by Frank Zafiro
“I loved you for a long time,” she said, her voice quiet but strong. Despite the tears, her voice did not shake. “I was there for you after Karl. I tried to be there for you after Amy Dugger.”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice dropping to a whisper to match hers. “Well, I remember being there for you once or twice, too.”
She sniffed in disgust and wiped her eyes. “But you screwed that up, too, didn’t you? And you know why?”
“I don’t need you tell me.”
She ignored my comment. “I’ll tell you why. Because it was always about how sorry you were feeling about yourself. Nothing else mattered in the world except poor Stef and –”
“What about you?” I interrupted. “Huh? Always worried about how people saw you, how they were judging you? Always career, career, career. There was no space in your life for anyone, Katie. Not me, not anyone.”
“That’s not true.”
“Really? Who are you with now?”
She didn’t reply right away, which was all the answer I needed. “That’s none of your bus—”
“No one,” I said. “You’re with no one, because there’s no room for anyone. There’s only room for your career. So if you want to blame me for throwing a pity party and ruining us, okay. But don’t act like you didn’t do your part.”
She took in my words, then shook her head. “I don’t give a shit about us. That was forever ago.”
“Then why even bring it up?”
“To show you how far you’ve fallen,” she snapped. “You used to be with me. You were a cop, and a damn good one. And now look at you. Running unlicensed investigations for defense attorneys. Committing, crimes, getting arrested. Getting beat up by thugs.”
I shrugged. “That’s my business, not yours.”
“Sometimes it’s mine.”
I didn’t reply. She had a point.
“Why are you even still in this city?” she asked. “Why don’t you just leave?”
“Because I don’t quit that easily.”
She gave me a half-smile, tight and joyless. Her expression brimmed with sarcasm. “Oh, really?”
Then she turned to the door, and walked out.
42
Stoker, Shelley, and Bynes was open when I arrived, still simmering from my conversation with Katie. The receptionist seemed to be preparing to leave for the day.
“Can I help you?” she asked, though the undercurrent of her tone suggested otherwise.
“I’m here to see Thad Richards.”
She crinkled her nose and leaned toward her computer, clicking. “Is he expecting you?”
“No.”
“Then I’m afraid—”
“I’ll show myself back,” I said, and headed through the doors and down the hallway.
“Hey!” the receptionist shouted after me, but I ignored her.
Thad Richards’ door was open a crack. I pushed it wide and stepped inside. He looked up from his computer, his expression blank. A moment later, recognition registered on his face.
“Mr. Kopriva? Did we have an appointment?”
I swung the door shut behind me. “We do now.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
The door swung open. The secretary burst in, breathless. “Mr. Richards, I—”
Richards held up his hands. “It’s all right, Audrey.”
She glanced at me, then gave him a resigned nod and closed the door.
I took a seat in front of Richards’ desk. “You lied to me. Why?”
He blinked. “What are you talking about? Listen, you can’t just come in here and—”
“I can,” I said. “I just did. And you didn’t answer my question.”
He stared at me, his mouth agape. After a moment, he seemed to realize it and snapped his mouth shut. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. And you should leave.”
I shrugged. “I can leave. And after I leave, maybe I should go to the police and share what I know.”
“I don’t care where you go,” he said, though his tone wasn’t very convincing.
“I think you do. And I think that you really don’t want the police coming in here asking questions instead of me.”
“The police have already been here,” he said.
“Not with these questions.”
He hesitated, staring at me.
“Just answer the question,” I said. “Why did you lie to me?”
He sighed and leaned back. “What did I supposedly lie to you about?”
“You said business was good. But that’s not true. In fact, exactly the opposite is true.”
“Who told you that?” he demanded.
“It doesn’t matter. Why’d you lie about it?”
Richards pursed his lips. “The private financial details of Stoker, Shelley, and Bynes are none of your business, or anyone else’s.”
“Not the stockholders?”
He gave me a condescending look. “We’re not publicly traded.”
I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. So you’ve admitted that you lied to me, but—”
“I haven’t admitted anything.”
“Yes, you just did.”
“No,” he corrected. “I’m just pointing out to you that the financial details of our company is not your business.”
“Save it for the attorneys,” I said, forging ahead. “You lied, and we both know it. The question is why. I figure the answer was to keep me from looking any further into that possible angle.”
“What possible angle?”
“That you had something to do with Henry Brassart’s death.”
His expression turned to one of shock. “You’re accusing me of—”
“He was going to leave Stoker, Shelley, and Bynes and you killed him for the insurance money,” I said.
Richards’ face turned red. “That’s…preposterous!”
“How much was the insurance policy on Henry worth?” I interrupted. “If the rider for Marie was five million, the coverage for the primary beneficiary had to be higher. How much was it?”
Richards’ mouth hung open again. After a moment, he snapped it shut once more. He glared at me. “I don’t care for your insinuations one bit. Henry was a friend, and a valuable member of this company.” He lifted his phone. “Now you get the hell out of my office before I call security.”
“Will your security guy be built like a fridge and have a face full of acne?”
Richards didn’t answer. He held a finger poised over a button on his phone. “I’m not bluffing. Get out, or I will have you thrown out.”
I stood up. “This isn’t over,” I told him. “Your little house of cards is about to fall.”
Richards shook his head. “You are pathetic. Don’t ever come back here, or I’ll have you arrested.”
I smiled grimly. “I was already arrested once today. I think the next time around will be your turn.”
I left his office.
43
Harrity answered on the second ring.
“Are you still at your office?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Good. I need to talk to you.”
“Very well. I’ll wait for you.”
I almost hung up, then stopped. “Something to start thinking about,” I said.
“What?”
“You need to take this case.”
Harrity didn’t answer. I could sense him waiting for more.
“I’ll explain when I get there,” I said, and hung up.
It took me nearly two hours to explain everything to him, but when I was finished, he picked up the phone.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I have to make two phone calls.”
“One to Marie Brassart,” I guessed. “To tell her you’ll take the case.”
He nodded.
“What’s the other one?” I asked.
“To the police,” he said. “We all need to talk.”
44
The n
ext morning, I was back in the same interview room as the day before. This time, though, I had no handcuffs on and was sipping coffee from a Styrofoam cup. There was no guard at the door, and both Harrity and I sat easily, waiting.
When the door opened, I was treated to a similar parade to yesterday’s. First Kinkaid marched in, followed by Matsuda and Katie. No Cole this time. No Dan-o, either. But a slender man in an expensive suit followed by a heavy-set woman in one almost as expensive strode in behind the cops.
Harrity stood. I reluctantly joined him as the handshake ritual got underway, but I didn’t need to bother. The three cops ignored me as they introduced themselves to Harrity.
“Sergeant Kinkaid.” Shake.
“Detective Matsuda.” Shake.
“Detective MacLeod.” Shake.
Each of them had a professional manner but their contempt for Harrity brewed right under the surface, and was obvious. Defense attorneys rated somewhere lower than whale shit for most cops. The only ones that rated lower than that were good defense attorneys.
Harrity didn’t seem to notice. Once he finished shaking Katie’s hand, he held out his own to the man in the expensive suit. “Patrick.”
The man reached out and gave Harrity a firm shake. Unlike the police, he didn’t seem to have contempt for Harrity. In fact, the only sense I got from him was one of respect.
Harrity turned to me. “This is my associate, Stefan Kopriva. He’s done some investigative work for me.”
Katie let out a barely suppressed snort of disgust that everyone ignored.
I held out my hand and Patrick took it.
“Patrick Hinote,” he said, his grip firm but not overbearing. “I head up the Major Crimes Division in the Prosecutor’s Office.”
“He’s also the number two, after the DA,” Harrity informed me.
I didn’t know how to answer that, so I simply nodded.
“Patrick is the prosecutor who got a lifetime conviction for the Rainy Day Rapist,” Harrity added.
I remembered that well, even though it happened after my time on the job. Involuntarily, I glanced over at Katie, but her expression remained flat. Which, given her involvement in that case, was quite an accomplishment. “Congratulations,” I told Hinote.
He shrugged. “I got lucky.” He thumbed toward Harrity. “He wasn’t defense counsel on that one.” He motioned toward the woman with him. “This is Kami Preston. She’s second chair on the Brassart case.”
Kami Preston wore thin, round glasses on her intelligent face and carried herself with a serious, confident demeanor. Her handshake was a carbon copy of Hinote’s – firm but not overbearing.
“Shall we sit?” Hinote suggested.
We clustered around the table, which had more chairs than table space. Several of us compensated by sitting further away from the table, which created the end result of the lawyers being the only ones really seated at the table.
“Give me a moment,” Harrity said, taking out his phone and dialing.
Kami Preston removed a yellow legal pad from her briefcase and began writing on it. I had no idea what there was to write about yet, but she obviously found something.
“Joel Harrity calling,” Harrity spoke into the receiver. “I just need you to verify for the prosecutor.”
After a moment, he passed the cell phone to Hinote.
“This is Patrick Hinote.” Hinote listened for a moment, then nodded tersely. “Thank you, Mrs. Brassart.” He handed the cell back to Harrity. “For the record, I recognize you as defense counsel for Marie Brassart in this case.”
Preston’s pen scrawled.
Harrity closed his cell and put it away.
“Now that we’ve got that out of the way, why are we here?” Hinote asked.
Harrity turned to me. “Go ahead.”
All the eyes in the room shifted to me. I cleared my throat, and said, “I don’t think Marie Brassart killed her husband.”
My words hung in the air for a moment before both detectives exhaled in disgust. Matsuda shook his head. Preston wrote on her pad. Hinote remained impassive.
“That is not the opinion of the detectives behind me,” he said. “But I suppose we’ll hash out that difference at trial.” He seemed to really look at me for the first time, appraising what he saw. “You have more than that, I trust?”
“Yes. Do you know about the life insurance policy?”
“Of course we do,” Matsuda broke in. “We’re real detectives, not some failed burnout who—”
Kinkaid held up his hand. “Stop, detective.”
“No, it’s bullshit, Sarge. He can’t come in here and try to tell us how to do our job. Not after the shit he’s pulled.”
Kinkaid looked over his shoulder. His voice was low and cool. “Stop, or leave.”
Matsuda clenched his jaw but said nothing.
Kinkaid turned back around and motioned for me to continue.
“I’m not talking about the life insurance policy that the Brassarts carried,” I said. “I mean the Important Man policy that Stoker, Shelley, and Bynes had on Henry Brassart. Are you aware of that?”
“Yes,” Kinkaid said. “My detectives are aware of this. They’re professionals.”
“If I recall,” Hinote added, “the defendant was beneficiary to several million dollars as a result of that.”
“Five,” Kami Preston said, her pen skipping across the page without breaking stride.
“Yes, five million.” Hinote looked at me. “Sounds like motive to me. And when you add in that she is having an affair with the neighbor’s husband? Walter Garrison, I believe? Even more motive.”
“It’s Jeni Garrison she’s having the affair with,” I said evenly. “But who cares? It’s a weak motive, anyway.”
Hinote smiled indulgently. “Forgive me, Mr. Kopriva, if I don’t take your advice on what constitutes a strong motive or a weak one. As for your revelation?” He shrugged. “An affair is an affair. I don’t care who it is with. Only crazy conservatives do, these days.”
“Plenty of those here in River City.”
Hinote shrugged again. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t need to prove motive for my case, anyway. It merely adds circumstantial evidence for the jury to consider. I have physical evidence.”
“Indulge me on the motive for a second. You’re saying the affair is her motive? Or the money?”
Hinote regarded me for a moment, then glanced at Harrity. “All of this will come out in discovery, anyway. But yes, we believe the affair was the catalyst for this murder but the motive was the money.”
I leaned forward. “If five million was the payout for her as a secondary beneficiary, what do you suppose the payout was for the primary?”
Hinote crinkled his brow. “What do you mean by primary? I thought the wife was the primary.”
I just stared at him, then gave my head a small shake.
“Who investigated the business?” Hinote asked. He glanced over at Kinkaid, who gave him a blank look in return. Then both turned to look at Matsuda and Katie.
The two detectives exchanged a glance. Matsuda dropped his eyes. “I…I had the business angle. I interviewed Thad Richards. He told me about the defendant being beneficiary to the five mill. He…he didn’t say anything about there being something on the company’s end.”
“And you didn’t ask?” Kinkaid snapped.
The room fell silent. Even Kami Preston stopped writing for a moment.
Matsuda shook his head slowly. “No, I…we…we were focused on the wife already, and…”
Kinkaid gave him a withering look and he trailed off.
“Very professional,” I said, injecting all the sarcasm I could muster. “Bang up job there, detective.”
Kinkaid turned back his angry gaze to me. He appeared on the verge of a reply, but Hinote interrupted him.
“It appears there was an oversight in the initial investigation.” He motioned toward me. “Would you care to illuminate me on the details?”
�
�I can’t say much more. I don’t know how much the company’s end was, but logic would dictate that the primary beneficiary would receive at least as much as the secondary, if not substantially more.” I looked at Matsuda, who was still hanging his head. “Right?”
“That seems like a reasonable conclusion,” Hinote said. “But what does it matter?”
“The business was struggling. Henry Brassart was one of the few managers turning a profit for clients. And he was on the verge of leaving and going it on his own.”
Hinote considered. “You’re suggesting that someone at the company murdered Brassart for the insurance money?”
“I am.”
“Your proof?”
“I don’t have any.”
Hinote looked over at Harrity. “You can’t be serious, counselor.”
Harrity nodded. “We are.”
“I fail to see—”
“You just said that five million dollars was a plausible motive,” Harrity interrupted. “I suggest you find out what Stoker, Shelley, and Bynes received as primary beneficiary. I suspect it was substantially more. And for a failing business, I believe you could consider that an even more plausible motive.”
“People don’t kill for money,” Matsuda said. “They kill for passion.”
Hinote closed his eyes briefly in frustration. “In my experience, people commit murder for all sorts of reasons. Emotional reasons tend to dominate the spur-of-the-moment killings. But planned events, like this one?” He shrugged. “Money is just as likely a motive.”
Matsuda pressed his lips together into a fine, white line, but he didn’t reply.
Hinote turned his attention back to Harrity. “Is there more?”
Harrity nodded, and motioned for me to continue.
“Someone’s been following me,” I said. “At first, I thought it was a cop. I believed that right up until he attacked me in an alley yesterday.” I glanced at Kinkaid. “Even then, I wasn’t completely sure.”
Kinkaid scowled slightly but didn’t reply.
“He assaulted you?” Hinote asked.
I pointed to the scrape and bruising on my face, then at my throat. “That’s part of what he did.”
“He was not one of my detectives,” Kinkaid assured him.
