Judge vs Nuts: A Fiona Gavelle Mystery

by Una Tiers

  “We don’t think he ate peanuts by mistake.”

  “How is that murder?”

  “It’s murder if someone gave him the peanuts knowing about his allergy. It’s murder if they intended him to have a severe reaction and he died as a result of that action.”

  “Isn’t there a medicine for the allergy?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “Do you want to hear the details?”

  “Not really, but I don’t understand and it will bother me later.”

  “He had the medicine in his system,” David said.

  “But it didn’t work?”

  “No.”

  “But if he took the medicine, he knew he ate peanuts?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t he call for help?” I questioned.

  “The allergy works fast and makes it hard to breathe, he may have passed out.”

  “Too bad he was alone,” I added.

  “Can you keep this to yourself?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  “We’re not sure he was alone.”

  “Who was there?”

  “We don’t know. The door was locked with a key and there were no house keys in the apartment.”

  “You mean someone locked him in?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did the kids say?” I wondered out loud.

  “Rosie is flying in to talk to us and to see her Aunt. The Aunt doesn’t want us at the hospital and Lilly was too upset to talk to us. Bob said he knew his father didn’t like anything with nuts.”

  “That’s weird, at the funeral they were talking about his heart in great detail, so I assumed it was a generic heart attack.” It made the funeral sound dangerous in retrospect.

  “Who was talking about his heart?” David asked.

  I drew a blank and shrugged.

  “Think about it’s important.”

  “I was introduced to so many people the day of the funeral but we never exchanged business cards. Except…”

  “Yes?”

  “Except Paul, the lawyer who let you in.”

  “How well do you know him?” David asked.

  “Not well, I was introduced to him at the funeral and he had office space open.”

  “And you just moved in? Did you check his references?”

  “Yes. Well, Judge Curie knows him.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “No.” Honestly I think one office is the same as the next if Judge Curie gives him the seal of approval.

  “Do you remember who else was at the funeral?” Detective Giovanni changed the focus.

  “His sister and kids of course. Some neighbors, well at least one gave a long eulogy.”

  “Do you know any names?”

  “Mildred would know.” As soon as I said this I was sorry.

  “Mildred?” he asked.

  “Mildred Shoe, my friend. I’ll ask her.”

  “We can do that. Were all the probate judges there?”

  “Well, there was Curie, and Peur, and Requin, and Montreel.”

  He waited. I shrugged. My memory glanced back to the funeral, it was political, not celebrating life or mourning.

  “Let me ask you, how well did you know Judge King?”

  “Judge King? I didn’t know him.”

  “Did you know the family?”

  “No,” I admitted before I saw his point.

  “Then how were you hired for the probate case?” David looked exasperated.

  “Judge Curie recommended me.”

  “Was Judge Curie at the funeral?”

  “Yes we went together.”

  “What do you mean together?”

  “I drove him.”

  “So you know him well?”

  “Not really, but we get along and I drive and he doesn’t. He gets invited to receptions, and well, I drive.” My answers certainly made me sound dumb.

  “So how did you end up driving a judge you don’t know well to the funeral of another judge you didn’t know well?” he was chuckling.

  “He asked me. Judge Curie asked me.” I didn’t want to admit that I didn’t have much else to do. Admitting that it was a networking opportunity seemed obscene. Was it simplistic to say it was a political event?

  He took notes.

  “Do they know when he died David?”

  “Sometime between Friday and Saturday night.”

  “Friday after the reception?”

  “Yes. Were you there?”

  “Yes.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  After a few really loud heartbeats, (mine) I ventured to ask, “Why was this kept a secret?”

  “The lab results just came out,” he answered.

  “But you said you were called when his body was found.”

  “He was a judge. Politicians get more attention,” David said without emotion.

  I shrugged.

  “There is one thing I can share.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Someone called from the probate department trunk telephone lines and asked the senior division check on Judge King on Monday morning.”

  “Why would they do that?” I asked.

  “Hard to say, if it was the killer, why announce that he was dead? But then killing isn’t a rational way to behave,” David added.

  “The police check on seniors?”

  “We have a division that goes out if someone reports not seeing a senior for a few days or not being able to reach them by phone or if they don’t show up for an appointment.

  Do you want to know the name they gave?” David asked.

  “OK.”

  “Judge Joseph Wall.”

  A bell rang in my memory, that’s the name of the person who filed his will. I explained this to David. The name was familiar to me because I spent time looking for him in phone books and on the computer.

  “He’s a dead probate judge,” David added. “Think about it, who would know Judge King wasn’t at work? And why give the name of a dead person?”

  “But why would the killer call?”

  “Maybe they had regrets and thought he might still be alive. It’s hard to say, people do some really strange things Fiona.”

  “I’ll say,” I observed. This was very unsettling for my stomach.

  “Are you okay? You look a little green.”

  “I think I’ll go home. Maybe we could talk tomorrow?” This was the last thing I wanted to do but l didn’t want David to see me being sick either.

  “Okay, I’ll drive you.”

  We walked out of the building and I kept my eye out for an escape cab which naturally didn’t materialize. Nonetheless the cool evening air worked like magic and by the time we were almost to my Aunt’s house, my stomach gave a loud lusty growl.

  We were right in front of my pizza place and David parked in front, in a no parking zone.

  “You do pick good restaurants,” he said. “Want to get something?”

  Is it the pizza or the aroma that is so comforting? Not even dusty plastic plants and fake brick contact paper can spoil the ambience of a pizza place.

  David was quiet while we ate. I was quiet too. Since my aunt said that I talk with my mouth full, I was working on my table manners.

  “You really think someone did this on purpose?” I whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “Is a peanut allergy that severe?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ms. Gavelle, do you think it was another judge that talked about his heart condition at the funeral?”

  “Fiona,” I corrected him. “I don’t think so. I still can’t name them all without help, but I was talking to lawyers. We were waiting for the serving to start. They served coffee since it was so cold. Judge Curie would know. Maybe you should talk to him.”

  “I did. He was vague on details. He seemed to drift off while we were talking.”

  I kept my confidences with a shrug.

  “He didn’t seem completely open when we talk
ed. I’m not certain if drifting off was deliberate or to avoid something. I plan to interview him again.”

  I eye-brow raised acknowledgement. Despite my interest in David, I would choose loyalty to Judge Curie for now.

  “Do you remember what time the graveside services ended Fiona?”

  “That I know, it was around three o’clock.”

  “That late?”

  “Yes, the mass was at noon, we waited a long time to get going after mass. And it was a long drive to the cemetery.”

  “Did many of the people go to the luncheon?”

  I explained about the cake and coffee announcement and thinning of the herd. I guessed we had fifty at the lunch.

  “Do you think another judge killed him David?”

  “I never said that. The investigation is wide open but since you work in the division, anything you can tell us would help. The ten o’clock news will have an announcement that the police and the FBI (Federal Bureau of Investigation) are looking into his death.”

  “Why the FBI?”

  “The judge was working with them on a matter.”

  “On a bribery case?” I asked.

  “Did I say that?”

  “No, but isn’t that what they do?” I didn’t pay real close attention to criminal law since I didn’t plan on representing felons. Here was another gap in my fine C minus legal education along with not understanding venue.

  The federal government and the state investigate different crimes, different laws.

  He was quiet but didn’t correct my guess.

  “So two agencies are investigating?” I asked again.

  He nodded and looked pretty uncomfortable. “You understand that what we talk about…”

  “Yes, we already agreed. You know my client matter is confidential too don’t you?”

  “I respect that Fiona. I won’t ask about your client information. We need information about the judges in probate.

  Sadly, Chicago has a reputation for corruption. The federal investigators are always busy.

  In the 1980s, the largest federal investigation into the county courts in Illinois was dubbed Greylord. In it, they discovered judges in state court were taking bribes to fix cases. A lot of lawyers and judges lost their licenses and some of them went to jail. I don’t remember how many people were involved but it wasn’t just a handful.

  Judge Curie mentioned it in passing a few times. He said it was terrible but made conversations between lawyers and judges strained. He used to call it the Greylord wall of silence.

  I needed to know more about it to try to understand what the Judge King could have been involved with. I don’t think the federal government investigates murder unless it’s tied to some federal crime. State laws, or statutes, outlaw murder.

  Criminal law has all sorts of twists and turns, crossing the federal and state jurisdictions. One of the ironies of the law in general is the way justice is metered out. It’s often a matter of proof.

  Al Capone, a reputed mob figure, with ties to Chicago, was thought to be involved in many felonious matters, including murders, however he was sent to prison on federal tax evasion. Al didn’t report illegal income. He is said to have had business cards listing his business as furniture sales.

  “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

  “We returned the paperwork that the feds gave us a few days ago from his condo.”

  “Returned?”

  “Yes to you.”

  “Wait a minute David, you brought paperwork to my office?” I asked incredulously

  “I told the receptionist it was from Sophie King.”

  “Bob said he brought paperwork from her house.”

  “Some of it was from us. I have a few more questions I want to ask you, Ms. Gavelle.” He turned the teeny page on his little cop notebook.

  The look of horror on my face stopped him.

  “Well, as soon as we can set up a time.” Glancing around the restaurant, he blushed and put the notebook away.

  “Who else are you interviewing besides the probate judges?”

  “We have a lot of people to interview. In the meantime you could think about who you overheard and saw at the restaurant.”

  I was embarrassed not to be able to remember names.

  “One other thing that I can tell you is the probate file for Judge King will not be going back to the records room.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Judge Dorothy said high profile cases have documents stolen all the time. I think she also wants to preserve a little privacy for the judge.”

  “But it’s a public record,” I protested.

  “It was her decision. She said it’s been done before.”

  “Was she at the funeral?” I asked.

  “Yes, when I interviewed her she said she attended. Judge Dorothy is a very attractive lady,” he smiled.

  “Will you interview the other judges?”

  “We’ve already started, but what they say is outside of what I can discuss with you Fiona.”

  Was the quiet afternoon opening of the probate case a part of the help from the probate department? The instant letters of office? The free copies?

  My mind drifted back to the judge’s night reception.

  “Are you thinking about the reception?” he asked softly.

  “Yes.” I kind of like a man who reads my mind, as long as I am having virtuous thoughts.

  “When we talk you could fill me in on that. We’re still waiting for the list of guests.”

  “That should be easy.”

  “How?”

  “The treasurer of the club should have a list.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  His face got very serious. “There’s one more thing, if anyone starts asking questions or shows unusual interest in your probate case, let me know.”

  “Why?”

  “You have to be careful Fiona, Judge King was murdered.”

  Chapter Twenty Three

  My life as a probate lawyer wasn’t supposed to include car chases or running down dark alleys after midnight or murder. Would I need to break into museums to steal an artifact to save the day? I felt like I was living inside of a legal thriller and time was running out.

  Did villains, thugs and miscreants walk the streets of Chicago much in the daylight? Were murderers waiting under viaducts to catch their next victim?

  Until things were settled, maybe a basic course on self defense or a bottle of pepper spray would be good. Maybe I needed to trade my pumps for running shoes? This didn’t make it the best time to take an apartment alone, especially since everything seemed to scare me.

  The next day every creak and groan of the benches in court made me jump. Was the murderer lurking in the courts? Or in the halls outside the court rooms? Was he inside? Was he a she?

  After court I was waiting for the elevator and Sally Tax put her hand on my arm and I jumped. Sally didn’t seem to notice. She was usually pretty self absorbed.

  As usual she was dressed in a style all her own. My style hadn’t evolved past suits, silk shells, black pumps and pearls.

  Sally’s wardrobe included boots that matched her briefcase and sometimes even her watchband. When I wear cowboy boots I feel like a rodeo clown, and I could never wear red cowboy boots. The glitter on the watch band was nice though.

  She spoke in a voice just above a whisper.

  “I just came out of a hearing and Judge Requin cut my fees. Can you believe that? I bill below the average hourly rate, and I work so hard on all of my cases. It was not fair. I don’t think that old trout even paid much attention during the hearing. Honestly I think he hates women and especially the sole practitioners because he thinks we’re easy targets. I could kill that snake.”

  Making a quick recovery, I inquired, “Did he reduce your hourly rate or use a percentage reduction?”

  Sally sighed and shook her head, signaling this would be a one way conversation. Was she at the reception? The funeral? Could she have ha
d the same problem with King over fees?

  “I’ll see you at the bar meeting Fiona.”

  With that she turned and headed back toward the courtrooms.

  Attorneys fees are important. They often stretch beyond paying the bills and have an emotional attachment, like Sally displayed. In cases with disputes, the fees are often determined by the court in a contested hearing. They are nasty matters. Maybe Judge King was murdered because he cut someone’s fees. Could that much money be involved? Only estates with tremendous disputes have extraordinary fees.

  The noon bar meeting was about estate taxes and since my clients didn’t have that much money, I headed back to the office to avoid being around more lawyers.

  When I stepped into the elevator, I was startled a second time when Claude was smiling and holding the door open button.

  “I was doing research in the library,” he explained.

  Claude walked back to the office with me, asking questions about wills, but when we reached the office he said good-bye and headed in the opposite direction. People are so hard to understand!

  Back at the office, a smiling lady was waiting in the reception area and I said hello. She stood up and gathered her coat, hat and plastic portfolio.

  “I was waiting for you but not too long,” she scolded good naturedly.

  No one was at the reception desk to help me out.

  Did I have an appointment? Did someone else forget about a client? But she said she was waiting for me.

  Confused, I led the way to the conference room, with the client right on my heels. My plan was to let her get settled and to find Annette or take a look at my desk calendar. Glancing around I didn’t see another soul. Where did they all go? If everyone was out why wasn’t the hallway door locked? Someone could have waltzed in and taken my entire library.

  “I’m sorry, court ran late this morning.” I’m sure that was true somewhere in the world.

  Once in the room, she closed the door behind me and I was kind of trapped.

  The mystery lady set about arranging her work station. When all of her things were arranged, including four pens, a blank note pad and a hand written list on another pad, she lifted her head and smiled at me.

  Here was another opportunity to slip out, “I’m sorry, I didn’t offer you a cup of tea.”