Inherit the Shoes

by E. J. Copperman

  ‘Why,’ he asked quietly, ‘would someone want you dead?’

  Patrick’s smile faded. ‘I really have no idea, Lieutenant.’

  ‘One of the men said he had “offended people,”’ I piped up, and Trench’s eyebrow raised just a little.

  ‘Offended people?’ he asked. ‘What people might those be?’

  ‘He didn’t say,’ I said, but I knew Trench understood as well as I did that there were probably hundreds of people Patrick had managed to offend over the years.

  ‘I wasn’t asking you,’ Trench said dismissively. ‘Mr McNabb?’

  Patrick made a show of thinking, which was mostly believable. He shook his head. ‘I can’t think of anyone, Lieutenant. I truly can’t. It could be … no, I really don’t believe they’d take it so seriously.’

  ‘Who?’ said Trench, his voice barely registering interest.

  ‘There’s a group of people who might be blaming me for what happened to Patsy, and they’ve been known to be a little … extreme in their devotion to her. Some of them would actually set up camp outside our house.’

  ‘What is this group called, Mr McNabb?’ Slight irritation was the only emotion evident in his voice.

  ‘They call themselves PIOUS,’ he said.

  I felt dizzy all of a sudden. ‘PIOUS?’ I managed to utter. ‘PIOUS is an acronym?’

  ‘What do you know about this group, Ms Moss?’ Trench’s eyes were now on the group of technicians, actors, and producers gathered around the set as uniformed officers continued to search the wardrobe room behind us.

  ‘Until two seconds ago, I didn’t know it was a group,’ I told him. I was sitting in the director’s chair with ‘Guest Star’ written across the back and wishing Trench would look at me when I spoke to him. Patrick had draped his suit jacket over my shoulders, as if being threatened with a razor blade would naturally make me cold. ‘It was written on a …’ I kept talking, but my voice trailed off at Trench’s inattention.

  ‘A what?’ Trench barked.

  ‘A BARBIE DOLL,’ I answered, more loudly than I’d intended. ‘Someone nailed a Barbie doll to my front door, and wrote “PIOUS” on it. I didn’t know what it meant.’

  Patrick furrowed his brow and said, ‘It stands for Patsy’s International Order of United Servants. We used to joke about it, Patsy and me. Whenever she’d leave her underwear on the floor or something, I’d say she should get one of her United Servants to pick it up. They’d camp out beyond the gate, and sleep in sleeping bags. It was kind of spooky.’

  Finally, Trench’s laser stare focused on me. ‘And why did you not mention this the last time we spoke?’ he asked.

  ‘It happened after the last time we spoke. Somebody nailed a doll to my door, Lieutenant. I’m not sure that really merits a call to nine-one-one.’

  ‘Perhaps not under normal circumstances, but when one’s life has been threatened – more than once – I would think it would prompt a call to your friendly detective lieutenant. Don’t you? Particularly in a murder investigation.’

  ‘I promise to call you the very next time it happens,’ I said as sarcastically as possible – as if this guy had been much help to me, anyway.

  ‘Thank you.’ Not a glimmer, not the slightest upturn of a lip. Damn, he was good!

  ‘Does your classifying this as a murder investigation mean you’re reopening the case, Lieutenant? Does that mean you’re not convinced Patrick is guilty even if the D.A. thinks so?’ I was now convinced my client was not guilty, and wanted Trench on my side.

  This time, the slightest hint of a smile showed for a split second. ‘That, Ms Moss, is not my department,’ he said.

  Patrick, citing his professionalism, insisted on doing the final scenes as soon as Trench and the police vacated the soundstage, but that would probably take an hour or more. So the wrap party was rescheduled for the next night.

  This, of course, deflated Angie, who informed me she’d have to find a second party-worthy outfit, and thus intended to spend the rest of the day shopping, preferably on Rodeo Drive. I didn’t bother to mention that she’d probably have to sell an entire Dairy Queen franchise to afford one outfit from any establishment bearing that address. Let the girl have her fun. Besides, I had some serious work to get done.

  Angie, in her new capacity as my chauffeur using her rental car, dropped me at my apartment, where I started to set up my working home office while avoiding Bach and, presumably, securing a post-trial lawyer’s job. The forthcoming job search was something of a disheartening prospect, because all the people I knew in Southern California worked at Seaton, Taylor, Evans and Bach.

  I hadn’t been at home ten minutes when the doorbell rang. Wary of additional PIOUS deliveries, I checked through the keyhole, then let in a frantic-looking Evan.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he demanded, practically flying inside and checking every room for intruders. Thanks, I thought. If you weren’t here, I never would have looked in the other rooms. ‘Your office is empty, and I heard something about an attack at the studio …’

  ‘Calm down,’ I said, realizing just how pointless that particular phrase is. (Has anyone ever calmed down when you told them to?) I explained why I’d cleaned all the files out of my office.

  ‘You can’t be serious,’ Evan said finally.

  ‘Which part?’

  He sat down heavily on the sofa, dislodging an accordion folder I’d placed on the other cushion. ‘You think Junius Bach is deliberately sabotaging a case belonging to his own firm? That’d be criminal!’

  ‘I told you someone was giving information to the D.A. Bach all but admitted it,’ I said. ‘But that’s the problem. There’s no proof, and if he denies it, I can’t report him, because who are they going to believe? But I know it, and I have to act on it until this trial is over.’

  ‘You can’t be right,’ Evan said, shaken. ‘You must have misunderstood.’

  ‘There’s nothing to misunderstand. He just about told me he’s doing it.’

  ‘Just about? You might have misinterpreted …’ Evan’s head flopped into his hands, but after a brief recitation of my conversation with Bach, I heard him say, ‘No, it was clear enough, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. It was clear enough. Now, are you going to help me?’

  Evan’s head snapped up like it was on a spring. ‘Of course I’m going to help you. What made you think I wouldn’t?’

  ‘You need your job, don’t you?’

  He sputtered, a sound that came very close to a Bronx cheer. ‘This is my job. Junius Bach himself told me to help you, and that’s what I’m going to do until he tells me otherwise.’ Evan stood and walked over to me. He kissed me lightly on the lips, then put his arms around my waist. ‘In any way I possibly can,’ he added with a mischievous look in his eyes.

  I allowed myself to enjoy the thought, but, after a moment, extricated myself from the embrace. ‘That’s nice, but we have work that needs to get done. Did you file for that continuance?’

  ‘Yes. I stayed until the judge got in, and he denied it immediately.’

  I collapsed into a chair and bit on the pen I had in my hand. ‘Wow. Something’s got to be pushing him. I wonder if Bach knows the judge well.’

  ‘Bach knows every judge in the lower half of the state well, but you can’t blame him for everything that happens to us. The judge read the motion and denied it, without comment. We have to move on.’

  I exhaled heavily. ‘That means we have three weeks until the trial starts. Three weeks!’

  ‘It could be worse,’ Evan offered.

  ‘How?’

  He paused, apparently considering the thought for a long time. ‘It could be one week.’

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Robin J. Flynn was, by any measure, an interesting woman. At the age of twenty-eight, she’d already been an Olympic athlete, a Rhodes scholar, a municipal official, and a swimsuit model. The fact that she worked as a corporate executive for a sporting goods manufacturer and drove a Porsche didn’t
impress me one bit.

  The swimsuit model thing was a tad annoying, though.

  ‘Ms Flynn, you were an Olympic archer, and you’ve actually written a book on archery. Is that right?’ I was preparing Robin for her expert testimony, and trying very hard not to notice Evan, who sat across the room trying to avoid ogling various parts of Robin’s anatomy, all of which were eminently ogle-able.

  ‘That’s right,’ Flynn said confidently. ‘It’s called Aim to be a Champion.’

  ‘Did you write the book yourself? No ghostwriter?’

  Robin looked shocked, and glanced at Evan, who had to look away so quickly, I thought he’d sprain a neck muscle. Good. ‘Oh, no. I wouldn’t put my name on a book that someone else wrote. The book’s all mine.’

  ‘That’s good,’ I said, ‘but if I ask you at trial, just answer yes, that you wrote it yourself. Keep your answers direct.’

  ‘Sure. I mean, yes.’

  ‘Now, Robin, have you gotten a chance to look over the police report on the death of Patsy DeNunzio?’

  Flynn’s eyes widened a little. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It was awful, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Let’s stick with “yes,” OK?’ I turned my back on Robin and looked with just a little desperation at Evan, who appeared to force himself to meet my eyes. He gave a miniscule shrug, as if to say, ‘Who did you expect me to get? William Tell?’

  I turned back to Robin. ‘Did you see anything in that report that would indicate to you that Patrick McNabb was not responsible for the death of his wife?’

  Robin was very quiet, and obviously thinking very hard. She picked up the copy of the police report I’d given her, glanced at it again, then put it down and looked me in the eye.

  ‘No.’

  My eyebrows involuntarily shot up so high, I was sure they were hovering near the apartment’s ceiling. ‘No?’ I asked, my voice rising a little more than I’d intended. ‘Just “no?”’

  ‘I thought I was supposed to keep my answers short and direct.’

  This was like pulling teeth – without Novocain. ‘Well, that’s true, but I’m a little disappointed you didn’t find anything that can help our case.’

  ‘It’s very difficult,’ Robin answered. ‘The type of arrow used would certainly have penetrated through bone and muscle very efficiently at the proper distance, and the bow was strong, had been recently restrung, and was extremely well cared-for. There’s no reason to think it was done with any other weapon.’

  I thought hard. ‘How about strength? Would it have taken an unusually strong man to launch the arrow that hard?’

  Robin shook her head sadly. ‘I’m sorry, no. Given that bow’s condition and the type of arrow being used, it wouldn’t have to be an especially strong man, just one who’d used a bow before and knew something about archery.’

  ‘Could it have been an accident?’

  Flynn looked up, as if peering into her right frontal lobe. ‘I really don’t think so,’ she said. ‘The arrow had to hit her at just the proper angle to penetrate her heart, and that’s exactly what it did. Someone aimed very carefully, I’d say.’

  Swell. If I sign up any more expert witnesses like this, I can collect double pay and work as the executioner, too.

  ‘Thanks, Robin. I appreciate your coming by today.’

  Flynn stood, and went out of her way to bend over to pick up her purse, so Evan could see angles he hadn’t gotten before. ‘Do you know when you’ll be calling me as a witness?’ she asked, directing the question toward Evan.

  ‘I don’t know if we will be calling you, Robin.’ I made sure to answer quickly. ‘But if we do, one of us will call you a few days ahead of time.’

  ‘OK,’ she said, standing and smoothing out her incredibly tight dress. ‘I’ll look forward to hearing from you,’ she added, staring into Evan’s eyes. She wiggled her way past him and out the door of my apartment.

  I flopped onto the sofa and made a noise that came out sounding a lot like a person trying to ignore an ulcer. ‘Well, she was a ton of help.’

  ‘What did you want?’ Evan asked. ‘For her to lie?’

  ‘Not lie so much as help. Would it have killed her to find some angle that wasn’t damning to Patrick?’ Or at least to have been less sexy?

  ‘You know, you have to confront the idea that he may be guilty. Only a few days ago, you were telling me yourself he probably did it. Now, you’re convinced he’s as innocent as the driven snow. Make up your mind, Sandy.’ Evan walked over and sat down next to me, putting his head back on the couch and closing his eyes.

  ‘Snow isn’t innocent,’ I corrected him. ‘Snow is pure.’

  ‘It’s a metaphor.’

  ‘We’ve got to find somebody who can cast at least a little doubt on the D.A.’s case. Who else knew Patrick had the bow and arrow?’ I rubbed my puffy eyes.

  ‘Anyone who’d been to his house. It was prominently displayed, and not in one of the cases he has now. It was right out on the wall. Anybody could have seen it.’

  ‘That’s good,’ I said. ‘We can establish that Patrick wasn’t the only one who knew the weapon was handy.’

  ‘But no one else was in the house that night,’ Evan said, eyes still closed. ‘Even the butler had the night off.’

  ‘Come on. At least it’s something.’ I heard the cell phone ring, and reached for it.

  ‘We’ve got a lead and a problem,’ Garrigan said before I could even say hello. ‘I found Silvio, the boyfriend, but he’s in Ensenada, Mexico.’

  ‘That’s not a problem,’ I said. ‘We can drive there in a couple of hours, right?’ One good thing about relocating to southern California – I was only a hop, skip, and a jump from some fabulous beaches in Mexico.

  ‘That’s not the problem,’ said Garrigan. ‘The problem is, your friend McNabb is there with him.’

  ‘No he’s not,’ I said, feeling my stomach flip-flop. ‘Patrick can’t be in Mexico. If Patrick leaves the state, let alone the country, I’ll be responsible for …’

  ‘He’s there,’ Garrigan said.

  ‘We’re on our way.’

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Ensenada, Mexico is like any other oceanfront city, as long as you’re staying at a resort like El Oceano Hermoso, a five-star hotel with three swimming pools, four dining rooms, a casino, and hourly parasailing lessons, all on a mile-long private beach. Following Garrigan’s directions, which consisted mostly of ‘keep the ocean on your right,’ had proved simple and effective. After the three-hour drive to Ensenada (I insisted on driving Evan’s car, so we’d actually get there the same day), I was in no mood for small talk. But the talk couldn’t have gotten any smaller if printed on the dialogue balloon of a Bazooka Joe cartoon inside a gum wrapper.

  ‘Did you have any trouble finding the resort?’ Patrick asked, ever the good host. In his bathing trunks and cabana jacket, he was so relaxed I had to fight back an urge to strangle him.

  ‘Do … you … have … any … idea … how much trouble you’ve gotten into? Gotten me into? Were you listening to the judge at your arraignment, Patrick? If you’re seen down here, I can be disbarred and fined so much money I’ll be paying off your trip to Mexico for the rest of my life!’

  Patrick responded by doing the most infuriating thing possible: he smiled. ‘Relax, Sandy,’ he said. ‘No one knows I’m here, and I’ll be back in Los Angeles before anyone knows I’m gone. The important thing is we found Silvio Cadenza! He’s right here in the hotel, and we have him cornered.’

  I stole a glance at Nate Garrigan, who was leaning against the door in case Patrick decided to bolt. Garrigan shrugged. ‘I have no idea how he found out I’d traced Cadenza down here, but when I arrived, he greeted me in the lobby,’ Garrigan said. All eyes turned to Patrick.

  ‘It’s quite simple,’ he said with great amiability. ‘I had you followed.’

  Garrigan blinked twice, which, for him was the equivalent of a conniption. ‘You did what?’

  ‘I hired a private investigator
. Sandy said you couldn’t find the person who’d offered me all the money for Jimmy’s shoes, so I hired an investigator of my own. He followed you while you were looking for Silvio, because I suspected he was the one who offered me the money.’

  Garrigan might very well have considered stretching Patrick’s neck to three times its normal length, but he made no move. ‘And when I located Cadenza, your P.I. knew it, and called you.’

  ‘Yes. Luckily, I was already a little south of you, and I have a somewhat faster car than you do. Not your fault, Mr Garrigan.’

  I stood up and surveyed Patrick’s lavish hotel suite, which no doubt he’d paid for in cash. In one room, there was a grand piano, which I was relatively sure no one in the suite could play. A wet bar and a home theater were in another area. I couldn’t see the bedrooms, but I’m willing to bet that Patrick, who was planning on staying here by himself, had at least three.

  ‘Why, exactly, do you suspect Cadenza was offering two and a half million dollars for Cagney’s shoes?’ I decided to ask.

  ‘Why don’t we go and ask him?’ Patrick suggested.

  Silvio Cadenza turned out to be a short, balding man, about five-foot-six, who could have passed for ten years younger than forty-five, his actual age. And his suite, while quite attractive, was not half as lavish as Patrick’s. No piano. A big-screen TV, but no home theater. Probably only two bedrooms. A hovel, by comparison.

  He didn’t seem the least bit surprised when Patrick led us into the living room. He nodded a few times, and rarely took his eyes off Patrick.

  ‘Silvio,’ Patrick said without the crinkling eyes.

  ‘McNabb.’

  Patrick introduced the rest of us to Cadenza, and Evan made a point of standing next to me, either to protect me if violence broke out, or to establish himself with me while Patrick was in the room. I supposed it was better than singing a chorus of ‘Bess, You Is My Woman Now.’