The Case of the Killer Divorce Read online

  "Me too." I smiled, reassuringly. "You need to prepare yourself for this, mentally, because it's going to be tough, I won't lie to you. The state attorney will ask you lots of questions--about Joe, your relationship, your sleeping pill prescription, anything he can think of. And he's going to try to rattle you into an emotional outburst."

  She looked panicky. "What do I do?"

  "That's the easy part. After you provide your name and address, you're not going to answer any questions. Instead, you will say this: "I refuse to answer that on the grounds that it might incriminate me."

  "What?? Are you kidding? That makes me sound like a criminal and I didn't do anything wrong! Whose side are you on, Jamie?"

  "Calm down, Becca. I'm on your side and nobody said you did anything wrong. I spoke with an excellent criminal defense attorney, Susan Doyle, and she advised me to proceed this way. The reason is that anything you say today can be twisted, taken out of context and used against you, and we don't want to give them anything they can use. If they think they have a case against you, let them prove it. Make them go look for evidence. Otherwise, they can go to hell, okay?"

  She took a deep breath and let it out. "That makes sense, I guess. I'm sorry I yelled at you, my nerves are shot." She gave me a wan smile and I patted her arm.

  Then Becca gave me a puzzled look. "But why not just leave, what's the point of staying but not answering their questions?"

  "So we can find out what their game is," I answered. "Just remember, give them no reaction to anything. Got it?"

  "Got it."

  We drove the short distance to the state attorney's office in silence, each of us absorbed in our own thoughts. I was also mentally preparing myself for a showdown with Nick Dimitropoulos. If Becca stuck to the script, everything would turn out fine, but I didn't trust Nick. Dirty tricks were his specialty, and criminal law definitely wasn't mine.

  We were ushered into a drab room where everything was brown, the carpet, the table, the chairs. Even the walls were beige. It looked like a room where hope went to die. We sat down and waited. It was a good fifteen minutes before the prince of snark, himself, strolled into the room.

  "Good morning, Ms. Quinn, Mrs. Solomon." He was already starting his head games with Becca.

  "Hello, Nick." I said. Becca nodded, but said nothing.

  "Thank-you for coming in," he said. "I've asked you here to make a statement regarding Joe Solomon's death. Everything you say will be recorded and may be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand Mrs. Solomon?"

  Becca nodded again.

  "You have to answer audibly, for the record."

  "Yes," she said. "I understand."

  "I see you have chosen to bring counsel with you, is that correct?"

  "Yes."

  "Please state the name of your counsel."

  "Jamie Quinn."

  "Please state your name and address."

  "Rebecca Solomon. 3700 S. 37th Court, Hollywood Hills, Florida."

  "Do you believe your husband committed suicide, Mrs. Solomon?"

  "I don't know," she answered. I glared at her and she flinched. She was off script already!

  "Do you believe your husband was murdered?"

  "I refuse to answer on the grounds that it might incriminate me," she said, as if each word burned her mouth on the way out.

  "Interesting," Nick commented.

  "Do you know of anyone who might've killed your husband?"

  "I refuse to answer on the grounds that it might incriminate me." Becca was very pale and squirming in her seat.

  Nick stopped to rifle through his papers, as if he had all the time in the world.

  "Did you have any reason to kill your husband?"

  "I refuse to answer on the grounds that it might incriminate me."

  "Weren't you in the middle of a nasty divorce when your husband died?"

  "I refuse to answer on the grounds that it might incriminate me." Tears were flowing down Becca's face.

  Nick switched gears.

  "Isn't it true you have a prescription for sleeping pills?" he asked.

  "I refuse to answer on the grounds that it might incriminate me."

  "Are you aware that your husband Joe died of an overdose of alcohol and sleeping pills?"

  "I refuse to answer on the grounds that it might incriminate me." Becca was starting to sway unsteadily in her seat.

  Nick put his papers down and looked Becca in the eyes. "Do you have any idea how your sleeping pills ended up at Joe's house? In an aspirin bottle?"

  Becca let out a shriek before crying out, "Oh my God! No-no-no!"

  And then she fainted.

  Chapter 25

  I caught Becca before she fell out of her chair while Nick's assistant ran to get some smelling salts. As soon as she cracked one open, the powerful ammonia smell permeated the small room, sending me into a coughing fit. One wave of that miniature stink bomb under her nose was enough to revive Becca. She sat up, looking dazed, as if she couldn't remember where she was.

  I glared at Nick. "We're done here. And I hope you're proud of yourself!"

  "You know what your problem is, Quinn?" he asked. "You take everything so personally. Are you sure she's not your cousin?"

  "I may take things personally, but at least I haven't lost my compassion. Once you lose that, Nick, what's left?"

  "A damn good attorney, that's what," he said, and walked out of the room.

  I helped Becca to her feet and once she was steady, guided her to the door. Before we left the building, I insisted she drink some water from the water fountain in the hall. Thankfully, we made it to the parking lot without incident and I settled her into the passenger seat.

  "Are you feeling better now?" I asked, as I started the car.

  "Yes, thanks. I don't remember what happened, though."

  "The state attorney was asking you questions when you fainted. Do you remember what he asked you that made you so upset?" I knew it was a risky question, but at least she was in a safe place.

  "I'm sorry, Jamie, I don’t."

  "It's okay, don't worry about it," I said, wondering whether Becca was being sincere. She seemed to be. Either she was an extraordinary actor, or she had the capacity to instantly block out traumatic events. Either way, it was curious. Sometimes, I regretted not majoring in psychology; it would have been fascinating to learn how the mind works.

  I didn't feel comfortable letting Becca drive, so I convinced her to let me drop her at home; she and Charlie could pick up her car later. I walked her into her house and then took Charlie aside to tell him Becca had fainted and to keep an eye on her. As usual, he was amiable and agreeable and said he would take care of her. I wondered what it would take to rile Charlie up, but I couldn't picture it. Nobody could be that calm all the time, not even Mother Teresa or the Dalai Lama.

  On my drive back to the office, I called Duke.

  "Hey there," I said, "I just left the State Attorney's office with Becca and something interesting happened I thought you should know about."

  "Ain't life strange? I've got something to tell you, too. Ladies first."

  I described the bizarre episode I'd witnessed and asked him what he thought it meant.

  "Well, it sounds like our girl Becca's feeling guilty about those sleeping pills in the aspirin bottle. But it also sounds like she was surprised to hear about it. I'd say that was good news, except for the other thing, her black-out. I think it's possible she's the killer, but doesn't remember a thing!"

  "But when would she have had the opportunity to kill Joe?"

  "That's what I was going to tell ya, Jamie. I went to Joe's place, which is a fancy condo with all kinds of security, and a guard sitting in the lobby to check in visitors. Me and him got to talkin', you know how it goes, and he shows me the list of Joe's visitors. Turns out Charlie Santoro paid Joe a visit the day he died. But what was even more interesting was the other visitor, a woman. According to the guard, this same woman visited every Thursda
y morning and stayed a while, if you catch my drift."

  "Wow! What was her name?"

  "You're gonna love this--she said her name was Jamie Quinn!"

  "What the hell? You're joking, right?"

  "I wish I was, Darlin'. I asked him to describe this mystery lady and it didn't sound anything like you."

  "Of course it wasn't me!" I was furious that someone would use my name like that.

  Duke laughed. "You're funny when you're mad."

  "Come on, Duke, you're killing me. Who was she?"

  "I hate to tell you this, Jamie, I really do, but it was Becca."

  Chapter 26

  I gasped in disbelief--Becca and Joe were sleeping together! I couldn't get over it.

  "Talk about your love/hate relationship," I said.

  "There's no figurin' out people," Duke said, "I stopped trying a long time ago. But one thing's true, when there's sex or money on the line, all bets are off."

  I parked at my office, but stayed in the car. My mind was racing.

  "Do we know why Charlie went over there, because he told me he hadn't seen Joe," I asked.

  "Yeah, the guard said he brought a bunch of kid stuff over and gave it to Joe in the lobby. He didn't go up to Joe's apartment."

  "That must've been stuff for the Friday visit with the kids, but he still lied about it. And, from what you're saying, it seems like Becca had lots of opportunities to stash an aspirin bottle full of Ambien at Joe's place."

  "Yup."

  "But then why was she so upset when Nick asked about the aspirin bottle?"

  "Guilty conscience? I'm just guessing."

  I confessed to Duke that I didn't know what to do next. Becca was my client and I had an ethical obligation not to act against her best interests. But, with the way I felt about her now, my only choice was to withdraw from the case and cut all ties. I'd say we had some irreconcilable differences, for sure

  "Well," Duke said, "I hope you don't mind if I stay on the case. I was hired to find evidence that might clear Becca, and I'm not through looking. I haven't earned my money yet, is what I'm saying."

  "Of course you should stay on. And I'm sure Susan Doyle will still agree to represent Becca, if and when charges are filed. Jeez, if she only represented innocent people, she'd have to close her doors. You know, Duke, Susan could be a great source of business for you. She specifically asked for you on this case."

  "She did? Well, hallelujah for that!"

  "A word of advice?"

  "Yeah, what?"

  "Don't hit on her, and don't let her know you conduct all your business from a bar," I joked.

  "Gotcha!" He laughed. "And thanks for the business. I knew one day you'd introduce me to all the hot lady lawyers in town."

  "Bye, Duke. And good luck with Becca."

  "I think I'm going to need it," he said.

  I felt awful about Becca, and not because she may have killed her husband, but because I'd been duped. I'd worked so hard for her, and the whole time she'd been lying to me. I really hated to think that Nick was right, that I take things too personally, and that my sense of compassion is a hindrance. To be honest, I didn't know what to think anymore.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon in a fog, at my desk, drafting pleadings, writing letters and returning phone calls. I even ate at my desk, ordering food in rather than going out again. I was relieved to see that I had a mediation scheduled for the next day. Playing mediator was actually enjoyable since it amounted to creative problem solving with no preparation required. It was very satisfying to help couples resolve their differences in a civilized way. And not by murdering each other.

  Chapter 27

  Friday morning flew by; I was so engrossed in the mediation process. These sessions are confidential, so I can't tell you the specifics, but I can tell you that all major issues were resolved in the first half hour. And then it took another five hours to resolve the nitty-gritty stuff. As they say, the devil is in the details.

  There's always one thing that jams the process up right at the very end, and it's something that seems stupid to the rest of us. One time it was a DVD collection, another time it was a microwave, this time it was a harp. I've come to realize that it's not the object that matters, it's what it represents. It's a symbol--of the last concession they will ever make, the last fight they will ever have, the last connection between them. By walking away from that trivial object, they have to face the end of their marriage and all the hopes and dreams they once had together. It's tough.

  Now, I know it's not manual labor, but mediation can be pretty exhausting. Although I love it, I couldn't do it every day. That's why I spent the rest of the afternoon goofing off, surfing the internet and shooting the breeze with my office mates. I decided to research horseback riding so I could get a leg up (ha ha) on my big date with Kip, which was less than twenty-four hours away. What I was looking for was tips on how to do it, what I found was this:

  The most common injury is falling from the horse, followed by being kicked, trampled, and bitten. About 3 out of 4 injuries are due to falling, broadly defined. A broad definition of falling often includes being crushed and being thrown from the horse, but when reported separately each of these mechanisms may be more common than being kicked.

  Thanks Wikipedia!

  I know I said I wanted to leave my comfort zone, but this isn't exactly what I had in mind. I thought it was understood that I'm never going to jump out of a perfectly good plane; I'm never going to dive into the ocean with a canister of oxygen on my back just to see the pretty fishes; and I'm never going on a safari where I can be eaten by wild animals.

  I was starting to freak myself out, but then, I got a grip. After all, I wasn't going to a rodeo; I was going to a county park. If it were a dangerous activity, they wouldn't have horseback riding there. (Think of the liability issues!) And I knew Kip would keep me safe. He was the lifeguard who'd saved the most kids from drowning at Castaway Island, so, keeping an uncoordinated friend from falling off a horse would be easy for him. I'm glad I have a rational side, because if the wimpy, scaredy-cat side ever took over, I'd spend the rest of my life hiding under the covers. Seriously.

  I had an appointment at five for a pedicure (so my toes would look pretty right before the horse trampled them), and I was getting ready to leave when Grace called.

  "Hey Gracie, what's new?"

  "Jamie, I just got off the phone with my friend at the Consulate, and you're not going to believe this. Your father has a pending visa application to come to the U.S.! It's been pending for over two years, but still, he has one."

  "That's incredible! But, how is that possible? I thought only a U.S. citizen could petition on behalf of their relatives. Someone would've had to apply on his behalf…right?"

  "Someone did, Jamie."

  "Who was it?"

  "His wife."

  Chapter 28

  I sat there, holding the phone. I didn't know what to say. I'd been so worried about my father's reaction to learning he had a daughter that I hadn't considered he might already have a family, one that was complete without me.

  "Jamie, honey? Are you there?" Grace asked.

  "Yeah, I'm here. Sorry, I was thinking."

  "Well, it's a big surprise, but it's still good news, right?"

  "Definitely," I said. "It's excellent news."

  "There's more. Your dad's wife lives in Miami. Her name is Ana Maria Suarez, I have her number. You could call her."

  "Um, I'm not sure if that's a wise idea. I'd hate to break up my dad's marriage before I even got to talk to him."

  "Good point. Why don't you think about it and, in the meantime, I'll send you her contact information. Okay?"

  "Okay. Thanks so much, Grace!"

  "Anything for you. Hey, if you're not busy next Saturday morning, do you want to volunteer with me at a food bank?"

  "Sure, of course," I said. Grace was such a do-gooder.

  "Great! We'll figure out the details next week. Have fun wit
h Kip tomorrow, I want a full report, you hear?"

  I laughed. "I'll call you from the emergency room."

  "Such an optimist," Grace said.

  "Just a realist."

  After we hung up, I sat at my desk, lost in reverie. Everything had gotten so complicated lately, and nothing was what it seemed. I'd thought Becca was a victim, and now it looked like she was the bad guy. I'd thought my father had abandoned me, and it turned out he didn't even know I existed. I'd thought I could reach out to him if I found him, and now I had to consider his wife's feelings. I'd thought he might need my help, but now it seemed like he had everything under control. Maybe I should just stop thinking so much. Maybe I was just tired from my mediation. Maybe a nice, relaxing pedicure was just what I needed.

  It turned out that it was.

  ***

  It was Saturday morning and I was trying to decide what one wears to go horseback riding. After perusing the limited selections my closet had to offer, I opted for a short-sleeved shirt, jeans and sneakers. I was way too wired and excited to eat, so I drank some coffee and pocketed a granola bar for later. It was only 11:30 and we weren't meeting at the park until one, so I had some time to kill. Suddenly I remembered that Joe's funeral had been that morning, which made me think about their little girls. Poor things!

  My cell started ringing, which snapped me out of it. Why was Duke calling? We'd just spoken the day before.

  "Have I got a story for you!" he said, as soon as I picked up.

  "Hello to you, too."

  "Man, Jamie, that was a hell of a funeral!"

  "You went to Joe's funeral? Why would you do that?" I was flabbergasted.

  "I'm an investigator, aren't I? All of Joe's and Becca's friends and family were in one place--can you think of a better way for me to get some answers?"

  "I guess that makes sense in a weird way. Crashing funerals seems a little over the top to me, but, hey, that's why I'm not an investigator."

  "So, listen to this, I'm chatting with Joe's friends before the service--they think I'm his cousin from Louisiana--and they tell me some interesting things…"

  "Go on."