by Kim Hamilton
I grabbed a bottle of port off the shelf and the Corona from the refrigerator and I returned to the front. The Pakistani man and I exchanged pleasantries about the hot weather and the looming thunderstorm that we hoped wouldn’t delay the game. I paid for my packaged goods and left the store. The woman who had purchased the scratch-off tickets sat on a bench outside the store. She looked up at me, waved one of the tickets, and said, “You gotta play to win! I won fifteen dollars!”
“Congratulations,” I said. Her eyes lingered on me.
“Hey, I know you. You’re that lawyer lady. I saw your exploding-toilet commercial when I was watching a rerun of Judge Judy. That Judy is a hoot. Anyway, I may have a case for you. You got a card?”
I pulled a card from the dedicated side pocket of my messenger bag, like pulling a gun from a holster. Kari had taught me the importance of the quick draw with a business card.
“Was someone you know injured?”
“My neighbor, Snappy. Well, Snappy’s what we call him. His name is Samuel Napi. He’s a little embarrassed by the incident. The flying porcelain tore a nasty gash in his hip. I told him to take some pictures, you know. Just in case.”
“That was good advice. I hope he took it. I’d like to talk to him. Have him give me a call.”
“I will. Your commercial also did some good down at the old Baptist Church and Bingo Hall. The reverend saw it and inspected the toilets there. Turns out one of them, the one in the office, has one of those exploding parts. He shut it down and is having it replaced.”
“I’m glad nobody was hurt.”
She started to rise. I took her elbow, guided her upward, and held on until she had her cane in place.
“You are very sweet, and pretty, too. You single? I got a nephew about your age.”
What is it with everyone trying to get me a date? “No, Ma’am,” I lied. “I’ve got a boyfriend, but thanks anyway.”
We said goodbye, and I strolled toward my car. At least the firm was getting some positive attention with our exploding-toilet commercials. Generating business while providing a public service seemed like a win-win to me.
#
The twins had their wide-screen set up on the front porch so that the screen faced my side. Neighbors brought their own chairs and gathered around both our porches. It was an eclectic group of people ranging in age from college students to retired adults, all united by their love for this city and our baseball team.
During the ninth inning, my cell phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number.
“Hello.”
“Is this Jessica Snow?”
“Yes, who’s this?” I stepped off the porch.
“It’s Olivia Metzger. Sorry to bother you, but I found something. I need to speak with you privately.”
“Can you meet me in my office in the morning?”
“I’d like to talk with you tonight. I’m sorry, I know it’s late, but I think this is important.” Her breathing was labored and her voice rattled. She was scared. “Can I meet you somewhere? Anywhere that’s convenient for you.”
I had enjoyed a couple of beers watching the game and didn’t want to drive. “I live in Fells Point. Can you come to my house?”
“Yes. That’s perfect. Thank you.”
I gave her the address and told her to park in any open spot she found on the street. The game had ended, and our porch party was dwindling. After saying proper good nights to the others, I told Mrs. B about the call from Olivia. “She’s Harvey Metzger’s wife.”
“Isn’t she a murder suspect?”
“O’Mallory isn’t interested in her. I met her yesterday. She seems genuine, and she loved Harvey. I don’t think she murdered him. She doesn’t think Dawson did it, either. She wants to track down the real killer, so Harvey’s life insurance will pay out. As long as she remains a suspect, they’re holding the money.”
“So she’s not some floozy who cheated on her husband?”
“She cheated all right, but she said her marriage with Harvey had stalled and he didn’t discourage her seeking affection elsewhere.”
“Still, I don’t like you being alone with her. What if she did murder her husband and plans to murder you too for sticking your nose in?”
“That’s a little dramatic. She’s harmless.”
Mrs. Bianco reached into her housecoat and handed me her gun. “Take this. You may need it..”
“I can’t take that. You know I don’t know how to handle a gun.”
“Yes. That is why you need me to teach you. Let me sit in on your meeting tonight. You can tell her I’m your secretary.”
“Wearing a housecoat?”
“I’m not changing. If you make me change, I’ll put on another housecoat.”
“I’ll let you sit in, but we’re telling her the truth. That you’re my friend and that Harvey lost your money, too. And that you’re packing in case she tries to kill me.”
When Olivia arrived, that’s what I told her.
Olivia responded with a short, sad laugh. “I’m not a murderer.”
“Jessica likes you, but I don’t know you well enough to trust you yet. Keep your hands where I can see them.” They narrowed their eyes at each other and lowered themselves into the two chairs flanking the coffee table.
“You said on the phone that you found something. What is it?”
“After I unpacked that giant suitcase, I went to store it in the guest-room closet. I noticed an old briefcase of Harvey’s. It had been a gift from his first wife. I saw some papers in it. I took a closer look and”—her hands were shaking as she reached into her bag—“I found these.”
I took the papers and examined them. A sick awareness took hold of my insides. The documents were identical to the financial statements that Dawson and Mrs. Bianco had shown me. What was unimaginable was the name on the statement and the amount of the initial deposit. The account belonged to Kevin O’Mallory and the deposit was for $300,000. My breathing halted, its pattern disrupted. I forced an inhale.
“What’s wrong?” Mrs. Bianco leaned in toward me and scanned the papers. “Who’s Kevin O’Mallory?”
“He’s the lead detective working on finding Harvey Metzger’s murderer.”
“How’s a detective come up with $300,000 cash?” Mrs. Bianco asked.
Off the top of my head, I could think of a couple of ways. “Maybe he inherited it. Or maybe he sold some real estate.”
Olivia added, “Maybe he won it playing craps at the Horseshoe.”
“Maybe he’s a dirty cop and he stole it,” Mrs. Bianco said.
Then it hit me. Why didn’t I connect the dots sooner? O’Mallory, the East Side drug bust, the missing money, and the deposit into O’Mallory’s account with Harvey. It was all connected somehow. And Franco? Franco’s reaction at the trial when O’Mallory said there was only $30,000 found at the drug house. Was it Franco’s money that went missing during the bust? The pieces were coming together. But how did O’Mallory’s investment elude the authorities? There must have been some evidence in Harvey’s office.
“Was O’Mallory there when they searched your house?” I asked Olivia.
“There was no ‘they.’ O’Mallory was alone. He handed me a warrant and went about searching Harvey’s office. He said it was routine. All he took were paper files, Harvey’s computer, and his iPad. He said the forensic accountants needed all the information so they could try to track down the money. The next day he called to ask if I was sure there weren’t any other files in the house.”
We sat immersed in our own thoughts for a while. O’Mallory didn’t find what he was looking for during his solo search. He knew Harvey had records of his windfall investment somewhere and he had to find them. They were evidence of theft and murder. He’d need to destroy them. No wonder he had seemed so preoccupied and out of sorts when Helen and I spoke to him.
Olivia pointed to the file. “I can’t keep these in my house. He may try to come back and search again.”
“You
should leave them with Jess,” Mrs. Bianco said.
The sight of the documents and their implications turned my stomach. “I don’t want them in my house either. If somehow they were found here I could be charged with withholding information pertinent to a murder investigation. I could lose my license.”
Mrs. Bianco arranged the documents into a neat pile, folded them, and shoved them into the pocket of her housecoat. “I’ll take them.”
Olivia was playing with the straps on her Gucci handbag. “Thank you for meeting me here. You can see why I didn’t want to call the cops.”
“I’m glad you called me. Let’s talk again tomorrow after I’ve had more time to process all this information and figure out the next step.”
We stood to end the meeting. Mrs. Bianco looked at Olivia. She put her small, steady hand on Olivia’s shoulder and said, “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you at first. You’re a nice lady. I’ll take my hand off my gun, see?” She pulled her empty hand out of her housecoat pocket and waved it in the air.
Olivia located her keys and headed toward the door. “Thank you again for your help. Thank you, both.” She gave us each a deliberate look and an affirmative nod and walked out into the night. Mrs. Bianco and I watched from the front porch until she entered her car and drove off.
This was an unlikely turn of events and an unlikely alliance. I had to tell Kari and Helen, but it was late, and I didn’t want to discuss this over the phone. It would have to wait until tomorrow.
My sleep was interrupted by the sound of my phone ringing. The bedside clock read 3:15 a.m. This could not be good news.
I sat up in bed and answered. “Hello?”
“My house. My house is on fire.” It was Olivia. She spoke through breathless sobs. “I was sleeping when the smoke detector went off. I went downstairs and Harvey’s office was on fire.”
“Are you okay?”
She ignored my question. “Jess, you know who did this. This is no accident.”
I knew it was no accident. O’Mallory had started the fire to assure that his financial statements would never be found. “I’m on my way.”
I did a quick change, throwing on a pair of black yoga pants and a dark purple T-shirt with the Ravens’ logo on the front and bolted out the door.
Traffic was not an issue as I worked my way through Fells Point and onto the JFX. Three fire trucks and an ambulance were parked on the street in front of Olivia’s house. Two TV news crew vans stood watch across the street. The sickening smell of smoke and charred wood filled the air. Olivia stood near the magnolia tree where Kari and I had parked a couple of days ago. She was with a middle-aged couple. The woman had her arm around Olivia and the man stood close by on the other side.
“Olivia, are you all right? I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you for coming, Jess. These are my neighbors, the Hendersons. They live across the street.” We exchanged perfunctory greetings. Olivia assured them she was OK, and I explained that I would take Olivia home with me. The Hendersons retreated and joined the other neighbors looking onto the tragedy.
“Where’s Maria?” I asked.
“She had the night off and is staying with a friend.”
The firemen continued to work on the house, but the immediacy of the situation had passed. The house was still standing. Its stone front looked untouched except all the windows were gone, and the frames were covered with soot that was blacker than black. An addition off the side of the house also lost its windows. The plastic siding looked like melted vanilla ice cream. I noticed Mark standing by the truck with John and Kyle, sorting through gear. Kyle recognized me and gave Mark a nudge. I issued a simple wave and he headed in my direction.
Before he could speak, I said, “I’m not stalking you. And I don’t have a thing for fires. It’s another coincidence. I swear.” I gestured toward Olivia. “This is Olivia, the homeowner—a friend of mine.”
He turned toward Olivia. “The fire was confined to the north side of the house, but I’m afraid the damage from the smoke is extensive. The investigator is on his way.”
Olivia lifted her head. “Thank you.”
Mark looked behind him. His pals were still busying themselves with the hoses and equipment. He took my hand. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
I let Mark guide me away.
“I had fun the other night. I was going to call you yesterday, but didn’t want to seem too pushy.”
I nodded in agreement. “The ‘day after’ contact—always a tough call.” He squeezed my hand. I shed my teasing tone. “I had a good time, too.”
“Think we should try it again?”
“Yeah. I think so too.”
We stopped at a place on the sidewalk away from the news people and the onlookers. I turned to him. He must have noticed the concern on my face. “Something wrong?”
“Remember the murder I told you about?”
“The Ponzi scheme guy, right?” So he had been listening.
“That’s his widow.”
He frowned. “Poor thing. Lost her husband, now her house.” And he’s sensitive, too.
“You’ll think I’m all kinds of crazy for saying this, but I’m afraid the murder and this fire are linked, and I’m pretty sure I know who’s responsible.”
He looked at me with equal amounts of concern and confusion. I imagine he was trying to determine whether or not I was, in fact, a paranoid lunatic. “Have you talked to the police?”
I leaned into him and whispered, “No.” I could smell his aftershave through the smoky scent on his gear. I loved the way he smelled. “The guy I suspect is a cop. I pieced things together a few hours ago. I know it sounds crazy, but I wanted someone else to know. His name’s Kevin O’Mallory.”
He took both my hands in his, peered down into my eyes, and said, “How can I help?”
My breathing slowed as I focused on his strong hands holding mine. “I’m still trying to process it. Right now, I’m too tired to formulate a plan.”
We stood in silence for a few somber moments. Mark decided to lighten the mood. “So you’re not stalking me then?”
“I’m not that crazy.”
Kyle stood by the fire truck and called to him. “I better go.” He gave my hand a gentle squeeze, kissed my forehead, and ran off toward the trucks. I rejoined Olivia. We watched the firemen finish loading the gear before heading for my car. As we drove off, I looked at Olivia’s charred house and wondered how her homeowners’ insurer would try to get out of paying for the damage.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Olivia spent the rest of night in my guest room. If the fire was intended to kill her, we had to assume there would be other attempts. It was best she stayed with me rather than a local relative where she might be tracked down. We didn’t get back to sleep until about six. At eight, she joined me in the kitchen for coffee. I sent a group text to Dawson, Kari, and Marty that I would be late for work and would explain why later.
Olivia was wearing what she had gone to bed in last night before she escaped the fire—a pair of short, pink pajama bottoms with lace along the hem and a matching short-sleeve button-up top that didn’t button all the way up. All her clothes had been ruined in the fire. I had little that would fit her. She was about two inches taller than I was and much better endowed upstairs and in her backyard. She was very fit from her recent obsession with Pilates. I was envious of her tall body and smooth curves.
“I need to get to the office this morning, but I don’t want to leave you alone.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve got to make some calls about the insurance on the house, and I need to buy some clothes.”
“We can go through my closet.”
We eyed each other’s frames and laughed. “We can try,” she said, patting her curvy hips.
I found a sundress that Olivia managed to squeeze her boobs into. We had the same size feet, so it was easy to outfit her in a pair of strappy sandals. She showered, borrowed my makeup, fussed a bit with her hair, and she was
ready to face the day. I had the local news channel on while we got ready. The drive-by media was reporting that the fire had been caused by a faulty water heater.
I phoned Mrs. Bianco and told her what had happened. She hung up the phone and was at my door within thirty seconds. She pushed her way through the front room carrying a foil-wrapped package and headed back toward my kitchen where Olivia was pouring coffee. She unwrapped the foil to reveal her homemade banana bread. I handed her a knife and a cutting board. She sliced as she spoke. “Things tend to get a bit hairy when there’s a dirty cop involved. You can’t rely on anyone associated with the police department to help you.”
I put a handful of napkins next to the bread, and we dove in. “I’m not going to ask for their help,” I said with my mouth full. “I’m going to see Franco Giovanni.”
“The mob guy?” Olivia asked.
“Alleged mob guy,” I said, and wondered why I felt defensive. He’s got an interest in O’Mallory, too. I think it has something to do with the drug money that was never recovered from the East Side drug bust. I think O’Mallory stole the money during the raid.”
“And then he gave the money to my husband to invest,” Olivia said.
“But the money belongs to Franco Giovanni,” Mrs. Bianco added. “He’s not a forgiving man.”
“You know him?” Olivia asked.
“My late husband had some business dealings with him.” Mrs. Bianco turned to me. “Franco would be interested to know about the large deposit that O’Mallory made. You go talk to him.”
I left Mrs. Bianco and Olivia in my kitchen sipping coffee and eating banana bread.
