Second Hand Smoke: Blood on Wolfe's Words

by Bill Capron

  Robin looked from one to the other. “It’s time for the two of you to start thinking like business people. Use your heads, not your hearts. It’s not my problem that’s affecting this negotiation.”

  They shook their heads in unison.

  Robin answered, “Well, you’re acting like it is. Six weeks ago we sat in this room and worked up a model of what would happen once King was engaged. You remember?”

  They nodded as Robin thumbed through a stapled report.

  “Here it is, scenario three. Oh, and wonder of wonders, what’s it say?” He condensed it. “King’s going to come in after we’ve invested our time and energy and money, question everything that’s gone on, and discount us twenty-five percent.”

  Robin put the report down and pointed at them with both hands. “Stop reading my problems into this. He negotiating and you guys are overreacting. Come on, your lives are spent cutting deals. So get on with it, negotiate!”

  He pushed the report at Kathy. “Here, you put together this fine strategy. Make believe my problems don’t exist. Execute the plan, okay?”

  Kathy scanned the report like she’d never seen it before. She handed it to Dick who read more slowly.

  Dick turned to Robin. “Okay, so maybe we’re spooked. Maybe King can tell. Not exactly a Dale Carnegie negotiating strategy, eh?”

  “No, it’s not. So stop acting scared. We were going to hold back a key contract, keep it on ice.” He realized he should know the answer to the question he was about to ask, but he didn’t. “Did we do that?”

  Kathy looked at Dick; they laughed.

  Dick responded, “Makes me wonder where I’ve been keeping my head.”

  Kathy helped him. “It’s not so easy, Robin, what with Mona’s murder.” She pulled the report from Dick. “We forgot what we were doing.”

  Robin was past it. “So, have we got that contract?”

  Dick snickered like the long forgotten cartoon character, Snagglepuss. “Yes, a real winner.”

  “Big?”

  Kathy answered, “Three million. It’s a lot of product. Gross margin’s over fifty percent.”

  Robin was suddenly skeptical; “Hid it from yourselves, eh?”

  Kathy came to Dick’s defense again. “You haven’t been here.” She wasn’t accusatory, but, “When Mona died, and you were suspect, we stopped thinking. It was then that King started whacking the price. We sort of connected the two.”

  Dick added, “They may still be connected. I wouldn’t put it past King. But no reason the plan should be any less effective.”

  Robin continued, “So how close are we to closing the order.”

  Dick returned to his typical self-assurance; “I expect next week. If we put on the pressure, could be Monday or Tuesday. They’ve given us a tentative okay to make it public.”

  “And you kept this from King?”

  Kathy said, “Right, and we kept it secret from ourselves.”

  Dick spread his palms up and gave an exaggerated shrug. “Hey, I was following the original ground rules. We tell them expected sales by quarter, and they don’t believe it, so they discount the numbers. And there are no names on unclosed business.”

  Robin played devil’s advocate; “That wouldn’t stop them from prying through the receipts.”

  Dick acted hurt. “I’m more careful than that, Robin.”

  Robin asked Kathy; “You still talking to that reporter?”

  She nodded and frowned.

  “The two of you need to prepare a press release for Monday. Kathy can call Ian what’s his name for a drink, confide in him, give him the release early, and on Monday morning it’ll be public.” He winked at her. “Who knows, maybe Sunday.”

  Kathy opened her cell phone and drifted into the corner of Dick’s office. She spoke quietly with her back to the two men; she gave a thumbs up without turning.

  When she sat down, she gave Robin a stare. “The things I do for you, Robin Morgan. Ian’s a really boring date, and he thinks he’s got rights.”

  He ignored her. To Dick, “Is this enough?”

  Dick shrugged. “King’s not going to stop hammering us on price.”

  Robin said, “You can take it. Don’t bend. I think he needs us.” Then to Kathy, “I’ve always appreciated everything you’ve done for me, Kathy. Thanks.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Robin tapped on the door jamb; Judy looked up from the littered desk.

  He said, “A busy day in River City, and they’re all working for me.”

  She pushed back a lock of gray hair. “Yes, I’m busy saving your life. And down the hall, Robert’s on the phone with King’s lawyers. You’d think you were our only client.”

  “I love the attention, can’t you tell.” He pulled out a chair opposite her.

  She removed black-rimmed reading glasses. “You are the main attraction these days. Have you seen the news?”

  He gave his head the briefest of shakes. “No, not beyond seeing my face staring out of every corner news box.”

  “You’re a star.”

  “I liked it better when I was nobody.”

  “I’m surprised the vultures aren’t all over your townhouse.”

  He shrugged. “They were outside six or seven times for live feeds yesterday, but I don’t talk to them.”

  “What’s up with the police?”

  “I’m being followed.”

  She wasn’t surprised. “Well, get used to it.”

  He changed the topic. “So, when can I go home?”

  “Monday.”

  Freedom was ephemeral; going to Washington would be more real. “Any chance they can put me back in jail?”

  She shook her head. “No, they have to explain that print first. You stick to the bail agreement, and they can’t touch you.”

  Robin got defensive; “I’m doing the best I can.”

  She voice took on a warning; “Don’t screw around, Robin. You’re free. Stay free.”

  Judy put the glasses back on and scratched a note on a stapled report.

  He changed the subject; “So what are you doing to find Mona’s killer?”

  She didn’t even look up. “Nothing.”

  “Why?”

  She peered over the top of the glasses. “We, you and I, don’t have the resources to find the man who did this, but we do have the resources to win this case.”

  He knew where it was leading. “You mean I’m going to be found innocent?”

  She disguised her irritation at his feigned ignorance. “Not guilty. I can win this case as long as there is no new evidence.” She stared. “Anything I should know?”

  “No, but I’m not about to bet against the person who set me up.” He asked, “Not guilty. That’s in the legal sense?”

  She didn’t know what facial expression to use for her longtime friend. “Yes, in the legal sense. My opinion, they can’t find twelve jurors to convict you.”

  He rubbed his fingers along his mustache. “I’ll be like O.J.”

  She raised her shoulders. “I don’t particularly care for the comparison.”

  “But it fits.”

  “Yes,” she admitted.

  Not much to hope for there. “So, what’s your strategy?”

  She doodled on a piece of scratch paper as she talked; “We’re going to replay the last day, and we’re going to focus on the palm print. I’m going to say, this is not how a killer acts. I’m going to put character witnesses on up the ying-yang. I’m going to build alternative scenarios for the murder. And I’m going to place someone else, unnamed, in the starring role.”

  It kept returning to the same issue. “But what’s the motive?”

  “I don’t need a motive; I need to convince the jury it wasn’t you. I am dead certain I can do that. I don’t even need your help to do that.” She focused her eyes on his. “But I need you to lay low. Can you do that?”

  He didn’t hear her; he was seeing in his mind’s eye a future CourTV show explaining how he got away with murder.
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  He tugged at his earlobe. “Somebody said maybe there was no motive, maybe it was a random act. Sunday said there’s always a motive, we have to find it. What if they’re both right?”

  She growled, “Come on, Robin. There isn’t such a thing as a random motive, it’s an oxymoron.” The lawyer’s tone was dismissive.

  Let her go her way. I’ll go mine. “Sure, Judy, you’re right. I haven’t thought it out enough.” He tapped his forehead.

  She asked, “Any more contacts with the police?”

  Robin told her about his interrupted breakfast, “Maureen said you …”

  She interrupted, “Maureen who?”

  “McMartin.”

  She was incredulous. “You’re on a first name basis with the homicide cop?”

  He was suddenly shy. “No, not exactly, but she feels like a Maureen to me.”

  “What’s wrong with this picture?” Judy looked to the heavens. “Oh, that’s cute, my client’s got the hots for his persecutor.”

  He blushed. “No.” He paused to think it over. “Listen, the detective said you’d use smoke and mirrors magic to get me off.”

  She laughed. “So, she’s got a solid appreciation of the legal profession.”

  Robin was having none of her levity. “Judy, that’s not my point. There’s someone out there who killed Mona. He did this, set me up, and disappeared into thin air.”

  “Like smoke.”

  Robin slapped his hand on the desk. “Yes, and now he’s killing me, second hand.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The pretty reporterette collared him coming out of the elevator. “Mr. Morgan, my name is China Wong and I’m with the Oregonian. I was wondering if I could talk to you. I’d like an interview for tomorrow’s paper, something with a personal touch. It’s time our readers got a chance to see the man behind the hype, don’t you think?” She blurted it without punctuation.

  Robin knew the spin; rich businessman kills cheating wife to save his fortune, and he’s going to get away with it. Maybe a few words in his own defense couldn’t hurt. Hey, I’m a bright guy, I can handle it. “Sure, let’s go to the coffee shop. I could use some caffeine.”

  She raised a large umbrella and took his elbow, as if he were a prized possession. He ordered and paid for their coffees. They took a corner booth.

  When she pulled out the tape recorder, he said, “I don’t want it on tape. Why don’t you do it the old fashioned way, with a pen and paper?”

  “Sure,” she said as she searched through her seemingly bottomless purse. Once situated, her ‘spider to the fly’ smile sent a chill up his spine. “So, Mr. Morgan, what do you think of the news coverage of your case?”

  “I haven’t been watching it … nor reading it either.”

  She was writing in longhand, slowly. “There’s a lot of national interest. Your picture was above the fold this morning.”

  “Yes, I saw that in the box.”

  She acted amazed. “And you weren’t inspired to read it?”

  He tilted his head. “Why should I? What can they know about me? Whoever they’re talking to, it’s not the people who know me. And this person they’re talking about, that’s not me at all.”

  She switched subjects; “Have you any idea who might have killed your wife?”

  “No, but it wasn’t me.”

  She wrote and talked at the same time, but it wasn’t easy for her. “The police have a lot of evidence.”

  He countered, “They have someone else’s print on the gun. They have to explain that.”

  “One of our crime beat reporters said maybe you didn’t do it alone, that your accomplice left the other print.”

  “I hadn’t heard that before. Maybe you should tell Detective McMartin. I’d hate for her to miss anything so obvious.”

  The sarcasm went right by her; more writing, but her legibility was failing.

  She blinked her black eyes. “So, Mr. Morgan, with the evidence against you, and the obvious motives, what will be your defense?”

  “Innocence, of course.”

  She looked up. “I don’t mean your plea.”

  He leaned into her. “I didn’t either.”

  She seemed confused; she got by it by jumping over it. “How long have you known about your wife’s other liaisons?”

  Danger, he told himself. “Aren’t you supposed to work your way into these probing questions, Ms. Wong?”

  As if it was an explanation, “My fingers hurt.”

  He laughed, but it was lost on her. “I don’t want to discuss my wife’s life. We were getting a divorce for what are now well known reasons.”

  The reporter blurted, “But we have to talk about her. She’s the reason this happened.”

  “How can you be so sure? Is she even the intended victim?”

  Don’t go there.

  “What do you mean?”

  Robin looked at his watch. “Oops, I have to be going, Ms. Wong. I’m already late.”

  He left her in the middle of her scrawling. She wouldn’t notice he was gone until she stopped writing.

  ~ ~ ~

  Robin picked out the tail in the reflection off the Saks window; the female cop was short, dumpy and nondescript. If he wasn’t looking for her, he might see her ten times in an hour and not remember her. He walked to the Galleria and bought a coffee at Starbucks. He made his way to the elevator, waited for the door to close, hit the stop button, and then ten seconds later opened the door. He saw her on the stairway, scanning the elevator doors. He turned down the underground entrance to the Hilton.

  He exited the hotel and pulled his hood up to the hard rain. He walked three blocks to the deli across from the Symphony. The man behind the counter waved hello, but his face became more wary than friendly when Robin pushed the hood back. He found Bob Sunday in the corner booth away from the window reading Willamette Weekly, the ubiquitous big city left wing screed.

  For the first time, Robin noticed the PI looked like a cop. Probably obvious to any crook. They see in on the clothes, the carriage, or the ability to be attentive even when they’re not. Maybe his stint as a criminal heightened some special sixth sense.

  Sunday didn’t look up as he sat down. “You’re late.”

  “I had to dump my escort,” he explained.

  The PI smiled. “McMartin’s going to be pissed.”

  “I guess that’s one of the joys of being a cop.”

  Sunday’s smile wavered with past memories. “Yeah, one of the small joys.”

  Robin ordered a bagel with tuna and cheese and a beer. He told the PI about his talk with the detective and his meeting with Judy. “It seems the only person who wants to find the killer is me.”

  Sunday discounted it with a wave of his hand. “You’re whining. You didn’t expect it to be any different, do you?”

  He laughed. “No, I guess not. Everyone’s doing their job. Judy’s trying to get me off no matter what it takes. The cops are trying to prove me guilty. The DA’s trying to put me away in prison.”

  Robin’s bagel arrived. The PI let him chew a few bites before he spoke. “You could let them fight it out. Judy will do a fine job. You know that.”

  “It’s not enough, Bob. I’m innocent, but,” he pulled at his lower lip with his teeth, realizing freedom wasn’t the only issue, “someone killed Mona. I don’t think they should get away with it.” He talked at the tabletop; “I’m not going to let them get away with it!”

  “That’s the spirit.” Sunday spread his notebook. “I did a little research.” He answered the question on Robin’s face; “Remember? The yellow VW, the one that was following me?” He waited for Robin to nod. “A dealer told me there were hundreds in yellow. So, my friend can access the DMV database from his computer.”

  “They have the color?”

  “Sure, whenever a car is registered.”

  “So how will that help?”

  The ex-cop explained, “Well, if I were you, boyo, I’d make a list of everyone I knew. When I have
those VW owners, who knows, maybe we find a match.”

  Robin was still focused on the direct approach. “What about motive?”

  “Screw motives, Robin, this is another way to the answer. When you’re a cop, you learn to take what’s available to you.”

  “That could take weeks. And if the car’s stolen, it’s not going anywhere.”

  The PI was stubborn. “I think it’s got possibilities. I’ve got an assignment for you.”

  “What’s that?”

  Sunday pointed a finger at him. “The person who killed Mona knew you. He had access to your truck, and maybe your townhouse. He knew about your gun. He even knew you didn’t have an alibi. So it’s obvious, he knew you.”

  “And?”

  “Make a list.”

  Robin relented; “Okay, already, I’ll do it. What else do we know?”

  Sunday spoke as he chewed his toast; “I’ve been thinking. The murderer was prepared to kill, maybe had been for weeks, but the date was open. He was waiting for the right opportunity, that is, a time when Mona was doing her thing, and your truck was available. My being there though was icing on the cake, but he had to make sure I didn’t see his face.”

  Robin saw where it was leading. “Okay, he was keeping tabs on me. He followed her to the hotel, drove to the townhouse, and, if I was there, took the truck, killed her, and returned it. Not impossible, but a little risky.”

  Sunday shook his head. “No risk if he knew you routine, like if once you were in, say at ten o’clock, you were in for good. And alone. Was that normal for you?”

  “Yes. On both counts.”

  “Well, those are the kind of things to check off for each person. Did they know about Mona, about your divorce, about your habits, about your gun, and did they have access to your keys.”

  “I’ll put it on a spreadsheet.”

  Sunday didn’t understand computers. “Whatever.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Two hundred and ten names, friends and acquaintances dredged from memory and phone lists and e-mail history. More than he would have thought. Then again, maybe it wasn’t so many. He didn’t know.

  Robin didn’t want the VW to belong to any of them; he wanted it to be a stranger, but it couldn’t be. He checkmarked the columns and printed three sets.