyond social mores.
“Sorry . . . I . . . yeah, you were asking about Brad. Chicks always ask about Brad. All my life they’ve asked about him, and now, even when he’s dead and gone, they’re still asking.”
“You hardly seem like you’d play second fiddle to him.”
“You mean I look okay? That’s what you mean. But chicks like money and Brad had tons of it. Not that I’m hurting now either, but, you know, the Averys are loaded.”
“Are you close to Gloria Avery?”
“What do you mean?”
“She seemed very fond of you,” I lied.
He looked pleasantly surprised. “Old Glo? I always thought she had a soft spot for me.”
“You’ve known her a long time?”
He polished off his drink and pushed the empty glass away from him. “Well, sure. Brad and I met in high school.”
“You went to the same school?”
“Are you kidding me? Brad went to Trinity. You know how expensive that school is? I went to good ole Lincoln High. We met at a Holy Rosary dance in ’93.”
“I went to Holy Rosary.”
He looked me over, his eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed.
I couldn’t read the look. Was it disdain?
He said, “Right. I forgot you knew Michelle in high school.”
How did Rich know Michelle and I had gone to high school together?
“Yeah, but Brad didn’t go to any dance with Michelle. I don’t think they knew each other then.”
Rich tried to hide his smirk. “Nah, it wasn’t Michelle.”
“Who’d he go with?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “It was a long time ago. I barely remember the name of my date, much less his.” He stood, smoothing down his leather jacket. “I gotta get to the restaurant.”
“Who was your date?”
“What?”
“At the dance, when you met Rich, who was your date?”
“Carol something.”
He waved at the bartender and slipped out the front door. I pulled out my notebook. What had the interview yielded me?
Nothing.
Well, at least I knew where to look for George and that he was expecting a baby. What now? I reviewed my to-do list, checking things off and adding a few.
To Do:
1. Free Jim.
2. Find Brad and/or Michelle’s killer.
3. x Interview Kiku (bring own water!)
4. x Tummy time
5. Call Winter Henderson re: hippie chick alibi.
6. Make OB appointment.
7. x Stop being rude (a.k.a. write thank- you cards).
8. Check out Horoaki graduation date from UCSF.
9. Print business cards.
10. Find George AGAIN.
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