by Diana Orgain
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 List:
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.
Inside 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?
