James Grippando - Beyond Suspicion

“You’re ignoring the empty bottle of vodka, the slit wrist. I told you about those viatical investors just to give you the whole picture. It could be just me, but this maybe, kind-of, sort-of, looks a little like suicide, don’t you think?”

“One thing I’ve learned after twenty-two years. Looks can be deceiving.”

He gave Jack the kind of penetrating look that prosecutors laid only on suspects. Jack didn’t blink. “Sorry. I don’t scare easy. Especially when I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Jancowitz closed his notebook, rose slowly, shook Jack’s hand, and said, “I just love a challenge. I’ll be in touch.”

“Anytime.”

He crossed the patio and walked back inside the house. Through the bay window Jack saw him stop in the family room to admire a long wall that was lined with Cindy’s photographs. He turned, grinned, and gave the thumbs-up, as if he were admiring her work. He seemed pleased to see that Jack had been watching him.

“Twit,” Jack said quietly as he returned the phony smile.

Jack waited for him to disappear into the living room, and then he took out his cell phone and dialed.

It was late, but somehow he sensed he was going to need a lawyer. A good one.

•

Jack had a noon meeting with Rosa Tomayo at his office. It was literally a matter of walking across the hall. Her office suite was on the same floor, same building as his.

Rosa’s firm was three times bigger than Jack’s, which meant that besides herself she had two much younger partners to help carry the workload. Not that she needed much help. Rosa was a bona fide multitasker, someone who felt hopelessly underutilized if she wasn’t doing at least eight different things at once, all with the finesse of a symphonic conductor. Jack had personally engaged her in spirited debates over lunch only to have her later recount conversations she’d simultaneously overheard at nearby tables. That kind of energy and brain power had landed her among Miami’s legal elite, though some would say her reputation was equally attributable to the quick wit and enduring good looks she employed with great flair and frequency on television talk shows. She definitely had style. But she wasn’t the typical showboat criminal defense lawyer who proclaimed her client’s innocence from the hilltops when, in truth, the government had merely failed to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. If Jack ever decided to seek out a partner, Rosa would have been first on his list.

When he needed representation, Rosa was the obvious choice.

Calling her from the crime scene last night had turned out to be the right thing to do. Even though he’d walked hundreds of his own clients through similar situations, the perils of a lawyer representing himself were endless. Rosa helped him focus objectively. They’d agreed that, first thing in the morning, she would meet with the prosecutor assigned to the case.

At 12:15 Jack began to pace. Rosa, where are you?

The wait was only made worse by the barrage of calls from the media. Jack dodged them all. As a lawyer he didn’t normally shy away from reporters, but in this case Jack was avoiding any public statements at least until Rosa confirmed one way or the other if he was a suspect.

At 12:45, finally, she was back.

“I think it’s solved,” she said.

Jack chuckled nervously from his seat at the head of the conference table.

“I’m serious.” She was picking over the deli sandwich platter he’d ordered for lunch. She removed the sliced turkey from between two slices of rye bread, rolled it up, and nibbled as she spoke. “I honestly think it’s resolved.”

“Already?”

“What can I say? I’m damn good.”

“Tell me what happened.”

She tossed the rolled turkey back on the platter and started on the ham. It was the way Rosa always ate-two bites of this, a bite of that, talking all the while.

“The meeting was just me and Jancowitz. He claims you all but admitted that Jessie scammed the investors.”

“I didn’t go that far. I was just trying to give him some insight into the motive they might have to kill her.”

“Well, the motive cuts two ways. He sees it as your motive to kill Jessie.”

“How?”

“Self-righteous son of a former governor gets scammed by a client who used to be his girlfriend. His ego can’t handle it, or maybe he thinks it will ruin his stellar reputation. He snaps and kills her, then makes it look like suicide.”

“That’s weak.”

“That’s what I said. Which is why I don’t think it’s their real theory.”

“Then where are they headed?”

“Same place you’d go if you were still a prosecutor. You and Jessie were having an affair. She threatened to tell your wife unless you played along with her scam. You got tired of the extortion and whacked her.”

“When?”

“Good question. I pressed Benno on the time of death. They’re not committing to anything, but bugs don’t lie. The medical examiner says that the maggot eggs in Jessie’s eyes were already starting to hatch. If you work backward on the timeline of forensic entomology, that puts her time of death somewhere about midday.”

“Good for me,” said Jack. “I was in trial all day and then went straight to dinner with Cindy.”

“That’s what I told Benno.”

“Except the maggots give us something else to think about. Aren’t they more prevalent on a body found outdoors than indoors?”

“Not necessarily.”

“But you see my point. Is anyone considering that Jessie’s body was moved from somewhere outside the house to my bathtub?”

“I’m pretty sure they’ve ruled it out. With all the blood that ran from her body, her heart had to be pumping when she was in your tub, which means she was alive when she got there.”

“Though not necessarily conscious.”

“True. But there are other indicators, too. Benno was talking pretty fast, but I think he said something about how the livor mortis pattern on her backside suggests that she died right where she was found.”

“When can we find out something definite?”

“We have to be patient. You know how this works. It could be weeks before the medical examiner issues a final report. Until then, all we get is what Benno deigns to share with us.”

“Does that mean I’m a suspect or not?”

“I don’t think you’re high on the list. In my opinion, he just wants to tweak you, embarrass you a little.”

“Oh, is that all?” he said, scoffing.

“Better than making your life miserable for the foreseeable future as the target of a homicide investigation. All you have to do is give him a little of what he wants.”

“What are you telling me? You and Jancowitz sat around a table all morning negotiating how best to embarrass me?”

She bit off the tip of a pickle spear. “Basically.”

“This is crazy.”

“Just listen. Here’s the deal. We put down in writing the whole conversation you and Jessie had the night before she died. She was afraid for her life, she admitted that she had scammed the viatical investors, they were threatening to kill her. Then we put in your side of the story. She acted like she was on drugs, you told her to go to the police, blah, blah, blah. And most important, we put in bold and all capital letters that you knew absolutely nothing about the scam until after the verdict was rendered.”

“You’re confident that there will be no repercussions about breaching the attorney-client privilege?”

“A lawyer can breach the privilege to defend himself from possible criminal charges.”

“I know that. But nobody’s talked about charging me yet.”

“There was a dead body in your house. Trust me. They’re talking about it.”