Jonathan Kellerman - Capital Crimes

“Where’s Mrs. Grayson going, Donnie?”

“To see her lawyer. Final arrangements.”

Amanda said, “Would you mind introducing her to us…or rather me? You people already know each other.”

“It’s been awhile,” Barnes said. Then he remembered what was nagging at his brain. “Doesn’t Marshall Bledsoe’s mother live in LA?”

Newell shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“I think she does. San Fernando Valley as I recall. Now Thanksgiving is, what…a week away? I wonder if Marshall will be paying Mom a visit.” Barnes smiled. “If he has warrants, we have probable cause.”

“I’ll have to coordinate with LAPD,” Amanda said. “In the meantime, let’s talk to Lucille Grayson, then I want to poke around the capital. I know some politically connected people so maybe I won’t be as threatening as Don.”

“Plus, you’re a lot prettier and tons more charming,” Newell said.

Amanda’s smile started off frosted but thawed in a nanosecond. “People may like me, but no one doesn’t love my husband’s money.”

“Willie Barnes.” Lucille eyed him head to toe. “You grew up and you got old.”

Barnes winked. “That about sums it up, Mrs. Grayson.”

The old woman sighed. “I never did get a chance to tell you how sorry I was about your brother, Jack.”

“You sent me a lovely sympathy card, ma’am.”

“Did I?”

“Yes, you did. I appreciated it and wrote you back.”

“Well, then…now I’m telling you in person how sorry I was.”

“Mrs. Grayson, I am so sorry about Davida. She was a fine woman and a real asset to this community. She was loved, respected and admired. It is a profound loss for everyone, but my heart goes out to you. I’m truly sorry.”

Lucille nodded. “Thank you, Will.”

“This is my partner, Detective Isis, ma’am.” Barnes watched Lucille give Amanda a polite nod.

Amanda said, “Solving this isn’t only our top priority, it’s Berkeley ’s top priority.”

The old woman nodded and turned back to Barnes. “What do you think about the mayor, Willie?”

Thrown by the question, Barnes formulated his answer as quickly as he could. “He’s very concerned, ma’am.”

“Concerned for Davida or concerned for the town’s image?” When Barnes didn’t answer, she said, “I have an appointment with my lawyer in a half hour. If you need to reach me, I’ll be at the club for the next couple of days.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Grayson, I appreciate your cooperation. Could you spare a few minutes for a couple of questions?”

The old woman didn’t agree but she didn’t walk away. Amanda went first. “Did Davida express any concerns for her safety after the recent incident in the capital?”

“I was much more concerned than Davida.” Lucille raked nails down her cheek, creating temporary stigmata. “My daughter was fearless.” She looked at Newell for confirmation. “You remember those Nazis, don’t you, Willie?”

“I don’t know the Nutterly brothers, but I sure as hell remember Marshall Bledsoe. Donnie tells me he moved to Idaho.”

“But he’s still got followers in Sacramento. And I see him around from time to time.”

Newell said, “Do you, ma’am? When was the last time?”

The old woman’s eyes clouded. “I’d say…last year…maybe it was longer, but I’m sure he goes back and forth.”

Amanda said, “Next time you see him, Mrs. Grayson, give us a call right away. He has outstanding traffic warrants in the state of California so we can arrest him.”

“That’s all you’ve got on him?” Lucille said. “Traffic warrants?”

“It’s enough to bring him in. Especially if you think he had something to do with Davida’s death.”

“I’d certainly look at him first. Also that Modell man. He used to send her the nastiest mail.”

“Harry Modell,” Barnes said. Seeing Amanda’s inquisitive look, he added, “Families Under God, I’ll fill you in.”

Newell said, “She never mentioned any hate mail from him.”

“Davida thought he was a crackpot,” Lucille said. “She thought the letters were funny although I failed to see any humor in them.”

“She showed you the letters?” Amanda asked.

“Yes, she did. I kept a few of them. I thought she should send them to the police, but she refused and she forbade me to do it. Said it was a waste of their valuable time.”

“You wouldn’t still have those letters, would you?” Amanda asked.

“Of course, I have them. In my files at home. I wanted to keep them…just in case.” Without warning, the old woman’s eyes watered. She unfolded a silk handkerchief and dabbed her eyes.

Amanda said, “Who else should we be looking at, Mrs. Grayson?”

“Oh…I don’t know.”

“What about her partner, Minette?”

The old woman’s eyes narrowed. “What about her?”

“How’d they get along, for starts?”

“I’ll give you my observations, but I’m warning you, they’re colored. I don’t like the girl.”

“Why not?” Barnes said.

“I think she’s a mooch, an attention seeker, and a drunk. When Davida first introduced us, it was hate at first sight. But I could tell Davida was smitten. The girl was a gorgeous thing about five years ago. In that showgirl way. Now the bourbon’s caught up with her.” Lucille lowered her voice. “My daughter never said a word about their relationship- good or bad. But lately, I could tell there were problems.”

“How so?” Amanda asked.

“During our lunches and dinners, the girl was constantly calling…interrupting. I could tell that Davy was not happy. She’d get this tight look around her eyes and whisper something like, ‘ Can we talk about this later ?’ Not a single meal passed without intrusion.” A wistful sigh. “And I saw Davy so seldom.”

“But you never heard Davida complain about Minette?”

“Only to say that the girl didn’t like her keeping such long hours. Probably the only thing the girl and I ever agreed on.” Lucille peered into Amanda’s eyes. “Now, I’m not saying that the girl had anything to do with Davida’s death. But I am saying that there was a reason that Davida spent so much time away.”

“Do you think it’s possible that Davida was seeing someone else?” Amanda asked.

Lucille shrugged. “Well, let me put it to you this way. Her father never placed a premium on fidelity. If that was the only bad trait that Davy inherited from him, she did quite well.”

There were numerous cafés in downtown Berkeley, but for some reason Barnes always went to Melanie’s- a little hole-in-the-wall that served a mean bran and raisin muffin and a decent cup of no-frills coffee. Of late, Barnes was adding milk to the froufrou level because his stomach rebelled when he drank too much black. Melanie’s was about half a storefront wide, and when the place got crowded, he had to walk through the door sideways.

Laura Novacente was sitting at what used to be their favorite corner table, her long gray hair tied up in a knot. When he sat down opposite her, she slid the cappuccino in front of him. “Hey there. How’s it going?”

“You’re looking good. I like that red dress on you. Brings out your coloring.”

“The tape recorder is going, Smooth-guy.” Laura pointed to a small lump under a napkin.

Barnes smiled. “It was a compliment. If I get slapped with sexual harassment you’re going to be hearing from my attorney for entrapment.”

“What entrapment?”

“The red dress. It brings out your coloring.”

Laura laughed. “Is your attorney cute?”

“She’s very cute.”