by Rick Blechta
“Did you eat anything?” she asked.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You are, whether you realize it or not.” She pushed the doughnuts across the table. “Eat a couple of these; you’ll feel better.” He didn’t move. “Trust me, Andy.”
He reached out for the box while Shannon poured two mugs of coffee, and they sat drinking and munching silently for a few minutes.
“I’m in a lot of trouble, aren’t I?”
She looked across at him. “Only if you haven’t been telling the truth.”
“Do you think that?”
“No.” She let that sit for a moment before adding, “But I think you’ve held back information from me.”
Curran looked down into his coffee cup as if he thought an answer would magically float to the surface.
“I just wanted to find out if Olivia was okay, find out why she left with those guys.” He shook his head slowly and finished in a weary voice, “I didn’t think anything like this would happen.”
“So you’re convinced the death of this Maggie person has a connection with Olivia.”
It could have been a question, but it was said as a statement.
“Maggie was her friend. Olivia gets carted off, then her friend turns up dead on my porch. What else could it be?”
“Andy, I could easily come up with several different scenarios. The one thing we need now is all the information we can get. I need you to tell me everything you know about the dead woman.” She fished her notebook out of a coat pocket. “And we don’t have much time.”
***
The insistent beat of her cell phone’s funky ringtone roused Jackie Goode from the depths of a very deep sleep.
Not immediately remembering where she was, she groped around for a nonexistent bedside table before realizing she was sleeping on a friend’s sofa. Her cell was on the end table behind her head.
Reaching out and managing to get it open before it switched to voice mail, she croaked, “Yeah, what do you want?”
“It’s Shannon O’Brien.”
She forced herself to a sitting position. “What time is it?”
“Nearly seven o’clock.”
Jackie had finally shut down her friend Carolina’s computer when night was just beginning to drain from the eastern sky, sometime after five thirty. Yesterday had been very long.
“You still there?” her boss asked.
Cold, she pulled the blanket up around her. Why did Carolina keep her heat so low?
“I’m still here. Sorry. Just had a late night.”
“Well, I’ve had an early morning. I’m over at Curran’s place. Something has come up, and I need you over here.”
“How soon?”
“Right away. Where are you?”
“Quite close. I’m at a friend’s place up on Cambridge. That’s near—”
“I know where Cambridge is,” O’Brien snapped. “How soon can you get here?” she repeated.
“If I run all the way, maybe ten minutes.”
“Look, you don’t need to run.”
“I’m just saying I can if you want.”
“Just hurry. Bring everything you’ve got on Curran. The cop at the end of the street will pass you through. Tell him to speak to Detective Palmer if you get any grief.”
Jackie was groping for her jeans under the coffee table with her free hand as she asked, “Care to tell me what this is about?”
“Curran found the singer’s friend dead on his porch when he got home from his gig a few hours ago.”
“Shit. Murder?”
“Yes. And don’t talk to anyone about this between where you are now and Curran’s house. Got that? No one. Not even Palmer.”
“You got it, boss.”
Shannon sighed. “Don’t call me boss.”
Jackie washed up and threw her clothes on in record time, slipping into her runners as she shuffled down the hall to the small home office. Her friend, nearly six feet in height with the slender body of a jogger, was sitting at her desk, dressed in only a short satin robe, no slippers, coffee cup in her right hand and computer glasses poised on the end of her nose as she read through the morning email. How could she not be freezing to death?
“I didn’t expect you up this early,” Carolina said without looking up.
“Got a phone call. Something’s happened.”
At Jackie’s tone, the tall woman looked up. “Does it have anything to do with what you were using my computer for until all hours?”
“Yes, but I’m sworn to secrecy at the moment.” Jackie grinned as she scooped up her notebook from the desk and a sheaf of downloaded documents from the printer. After stuffing everything into her backpack, she started down the hallway for the front door. “Although, if you don’t want to wait for me to be able to tell you, I’d suggest turning on the TV. There’s probably something there.”
Jackie actually did run down to Curran’s house on Bain Avenue, since she needed to get her blood and brain moving and was also pretty eager to see what was shaking.
Of course, the constable on duty at the end of the street stopped her and an argument ensued, since she didn’t look like anyone who would be summoned to a crime scene, unless it was to provide a confession. Unfortunately, he actually said that to her. By the time another constable had trotted down the street to get between them, the media had also closed in, with the result that the argument wound up on the morning news, hard facts about the case being pretty sketchy at that point.
Jackie was close to being arrested when she remembered that Shannon had told her to mention a Detective Palmer if she got hassled. That name eventually opened doors, but not before the two cops had searched her backpack thoroughly and a female constable had patted her down, all of which the TV cameras recorded.
As two constables escorted Jackie along the street, she reflected on the fact that she’d have to do better at keeping her temper and tongue under control.
Once in Curran’s kitchen, she found the master of the house, her employer, the fabled Palmer and a junior detective who’d been elected to take notes. As she joined everyone around the table, Shannon flashed her an expression that clearly said, Keep your mouth shut unless you’re asked something specific.
***
Shannon’s brain felt as if it were made out of cardboard, not a good thing when she needed all her faculties. The situation was far too tricky for an error in judgement.
Curran had passed on everything he knew about Olivia’s deceased friend. That wasn’t a lot, but it was more than he’d told Palmer originally. It wasn’t that Curran had purposefully held anything back, she just had better interrogation chops and possessed an uncanny knack for coaxing memories to the surface. To toss the homicide detective another bone, Shannon had also summoned her new operative to throw in whatever she could about the dead woman – but no more. The PI couldn’t see where this was going yet, and she didn’t want to give anything away unnecessarily.
While he’d been out of the room, Palmer had shown a bit of initiative and spoken personally to the old lady next door. She’d provided him with the heretofore unknown tidbit that Curran’s wife had walked out on him several months earlier. That got Palmer excited all over again.
“And the old lady says you had another woman living here with you,” Palmer was just saying when Shannon zoned in on the conversation again. “What do you have to say about that?”
“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think it had any bearing on things,” Curran shot back. “I told this woman all about it yesterday afternoon when she was here. I’m not trying to hide anything!”
He’d indicated Goode, who hadn’t spoken up to this point, except for a “What’s happening?” when she’d entered.
Palmer swivelled to her. “Is this true?”
Goode had her notebook on the table and read from it. “Yessir. He told me about his wife leaving and indicated that he’d invited the singer to move in. That was shortly after two thirty yesterday, sir.
”
Shannon couldn’t believe Goode was making fun of the homicide detective. She’d have to put a stop to that as soon as she got her alone, or immediately if it got out of hand. No matter that Palmer deserved it. Fortunately, the crack seemed to go right over his head.
“Did he mention anything to you about this Maggie coming over to see him?”
Goode didn’t even blink as she said, “No, he didn’t.”
“And why didn’t you ask him why he hadn’t bothered to contact the missing girl’s friend to find out if she knew where the girl might be?”
Goode feigned embarrassment (and she did it well). “I guess I dropped the ball on that one, didn’t I, sir?”
Palmer slapped the table with his hand. “Yes, you did. Now tell me everything you got, and you better not hold back anything!” He turned to Shannon. “That right?”
She had to restrain herself from saying, “Yessir! That’s right, sir!”
Palmer could be such an ass.
Eventually, the cops were convinced – at least for the moment – that Shannon’s client was just a victim of circumstances.
They certainly had no grounds to hold him, but Palmer made it clear that Curran wasn’t to go anywhere.
“You mean I have to stay in this house?”
Palmer got up from the table.“No. But I don’t want you leaving town unless I say it’s okay.”
“I think he means that you’re a ‘person of interest’,” Goode added.
“After all I’ve told you, you still think I might be responsible for what happened on my porch?” Curran demanded somewhat hysterically.
“Yes.”
Shannon shut her notebook and also got up.“Can he at least go to a hotel or something while your crew finishes their work and the media loses interest and goes off to the next disaster?”
“I don’t see why not – just as long as I know where your boy is at all times.” Palmer looked Curran up and down.“Don’t you dare leave town without clearing it with me.”
As Palmer walked towards the front door, Goode pulled her boss’s head down and whispered into her ear,“Tell Palmer you have to use the washroom. When you’re up there, check out the bedroom at the end of the hall. That’s the one I told you about on the phone yesterday.”
Shannon came downstairs five minutes later in a mild state of shock. No, she told herself, make that amazement. Having taken psychology in college, she knew that this Olivia person, while incredibly talented, was also incredibly screwed up. Did Curran understand just how much?
“Can we take our client and go now?” she asked Palmer at the bottom of the stairs.
Curran was standing in the doorway to the kitchen.“I’d really rather not be here right now,” he said.
The homicide detective looked at everyone in turn. “Just make sure that I know where you are,” he repeated.
“Can I take my car?”
“No, that’s going downtown for examination.”
“But it has my drums in it. I need them to work!”
Palmer sighed heavily. “I’ll make sure they check those first and let you know when you can pick them up, but it isn’t going to be today and probably not tomorrow, either.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Shannon said to her client. “I’ll drive you wherever you want to go.”
Curran looked pretty despondent. “That’s the trouble. I don’t know where I should go.”
“A hotel is best – unless you have a friend you can crash with.”
“I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy!” he shot back, but with a hint of a smile.
It took about fifteen minutes for Shannon to get her SUV free from the traffic jam of official cars. Curran was allowed to leave with only the clothes on his back, a toothbrush and a few toiletries.
The porch was still draped with crime scene curtains so the forensics specialists could work out of the public eye, but the body had been removed to the morgue. Palmer was pushing for an early autopsy.
Standing around in the front yard was difficult for Curran to bear, since a large group of media and onlookers had gathered outside the police’s yellow tape, and several people were pointing at him.
His lawyer neighbour, with his date’s car still blocked by Curran’s, stuck his head out the door and called. Shannon went with Curran as he walked over.
Pulling them just inside, the lawyer introduced himself. “Robert Bennett. I’ve heard what happened, Andy. You have my condolences. What a mess.” Then he grinned. “Looks like I picked the worst night ever to let someone block your driveway! Any chance you can move?”
Curran managed a weak smile. “You’ll have to ask the cops.”
“If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know, okay?” He turned to Shannon. “And you are?”
“A private investigator Andrew was consulting on another matter.”
“Interesting. Say, Andy, I haven’t seen Olivia for a couple of days. Is she out of town?”
“Something like that,” he mumbled.
“She doesn’t have anything to do with what happened, does she?”
Shannon spoke. “We don’t know at this point. Look, I’d rather we didn’t say any more.”
Bennett nodded. “I understand, but I’m also serious about my offer of help. Here, take my card and call if you need to.”
“I know who you are, Mr. Bennett, and we appreciate the offer of help. We’ll let you know, okay?”
Shannon’s vehicle was now free to leave, so they headed for it, with media people following and shouting questions as they walked. She told her companions not to turn around and definitely not to say anything. Her eyes were on Goode like laser beams as she said the last bit.
Once they were in the car and underway, having decided to go to Shannon’s office next, Goode, in the back seat, tapped her boss on the shoulder.
“With all the cops around, I couldn’t tell you what I came up with last night.”
Shannon looked through the rearview mirror at her employee, who flopped back against the seat and grinned at her. “What?”
“I spent the night surfing the Internet. I thought it might be worth seeing if I could come up with anything on Olivia’s past. Seemed to me if bounty hunters were interested in her, there would more than likely be something online. Right?”
“Go on.”
“Well, I must have looked at a hundred newspaper, television and radio station websites, but I eventually came up with a fair amount of information.”
Curran had turned and was now staring into the back seat. “What did you find?”
“She’s from New York, or at least that’s where her family’s main home is. And her name actually is Olivia.”
“She’s not from California?” Shannon asked.
“Nope, although that’s where I think those two guys might have taken her.”
“Explain.” Shannon caught Jackie’s eye in the mirror. “And please don’t drag it out.”
“All right, boss,” she grinned. “We’re looking for Olivia St. James of the New York St. Jameses. So the name she gave you guys in the band wasn’t that far off from her real one, and that made it much easier to find her on the Internet.
“Anyway, the family once owned a large chain of newspapers in the States. They’re now heavily into newsprint and specialty paper. Over the past few years they’ve diversified into other commodities and have been immensely successful. It’s a privately-owned company. They’ve always kept a low public profile – that goes back to the newspaper baron great grandfather – and they’ve been even more reclusive of late.”
“Why do you say ‘of late’?”
“Because six years ago, there was a murder in the family, Olivia’s brother, to be exact,” Goode said matter-of-factly, but she put her hand on Curran’s arm. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but there was a lot of speculation in the press at the time that she might be the murderer.”
Andy Curran ran both hands through his hair. “Oh my Go
d.”
“It gets worse,” she added. “The family had her institutionalized because the court found her mentally unsound.”
Chapter 7
It was lucky I wasn’t the one driving when Shannon O’Brien’s operative dropped her little bombshell, or we might have been splattered all over the road. The Don Valley Parkway is not the place to lose one’s concentration, even for a second.
I stared out the window for several minutes, seeing nothing. The two detectives gave me the mental space I needed to begin processing the information I’d just been given. No one spoke until we were passing the York Mills exit.
Shannon broke the silence. “Would it bother you if Ms Goode gave me a rundown on what she found while we drive? We might as well make use of the time, and I have an idea this is going to be a long trip.”
“Why?” I asked.
“We have four cars following us. Media types, I imagine, but it wouldn’t surprise me if Palmer has given us a tail, too.” She grinned. “I don’t think he completely trusts me. Don’t worry, I can lose them, but it will take an extra bit of time.”
Turning again to look at Goode in the back seat, I asked, “Do you have any printouts of what you found?”
Reaching into her backpack, she pulled out a sheaf of papers about a quarter inch thick and handed it to me. “There’s more, but this is the best stuff.”
The top two sheets had photos of Olivia, one from some sort of family outing. She was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with a rather rude slogan on it. She looked like any normal teenager, happy and smiling, with her arm around her older brother. The second was of Olivia, a few years older, being hustled into the back of a limo by two large men wearing black overcoats. They looked suspiciously like bodyguards. This time her tear-stained face was a picture of pain and bewilderment. I didn’t have to read the caption to know what it was talking about.
I spent the rest of the trip staring at the photos while Goode read from her notes. It all painted a depressing picture of a deeply troubled woman whom I now realized I’d hadn’t really known at all.
