Diana Orgain - Bundle of Trouble

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 List:

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.