Dirty Rotten Tendrils (20 page)

The conference room was a windowless rectangular box with yellowed, peeling ceiling tiles, grungy white walls, and a black-and-white asphalt floor that was stained and cracked from wear. In the room was a standard government-issued steel desk, a long metal table with a cheap pecan veneer, eight hard, metal folding chairs, and an old coffeemaker on a stand in the corner, with about an inch of black sludge inside. Beside it were packets of a chemically produced sweetener, some lumpy powdered white stuff that substituted for cream, and flimsy foam cups guaranteed to partially disintegrate when they came in contact with hot liquid. It was all part of the torture.

“Would you like some coffee?” she asked.

“No, thanks. I’m good.”

As I took a seat on a folding chair, the door opened and Detective Al Corbison stepped inside. Corbison was a paunchy, middle-aged, bald man with tobacco-stained teeth and no sense of humor whatsoever, a condition I’d discovered while being investigated in the murder of a law school professor. He was alone, which I took as a good omen. Two detectives made a more formidable foe.

“Miss Knight,” he said in a gravelly voice. “Thanks for coming in.”

Time to take charge of the situation. I sat forward and folded my hands on the table. “Thanks for giving me a chance to talk to you.”

He gave me a quizzical glance as he put his file on the table and sat down. He pulled out a recorder and placed it beside the file. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to tape our interview.”

As if I had a choice. “Good idea, Detective.” I smiled to unnerve him.

He started the machine, then stated his name, the date, and my name for the record, after which he said, “Would you describe your relationship with David Hammond?”

I was determined to make my answers as innocuous as possible. “I clerked for him when I was in law school, as you know.”

“Do you work for him now?”

“Come on, Detective,” I said, as if we were old buddies. “You’re well aware that I own Bloomers Flower Shop.”

“It’s for the record,” he reminded me. “Does David Hammond’s former secretary work at your flower shop?”

“Yes. That would be Grace Bingham.”

“Didn’t David Hammond represent you in the law school murder case?”

“Yes, and he did a great job, too. You guys weren’t able to pin it on me.” I smiled again. “Not that you didn’t try.”

Corbison pinched his nostrils together, as though forcing himself not to rise to the bait. Or maybe to avoid a sneeze. “Did Hammond also represent your boyfriend at one time?”

“If you’re referring to Marco Salvare, yes. Another great job, by the way.” Where was he going with his questions?

“And isn’t it true you helped investigate that case for Hammond?”

“Okay, I see where you’re going now. You’re establishing that Attorney Hammond and I are good friends. Yes, we’re friends, Detective, which is why I can say with total honesty that he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Thank you for your opinion, Ms. Knight,” he grumbled. “Are you doing any work for Hammond now?”

After that little barb, I was going back to my simple answers. “No.”

“I understand you went out to Whispering Willows to question the staff and residents about Hammond’s visit on Monday. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“Wouldn’t you consider that working for Hammond?”

“I did that voluntarily. He hasn’t hired me to do any work for him.” Yet.

Corbison opened the file and glanced at the first page. “What was the occasion of your trip?”

“Attorney Hammond was afraid—no, wait, wrong word. Erase that. He felt you might be zeroing in on him and wanted to make sure he had alibi witnesses.”

“I hope you had better luck than we had. We couldn’t find anyone to back up his story.”

I knew he was waiting for me to tell him what I’d found, but I didn’t want to admit to failure, so I said nothing.

Corbison glanced up. “Well?” he asked impatiently. “Did you find any?”

“Not yet, but I haven’t questioned everyone.”

“I didn’t think so.” He turned a page in the file. “Let’s move on. Did you have occasion to speak with Hammond after the hearing on Monday?”

There it was—the topic I’d dreaded. “Briefly.”

“Did he talk about the hearing?”

“Briefly.”

“Did he mention a missing exhibit?”

“Briefly.”

“What did he say about it?”

I paused to think back, remembering Dave’s grim expression as he met me in the courthouse lobby. “
That bastard Lipinski took one of my exhibits. . . . It’s my most crucial piece of evidence, Abby. It’s Andrew’s handwritten memo to Cody Verse containing the lyrics he wrote for the winning song, with Cody’s written reply making some suggestions on them. Without that evidence, Judge Duncan may very likely rule in the defendant’s favor and dismiss the case. Lipinski knew that. He should be disbarred for this.”

“He said Lipinski took his exhibit, and then he explained what the exhibit was.”

“Did Hammond say he witnessed Lipinski take it?”

“I don’t recall him saying that.”

“Did he say the missing exhibit could damage his case?”

“He mentioned something to that effect, but what lawyer wouldn’t worry about his case in those circumstances? How would you feel if an important piece of evidence went missing? Wouldn’t you be concerned? Wouldn’t you take legal steps to mitigate the damage?”

“In what way would the missing exhibit damage his case?”

“Attorney Hammond could explain that better than I could.”

“Did you hear Hammond make any threats against Lipinski?”

“He said Lipinski should be disbarred for taking the exhibit.”

“That seems to be a pretty tame reaction, considering you just told me how concerned he was.”

“I don’t think any lawyer would feel being disbarred was
tame
. Besides, Attorney Hammond is not a vicious man. He doesn’t make threats. All he said was that Lipinski
should
be disbarred.”

“Yet Hammond proceeded to file a complaint with the bar association that day in order to start the process. So wouldn’t you consider his statement a threat?”

I had a sudden recollection of standing just outside Dave’s office after the hearing, listening to Dave vent his frustrations.

Now,
that
could be considered a threat. But I definitely wasn’t going to tell Corbison. “Absolutely not. His statement was more about what
should
happen legally. No threat there as far as I can see.”

“Did Hammond express any concern over how his client would react to the missing exhibit?”

“Of course. Attorney Hammond cares about every one of his clients. Andrew Chapper is no exception.”

“Did Hammond tell you he scheduled a meeting with Lipinski for that same afternoon?”

“No, but I was in his office when he instructed his secretary to set it up.”

“What was his mood at the time?”

“He was giving instructions. I guess you could say he was in an instructional mood.”

Corbison didn’t appear to think that was amusing. “Was he still angry?”

“Well, hey, wouldn’t you be?” I smiled, trying to break the tension in the room.

“You didn’t answer the question.”

I shrugged. “Well, I’m sure he was, but I don’t want to say positively. I’d be speculating.”

“What do you think happened at their meeting?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Detective, because I’d be speculating again.”

He motioned with his hand. “Speculate away.”

“I’m guessing the two lawyers discussed the hearing.”

“Did you ever witness Hammond losing his temper?”

“Never. He’s very easygoing.”

Corbison leaned forward. “But he wasn’t easygoing on Monday, was he?”

“He was a lot calmer than I’d have been.”

“You know what I mean, Ms. Knight.”

“If you’re asking whether I think Attorney Hammond was so angry that he killed Lipinski during the meeting—no way.”

“Hammond filed a complaint to have Lipinski disbarred. That’s not something lawyers normally do to each other, is it?”

“I’m not a lawyer. I really couldn’t say.”

“You worked for a lawyer. And, as I recall, you went to law school—for a time.”

Ouch. He knew that smarted. “Let me ask you something, Detective.”

“I’m not finished with my questions.”

How about that? We had something in common. “Do you have any hard evidence to tie Attorney Hammond to the crime scene?”

“That’s privileged information.”

“Does that mean you don’t?”

“No, that means you don’t get to know.”

Corbison was getting snarly. I had to get back in his good graces. “Look, I’m not a rookie anymore when it comes to investigating murders, Detective. I want you to catch Lipinski’s killer as much as you want to, and I’ll do whatever I can to help, including steering you toward people who have real grudges against Lipinski—Cody Verse, for instance.”

The detective folded his arms over his paunch. “Lipinski’s client?”

“Lipinski’s
famous
client”—I leaned forward, as though we were best friends sharing confidences—“who was infuriated when he found out that Lipinski made advances on his girlfriend, Lila Redmond.”

Now I had Corbison’s attention. He pulled a pen from his shirt pocket. “When did this happen?”

“The weekend prior to their hearing, while Lipinski hosted them at his lake house.”

“Did you witness it?”

“Someone told me about it.”

He opened his notebook, ready to write down the details. “Go ahead.”

“During their weekend stay, Lipinski tried to force himself on Lila, and she rebuffed him. Knowing that Cody is insanely jealous, she kept it from him until Monday, after the hearing, when Lipinski invited them to lunch. She refused to go and told Cody why. Apparently, Cody is insanely jealous anyway. In fact, Cody was so angry, he wouldn’t let Lila appear with him on the morning cable show. He brought his new lawyer instead.”

“How did you hear about this incident?”

This was where it got tricky. I didn’t want to give Corbison Jillian’s name because her knowledge was secondhand, which made it unreliable. Plus, she’d probably come across as a flake. “To be honest, Detective, my information is triple hearsay, but you can ask Lila Redmond about the incident.”

Corbison stopped writing. “Triple hearsay?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“How do I know you’re not making this up?”

“Talk to Lila, or her hairstylist. Better yet, investigate Cody. Get him in here and ask him about it. If he’s innocent, he’ll be happy to share it with you, right?”

Corbison finished writing, then closed his notebook and the file, ready to dismiss me. But I wasn’t finished.

“And then there’s Lipinski’s young associate, Scott Hess, who would’ve had the perfect opportunity to kill Lipinski by staying behind when everyone went home for the day.”

Corbison leaned back and clicked his pen. “I suppose you’ve already figured out a motive.”

“Envy. Lipinski had fame and fortune, but Hess didn’t even have his name up on the sign in front of Lipinski’s law office. Had you even heard of Scott Hess before he took over Cody Verse’s defense? Now he’s appearing on television with Cody, and they both seem inordinately pleased with the arrangement. Maybe they even schemed together to kill Lipinski.”

Corbison shot me a skeptical look, so I said, “Have you verified both alibis?”

He opened the file and flipped through a few pages, as though searching for the answer. At last I had him thinking.

Suddenly another image flashed in my mind—Andrew Chapper’s grandfather, irate, bearing down on Dave, his big hands clenched at his sides.

Corbison closed the file and scooted back his chair, ready to rise. “Okay, Ms. Knight, thank you for your time.”

“Wait. Have you interviewed Andrew Chapper’s grandfather?”

Corbison gave an impatient sigh. “Yes, we talked to him.”

“Are you aware of the confrontation Mr. Chapper had with Attorney Hammond just after the hearing, where, in full view of everyone in the courthouse lobby, he grabbed Attorney Hammond’s lapels and began ranting about Lipinski and calling him names? If I were investigating this case, I’d want to know just how volatile he is, because his behavior Monday was definitely out of the norm. And if you think about it, he has more to lose in this lawsuit than Attorney Hammond does.”

“Wouldn’t that apply even more so to Andrew?” Corbison volleyed back.

Oops. He was right, and Dave would never want me to implicate his client. I had to back off that one.

“Come to think of it,” Corbison said, “didn’t Andrew Chapper cause a scene at the memorial service Cody gave for Lipinski?”

“That wasn’t a memorial service. It was a chance for Cody to sell CDs. Besides, everyone knows Andrew is angry at Cody; otherwise he wouldn’t have filed the suit. No surprise that he displayed some of his frustration in public. That doesn’t mean he’d take it out on Lipinski. He’s smart enough to realize that Cody would merely hire another attorney.

“But think about Cody’s behavior, Detective. If a person wanted to throw suspicion off himself, giving a so-called memorial performance for his victim would be a good way to do it, wouldn’t it?”

“If I were Cody and had just killed my lawyer,” Corbison said, “I would suddenly remember something I had to do back in LA.” He stood up. “And yet Cody is still here. But thank you for sharing.” He nodded to the policewoman, who opened the door for me.