by Una Tiers
“Did anyone notice when King got sick?” I asked.
“He was fine through drinks, appetizers and the buffet. You said that he got an award and adjourned the meeting early?” David asked.
“I thought he was almost abrupt, but thought he was worried about the storm.”
“And,” he smiled, “You sometimes leave quickly that’s why it didn’t seem unusual to you.”
I smiled. Maybe I have to add this to the list of closing my mouth when I eat.
“You know there isn’t a picture of him with the award. That could be because his remarks were short. He could have been feeling sick at that point. He wanted to leave the table without attracting attention.”
“To take his medicine?”
“To inject it.”
David started to sort pictures out on my desk. “Take a look at the picture of his table where the award is on the table. What do you see?”
“Dessert?”
“A whole dessert cake,” David mentioned.
“Okay.”
“And it looks like a cheesecake doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” I agreed.
“Now look at this picture of the dessert table right after it was set up. What do you see that’s different?”
Looking at the pictures, my first thought was I was hungry. “Hmmm, they look the same except that the one on his table isn’t chocolate covered."
“I have the benefit of comparing them longer,” David said. “The cake at his table isn’t cut and isn’t chocolate covered. Here’s another picture of someone’s hands cutting the cake.”
“Those liver spots belong to the killer?” I half joked.
“That’s a leap, but the person in the picture is wearing a suit.”
“And?” I asked.
“And, the waiters wear long sleeved white shirts and vests,” David added. “So it was a guest who cut the cake at the judge’s table. Anyway,” he continued, “this confirms what the caterer said all along.”
“What was that?” I asked.
“He insisted they brought four identical chocolate covered cheesecakes that were precut. They are in this picture,” he held it out for me.
“And the ones on the dessert table are on white plates.”
He took the picture I was holding, “Say that’s good. The one at the head table has blue flowers on the plate.” He looked at the pictures an inch away from his nose. “If the photographer hadn’t taken so many pictures we would have missed that cake. Was film on sale?”
“They don’t use a real photographer, just a member with a nice camera,” I explained.
“There must be over sixty pictures,” he commented.
“It’s the same thing we did at the Glencoe club, with a whole lot of pictures you should end up with one really good one that the newspaper will run.”
“The Chicago Tribune?”
“No, the Daily Beagle, the lawyer newspaper.”
“Never heard of it, but the pictures helped us narrow things down.”
“How? You still don’t know who did this.”
“Now we know what could have carried the dose of peanuts.”
“The cheesecake?”
“Yes,” David was all smiles.
“Wait a minute, if he ate a cheesecake with peanuts in it, and took his medicine, now what’s wrong with this picture?”
“I didn’t say our theory was exact yet. But it shows that the cheesecake may have been what made him sick and since it wasn’t from the caterer, it may have been just to deliver the peanut dose.”
While we pondered, I looked at the other pictures. A few of them had a women’s breasts, big ones, and not her head. I guess we could safely assume the photographer was a man.
“David, could someone have tampered with his medicine?”
“It’s possible, but it would still mean murder. Besides Judge King must have discarded it. The garbage was picked up before we learned about the allergy.”
“Couldn’t you search for it anyway?” I teased him.
“No, that’s only on TV,” he explained with a dash of exasperation, ending in a smirk.
“I still don’t understand why he went home if he was sick.”
“Would you go to an emergency room if you thought you could go home?”
“You’re right,” I agreed reluctantly.
“Maybe he was feeling better.”
“You know, if the other judges stayed late, that could be why Curie asked me to drive him home, he didn’t want to stay late with the other judges. I didn’t drive him to the reception.”
“Could be, he didn’t mention anything like that to me.”
“That’s why Fullhammer and King were dropped off close to eleven because they stayed late.”
“Yes the security man in the hut said when the last group of people left, there was one man who had to be helped to the car. He said it was 10:45.”
“Judge King,” I filled in the blanks. “How did he remember the time?”
“After the last guest leaves they start to shut down for the night,” David said.
“Do you think the extra cake was deliberately peanut laced?”
“Yes,” David’s voice was grim.
“Because the nuts weren’t on top the way most places bake them?”
“How do you know about most bakeries Fiona?”
“Did I mention that I stopped at a few bakeries around the caterer?” I asked sheepishly, ashamed that I didn’t stand tall like Wonder Woman.
“Funny but you didn’t.”
Watching him carefully, I hoped I hadn’t hit the detonator button again. “I learned that peanuts are, as a rule, on top of baked goods so people see them, otherwise they put them in the name because of the liability over the allergy.”
He nodded and we shared a smile at the tenacity of personal injury lawyers to make bakery products safe for the world at large. That was what I was smiling about anyway.
“The peanuts were deliberately placed where Judge King would eat them Fiona.”
“What other leads do you have?” I tried to pry more information out of him.
He shrugged as he returned the pictures to the large envelope. “Will you keep these to yourself?” He held them away until I promised. His teasing seemed non-sexual.
“Sure.”
“You aren’t discussing this with anyone are you?”
“No,” I lied.
“Fiona?”
“No,” I lied again. Judge Curie and I had discussed the murder in general terms but I’m pretty sure I didn’t repeat anything that David said to me. Lou and I bantered about it in a silly way. I was particularly careful when I talked to him, working hard to find true statements that sounded like sarcasm.
As soon as he left, I closed the door and pawed through the pictures again. There wasn’t even one picture of me. There were four pictures of the large breasted woman, at least of her breasts. To me it looked like the probate judge who said she was in St. Louis, Judge Dorothy.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I called the hospital to follow up on who collected the judge’s personal effects.
“Hello, my name is Fiona Gavelle.” I introduced myself and explained my story, repeating it twice more before I reached the general counsel for the hospital. She promised to call me back as soon as he could get to the bottom of the issue. It took less than an hour.
“Ms Gavelle, this is Cat Theder from the hospital about the personal effects of Judge Laslo King.”
“Yes?”
“Our records show you picked up the wallet two days after the judge died.”
“No way.” I asked to speak to the person who made the claim and she promised to set up an appointment in the next week and to get me a copy of the receipt.
Who picked up his wallet? I wasn’t involved in the case for several weeks after he died.
Over the next few days, I decided to be analytical and make a chart with suspects and motives. David mentioned the names of three lawyers wh
o had run ins with the judge. I scribbled Putalavase, and O.J. Ootladder. What was the third name?
Timothy could tell me chapter and verse about them. The problem was that Timothy would not let me ask without wanting to know why I was asking.
My list included the judges. From the guest list for the reception, I learned they were all there but for Judge Dorothy. They made my analysis more sinister (and fun).
I had a column for gains. One person that ‘gained’ something was Judge Dorothy since she was promoted to Judge King’s old job as presiding judge. Frankly I thought those were her breasts in the pictures from the reception, although I didn’t have a clue how I would tell David. Were there line-ups for breasts?
Both Fullhammer and Montreel had the opportunity to do something bad to King since they saw him home. But what could they do? Smear peanut butter on his nose? That only worked with dogs and liver pills.
What if David was right and I could be in harm’s way? Maybe I should look into a self-defense class or pepper spray. Where did you buy that from, a spice store? Would David know? Maybe I should ask someone else in case it isn’t legal. Not that I would do anything that was illegal, because, well that would be wrong.
“Hello Timothy?”
“Hey Fiona, how are things in the will business?”
“Good thanks, how are your undertakers?”
“What?”
Skipping ahead I started to introduce my safety issue. “I need help with something a little different.”
“Anything for you.”
Smiling, I realized we always had an easy camaraderie. There weren’t highs and lows. Was this a match?
“Do you still office with that criminal defense attorney?”
“Yes, why? Are you sending him a client?”
“I wanted to ask him a few questions about pepper spray.”
There was an awfully long pause. His voice dropped at least an octave lower.
“You don’t have to turn to strangers. I’ll help you with that. Are you having problems with a client?”
“No, but is the stuff legal?”
“Sure it’s legal. Is this a boyfriend problem, because I could make out an Order of Protection for you. Or maybe we could have my process server pay him a visit?”
I’d met his special process server about four months ago. I picked Timothy up for a bar meeting that was farther west than either of us could navigate alone. His process server was just leaving. He wasn’t tall and didn’t wear a coat but a thin t-shirt (no jacket) in the middle of winter. One of his eyes was half-closed. He was a stocky little creature and after meeting him I decided I would use the sheriff’s office to serve process.
“No, not a boyfriend problem, I want to know where you buy it?”
“Is opposing counsel hassling you? I would be happy to tag along to court with you,” Timothy offered.
“No. Where do you buy it?” I was exasperated with his game.
“At your local gun shop.”
“I don’t have a local gun shop Timothy.” This made me wonder what his neighborhood was like.
“Fiona let me help you. I’m not a thug but I’m smart. It would be easier to help you if I understood what is at stake.”
For a few seconds, I pictured Timothy protecting me in court. He was flinging his briefcase along the waxed floors, knocking over my opponent like a bowling pin. If that didn’t work, he would pummel him with a large file folder. Or he could beat them with an annotated copy of the probate code (a three inch thick book).
“Does this have anything to do with Judge King’s murder?”
“No, silly. I’m sorry, can I get back to you? A client just walked in.”
“Let them wait. I know the media has blown the issue of safety of judges and lawyers out of context but the judge’s murder wasn’t random. It doesn’t mean we have to arm ourselves although being cautious never hurts.”
“Yea, you’re right, say, I’ll call you back, okay?” I didn’t wait for his answer.
When the phone rang almost immediately after I hung up, I assumed it was Timothy and didn’t pick up until I heard Lou complaining that I hadn’t returned his call.
When I picked up the line, he said, “Oh you’re screening your calls. I just called to talk about the murder, who do you think killed Judge King?”
Lou is a very open person, almost to a fault. This is exactly why I like him and why, at this moment, I didn’t want to talk to him.
“I don’t know. It gives me the creeps.”
“We’re pricing a security system for our office. Do you have one?”
“No, I office with a firm. I’m not related to anyone here and doubt that my voice means anything.” Lou missed or ignored my sarcastic remark since he works for his father-in-law.
“You know I heard he might have died the same night as the Water Club reception.”
I wondered if his disappointment was because he didn’t see the judge the last time most of us saw him or if he was disappointed because he missed the notoriety of the night. Thinking in a more direct manner, I decided that I would venture into the topic.
“It was my first time at the Water Club,” I mentioned.
“Did someone buy your ticket?”
“No, I paid, it’s deductible,” I answered defensively.
“And?”
“And nothing, the reception was like any other reception. No one jumped up and hit him on the head in the middle of the buffet line or pushed him into the lake in front of everyone.” I neglected to mention that it was my first judge’s night reception.
“Did the police interrogate you?”
“They interviewed me,” apparently Lou watched too much television if he thought people were interrogated.
“No kidding, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t tell you everything.”
“What did they ask you?”
“I don’t know, they asked about the food, some general stuff.”
“I should have gone, you should have told me you were going. I missed everything. I need to have a presence in Cook County too.”
“It was creepy afterwards, not fun Lou.”
“I’m going to call Robert Line and see what they asked him. He’s the treasurer of the Water Law Club. Let me know what you hear, okay Fiona?"
“Robert Line? Do you know him?”
“Sure, I did a big trust with his bank a few months ago.”
My guess what his father in law had the big case, but we all have to learn sometime.
“What bank?”
“He works with Melanie Hooks at the trust department at Easterly Trust downtown.”
“Okay.” I don’t like conversations where I’m not free to spout my half-baked opinions.
“Fiona why don’t you order his death certificate?”
“What?” It was right in front of me.
“Why don’t you order the judge’s death certificate, you’re downtown. You have to go to the Vital Statistics Department, I’ll split the cost with you.”
“No that’s disgusting. Why would you pry into his business Lou?”
“Well don’t you want to know what he died of?”
“No I have to get some mail out, I’ll look for you at the cemetery at midnight near the fresh graves.”
“Wait, I’ve got a few more questions, can you hold on, I have another call?”
This was my chance, I am known for hanging up when someone puts me on hold.
My suspect and motive lists weren’t progressing to well so I thought I would check the Internet for nuts as an ingredient in cheesecake. In a half-hour I learned that there was flour made from peanuts and about a million cheesecake recipes.
Next I read about peanut allergies. As I was starting my research about Greylord, I had an unexpected visitor.
Steve Vorce surprised me when he walked into my office looking rather miserable, I didn’t think he knew where I worked.
“Hi Fiona, your boyfriend called me for an interview,�
�� he pushed the door shut and sank into one of the client chairs. His shoulders were rounded and he was pretty pale. What could David have asked him?
“Sorry to send the police after you Steve.” This was partly true. “And he’s not my boyfriend.” Sadly this was true.
“Do you think they suspect me because I went to the funeral?”
I thought about it for a moment. Was Steve an undercover hit man for a disgruntled gang of real estate lawyers?
“You were there?” I knew the answer but decided to see what he would say.
He sighed and I knew his dramatics would get me to the point of slapping him.
“You saw me, that’s when we met. We asked you to lunch.”
“Oh, right.”
We both nodded.
“Steve, how do you know Mary Margaret and Mildred Shoe?”
“We met in church and we decided to take one car to the cemetery.”
“You go to St. Somewhere?”
“No, that’s where the funeral mass was held.”
“That’s how you know them?” I asked.
“Well, you know how it is when you go to a funeral. You talk to people.”
“I didn’t know you did probate work.” I braced myself for his answer.
Steve waited a few seconds. He stood up and went closer to the window. When he finally answered, I was appalled. “Probate, no, I do more real estate than anything else.” He paused and paced just a little which is all that you can do in such a small office.
“Well you probably won’t believe this but I’m a almost a senior citizen and I’m thinking about my will and my funeral.”
“You didn’t know the judge from court?” I felt a chill of stupidity for asking that question.
“Not personally.”
The truth is that I didn’t know the late judge either, but I had a date. Then again Steve was on a double date. Maybe he was there for the political aspect.
“Do you do any probate Steve?” I thought he had at least appeared before the judge for a continuance for another lawyer.
