by Kim Hamilton
Chantel’s dad died? Had I known her father was at death’s door, I never would have given her name to the media. I felt terrible having added to her stress. I made a mental note to apologize to her, or at least send a condolence card.
#
A lot had happened, but Harvey’s murderer remained elusive. I tracked down Howdy Doody to see where things stood with the investigation.
“We’ve charged O’Mallory with the murder,” he said. “I thought you knew that.”
“No, I didn’t. I thought he was being charged with grand theft and kidnapping.”
“We threw in the murder charge, too.”
“Just like that? You’re making a mistake. The real murderer is still out there.”
Not long after I hung up with the detective, I received a call from O’Mallory’s attorney. Now that O’Mallory was on the hot seat for the murder, he’d developed a renewed interest in discovering the real killer. I had the upper hand here. The man who had kidnapped me, assaulted me, and threatened my friends was now seeking my help. I’d be tempted to refuse if it wasn’t for my desire to clear Dawson’s name and get Olivia her insurance money. So I went to see the scumbag.
The prison was like the ones you see in the movies. An institutional building with pasty-faced guards carrying weapons, drunk on power and trying not to look bored. A pimple-faced guard who looked like he wasn’t even old enough to attend prom was posted at the front desk. I glided over, trying to look like I’d done this a dozen times, and signed the clipboard.
“What’re you doing? That clipboard’s for lawyers. This one’s for girlfriends and other visitors.” He pointed to a second clipboard.
I reached into my bag for my business card. “I am a lawyer. I’m here to see Kevin O’Mallory.”
He studied me, trying to reimagine me as a lawyer. I gave him my billboard smile and recognition registered on his face.
“Oh yeah, I know you. I saw that exploding-toilet commercial you did and checked out my toilets right away. Mine were fine, but my Aunt Mae’s was one with the defective part. She was so grateful that we discovered it before her bathroom got blown to pieces.”
“I’m glad I was able to help.” I handed him my business card. “Keep me in mind if you need legal assistance.”
“I’ll call for O’Mallory to be transported to the visitors’ lounge. You can go wait there.” He pointed to a set of barred doors that buzzed as I approached them. I walked through and was met by another guard. “Hey, Larry,” my new friend called out to the second guard. “She’s going back to see O’Mallory. She’s Jessica Snow, that television lawyer.” Larry was unimpressed. He greeted me with a cold stare and told me to follow him.
Visitor’s lounge was a misnomer. There was nothing lounge-like about it. Toward the back was a row of partitioned desktops with clear Plexiglas fronts that divided a similar set of desktops on the other side. A corded phone was located on the left partition wall of each side. Plastic chairs with metal legs were positioned at each desk. There was only one other visitor. A woman who appeared to be in her sixties was looking through the glass at a young man who could have been her son. They were quiet and somber.
To the right were two glassed-in conference-type rooms. I was guided to one of the conference rooms. The decor was also cold and uncomfortable. The large table had a softball-sized eye-hook that was bolted to the center, and the table legs were bolted to the floor. The eye-hook had a set of handcuffs locked onto it. I took my seat at the table. Larry positioned himself outside the door.
I watched O’Mallory as he was escorted down the hall. He seemed to have aged five years since yesterday. The bright-orange prison jumpsuit he was wearing was a startling sign of how far he had fallen. His hands were cuffed in front of him. Larry intercepted O’Mallory from the other guard, brought him into the room, and secured him to the eye-hook on the table by clamping the two sets of cuffs together. There was silence during this process. Larry left the room and positioned himself outside, staring in.
“You must have told them you were representing me. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have been given this room.”
“They knew I was a lawyer. I let them assume the rest.”
“Well played.”
“Look. I’m not going to pretend to be nice to you. I’m still kinda pissed about last night. Why should I help you?”
“You’re the only one who wants to know who really killed Metzger. Don’t you want to clear your boss’s name.”
“Okay, tell me what you’ve held back.”
“I was there that night.”
“The night Harvey was killed?”
He nodded. “I saw Dawson leave in his Mercedes as I arrived. He didn’t see me. I went to have a talk with Metzger, but he wasn’t himself. He was nervous and agitated. I assumed it had to do with something he discussed with Dawson. My visit wasn’t long. He poured himself a bourbon when I arrived and poured a second one as I was leaving.
“What was it you needed to talk to him about?”
“I heard he was spending a lot of time at the Horseshoe, and I wanted to make sure he wasn’t gambling away my money. I didn’t realize he had lost it. But here’s the important thing. There was someone else there that night. The night Harvey was killed.”
“Who?”
“Chantel Devista.”
“Stuart Milligan’s secretary?”
“Could there be more than one?”
“What was she doing there?”
“I saw her there a couple of times when I was going over my portfolio with Harvey. She entered through the side door to the kitchen as I was leaving out the front. She’s dating Maria, the housekeeper.”
My mouth fell open. I hadn’t seen that coming. “So Dawson was there, and you were there, and Chantel was there. Was Maria there?”
“I didn’t see Maria.”
“So, let’s say Chantel murdered Harvey. What was her motive?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t have time to follow that angle. Maybe it had nothing to do with the money. Maybe she was protecting Maria. If Maria is illegal, then maybe Harvey found out and threatened to turn her in. Or maybe Harvey had a thing for Maria and threatened Chantel to keep her hands off. I have no idea. That’s why I need you to look into it.”
Larry came in. “Time’s up.”
O’Mallory looked at me with desperation in his eyes. “Will you please follow up on that angle? Let me know what you find.”
This guy had some nerve calling in a favor. “You’re not in a position to ask me for my help.” I stood to exercise my freedom to leave.
“But you have to help. You’re a lawyer.”
That got a laugh out of Larry.
#
Kari was busy updating our computer files when I returned to the office.
“We’ve never had so many files. Between the stuff you keep bringing in and all the new criminal cases, we’re in uncharted territory. I may need an assistant. I was thinking of getting one of them college interns. They work for free, you know.”
I had done an internship in college during the Fall of my senior year with the legal department of a real-estate investment company. It served to teach me that I didn’t want to work in the legal department of any large company. The lawyers there were strapped to their desks shuffling contracts. There weren’t even any field trips to the property sites. All I did was fetch coffee, store files in the basement, retrieve files from the basement, and pick up the vice president’s dry cleaning. I liked picking up the dry cleaning because it got me out of the building and the cleaners was next to a Quiznos. I picked up lunch there almost every day. I missed Quiznos.
“I don’t have time to think about an intern now. I got a lead on Harvey’s murder and I need your help.”
“What’s up?”
I explained what O’Mallory had told me about Chantel and Maria. I also shared my concern that O’Mallory was still lying, and that he might be trying to pin the murder on someone else. I had several unanswere
d questions but didn’t know where to start.
“We could start here,” Kari said. She shuffled through the mess of files on her desk to pull out a large manila envelope. It had been hand-delivered and had no address, just my name. “Helen dropped this off first thing this morning.”
I opened the envelope and pulled out a small stack of papers. Kari continued. “She said it’s copies of everything that O’Mallory had in his file on Harvey’s murder.”
I leafed through it, looking for the list of investors, which I considered a list of suspects. I knew I wouldn’t find Chantel’s name there. She had a secretary’s salary. I scanned the list, hoping to see a name I might recognize. My second time through, I saw it. It was the name my mother spoke this morning: Marcone.
“Come on,” I said to Kari. “We’re going to a funeral.”
“Why? I hate funerals.”
I explained that Chantel’s stepfather had passed away. “Look,” I said, pointing to his name. “He invested his money with Harvey.”
Kari put the answering service on. I locked the front door and we hustled out the back.
“I’ll drive,” I said.
“Oh no, you won’t. Last time I got in your car, I was attacked by snakes. I’m driving.”
I looked up the funeral location on my cell phone. It was at a church on Roland Avenue, a few minutes up the road. As we drove north, I applied logic to the relevant facts surrounding the murder and churned it all around in my head. Nothing cohesive formed. I was on the cusp of something, but there were a few pieces missing. I was hoping to find one of those missing pieces at the funeral. I wanted to see Chantel and her mother, and Maria. Maybe they’d give something away. It was arguable that a funeral was not the place to carry on an investigation, so I hoped my mother wouldn’t see me.
By the time we got to the church, the service was in full swing. We took a seat in the rear pew and scanned the crowd. Mr. Marcone had been a popular guy. I recognized many of the parents from our Mount Washington neighborhood. And then I spotted Olivia. It shouldn’t have surprised me that she was there. She must have known the Marcones. I could see Chantel up front. Maria and Stuart Milligan sat on either side of her. Where was Mrs. Marcone?
The service dragged on to the point where I needed to get some fresh air. I nudged Kari, who had fallen asleep. She awoke with a loud intake of air. A few heads turned toward us. I signaled for her to follow me. As I pushed the large door open, its metal hinges creaked like a clap of thunder. The music stopped, and this time all heads turned toward us. I caught Olivia’s eye gave her an imploring look and motioned to the door. Kari and I found a shady spot under a dogwood tree. Moments later, Olivia joined us.
“You two sure know how to get attention.” She laughed. “It’s a shame about Mr. Marcone. Poor Chantel.” She lowered her head and made the sign of the cross. “To lose both your parents in the same week. So sad.”
Both her parents! “What happened to Mrs. Marcone?”
“Oh. You don’t know? She’s in hospice care. Not expected to make it through the week.”
I knew right then that it was, in fact, all about the money. On the night of Harvey’s murder, both Marcones were at death’s door and Chantel, as their only child, would stand to inherit everything. She found out that night that her inheritance was gone. Harvey had embezzled all of it.
Before I could share this information, Chantel and Maria came around the corner from the rear of the church. They were rushing out toward the street, arguing. The service wasn’t over yet. Why was she leaving her own father’s funeral?
I signaled for Kari and Olivia to stay put and slinked between cars in the parking lot, moving toward the suspicious duo.
“How could you forget your passport?” Chantel said to Maria.
“It no big deal. We go now. We do smoky smoke, then go to my cousin’s house, get passport. It’s on the way. Two minutes. Done. Then we fly away.”
The phrase “we fly away” caught my attention and made my pulse race. But what did she mean by do “smoky smoke”? It seemed like an odd time to get high, but at least that would slow them down.
Chantel’s Acura was parked at the curb. They hopped in. Chantel backed out of her spot. I caught a glimpse of the rear cargo space in her vehicle and counted five suitcases of varying sizes. The Acura took off heading north on Roland Avenue.
Olivia and Kari caught up to me. “What’s going on?” Olivia asked.
“Get in the car,” I said. “I’ll explain on the way.” We piled into Kari’s car. I told her to follow Chantel’s.
We rocketed up Roland Avenue. I brought Olivia up to speed on what we had learned this morning. “I think they’re going to Chantel’s house to get high, then pick up Maria’s passport and head to the airport. The back of her car was loaded with suitcases.”
Olivia’s voice was soft and fragile, “Maria?” Then it rose. “Maria? My Maria?” Her volume reaching the level of her disbelief. “How could she?”
“We don’t know the level of her involvement,” I offered in consolation.
Kari shook her head. “What I don’t understand is why would they stop to get high if they’re on the run?”
“Maria’s afraid of flying,” Olivia said. “My guess is she’s smoking to calm down before the flight.”
Kari shrugged. “At least that should buy us some time. We gotta stop them.”
I tried to reach Detective Howdy Doody but got his voicemail.
I tried calling Chip. He had the weight of the State’s Attorney’s office behind him. Maybe he could convince the police that the killers were getting away. I pulled up his number and hit the green button. Damn. I got his voicemail. I left a detailed message and disconnected.
Then I called Helen and explained the situation to her. She said she would keep trying to get through to Detective Jones.
While my heart and mind were racing, our car was crawling along. Traffic on Roland Avenue was heavy. It was the last week in August and the first week back to school. We were caught up in the gridlock that accompanied school dismissal time. I could see Chantel’s Acura two cars ahead, stopped at the light.
“This isn’t a high-speed chase,” Kari said. “We’ve got time for more calls. Why don’t you call 911?”
“Because they won’t believe us.”
My phone rang. It was Chip. “Hey, Jess. I got your message. What’s up?”
“I know who killed Harvey Metzger. We’re following them now. I think they’re heading to a house on South Road in Mount Washington, but they won’t be there long. We tried to reach Detective Jones, but he didn’t answer his cell. I don’t know what else to do. We need some authority here soon or they’ll be long gone.”
“Give me the address and I’ll see what I can do.”
I relayed the information. “Thanks, Chip.”
“Be careful. Wait for the police. Don’t try to stop them. If you’re right, they killed one person. One more won’t make any difference to them.”
Chip was right. I couldn’t confront them myself, but I couldn’t let them leave, either. I needed some muscle. I called Franco.
By way of greeting, he said, “Don’t tell me you’re suing me again.”
“Funny. No, I need your help. This is serious. I found out who killed Harvey. There are two of them. I need them to be detained until I can get the police here. I wondered, you know, since you owe me and all for getting your money back, if you could send Elvis and Paulie to delay their departure until the authorities get here?”
“What you’re asking me to do is illegal. It’s called false imprisonment.”
“Sure. I figured your guys would be good at it.”
He laughed, a knowing, appreciative laugh, and asked me for the location.
We had finally inched our way through the school traffic and reached the Northern Parkway intersection. The Acura was in the far left turning lane. We remained out of sight, two car lengths behind, as they continued to travel west across Falls Road and up
into the Mount Washington neighborhood. Kari eased up on the gas and fell back a little so they wouldn’t spot us. Chantel pulled into her driveway. We parked a few houses down where we could still see the front door.
Helen called. “I keep getting Detective Jones’s voicemail. Any luck on your end?”
“Nothing solid. Chip said he’d see what he could do, but that could take a while. I’m not taking any chances. I’ve got Franco sending his bodyguards over to detain Chantel and Maria until the police get here.”
“Give me the address. This is going to make a great news story.”
I gave her our location and told her to park away from the house.
“Now what?” Kari asked.
“Now we wait.”
We didn’t have to wait long. Elvis and Paulie arrived in a black Yukon and pulled up next to my car.
“That was fast,” I said.
“We was over at Pimlico,” Elvis said. “Paulie likes to play the horses.”
“That’s the house. Two doors up. The one with the wraparound porch. They’re two women in their late twenties. It’s possible that one of them is armed, maybe both. So be careful.”
“That them?” Elvis asked.
I followed his eyes to the Marcone’s front porch. Chantel and Maria were walking down the steps. “Yup. That’s them.”
“Go wait in your car.”
Elvis and Paulie took off and blocked the driveway with their SUV, which dwarfed Chantel’s Acura. The rest happened at rapid speed. With weapons drawn casually at their sides, Elvis and Paulie approached opposite car doors and hauled out Chantel and Maria like they were rag dolls. The men spun their captives around, pulled their arms behind their backs, and secured their wrists with zip-ties. Each one was frisked. Paulie used a third zip-tie to shackle them together to the front lamppost.
Once Chantel and Maria were contained, we approached. Chantel was squirming. Her expression was venomous. Maria sat with her head lowered. Her lips were moving in a silent prayer. The sound of sirens perforated the quiet of the neighborhood.
Elvis and Paulie took off before I could thank them. Our two prisoners had opposing reactions to seeing us. “Jess, you bitch lawyer. I’m gonna sue your ass for this,” Chantel said.
