Suddenly, Colin had a stilled, watchful quality. “Oh? I guess I should be flattered.”
“What do you recall about the Lopez case?”
“The what case?”
“State versus Lopez.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t recall—”
“You were the P.D., Paul was the state attorney and Winewski the judge.”
“Katherine, the criminal legal community was small and tight-knit back then. Paul and I had any number of cases together. It’s how we became friends.”
“Lopez was a Cuban recently immigrated who was charged with the murder of another Cuban.”
“Oh, yes.” Colin rose and walked over to the bank of windows facing the ocean. “Manuel Lopez. It’s coming back to me. The victim, highly regarded, owned a market that catered to the Hispanic community on Southern Boulevard. Right? Brutal murder. If I remember correctly, someone beat the owner to death, and the bloody bat was found in the garbage can at the house my client and his wife shared with eight other family members.”
Despite myself, I was intrigued. “What was Lopez’s connection?”
“The owner had only hired him the week before to clean the store at night. It was his first job. He didn’t even have enough money to take a bus. He had to walk to the store at night.”
“How far?”
“A mile.”
I was incredulous. “You mean your client carried a dripping bat all the way from the store to hide it at home?”
Colin beamed. “You always did have a quick mind. Exactly the point I argued.”
“What was the motive?”
“Money, of course. Paul’s theory was the owner caught Manuel stealing from the till.”
“And Lopez killed him with a bat in the store? Where did he get it?”
“Several witnesses reported the owner kept one under the counter for security purposes.”
I could understand that, given the break-in at my house.
Colin sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Open-and-shut case for the prosecution. The jury took only long enough to select a foreman and cast one vote. Guilty.”
“What happened to your client?”
“I’m not sure. Someone came up with money to get him a new attorney, and I was fired. I think there was a series of motions and then an appeal was filed until a deal was worked out where he only got a life sentence rather than the death penalty.”
I frowned. It sounded like a typical murder case. What was I missing? “So why would Winewski choose that trial to single out on his wall?”
“God knows. Maybe the old goat’s conscience finally woke up. He certainly ruled against me enough during that trial or any others I had with him. I couldn’t get a win for the life of me.”
“Ouch. That must have been tough.”
Colin’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “It made plea bargaining a bitch, if you’d pardon the expression.” He flushed. “But Paul knew he had a sure thing when Winewski presided.”
“Katherine, I didn’t know you were here.”
I twisted in the chair and saw Hilary in the doorway. Although her cream silk pant suit was exquisitely styled, she appeared to be losing weight. I didn’t like her ashen skin color either. “Aunt Hilary. Are you all right?”
“Of course.” She stepped inside and walked to where Colin stood.
“You look thinner.”
“Thank you. I’ve been trying a new low-fat diet. Was I interrupting anything important?”
Colin brushed a light kiss on his wife’s cheek. “Remember Kurt Winewski?”
Hilary shot me a sharp look. “Of course.”
“He committed suicide. Katherine was at his office today when it happened.”
What little color my aunt had drained from her face. “How perfectly dreadful! Are you all right?”
“Yes. I was in the outer office.”
“Katherine saw a clipping about an old case on Kurt’s wall and was curious about it.”
“Case?”
“Yes, one I was the public defender on and of course Paul was the prosecutor.”
“How bizarre,” she murmured.
“That’s what I thought. I had a lot of cases and that one certainly wasn’t memorable except for the fact I lost.”
She patted his arm. “Kurt always did have it in for you.”
“True.”
“Judge Winewski told his assistant he wanted the article on the wall to remind him of the day he entered purgatory.”
Hilary’s laugh was short and bitter. “Obviously, the poor man had been in desperate need of mental attention for a long time. A tragedy, yes, but hardly a noteworthy mystery.”
She glanced at her watch. “Colin, we have that testimonial dinner for Paul at six. You need to get ready.”
“Certainly, my dear. I’ll just walk Katherine out.”
Hilary didn’t look happy with the notion, but Colin crossed the room. I stood and walked with him into the hallway. As we went toward the foyer, I used the opportunity to ask him a few more questions.
“Uncle Colin, did my grandfather have an assistant?”
“Of course. Every judge had a secretary and bailiff assigned to him.”
“Do you recall the names of Jonathan’s court staff?”
His brows furrowed. “The secretary was a spinster-looking woman. Sue…Susan. Something ordinary like that. I believe the bailiff’s name was Stewart.”
“Do you know if either of them is still alive?”
“No, can’t say that I do. I lost contact with them after I became attorney general. Why do you want to know their names?”
“I thought they might be able to tell me what cases Granddad was working on when he disappeared.”
Colin halted and placed his hands on my shoulders. “Honey, let the past go. I’m sorry that you had such a hellish childhood, though God knows, Hilary and I tried to fill the place of parents to you.”
“I know you did,” I gave him a quick hug.
“I’m worried that you’re becoming obsessed. Jonathan and Marguerite vanished without a trace all those years ago. It destroyed your mother and it can destroy you, too, if you’re not careful. It’s too late to do anything about it.”
I shook my head and broke away. “I’m sorry, Uncle Colin. I can’t do that. There have been too many secrets in my life, too many situations where I’ve chosen to look the other way rather than act. I’ve never believed that Granddad was on the take.” I lifted my palms. “I just can’t. I need to find out the truth. Somehow I think what happened in that courthouse thirty-five years ago is tied into Grace’s death.”
“I don’t want to lose you, too, Katherine.”
“You won’t.”
I turned and left Colin standing in that great foyer, looking lost under the glittering chandelier.
Why was I not surprised when lead prosecutor Jared Manning emerged from the patrol car along with a uniformed police officer in front of the town house Grace Roberts had rented? When I had called yesterday, the assistant prosecutor had sounded astonished at my request, pursuant to the discovery rules, to be allowed to search the decedent’s premises. She had put me off until this morning.
“Good morning, Ms. Rochelle,” Jared called out as he and the officer walked toward me. As I returned the greeting, Gabe’s truck pulled up behind the patrol car.
Oh goody. A full house. Gabe had been downright surly last night when I had called him and told him where I was going today. However, he had seemed satisfied that I wouldn’t be alone during my inspection. I hadn’t really expected him since he seemed to be all wrapped up in his pursuit of the Castillo angle, trying to help out Lieutenant Bowie.
Unlike Jared’s brisk energy, Gabe sauntered up while the officer unlocked the door. I merely arched my brow and he smirked.
Jared handed me a document. “Here’s my final disclosure list.”
Pursuant to the discovery rules, the prosecution is obligated to furnish the defense with a
list of witnesses it anticipates calling at trial along with any witness statement. I had already received one such list so I scanned it looking for the changes.
One name in particular stood out: Isabella Montoya. My mental folder on Grace’s friends flipped open. Isabella, owner of an antique store on Southern Boulevard. She had called Grace at least four times in the week before her murder. So far Isabella had failed to return my phone calls, but apparently she had spoken to the prosecution.
Hmm. I removed a manila folder from my tote and carefully tucked away the list. Jared gestured and I entered the house. For a moment I stood in the postage-sized foyer, allowing my vision to adjust to the dim interior. Then I entered the living room.
Standard South Florida town house with two bedrooms, a bath and a half, conjoined living-dining room with a door leading to a small courtyard, and combined kitchen and utility room. White walls, beige carpet. It was a rental all right.
Grace’s furniture, though, was on the expensive side and not from one of those mass-market places. She favored the contemporary style except for the huge floor-standing mirror in the corner, which was more along the baroque lines. No photographs were displayed anywhere, only framed uninspiring prints. One thing for sure, Grace hadn’t bothered to acquire any tastes in the arts.
“If you would tell us what you’re looking for, Ms. Rochelle, perhaps we can help you.” Jared studied me with curiosity. Gabe had already taken his cue and disappeared into the first bedroom followed by the officer.
Jared’s office had furnished me with a transcript of the tape removed from Grace’s answering machine and an inventory of the house’s contents. In this day of high tech she hadn’t owned a computer; at least one hadn’t been found.
“Microfilm,” I offered as I went to the sideboard in the dining room that appeared to be the only place that offered storage.
“Microfilm?” Clearly, I had managed to surprise Jared. Score one for the defense.
“Yes. Before her death Grace was in the clerk’s office and took a microfiche of court cases from thirty-five years ago.”
Jared shook his head as I opened one drawer. “I don’t get the connection.”
“You don’t have to.” Credit receipts and bills jammed drawer number one. Taking a handful, I sorted through them. No black square. I continued the process until I had reviewed everything in the drawer. Drawer number two contained the same. I sighed and began to flip through them. Gabe called out that there was nothing in the master bedroom and headed into the second one.
One receipt leaped out at me but I didn’t pause over it even though I about gagged over the price. The mirror came from The Old World Antique Store on Southern. I’d bet my last dollar that was Isabella Montoya’s place and she sure knew how to gouge people. Why had Grace splurged on something so not her style unless…
I turned and studied the mirror. “What’s the matter?” Jared asked, but I ignored him. I crossed the living room to the corner. Gabe, wearing latex gloves, materialized at my side, and, without a word, moved the mirror so that I could see behind it. I squinted and, with a grunt, he handed me a small high-powered flashlight. Switching it on, I panned the beam up and down.
There. On the left side was the faint gummed markings left by tape. Whatever had been taped there had been removed, but at one time something had been hidden behind this mirror. Or was I jumping to an assumption? Had simply a sales ticket been tacked there so as not to mar the mirror side?
“Kate, pan down toward the other side,” Gabe said. I moved the light and saw a small dark outline. My pulse quickened. Gabe said to the officer, “Tim, would you give me a hand here?”
The officer took the mirror from him, and Gabe removed the item. It was the microfiche. Before I could even enjoy the victory, Jared stepped forward with a plastic bag.
“If you would drop that in here, the officer will take it back to the station to be analyzed.”
Hang on. I planted my hands on my hips. “That’s my evidence I found.”
“And pursuant to the rules, you will be given a copy.”
“When? Trial begins on Monday.”
“My office will have it ready by tomorrow.”
Not nearly enough time, but there was more than one way to skin a prosecutor.
“I’ll be at your office first thing in the morning.”
“I’ll look forward to it. Was there anything else you needed to look at?”
I flashed him a brilliant smile. “We haven’t checked the kitchen or courtyard yet.” I could hear the silent groan inside all three men, but they followed me into the kitchen.
Rochelles are thorough, if nothing else positive can be said about us.
“I don’t have nothing to say to you.” Isabella Montoya glared at us from behind the small counter in her antique shop. Not even Gabe’s charm, turned on full blast when we had introduced ourselves, had had any effect on the hostile store owner. Gabe and I had made a beeline here after leaving Grace’s town house.
“You spoke to the state attorney’s office,” I pointed out.
She picked up a cloth and swiped at a pewter plate. “No, I haven’t. I told him I didn’t know nothing about Grace’s death and still the bastard subpoenaed me. I’ve a business to run. I can’t afford to be stuck in court.”
I glanced around her shop while I tried to place what I was hearing in the tone of her voice. She was spitting mad, but another emotion was at play here. Fear?
Her store overall was on the low end of antiques, if one could call a 1960 Danish-style dresser or a black velvet Elvis an antique. Poor quality, outrageous prices.
I turned my attention back to Isabella, a petite dark-haired woman dressed stylishly enough in a vivid red blouse and black slacks. “That baroque mirror you sold Grace doesn’t seem in keeping with your inventory here.”
The woman started. “I didn’t sell Grace anything.” Was sweat beading on her temples?
“I saw both the mirror and the sales receipt at her house, Ms. Montoya. If need be, I can request the State have those on hand for when you testify.”
“I didn’t sell it to her. I bought it on her behalf from an auction in Palm Beach.”
Semantics. She was trying to toy with us.
“What color was the backing?”
Isabella flashed me a startled look. “Regular cardboard stapled onto the frame, which is why I was so surprised by the price. But Grace insisted that I get it, no matter what the cost. She said it once belonged to someone important.”
Cardboard. At the house the mirror had had no backing, just the coated glass. Had something been hidden, covered by the cardboard? Did that account for the outline of tape?
“Did Grace mention who the mirror belonged to?”
“No. Just that it had changed hands a while back and the current owner had recently died. His widow auctioned off a few of their things so she could sell their house and move up north.”
Wait a minute. Excitement buzzed through me. Perry Wentworth had died at the beginning of the year. Hilary had mentioned with a sneer that his wife was closing down their mansion next door. If I had their ages right, Perry would have been a contemporary of my grandfather’s.
The mirror had been my grandparents’. It all fit; it had to.
“Kate, are you all right?” Gabe asked, placing his hand on my arm.
“No, I’m fine. I just realized who the original owner of the mirror was.” I composed my racing thoughts.
“Was Grace blackmailing anyone?”
A closed expression slammed down on Isabella’s face. “We weren’t girlfriends, you know what I mean.”
The woman was one of those people who couldn’t lie directly so she would beat around the question. A funny odor wafted into the store, but I ignored it. However, I sensed Gabe going into alert mode. He moved toward the rear of the store.
“I didn’t ask you that. I asked if you were aware of Grace’s blackmailing anyone? Did she find something attached to the back of the mirror?�
��
Isabella’s jaw bunched. A crashing sound came from the back of the store where I assumed her storage was.
Gabe ran to me, grabbed my elbow and yelled, “Everyone get out of here. Now!”
I didn’t need an engraved invitation, not after the past few weeks. I ran. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a white-faced Isabella move from behind the counter.
Gabe and I zigzagged around the antiques and burst through the front door. We were almost across the street when I heard a whoosh followed by an ear-shattering boom. Next thing I knew I was airborne. The ground rushed up at me and I tried to tuck and roll. Pain shot through my shoulder and then I saw stars above, with the ocean rushing in my ears.
Through the din I heard someone’s voice. “Baby, talk to me. Are you hurt?”
I blinked and the whirling sky stilled. Gabe’s face hovered over me. The roar in my ears dulled to a drone. Then my brain clicked into action.
There had been an explosion.
I struggled to sit up and Gabe’s arm came around my shoulders. Pain seared through me, bringing tears to my eyes. “My shoulder!”
He dropped his hand and moved to my right side. “You have one hell of a red mark.” Although I heard sirens wailing closer, Gabe dug out his phone and called 911 requesting an ambulance.
“I don’t need a doctor,” I protested. Now that the first wave of pain had receded, I gingerly tested it. This time the pain was less.
“Like hell you don’t. You’re lucky it wasn’t your head that hit the ground.”
For the first time I noticed that I was sitting on a grassy slope before a small bungalow that housed a hair salon. When I saw the sidewalk was only a foot away, I closed my eyes and swallowed hard.
The ear drone dulled to a buzz.
I reopened my eyes and viewed the circle of curious onlookers. Through a gap I could see flames leaping high from the antique store.
“Isabella! Where is she?”
“I don’t know if she made it out.” Gabe ran a hand through his hair. “I was too busy having nine lives scared out of me when I saw you lying here.”
Courting Danger Page 16
