Rockabye Murder

by Diana Orgain

Eddie raised his hands in this air. “I surrender, man. Sorry. That was in bad taste. We won’t do it.”

  I asked a few more questions about the case, but Dave and Eddie didn’t know any more than what they’d already told me.

  That seemed to be a theme recently.

  When Jim went to go pull the steaks off the grill, Dave asked, “Really, where is Jack? He’s always on time.”

  “Makes me nervous,” grunted Eddie. “With so many strange things going on . . . I’ll call him again.”

  He dialed, and we fell silent. After a few moments, he shook his head. “No answer. Went straight to voicemail.”

  The atmosphere suddenly grew tense, but we tried to ignore it. I changed the subject, asking Dave how serious things were with Petunia.

  “Pretty serious,” he said with a grin. “If we get everything solved in time for the fundraiser and the event goes well, I’m going to propose to her at the end of the evening. I have the ring and everything.”

  I laughed aloud. “Pretty serious sounds like an understatement!”

  Eddie’s phone rang, and we jumped to attention. Surely this was Jack calling back, apologizing for being late, saying that something had come up and he’d be here soon.

  But Eddie shook his head as he answered the phone. “I don’t recognize the number.” He accepted the call. “Hi, this is Eddie Goodrich . . . what? Jack, where are you? What?” His voice took on a frantic pitch.

  Dave and I stared at each other. This didn’t sound good.

  “Okay,” said Eddie. “Yeah, we’ll be there right away.”

  His face was pale as he hung up. He looked from Dave to me. “That was Jack. He’s . . . just been arrested for Leo’s murder.”

  Chapter 15

  The guys piled into my car, since I was the only one who hadn’t had anything to drink, and we sped to the police station.

  “Take Laurie,” I said to Jim as soon as we parked. “I want to see if I can find out what’s going on from Deb.”

  Deb often worked in the afternoons and evenings—which I supposed worked best for her party-hard, sleep-off-the-hangovers lifestyle—but I didn’t know for sure what her schedule was this week.

  I led Dave and Eddie in and waved to the cop at the front desk. Though I didn’t know him by name, he looked familiar, and I knew he’d recognize me. “I’m here to see Deb,” I called. “They’re with me.”

  He nodded and glanced back down at his computer screen without saying a word.

  With a deep breath, I charged ahead toward Deb’s office. The door was ajar. I peeked through the crack, and there she was, filling out paperwork.

  Seemed like being a police officer was mostly paperwork.

  “Knock, knock!” I called.

  “Yo, Kate! Come on in,” she said.

  The three of us walked into her office, and she nodded at us. “Figured you’d come. I suppose you want the lowdown on the arrest in the dance studio case.” She studied Dave and Eddie. “These the brothers?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Dave, his voice cracking.

  She scoffed. “Don’t ma’am me. This isn’t Nashville. I’m Detective Fisher.”

  Oh, it was Detective Fisher now? That explained why she’d been at the crime scene with McNearny.

  She shot me a grin. “Told you we need a girls’ night. I’ve got a lot of news to catch you up on.” Then she glanced at Dave and Eddie again, and her face took on a more serious, professional cast. “Can you guys step outside so I can speak freely with Kate?”

  Dave turned desperate eyes on me.

  “It’s okay,” I said, setting a reassuring hand on his arm. “I’ll fight for him. There’s some kind of mistake. I’m sure of it. Go back down to the lobby and find Jim.”

  Dave and Eddie hesitated, looking at each other, then withdrew from Deb’s office.

  “Shut the door behind you,” Deb called. The door thudded closed. “Sit down.”

  I took a seat opposite her. “Tell me exactly what’s going on. Jack’s been arrested?”

  She grimaced. “Not formally. For now, he’s being detained while we question him.”

  I bolted to my feet. “Is he being questioned right now?”

  “He’s sitting in the interrogation room, waiting. McNearny is giving him plenty of time to think about his life choices.”

  “What’s the case against him?” I asked. “I can’t imagine . . .”

  “You should have a better imagination.” Deb leaned forward over the desk. “People are capable of a lot worse than we think.”

  “No,” I said firmly. “We’ve known the brothers forever. They’re Jim’s best friends.”

  Deb nodded. “We found some of Jack’s DNA on Leo. Hair on Leo’s shirt. We were able to pull DNA samples for people affiliated with the studio off of cups, and Jack’s turned out to be the match.”

  “They worked together,” I said. “There are a lot of reasons Jack’s hair could be on the shirt.”

  Deb shrugged. “It’s more solid than any of the other theories we have.”

  “Has Jack called an attorney?”

  “He didn’t seem to know who to call. That’s why he called his brother.”

  I stood abruptly and walked to the door. “I know I owe you ten thousand favors already, but please do what you can to stall McNearny.”

  “You know I’ll do it if you want me to,” said Deb. “But don’t let feelings cloud your judgment. Just because you know and like the guy doesn’t mean he’s not guilty. Everyone’s shocked when someone they know turns out to be a killer.”

  “And you know I’ll follow the evidence where it leads,” I replied. “That I’ve no intention of letting anyone get away with murder.”

  “I know.” She leaned back and laced her fingers behind her head. “That’s why I’ll stall for you.”

  “Thank you.” I bolted back to the lobby, where Jim and Eddie were conferring in low tones and Dave was talking on the phone.

  “Who’s he on the line with?” I asked, gesturing toward Dave.

  “A lawyer.” Eddie’s hands were balled into fists. “We looked up some local ones with good reviews. I think he called Neil Taylor.”

  I snatched the phone out of Dave’s hand and hung up. Dave looked at me incredulously. I tossed the phone back to him. “You’re not going to hire Neil Taylor.”

  “Is he not any good?” Dave asked.

  I’d already pulled open the contacts app on my phone. “I haven’t heard of him,” I said. “I’m calling in a favor.” I hit dial.

  After a few seconds, a familiar voice greeted me.

  “Barramendi,” I said. “I need you to drop what you’re doing and meet me at the precinct.”

  Gary Barramendi, the highest-profile criminal defense attorney on the West Coast, strolled into station looking totally unphased. “Kate,” he said, reaching out and shaking my hand, his thin, six-foot-six frame towering over all of us. “A pleasure, as always.”

  I briefly explained the situation. “Can you get him out of here for us?”

  Barramendi’s already-asymmetrical face contorted into a look of wry amusement. “Can I get him out of here?” he scoffed. He practically stalked over to the cop at the desk. “I’m here to speak with my client.”

  The cop looked slightly annoyed—this was not the precinct’s first run-in with Gary the Grizzly—but waved him back.

  Eddie looked at me with an awed expression. “That guy’s on TV all the time. You know him?”

  “We’ve done some work together. And last month I took down the guy who tried to murder his cousin. And that’s why you’re not going to hire Neil Taylor,” I said, taking a bow.

  But I forgot to account for the weight of my pregnant belly and pitched forward, grabbing onto a chair to steady myself. I regained my feet with an expression of calm serenity, daring any of the guys to acknowledge my fall. “Has anyone called Sharon?” I asked, taking a seat next to Jim and Laurie.

  “She’s visiting her mom in Oregon,” Dave rep
lied, his leg bouncing. “I didn’t want to worry her.”

  “She should know,” I said gently.

  We waited in tense silence, and I turned Deb’s words over in my head. People are capable of a lot worse than we think. Everyone’s shocked when someone they know turns out to be a killer.

  Jack had always been good friends with Jim’s younger brother George. They horsed around together as teens and young adults and were always causing trouble. But murder? There was absolutely no way.

  And anyway, what possible motive could Jack have? Whoever had killed Leo was trying to sabotage the studio and the fundraiser that was being held for Jack’s benefit. Could stopping the fundraiser have been his motive? Maybe killing Leo had been an accident.

  Was it possible that Jack didn’t want children? Was he thinking of leaving Sharon?

  None of that made sense, though. If he was going to leave Sharon, he could do it whether or not we threw a fundraiser for them. I knew Jack, he’d just call off the fundraiser, not stage some elaborate hoax to ruin things.

  People are capable of a lot worse than we think.

  What about Hank? My breath caught in my throat. Hank was at the studio today when Paula was hurt! He could have hit her over the head, thinking it was me. He knew we were investigating him. He was an investor in Monte’s studio.

  What if his reappearance in Mom’s life wasn’t a coincidence? What if he was trying to get close to me to throw me off the scent?

  We’d run into Hank before Leo’s death. But the strange events at the studio had been happening for weeks. Had he found out we were helping with the fundraiser and tracked us down on purpose? Pretended it was a chance meeting?

  I texted Galigani, Might have a motive for Hank.

  My phone rang immediately, and I excused myself and went into the parking lot to take the call.

  “Hey, Galigani.” As quietly as I could, I explained what Petunia had said about Hank being a supporter of the arts and what I’d seen on Monte’s computer.

  Galigani let out a low whistle. “Good work, kid.”

  “By the way, what was this thing about you telling Mom that you didn’t want anything serious?”

  He hemmed and hawed. “I do want something serious with her. But maybe the engagement ring thing was a little premature. I think I started realizing that when Hank came back in the picture.”

  “Do you really think it’s premature?” I asked, sitting on a concrete bench. “Or is this sour grapes because you don’t think she wants anything serious?”

  “You heard Hank,” he grumped. “She loves me. Sure, she’s since decided to go out on a date or two with him, but he’s not going to win her over. Your mother and I have got a good thing going, and there’s no reason to put that kind of pressure on it yet.”

  “Do you mean that?”

  I could hear his gulp through the phone line.

  “I just want her to choose me from a place of full freedom,” he said softly. “And be certain of her decision. I don’t want her to look back and resent me for pushing her too quickly. I’ve been letting jealousy run my decisions, and I know it’s not a good look.”

  “If you say so,” I said with a sigh. “Can you start looking into Hank right away? Like, tonight? I’m at the police station springing Dave’s little brother.”

  “The brother? Which one?”

  “Jack.”

  “What?” Galigani barked. “Isn’t he the one who was going to benefit from the fundraiser in the first place?”

  “Apparently some of his hairs were on Leo’s shirt.”

  “Hmm,” said Galigani. “That’s not great, but it’s not damning, either. We’ll need a good explanation for it.”

  “I brought in Barramendi to get him out.”

  “Well done.” He chuckled, and pride swelled in his voice.

  The door to the station swung open, and Barramendi strode out, followed by a small entourage: Dave and Eddie, Jim and Laurie . . . and last of all, Jack.

  My heart leaped into my throat. “I’ve gotta go,” I said into the phone. “Check into that lead for me, and let’s talk tomorrow. Thank you. I appreciate it. I really do.”

  I hung up and looked expectantly at Barramendi.

  “The cops have nothing,” said Barramendi confidently. “Leo borrowed Jack’s shirt after he spilled coffee on himself that morning. His shirt was stained, and Jack had an extra one in the dressing room. We can prove it, too, because Jack gets all his shirts altered. Plus, Jack remembers seeing Leo stuff the coffee-stained shirt in his cubby, and I have it on good authority from your friend Debbie—”

  “Deb,” I interjected.

  “Right, Deb. I have it on good authority from her that they did, in fact, recover a coffee-stained shirt from Leo’s cubby. If they file charges, we’ll trounce them in court.”

  Jack looked shell-shocked, and Dave slung a comforting arm around his shoulder.

  “Do you think they’ll file charges?” asked Eddie quietly, looking worried. “Even if we win, the expense of going to trial . . .”

  Barramendi quirked his mouth. “Hard to say what they’ll try to make stick. It’s not a strong case, but there’s a possibility they’ll file charges if they can’t find any other suspect. And the way the press has been following the case…” Barramendi let out a low whistle. “Did you see the article about McNearny pussyfooting around the case? They went to town with all the dancing puns and the photo of him? Worst photo in the world.” Barramendi’s face contorted and I could see he was holding in a laugh.

  “It’s not funny!” I said, poking Barramendi in the ribs, and simultaneously holding in my own laugh.

  Although I hadn’t seen the article, making McNearny mad could never work in my favor.

  Barramendi smiled. “Don’t worry—I owe you Kate, and I’m not going to let this get unjustly pinned on your friend.”

  I nodded. “Thank you.”

  “It’s never easy,” Barremendi said, compassion returning to his face. “And we know the best defense is a good offense. Do you want to me see if Vicente can help on the PI side? He’s still recovering, but I know he’s itching to get back to work.”

  I gritted my teeth. I hating coming up empty, and I wanted nothing less than the Vicente Domingo shoeing in on my case and possibly solving it before me. But, for Jack and Sharon’s sake, I set aside my pride and said, “I won’t say no to more help.”

  Because at the end of the day, this wasn’t about me. This was about justice, about clearing Jack’s name . . . and most of all, about catching the killer before they struck again.

  Chapter 16

  Jo-Jo’s power tools were at it again at the crack of dawn two mornings later, like a robotic rooster determined to wake the world, but when I thought of the beautiful new pergola in the backyard, I minded the noise less.

  Somehow Laurie was sleeping through it, so I took the opportunity to open the boxes of babyproofing gadgets and inspect the cabinets. The latches came with little screws to hold them in place, and it looked like the previous owners of the house had drilled tiny holes for babyproofing locks in the cabinets already. I squinted from the locks to the cabinet doors. I was pretty sure I could do this myself with a screwdriver.

  The only problem was that I wasn’t sure where our toolbox was. I checked the laundry room, under the kitchen sink, in the bathroom. Nowhere. Ordinarily, Jim kept the toolbox in the garage, but I knew he’d brought it in the house before Jo-Jo started work—we’d cleared every last thing out of the garage.

  I went into the bedroom and tried to rouse Jim. “Hey, honey,” I called.

  No answer.

  I inspected him more closely and realized he’d put in earplugs to drown out the construction noise. With a sigh, I shook his shoulder.

  “Yeah?” he said groggily.

  “Where is the toolbox?” I practically yelled.

  “Sounds good, honey,” he replied before turning over and going back to sleep.

  I let out an exasperated sigh
.

  After stopping to think, I went back out into the living room and eyed the door to the garage. I didn’t know where Jim had put our toolbox, but Jo-Jo certainly had a sea of screwdrivers.

  Yes, I decided. Laurie was getting better and better at grabbing things. I wanted to get the locks installed as soon as possible, and this was a rare free moment when I couldn’t follow up on anything case-related—no doubt most everyone else was fast asleep.

  Except our contractor and his power tools, apparently.

  I went into the garage and saw Jo-Jo and another redheaded man. Jo-Jo was working with a drill, and the other man seemed to be doing something with the electrical wiring. Jo-Jo saw me and waved, setting down the drill. The garage fell mercifully silent.

  “Morning, lassie,” called Jo-Jo. “This is me cousin, Liam. He’s doing the electric for ya.”

  I waved at Liam. “Thank you. It’s looking great!” Really, it looked like a mess of dust and wiring, but surely by the time all the work was done, this mess would somehow be the perfect nursery for the twins.

  I hoped.

  “Sorry, about this,” I said, shifting my weight from foot to foot, “but I was wondering if I could borrow a screwdriver.” I held up the package of babyproofing locks. “I’m trying to make the house safe for Laurie. She’s starting to get into things.”

  “Ah, of course, that’s grand,” said Jo-Jo, running over to a workbench and rummaging through a toolbox. “Let me see the screws . . . ah, this one should do the trick.”

  I thanked him and went back inside, feeling jubilant at the thought of taking the project into my own hands.

  Rosie the Riveter, reporting for duty.

  I’d gotten about half of the locks done when Galigani called, “Hey, kid, I found something. Looks like a real break in the case.”

  Excitement jolted up my spine. “Tell me.”

  Laurie started fussing, so I set the screwdriver on the kitchen counter and went to pick her up, clutching the phone between my ear and shoulder.

  “I checked out the books at Tre Fratelli Danzanti,” Galigani said. “And something really interesting stood out to me about Hank.”