Formula for Murder

by Diana Orgain

  “I see,” he said. “Have you been retained to look into the consul?”

  Interesting! Why would I be looking into the consul?

  “I have not been officially retained to look into the consul,” I answered.

  Boy, did I sound like a lawyer or what?

  Mr. Vann said, “Can we meet at your office? I think I’d like to discuss hiring you to do just that.”

  Office?

  Shoot! Here was the part where I couldn’t help but sound unprofessional. No office! Could I rent one for a day?

  “Mrs. Connolly?”

  “Yes. Uh. My office is . . . uh . . . under construction right now.” Okay, not a complete lie. It was under construction in my mind. Kind of like in the design phase. Visualization phase to be honest. “Why don’t we meet at—”

  “Not in public. Can you come here? I live on Lake Street.”

  Why didn’t he want to meet in public?

  He gave me the specifics as I jotted them down in my notebook. I tried to schedule the meeting for Monday when Jim would be back, but Mr. Vann sounded so distraught that I reluctantly agreed to meet him that afternoon. With Mom on a date, that left Paula for baby-sitting. I dialed her immediately, but she didn’t pick up.

  I sent her a text message, then called Galigani.

  “I have a problem. Someone wants to meet me to maybe hire me as a PI and I’ve got a baby in tow.”

  “You got several problems then,” Galigani said.

  “Yeah? How so.”

  “Number one, you need a sitter for the meeting.”

  “That’s why I’m calling you.”

  “So I can baby-sit?”

  “Was that fear in your voice?” I asked.

  “No!”

  “What was it then? Your voice cracked. You scared of a three-month-old?”

  He was silent for a moment, then cleared his throat. “Just a frog. I was going to say your second problem is that you’re not a PI.”

  “That’s never bothered me before.”

  “I thought that was why you were calling me, about the PI stuff, not to baby-sit.”

  “Look, in one instance you’re baby-sitting me and in the other it’s Laurie. Take your pick.”

  He laughed. “You want me to go to the meeting with you?”

  “What? So you can steal my client?”

  “I wouldn’t do that. What time’s the meeting? You can tell the guy I’m the nanny. I have nothing better to do today anyway—your mom’s busy.”

  “Meeting’s at three on Lake Street. I’ll swing by and pick you up at two.”

  I hung up before he could say anything else. I dreaded him asking me where Mom was. I had no idea what she’d told him about Hank and I didn’t want to be put in the middle.

  After hanging up with him, I called the mall photo place and forced them to pencil Laurie in for a holiday photo shoot on Monday at eleven. Then I packed Laurie and sped to the grocery store. I had tons of Christmas shopping to do, but a Saturday in December didn’t seem like a smart time to do it. I could shop on Monday while waiting for Laurie’s photos to be printed.

  Oooh! I was getting smart and time conscious! After all, shopping on a Monday was one of the benefits of being master of your own schedule. No time clock to punch Monday at 9 A.M. like in the corporate world.

  I was just feeling smug about my time management when I realized I was running late. Grocery shopping with an infant takes so much more time than flying solo! I’d stopped in every aisle to either check on her, wipe her, or tickle her. I considered myself lucky that she’d been in a good mood and extremely patient.

  I’d particularly lost a lot of time in the infant section, after fighting with myself on whether or not to buy formula. I’d finally succumbed, thinking that if I took on the case Mr. Vann wanted to discuss I might be out of the house when Laurie needed food.

  As I put several cans into the basket, I felt a huge ball of ash in my stomach, as though I was a terrible mom.

  Couldn’t I just produce enough milk for Laurie via the pump? If I put time and effort into it . . . or if I didn’t take the case . . .

  No! Breastfeeding didn’t make the measure of the mom, I reasoned as I pushed the cart out of the aisle in scarcely enough time not to second-guess myself.

  At home, I hurriedly put the groceries in the refrigerator and then fed Laurie. I changed her into a fresh diaper and jumper then put her back into the car to pick up Galigani.

  I filled him in on the party at the consulate. Galigani listened in silence. As I searched for parking, he surprised me.

  “So what do you know about this guy?”

  “Who? The boy from the hit-and-run?”

  “No. Mr. Vann.”

  “I don’t know anything about him. Just that I saw him at the party and he wants to hire a PI.”

  Galigani squinted at me. “What’s he want to hire a PI for?”

  I shrugged. “I thought that’s what he was going to tell us now.”

  Galigani put his hand on my wrist. “Never go into a meeting blind. Never. That’s how you get hurt.”

  I blinked at him.

  I should have run Vann’s name through the database.

  I parked the car. “What do we do now?”

  Galigani took a deep breath and reached into his pocket. “It’s a good thing I’m baby-sitting.”

  He handed me a folded sheet of paper. Chuck Vann’s background report. I scanned it quickly. No criminal convictions, good credit, and an advanced degree in engineering from UC-Berkeley.

  I nodded at Galigani. “Okay. So there’s nothing to worry about. The guy looks nice enough on paper and even in person—”

  “There is something to worry about.”

  “Uh. Oh. What?”

  “He’s Nancy Pickett’s ex. He’s the prime suspect in her murder. McNearny pulled him in for questioning yesterday.”

  McNearny was Galigani’s former SFPD partner and he’d worked the two homicides I’d investigated. He wasn’t necessarily a fan of mine.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

  “I’m telling you now,” Galigani said.

  “Yeah, but we have Laurie with us!”

  “Vann’s not going to do anything. He probably wants you to help him clear him somehow.”

  “What did McNearny say? Does Vann have an alibi?”

  “Well, an alibi is always nice. Nancy was last seen alive Thursday morning and she wasn’t found until Friday.”

  “What’s her time of death?”

  “ME’s putting it around Thursday morning between six and nine.” Galigani glanced at his watch. “Why don’t we talk to the man ourselves?”

  I took Laurie’s car seat bucket out of the car and trailed Galigani to Mr. Vann’s doorstep.

  Mr. Vann appeared in a white button-down shirt and gray corduroy pants, looking quite professorial. Judging by the circles under his eyes, he clearly hadn’t slept much the night before.

  He seemed surprised to see me with Laurie and Galigani in tow.

  “Mr. Vann, this is senior investigator Galigani and our secretary, Laurie,” I said.

  Mr. Vann laughed and extended his hand to Galigani. “Pleased to meet you. Call me Chuck. Come in.”

  He ushered us into a comfortable living room. The room was lined with bookshelves that were filled from floor to ceiling.

  “Can I offer either one of you anything to drink?” he asked.

  Galigani and I both declined, seating ourselves on the sofa. Chuck nervously cleared his throat and then picked up a manila folder from a side table. He pulled a chair toward the coffee table and faced us.

  He opened the folder and spoke into it more than to us. “I need to hire someone to look into the murder of Nancy Pickett.” He glanced up, checking us for recognition. He nodded when he realized both Galigani and I knew who Nancy was.

  “Nancy and I were married fifteen years. She was found dead in Golden Gate Park, last Thursday morning. I think she was killed becaus
e of a story she was working on. I can’t prove it, though.” He laughed bitterly. “If I could prove it, I wouldn’t need you, right?”

  “What about the police?” Galigani asked.

  Anger flashed in Chuck’s eyes. “They’re looking into it, of course. We all know how much they care about justice,” he said, his voice thick with sarcasm.

  Galigani fumed next to me. “Well, let me say right off the bat—”

  “You’re a former cop,” Chuck finished dryly. “Anyone could see that a mile away: It’s written across your forehead.” His eyes flashed to me. “That’s why I thought . . . I thought Kate . . .”

  Laurie kicked her feet in delight and cooed to Chuck as if appreciating him appreciating me. Chuck smiled. “She’s darling.”

  Galigani squirmed next to me. I glared at him. “Believe me, Mr. Vann, we understand the need for private investigators,” I said.

  He studied me. “I thought you might.”

  “Why don’t you tell us what you know?” Galigani asked.

  “Will it be confidential?”

  At the same time as I said, “Of course,” Galigani stood and said, “If you want confidentiality, go see an attorney.”

  I’d never seen Galigani mad and I didn’t know what to do. Seemed, since he was my boss, I should stand with him and share his indignation. Yet, I wanted to stay to hear out Chuck. After all, Chuck was a potential client. If I landed him, maybe I’d be able to afford a down payment on a new car, regardless of how long my insurance company dragged its feet.

  Galigani frowned at me when he saw I was still seated. He grumbled, “May I use your bathroom, Mr. Vann?”

  Chuck stood. “Down the hall on your left.”

  Galigani nodded and headed down the hallway. I figured he was trying to save face after standing, but the idea of him slipping into other rooms and snooping amused me.

  As soon as Galigani left the room, Chuck leaned in toward me in a conspiratorial fashion. “What were you doing at the consul’s Christmas party last night? Are you already investigating them?”

  I knew my reasons had probably nothing to do with his but I nodded anyway.

  He nodded back at me. “Nancy was looking into the Legion of Honor requirements.”

  “Looking into it? You mean she was reporting on it?” I asked.

  “She was concerned about the validity of the award.” Chucked opened the file on his lap. “She’d been meeting with the consul the day before she was killed. He claimed he didn’t know why he was up for the commendation.”

  I recalled her leaving the consulate that day. “Was she working with Kimberly Newman?”

  Chuck’s head jerked up in surprise. “Kimberly? No. They were friends, but as far as I know Nancy was working alone. Why do you ask?”

  “I was at the consulate on Wednesday and I saw them leaving together.”

  Chuck chewed on his lip. “He handed me the folder. I have a list of people for you to start with. Kimberly’s not on the list, but maybe she should be.”

  I opened the folder and perused the list. William Clarkson and Mindy Burnfield. I recognized them from a news story I’d read the other night. They had found Nancy. I said as much to Chuck and he nodded. “Already did your homework.”

  I cringed. I hadn’t done as much homework as I should have. Galigani still hadn’t returned from the restroom. Where was he?

  My phone buzzed from the depth of the diaper bag.

  “Excuse me one second,” I said, retrieving the bag and bumping Laurie’s car seat at the same time. Laurie cooed and flailed an arm at me as I dug into the bag.

  I read the display, a text message from Galigani: Keep him busy.

  Uh oh. I’d been right. He was snooping.

  I pressed the button to delete the text and said to Chuck, “I’d like to review the list with you. Who is Karen Nolan?”

  “That’s Nancy’s boss. I called several times, but she’s on vacation, what with the holidays and all.”

  I rubbed Laurie’s little arm. “Okay, what about the others?”

  “Gordon is Nancy’s father, her mother’s deceased, and Elliot is her brother. I spoke to Elliot when Nancy’s body was found in the park. I don’t think he or Gordon know anything, but I thought it might be helpful for you if I put their names down.”

  I nodded. “Who’s Ramon?”

  Chuck grimaced. “The boyfriend.”

  “Want to tell me about him?”

  Chuck rolled his eyes. “Obviously, I don’t care for him. He came between Nancy and I, but do I think he killed her? No. You should talk to him though, because I don’t want to and he may know something.”

  “Okay. I can talk to him, no problem. What about yourself, Mr. Vann? I understand you met with Officer McNearny. Is there anything you want to share with me?”

  He looked at his hands. “I teach a class in Palo Alto on Thursday mornings. I’ve been doing it for the last twenty years. But we didn’t have class last Thursday because the semester ended on Wednesday.”

  Uh no.

  We sat in an uncomfortable silence. Finally I asked, “What about the award? Tell me, why was Nancy concerned about it?”

  Chuck glanced around the room as if suddenly noticing that Galigani hadn’t returned. He turned toward me, a confused look on his face.

  “He’s got a . . . condition,” I whispered.

  Chuck nodded and shook his head, as if forgiving Galigani for popping a cork earlier.

  “Nancy called me Wednesday night. This wasn’t unusual. We talked regularly and we were still pretty friendly. She told me she was looking into it and had found some irregularities in the vetting process.” He indicated the folder. “I printed out some stuff for you I found online about the consul. Anyway, she told me she was frightened. I didn’t think anything of it. I guess I thought she meant she was worried about her job. She was very ambitious. Wanted an anchor job and always thought if she could break a big enough story it might make Karen wake up and see her. But . . .” He shook his head and sighed.

  An uneasiness settled over me. If Nancy had stirred up something big enough to get herself killed, did I really want to poke my nose into it?

  My eyes landed on Laurie. She was wide awake and staring right back at me.

  Galigani materialized in the doorway. He eyed me and nodded.

  I rose. “Mr. Vann. I’ll study the documents you gave me and get back to you soon.”

  Chuck stood, disappointment on his face. “Um. Do you have a contract or something for me to sign?”

  I glanced at Galigani. “I need to evaluate the firm’s current obligations before taking on another case.”

  Galigani bowed his head to hide a smirk.

  In the car, Galigani said, “What was that about the firm’s obligations?”

  I shrugged and put the car in gear. “I don’t know. You didn’t seem to like the guy and . . .”

  “You’re lost without me?”

  I snorted. “He thinks Nancy was killed because of the story she was working on. If that’s true, why do I need to get involved? Someone from the consulate already ran me down and that was an accident.”

  Galigani fiddled with the heater in my car. “Was it?”

  “Oh come on, are you trying to make me more paranoid than I already am?”

  Galigani laughed. “You’re looking into them anyway, so why not get paid?”

  “I’m not looking into them. I was trying to find the guy responsible for smashing into Laurie and me.”

  Galigani nodded. “It’s doubtful she was killed because of the story. Do you know stats on homicide cases where the ex is the killer?

  “Over sixty percent,” I said.

  Galigani smiled. “Okay, you did some research, huh?”

  I shrugged. “Google’s a good friend, and I remember the number from the last case.”

  “The guy have an alibi?”

  I shook my head. Galigani sighed.

  We drove in silence for the next few minutes, then I pulle
d into Galigani’s driveway. “You think he’s making up the story angle? Reporter pokes into a hornet’s nest and gets stung?”

  Galigani shrugged. “If he is, we’ll find out.” He climbed out of my car, then leaned back in and handed me something.

  It was a flash drive. “What’s this for?”

  “I copied Chuck’s e-mail file and Internet history. Do you know how to import a .pst file?”

  “What a hack you are! I would have never thought you’d do that!”

  Galigani laughed. “Why not? You think I was born yesterday? Or is it the opposite, you think I’m too old to—?”

  “I didn’t think you were the type,” I said.

  “I’m the type to figure things out.”

  “He wants to hire us. I don’t think he’s hiding information from us.”

  Galigani made a face. “Well, this way we’ll know. If Nancy Pickett was scared or thought the consul is hiding something, you may find some leads here.” He straightened, closed the car door, then waved at Laurie in the backseat before retreating into his house.

  • CHAPTER EIGHT •

  That evening, I snuggled into bed with Laurie. She was nestled on my arm asleep as I perused the file Chuck had given me. Inside I found a who’s-who directory printout of the consulate personnel.

  My heart stopped. Staring up at me from the pages was Armand Remy, assistant in cultural services, aka hit-and-run driver. The listing was complete with e-mail and phone number.

  On a whim, I grabbed my cell phone and dialed. I got his voice mail. What could I say?

  Would it do any good to leave a message?

  I hung up, frustrated with myself. Why did I chicken out? As I looked at the square-inch picture of him, I felt like strangling him.

  How could he have left Laurie and me stranded at the side of the road? The accident I could forgive, I suppose. Accidents happen, but what kind of a man leaves a mom and infant? He’d known about Laurie, too. After the accident, when I’d locked eyes with him as he sped off, I knew he’d seen her in the car seat.

  I placed Laurie into her bassinet and took the flash drive Galigani had given me over to the computer. How would I import the .pst file without overriding my own data? Just as I was getting frustrated with the whole process my phone rang.