The Case of the Killer Divorce

by Barbara Venkataraman

  "Hey, Becca, I've been thinking about you. How are you holding up, sweetie?"

  "I'm not, Jamie, not at all." Her voice sounded ragged, like she'd been crying all weekend.

  "I can only imagine. You must be overwhelmed, how can I help?"

  "I'm calling because I don't know what to do," she wailed. "The state attorney's office called and asked me to come in for questioning. Why would they do that? What do they want from me? Why is this happening? I can't take it anymore!"

  I could hear her hysteria escalating and I knew I had to talk her down off the ledge, figuratively speaking. At least I hoped it was figurative. You never know a person's limits; and sometimes, you don't even know your own.

  "It's okay, Becca. It's probably just a routine thing. Listen, I know someone at the state attorney's office, how about I call him for you and see what I can find out?"

  She paused and then in a voice as small as a little girl's, she said, "Yes, please...and will you call me back?"

  "I promise. But don't sit by the phone waiting because sometimes it takes a while for him to return the call. Why don't you go make yourself some tea, or lie down and relax for a bit? Okay?"

  "I'll try," she said, not very convincingly.

  After we hung up, I dialed the direct line of Nick Dimitropoulos, State Attorney, rising star, son of a senator, and my arch-enemy. If you look up the word 'arch' in the dictionary, you'll find that it refers to a person with an amused feeling of being superior to or knowing more than other people. Next to that definition, you'll see a picture of Nick D. Oh wait, that's just in my dictionary.

  I come by my feelings for Nick, honestly. He's the one who went after my disabled cousin, Adam, a year earlier and tried to pin a murder on him using only circumstantial evidence and a truckload of political ambition. We finally reached a truce after I convinced him to focus on the real killer. He ended up looking like a hero, with his picture in the paper and all the accolades to go with it, so he owed me one, and he knew it. Politicians always keep score of favors, even wannabe politicians. Especially wannabe politicians.

  "Nick Dimitropoulos."

  Hearing his voice, I pictured him at his desk with his chiseled jaw and perfectly trimmed nails. He'd be wearing the latest from Armani, shiny wingtip shoes (with or without tassels) and not one hair out of place. His desk would be neatly organized and equipped with the best technology money can buy.

  "Jamie Quinn here, how's it going, Nick?"

  "Hello Quinn--I didn't expect to hear from you so soon."

  I laughed. "So soon? It's been a year since I helped you get your picture in the paper."

  "For your information, Quinn, my picture is in the paper all the time. And for all the right reasons."

  "I don't doubt that for a minute, Nick…" I hesitated, unsure exactly how to proceed.

  "So, Quinn, what can I do for you? Are you looking for a reference?"

  I burst out laughing. "You're kidding, right?"

  "Of course I am. What's up?"

  "Well, I have a client--"

  "Another cousin of yours?"

  "Funny one, Nick. And no, not a cousin. One of my clients received a call from your office this morning asking her to come in. I'd like to know why."

  "What's her name?"

  "Becca Solomon."

  "I'm familiar with that case."

  "It's a case? Why is it a case? Her husband was found dead last Friday, but she knew nothing about it. She was waiting for him to pick up the kids."

  There was a pause as Nick seemed to consider what information he was willing to share.

  "Quinn, I shouldn't be telling you this, but Joe Solomon died from a combination of alcohol and sleeping pills."

  "I don't follow. Why shouldn't you tell me?"

  "Because they were your client's sleeping pills."

  Chapter 16

  "There must be an explanation--"I sputtered.

  "There's always an explanation," Nick said. "But it may not be the one you want to hear."

  "I'll keep an open mind, thank-you, and I'd advise you to do the same. Remember the last time you went for the low-hanging fruit? You had the wrong guy. Lawsuits have been filed for less, Nick. I'm just sayin'."

  "I'm not worried, Quinn."

  He was hard to rattle, I'll give him that.

  "I assume your client will be calling us to set an appointment?" he asked with his usual smugness. "Or do you want to set it now?"

  "I'll call you back," I said, trying to buy some time.

  I was amazed to find myself, once again, embroiled in a criminal case. How does this keep happening to me? My business card says 'Family Law Attorney' on it, plain as day. And poor Becca! Before I called her and pushed her right off that ledge she was teetering on, I needed to get some advice so I could guide her in the right direction. She seemed so helpless, so broken. I knew just who to call: Susan Doyle, public defender extraordinaire. Susan had been invaluable when my cousin, Adam, was accused of murder; without her, I don't know what would've happened to Adam. Nothing good, that's for sure.

  When I called the public defender's office and asked for Susan Doyle, I was told she no longer worked there, that she'd gone into private practice. I don't know why I was surprised. My life had changed in the past year; it was silly of me to think that other people were standing still. The receptionist was nice enough to give me Susan's number. To my relief, she hadn't moved away; her practice was in downtown Hollywood, three blocks from the courthouse.

  I left a message for Susan and she called me right back. After we chatted a little and she'd asked about Adam, I launched into my reason for calling.

  "Susan, I have a situation, well, my client does, and I was hoping you could help and possibly represent her, if necessary. This woman can afford private counsel and I would advise her to hire you."

  "Of course, Jamie, anything I can do. What's going on?"

  I told her about my conversation with 'Slick Nick,' (as Susan liked to call him), and the rundown of Becca and Joes' divorce litigation, in all its nastiness.

  "That's quite a story," Susan said. "You've known Becca a while, what's your take on her? Do you think she had anything to do with his death?"

  I thought for a minute. "I don't think she's capable of it. She is genuinely falling apart and she seemed as shocked as the rest of us when Joe turned up dead. She was actually waiting for him to pick up the kids when she found out."

  Then Susan asked a question that caught me off guard. "Did she ever threaten his life?"

  I gasped as I remembered our last court hearing. "I'm afraid she did. She told him that if he tried to take the kids away from her, she would kill him!"

  Susan was unfazed. She'd been a public defender a long time and she'd heard much worse, I was sure of it.

  "Did anyone else hear her threaten him?"

  "Yeah, come to think of it. Judge Marcus' bailiff, Harold, was there and he said he would call security if they didn't calm down."

  "Well, that's not going to help," Susan said, "but at least we know it's out there. Information is power, I always say. You mentioned that Joe moved out of the marital home a month ago, did Becca have a key to his residence?"

  I knew why she was asking. If Becca had a motive to kill Joe, and Nick would certainly think she had one, did she also have the opportunity?"

  "No, Becca definitely didn't have access to his house. They wouldn't give each other the time of day, let alone exchange keys. Becca even had the locks changed on the marital home so Joe couldn't come in."

  My stomach was growling, reminding me that I never did get around to ordering lunch. I'm not usually a person who forgets to eat, I can assure you.

  Susan paused, and then asked, "Suicide? Accident?"

  "No to suicide. Accident is a possibility." I was searching my desk drawers for crackers or anything to eat. All I found were a couple of loose Chiclets. I shoved them in my mouth.

  "One more question, do either of them have a lover? That tends to change
the dynamics."

  I almost swallowed my Chiclets. I'd forgotten about Becca's boyfriend!

  "Yes! Becca has a boyfriend; he used to be a friend of Joe's, but not anymore, of course. His name is Charlie Santoro. I met him a couple of times and he seemed like a mellow guy. He wasn't adding fuel to the fire, if that's what you're asking."

  Susan didn't pull any punches. "Do you think he could be a suspect?

  I thought about it. "No idea. I guess anything's possible. I've been fooled by people before. The mantra of the family law attorney is 'everybody lies.'"

  Susan laughed. "Don't forget you're talking to a criminal attorney. Our clients tell so many lies, they wouldn't know the truth if it bit them in the ass."

  I chuckled along with her.

  "Okay," Susan said, in her no-nonsense way, "here's what you do. Set up the meeting with the state attorney's office and go in with Becca. Don't let her answer any questions except for her name and address. After that, plead the fifth on the grounds that she might incriminate herself. We'll make the state attorney do the work. If charges are filed, then I’ll meet with Becca and she can formally retain me."

  "What else can I do to help?"

  "Do you still have the number for that strange PI? I think we need his services. What was his name?"

  "Duke Broussard. Yeah, he’s strange alright."

  Chapter 17

  Before we wrapped up our conversation, Susan explained what she needed from Duke. Since the burden of proof in a criminal case is 'beyond a reasonable doubt', Duke's role would be to create that doubt, to dig up evidence that pointed away from Becca, in the event she was charged with a crime. Susan recommended that Becca hire Duke right away because the sooner he could clear her name, the better.

  I was dreading making that call to Becca. Don't get me wrong, as a family law attorney, I've delivered plenty of bad news to clients before, but it's never easy. And how exactly do you tell someone they're a murder suspect? Is there a class on that? A website? The only consolation was that Becca would be hearing it from me, and not Nick.

  I wandered into the small kitchen of our office in search of food. My hunger was starting to crowd out all other thoughts; also, I was getting a headache. To my surprise, the Einstein's box I'd brought that morning still had three bagels in it. And there was half a tub of cream cheese, too. Oh happy day! I didn't bother to look for a knife; I just ripped a pumpernickel bagel in half and used it to scoop up the cream cheese and shovel it into my mouth. I'm sure I looked like a wild beast tearing into an antelope, but I didn't care. I was that hungry. Besides, as a vegetarian, I would never eat antelope.

  With my stomach stuffed full of bagels, my reasoning power returned and it told me to call Duke first; that way I could present Becca with a solution at the same time I told her the problem. Also, I needed to know if Duke was available (as if he could resist a damsel in distress and a whodunit all rolled into one); also, what he would charge for his services; and what his plan of attack would be. I was glad I could finally offer Duke a paying job and I was equally glad that I could put off calling Becca.

  When he picked up the phone, I could hear the bar crowd in the background. He had to be hanging out at "The Big Easy;" Duke practically lived there.

  "Well, if it isn't Ms. Esquire, herself." Duke said. "I knew you couldn't stay away. It's that Broussard charm--it gets under your skin."

  "You know, I have been feeling itchy lately. I thought it was a rash, but it must've been that old Broussard charm."

  Duke laughed. "How's it going, Darlin'? Ready to start looking for your daddy again? I have some ideas."

  For a second, I forgot that Duke wasn't up to speed on my dad project. There wasn't much to tell, anyway, but today was not the day.

  "You've been great for helping me with that, Duke, and I really appreciate it, but I put the project on hold for now. I have a divorce case that's turned into a murder investigation and I need the services of a good PI. You in?"

  "Nah. Not unless you need the services of a great PI. I can't be lowering my standards like that, you know. It would ruin my reputation."

  I laughed. "Well, I wouldn't want that on my conscience. This would be a paid gig, just so you know."

  "Well, why didn't you say so? I'll lower my standards if the price is right. Does $75 an hour sound fair? I'll need a retainer up front, maybe $500. Does that work?"

  It sounded like Duke could use the money.

  "I'm sure that will be fine," I said, and then I told him what was going on with Becca.

  "Wow!" he said when I'd finished. "That's a juicy one. When do we get started?"

  "Right after I tell Becca she's a suspect in her husband's murder."

  Chapter 18

  I couldn't put it off any longer; so I dialed Becca's number. A man answered.

  "Becca's phone."

  "Hi, this is Jamie Quinn. May I please speak with Becca?"

  "Oh, hey Jamie, it's Charlie. Becca's sleeping, but she said to wake her if you called. I don't think she slept all weekend. Man, this has been rough on her."

  "I bet it has. You know what, Charlie? Don't wake her, I can call back later. But I wanted to ask you something--had you seen Joe recently?"

  "I used to see him around town and stuff. I always said 'hi'--I mean, I felt bad for the guy--but he just ignored me."

  "Did you two ever argue? Was he nasty to you?" I asked.

  Charlie paused before answering. "Yeah, when he first found out I was seeing Becca, he called and chewed my ass out, said I was a bastard, a son of a bitch, and a few other things. But then he quit talking to me altogether."

  After we'd hung up, I wondered how Charlie and Joe had become friends to begin with. Charlie was low-key, good-looking in a scruffy way, like a surfer dude, or a guy playing Frisbee with his dog on the beach. Joe, on the other hand, was ambitious, high energy, loud. He liked nice clothes and expensive cars and enjoyed being the center of attention. Having built a tech business which he later sold for a million dollars, Joe liked to think he was the next Steve Jobs. As far as friends go, those two seemed completely mismatched. In any case, I couldn't picture Charlie killing anyone. Too much bad karma and stuff, man.

  It was 3:00, but I was done with work for the day. God bless self-employment! I felt like I'd accomplished a lot, or at least enough, and I needed to clear my head. I decided a little exercise with some nature thrown in was just the ticket, so I headed over to TY Park for a long walk. I always keep exercise clothes and sneakers in my car, in case the mood strikes me, but, since it rarely does, the clothes were fresh and clean. If they'd ever been sweated in at all...

  Topeekeegee Yugnee Park, T.Y. for short, lives up to its name, which means "meeting or gathering place" in the Seminole language. At 138 acres, it's an urban park right in the middle of town with a two mile paved loop shared convivially by walkers, joggers, skaters, bikers, and moms lulling their babies to sleep in strollers. Even at mid-afternoon on a Monday, it was brimming with people. The park has a lot to offer: bikes and boats for rent, campgrounds and playgrounds, basketball, volleyball and tennis, and over a dozen picnic shelters for parties and barbecues. But the best thing about T.Y. is Castaway Island, a large water park with slides, pools and a beach.

  Back in high school, I used to work at the concession stand during the summer and despite the fact that it was broiling hot, swarming with kids, and crazy busy all the time, it was the most fun I ever had. But then, I wasn't a lifeguard, which was an exhausting, high pressure job. It's amazing how many parents think they don't have to watch their kids around water just because there's a lifeguard on duty. For about $10/hour, our lifeguards saved at least five kids a day from drowning.

  The fun came after we closed the park at 5:00. That's when the staff could play on the slides and swim in the pools. It was a blast! We enjoyed it even more because we had to wait for it all day. It shouldn't surprise you to hear that a few romances got their start during our daily water games.

  As I walked
the loop, I took a detour over to Castaway Island. Hearing kids squealing and laughing transported me back to those amazing summers. I was standing there, daydreaming, when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

  "Jamie? I can't believe it, you look exactly the same! Don't you recognize me?"

  "Um, sorry, I'm not sure I do," I said to the gorgeous guy standing next to me. He was easily a foot taller than me, with smiling brown eyes, sun bleached hair, and so tan he must've spent a lot of time outdoors. I studied his face for clues; this was really embarrassing. And then I almost keeled over.

  "Kip? Oh my God! It's really you!" My voice was squeaking I was so happy to see him. "Sorry I didn't recognize you, I mean--you've changed so much. When did you get so tall?" I couldn't stop smiling. Or babbling. Kip and I were one of those waterpark romances I told you about. I was crazy about him back then, and I think he felt the same way about me, but when he went away to college, we drifted apart. I still thought about him sometimes, especially when I drove past the park.

  Before I could say another word, he gave me a big hug and scooped me off the ground. And then he laughed and put me back down.

  "Yeah, I had a bit of a growth spurt in college, you know?" He grinned. "It's fantastic to see you, Jamie! How have you been? What are you doing with yourself?"

  "Let's see, I got a degree in English literature, realized I had no marketable skills, and then went to law school. Now, I'm a family law attorney here in Hollywood. What about you?" I couldn't stop staring at him.

  "I took a long and torturous route, myself. I came out of school with an MBA, went straight into the corporate world and hated it. Did a 180, went back to school, and ended up with a job I love, working outdoors where I can worship nature in all her glory." He stopped to kick a soccer ball back to a little boy, who quickly resumed his game.