Death by Didgeridoo (Jamie Quinn Mystery Book 1) Read online

  "Jamie, I want to wake up from this nightmare, but I can't! It all started this morning…I dropped Adam off at his music lesson, like I always do. He's been taking drum lessons at the music store on Harrison Street. When I went to pick him up an hour later, there were police cars and an ambulance blocking the road. I almost crashed the car I was so terrified--I thought something had happened to Adam! Any mother would’ve panicked, but it was worse for me because of Adam. He doesn't see trouble coming. He's too trusting, even after what happened with those horrible kids…"

  She started crying again and I dug a tissue out of my purse. Divorce lawyers always have tissues handy.

  "Then what happened, Aunt Peg?" I couldn't imagine where this story was going.

  "I stopped a policeman--it was more like I grabbed him--and demanded to know what was going on. He said there had been a homicide! I started crying and screaming for Adam and then…he…he said…Adam wasn't hurt, but they were taking him into custody!"

  She was on the verge of hysteria, so she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. I'd seen Adam use this calming technique before.

  I waited a minute and then gently prodded her, "Aunt Peg?"

  She continued as if she were in a trance. "I followed the police car back to the station. At first, they weren't going to let me in here because Adam is over eighteen but, when they saw him like this, they changed their minds." She stopped and looked at Adam with tears in her eyes.

  "Margaret Muller, look at me!" I snapped.

  "What, Jamie?"

  "Will you tell me who died already?"

  "I'm sorry, I thought I told you--it was Adam's music teacher, Spike. One of the other teachers heard a scream and ran into the room. He saw Adam standing over Spike's body. And he had blood on his hands… "

  I jumped up from my chair. "Oh my God, that's terrible! But Adam must've found him like that, right?"

  "That's what I said, but they arrested him anyway!" She buried her face in her hands.

  I felt the room closing in on me. The air was so stifling I thought I would pass out. This was way worse than anything I could've imagined. Think, Jamie, think! Whenever I have a crisis, I try to put things in perspective by asking myself: If I screw this up, is anybody going to die? Usually, the answer is no…

  Grace would be able to fix this, I was sure of it, but I needed more information. I started pacing back and forth, wearing a path in the new carpeting.

  "Aunt Peg, we're going to get through this, okay?" I put my arm around her shoulders, it was only a half-hug, but it seemed to do the trick. She nodded.

  "Tell me what happened since you got here, has Adam said anything?"

  "Not a word."

  "Has anyone come in to talk to you?"

  "Yes, a Detective Hernandez and a young man in a suit. I told them our attorney was on her way. I'm supposed to tell them when you get here."

  I decided it was a good time to take out my phone and read the information Grace had sent. Talk about your crash course in criminal law! I was so far out of my comfort zone I didn't think I'd ever find my way back. I remembered the statute I had in my briefcase (it was the only thing in there, aside from a legal pad) and took it out. I told my aunt to stay put, I was going to find Detective Hernandez.

  "One more thing," I said, "and this is really important. Pretend we are not related. It's better if they don't think I have a stake in this, okay?"

  "Alright, but what should I call you? Miss Quinn?"

  "Actually, I prefer 'your highness' or 'my royal lady,' but you can call me Jamie. Just for today." I laughed and kissed her on the cheek. In return, she squeezed my hand and gave me a weak smile. It seemed like a fair trade.

  Chapter 3

  I was making my way down the hall when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

  "Excuse me, are you Jamie Quinn?"

  I turned around and found myself face to face with a GQ cover model. From his shiny wingtip shoes to his tailored Armani suit to his glossy black hair, this guy looked like he was going places--if he hadn't already arrived. I was pretty sure he was not Detective Hernandez.

  "I see my reputation precedes me," I said with a smile. "And you are?"

  "Nick Dimitropoulos, State Attorney's office." He shook my hand firmly but briefly, all business.

  "I've been assigned to the homicide case from this morning. Are you representing Adam Muller?" He tried to sound nonchalant, but I could tell he was stoked, like a lion circling a herd of wildebeests. Well, this guy was messing with the wrong wildebeest.

  "I am." Did those two words really just come out of my mouth?

  "And what firm did you say you're with?" he asked, eyeing my two year old suit, purchased off the rack at Macy's. As my mother used to say, the classics never go out of style.

  I smiled sweetly. Only rookie lawyers judge you by your appearance. I stored that tidbit of information in my brain. "I'm a sole practitioner, my office is downtown. So, jumping ahead a little, have you charged my client with anything?"

  Before he could answer, one of his assistants walked over and whispered something in his ear. She handed him some paperwork and then left. Nick (I was sure he wouldn't mind if I called him Nick) glanced at it and frowned. Turning his attention back to me without so much as an apology, he said:

  "Not yet, but we're working on it."

  "Do you have any evidence, besides the fact that he wandered into a murder scene? Being in the wrong place at the wrong time isn't a crime, as far as I know."

  He looked disdainful. "Then, Ms. Quinn, you don't know much. Your client made several incriminating statements."

  I was so angry I could hardly contain myself. "You spoke to my client without me present? After he told you he had an attorney?"

  "Of course not. He hasn't said a word since he was brought in, and nobody asked him anything. But he did make spontaneous utterances at the scene."

  Skimming the papers in his hand, he said, "It's in the report. I'll read it to you:

  Victim deceased, apparently from blunt force trauma. Suspect found standing next to victim. When undersigned approached the suspect, suspect made the following unsolicited statements: 'It's all my fault, I did a bad thing,' and also: 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…'"

  Oh, Adam! How was I ever going to talk my way out of this? I would have to go all alpha dog on Mr. State Attorney.

  "Listen, Nick," I said, "I know how that sounds, but here's the story. My client says all kinds of things because he has Asperger's Syndrome. Are you familiar with it? No? Well, you might want to read up on it. People with Asperger’s Syndrome have difficulties with social interaction and often display unusual behaviors. The bottom line is this--Adam Muller is protected under the Americans with Disabilities Amendments Act of 2008. Here's a copy of the statute. So, if you're not going to charge him, you have to let him go. Immediately. Or we'll be filing a claim against the department under the ADA."

  His expression was a mix of contempt and barely-controlled anger. I must say it took away from his chiseled good looks, all that venom. When he was through glaring at me, he turned and walked off without so much as a "nice to meet ya." What's up with people's manners these days? I blame it all on the internet.

  I yelled after him, "I'm entitled to a copy of the police report."

  He turned around and walked back over to me. "Listen, Quinn,” he said, coldly, “I know your guy did it and when we're through analyzing the evidence, there will be charges. Try hiding behind your statute then."

  He stormed off again and, this time, he didn't come back. Man, what a sore loser! He probably wouldn't have been a gracious winner, either. I took a deep breath and shook the tension out of my neck and shoulders. Unclenching my jaw would take a bit longer. You can relax, Jamie, I thought, Adam is safe. At least for now….

  Chapter 4

  "I've never been so glad to get home in my life!" Aunt Peg said, throwing her purse on the dining room table and kicking off her shoes. "I'm exhausted."

&nbs
p; "You and me both, sister," I said, collapsing into a comfy recliner in the corner.

  No sooner had I sat down than two exuberant puppies jumped in my lap and started licking my face non-stop.

  "And who do we have here, Adam?" I smiled at my cousin, who was sitting on the floor next to my chair, petting the dogs.

  "The black one is Angus Young, he's a Scottish terrier and he's six months old. The reddish one is Bono and he's an Irish setter. He's only three months old."

  "I'm sensing a theme here…" I laughed as I watched Adam roll around on the floor with the puppies. He looked like an overgrown puppy himself. I couldn't think of a dog breed with blond curly hair like Adam's, but if it existed, that's what he'd be.

  Aunt Peg brought me a glass of iced tea and an orange juice for Adam. Then she sat down on the sofa and propped her feet up on the coffee table.

  "You know, Adam, I don't think I told you this before," she said, "but I took Jamie to a U2 concert when she was sixteen."

  Adam's mouth dropped open, his brown eyes wide. "Wow! I wish I could've gone."

  "I tell you what," I said. "If AC/DC or U2 perform in south Florida again, I'll take you."

  "That's awesome, Jamie! I can't wait! Can I show you the music stuff in my room now?" he asked, trying to pull me out of the chair. He was hard to resist since he outweighed me by at least fifty pounds. Nobody would ever guess we were cousins because he was tall and fair and I was short and olive-skinned. I'm told I take after my father's side, but I wouldn't know.

  "Sure, Adam, but I need to talk to your mom first, okay?"

  "Why don't you take the dogs for a walk, sweetheart? They haven't been out all day," Aunt Peg said.

  After Adam bounded out the door, I sat down next to Aunt Peg and gulped my iced tea like a person who had just crossed the Sahara. I didn't even give the ice a chance to melt. My aunt jumped up to refill my glass.

  "I can't remember the last time I was here," I said, making conversation while she fussed in the kitchen.

  To my surprise, Aunt Peg burst into tears. I rushed over to comfort her.

  "It's been a rough day, I know," I said, patting her shoulder.

  She pulled me into a tight hug.

  "Oh, Jamie, I'm so sorry, I haven't been there for you at all. Since Sue died, I've been such a mess, I could barely function. It's all I could do to make myself go to work and take care of Adam. Sue wasn't just my big sister, she was my best friend…and I can't believe she's gone."

  Then we were both crying. Me, because I hadn't thought about anyone else's grief except my own. I had to be the most selfish, self-absorbed person on the planet.

  "I wasn't there for you either, Aunt Peg, and I'm sorry." I grabbed a tissue out of my purse and blew my nose. "What would my mom say if she saw the two of us crying like this, with mascara running down our faces?"

  My aunt smiled through her tears. "She'd say 'guilt is a stupid waste of time. If you feel bad, get off your butt and do something about it.'"

  "Exactly. So, you and I are officially giving up on the guilt trips, okay? Personally, I'd rather take a trip to just about anywhere else." We walked back to the living room together and sat down on the sofa.

  "Deal," she said. "And thank-you so much for today, I don't know how you convinced them to let Adam go. You're amazing!"

  "And I don't know how you got Adam out of his meltdown! It was like magic."

  She laughed. "I have years of experience! Actually, all I had to do was tell him we were going home and the dogs were waiting for him. But I did set up an emergency appointment with his therapist for tomorrow, he definitely needs that. And I should probably make an appointment for myself, too. I'm so glad this nightmare is over."

  I couldn't tell her the truth, but she'd find out soon enough. It wasn't over. It was just getting started…

  Chapter 5

  Exactly one week later, I was having dinner with Grace at my favorite birthday restaurant, Le Bonne Crepe, in Fort Lauderdale. Except that it wasn't my birthday. We'd picked it because it's next-door to Grace's office on upscale Las Olas Boulevard. (I mentioned that she works for a big securities firm, right?) Also, I knew she had bad news for me and I felt that I deserved a treat, like a prisoner's last meal.

  "How about Crêpe Suzette?" Grace said. "When they light it on fire, it's like dinner and a show. Not to mention it's scrumptious." Grace always got excited about dessert.

  "Are you kidding?" I said. "That's the reason I come here. I love Grand Marnier. Crêpe Suzette is an after-dinner drink disguised as dessert."

  "Vanilla ice cream on the side?"

  "Do you really have to ask?"

  She laughed. "Just testing you. So, should we get to work now?"

  "You're ruining my dessert buzz, Gracie!" I said, throwing up my hands.

  "Okay, okay, sorry James, it can wait…"

  After we had eaten every bite, licked our fingers and the forks, we sat back in our upholstered chairs and sipped our coffee, soaking up the cozy ambience of the French Bistro.

  "I would've licked the plate if you weren't here…" Grace said, wistfully.

  "You know I don't judge."

  "See? That's why I like you," she said with a laugh.

  ***

  Grace and I had been friends since our second year at Nova Law School when we discovered we were in all the same classes. It turns out when you run into a person four times a day, every day, eventually you'll strike up a conversation. Grace was motivated, one of those people who actually wanted to be a lawyer, serious about school, but with a crazy sense of humor. I was an English Lit major who had drifted into law school for lack of a better plan. Being friends with Grace made law school so much better.

  One night, we were at Grace's apartment studying for a Torts exam. Around three in the morning, we started getting punchy. We'd just finished reading about the "eggshell plaintiff" (someone more susceptible to injury than the average person) when Grace darted off to the kitchen. She came back a few minutes later holding a plate and giggling her head off. On the plate was a little person she'd made out of eggshells with the words "Help me Jamie!" in ketchup next to it. I almost fell out of my chair laughing.

  "Grace, you 'crack' me up!" I said, feeling quite witty. Of course, at three a.m., my standards tend to drop considerably.

  The next day, during the exam, all I could think about was Grace's poor little eggshell person and I had to stifle my giggles. Everyone in the room must've thought I was nuts.

  ***

  "Jamie, it's that time, I'm afraid…" Grace looked serious.

  "I guess I'm ready." I said, leaning forward. I pulled a pad of paper and pen from my purse and laid them on the table.

  "Do you want the bad news, or the really bad news?"

  "Is 'neither' an acceptable answer?" I sighed. "Whatever you think, Grace."

  She signaled the waiter for the check, which he promptly deposited in the center of the table.

  "Okay, I reviewed the police report and the forensics report from the crime scene. You already know about the incriminating statements Adam made, but there's more. The victim's blood was found on Adam's shoes, but only on the soles, which could have happened when he walked over to the body." She paused to look at her notes. "Moving on to cause of death, the victim, Spike, who doesn't seem to have a last name, was killed by a blow to the head. The murder weapon was a didgeridoo, which was found at the scene."

  "What the hell is a did-ger-i-doo?"

  "I had to look it up. According to Wikipedia, it's an Australian Aboriginal wind instrument. Basically, it's a long wooden tube around four feet long that can weigh up to ten pounds. This one weighed six. According to the report, there were several sets of fingerprints on it, including the victim's." Grace looked at me sympathetically. "And Adam's…"

  I groaned. "Just because he touched the didgeri-whatever doesn't mean he murdered his music teacher! He plays lots of musical instruments, that's his thing. And Adam would never hurt anyone, even if they were pound
ing him senseless. Remember I told you about when he was in middle school and those kids beat him up and broke his arm? He couldn't even defend himself! He had no reason to hurt his teacher."

  Grace nodded, her long dark hair falling into her face. "I know, Jamie."

  "Well, what news could be worse than that?"

  "The State Attorney plans to press charges against Adam next week."

  "Damn it!" I slammed my pad of paper on the table. "Have they even looked for the real murderer? Someone with a reason to kill this guy?"

  "It doesn't seem like. Their golden boy, Nick Dimitropoulos, is handling the case. He's a hotshot right out of school who wants to make a name for himself. I hear he's planning to go into politics, like his father…"

  "Oh my God! Don't tell me he's Theo Dimitropoulos' son! That's just great--the son of a state senator is gunning for my disabled cousin…" I felt like crying, or screaming, or both simultaneously. "What am I going to do, Grace? I can't represent him, and my aunt doesn't have the money to hire a lawyer. She's an elementary school teacher."

  Grace looked thoughtful. "What about Adam's father?

  "Dave?" I shook my head. "No way, he's broke. He isn't even part of Adam's life anymore. He got remarried and moved out of state. I think he has three more kids."

  "Well, here's my advice: let the public defender represent him. This is a high-profile case, so they'll put their best person on it, and that's Susan Doyle. She's very good and she's been at this a lot longer than 'Slick Nick'. We used to work together at the PD's office and she won't mind if I help her strategize. You know I'll do whatever I can for you…"

  I felt a glimmer of hope. "What if I mortgaged my house? It's free and clear. Then I could hire a great defense attorney--nothing against Susan, of course."