Shadow of Doubt (A Kali O'Brien legal mystery) (7 page)

She nodded. “Of course, he did it the easy way. His wife has money and a long history of political connections. She was one of those dutiful daughters who never left home until her parents died. That was only a couple of years ago. Jack Peterson’s star has risen rapidly since the marriage.”

“Does he still wear those silly bow ties?”

She smiled. “And stiffly starched shirts. He and Marlene would have been at the party Friday except that Jack had the flu. Marlene dropped by briefly to bring some brownies she’d baked, but I don’t think you met her.”

As we wandered back toward the kitchen, I got her to give me a list of Eddie’s friends and co-workers, and a promise to go over everything once again in her own mind. “What we want to do is point the police in a different direction,” I told her. “Get them started thinking about someone besides you.”

“But they'll have to prove I did it, won't they? Even if they can’t find anyone else.”

“Proof comes later. At this point, it’s more a question of coming up with the most likely scenario.”

And that didn’t bode well for Jannine, who based on what she’d told me, fit the scenario to a tee. That fact must have dawned on her too, because she seemed considerably gloomier than she had an hour and a half earlier.

“It doesn’t look good, does it?” she asked softly.

I had to admit it didn’t.

“You know though,” she said, as she walked me to the door, “if I was going to kill him, why would I leave my gun sitting right there practically in plain view?”

If I were a prosecutor, I could think of several reasons, but I wasn’t, so I kept my mouth shut.

Chapter 5

Outside, the day was still grand — the air fragrant with
the scent of mountain lilac and freshly turned soil, the sky a clear, deep blue the likes of which we never see in the Bay Area. My spirits, however, were considerably less bright.

With almost no effort at all, I could see the State’s case taking shape, and it wasn’t a comforting sight. They would see motive in the fight Jannine and Eddie had that morning, play up the fact that she hadn’t seemed surprised when he didn’t come home at night, might in fact find therein the cause of her anger. They would argue that she’d taken the children to her mother’s, then tracked or lured Eddie to a remote spot and killed him, using a gun to which she clearly had access.

It was a tidy picture. I wondered, bleakly, if there was any truth to it.

I stood by the car for a moment, enjoying the sun’s warmth on my back while I tried to organize my thoughts. The story in that morning’s paper had been largely a re
hash of yesterday’s news. The police were continuing their investigation, and while there were several leads, no arrests were imminent. I would have found the report heartening, particularly the part about “several leads,” except I thought there was a good chance it wasn’t entirely accurate. When the law enforcement folks aren’t forthcoming with details, reporters are forced to make do with an assortment of stock phrases. I had a feeling today’s column was nothing but generic news-speak. It made the next step pretty obvious, however.

I’m no fonder of tilting at windmills than the next person, but I thought I should give Benson another shot. The cops undoubtedly had information I would find useful. I was willing to risk being thrown out on my rear for the chance to learn some of it.

The desk sergeant was once again intent on poking at the computer terminal in front of her when I arrived. She didn’t even bother to look up.

“Benson’s out,” she barked.

“Still?”

“Again.”

I noticed a nameplate I’d missed the day before. A. Helga Smelski. I wondered what the “A” could possibly stand for that she would choose to go by Helga instead. Some pretty awful possibilities came to mind. Or maybe she just liked the name Helga. It suited her, anyway.

“I thought you said he was going to be back today,” I said.

Helga poked a few more keys, then hit a switch to her right The computer made a whirring sound, then began to print out a list of some sort. Finally, she looked up. “He
was
back. Now he’s gone again.”

“Can I leave him a message?”

Helga squinted one disapproving eye at me, as though I’d trampled her prize rosebush, but she handed me a piece of paper and a pen. I wrote a quick note, then asked for an envelope.

“You going to mail it?”

I’ll say one thing for the woman, she was an effective gatekeeper. I handed her the note,
sans
envelope, and left to try my luck elsewhere.

At the corner gas station, I stopped to phone the school and inquire about Nancy Walker’s schedule. Not only was Nancy familiar with the town, she knew Eddie — knew him better than I did at any rate. I was hoping she would be able to give me a quick run down of the “who’s who” variety, and save me some time.

I was planning to swing by and catch her at the close of school. As it turned out, she had a prep period coming up in twenty minutes. I hopped in my car and took off. The timing would be just about right.

The high school is out on El Camino Road at the eastern edge of town. When I was growing up, there wasn’t much out that way but open grassland where cows, and occasionally a truant student or two, vied for shade under the smattering of twisted oaks. Things had changed though. Rows of flat, box-like houses had sprung up along the sloping terrain on both sides of the road, and at the intersection of El Camino and Marsh, a three-way light provided easy entrance to a fancy new 7-Eleven. There wasn’t a cow, or an oak, in sight.

The school itself hadn’t changed at all, however, at least not from the outside. The big brick building with its wide steps and carefully trimmed oval of lawn looked just as somber as I remembered.

I got out of the car and locked it, taking care to set the alarm. Interest in cars has always run high among Silver Creek youth, and I figured a shiny silver BMW might just push their infatuation to new heights. I’d worked long and hard for that car, and I wasn’t about to take any chances.

The school hadn’t changed much on the inside, either. The hallways were still a dingy greenish-brown, a good half the lockers still bent and broken, the linoleum on the floor cracked in exactly the same spots. The smell of the place had an unpleasant familiarity, as well. How many years of sweaty bodies, cleaning solvents, and God knows what else hung there in the air? I found myself taking short, shallow breaths, as if that would make a difference.

The main office, directly to the right of the stairs, was staffed with a student assistant, just as it had been in my day. Usually timid and quiet kids, almost always female, they helped out by sorting attendance records, carrying messages to teachers, and filling in for the secretary when she was away from the front desk, which was the case when I arrived.

“I’m here to see Mrs. Walker,” I told the girl who greeted me. She had to have been at least fourteen, seeing as how she was in high school, but she didn’t look a day over ten. Her blonde hair was baby fine and hung in her eyes so that she had to brush it away to see me clearly. “I called about fifteen minutes ago and left a message.”

“Oh, gee.” Obviously flustered, she looked at her hands, then toward the door. “I don’t usually work in this office; I’m in attendance, across the hall. But the girl who’s supposed to be here, she’s out today and Mrs. Green had to, um, use the rest room, so she asked me to cover for her.” The girl finally managed a weak smile. “She should be back any minute.”

Just then, Nancy herself popped in. “Got your message just a minute ago.” She retrieved a stack of papers from her mailbox and leafed through them quickly, tossing a considerable portion into the trash. “Let’s go upstairs to the teachers’ lounge. It should be pretty quiet this time of day.” Here she half-covered her mouth with a hand and whispered, “And I’m dying for a smoke.”

The whole four years I’d been a student at Silver Creek Senior High I’d speculated about what lay behind that dark oak door which led to the teachers’ lounge. The notion of grim Mr. Bayles or straitlaced Miss Johnson eating and drinking, or joking with another teacher — it was a concept so tantalizing I’d once offered Jannine my entire collection of Kenny Rogers tapes if she would just knock on the door, while I stood behind her, ready to gape. She had refused, and the room had remained a mystery.

I don’t know quite what I’d imagined, but certainly nothing like the dark little room Nancy ushered me into. It looked more like the janitor’s office at the back of the cafeteria than a den of intrigue. Along one wall were a couch and a couple of chairs, along the other a wobbly bookcase. At the far end, with a door which opened smack onto a table set with hot plate and toaster oven, was a single commode bathroom. The last occupant had left the light on and the seat up. The place was littered with half-filled coffee cups, and smelled strongly of stale smoke and tuna fish, a most unappetizing combination.

The effect was lost on Nancy, however. She settled easily into one of the worn gray couches and lit a cigarette. “Now, what’s this all about?”

“I wanted to talk to you about Eddie Marrero.”

“God, who'd have thought. Kind of brings you up short, doesn’t it?” She rolled her eyes to the heavens while inhaling deeply on her cigarette. When she finally exhaled she had the graciousness to blow the smoke in the other direction.

“The police seem to think Jannine might have had something to do with it,” I told her.

“Not seriously!”

“I don’t know how seriously actually, that’s part of what I’m trying to find out.” I explained, briefly, what I’d learned so far and why Jannine was worried.

“I don’t know what I can tell you really. I didn’t know him all that well. English and football aren’t the most compatible disciplines.”

“Just tell me what he was like, help me get some kind of impression of the man. Except for that party Friday night, I hadn’t seen him in years.”

Nancy kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet under her while she considered the question. “I guess you’d say he was somewhere between your all-around guy and your typical jack-ass jock. He had a puffed up idea of his own importance, but you never could hold it against him for long. He was one of those people you like, even when you know you probably shouldn’t. And he was good with kids. They all liked him, even the ones who weren’t super athletes. Of course the parents, or some of them anyway, are another story. They think the sun rises and falls on their kid, and when he’s not
numero uno,
they’re only too happy to blame the teacher. I think coaches probably get it worse than anybody.”

“What about the other teachers? Did Eddie get along with them?”

She ran her fingers through her hair, brushing it back from her face, then shrugged. “He seemed to. Of course anybody who sees himself as bigger than life is bound to alienate a few people. Some of the teachers here thought he got away with murder
...”
Horrified, she slapped her hand over her mouth. “Jeez, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. It’s just he was real tight with Peterson and a lot of people resented that.”

Office politics—I understood it all too well.

“Still,” she said, “I can’t imagine any of them killing him because of it.”

“What about vices? Drugs, booze, gambling, sex.”

“Are you kidding? Eddie was Mr. Clean himself. Drove most of us crazy with his moralizing. I sometimes wondered how Jannine put up with the man, but then again, he was never my type. Whatever
that
is. I’ve never been able to figure exactly what my type is, but I’m working on it. Process of elimination, you know?”