Sleuthing Women II

by Lois Winston

  “Okay. I guess.” She blinked back tears. “I’m kind of numb still.”

  “Of course you are. Why don’t you tell me a little about your husband’s . . . about his death, and why the police might think you had something to do with it.”

  “Warren, that’s my husband, he was older than me and he had a bad heart.” She bit her lower lip. “He had a lot of health problems actually. But it had to be his heart because the other things weren’t serious.”

  “He had a heart attack?”

  “That’s what I assume. They haven’t told me much.”

  I was confused. “But you said they suspect he was murdered?”

  She nodded. “It seems like that anyway. It’s mostly the questions they ask, like they don’t believe anything I tell them. And you should see the way they look at me.” She pressed her carefully manicured fingertips together. “They searched our house, too, and took a lot of stuff.”

  Questions were spinning around in my head but I could see that getting a cohesive story from Ariel was going to take some time, and patience. Searching the home of a deceased person was not standard procedure.

  “Why do the police suspect foul play?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why would you want to kill your husband?”

  She raised her chin. “I didn’t want to. I loved him.”

  “What I meant was, why would the police believe you wanted to kill him? They must feel you had some motive, some reason to want him dead.”

  “I don’t know that, either. Maybe it’s because we had a fight?”

  “A physical fight?” I wondered if there’d been a history of domestic violence.

  “No, but one of our neighbors heard us yelling. She’s the sort of busybody who’d tell them.” Ariel had full, bee-sting lips, the sort in vogue among the Hollywood set, and they were glossed today in deep pink. Her pout was stunning. “We’ve been arguing a lot lately, what with the baby and all.”

  “You have a baby?” That was also a subject that’s been on my mind lately.

  She shook her head. “I’m pregnant, though. Almost five months.” Her voice broke. “And now I’m a widow. Does it make any sense I’d want that?”

  “Not at first blush.”

  “We hadn’t actually planned on a baby but it happened. I’m really excited about it. I wanted Warren to be, too, but he thought he was too old to be a father.”

  “How old was he?”

  “Sixty-four.”

  I tried to keep my expression neutral. When Ariel had said her husband was older I hadn’t imagined a difference of quite so many years. I pictured Bryce with his hard body and sexy smile, and was tempted to ask what an attractive thirty-something woman would see in a man thirty years her senior. But I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut. Most of the time.

  “Did he want you to have an abortion?”

  “No. He sort of hinted at it at first, but I think he was gradually getting used to the idea of a baby.” She crossed her legs. “It wasn’t just that. Warren seemed upset and short tempered. I could tell he was worried about something. I assumed it was the baby, but we were working it out.”

  “Walk me through what happened,” I said. “When did he die, how did you learn about it, that sort of thing.”

  “Last Friday, that’s when he died. Or maybe Thursday night. But I discovered him Friday morning.”

  When she didn’t elaborate I prompted her to continue.

  “I went out to a movie Thursday night,” Ariel explained. “Warren doesn’t much like going to the movies and I knew he wouldn’t want to see a romantic chick flick. Besides he wanted to watch the playoffs on television so it worked nicely for both of us. When I got home he was already in bed.” She paused. “He wasn’t an alcoholic or anything but he often drank more than I thought was healthy, and then he’d fall asleep early. So I didn’t think anything of it. He was still in bed when I left for the gym the next morning.”

  “Could you tell if he was breathing?”

  She looked out the window. “We sleep in different rooms most nights. He snores like crazy and I’m a light sleeper. His door was shut and I didn’t want to wake him, so I don’t know if he was alive then or not. But when I got back home and he still wasn’t up, I began to worry. I tried to wake him, and when I couldn’t, I called 911.” Her voice broke and her eyes filled with tears. “I think on one level I knew he was already dead but it seemed so unreal I couldn’t believe it.”

  “How terrible for you,” I said with genuine sympathy. Death of a loved one is always tough, but to come upon it face-to-face like that had to be particularly upsetting.

  I was still full of questions but rather than push for more details right then, I decided to wrap it up. I suspected the shock of her husband’s death meant she wasn’t thinking clearly and might well be overreacting.

  “If you’d like, I’ll talk to the authorities,” I told her. “See what I can learn. They may not suspect you at all.”

  She nodded. “Yes, please. That would be a relief.”

  “For now, I’ll need you to sign papers giving me authority to talk to them on your behalf. And I’ll need a retainer.” This was always an uncomfortable subject for me, but a necessary one. “A small retainer until we know if you’re actually going to need representation. Will that be a problem for you?”

  “Not at all.” She retrieved a checkbook from her purse. “My husband made sure I’d be provided for if anything happened to him. He worried about that because of his age.”

  I pulled out the standard forms and gave her time to complete them. When she finished we shook hands again and I walked her to the door.

  “I’ll be in touch soon, and hopefully I’ll have a better understanding of where things stand. In the meantime don’t hesitate to call me if the police want to question you further.”

  Back at my desk, I tried to figure out what was bothering me. I didn’t feel any instant rapport with Ariel but I’d represented any number of clients where that was the case, including some clients I’ve adamantly disliked. I decided I simply didn’t know enough about the situation yet to make sense of it.

  I started a case file and reviewed the intake sheet, noting the address Ariel had listed—in Glenwood, a country club community of upper-end homes just east of Oakland. That fit with the large diamond and the older husband.

  But what got my attention was the name she’d listed in the referral section at the bottom of the page—Sabrina Ashford, my older sister.

  This was going to be interesting.

  TWO

  As usual, Loretta went crazy when I walked through the door. Her tail whipped back and forth, and her whole body wiggled with excitement Springer Spaniel style. It was a greeting that never failed to give me a lift and put a smile on my face. I sometimes feel undeserving of such adoration, but mostly I try not to overthink things that make me happy. Which may have been part of the reason I was having trouble giving Bryce a definitive answer.

  I intended to call Sabrina the minute I got home but Loretta was so persuasive I took her for a walk and called my sister en route.

  “Hi, Kali. How are things?” I could hear the familiar clink of ice in the background. Sabrina was a woman who loved her evening cocktail.

  “Pretty good. How are the kids?”

  “Great. Well, not on a day-to-day basis of course, but overall yeah, things are going well.”

  Last year Sabrina and her husband had taken in our niece and were raising her as well as their own two sons. A houseful of teenagers had to be a challenge but Sabrina seemed to embrace it, which was something of a wonder to me since she has shirked responsibility for as long as I can remember. But the arrangement allowed me to enjoy the energy of youth from a distance, with occasional visits, which seemed a pretty good way to go. I was grateful that we’d recently mended the differences that kept us apart for so many years.

  We talked about family for a bit and then I asked about Ariel.

  “Ariel?�
�

  “Ariel Larson. She’s a new client, and listed you as a referral.”

  “Me?”

  This did not bode well. “A buxom blonde in her thirties,” I hinted. “A bit of a flashy dresser. Her husband died recently in circumstances that have the police asking questions.”

  “Oh,” Sabrina said as recognition dawned, “that must Ginny’s cousin. You met Ginny, I think, last time you were here.”

  I’ve met any number of Sabrina’s friends but they’re all a blur. Bubbly moms with perfect teeth and SUVs full of kids.

  “Anyway,” Sabrina continued. “Ginny was telling me about her cousin’s troubles and how she needed to find an attorney. They think she might have killed him, right? When she said her cousin lived in the Bay Area I mentioned your name. Was that a bad thing?”

  “No, not really. I was just curious.”

  “Good. I really hope you can help her, Kali. I owe Ginny too many favors to count.”

  “Did she say anything else about Ariel?”

  “Not that I recall. Is there something you’d like me to ask her?”

  “Not at this point.” Loretta made a sudden dash toward a scampering squirrel, tugging so hard on the leash I almost lost my balance. “I don’t know for sure that the cops even have their eye on her. She’s upset but that’s understandable under the circumstances.”

  We talked for another few minutes and were saying our goodbyes when Sabrina suddenly remembered something Ginny had said. “I doubt if it’s important but Ginny told me Ariel had always joked it was easier to fall in love with a rich man than a poor one. Ginny was a little envious, I think. I take it Ariel took the axiom to heart.”

  “Unless he spent his entire fortune on her ring. I’ve never seen a diamond as large as hers.”

  “Speaking of which,” Sabrina said with a chuckle, “when will I see yours?”

  “Not you, too! I don’t bow to pressure.”

  “That’s for sure. But Bryce is a pretty good catch, and you two get along so well. I just don’t want you to blow it.”

  She didn’t add “again,” but I suspected she might have thought it. “Take care, Kali. Let me know if you’d like me to ask Ginny anything.”

  ~*~

  The next morning I called Jared at the office and asked him to see what he could dig up about both Ariel and Warren Larson. Jared is technically my associate, and his legal skills are as good as anyone’s, but it’s his nose for digging up stuff that most endears him to me.

  Then I headed over to the Glenwood police department to see what I could learn.

  The desk sergeant directed me to Detective Farley, who luckily had time to see me.

  Farley was an older man, solidly built and with a full head of gray hair. He looked like the kind of guy who might play the active grandpa in a commercial for senior vitamins.

  “Have a seat,” he said when I’d introduced myself. “So Mrs. Larson got herself a lawyer, did she? I suppose it makes sense, but frankly she didn’t strike me as clever enough to think of that. So, what can I do for you?”

  “I’m a little vague about what happened and why you consider Warren Larson’s death a homicide.”

  Farley stroked his chin. “At the moment we’re treating it as a suspicious death. We should be getting the coroner’s report back soon.”

  “In what way suspicious?”

  “A couple of things. He was found in bed but there are signs that the body had been moved after he died. His positioning wasn’t natural. Plus his night clothes were askew.”

  “Askew?”

  “The pajama top was buttoned up wrong and the pants were twisted.”

  Which might have meant only that he’d drunk too much before going to bed. “Any signs of trauma on his body?”

  “Nothing enough to kill him, but there were multiple abrasions and a nasty cut on his forehead.”

  Again, things that could be explained by intoxicated clumsiness, but I was beginning to see why the police weren’t immediately writing it off as a natural death. That didn’t mean it wasn’t, but there was enough unusual about it to warrant a closer look.

  “And you are focusing on his wife as possibly being culpable?”

  “The investigation is ongoing but yes, she seems a likely suspect. There were no indications of forced entry to the home, and no signs of a struggle.”

  “Other than the abrasions and the cut on his forehead,” I reminded him.

  Farley dismissed the remark with a wave of his hand. “They are indicative of the body having been moved, not of a struggle.”

  A hasty conclusion on his part? I wasn’t going to argue the point but I wasn’t ready to accept his word for it either. “Why would Ariel kill her husband? She appears to have loved him.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” Farley tapped his fingers against his desk. “A pretty little thing like her, married to an older man in failing health. Could be she felt deprived, if you know what I mean.”

  “Actually, I don’t. Are you suggesting she was seeing other men? That she decided murder was easier than divorce?”

  He leaned back in his chair and gave me a condescending smile. “Listen, Ms. O’Brien. I’ve been in this job a long time. You learn to read people. You develop a sort of seventh sense about these things. That woman is not the sweet innocent she appears to be.”

  Goodbye amiable grandfather. The guy was a flaming jerk.

  “Any evidence that she was seeing other men?”

  “Neighbor says she’s a bit of a flirt.”

  “That’s it? She’s a bit of a flirt?” It was all I could do to keep from rolling my eyes.

  “Marrying an older man with money can set a gal up for life,” Farley said, with a knowing look. “Especially once he’s no longer around.”

  A jerk, and maybe a bitter one as well. I wondered if he spoke from personal experience. “Was there supporting evidence in any of the items you seized from the home?”

  “You’ll have to talk to the D.A. about that once we file charges—if we do.” He stood, signaling the end of the interview.

  “One last question,” I said. “Are you considering anyone else as a possible suspect?”

  “At the moment, no. But it’s an ongoing investigation.”

  So Ariel wasn’t imagining things. She was the prime suspect in her husband’s possible murder.

  THREE

  Jared welcomed me back to the office with a “Hey, boss”— his usual and rather inappropriate greeting. I’ve tried to break him of the habit, but short of firing him I’ve run out of ideas. And he’s much too valuable, and likable, to fire.

  “Hey, yourself. Were you able to find anything on either of the Larsons?”

  He reached for a pad of paper and began reading his notes. “Warren was a CPA, worked for an accounting firm until he retired last year. He lost his first wife to cancer ten years ago, married the current Mrs. Larson almost three years ago. Do you want the exact dates?”

  “This is fine for now. What about Ariel, what’s her background?”

  “Before her marriage she worked as a hairdresser, most recently at an upscale salon in Orinda. She quit not long after getting engaged. Got herself a sugar daddy I guess.”

  I glared at Jared. He was no Detective Farley but their minds seemed to gravitate to the same misogynistic cesspool. “I would guess there aren’t many millionaire accountants,” I told him.

  “Probably not. But Warren Larson was also an heir to the McGill money.”

  “The auto parts people?”

  “Right. The company was founded by his grandfather. Warren’s father took the business public and made a fortune. Warren and his sister, Nora Taylor, are the heirs, although neither of them currently has any ties to the business.”

  “Wow.”

  “And ‘well done, Jared,’” he added none too humbly. “Do you think she killed him for his money?”

  “It certainly presents a possible motive.”

  “A dicey trial.” Jared rubbed his
hands together theatrically and grinned. “We are going to represent her, aren’t we?”

  “I’m feeling a little iffy about the woman, to tell you the truth. But I didn’t much warm to the detective in charge, either. Seems like his mind is made up and he’s not interested in looking further.”

  We’d wandered into my office at this point and I sat while Jared perched on the corner of my desk. Another habit I’ve not been able to break him of.

  “I don’t suppose you have anything on Warren’s sister?” I asked.

  “You think wrong, boss. Nora Larson Taylor is younger by sixteen years. She’s in the social pages a lot—opera and symphony openings, that sort of thing. She’s married with two kids in their late teens.”

  “Well done, Jared.”

  He bowed. “Thank you. I’m here to serve. So what’s next?”

  I filled him in on what I’d learned from Detective Farley. “Let’s try to fill in some background. We’ll make a list of people to talk to—neighbors, associates, friends that sort of thing—divide it up, and reassess the situation in a day or two.”

  I took the neighbors and Warren’s sister. Jared would talk to Warren’s business associates and see what more he could learn about Ariel. The retainer I’d received from her wasn’t large, not anywhere near as large as would be required for a full-blown trial, but it would easily cover a couple more days of investigation.

  We’d recently settled a large case days before the trial was set to begin, and while there were several ongoing client matters, nothing pressing was on the horizon. The timing couldn’t have been better.

  I drove out to Glenwood that afternoon and parked a block away from the Larson home. I wanted to walk around a bit and get a feel for the area before hitting the houses immediately neighboring theirs.

  The word that first came to mind was serene. The streets were quiet, and largely empty of traffic—vehicular and pedestrian. The houses were well maintained, the yards open and manicured. I could hear the birds chirping, and every so often, the barking of a dog who’d no doubt been aroused from a peaceful afternoon nap by my footsteps.