by Joanne Fluke
“Do you know what I’m waiting for?” Connie was puzzled.
“Your arraignment, honey. You’re up before Judge Swensen at ten. You’ve never been in jail before?”
“No.” Connie shook her head. “Do you . . . uh . . . do you know what I did?”
The prison guard nodded and took Connie’s arm to lead her back down the hallway again. “Drunk and disorderly, and destruction of property. You don’t remember?”
“I don’t remember anything. What did I destroy?”
“You smashed a window at the hospital.” The prison guard used her key and the elevator doors opened. “Step in here, honey, and I’ll take you up. There’s a phone in the holding area. You’re entitled to make one call, so start thinking about who it’s going to be.”
As they rode in the elevator, Connie’s mind was whirling. Who could she call? Alan was dead, she’d promised not to contact the Stanfords, and she hadn’t kept in touch with any of the people she used to know.
The elevator doors opened and they stepped out into a room with only three pieces of furniture, a desk and two chairs. The desk had a metal bar bolted to the top and the guard took the handcuff from Connie’s right hand and fastened it to the bar.
“Here’s the phone.” The guard opened a locked drawer and pulled out a phone. She set it on top of the desk and nodded to Connie. “Go ahead. You can make your call now.”
Connie stared at the phone for a moment, then shook her head. “There’s nobody I can call.”
“Are you sure? Most people call their lawyers.”
Connie’s fingers touched the phone. The only lawyer she knew was Mr. Avery. It would be a waste of time to call him. He was the Stanfords’ attorney; he wouldn’t help her. She pushed the phone back across the desk and shook her head, again. “Thank you, but there’s no one I can call.”
“Okay.” The guard put the phone back in the drawer. “If you can’t afford to hire a lawyer, Judge Swensen will appoint one for you. Your arraignment will be postponed until you have time to meet with him.”
Connie nodded and blinked back tears. If Alan were still alive, she’d have plenty of money for a lawyer. But if Alan were alive, she’d have no need for one. She wouldn’t have broken that window, and she wouldn’t be here in jail.
“Hey. Buck up.” The guard patted Connie on the shoulder. “Judge Swensen’s okay. Since this is your first offense, he’ll probably make you pay a fine and let you go.”
Connie forced a smile. The guard was trying to be nice, but she didn’t know that Connie had no money to pay a fine. Even if someone had found her purse, they’d take out the money before they returned it.
The phone rang once, startling Connie, and the guard unlocked the drawer to answer it. “Okay. I’ll bring her in.”
Connie started to shake as the guard snapped on her handcuffs and led her through a side door to the courtroom. There she found another bench to sit on, and she kept her head down, too ashamed to face anyone.
The guard leaned close to talk to Connie. “There’s two ahead of you. Just sit here and listen; then it’ll be your turn.”
The other two women had lawyers, which made Connie feel very alone as she sat on the bench and waited. When it was her turn, the bailiff read her name and the list of charges.
“Are you represented by council, Miss Wilson?” The judge looked bored, even though the courtroom clock showed that it was only ten-thirty in the morning.
“No, Your Honor.” Connie swallowed hard. “I don’t have—”
“Excuse me, Your Honor.” A short, balding man in an expensive suit rushed up the aisle. “Harvey Green. I’m representing Miss Wilson in this matter.”
The judge nodded. “Good morning, Mr. Green. I was under the impression you handled only corporate matters.”
“That’s true, Your Honor, but this is an unusual case with extenuating circumstances. May I have a few minutes of Your Honor’s time in chambers?”
Judge Swensen looked surprised, but he nodded and banged his gavel. “Court is in recess for ten minutes. I’ll see counsel in my chambers.”
“I thought you didn’t have a lawyer.” The guard leaned close to talk to Connie again.
“I don’t.” Connie’s face mirrored her shock. “I’ve never seen Mr. Green before in my life!”
It seemed to take forever for the hands on the courtroom clock to move, but at last the ten minutes were up. Mr. Green and the prosecutor came back into the courtroom, followed by Judge Swensen. They took their places. The bailiff announced that court was again in session, and Mr. Green stood up. “Your Honor, I move that the charges against my client be dismissed. Since this is her first offense, and it was prompted by extreme emotional stress, I ask that the record of her arrest be expunged.”
“The people have no objection, Your Honor.” The prosecutor nodded and got to the feet.
“The defendant is remanded into the custody of Mr. Green.” Judge Swensen banged his gavel. “All records will be expunged, and this case is dismissed.”
The next few minutes were a confusing blur. Connie was taken to another room, where she changed into the street clothes Mr. Green had brought for her. After she’d signed the release papers, she was taken out to the lobby to find Mr. Green waiting for her.
“Thank you,” she said to him. She felt dazed. “But . . . I don’t understand.”
Mr. Green smiled at her and opened the door of a car that was parked at the curb. “Come along, Connie. We’ll talk about this on the way to my office. I’m Alan’s lawyer, and he left something for you.”
Connie was silent as Mr. Green drove away from the jail. Her mind was spinning with unanswered questions. If Mr. Avery was right and Alan hadn’t drawn up a will, how was it possible that he’d left her something? The whole thing was so confusing, Connie closed her eyes and leaned back against the headrest to think about it.
“That’s a good idea. Get some sleep. You’ve had a rough couple of days.”
Connie nodded. Mr. Green was being very nice. And even though she didn’t think it was possible, she promptly fell asleep.
CHAPTER 10
Jill was just pouring herself a cup of coffee in the small office kitchen when the newest member of the staff came in. His name was Dave Kramer, and he made Jill feel old. Even though he’d passed the bar last year, he looked much too young to be a lawyer.
“Hi, Mrs. Bradley.” Dave gave her a boyish grin and opened the refrigerator to pour himself a glass of milk.
“Hello, Dave.” Jill smiled back. Dave was a nice guy. It wasn’t his fault he made her feel ancient. “I thought you were scheduled for court this morning.”
“I was, but the case was dismissed.”
Dave took a sip of milk, and white foam clung to his upper lip. Jill tried not to laugh. He looked like a child with a milk mustache. “Tell me about it,” she said.
“A woman broke a window at the morgue last night, trying to get to her boyfriend’s body.”
“Good heavens!” Jill was shocked. “Was she drunk?”
Dave shook his head. “Grief stricken is more like it. Once her lawyer told me the story, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. When the police told her her boyfriend was dead, she went into shock and lost their baby. She was in the hospital for a couple of days, and when she got back to their condo, she found out that his parents had changed the locks.”
“That’s horrible!” Jill began to frown.
“I know, but there wasn’t anything she could do. Her boyfriend didn’t leave a will so all of his property went to his parents.”
Jill’s frown deepened. “The poor thing was left out in the cold?”
“Completely.” Dave nodded. “His parents wouldn’t even speak to her. She went a little crazy. When they arrested her, she was screaming about how she had to see her boyfriend one more time.”
“Her lawyer pleaded extenuating circumstances?”
Dave nodded and took another drink. His milk mustache grew whiter, and Jill
resisted the urge to hand him a napkin. “Her lawyer put up the money to replace the window, and the judge remanded her into his custody. I’m just glad I didn’t have to prosecute her. She’d never been in any trouble before, and she looked like a nice woman.”
Jill was thoughtful as she carried her coffee back to her office. Hard-luck stories were a part of their job, but this one sounded genuine. The woman had obviously loved her boyfriend so much she’d gone off the deep end when he’d died. It made her wonder what she’d be like if Neil died. Would they have to carry her off, screaming hysterically in grief? Or would the fact that she didn’t love him, that she stayed with him out of a sense of obligation, help her to cope with the loss?
* * *
Connie’s hands were shaking, and she clutched her purse tightly as she got out of the taxi and walked toward the bank. Someone had found her purse at the hospital, but just as Connie had feared, the envelope with her money was missing. They’d even taken the twenty dollars she’d tucked in the back of her wallet, but she had her driver’s license to show to the people at the bank.
As she opened the door and entered the lobby, Connie felt like an impostor, even though Mr. Green had assured her that everything was perfectly legal. Two months ago, when Alan had learned she was pregnant, he’d set up a bank account for the baby with a balance of a hundred thousand dollars. It didn’t matter that she’d lost the child. Her name was the only one on the account, so the money was hers.
Of course she’d asked the obvious question. Was it right for her to use the money when Alan had put it in an account for his baby? Mr. Green had nodded. Then he’d said it was not only right, it was exactly what Alan would have wanted her to do.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
Connie moved forward and approached the teller, an older woman with dark hair and wire-framed glasses. “Yes. I’m Connie Wilson. Mr. Green sent me here. I’m supposed to ask for Mrs. Talbot. He said he’d call, and she’d be expecting me.”
“Just a moment, Miss Wilson.” The teller picked up a phone and dialed a number. She spoke briefly and then closed her window and opened a locked door, motioning Connie inside. “I’ll take you to Mrs. Talbot’s office.”
They went upstairs in a small elevator, and the teller led Connie down a carpeted hallway. She knocked at a door, then opened it, standing aside so Connie could enter.
“Good afternoon, Miss Wilson.” A tall blonde, her hair caught back in a gold barrette, stood up and shook Connie’s hand. “Mr. Green called to say you’d be making a withdrawal. My deepest condolences for your loss.”
“Thank you.” Connie’s voice was little more than a whisper.
“I have your checkbook ready.” Mrs. Talbot pushed a folder and a checkbook across the desk. “There’s also a bank credit card with an initial limit of twenty thousand dollars, and a copy of your latest bank statement. All you have to do is sign the green signature card and fill out the withdrawal slip.”
Connie opened the folder. Everything was there and she nodded.
“I’ve marked the signature block.” Mrs. Talbot pointed to the signature card. Connie signed it. “If you’ll just tell me the amount you wish to withdraw, I’ll send for one of our runners.”
Connie felt dazed. This morning she’d been broke. Now she had a hundred thousand dollars at her disposal. This whole day had been mind-boggling. “I’m not really sure how much I’ll need.”
“Let’s discuss it then.” Mrs. Talbot opened the center drawer of her desk and pulled out a leather-covered note pad. “Mr. Green said you’d want to rent a furnished apartment, but I’d advise you to draft a check for that. It’s not wise to carry too much cash—your landlord can call me to verify your assets. You can use the credit card for any big-ticket items, but you’ll need some cash for immediate purchases. Does a thousand in twenties sound about right?”
Connie nodded. “Yes. That’s fine.”
“All right.” Mrs. Talbot filled out the withdrawal slip and handed it to Connie to sign. Then she picked up the phone and punched out a number. “Allison? Please have Mr. Cox put a thousand in twenties in an envelope and bring it up to my office. I have the signed withdrawal slip and my client is waiting.”
Connie frowned slightly. She’d never received this kind of service in a bank before. Of course, she’d never had an account with a balance of a hundred thousand dollars, either.
Mrs. Talbot smiled at Connie again. “Have you given some thought about where you’d like to relocate?”
“Uh . . . no, not really.” Connie’s mind was spinning. Everything was going so fast, she hadn’t had a chance to catch her breath.
“I’d suggest a hotel then, until you have time to contact a rental agent. The Radisson is nice. We use it occasionally for conferences. And there’s always the Marriott. They’re both centrally located.”
Connie nodded. A hotel made sense, but she wasn’t about to blow her money on an expensive room. “That’s a good idea. Thank you very much.”
“You’ll need transportation. There’s a Hertz office two blocks from here, and Avis is right across the street.”
Connie nodded again. Mrs. Talbot was right. She’d need a car, but renting wasn’t smart. It was money thrown away, with nothing to show for it. She’d buy a used car tomorrow.
Before Mrs. Talbot could make any more suggestions, a young woman in a ponytail stepped into the office. She handed Mrs. Talbot an envelope and then just stood there while Mrs. Talbot counted the money.
“Thank you, Allison.” Mrs. Talbot handed her the withdrawal slip. “This goes straight down to Mr. Cox.”
“Yes, Mrs. Talbot. I’ll make sure he gets it.” The girl nodded, gave Connie a shy grin, and hurried out of the office.
“Thank you for your help, Mrs. Talbot.” Connie took the envelope and stood up. She wanted to leave before Mrs. Talbot gave her any more advice.
“Thank you, Miss Wilson.” Mrs. Talbot came around the desk to show Connie to the door. “If you have any problems, please feel free to call. My card is stapled to the inside of your folder.”
* * *
An hour later, Connie was in her hotel room. It was in a little place on a side street called the Lexington Arms. Her room wasn’t large, but it had a separate bathroom, a color television, and a view of the park below.
After she’d showered and washed her hair with the shampoo the hotel provided, Connie sat down on the bed and went through her purse again. She’d been so excited when Mr. Green had told her that Alan had left her something. She’d desperately wanted some personal item, a photograph of Alan or his college ring. But he hadn’t known that he was going to die. Even if he had, he would never have suspected that his parents would take his things and leave her with nothing.
There was nothing of Alan’s in her purse, and Connie wiped away a tear. She still felt guilty about using Alan’s money to pay her court costs and to rent this hotel room. Mr. Green was right; Alan would have wanted her to have it. But the money had really been intended for their child. Now Alan was dead, and so was his baby. She’d lost the only part of him that had been left alive.
But was that true? Connie took a sip of coffee she’d ordered from room service, and thought about it. Alan had been an organ donor. There must be some stranger out there who had a part of Alan in his body. More than one, she’d bet. If she could just find them, she might not feel this horrible sense of loss. But how could she do that? Hospital records were confidential. She would have to get access to those records and locate the people who’d received Alan’s organs.
* * *
Connie had chosen the bar deliberately. It was filled with lowlifes, its red plastic booths, cracked and faded. Tabletops scarred with cigarette burns and scratches. Blinking beer signs over the bar, and a bartender who could not have cared less about his customers’ approval. It had been close to midnight when Connie had slid onto a stool. She’d smiled at the bartender, ordered a ginger ale, and tipped outrageously when he’d brought it. The
n she’d asked him for advice.
The bartender hadn’t even bothered to play it coy. He’d just pocketed the second twenty-dollar bill and pointed to a guy in a striped polo shirt. Now she was sitting across the booth from him, watching him guzzle the beer she’d bought.
The beer disappeared without a word. He set down the bottle, then shrugged. “Sure, lady. I can do it, but it’ll cost you.”
“How much?” Connie stared at him as he thought about it. He was tall and thin, with stringy black hair, and his clothes hadn’t seen the inside of a Laundromat in recent history. He didn’t look trustworthy, but this was the third bar she’d tried that night.
“Five hundred. In cash.”
Connie’s eyes narrowed. She had to be careful. “I’ll give you a hundred, the rest when you hand me the list.”
“Hey . . .” The man looked hurt. “You think I’m gonna rip you off?”
Connie met his eyes and gave him the tough look she’d used when guys had groped her at the club. “I wouldn’t try it if I were you.”
“Okay, okay.” The man held up his hands. “You want it tonight?”
“The sooner the better. I’ll give you a bonus if you produce.”
“Come with me.” The man stood up. “If you’re that spooked, I’ll even let you watch. Ralph’s got a modem in the back room.”
Connie followed the man through a door and into a tiny office. Against one wall was a table that held a computer and a printer.
“Pull up that chair and be quiet.” The man pointed to a folding chair that looked as if it might collapse. “This could be a little tricky. Just let me get online, and I’ll take a whack at it.”
Connie pulled up the chair and watched as he typed several commands on the keyboard. A moment later the screen lit up and there was the sound of a dial tone. He typed in a number and it rang twice. There was a high-pitched beep.
He nodded. “Okay. I got ’em. Now all I have to do is crack their password.”
It took several minutes of trial and error, but at last the computer screen started to scroll. He stopped it on the date she’d given him and began to go through the entries.
