Bargain Hunting (9 page)

Wells flipped his notebook closed and downed his coffee. “Thank you, Miss Tanner.”

Metcalf seemed a tad more reluctant to end the interview but he grudgingly got off my sofa. “I’m sure we’ll be in touch again,” he said as he reached inside the breast pocket of his jacket. “Here’s my card. If you see or hear from Mr. McGarrity, I’ll expect a phone call.”

“Not a problem.”
Or an option
.

MapQuest should really start at direction number three. I’m pretty sure I know how to get out of my own driveway.

“Change in plans,” Tony said.

I was negotiating a modest amount of traffic over the bridge that separates West Palm Beach from Palm Beach proper. It’s the unofficial dividing line between the haves and the have-nots. I lived on the have side. Granted, my little house was smaller than most of the servants’ quarters attached to the mansions that dotted the island, but I didn’t care. I loved my little piece of heaven.

I put my cell on speaker and placed it in the cup holder. “What’s the new plan?”

“Meet me at the sheriff’s office in Riviera Beach at nine. Bring a pad of paper.”

“Okay.”

Tony didn’t bother saying good-bye, the line just clicked and went silent. I had a good forty-five minutes, but I couldn’t think of any way to kill the time, so I headed for the office. Margaret
wasn’t yet at her perch but one of her minions was seated behind the horseshoe-shaped desk. Her name was Wendy or Cindy or something like that. I only knew the petite redhead from the file room and the few snarky remarks I’d heard her say under her breath. Like Margaret, she resented my private office and my salary. Too freaking bad. I resented being called FAT behind my back, so I figured we were even.

“Do I have any messages?”

Wordlessly she passed a few pink slips toward me.

“Is Margaret out for the day?” No one sat behind the sacred sentry desk unless Margaret was at death’s door.

“She had an appointment. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Spill that healthy little bottle of V8 juice on yourself?
“No, thank you.”

There was a small amount of activity buzzing around the second floor. Mostly interns trying to keep up with their duties and a couple of administrative assistants prepping various projects for the partners. I said hello to the ones I knew as I turned left and went to my office.

I still had the messages in my hand but it wasn’t until I sat down at my desk that I bothered to read them. They were all from Jane, and all were urgent. Something was weird. Why hadn’t she called my cell? Or my house? Why leave messages at the office instead of on my voice mail?

It was only a few minutes before eight, so I knew she’d be at the gym. I’d return her call on my drive to the PBSO since her workouts ended promptly at eight forty-five. I checked my voice mail while my computer booted. Nothing of consequence
except for an angry message from Sleepy Bollan telling me he was going to hire “a legal aide” to fight the eviction. “Great,” I sighed, wondering how long this problem would drag out. Maybe talking to his own attorney would convince him to take the deal. I could only hope.

My e-mail was about as disinteresting. A new estate assigned by Victor Dane, along with an edict to contact the client so I could begin the process. I dashed off a quick e-mail to Ellen, letting her know Sleepy’s intentions.

The last item was an e-mail from Izzy with a photo attached. She’d looked online and found what she thought were the perfect shoes to go with her outfit. I was impressed. The Gliteree skinny-heeled platform pump was darling; I just wondered how Tony would feel about the shoes. They were a tad high for a fourteen-year-old. Just to be on the safe side, I e-mailed Izzy, agreeing that the shoes were cute, but suggested we not limit our choices until we had scoured the mall to see all the options. I’d make a point of taking her to the Betsey Johnson shop last. Hopefully she’d fall in love with another, more appropriate pair. I was already on Tony’s crap list. I didn’t relish the idea of throwing gas on that fire.

I lingered over a cup of coffee while I scanned eBay for any new listings. I hit pay dirt. A seller was offering four band links with no reserve. My kind of auction. I immediately placed a bid and was almost giddy when I was the high bidder. Now if it only stayed that way for the next six hours.

Riviera Beach was a
small town just north of West Palm. I had to MapQuest and GPS the directions since the sheriff’s office wasn’t on my radar. Suspenders and a belt—sometimes my GPS takes the long way around. Luckily I was going against the traffic, so I arrived at the station and didn’t see Tony’s BMW or the small compact I’d rented for Liam. I stayed in my car. I’d already had one interaction with detectives and I wasn’t relishing a second round of questioning. Instead I tried Jane’s number. It frustratingly went directly to voice mail. I pleaded with her to call me ASAP, then placed my phone on vibrate only.

I checked my lipstick in the mirror just as Tony and Liam pulled into the lot. They were together, so I wondered briefly what had happened to the rental. After all, it was being billed to my already-stressed VISA.

Liam looked pissed more than anxious and Tony was all business. We met up at the flagpole near the entrance to the single-story stucco building. The emblem of the PBSO was on the double glass doors leading into the station. As we entered, I smelled cleaning supplies mingling with coffee. There was a lone uniformed officer standing behind the counter.

He looked up and I saw recognition immediately register in his washed-out brown eyes.

Tony passed him a business card while I stood just behind the two of them with a death grip on my briefcase. “I’m Mr. McGarrity’s counsel and he’s come in voluntarily to speak to whoever is in charge of the Lopez shooting.”

The officer seemed at a loss for a second before he grabbed a phone and called for Detective Wells.

I stepped forward. “He was at my house this morning,” I whispered to Tony.

“Anything I should know?”

I shook my head. I hadn’t technically lied, more like a version of truth avoidance.

A buzz sounded, then the door opened and Wells, with Metcalf on his heels, came out into the lobby.

Metcalf’s eyes narrowed on Liam. “McGarrity,” he said, almost as if it was a vile curse.

“How ya been, Harry?” Liam asked, as if they were the best of friends.

But I knew that wasn’t possible. Metcalf looked like the top of his bald head was about to blow off.

The detective looked past Liam, right at me. “Miss Tanner.”

“I’m Tony Caprelli,” Tony said as he extended his hand. “I represent Mr. McGarrity, and Miss Tanner is my paralegal. We’re here to answer any questions you may have about the death of Mr. Lopez.”

“Deputy Sheriff Lopez,” Metcalf corrected curtly. “Let’s go into interrogation two.”

The three of us followed through the door, down a small hallway to an even smaller interrogation room. There was a table in the center of the room, a two-way mirror on one wall, and only four metal chairs. Wells excused himself to get another chair and I tried not to notice the metal loops used to handcuff people to the table. I had some bad handcuff memories that I didn’t care to revisit.

Wells returned and offered me the seat he placed at the end of the table. Liam and Tony sat opposite the two-way glass
while Wells and Metcalf sat across from them. I retrieved my pad and paper as well as a small voice recorder.

“We’ll be taping this interview,” Tony explained after giving me a “good job” nod.

“So will we,” Metcalf said. He loosened his tie and depressed a button on the antiquated machine in the center of the table. He said the date, the time, and named everyone in the room. Then from rote he said, “You have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Anything you do say may be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future. Do you understand?”

“I think I’ve got that one covered.”

“If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you before any questioning if you wish. Do you understand?”

“Ditto,” Liam answered as he absently rubbed his side. I guessed the wound was not healing as fast as he pretended.

“If you decide to answer questions now without an attorney present you will still have the right to stop answering at any time until you talk to an attorney. Do you understand?”

“That’s a dumb-ass question.”

“Knowing and understanding your rights as I have explained them to you, are you willing to answer my questions?”

“I’m here, right?”

Wells reached into a drawer in the table and passed Liam a card, telling him, “Initial each and every right as they were just read to you and sign at the bottom.”

Liam did as requested and shoved the five-by-seven card back at the detective.

“I’d like it noted that my client came in of his own volition.”

“So noted,” Metcalf said.

“Where were you Sunday evening between five and eleven
P.M.
?” Wells asked.

“I was home until about nine thirty.”

Metcalf leaned back in his chair. “Can anyone verify that?”

“My dog, but he doesn’t usually talk to strangers.”

“Cut the bullshit, McGarrity,” Metcalf warned.

“No,” Tony responded. “My client was home alone until approximately nine thirty.”

“Then you went to Deputy Lopez’s home?”

“He called me and asked me to come over,” Liam’s voice dropped slightly and he seemed more somber.

“Was that a common occurrence?” Wells asked.

Liam shook his head. “I hadn’t spoken to José for nearly five years. He called from out of the blue and told me he had something important he wanted to tell me.”

“And what was that?” Metcalf asked.

“I have no idea. I got to his house around ten thirty and when I arrived I found José in a chair with a bullet in his head.”

“Are you saying he was already deceased when you entered his house?”

“Yes.”

“How did you get in?” Wells asked.

“The door was ajar. I went in, found him, checked for a pulse, and then someone took a shot at me.”

Metcalf tilted his head, conveying his skepticism.

Liam lifted his shirt. “Wanna look for yourself?”

Wells frowned. “We need to stop for a moment. Mr. McGarrity, do you require medical attention?”

“No.”

“Yes,” Tony said, overruling him. “I want his injury fully documented.”

“Wells,” Liam began angrily. “I want this over so they can move on and find out who killed José, ’cause it sure as hell wasn’t me.”

“Which will happen as soon as a doctor checks you out,” Tony said forcefully. “Call the paramedics. Now.”

Wells and Metcalf turned off the recorder and left the room and Tony immediately turned to Liam. “You have to stop antagonizing these guys.”

“I will if they stop treating me like a perp.”

Tony stood and rapped on the glass. “Privacy please. I want to talk to my client.”

“Does that really work?” I asked.

“They won’t risk violating attorney-client privilege. What’s the deal with you and Metcalf?”

Liam shrugged. “He used to be Internal Affairs.”

“Are you sure you can’t think of any reason for Lopez calling you last Sunday?”

“Not a one,” Liam said, then raked his fingers through his hair. “I told you this was a bad idea. Metcalf will do his best to link me to José’s murder.”

“That’s a leap, Liam.”

“Not for Metcalf. And I’m not stupid, look at the circumstances. I was there. I’m sure my fingerprints are on the doorknob and I could have left any number of footprints or fibers or other forensics at José’s. Once the shooting started I was more concerned with getting out of there.”

“And you didn’t see the gunman?”

Liam shook his head. “I can only say for sure that he was in the house. I booked out the back door and hopped the fence.”

“Did he chase you?”