A Dead Nephew

by Anna Celeste Burke

  “Let’s catch up this afternoon, Amy.” The doorbell rang. “Please don’t tell me my client is here early.”

  “No, Jessica, it’s the police,” Amy said as she opened the door. When the attractive man stepped inside, he appeared concerned—until he spotted me.

  “We meet again, Attorney Huntington, or is it Huntington-Hyphen something?” He looked me up and down, head-to-toe, still smiling. “You’re fully clothed today, and I don’t see any blood. Did someone trash your car, or are the bad guys after you some other way today?”

  “I can see you haven’t lost your sense of humor,” I snapped. “This is Officer Parker. He helped me when I was mugged in the parking complex and another time when someone keyed my car and flattened my tires. Not that he caught any of the bad guys, I should add. Amy, can you fill him in, please?”

  “I’d be glad to,” Amy replied, grinning at the good-looking man. Laura whispered in my ear as the officer with Parker shut the office door or tried to, anyway.

  “Do you know every handsome man in the Coachella Valley?” Laura whispered in my ear.

  “Hardly,” I said as Officer Parker’s companion continued to try to close the door behind him. He gave up, and another gust of late-August heat blasted us when the door opened wide.

  A striking man with jet black hair and eyes to match stepped inside and took in the scene. He didn’t seem the least bit taken aback by the presence of police officers. The stylish, bespoke summer suit he wore fit him like a glove. When his eyes rested on me, he smiled. I’d immediately realized who he was, and my heart was tap-dancing.

  “Liar,” Laura whispered again as the dashing man strode toward me with his hand outstretched.

  “Jessica Huntington, we must talk.” When John Lugo closed the distance between us, he took the hand I offered him between both of his, leaned in and in almost a whisper, added, “Now!”

  Officer Parker stood near the cabinets behind Amy’s desk and was no longer smiling. He didn’t move a muscle, but he examined me, John Lugo, and the big man who’d followed John Lugo into the room and shut the door. Then Officer Parker’s eyes calmly swept the area around him, taking in the location of each person in the room as if gauging the distance between him and each one. He was Gary Cooper’s African American counterpart, scanning every inch of the setting in which he might have to take a stand and draw-down, maybe against more than one man.

  “Kim, when Harvey Siegel arrives, can you please seat him in the conference room and start collecting the background information we need from him until I can join you?” I asked, before moving down the hallway to my office. Kim nodded. Amy and both officers stared at me. “Amy, please see that Mr. Lugo and I aren’t disturbed. We won’t be long.”

  “You heard her, Tango. Sit down and make yourself comfortable.”

  “Sure, Mr. Lugo.” Tango didn’t appear as comfortable as his boss was with the lawmen in the room. He gave them a wide berth, stepping behind the coffee table to seat himself on the edge of a chair.

  By the size of the fellow John Lugo called Tango, I figured he was a bodyguard even though he wore a chauffeur’s uniform that was a tad too small for him. One man wasn’t much of a security entourage for a person managing a multi-billion-dollar tribal fund. If there were more outside, I hoped Officer Parker had spotted them.

  “Please, have a seat,” I said, lingering in my office doorway.

  “Thank you,” John Lugo responded politely as he took a seat with his back to me. Kim stood in the hall with a worried expression on her face. I signaled her by opening and closing my five-fingered hand three times, and then holding an imaginary phone to my ear. She got it and gave me a thumbs-up. I shut my door, knowing she’d bail me out in fifteen minutes with a call if Mr. Lugo hadn’t left by then.

  “What is it that’s so urgent?” I asked as I took my seat.

  “I heard you paid me a visit, and I wasn’t home. I came to apologize.”

  “There’s no need to apologize,” I said, smiling politely. “As I understand it, you no longer live there, so I didn’t expect to see you. I was sorry not to meet your ex-wife. She’s such a gorgeous woman, and Louie Jacobs has told me of her kindness toward him, as well as how much she loved her son. Not your type, I guess.” Mr. Lugo glared.

  “How dare you mention that killer’s name in the same sentence in which you speak of my wife.”

  “I said, ex-wife. I’m sorry not to be more gracious in response to your apology. I find it impossible to understand how any man can be willing to send an innocent man to prison rather than find the real killer. That’s especially true when the murder victim is his son and his only heir to the Lugo family name.” I was pushing all his buttons. Why not? Two police officers were only yards away.

  “How dare you speak to me this way! I was personally responsible for bringing the killer to justice.”

  “If you’re taking credit for the rush to judgment about the stabbing of your son with a hunting knife Louie Jacobs never owned, just stop. That was only one error in a ludicrously sloppy effort to pin the crime on my client. That’s not justice.” I paused to see how he was reacting to the scenario I was laying out for him. I’m not sure what he’d expected, but this wasn’t it.

  “Besides, someone stole the knife that killed your son from a shop in the casino’s mall before the shop was open. Imagine that. We heard Timothy Ridgeway called you when he arrived at the campsite and said you son was dead. Did he tell you Sacramento died from a drug overdose? How could that possibly be true when the police report claims Sacramento was stabbed and that he and Billy Castro found Louie passed out with a knife in his hand? Here’s what should be worrying you. What if Timothy Ridgeway was lying or wrong when he told you Sacramento was dead? If he set up Louie by stabbing you son because you told him to do it, that also makes you responsible for killing your son.” That got to him. John Lugo appeared to be befuddled, and then he shook his head.

  “How convenient that you’ve been able to confuse matters. That’s perfect for you and the misguided young man you’re defending. Unfortunately, it’s too little too late since Louie Jacobs confessed and has already been convicted of my son’s murder. He murdered Sacramento, whose only crime was to have befriended the aimless, drug-addicted, homosexual who led my son astray.” I was suddenly the one who was mystified.

  “Led him astray? You aren’t suggesting that your son was aimless, an addict, or gay, are you? Everyone I’ve spoken to has portrayed Sacramento as a young man with tremendous potential and worthy of admiration. If he’d lived long enough to complete his education, it’s clear to me that he would have assumed an important leadership role in his community and brought honor to the Lugo name. As his father, you ought to take offense at anyone who claimed Sacramento was aimless or addicted to drugs, and I’m quite sure your son would have told you if he was gay. I’d hoped you knew your son well enough to tell me the name of the woman with whom he was involved at the time of his death. We’ll find out who she is, which could help us determine if his relationship with her had any bearing on his murder. If you’re confused about Sacramento’s sexual orientation, you can also ask Auntie Agnes; she’ll sort it out for you.”

  “I’ve had Sacramento followed since he met Louie Jacobs when he was sixteen. The reports I received never mentioned he was seeing a woman unless you misunderstand what was going on between him and Belinda Morgan.”

  “No. Louie tells me it wasn’t her.”

  “Do you seriously believe anything Louie has to say? Poor crazy Agnes told you Louie Jacobs is innocent. She also told you that el hombre limpio killed Sacramento, not a jealous husband or Timothy Ridgeway if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

  “I’m not insinuating anything, but now I’m confused. Didn’t Andrew Clearwater tell you Timothy Ridgeway was arrested on suspicion that he murdered your son and obstructed justice during the investigation into Sacramento’s death? I assumed you put up the large sum of money required to get him released to Attorney Cl
earwater. Unfortunately, that hasn’t been so easy for Billy Castro, has it?”

  “You’re lying!” John Lugo raised his voice when he said that. He bit his bottom lip, and his hands shook. The man was fighting for control, and I was ready to make my escape. There was more sadness than rage in his voice when he spoke again. “Sacramento was deluded by his flea-bitten friend and told me all about the Cleaner Man. You’re wasting your time. My people investigated Sacramento’s concerns and told me there is no such man. It was another appeal from Louie for sympathy and support from Sacramento, who had to be on drugs or in love with Louie to fall for such a story. Keep chasing that phantom, and I promise you’ll start seeing little white Bibles everywhere you turn.”

  “That was you?” Now I was so angry, the blood rushed to my head. I buzzed Amy. I had to take a deep breath to keep my voice from wavering. “Amy, please tell the officers there’s no need to search for the man on the video. My guest just cleared up the matter for me.”

  “That’s good news. Isn’t it?” Amy paused, waiting for me to reply.

  “Yes, it is. I’ll be right out.” I turned to Mr. Lugo, ready for the stubborn, ignorant man to leave.

  “Mr. Lugo, if the fun and games are over, you’ve wasted enough of my time and everyone else’s. I’d recommend you hire a new investigative team since the guy Sacramento caught following him wasn’t very good at it. All brawn and no brains, huh? Thus far, we’ve learned enough to believe someone tried to kill Sacramento that night but failed. The person who stabbed him most likely killed. We both know who that was, and it wasn’t Louie Jacobs or the Cleaner Man.”

  Mr. Lugo jumped to his feet. I stood too and held his gaze. I hoped he couldn’t hear my knees knocking. The rage I’d felt had begun to dissipate. As always, when the anger subsides, apprehension rushes in to fill the empty space left behind.

  “‘Thus far,’ ‘most likely,’ ‘tried’—are not factual statements based on evidence. They’re the tricks of a crafty lawyer.”

  “That blood poured from your son when he was supposedly dead, is no trick, it’s a fact. There’s one way to be certain about how your son died. A more thoughtful man, one who was interested in determining the truth about what happened to his murdered child, would already have asked for an autopsy. It’ll be harder now, but you can still have Sacramento’s body exhumed. The coroner can conduct an autopsy to satisfy your need for facts. It won’t bring Sacramento back to you, but you could learn a lesson about surrounding yourself in the future with smarter associates who place a higher value on the truth. By the way, when did Ridgeway and Castro learn about the report Sacramento found and the letter that he’d written that could end your big development plans?”

  I tried to read the flustered man who was now as angry as I had been. I wish I could tell which part of what I’d said had made him that angry. Could this arrogant man have ordered the murder of his son because Sacramento had written a letter that could hurt him?

  “If you utter those words in public, I’ll sue you for slander or libel,” John Lugo said with bitterness in every word. Surely, not all the bitterness and confusion he’d experienced had to do with me. In fact, some of the bluster had fled soon after he was on his feet. His eyes drooped, and his suit was no longer a perfect fit as his shoulders sagged. When I asked the question about the report and the letter, though, he’d snapped to attention before he threatened me.

  “You’re a public official, Mr. Lugo, and I bear you no malice. Why would I engage in slander or libel against you personally when I don’t even know you? If you value the truth, order that autopsy to be done. Dead men don’t bleed. Call me if you have questions, but no more games.” I moved to open the door for him, but he motioned for me to stop.

  “I know the way out. I don’t play games, but I do send messages. Message sent and received, don’t make me send you another one.”

  *****

  “Are you okay?” Amy asked as she rushed into my office after John Lugo stormed out. “The police officers left, but they’re still parked at the curb, waiting for Mr. Lugo to leave. Isn’t Lugo the last name of the young man your client was convicted of killing?”

  “Yes, it is, and I’m mostly okay. I’m sweating like a pig. I hope my new client doesn’t mind his lawyers sweaty.”

  “Take another minute to cool off or freshen up if you need to. Mr. Siegel has laughed more than once, so he and Kim seem to be doing fine. In the LA office, legal aids and interns do most of the intake interviews.”

  “Okay, I need to leave a message for George to let him know that there’s no calamity here after all.”

  “Mr. Lugo’s a walking calamity if I ever saw one, and he’s definitely drawn to your calamity magnetism.” I shook my head, trying to remember who’d used those words around her. “Don’t take George completely off the hook. You’d better call that charming fiancé of yours. He deserves the right of first refusal when it comes to punching that man in the nose. If nobody else will do it, I will. You’ll bail me out, won’t you?” That made me laugh.

  “Thanks for the pep talk. I’d better call George and Frank in case John Lugo is on his way to punch someone in the nose. Several of his associates have some explaining to do.” I gave Amy a hug.

  “My money’s on Tango as the man most likely to do the punching. Mr. Lugo wouldn’t want to mess up his manicure or that suit.” She scurried out the door, and I called George.

  Surprise! Surprise! The detective answered my call on the first ring. He couldn’t possibly be in San Bernardino already even if he had his siren blasting.

  “I’m not driving. I’ve been trying to arrange another hiding place for Xavier Oliver. Please don’t keep me on the phone long.”

  “I won’t. The crisis is over here, and the police have left.”

  “Great! I’m glad I didn’t go racing over there for a false alarm.”

  “I didn’t say it was a false alarm.” I did my best to describe my introduction to John Lugo and the conversation that followed. I was having second thoughts about laying so many of my cards on the table, but I just couldn’t figure John Lugo as a man who would knowingly order the murder of his son. I’ve been wrong before, and more than once about how willing some people are to disregard family ties.

  “Do you expect me to believe John Lugo played a prank on you and then walked into your office to tell you about it?”

  “He said it was a message, not a prank. I suspect he intended it to scare me more than it did. In the end, it all worked to my advantage since I got to meet with him. I got my message across too. I told him what he needed to hear about how Sacramento died. You should have been in the room when I asked John Lugo about the report and the letter in Sacramento’s possession. Something’s up, George.”

  “I wish I knew where Ridgeway and Castro have gone. So far, Lugo’s lawyer has done a better job finding our hidey-holes for Louie and Xavier than we’ve done finding the two slugs who work for John Lugo. I’m really in no mood to deal with a dead body today, so I hope Lugo doesn’t go after them with guns blazing. Besides, if my officer is correct, Ridgeway’s already walking around with a bullet in him.”

  “No! Are you saying Ridgeway was behind the trouble today?” I asked in disbelief.

  “Yep. Some guys can’t learn, Jessica. I’ll explain what happened in more detail later. Are you done attracting calamities for one day?”

  “I hope so. I have some lawyering to do, but then I plan to go home and soak in the tub. Don’t get too worked up about the prospect of another dead body right away. My main message to Sacramento’s father was that if he wants to know the truth about who killed his son, he should have his son’s body exhumed and request an autopsy. I don’t believe anyone’s going to get killed until that happens.”

  “You must have made an impression on the man if you believe John Lugo will do that,” George said.

  “We’ll have to wait and see, won’t we? In the meantime, have you listened to the message I left you about Christian Curs
or?”

  “Sorry, no.”

  “No problem, Detective. Listen to it while you’re still in San Bernardino, though, please. If you have any questions, call me later. I’m already late for an appointment with a client.”

  18 Donkey Games

  When I got home, Anastasia met me at the kitchen door with her leash in her mouth. I was looking forward to that soak in the tub. I’d sent Frank a text message this morning but hadn’t heard from him. I needed to tell him about the day’s events. After our lunch conversation about men and the day I’d had, I didn’t trust myself to speak to him before I’d had that bath.

  “Hello, Jessica,” Bernadette said when I reached the kitchen. “You look tired. Did you have a rough day?”

  “You could say that. This has been one of the longest days of my life,” I responded as Anastasia used every trick in the book to make me take her for a walk. She dropped the leash, bowing to invite me to play. Just in case I didn’t get it, she pawed at the leash and then ran to the patio door with it in her mouth.

  “Anastasia’s so happy to see you. She’s been carrying that leash around, off and on for at least half an hour. I would have taken her for a walk, except Tommy said he wanted to do it when he got here. He and Jerry were supposed to be on their way and should already be here.” I felt bath time slipping away. I gave Bernadette a hug.

  “I’m going to change my clothes. If they’re still not here, I’ll take our fur-baby for a walk. How’s Auntie Agnes doing?”

  “She’s fine. I enjoy having Agnes around, and she stays busy. With her help, I got a few things done I’d put off for a while. We trade stories about how we grew up, which is interesting.”

  “I wish I could sit in on those conversations,” I said.

  “Ah, come on. You have lots of interesting conversations,” Bernadette said as she patted my face.

  “They’re interesting, but not in a happy, fun way,” I stopped speaking. “I’m starting to gripe. I need to clear my head before Tommy and Jerry get here. They’re going to tell us who’s who among Sacramento’s friends. While I was in the Yucca Valley, Jerry messaged me that Sacramento has quite a fan club. His friends admired him, and claim he never thought he was better than them because he was rich.”