The door opened suddenly, and I could hear the sounds of raised voices coming from the waiting area of the station.
"What?" Frank said to the young officer at the door. "Can't you see I'm conducting an interview?"
"Detective Ohlsen said you'd better get out here. We've got three people confessing to the same crimes as Miss Jordan. All saying she didn't do it. And there's a guy out here who says he's Miss Jordan's lawyer. He's threatening to file charges." The young officer smiled and held the door open for Frank.
I stood up and followed him to the doorway. George, Gram, Alice, and Big Ron were all talking at once. A small, distinguished man with a neat mustache, glasses, and a briefcase stood quietly at the front counter.
Gram rushed over to me and enveloped me in her arms. "Oh, my dear. Are you okay?" There were tears in her eyes.
I nodded but couldn't say anything without choking up, thinking about my poor grandmother watching me get hauled away in cuffs. Detective Ohlsen held up his hands to quiet things down. "Here's our prosecuting attorney, Mr. Wolfe, now. I'm sure he'll be happy to hear each of your confessions." Detective Ohlsen turned to Frank, saying, "Mrs. Jordan and Mr. Fontaine each say they were the one who found the box and failed to turn it over to us. Mr. Fontaine also says he's been playing amateur sleuth, trying to solve the crime to fulfill his boyhood dreams of being a detective." He started to say something about Big Ron, but Big Ron stepped forward directly into Frank's face.
"Yeah, and I'm here to knock you off that high horse you been ridin' on since high school," Big Ron growled, inches from Frank's surprised face.
"You tell 'em," hollered Alice. She looked more demented than ever. Her makeup was streaked, and her red hair seemed to be tilted to one side.
"Ron, buddy, we aren't in high school anymore. I'll have to ask you to back up and head on home." Frank's tone was cool, but I could see sweat starting to bead on his smooth brow.
Big Ron inched in closer. "Oh, I'm not leavin' here without Alex. An' you talk to me like I'm some kind of redneck fool again, and I'll knock your block off. Right here in the middle of the police station." Big Ron nodded, never breaking eye contact with Frank.
Frank looked away first and took a step back. He glanced over at Detective Ohlsen, who was busying himself with paperwork behind the desk. Looked as though Big Ron was going to get at least one shot in without any police interference.
"Okay," Frank said, holding up his hands. "Truce, Big Ron, for old time's sake. I'll listen to what everyone has to say. I'm looking for the truth here. That's my job. But Alex"—he glanced over in my direction—"is charged with some pretty serious crimes. I can't just let her go."
The quiet man with the briefcase stepped forward, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "That's where I come in, Prosecutor Wolfe." He put his hand out, and Frank shook it. "I'm Martin VanSant, Miss Jordan's attorney, and unless there's something I'm not yet aware of, calling these 'serious crimes' is a bit misleading. You wouldn't be trying to use my client for some political showboating, now would you?"
Frank paled at the name. Even I knew Martin VanSant. He was a famous California defense attorney. Not your shiny suit and mug in the paper every day kind of famous defense attorney. No, this guy was famous because he took on impossible cases and won. As in never lost one in twenty years. As in I couldn't afford him.
Mr. VanSant turned to me and shook my hand, saying, "I hope you haven't been pressured to answer any questions or discuss the case."
"Oh, I've been pressured," I said with a glare at Frank, "but I haven't discussed anything."
"Good," Mr. VanSant said, turning to Detective Ohlsen. "Detective, I'll need a room to meet privately with my client."
"Right this way, Mr. VanSant," said Detective Ohlsen, enjoying every second of Frank's discomfiture. "The rest of you folks just have a seat. Mr. Wolfe will be with you in a moment to discuss your concerns."
* * *
I poured my guts out to Mr. VanSant. It was like a tidal wave of pent-up energy. I had to stop twice to blow my nose. Whew. I hadn't realized how emotional the last week had been. He took notes quietly and asked questions occasionally.
When I was done he said, "That's a very unusual story." He pushed his glasses up on his nose and tilted his head as he stared at me.
I met his gaze, saying, "Okay, I've told you everything. Now please tell me how you came to be my lawyer. And, by the way, I can't pay you anywhere near your normal fee. So unless you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart, I'd like to know who you're working for."
A small smile crossed his plain face. "I'm working for you. However, my retainer was paid by Mr. Fontaine."
"And you hopped on a plane and came right here?" I asked. "That must've been some retainer."
He chuckled. "I assure you there was no hopping involved. I happened to be in Seattle on business, which made this in-person visit possible. The retainer is standard," he replied. "But Mr. Fontaine has assisted me in the past—matters that I can't go into due to client confidentially—and my haste and attention to your case is based on his previous assistance."
"So he called in a favor? For me?" I asked.
Mr. VanSant nodded. "A very big one."
Huh. George did all this for me. I felt warm fuzzies bubble up inside me.
I must've been looking a bit goo-goo-eyed at him, because he cleared his throat and opened another file. He studied it for several minutes and then said, "It looks as though Mr. Wolfe has jumped the gun, so to speak, in filing these charges against you. It's quite irregular for the prosecuting attorney to be hanging about the police station like an ambulance chaser."
"Detective Ohlsen said it was suspicious that Frank showed up right after Luke. Maybe someone tipped him off," I said.
Mr. VanSant looked up from the file. "You're quite the conspiracy theorist, Miss Jordan," he said dryly. "Any idea who would tip him off and why?"
My cheeks reddened. Hey, after the week I'd had, anything was possible. "Well, if I had to lay dollars to doughnuts, I'd say Jack Condor. Maybe Luke was working with him. He threatened Luke on the beach like I told you, and he'd love to pin something on me. Get me all tied up in defending myself against these charges so he can continue his devious plan." I was getting riled up just thinking about that big chicken yukking it up at my expense.
Mr. VanSant raised a dark brow. "And what exactly is his devious plan?"
My sails lost their wind at this question. I sat back. "I don't know. It has to have something to do with Reggie the Fence in my bathtub and Luke. Maybe Luke and Condor were the ones who stole George's diamonds."
Mr. VanSant sighed and leaned closer to look at the file. "The victim's name was Reginald Giordano. Also known as Reggie the Fence. He has quite an arrest record, but he managed to stay out of jail except for a short stint in a federal prison in 2000. Appears he had excellent legal representation." Mr. VanSant nodded approvingly.
I wasn't sure I was comfortable being lumped in with Reggie the Fence. Just because a person had excellent legal representation didn't make her a criminal. Although what I'd done couldn't be classified as completely legal.
I leaned over to get a closer look at the file. It was marked Confidential. I raised my eyebrows at Mr. VanSant. "It appears Detective Ohlsen is on our side. He slipped me this file as he left the room."
"Is that legal?" I asked, worried Frank would throw another charge at me.
"Detective Ohlsen simply handed me the wrong file. I'll be sure to hand it back when we leave." Mr. VanSant nodded reassuringly. "It appears that Mr. Fontaine shares your theory about Mr. Condor's involvement in this case. However, I did some research on my way here. Mr. Condor was at a very public speaking event on the day Mr. Giordano was killed." He glanced back down at the file. "In fact, the medical examiner is very specific about the time of death, given the state of the body. She noted the use of lime to cover the odor of the body also slowed its decomposition, allowing her to get more definitive timing from the stomac
h contents. Mr. Giordano was murdered between six p.m. and midnight. There are at least a hundred witnesses who saw Mr. Condor speak at nine p.m. at an event in Seattle. He'd been at the conference since noon. I think it's unlikely he shot Mr. Giordano."
"But I know he's involved in all of this," I said angrily.
"I agree, but he's not the murderer." He leaned in closer. "I think, Miss Jordan, you've been ignoring the obvious suspect."
I nodded my head. "Luke," I said sadly. "He was tailing Reggie. He knew the box was in Marlton House, and he has this whole amnesia cover going."
Mr. VanSant stared at me. "No, Miss Jordan," he said. "I believe the most obvious suspect, given all the evidence I see here, is Mr. Fontaine."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
"George? But he hired you!" I cried. "That's ridiculous."
Mr. VanSant waited patiently for me to calm down. "I'm a criminal defense attorney. Most of the people who hire me are guilty. I represent you, Miss Jordan. And might I remind you that you are guilty according to the letter of the law."
He had a point. But did he have to be so direct?
He continued, "My only job is to make sure you do not stand trial for these charges." He tapped his finger on my file. "Once that objective is achieved, I'll be happy to defend Mr. Fontaine."
"But you can't tell the police what I've told you about George and the diamonds," I said in a rush.
"Do you want to be charged with these crimes, Miss Jordan?" He pointed to the folder again, adding, "While they certainly aren't as serious as the prosecutor is trying to make them out to be, they could still cause you quite a bit of trouble." I shook my head. "Then I need to give Prosecutor Wolfe another target. Luke has already been crossed off the list. He was released shortly before you arrived."
"What? That's impossible," I sputtered. "He's the most likely suspect, given everything Frank has as evidence."
"Based on the information he shared with Mr. Wolfe, there wasn't enough evidence to charge him. Now, do I think there was some manipulation on the part of Jack Condor to keep him out of jail? Of course I do," said Mr. VanSant with a grimace.
Something niggled in the back of my mind. Big ostentatious Elect Frank Wolfe signs littering Condor's business and residence last November. "Condor was a contributor to Frank's campaign for prosecuting attorney. Condor pressured Frank to let Luke go," I replied excitedly.
"Excellent hypothesis. I can do some digging tonight," Mr. VanSant said. "Right now we need to get Prosecutor Wolfe to drop these charges and let you go home."
"You can't tell him anything about George. I'll fire you if I have to," I said, defiantly crossing my arms. "George didn't kill anybody."
I don't know why I was risking my own freedom to protect George, but something in my gut just wouldn't let me turn on him. Mr. VanSant stared at me blankly. I didn't think he was fired by clients very often. "As you wish, Miss Jordan. I will ask for an immediate hearing with a judge. Hopefully, the judge will see the charges for what they are and release you on your own recognizance."
"Thank you," I said, uncrossing my arms and taking a deep breath.
Mr. VanSant stood to leave then paused at the door. "I've known Mr. Fontaine for a number of years. Before he came to Danger Cove and took up horticulture." He looked heavenward. "Can I give you some advice? Off the record, of course."
I nodded.
"He's a charming man. Kind, helpful, caring. No doubt about it," Mr. VanSant said with a nod. "But he's also had something of a checkered past. The possibility of losing the life he's made for himself here could push a man to do the unthinkable. I've had many clients kill for less. Food for thought, Miss Jordan."
I gulped as a picture of the gun taped under the counter in George's shop flashed through my mind.
"Does the file list the type of gun used in the murder?" I asked suddenly.
Mr. VanSant looked surprised but flipped to a page in the case file. "Sig Sauer P229 9mm. Small but powerful. Why do you ask?"
And easy to hide. I shook my head in answer to his question. He left me alone with my thoughts.
* * *
The judge released me without bail after a few minutes of haggling between Frank and Mr. VanSant. I was warned not to leave Danger Cove without notifying the court and sent on my way. The charges were not dropped immediately; however, Mr. VanSant assured me that once he presented his findings at the hearing on Monday, they would be.
George drove Gram home, offering to drop Alice off on the way. She was facing a hearing in traffic court due to the number of moving violations she'd racked up today. I'd bet her license was toast. Unfortunately, that meant I was back to driving Gram on a regular basis. Big Ron offered to take me home, but on our way we saw my truck parked in front of Marlton House.
Thoughtful of Luke to leave my truck before skipping town. I still didn't understand how he had avoided charges. At the very least he should've been charged with the same charges that I had been. He'd known about the box, about tailing Reggie before his death, and hadn't shared any of this with the police. Of course, he was claiming amnesia, so that must've held a lot of weight. Mr. VanSant said that from what he'd gathered, Luke had an alibi for the time of the murder. I needed to find out more about that alibi. I just knew it had something to do with Condor. Also, the fact that he had a head trauma confirmed by several doctors made it tough to prosecute him for withholding evidence.
"Hang in there, Alex," Big Ron said, giving me a hug before I climbed into my truck.
"Thanks for all your help today," I said. "Did we get any work done here?" I nodded to Marlton House.
"A good amount," he said reassuringly. "Wait till you see the tile in the first-floor bath. Nice, vintage work."
I beamed. At least something had gone right today.
Back at home, I hugged Gram and then raided the fridge for a beer. I gulped down half of it before pausing for a breath.
Gram made a face but said nothing about my bad manners. "You've had a difficult day, dear."
Understatement of the year. "Yep. Where's George?" I asked.
"Oh, he ran back into town to check on his shop and grab some more clothes," Gram replied, pulling out a tray. "Dolly left us sandwiches and her famous three-bean soup."
I brightened at the thought of soup. Warm, hearty, and comforting. Just what I needed after today.
Gram said, "I'm so worried about Luke."
I turned to stare at her. "Gram, he turned me in to the police. He's the reason I was arrested today."
Gram turned on me sharply. "No, dear. You were arrested today because, according to the police, you've been withholding evidence." She held up a hand to stop me. "I know. I went in there with George, confessing to everything too. It was a silly ploy, but I couldn't bear to see you in that place, and I knew you hadn't done anything malicious. But you know you should have gone to the police as soon as you found the box and knew Luke had been in to see Tucker before the tourist was killed. Really, dear, anyone who's ever watched Murder, She Wrote knows that."
I stared up at the ceiling. "I'm sorry about all this, Gram. You're right."
"You were doing it because you were worried about getting the house on the market, weren't you?" she asked.
I nodded.
She sighed. "Maybe we really need to give some thought to the idea of selling Rockgrove, Alexandra."
"I can't think about that now, Gram." I headed for the refrigerator and grabbed another beer. I opened the Crock-Pot and spooned some soup into a bowl and wrapped half a roast beef sandwich in a napkin. "I have some work to do on the laptop. I'll just eat by the fire."
Gram nodded and gave me a pat on the back.
I set my bowl down on the coffee table and booted up my laptop. I heard a squawk and some rustling from the dark corner. "Pretty bird," Smitty said in greeting.
I pulled out some seeds from the box on the end table and walked over to his cage. If it was possible, Smitty looked even worse. Feathers were everywhere, and his cage loo
ked like a hurricane had torn through it.
"What happened to you?" I asked, opening the cage door.
He came out hesitantly. I tried to smooth down a few of the feathers sticking up on his head. "You can stay out of your cage if you're a good boy," I said to him.
He cocked his head to one side and then flew over to the couch to perch on the arm. I lit the bundle of kindling in the fireplace and added a few small logs to get the fire going.
I sat back on the couch with my laptop on the table and my warm soup bowl balanced on my lap. It only took me a few seconds to pull up a picture of a 9mm Sig Sauer. It looked small and stubby. I thought back to the gun under George's counter. It had been bigger, hadn't it? With a longer nose?
"Pretty boy," Smitty cooed.
"Yep, you're a pretty boy," I replied automatically, unable to keep my eyes off the screen.
"I think he was talking to me," said a voice only inches from my ear.
I shrieked, dumping my soup bowl all over myself and the floor. Smitty mimicked my shriek and took off on a wild flight around the room. George ran around the couch and started scooping up hot beans with his bare hands.
He cursed and dropped the beans all over my computer. "I'm so sorry," he said, racing out of the room and coming back with a roll of paper towels.
He threw me the towels and chased Smitty down. "There's my pretty boy. There he is. Let's get a treat." George held out his arm and with the other hand offered Smitty more seeds from the end table. Smitty jumped on his arm and chomped happily all the way to his cage.
"Why did you sneak up on me like that?" I snarled as I dabbed at soup on the carpet and scooped beans off my laptop.
"I didn't know you'd spook so easily," he said. "I'm sorry, Alex." He gathered up my discarded paper towels and carried them to the wastebasket. I handed him my bowl and soggy sandwich.
"Well, I've had a rough day," I said. I looked down at my jeans soaked in three-bean soup.
"You have," he agreed contritely. "I'm sorry. You go change, and I'll make us a couple of martinis. How 'bout it, Mrs. Charles?"
Secret of the Painted Lady Page 17
