“She’s already hired an attorney, huh? Is she that eager to get her hands on his money?”
“It’s not about money,” I said, and wondered at his assumption that it was. “There are questions about Warren’s death.”
“Medical malpractice, then? Not an easy thing to prove, but Warren would want the doc held accountable. He was a stickler for accountability.”
I didn’t bother to correct Pickett’s assumption. “Did Warren seem worried about anything recently? Depressed?”
“He wasn’t the sort to get depressed. He had a lot of self-control.” As if that was all it took. “Wasn’t the sort to worry, either, at least not unnecessarily. He was a little nervous about being a father at his age. Can’t say as I blame him. My two kids are grown, and life is much, much easier now that they’re out of the house. Me, I’d hate to start over at my age.”
I got the feeling that Carl Pickett was not a warm and fuzzy kind of guy. “Having raised a stepdaughter, I can understand that he might be reluctant to take on that responsibility again.”
“Warren didn’t exactly raise Juliet. He was more spectator than stepdad. She was sixteen when he married her mother, and she never warmed to him. Warren tried but Juliet gave him the cold shoulder. Even at her mom’s funeral.”
“Sounds like you’ve known Warren for a long time.”
“You might say that. We went to college together. Longer ago than I care to remember. So there’s some question about his death, huh? Purely on medical grounds or do they suspect foul play?”
I hedged. “I’m not sure. They’re still trying to determine how it happened.”
“Well, I suppose they wouldn’t have questions if they didn’t suspect something amiss.”
“Do you know of anyone who might have a grudge against Warren?”
“Ah, foul play then.” Pickett pondered my question briefly. “No one that comes to mind. Warren had a soft heart. Trusted everyone. I always told him he needed to be less trusting.”
“We’re there any unusual incidents recently?”
“Not that I know of. Doesn’t mean there wasn’t though. It’s a damn shame he’s dead.”
I thanked Pickett for his time, and tried the number for the second name. I got an answering machine. I left a message, then turned my attention to the other matters I’d neglected the last few days.
Ariel called just as I was finishing up for the day. “Did you talk to the DA?”
“Not yet. They just got the referral so I imagine they have nothing to add at this point anyway. I’ll give the prosecutor another call on Monday.”
“What am I supposed to do in the meantime? I can’t concentrate. I can’t even sit still for more than a minute. And Nora keeps pestering me about a service for Warren. I finally told her to just do whatever she wants. I can’t think about anything but going to jail.”
“I know it’s hard on you, Ariel. But I’m not sitting idle. After I meet with the prosecutor I’ll know which way the office is leaning and we’ll have a better picture of where things stand. If I can come up with angles they’ve overlooked maybe I can convince them not to bring charges.” I reached for a pen. “Speaking of which, what can you tell me about Juliet?”
“Warren’s stepdaughter? I’ve never met her. Warren didn’t have much to do with her in recent years, or rather she didn’t have much to do with him. Never much liked him from what I understand. I think she resented him for marrying her mother. Sounds like she was a spoiled brat as a teenager.”
“Did they have any contact at all in the last few years?”
“I’m not sure. He did get a wedding announcement last year. We sent a present but I’m not aware that we ever got a thank you.”
I could understand a teenager’s resentment, but it didn’t strike me as a promising motive for murder all these years later.
“What about the men in Warren’s golfing circle? How well do you know them?”
“I’ve met them. Some of them, anyway. They weren’t exactly a tight bunch, and we didn’t socialize as couples. I mostly know only what Warren would tell me.”
“Any conflicts you know of? Disagreements?”
“No. Warren used to get annoyed with one of the guys because he cheated. I don’t think the group ever took their scores seriously so I don’t know why he bothered.”
“What’s his name?”
“Daryl Nelson. I’ve never met him but Warren liked him, except for the cheating.”
Daryl was one of the names I’d given Jared to track down.
I struggled with how to frame my next question, then finally jumped in with both feet. “I understand you hung out with some questionable people when you were younger.”
“Are you talking about Kirk Miller? Nothing questionable about him. He was a no-good druggie and thug.”
“Why were you with him then?”
Ariel took her time before answering. “You know, I’ve asked myself that many times and I honestly don’t have an answer. I was a mixed-up kid, angry at the world, and I thought Kirk was exciting. He was stoned most of the time. So was I. I wasn’t thinking straight. I knew he stole stuff but it was like, screw them. Push the boundaries. It’s not a part of my life I’m proud of.”
“How did you break up?”
“He went to prison. I wised up and moved on. Left Florida, came to California, and tried to re-invent myself.”
“Did you testify against him?”
“Not in court,” Ariel said softly. “But I did cooperate with the police.”
“Is he still in prison?”
“I don’t know. And I don’t care. Why?”
“Do you ever worry he’ll come after you for working with the police?”
Ariel drew in a long breath. “I used to. I was scared to death. Either Kirk or one of his friends. They called me a snitch and a traitor, and a bunch of stuff I won’t repeat. That’s part of the reason I came to California. I wanted to get far away from them.”
“Could he have killed Warren to get back at you?”
I could tell from the long silence on her end that the thought might not have occurred to her. “How would he know where I was?”
“It wouldn’t be hard to find out. Even though you’re now married. It would all be in public records.” I felt bad raising the possibility—I knew it would be one more thing for her to worry about. But criminal law wasn’t unicorns and rainbows. And the surest way to avoid prosecution for a crime is to find the person who did it.
TEN
Sunday afternoon my phone rang with a number I didn’t recognize. I usually let those calls go to voicemail because they’re so often telemarketers or, worse, robocalls. But I was dithering about what to do with the rest of my day and figured it would be easier to deal with the call now than later.
“Kali O’Brien?” a woman’s voice asked.
“Yes.”
“This is Barbara Boyd.”
I searched my memory and came up blank. “Yes?”
“I live near the Larsons. We spoke the other day, about Warren’s death.”
Ah, Mrs. Boyd the neighborhood busybody. “Hello. I’m sorry it took me a minute to place your name.”
“That’s okay. I should have been clearer up front. I’m calling because the van I told you about seeing the night Warren died? It’s back again. Parked in the same spot.”
I’d put the van out of mind after learning from Sheri that a neighboring house was being readied for sale. “It probably belongs to a workman. I understand there’s some work being done on a house there.”
“So you don’t think it’s important?” She sounded disappointed.
“Probably not.” Especially since it was there again today. “I’ll keep it in mind, though.”
“I was just trying to help.”
Feeling bad, I threw her a bone. “You know, it might be a help if you could describe it for me—color, make, that sort of thing.”
“Just let me go to the window. It’s white,” she sai
d. “Funny, at night I thought it was blue. I don’t know what brand, but it’s got doors at the rear. And it looks like it might have some sort of decal on the rear bumper.”
More panel truck than family van from the description. “Thank you. You’ve been helpful.”
“I’ll keep a sharp eye out from now on,” she said.
Mrs. Boyd’s call started my brain churning but there was little I could do until Monday, and that left me feeling antsy. I called to see if my neighbor, Margot, was interested in taking in a movie. Maybe even the one Ariel claimed to have seen. I figured that way I could “test” her to determine if she’d actually seen it. A plan full of holes but it made me feel that I was at least doing something constructive with my time.
“I can’t,” Margot said. “I’m going out for an early dinner.”
“A date?” She’d recently re-entered the singles dating scene—an undertaking that paid off more in funny stories than romantic companions.
“No, I’m meeting my ex-wife.”
Margot had been male for the first thirty-five years of her life. I wasn’t exactly sure what she was at this point, besides a friend, and I’d made it clear I wasn’t interested in knowing, which Margot found endlessly amusing.
“Bummer. For me, I mean, not for you. Have a good evening.”
“I will.” Margot and her ex saw each other regularly, and got along better now than when they were married.
Instead of taking in a movie, I walked Loretta, cleaned the kitchen, including the stovetop and refrigerator, and mopped the floor. A sure sign that I was feeling very much at loose ends.
When Bryce called that evening I was elated beyond reason. I’m always thrilled to hear from him, but truth was, right then I would have been happy to hear from a telemarketer.
“Are you back home already?” His plane wasn’t due until later that night but maybe he’d managed to get on an earlier flight. I experienced a swell of anticipation at seeing him.
“No, I’m in Denver.”
“What are you doing there?”
“The plane was diverted for a medical emergency. And now we can’t take off again until we get a new cockpit crew because the one we have will be over their hours.”
“So you’ll be late?”
“Very late, I’m afraid.”
“Rotten luck.”
“Yeah, but not as rotten for me as for the poor guy who had the heart attack.”
“So you won’t be coming by tonight?” I asked selfishly, anticipation deflated.
He chuckled. “You sound disappointed.”
“I am.”
“Sorry, honey. I’m already beat. I’ll be half dead by the time I land in SFO. How about tomorrow night. I’ll bring dinner.”
“Deal.”
ELEVEN
Monday morning I got to the office early but Jared was already at his desk.
“Did you spend the weekend here?” I asked.
“I had a plenty good weekend, Boss. No need to worry about me.”
Jared was not a big party guy, but he seemed to have a steady stream of female friends (as he referred to them) who occupied his weekends and evenings. He was a good-looking young man so that wasn’t surprising. What did surprise me was his apparent lack of interest in finding a steady girlfriend. The millennial generation was different enough that it made me feel old.
“You got a few minutes?” he asked. “I want to catch you up on what I’ve learned, see what direction you think we should go next.”
“Sure. Just let me dump my jacket and purse first.”
Jared joined me in my office several minutes later with two cups of freshly brewed coffee. This time he sat in the chair rather than perching on a corner of the desk, a wise move given the hot coffee.
“So what have you got?”
“First off, I checked Ariel Larson’s social media sites. The woman knows nothing about privacy settings so I was able to see her entire timeline. Fortunately there’s nothing there that might incriminate her. Steve Abbott is one of her Facebook friends but their exchanges seemed innocent. What it does mean, however, is that Kirk Miller—the boyfriend she gave evidence against before he went to prison—would be able to find her easily. He’s been out of prison for almost a year.”
“What’s he doing now?”
“Seems to be staying out of trouble, at least based on cursory research. I’ve got a call into his parole officer. I was also able to learn a bit more about the conflict Warren had with a prior co-worker, a guy by the name of Tony Ducas. Seems Ducas was on medical leave and Warren ended up with some of his clients.”
“That’s hardly grounds for a dispute.”
“No, but Warren discovered that an employee of one of Ducas’s clients had been embezzling money for years. Ducas either missed it or was in on it. The firm fired him.”
“Which no doubt would embitter Ducas. What happened with the embezzlement case?”
“I don’t know yet. But if the guy was convicted, he wouldn’t be any too happy with Warren, either. I’ve got an appointment with Human Resources later this afternoon. You interested in coming along?”
“Maybe. But here’s the problem. How would either of them know about Ariel’s medications? And how would they know Warren would be alone the night in question?”
Jared slumped in his chair. “Not likely, is it?”
“Unfortunately, no.” This was a point that continued to trip me up with every alternate suspect. Which brought my focus full circle back to Ariel.
“How do we know Warren didn’t commit suicide?” Jared asked. “If you’re trying to kill someone, drugging him seems like an iffy way of going about it. Get the dose wrong and you won’t succeed.”
“The fact that he’d been drinking would make it easier.”
“Still not a foolproof method of murder. And personally, if I were going to off myself I might enjoy getting a little buzzed first.”
“Not a fool-proof way of killing yourself, either,” I pointed out.
“I don’t like the way this is shaping up,” Jared said, looking glum.
“Nor do I.”
“Do you think she did it?”
“The evidence is certainly lining up that way.” And just when I was starting to believe Ariel was telling me the truth. “How’s your eviction case coming along?”
“We’ve got a settlement conference later this week. It’s looking like we’ll be able to work something out.”
“Great. Let me know if you want any help. Meanwhile, I’m off to the DA’s office. I’ll raise the suicide question, and maybe I’ll have a clearer picture what we’re up against after I talk to them.”
I could only hope the “clearer picture” didn’t feature Ariel front and center.
~*~
The prosecutor assigned to the Larson investigation was Joe Huff, a young attorney I’d not met before. I quickly learned he wasn’t big on pleasantries, or friendly overtures.
He dismissed my amicable greeting with a grunt, adjusted his dark-framed glasses, and opened a file folder.
“We haven’t yet filed a charge in this matter,” he told me.
“It may be that a charge isn’t warranted.”
“With all due respect, that’s our call, not yours.”
“Granted, but my client is a credible and sympathetic figure. She insists she is innocent.”
Huff gave me a condescending smile. “Don’t they all?”
“Are you convinced that her husband’s death was a homicide? He was an older man with health issues, after all, and had been drinking heavily. Couldn’t his death be attributed to accidental overdose, or even suicide?”
“I find that highly unlikely given the circumstances.”
“Are you referring to the abrasions on his body? He could easily have stumbled on his way into bed. Especially given the alcohol and drugs in his system.”
“Larson didn’t die of an overdose,” Huff said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “He died of asphyxiation.�
�
“Asphyxiation?”
“He was smothered. We got the report this morning. The coroner thinks it was most likely by something soft, like a pillow.”
I sat back in my chair with a terrible sense of foreboding. I could already see the state’s case laid out for the jury. Ariel had slipped her husband tranquilizing medications, which she conveniently had on hand, then waited for the scotch and the drugs to work their magic. She’d then helped him into bed, and when he passed out, she’d taken a bed pillow and smothered him. It wouldn’t have a required much strength at all. Even a slender woman like Ariel would be able to handle suffocating an intoxicated and incapacitated old man.
I pushed that scene-by-scene scenario aside and tried to clear my head. “There is no evidence that Ariel was in any way involved.”
“They were her medications,” Huff pointed out. “The police confiscated the bottles. They were nearly empty.”
“Did they dust for prints?”
“They got nothing useable. Plus there were no signs of a break-in. No sign of anyone other than the inhabitants of the home having been there.“
“But why would she kill him? They were expecting a child. They were happy.”
Huff looked at me over his glasses. “Motive isn’t an element of murder,” he said pointedly. “Surely you know that.”
It was true that the prosecution didn’t have to prove motive, but it did often sway a jury one way or another. And it gave defense lawyers something to work with.
“Besides,” he continued, “it isn’t hard to imagine why she might want to be rid of him. He was old, he was sick, he was rich. Maybe they had a fight that night, or maybe she was just tired of him. Who knows? When it comes to relationships anything is possible.” Here he actually smiled, although it not a warm smile.
“Have you even considered other possible suspects?” I asked.
“Our job is to determine if there is sufficient evidence to charge the defendant.”
Again, he was technically correct, but the posture also seemed short-sighted. “Respectfully, Counselor, that’s a rather ill-considered way of looking at it.”
“I’m not aware of other suspects. Care to give me some names?”
What the Widow Knew: A Kali O'Brien mini-mystery (Kali O'Brien legal mysteries Book 8) Page 5
