Juggling Evidence (A Robin Starling Courtroom Mystery)

by Michael Monhollon

  I looked at Lynn. “Bruno’s not the one you were trying to protect?”

  She hesitated.

  “Never mind. Did you kill your husband?”

  “No.”

  To Matt I said, “Did you kill your father?”

  “I’m not sure Derek is …”

  “Your legal father,” I cut in. “I’m not concerned right now with who was sleeping with whom twenty years ago.” I realized immediately just how tactless that was, but it was too late to recall the words. “Did you kill him?”

  “I didn’t kill him,” Matt said.

  I looked at the three of them. “Do any of you know who did?”

  I got one “no” and two headshakes. I wasn’t sure I believed them, but it was going to have to do for a working hypothesis.

  “Okay,” I said. “Then we can stop with the cover-up. Nobody needs to protect anybody, and we can concentrate on finding out what happened.” I went to the phone. “Let me set something up and then I have a few more questions.” I picked up the phone, glancing at the directions on the face of the instrument, and then dialed nine and the number of Brooke’s cell phone. I didn’t have my own cell; it was probably somewhere in my bedroom.

  Brooke answered on the second ring.

  “Are you still in the lobby?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Seen much activity?”

  “A little. Some men coming and going.”

  “They may be cops. Do you think you can leave the hotel without attracting attention? Go out to your car.”

  “Okay.”

  “I want you to call the hotel and make a reservation.”

  “For tonight?”

  “For tonight. Ask for room 439. Be talkative. Say you stayed in the room once with a boyfriend and you’d like to stay there again for sentimental reasons.”

  “So I’m a slut, but a sentimental slut.” There was a pause. “Okay, I’m outside. Fortunately, the rain’s let up. It’s just a drizzle now. What’s the number of the hotel?”

  I read it off the phone. “For luggage you can get your gym bag out of the back seat. You might want to put your hair in a ponytail or something so you don’t look so much like the woman who’s been hanging out in the lobby.”

  “This isn’t going to get me in trouble, is it?”

  “I hope not.”

  “Great.”

  “If I get you in, I’ll get you out again. Make the reservation, then check into the hotel and go up to your room.”

  “Suppose 439 isn’t available?”

  “Then we’re screwed,” I said. “Call me…” I hesitated. “No, never mind. If you can get the room, knock on the connecting door when you get there. If you can’t, just stay in the car, and I’ll call you.”

  I hung up.

  “What was all that about?” Bruno asked me.

  “There’re cops swarming all over this hotel,” I said. “Something tells me it’s going to look bad if they catch the two of you together. Derek Nolan is shot in the head, and that night the police find his widow in the hotel room of an old boyfriend. I don’t want those facts ever presented to a jury, though there may be nothing we can do about it.”

  “So what are you doing?”

  “Working desperately on a plan to have some of us gone when they close in. I doubt it will work.” I went to the connecting door to room 439 and opened it. On the inside door, there was a chrome disk in place of a doorknob, which prevented the door from being opened from this side.

  “She’s not much at building confidence, is she?” Bruno murmured to Lynn.

  I went back to the desk chair and sat, though Lynn and Bruno were still on their feet. “While we wait, maybe you could tell me about any recent conflicts in Derek Nolan’s life,” I said, looking at Lynn, then Matt, who had taken a seat on one of the beds.

  “I don’t understand,” Lynn said.

  “Somebody wanted him dead. If he was a loan shark, maybe that’s not so surprising. Tell me about that.”

  Matt and Lynn exchanged glances. “I don’t think ‘loan shark’ is quite fair,” Lynn said.

  Matt said, “There’s the embezzlement.”

  “Embezzlement’s good,” I said. “Tell me about that.”

  Lynn said, “Evidently, when Derek was out of the office last month, someone came in to pay off his note early.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. Derek didn’t tell me.”

  “Who was running the office?”

  “An administrative assistant was supposed to be running it, a woman named Liz Lockard. Evidently, though, she was out when a customer came in with his check. A man named Mark Walker was minding the shop.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “An errand boy…”

  “A thirty-year-old, two-hundred-fifty-pound errand boy,” Matt cut in. “Dad sent him around sometimes to collect payment.”

  “Mark Walker was there, and Liz wasn’t,” Lynn said. “Evidently, Walker accepted the check and gave the customer his note back. Then he forged Derek’s name to the check and cashed it.”

  “Seems like a good way to get caught,” I said.

  “But not immediately. Derek prints out the notes from his computer, and so they’re all right there on the hard drive. All Walker had to do was print another copy of the note, forge the customer’s signature, and put it back in the file. That bought him some time.”

  “Time to do what? Did he have a plan to pay the money back before the embezzlement was discovered?”

  “We don’t know,” Lynn said.

  Matt said, “I saw him at Colonial Downs once.”

  Lynn looked at him sharply.

  “Melissa likes horses,” he said defensively.

  “If you were with Melissa, it must have been fairly recently,” I said. “Was Walker gambling?”

  “I don’t know. He was with Liz Lockard, though.”

  “The office manager,” Lynn reminded me.

  “What does this Mark Walker look like?”

  “He’s a big, beefy guy with a bushy horseshoe of hair around his head.”

  “Muscular?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m sure he’s as strong as a horse.”

  “I don’t guess Melissa said anything about the size of the man who knocked her down tonight,” I said.

  Matt’s eyebrows went up. Lynn shook her head. “No. She just said ‘a man.’”

  I exhaled. “I sure hope the police can pick her up. We badly need to ask her some questions.”

  “Why would she steal a car and drive away like that?” Lynn asked, sounding querulous.

  Matt said, “She didn’t steal a car, Mom. She just…”

  “Don’t say it,” his mother said. “Don’t say she borrowed it. She took the keys without asking and drove away with it. She’d only just met the owner.”

  Matt opened his mouth to respond, but I cut him off.

  “Back to this embezzlement,” I said. “How did Derek find out about it, and what did he do?”

  Matt said, “He ran into the debtor at the Commonwealth Club. The guy made some kind of off-hand remark that got them to talking about him paying off the loan, then later he faxed Dad a copy of the note Mark Walker had returned to him. It was stamped ‘Paid’ and signed by Mark Walker.”

  “The amount was sixteen thousand dollars or so,” Lynn said. “Derek confronted Mark with what he had done, and Mark said he’d make it up to him.”

  “You mean pay him back?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Derek wasn’t going to prosecute?”

  “I think he was still hoping to get his money back. This was just a couple of weeks ago. Derek fired him, of course, and once he had his money, he was still likely to prosecute, no matter what he said.”

  “I think Mark Walker is worth talking to,” I said. “Liz Lockard, too.”

  The door from the next room opened, and we all started. It was Brooke, though, who stuck her head in. “Mission accomplished,” s
he said.

  I stood, feeling almost light-headed with relief. “Okay,” I said. “Bruno, you stay here in this room. The rest of us will go next door. Actually, they’ll go. I’ll stay with you.”

  “What do we do over there?” Lynn asked.

  “Spend the night, I think. If you try to leave, somebody’s going to see you.” I looked at Bruno. “Tell you what. You and I can go across the street to The Tobacco Company. That may force them to revise their theory about what’s going on. We can have a couple of drinks, and maybe they’ll look in the room while we’re gone. If they realize they’ve missed the Nolans, maybe they’ll move their operations elsewhere.”

  “That’s a lot of maybes,” Lynn said.

  Bruno asked, “Won’t they check the next room when they don’t find us?”

  “I don’t know. The room’s rented in a stranger’s name, and both connecting doors will be closed. Unless you can come up with something else, it’s all we’ve got.”

  “Let’s go,” Matt said, giving a tug at his mother’s arm.

  “What about me?” Brooke asked.

  “You could leave, I think. You probably ought to. If this doesn’t work, there’s no point dragging you down with the rest of us.”

  She shrugged.

  “Close the door on your side and lock it,” I said. I hurried them through, then closed the door. That left me alone with Bruno, me looking at him, him looking back.

  “Do you know what you’re doing?” he asked.

  “No,” I said. “Do you?”

  “You’ve barged in and taken over. I don’t know you, and I’m not sure I like it.”

  “The next few hours should give you a better basis for forming an opinion,” I said. “Have you eaten?”

  “Hours ago.”

  “Me, too. I can’t say I’m hungry, though. Do you drink?”

  “Water.”

  “Good man. There’s a nightclub in the basement of the restaurant across the street. You can buy us a couple of Pellegrinos, and we can listen to some music.”

  Chapter 5

  When we came out of the hotel room, a man was standing in front of the elevators, just punching the call button. As Bruno and I approached him, he glanced incuriously at us and away. The elevator doors slid open, and he got on. The doors stayed open as we approached.

  “Thanks,” I said as we got on with him.

  He took his finger off the button, and the doors slid shut. “You’re welcome.” He was wearing chinos and a rugby shirt with orange and blue stripes.

  “University of Virginia,” I said, giving his shirt a nod.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “UVA colors,” I said.

  “Oh.” He shrugged.

  I looked at Bruno and shrugged myself. The doors opened, and we got off on the first floor. Bruno and I went toward the street; the man in the rugby shirt turned toward the desk.

  “Is he another one of your policeman?” Bruno asked me as we crossed the cobblestones to the bar.

  “Why not?” I said.

  We entered the Tobacco Company at the basement level, where music was playing too loudly for easy conversation. Easy chairs and sofas were grouped around low tables on all sides of a small dance floor. No one was dancing, though. Bruno sat down in the center of a love seat. Rather than sit in the chair angled next to it, I squeezed in beside him. He made room for me, though he looked annoyed.

  “I want to talk without shouting,” I said in a loud voice.

  A girl approached to take our drink order. She was as tall as I was, and her short skirt made her legs look so skinny as to be stork-like. I ordered Pellegrino and made a mental note to be careful about very short skirts.

  “Scotch and soda,” Bruno said.

  After the waitress left, I said, “I thought you didn’t drink.”

  His smile was almost a grimace. “I haven’t had a drink since I turned thirty.”

  “Is this the time to start back?” Even though we were sitting right next to each other, we were having to project our voices to be heard over the music.

  “I don’t know. I’m thinking it might be.”

  I could understand the impulse. “How come you to leave Lynn all those years ago?” I asked.

  “I didn’t know she was pregnant.”

  So Matt was his son. A man came down the steps into the nightclub, walked past us and sat alone in the grouping of chairs just behind us. I leaned into Bruno and said, more softly, “I think we’ve got company. We’re going to have to keep our voices down.”

  The waitress came with our drinks. Bruno gave her a ten. There wasn’t any change. I squeezed the wedge of lime into my water and took a sip. After a quick pull of his own drink, Bruno grinned fiercely and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He took another swallow, while I eyed him speculatively.

  Finally, Bruno put his arm around me and bent his mouth to my ear. “Is this okay?” he asked.

  I nodded. It would have to be.

  “I started drinking in college,” he said. “The drinking age was 21, but I was friends with some upper-classmen. I didn't do particularly well in school, either socially or academically.” His breath tickled my ear. “I had a fight with Lynn, and I left. It was stupid.”

  I turned my face toward him, putting us nose to nose. For a moment I could smell the fresh Scotch on his breath, and then he turned his ear toward me.

  “When did you come back?” I asked and turned my head for the answer.

  “Just over three weeks ago.” The tickle in my ear was worse. It took an effort not to giggle. I started to turn my head toward him, but he pressed his mouth to my ear as if he were going to stick his tongue in it. “The university’s alumni office kept track of me,” he whispered, and the flesh on my arms broke into goose bumps. “I get the magazine. A couple of months ago, Derek and Lynn were featured in Alumni News. I looked her up.”

  I turned my head to whisper in his ear. “You look up Derek, too?” I turned my ear toward him for the answer.

  “I didn’t know him. I arranged a meeting with Lynn and found she wasn’t happy. She was looking for a way out.”

  I assumed he meant “a way out of the marriage” and not that Lynn was contemplating suicide. He leaned forward and had another sip of his Scotch. I drank some water. When he sat back, I leaned into him and asked, “Where have you been meeting her? At the house?”

  “No. I’ve never been in the house.”

  “There are no fingerprints for the police to find? You’re sure?”

  He hesitated, then leaned toward me. “There are outside stairs in back of the house that lead up to a porch off the master bedroom. I’ve been there.” His cold lips and hot breath were causing my breathing to quicken.

  “Where? Porch or bedroom?”

  He hesitated. “Both.”

  “How many times in the bedroom?”

  “Only once or twice, briefly. I may not have touched anything other than a doorknob or the frame of the door.”

  I took a breath and exhaled it. If the police looked—and the attention they were showing his hotel room suggested they would—they were going to find his fingerprints inside the house. When I turned my head toward him, I could see the man sitting alone behind us, his head turned toward the dance floor so that his left ear faced our direction. There was no way he could hear us over the sound of Nelly Furtado’s chanting, but I put my mouth against Bruno’s ear to ask, “What time did you leave there tonight?”

  He drained his drink, then put his mouth on my ear. “I wasn’t there tonight.”

  “I don’t believe you,” I whispered, my mouth moving against his ear. It was a heck of a way to question a witness, I thought.

  Bruno shrugged, looked at me, tilted his head.

  “Okay,” I said in normal tones. “We’ll go with that.” I took his hand and stood up. When we had left the music of the nightclub and climbed the steps to the street, the soft sound of the rain on the cobblestones was like a profound silence. As we reach
ed the sidewalk, the door below us opened again with a burst of music, and the man who had been sitting behind us came out. Ignoring him, I pulled at Bruno’s hand and stepped into the street.

  The woman whom I’d seen with the ice bucket on the fourth floor was sitting in the hotel lobby. She stood as we passed her and followed us toward the elevators. I pressed the button, and while we were waiting for the elevator, the man from The Tobacco Company joined us.

  The doors slipped open, and the four of us stepped in.

  “Where to?” I asked, my hand hovering in front of the panel of buttons.

  The woman and the man exchanged glances. “Four,” the woman said.

  I pushed four, and the cab started up.

  “I’m Robin Starling,” I said. “I think I’ve seen you around.”

  The woman shrugged.

  “This is Steve Bruno,” I said.

  The man from The Tobacco Company nodded.

  “We’re going to his room now. I’m not sure what will develop, but perhaps you’d like to come in and pull up chairs.”

  Again, the man and woman looked at each other. “Perhaps we will,” the man said.

  I smiled at him.

  “What are you doing?” Bruno said to me.

  “Trying to add a little spice to my love life.”

  His lip curled in evident disgust. He had a low threshold.

  The elevator doors slid open on the fourth floor, and the four of us filed out and down the hall. We stopped in front of Bruno’s door. He got out his wallet and extracted his cardkey.

  “Are you sure about this?” he said to me, rolling his eyes toward the man and woman who were standing with us.

  I nodded, and he shrugged. “It’s your show.”

  As he put the cardkey into the slot and pulled it out again, I said to the others, “It amazes me sometimes what men will do to please me.”

  Nobody even smiled. Bruno opened the door, and the other couple pushed past us. One glanced into the bathroom; the other stopped and stuck her head in the closet. We followed them in.

  On the far side of the king-sized bed, the woman turned and said, “Where are they?”

  “Where are who?” I asked, stopping beside Bruno.

  “You know who.”

  “Is this one of those ‘who’s on first’ kind of jokes?” When I didn’t get a response, I said, “I think it’s time we see some I.D.”