by Diana Orgain
I moved from the fridge to the freezer.
Jackpot.
I’d stockpiled frozen meals that had been on sale. I threw a chicken cordon bleu pasta dish into the microwave.
After eating the chicken, I threw in a Southwestern style cheese enchilada dish and topped it off with the apple for dessert. Oh, well, at least the apple was healthy.
The phone rang, interrupting my calorie counting.
Jim’s voice filled the line. “Honey?”
“Jim! Are you on your way home?”
“I’m still in jail.”
The frozen meals turned to stone in my stomach. “For how long?”
“I don’t know. The officer in charge isn’t very chatty. They told me I had one phone call. Can you call an attorney?”
“How can they hold you? George said he isn’t going to press any charges.”
“They’re charging me with assault with a deadly weapon. At first they told me they were releasing me, but then they came back and said I had one phone call. I’m really sorry, Kate. I hate putting you through this.”
“Assault with a deadly weapon! What weapon?”
“It doesn’t have to be a gun or anything, it can be your hands. The cop says he saw me strangling George. I need you to call me an attorney.”
“Who should I call?”
“I don’t know. Start with the phone book.”
“All right. Don’t worry, honey. I’m on it.”
“I shouldn’t have let George get to me like that. I should have kept my cool. Whatever George says or does, you and Laurie are my family. I can’t do anything to jeopardize you guys, like blow my top and land up in jail. I’m a father now.”
I heard noises in the background. It sounded like someone was rushing Jim off the phone.
“Gotta go, honey,” he said, hanging up.
I broke down in tears. It felt like something was tightening around my heart. I went to Laurie’s bassinet and picked her up. Smelling her sweet scent dried my eyes. I had to be strong for her. Fix things for her. Bring her daddy home.
I dialed Galigani’s hospital room. He had to know a good criminal defense attorney.
If someone had told me just a few short weeks ago that I’d be searching out an attorney for my husband, I’d have told him or her they were crazy. Now I hoped I wasn’t the crazy one.
<><><>
Galigani’s phone rang and rang.
He’d had the open heart surgery this morning. The nurse who took my message told me he had gotten through it fine and was still in the intensive care unit. They expected to upgrade his condition in the morning.
I settled Laurie into the baby carrier and hopped online, hoping to find an attorney. I did a local search and pulled some profiles. There were several attorneys with nearby addresses. One had his picture on his website. He appeared to be in his late fifties and was smoking a pipe in the photograph. Something about the picture made him look capable.
The pipe maybe?
I glanced at my watch, almost 6 P.M.
Please be working late tonight, Mr. Crane.
I punched his phone number into my cordless.
“Charles Crane here. How can I help you?” the voice crackled.
I filled him in as best I could, asking him to meet him at the police station. He told me to relax, said it sounded like Jim could be released with a few phone calls.
<><><>
I waited for Mr. Crane to call me back. I paced. I played with Laurie. I did laundry and even dusted. Boy, had things around the house been neglected!
I fed and bathed Laurie. I did everything I could to keep myself busy.
Finally, I lay down on the bed and stared at the phone, willing it to ring.
It didn’t.
It was 9 P.M. I was exhausted. I put Laurie into the bassinet. She fell sound asleep. No fuss at all. Of course. Since I couldn’t sleep, she’d find a way to peacefully sleep through the night. Where was the justice in the world?
I got online and caught up with e-mail. There was a message from Paula in my in-box:
Girl! What do you mean Michelle Dupree was murdered? And her husband, too? I can’t leave you alone for a minute without you getting yourself all caught up in a drama! I miss you. I haven’t heard from the Galigani guy, but don’t worry. If I do, I’ll tell him both you and Jim were at my place until all hours of the night. Just like in high school with our all-night parties! Can’t believe Michelle is gone.
I loved the picture of Laurie. She looks exactly like Jim, doesn’t she? I hope we’ll be coming home soon. David is getting all sorts of flak from his firm, and I really want to be home to start my own business. Be an entrepreneurial mommy! Oh that and the baby is due soon! Ha! Not that soon—four months—but who’s counting?
Love, love, love you guys! Write soon.
She had attached instructions on how to use the breast pump. Well, instructions was a relative term; it was a hand-sketched cartoon which she had scanned. The drawing showed me with boobs the size of basketballs attached to a monster machine. I responded to her e-mail and updated her on the additional hysteria in my life, including Jim’s incarceration, George’s visit, and my very first client.
The phone rang.
I leapt for it.
“Mrs. Connolly?” I heard a little puff in the background.
His pipe. Crane.
“I’ve been in touch with the police. I’m afraid they’re not going to release your husband tonight.”
“Why?”
“There’s an unresolved homicide they’re looking into.”
“I know. Brad, and there’s also Michelle Avery, but what does that have to do with Jim?”
“Well, yes, there’s those. But I meant another one. Svetlana Avery.”
My postpartum belly fell to the floor.
•CHAPTER FIFTEEN•
The Fifth Week—Head Held High
I tossed and turned the entire night. I kept reaching out across the bed for Jim, only to be jarred awake by the coldness of the empty sheets. Of course, since I was awake, Laurie was asleep. I checked her breathing a few times and found the rhythm of the rise and fall of her chest soothing.
Svetlana murdered? Mr. Crane had told me she had been shot, killed by a 9mm luger bullet. Ballistics had determined that the bullet had been fired from the same gun that had killed Brad.
Same gun.
George’s gun. Or one like it. But what were the odds of that? It had to be George’s gun.
Had to be the gun registered to Jim’s father. How could we prove that Jim had never had possession of the gun?
I didn’t want to think of Jim’s lack of an alibi for June fifteenth. I didn’t want to think about the police possibly moving forward with a trial against Jim. I didn’t want to think about my bed being empty, trying to raise Laurie on my own.
I thought, instead, of fighting like hell to get the love of my life out of jail. Fighting like hell to find the real murderer. Keep your mind on what you want, Kate, and off what you don’t want, I reminded myself.
I needed to find the murderer. I needed to get Jim off the hook and to launch my new career. I had no option.
At 4 A.M. I fed Laurie. She immediately went back to sleep. I got up and made coffee. I reviewed my to-do list from the day before and modified it.
To Do:
1. Free Jim.
2. Interview Kiku (bring own water!).
3. Call Winter Henderson re: hippie chick alibi.
4. Find Brad and/or Michelle’s and/or Svetlana’s killer.
5. Tummy time!!! (in progress).
6. Make OB appointment.
7. Stop being rude.
It took me a while to understand my Stop being rude entry. Then I finally remembered the thank-you cards.
What the hell. It was four-thirty in the morning; may as well start somewhere. I completed the thank-you cards and fell into an exhausted sleep. Laurie woke me at 7 A.M. with hungry cries and I figured then was as good a time as any to
begin my day.
<><><>
Laurie and I waited in a stark white room to see Jim. There was a rectangular table in the center with four chairs around it and an all-too-familiar two-way mirror hanging from the wall. Jim appeared, escorted by a deputy sheriff. Jim was dressed in an orange jumpsuit, which immediately brought me to tears.
His face broke into a sad smile. “You don’t think it’s my color?” He embraced Laurie and me. “It’s so good to see you guys. I had an awful night.”
“Me, too. Couldn’t sleep.”
The deputy sheriff retreated out of the room, presumably to watch us through the mirror, giving us a false sense of privacy.
Jim absently brushed my hair off my face. “You look exhausted. Did you talk to my attorney?”
“He called me last night. He’s meeting us here at nine.”
Jim pulled a chair out for me. “So you heard about Svetlana Avery?”
I nodded, sitting. “What do you think happened?”
Jim sat next to me and rested his hand on my thigh. “All I could gather is that she was shot.”
“She must have known something. When I told her about Michelle’s death, she nearly passed out. She told me she had a migraine coming on. It seemed odd to me at the time, but maybe she was afraid.”
Jim looked surprised. “When did you even meet with her?”
“The other day. She called the house.”
“Why did she call us?”
“Well, actually, I called her, but never mind that.”
Jim looked unconvinced. “You think she knew who killed Brad and Michelle?”
“Why else would she end up dead?”
Jim reached for my hand. “You can’t investigate anymore, Kate. I can’t stand the thought of anything happening to you.”
“I have to. You’re in jail.”
“Leave it to the pros, honey. This Crane guy will figure it out. He sounded pretty confident last night when I spoke with him.”
As if on cue, the door to the meeting room opened and Charles Crane appeared, escorted by the same deputy. The deputy waited for Mr. Crane to settle his briefcase onto the table and nod before closing the door.
Mr. Crane had a sweater wrapped around his shoulders and an unlit pipe between his teeth. He looked like his photo. He was small in stature with silver highlights in his dark hair.
He introduced himself as he took a seat across from us. “Not to sound insensitive, Mr. Connolly, but do we need to have our conversation in private?” Crane glanced in my direction.
“Anything you want to discuss with me, you can do so in front of my wife.”
Mr. Crane nodded, clearing his throat. “As you’re aware, you’ve been charged with assault with a deadly weapon, for fighting with your brother. The victim, George Connolly, is unavailable. Or, in other words, has not stepped forward to press charges. Therefore, if the case is to be presented to the DA, it will most likely be deemed ‘insufficient grounds for arrest’ and the case will be dropped.”
I rocked Laurie back and forth in my arms, trying to dissipate my nervousness. “So, they’re going to let Jim go?”
“Under other circumstances he would have already been released, but homicide left a request for inquiry under the name ‘Connolly’,” Crane said.
Jim exhaled. “When the cops booked me, they saw my last name and had to hold me so that McNearny could talk to me, right?”
Crane blinked his affirmation.
“You talked to McNearny?” I asked. “What did he want to know?”
Jim shrugged. “About George. When I’d seen him last, where he was staying and what he was doing, who he was friends with. All that kind of stuff.”
Crane tapped his unlit pipe. “Once the police have you in custody, they like to hold you as long as legally possible. Make you nervous, hope anything you’ve conveniently forgotten about your brother might be remembered.”
Jim rubbed at his bloodshot eyes. “I really don’t know anything—”
“I do. Well, a little.” I filled them in on my conversation with George the previous day, including the cell phone number he’d given me.
“This may help,” Crane said. “If we can bring George in, it will take the pressure off your husband. The police don’t consider Jim a serious suspect, they’re just trying to squeeze information out of him.”
“That’s a relief,” I said.
“But there’s bad news, too.” Crane continued. “I’m told they want to have you participate in a lineup this afternoon, Mr. Connolly. They say they have an eyewitness who saw a man leaving Svetlana’s apartment yesterday afternoon.”
“That’s not a problem. I can do the lineup. I never even met the woman and I was nowhere near her apartment. Well, actually, I can’t say that. What I can say is that I don’t even know where she lives. I was with Kate all morning at Pier 23.”
“Unfortunately, we don’t have a choice in the lineup. You have to do it. I wish you didn’t. You don’t know how many times people mistake someone’s identity.”
I sighed and pressed my head into Jim’s shoulder. He squeezed my hand. “Everything is going to be fine, honey.”
We looked at Crane for reassurance. He grimaced. “Is there much of a resemblance between you and your brother?”
<><><>
I left the station feeling agitated and distressed. I needed to stay busy in order to keep myself from turning into a nervous wreck about Jim’s situation.
First thing, I dialed Jim’s office and told them he was still too sick to go into work. Next, I decided I should see the woman, Kiku, who had the appointment with Galigani. Her apartment was near San Francisco State University. Parking would be a unique challenge.
As I circled around her building, I reflected on the lineup.
Jim and George did look alike; they had the same coloring and handsome features. But Jim was almost a full head taller than George. I prayed that would account for something. Then again we didn’t know anything about the description of the man leaving Svetlana’s place. It could have been anybody. Maybe it wasn’t George, after all.
I found parking close by and silently thanked the parking gods or goddesses, then threw in a prayer for Jim for good measure.
I rang the bell. A heavily pregnant woman wrapped in a red kimono answered the door. She was all of about four feet tall. Okay, maybe five feet, but barely that. The baby extended from her abdomen as though she had slipped a basketball under her kimono. Her pregnant belly was much more pronounced than mine had ever been, even when I was nine months along.
Maybe she’d have a boy. Could the old wives’ tale be true, about boys extending outward and girls curling around?
“Hi, sorry to disturb you. Are you Kiku?”
She nodded, resting her hands on her belly.
“I’m Kate Connolly. Did you have an appointment with Investigator Galigani today?”
“Yes,” Kiku said with a heavy Japanese accent.
“Unfortunately, he’s in the hospital. Open heart surgery.”
Kiku’s face creased with the appropriate amount of concern one usually displays when hearing about someone else’s misfortune.
Should I go so far as to say Galigani sent me?
Before I could decide, Kiku opened the door and motioned Laurie and me inside.
Her apartment was small. We entered straight into the living room. I could see into the tiny kitchen. There was a door to the left, which I assumed led to the bedroom. The place was sparsely decorated in soft feminine tones, and I could tell by the couch and the paintings that she had expensive taste.
She motioned me toward the sofa. I sat down, placing Laurie’s bucket next to me.
Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to bring Laurie along. But this woman was pregnant. She couldn’t be a murderer, right?
Kiku admired Laurie. “Beautiful baby girl. Big blue eyes!”
“Yours will be beautiful, too. When are you due?”
“Soon. Soon.”
We s
miled at each other as Kiku reached out and stroked Laurie’s little foot. “Tell me, was labor difficult?”
It seemed odd that for nine months all I had thought about was Laurie’s arrival and the upcoming labor. Stressing out about how I would handle everything. And yet now, one month later, I had hardly given labor a second thought.
I looked at Kiku’s pregnant belly. “Don’t worry about it. It’s really not that bad, not like you’re imagining. But I had the epidural, so I guess some people would say that’s cheating.”
After opting for pain relief during labor, I justified my choice by comparing the epidural with modern transportation. If someone said to me, “Women have been having babies without any pain medication since the beginning of time,” my response was, “Yeah? And they also walked everywhere, because they didn’t have a car. Now we have cars and pain medication. So, guess what? I had the epidural and we drove to the hospital.” People didn’t bring up the epidural after that.
“Tea?” she asked.
“Sure.”
Kiku waddled to the kitchen. I dug out my notebook from Laurie’s diaper bag and reviewed my notes.
The note “next time interviewing suspect bring own water” stared me in the face.
Oops.
I’d forgotten to pack water. Writing things down didn’t help if I didn’t read them in time. When was my memory going to come back?
I glanced around the living room. Kiku appeared to be living alone.
Could she have been Brad’s other woman? She was short, whereas Michelle and Svetlana were both tall. Kiku was definitely in their league where looks were concerned. Her dark hair shone brightly and her complexion was flawless. Svetlana and Kiku were both immigrants. Maybe Brad had a weakness for . . . what? Accents?
A baby on the way?
Could it be Brad’s?
If he’d been expecting a child with Kiku, it would give him a strong motive to leave Michelle. Galigani suspected his murderer was the other woman, but could five-foot Kiku have killed him? Shot him, maybe. But ditch his body in the bay? How? Could she have had the strength? And why? Lover’s tiff?
And with Brad dead, what motive would she have had for murdering Michelle and Svetlana?
Although the women were not dumped, only Brad. Did this mean two murderers?
