Homicide arrived at 4:14, lead detective Harry Fonseca. This officer sent to canvas neighborhood. Interviewed neighbor Cassie Kahn, next door. Witness states she was in her yard and observed Lillian Yarmouth drive into garage around 3 p.m. Also saw unknown blonde or red-haired woman run down Bayshore and enter a vehicle, red BMW, no license tag given, in vicinity of home of Hernandez residence two doors from victim’s residence No answer at Hernandez residence.
Elderly neighbor at 2028 Bayshore, west of victim saw or heard nothing.
No other neighbors at home.
Medical Examiner’s office on scene at 4:40. Body removed for autopsy. Crime scene secured and turned over to homicide who arrested Lillian Yarmouth at 4:48 p.m. This officer cleared scene at 4:56 after search of curtilage and grassy swale areas. Officer Raul Gordon, Badge &286.
I read the report again. Now I had some witnesses to talk to. I stood up from my desk and stretched just as a crash sounded behind me. I turned to see shards of glass on my desk and chair.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
A rock lay on the floor just under the window behind my desk. My God, if I hadn’t stood up, I’d probably be unconscious or brain dead. I began to shake. Was this just some kids out for a Sunday prank or was I actually a target of someone? First my tire, now this.
Without even thinking, I grabbed my cell phone and hit speed dial. Carlos answered the first cell number I hit. Thank goodness I had his numbers on speed dial. My hands were too shaky to punch out numbers or even remember them.
“Hey, thought you were working. Guess you missed me too much,” he said.
“Yes, I miss you, and yes, I’m at the office, but that’s not why I’m calling. Where are you right now?”
“What’s wrong? Are you crying? I’m at the Versailles, having breakfast. In Little Havana, with my cousin. We’ll be there in five minutes. What’s going on?” he asked.
“Someone just threw a rock through my window. It just missed me.”
“Maybe you better make a police report.”
“I don’t want to call. It’s the Miami Police. They cover Coconut Grove. It might be the same guys who covered Lillian’s case.”
“So what? I’ll be there with you by the time they arrive. They’re not known for their swiftness. We’re leaving now.”
I had to stop calling Carlos every time something went wrong. This was out of character for me. I wasn’t Snow White or Cinderella, and Carlos wasn’t the Prince. I can handle anything, I thought, and then I began to cry again as I dialed 911.
Carlos was correct. He arrived before the police. A good-looking guy got out of the car with him. He was dressed in what looked like army fatigues and boots.
“This is Franco’s brother, Marco,” Carlos said, as I opened the locked back door for them. “I called the Glass Works. They’ll be here in a few minutes to repair the window.” He put his arm around me. “Let me see the damage.”
We walked into my office. I saw the glass shards on my chair and desk, and I gasped when I realized the size of the rock. It looked more like a piece of a sidewalk, solid concrete with jagged edges. Marco started to pick it up.
“Leave it right there. The police are coming. They need to see where it landed and maybe they’ll want to try to lift prints from it, although I doubt that’s possible. The surface is too rough,” I said.
“Marco does security work,” Carlos said. “I’d like him to stay with you, until we find out if someone is trying to hurt you.”
“What do you mean, stay with me? In my house or here? I appreciate it, but that’s silly.”
“I wouldn’t be in your way,” Marco said. “Just keep a watch outside your house and the office. The guys who work for me are trained to do surveillance.”
Just then, the police car drove up. We saw one officer get out of the car and amble up to the front door. I opened the door and introduced myself. I saw from the nameplate that Jaime Frost was not an officer. He was a service aide. I guess a rock through a window doesn’t qualify as a crime in this neighborhood.
I introduced Carlos and Marco, and pointed out the concrete “weapon” and the window.
“It’s probably just kids,” Jaime said as he examined the rock. “Is one of these guys your boyfriend? Had any arguments lately?”
Carlos’s face turned red. I recognized that angry face. “Look, I’m Ms. Katz’s boyfriend. Do you think I’d be standing around here if I was the rock thrower? Why isn’t there an officer or a detective here?”
“Are you kidding? For a rock? There were two murders in the Grove last night. We’re pretty busy. Was anybody injured here?”
“No, but I could have been. I had just been sitting at this desk. And a few days ago, someone slashed one of my tires in the parking lot here.”
“Maybe one of your clients doesn’t like you. You’re a defense lawyer, aren’t you?” Jaime smiled.
“No need to get sarcastic,” Carlos spit out his words. “Are you going to write a report or not?”
“Sure, sure. I’ll leave you a copy.” Jaime returned to his car, and wrote for about twenty minutes. He left me a copy of the one-page report, and he left the rock without a backward glance.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Marco and his security guys were unobtrusive. I spotted their cars outside the office and the house over the next few days, but they faded into the background of the neighborhood. They stayed out of my way, and I did feel better having them around.
I glanced at my weekly calendar on Monday and realized that it was Jonathan’s birthday on Thursday. That meant a full family dinner at my parents’ house. The Magruder-Katz clan was big on celebrating birthdays, anniversaries, religious holidays for two religions, and other sundry occasions. I remembered promising my mother that I would bring Carlos to the next family dinner. This would be an endurance test for Carlos, meeting my parents, two brothers, their wives, and my four nephews in one noisy sitting.
“Thursday,” Carlos said. “Thursday I’m supposed to have dinner with the guy who owns the Claremont Hotel. He’s gonna hire me to convert the place to condos.”
“Change the date. I went before the Marco Island firing squad of Martins. Now it’s your turn. I promised my mother. You don’t want to start out with her hating you. Trust me. She holds a grudge for years.”
Thursday afternoon Carlos picked me up at the office. We left before three o’clock to avoid the rush hour traffic, the after school traffic, and the usual overturned semi on the turnpike. It’s a ninety-minute drive to my parents’ subdivision, which means it can take between two hours and infinity. Jonathan, the birthday boy, and his family live on Miami Beach. His office is in a downtown Miami high-rise. William lives in Fort Lauderdale, close to his office. My retired parents live in Boynton Beach. However, in my family, the children are expected to spend all family occasions at the parents’ home, not in restaurants near any of their working children. They picture themselves somewhere between Ozzie and Harriet and the Wonder Years.
We were lucky to arrive by five-thirty. I had hoped to be there before the onslaught, but Jonathan’s van and William’s Lexus SUV were already in the driveway. The houses look like a village built out of children’s blocks, each with its red-tile roof and tan stucco exterior, all facing the golf course or the man-made lagoons with spouting fountains.
I remembered the house I grew up in on Miami Beach. It was a rambling affair, with a screened porch across the back where my brothers and I sometimes slept in the summer. It was on a quiet tree-lined street when there were quiet streets on the beach, before the South Beach glitz hit. Best of all, it was only a few blocks from my grandad’s kosher market, where I could bring my friends after school for a cream soda. Now my nephews had to spend half a day in the car to visit their grandparents, and they probably couldn’t pick out their house unless their car was outside.
Mother was waiting at the door for us. Her hair was pulled back in a French twist. She wore an apron over her pink and green pants outfit. If you l
ooked in the dictionary under Wasp, beside the picture of the stinging bug would be a picture of my blue-eyed, blonde, Waspy mother.
She shook Carlos’s hand and ushered us into the family room. My four nephews, two belonging to each brother, were engrossed in some electronic game. They ranged in age: thirteen, eleven, seven, and five. They yelled a collective “Hi, Aunt Mary” and went on with the game. Only Jake, the five year old, who really didn’t get the game, came over and gave me a hug around my knees.
“Who’s he?” he said pointing at Carlos.
“He’s a guy who brings candy,” Carlos said as he pulled a bag of gumdrops from his pocket.
Jake grinned and said, “I like him.”
Carlos handed my mother a box of Perugia chocolates. She smiled too.
My dad and my brothers were on the patio looking at the pool. I introduced Carlos and there were handshakes all around.
“Do you play golf?” my dad asked.
“No, I really haven’t had much time, but I do like baseball.”
“No golf?” Dad looked at me accusingly. The conversation was at an end for him. Franklin was a golfer. Carlos had struck out.
My brothers were more cordial. They poured him a glass of champagne, our celebratory drink for all birthdays.
I went to the kitchen to look for my sisters-in-law. Randy, Jonathan’s wife, was bending over the oven basting the brisket. She and Jonathan were very into Judaism. Their oldest was studying for his Bar Mitzvah. Joanie and William attended a Unitarian Church. I attended nothing. When people inquired, I told them I was a Druid and worshipped trees.
On the way to the kitchen, I passed through the dining room. The table was adorned with party hats and party poppers. Streamers hung from the light fixture. The decorations were the same as they were when we were grade schoolers. They never changed. Mother alibied that she did them for the grandkids, but I knew she wouldn’t feel right without them.
Jonathan came into the kitchen, patted Randy on the tush, and came over to me. “I need to talk to you for a minute,” he whispered and steered me out of the room.
We went into the bathroom. He shut the door.
“If it’s about your birthday present, I actually have one for you. I was waiting til dinner.” We sat down on the edge of the tub like we used to do when we were kids.
“Of course not. It’s about the Yarmouth case.”
“Oh, I guess I didn’t thank you for sending Lillian to me. Sorry. It’s a tough one, but I am grateful for the case. It’ll keep the rent paid for quite a while.”
“It’s not about thank yous. It’s something that’s troubling me. I don’t think this is going to violate attorney-client privilege, and I think you might need to know about this.”
“Well, spill it. You look serious. Is it something bad about Lillian? Anyway, I’m not going to be reporting you to the bar. Whatever, it’s just between us.”
“You know I told you that I was Gary’s estate-planning attorney. He revised his will last December. It wasn’t a big deal, just to balance some tax concerns. He set up some additional trusts for his kids, and he put his house and condo in Lillian’s name alone, took his name off of all his real estate.”
“Why did he do that?” I asked.
“For tax purposes. It has to do with inheritance taxes, so when he died there wouldn’t be any, and when Lillian died, the kids still wouldn’t have big taxes facing them. It divides the estate so both husband and wife have equal parts of it.”
“So, what’s the point? What does this have to do with Lillian’s case? She wasn’t going to get any greater benefit if Gary died, was she?”
“No, that’s not it. Don’t interrupt. You never have learned to listen,” Jonathan said.
“I am listening. What?”
“After Gary’s death, I got a call from a woman who wanted to know when Gary’s will would be published. I asked her who she was. She said she was one of the beneficiaries, Maddie Rodriguez. I said I had no knowledge of her being a beneficiary. She became upset. She asked, ‘aren’t you the lawyer who revised Yarmouth’s will recently.’ I told her that I couldn’t discuss my client with her, that if she had some proof that she was a beneficiary she should present it in person, and that if she intended to contest the will, she ought to obtain an attorney.”
“Had you ever heard of her from Gary?”
“No, but something Gary said came back to me. He repeatedly told me he wanted to be sure that Lillian and the kids were protected. I told him he was doing the right things in his estate planning. I guess I just thought that he meant protected from Uncle Sam. You know, the tax ramifications.”
“Did you ever hear more from this Maddie person?”
“Oh, yes. Two days after the phone call she appeared in my office demanding to see me. My secretary called me out of a meeting with clients. This woman was making such a fuss that my office crew was almost ready to call the police.”
“Did you meet with her? What was she like?”
“I came out to the reception desk. She was screaming at Louise. You know what a good secretary Louise is, but she was having no luck shutting this banshee up. She was screaming at Louise, ‘I don’t give a fuck how busy this asshole is. He better get out here.’”
“What did she look like?”
“She was attractive in a cheap sort of way, long hair, tight pants, huge boobs. I led her into the back conference room and shut the door. I warned her that if she didn’t quiet down, we would call the police.
“She said that she was sure that Gary had a provision in his will to take care of her. I asked her if she had any documents to back up her assumption. I told her that the will would become public in a few weeks and she would see for herself that she was not named in it. She called me a liar and said she’d make sure that I would be sorry for ‘fucking with her.’ She absolutely lost it. I thought she might be psychotic. I told her to get out of the office. She walked out of the conference room, and I called security. They escorted her out of the building. The whole thing was bizarre.”
“Her name has surfaced more than once in this case. Please, this is confidential. Gary had a thing with her, and, when he was through playing, she wasn’t. He couldn’t get rid of her.”
“Do you think Lillian knew and that’s why she killed Gary?”
“I do not think Lillian killed Gary. I need to find Maddie Rodriguez.”
Someone pounded on the bathroom door, and William yelled at us. “Jonathan, are you in there with Mary? How come I still get left out of the secret stuff?”
“Middle children always suffer,” I reminded him.
The evening went pretty well. No one argued with anyone except about politics. Carlos and my nephews watched a soccer match on TV, and Carlos taught the older ones some Spanish soccer terms. This caused Mother to comment that Carlos liked children.
“Who doesn’t?” he said.
Mother looked at me and said, “Some people don’t seem to.”
Jonathan opened his presents: a hideous tie from his kids, a new briefcase from Randy, a gift certificate to a South Beach restaurant from William and his family, two tickets to a Heat basketball game from Carlos and me (Courtesy of Carlos. I was too busy to shop), and a weekend stay at the Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach from my parents (their way of getting the grand-kids for a weekend.)
Everyone headed for the door as soon as dinner ended. It was a school night. I went to the kitchen with Mother and Dad to help with the cleanup. Carlos was outside on his cell phone, which he had refrained from using during dinner.
“Carlos is a nice boy and good looking, too, and he’s great with children,” Mother beamed.
“But he doesn’t play golf and he’s probably Catholic,” Dad said.
“Good night,” I said and laid the dishtowel over Dad’s arm.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The date for the preliminary hearing was closing in on me. I had to locate Maddie Rodriguez. I wasn’t sure what I’d do when I found her. A
t the least, I’d interview her informally. If I could eyeball her, I’d be able to tell whether she was capable of being Gary’s killer. I’m not the flashiest attorney around, but I am a good judge of character. When you make big mistakes about people, you learn. Look at the five years I wasted on Frank Fieldstone.
The day after Jonathan’s birthday bash, I arrived at the office early. I had a new client to interview at the Federal Detention Center, but I wanted to get Catherine started on the hunt for Maddie.
“I want you to call each of the Omni Hotels in Miami and ask for Maddie Rodriguez. She was an event planner in one of them, and see if there’s a corporate office in the area. Check there for her too.”
“What should I say if I find her?”
“Nothing. Just hang up and I’ll deal with her when I get back from the jail.”
“What if someone asks why I want to talk to her?”
“They won’t. Just say you’re planning a wedding and she came highly recommended. I’m afraid she may be long gone, if she’s the one who did Gary in.”
I had time to berate myself as I fought the traffic on the way to the federal lockup. I put my name on the wheel in the federal court saying I would take court-appointed cases. These are cases of indigent defendants who cannot be represented by federal public defenders due to conflicts or because they are overloaded with work. When I opened my new office, I was afraid I wouldn’t have enough work to pay the bills. Now I was on overload, but I couldn’t say no. I might need the hourly stipend the feds paid at some later date, so here I was getting involved in more work.
I knew little about the case, just the name Fred Winslow, and the charge, trafficking in prescription drugs. A black man of indeterminable age was led into the attorney-visitor area. His hair was mostly grey and curled into a short afro. He walked slowly as if each step was painful. He smiled when I stood up and told him I was his new attorney.
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