Second Hand Smoke: Blood on Wolfe's Words

by Bill Capron

~ ~ ~

  Robin was home; well, almost home, the townhouse. Judy was huddled at the kitchen table with the phone stuck in her ear arguing for his rights. He opened the slider and stepped into the wind whipped drizzle; his hard bought freedom was cold and wet, and more fragile than he could have imagined.

  He’d been lucky, but now he had to be good. It was time to defend himself. He listened in on Judy’s call as she untangled the red tape from too many layers of political appointees and their minions.

  Judy finished with, “Okay, we’ll see you Monday morning.”

  He poured her a scotch on the rocks as she captured the essence of her half hour conversation in three sentences. “They’ve got no one who can approve your paperwork, if you can believe that. Seems the boss is gone for the weekend. It’s a crock, of course, because they want to keep you in Oregon.”

  He turned a chair and leaned his chest into the backrest. “My, how conspiratorial of you.”

  Her look said he was naive. “No it’s not conspiratorial, it’s the way it is. They expect to have you back in jail by Monday. So why let you cross the river.”

  He wasn’t going back to jail. “What is it I need to do to go home?”

  She educated him; “You have to agree to extradition. They don’t want any paperwork when they decide they want you back.”

  Robin didn’t have a problem with that; “Sounds fair to me.”

  Judy shook her head. “That’s your problem, Robin, you’re too damn trusting. That’s one reason to get you out of this town.” To whispered, more to herself than Robin, “If they think that some piece of paper’s going to get you back when they whistle, they’ve got another think coming.”

  Robin laughed. “It appears their reticence is appropriate.”

  She had to smile. “Well, keep it to yourself.”

  “Damn clients are a pain in the ass, eh?”

  She licked her lips. “You get a lot of slack.”

  He shook a finger at her. “You can use the humility.”

  “Yes, well, it’s good advice to listen to your lawyer.”

  He sat mute.

  She didn’t like the silence. “Is that understood?”

  He rubbed his finger along his upper lip. “I want to help with my defense.”

  The lawyer frowned. “You get any ideas, you tell me. I’ll make them happen.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t do that.”

  She put her hands together, looked heavenward and sighed. “What did you have in mind?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know yet.”

  “Are you going to tell me first?”

  He considered his words first; “That depends on whether it’s easier to ask forgiveness than approval.”

  She thought about it. “Use your best judgment.” She swallowed the rest of her drink and stood to hug him. “I’ll be calling. Try returning my calls. And be careful.”

  Robin walked slowly through the townhouse, looking for the residue of Mona, a forgotten memento. He found the blue silk camisole in the back of the closet, he brought it to his face, felt the smoothness of it, smelled a lingering odor of her, recalled the raw sensuality of the woman.

  Mona trapped him, and by the time he realized what had happened, she was through with him. It still hurt, but in a disconnected way, as if it was a friend whose life she’d messed with.

  ~ ~ ~

  The doorbell returned him to reality. Kathy took off her helmet and hung the rain coat on the rack. She locked her bicycle to the front railing. Her blond hair was drenched; she stripped the water and wrapped a band around it to make a ponytail.

  She left the door ajar. “Dick’s walking. Should be another five minutes.”

  Robin poured her coffee. She removed her wet sneakers and curled her legs under her on the sofa. She looked expectant.

  He sat in the love seat across from her. “It was nice of you guys to come to court.”

  She smiled at the ‘guys’. She’d been waiting a long time for him to cut her from the pack of guys and make her his girl. She knew the thought was childish, but her crush was long suffered.

  “Us guys were thinking of you,” was all she said.

  He smiled. “Well, it did a lot for my spirits.”

  “Judy did a great job. I liked it when she stuck it to that prissy faced judge.”

  He was confused. “When was that?”

  “When she forced the judge to have your manacles taken off in court. You know, like the public display of putting them on you.” She noted the questioning look. “Sometimes you can be so dense.”

  “Sorry,” he shrugged his shoulders, “but I’m glad to be free. I didn’t care for her either. It’s too bad I missed it.”

  She said with some irony, “It’s like you. Not everyone uses a sledgehammer to break through like Mona.”

  He guessed where she was going with that line of reasoning; he moved to safer ground; “So what’s up with our friend King? And you don’t have to pretend for my sake, I know you don’t like him.”

  “I don’t dislike him,” she argued, “but I don’t think he’ll let us be successful. The consulting end of the business will suck us dry.”

  “Well, we can only hope,” Dick’s voice boomed. He shook his Burberry slicker off, hung it, tapped the umbrella outside, and opened it again to dry in the small foyer with his Gucci shoes.

  Kathy flinched when he patted her shoulder. He poured his own coffee, drowned it in cream and pulled up a chair.

  Dick sipped the hot liquid. “If you make this stuff any stronger, you’ll need metal cups.”

  “I don’t see Kathy complaining.”

  He joked, “She’s already got metal cups.”

  They’d been fighting; a past competitiveness was replaced of late by a too public enmity.

  Kathy ignored Dick’s remark; “It’s true, they’ll bleed us dry.”

  Dick directed his words at Robin; “We’re coming up on a real soft spot in the market. I looked at our past numbers. Everything’s pointing to a downturn like four years ago, the one that almost shut down the company. I think we’re looking at a thirty percent dip.”

  He pointed a finger at Kathy. “Sure King’s people will ask for too much, but right about now we could use it.” Back to Robin, “Take my word for it, in sixty days, we’ll have ninety days of famine. That’s my forecast.”

  Kathy shook her head. “You’re looking too hard for that downturn.”

  Robin was concerned. “Has it shown up in the orders yet?”

  Kathy sighed; he was taking Dick’s side.

  The VP answered, “No, Robin, it’s in the leads. You know what that means.”

  Robin nodded. “It means we can’t dawdle.”

  Kathy interrupted, “There’s no dawdling, but if we don’t close next week, it’s not going to happen.”

  Dick nodded his agreement.

  Robin concentrated on his financial manager. “You know, Kathy, I’ve been ambivalent about the sale for a long time,” he noted the hopeful look on her face, “in case it went south.” He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his shoulders hunching up. “I don’t feel that way any longer. I want this sale to happen.”

  Kathy was silent.

  He made the sales pitch, “Kathy, you have to be on board.”

  She made a last effort; “Robin, you can still run the company. You can take us to the next level.”

  He swung his head. “No, I can’t. I’m done with FindIt. Sale or no sale, rich or penniless, you can color me gone, and I won’t look back.”

  Her eyes brimmed. “That’s too final.”

  “Hey, I can be in prison for the rest of my life. That’s too final. Whatever happens, the rest of my life is beginning soon, and FindIt is not in it.”

  He turned to Dick. “Make it clear to King that I’m out of the business from the get go.”

  Dick made a note, underlined it and placed multiple exclamation points after it. “He’s not going to like it.”

  Robin
disagreed; “Don King doesn’t want me, especially now.” He turned to Kathy, “Let’s look at the numbers.”

  They reviewed the month and ran through Dick’s logic on the leads. Robin was inclined to agree with Kathy that it was only a minor blip, but the next month numbers would be crucial.

  When Dick got up to leave, Kathy kept her seat. When the door closed, she put an expectant look on her face, but a fearful expectant look. “Robin, I don’t like being one of the guys.”

  Some topics can’t be avoided. “No, I guess you never did.”

  She raised her chin an inch to keep the brimming water in her soft blue eyes. “You know how I feel about you.”

  He was nervous under her unwavering gaze; the light shimmered on the potential tears. “We’d be a lousy match.”

  She raised nicely shaped eyebrows. “Compared to Mona?”

  He snorted. “That’s not a fair comparison, and you know it.”

  “I can’t help it. I’ve loved you a long time.”

  She’d never put it in words before. What to say? “I like you too, Kathy.”

  She reached out and covered his hand. The water overflowed. “I don’t want to be liked, Robin, I want to be loved.”

  He was still, his eyes never left her face. “I’m not the one. I don’t love you.”

  “Why not?” Tears coursed down her cheeks and off her chin.

  He got on one knee, like he was proposing. He cupped her face in his hands and used both thumbs to brush the tears aside. “I like you too much to give you some shortened version of my love.”

  She sniffled. “I can make you love me if you give me a chance.”

  He still held her face. “No, you can’t make me love you, and you know it. Don’t you?”

  She nodded. “I want you so bad I can taste it.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not worth wanting that much.”

  She twisted away. “See, that’s you, Robin Morgan. You’re the only person in the world who thinks that.”

  She got unsteadily to her feet, opened the door, got into her rain gear and steered her bicycle towards the parking lot. He waved when she turned her head. She smiled wanly and rode on.

  Chapter 9 - Saturday, June 24 - 5:00 am

  “Hey, look who’s here?” Carla threw her arms around Robin, and then pushed herself away. “I’m sorry. I got a little familiar there, didn’t I?”

  He said, “No.”

  She twisted her neck up at him, shook her head and hugged him again. “Oh, what the hell. It’s good to see your face. We’ve been so worried.” Her rain matted hair left a wet spot against his chest.

  Canby, Peter and George nodded their hellos, as if running with a suspected murderer wasn’t high on their lists.

  George spoke first, “So, Robin, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be working on your defense?”

  “I’m running, George, that’s what I’m doing.” He spread his arms and filled his lungs with fresh air. “I’m getting on with my life.” He cupped his hands around his left foot and stretched his back. The others were silent, watching, waiting. He felt their eyes on him. “I’m here because you’re the brightest group I hang with, excluding George of course.”

  There was an ice breaking titter. Canby said, “Amen to that.”

  More seriously Robin explained, “I need to understand what’s happening to me.”

  The three men looked doubtful, Carla expectant.

  “Hey, I want to pick your brains.”

  Peter, the therapist, said, “Sounds good to me. Anyway, that’s how I make my living. And what are friends for? Canby’s an ex-cop, now a lawyer. I’m a head guy. George is a defrocked priest. Carla’s a nurse. You’ll be making use of science, law enforcement, medicine and religion. That’s a good start.”

  Robin grinned. “That’s right. I need help, and you are the guys for it.”

  Carla tilted her head to ask, “Do any of your other women get tired of being called ‘the guys’?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She loped out to the street, calling over her shoulder, “So, let’s run. It’s not like we can’t talk, eh?”

  Robin caught up with her and the others pulled up even on both sides. “So how much do you know?” he asked.

  Carla shook her head and sent a fine spray into the air. “We were talking about it when you showed up. We got here early because we were worried. I might add, one of us guys more worried than the others.”

  From Canby, “We know what’s in the paper, and on TV.”

  Robin turned his cap to keep the water off the back of his neck. He asked, “And what do they say?”

  Canby yelped, “What! You’re not watching your life story?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t take it. I mean, they’re talking about someone else with my name; it’s like identity theft.”

  Canby took him through a brief synopsis of the common knowledge, with additions and corrections from the others.

  Robin’s only comment was, “That’s how the police see it.”

  Carla moved up next to him and hung onto his elbow. “So what’s your story, you tall dark and handsome Svengali-like leader of FindIt?” Everybody laughed.

  He put his legs on automatic. “Let me start with the last two days, everything that happened. Canby and Peter were with me a bunch of those hours on both sides of the murder.” Turning his head to them, he asked, “So, the cops call you yet?”

  Both runners nodded; Canby added, “Yes, tomorrow, they’re sending an officer out to interview me. They knew I was a cop. You tell them?” Robin nodded. “They probably figure I’ll write my own recap.” He answered the question on Robin’s face; “To save them time. They’ll expect that.” A pause. “So what say you?”

  It took a mile to recap the two days, and one more to describe the evidence.

  George chided, “So you’re guilty.”

  Robin answered, “Ah, but then there’s this problem with the evidence.”

  Carla said, “The palm print.”

  The others hadn’t heard yet. The group tightened into a moving knot.

  “Yes, the palm print.” He turned his hands up for them to see, like proof. “It’s not mine, and it doesn’t belong to anyone in the evidence chain.”

  Carla said, “Then you’re home free.”

  He wiped his face with the lower half of his tee shirt. “No. Judy Jacobs, she’s my attorney, says there’s more than enough circumstantial evidence to take it to trial.”

  Canby asked, “Have they offered you a plea bargain? There’s a lot of risk taking a case like this to court.”

  “Yes, manslaughter.”

  Canby was stunned. “You’ve got to be kidding. Manslaughter?”

  “Yes.” All eyes focused on him as the pace slowed a notch. “I didn’t take it.”

  Canby again, “Why not, for God’s sake?”

  Exasperation shook his voice; “Because I didn’t kill Mona.”

  The ex-cop’s tone was deadpan; “Well, sometimes that doesn’t matter.”

  It matters to me. “I’m not willing to be labeled a killer.”

  With a continuing note of incredulity, “So what are you going to do?”

  Robin was matter of fact; “I’m going to find the killer.”

  Canby gave him a ‘you poor fool you’ shake of the head.

  Robin ignored it. “My first problem is motive.”

  Canby frowned. “You mean other than the obvious motives pointing to you?”

  “Yes, it is other people’s motives I’m looking for.”

  “So, who benefits by Mona’s death?” Carla asked.

  He shrugged. “No one. Don’t shake your heads, there is no one; no one.”

  Peter the psychotherapist took another path; “What about hate? Revenge?”

  “At whom? Mona? Me?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Robin verbalized his previous thoughts; “Yes. If it was Mona’s wandering ways, what’s the reason for implicating me, another of her victims? If it’
s me, why not shoot me instead?”

  Peter answered, “Maybe the revenge was a little more complicated, Robin. Maybe they want to drag you through the dirt.”

  Robin shook his head, but that was exactly what was happening. “Nobody hates me that much.”

  Zov laughed. “Yeah, disgusting, isn’t it?”

  George asked, “What about the business? There could be lots of motives there.”

  “I can’t paint a scenario that works; but it throws a monkey wrench into the sale, which is what’s happening.” And it’s not Kathy.

  Carla said, “Maybe someone killed her for you, to set you free. I could imagine that.” Her skin darkened. “You know what I mean.”

  Robin ignored her embarrassment. “So why set me up for it?”

  “So there is no motive?” George asked.

  Robin shook his head. “There has to be a motive.”

  Carla followed up on George’s idea; “But what if there wasn’t?”

  His eyes scanned her serene countenance. “What do you mean?”

  “What if it was a random killing?”

  “Carla, this was premeditated, planned. I was set up.”

  Three male heads nodded their agreement.

  Carla didn’t let it go. “But what if it doesn’t have a reason? I mean, if you didn’t do it, and no one else has a motive, then what’s left?”

  He continued to shake his head as he spoke; “Carla, I’m not questioning your logic. I’ll keep it in mind, but …”

  Canby rescued him; “There’s something going on here we don’t know about. Then we’ll know the motive.”

  “That’s right,” Robin jabbed a finger at him, “and I’m going to find it.”

  Canby said, “That’s stupid, Robin. Get a pro. The police aren’t going to leave you out on the street messing with their investigation. You’ve got no experience. Look,” he pointed to a car a hundred yards ahead on the opposite side of the road, “that cop’s been following you since the start of the run, and you didn’t notice him. You don’t have the training, you don’t have the skills. So take my advice, get a pro.”

  George was puffing. “Whatever you do, Robin, get it done soon. I’ve been transferred, and I’ll be gone in two weeks. I don’t think I can stand the suspense.” He pointed right. “This is my exit guys.”