“Do you know where she kept it?”
“Last time I saw it, it was in the spare bedroom closet.”
“When did you last see it there?”
His brow furrows as he thinks. “I’m not sure. Several weeks ago, I think. I came by to pick up some of my clothes and I saw the box in its usual spot up on the shelf.” He pauses a moment and then asks, “Do you know the time of death yet?”
“It looks like she was killed around eight P.M., give or take a couple of hours.”
Erik’s shoulders sag and I know he comprehends the significance of this finding. “It doesn’t look good for me, does it?” he says, looking utterly miserable.
“There’s no hard evidence pointing to you. Everything is circumstantial and it’s still pretty early in the investigation.”
His expression brightens for a second, but it’s short-lived because the door to our room opens and I turn to see Hurley standing there with a couple of uniform cops.
“Erik Tolliver,” Hurley says, “you are under arrest for the murder of Shannon Tolliver. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say . . .”
As Hurley recites his Miranda warning, the two cops approach Erik, who willingly succumbs to being handcuffed. He mutters an acknowledgment of his rights when asked, then allows the officers to steer him from the room. I watch as he’s paraded through the ER, looking ashamed, humiliated, and completely without hope. The ER staff and patients watch in silence, but I can tell they are all mentally rehearsing their respective recital of the events for later.
My heart goes out to Erik and, as the cops lead him out the doors toward a waiting patrol car, I give Hurley a dirty look. “That was tacky. Couldn’t you have done this somewhere other than his place of work? And aren’t you being a bit premature?”
“Not at all,” he answers. I expect him to look smug but seeing the effect Erik’s arrest has had on me, he looks sympathetic instead. “I’m sorry,” he says, and I think he means it.
But it doesn’t change the facts, and after seeing the pathetic look of dejection on Erik’s face, I’m more motivated than ever to get to the truth.
Chapter 12
After saying my good-byes to the ER crew, I head for my car, knowing what I have to do next but dreading it. Erik is going to need a lawyer, a good one, and I know one of the best: my brother-in-law, Lucien. Unfortunately, being a good lawyer doesn’t require charm, finesse, or good taste, and Lucien is a shining example of this fact. He behaves like a sexist pig and lacks any sense of tact or political correctness. He is famous, or perhaps infamous, for his free use of words like
I’ve never understood what my sister, Desi, sees in Lucien, though as far as I can tell he is a faithful and loving husband despite his belief that developing a hard-on is a form of personal growth. He is also a wonderful father to his daughter, Erika, and his son, Ethan, who despite some odd idiosyncrasies are both bright, sweet kids. Twelve-year-old Erika seems to have inherited her father’s flair for attention-getting behavior, a trait she exhibits through her appearance rather than her speech. Her clothes are typically dark, mismatched, and oversized, and her hair color changes on a regular basis, ranging from raven black to hot pink. Ethan, who just turned ten, is brilliant but far less outgoing and flamboyant. Desi calls him her mini nerd. He prefers to hole up in his room alone much of the time, though that might be because no one else wants to go in there. The kid is enthralled with bugs of all kinds and his room holds a creepy but fascinating collection.
As I dial Lucien’s office number and listen to the phone ring on the other end, part of me hopes he won’t be available. Talking to him is an exercise in extreme patience that I’m not sure I’m up for today. But as luck would have it, he’s not only in, he answers his own phone.
“Lucien, it’s Mattie.”
“Well, hello, Sweet Cheeks! What goodly deed did I do to warrant a call from you?” In my mind I think it’s more the other way around—what horrible thing did I do to deserve the punishment of having to talk to him? “If you’re calling to thank me for that picture thing, there’s no need. It’s all in the family, so to speak.” He lets forth with a salacious chuckle.
The picture thing he’s referring to is a shot of me standing bare-chested next to Joey, a gigantic hulk of a man who despite being a little slow in some areas has a savant ability when it comes to computers and programming. Joey also fancies himself something of a superhero and even dresses the part by wearing a skintight, red hero suit—complete with cape—under his regular clothes. How I came to be standing bare-chested next to Joey is a story in itself, one that nearly rivals the infamous nipple incident. Unfortunately, it was Alison who took the picture, and in an effort to keep her from publishing it in the local paper, I had Lucien serve her with an injunction. In the process, he got a copy of the picture. I shudder to think what he’s been doing with it since then.
Still, as trying as Lucien can be, he’s a successful criminal defense lawyer who, more often than not, wins his cases. I’ve long held the belief that he wins by embarrassing, harassing, or simply talking his opponents to death. However unbecoming his behavior might be, it’s effective. Bracing myself, I tell him why I’m calling.
“No, it’s not that. I’m calling to ask a favor.”
“Let me guess. You’re starting to feel a bit pent up with your new single life and you want me to fix you up with somebody, right? Can do, Babycakes. With those headlights of yours you should be able to snag a great bosom buddy, if you know what I mean.” In my mind’s eye I can see him wiggling his eyebrows. “And you’re smart to get right to it while you still have them on high beams, if you get my drift.”
Sadly, I did. But despite the fact that any moron would get one of Lucien’s crass innuendos, he clarifies.
“You’re no spring chicken, anymore, Mattie. With tatas the size of yours, it won’t be long before you’ll have to pierce your belly button so you’ve got something you can hook your bra onto.” His comment makes me straighten up and pull my shoulders back. “Dally too long and you’ll be well beyond your freshness date. I’m only telling you this, Sweet Cheeks, because you’re family and I want you to be happy.”
I mentally calculate the odds of anyone Lucien would fix me up with making me happy and figure I’d be better off strutting my stuff on the streets.
“So give me some guidelines,” he goes on. “Are you looking for a serious commitment kind of thing, or just a fuck buddy?”
“I’m fine in that regard, Lucien, but thanks.”
“You sure? ’Cause I got a friend who’s also going through a divorce and he’s been answering the bone-a- phone so much lately he’s about worn his johnson out. “
“Yes, Lucien. I’m sure.” I barely take a breath before my next sentence, not wanting to give him another chance to pursue his current line of thinking. “I’m calling because I want to know if you’ll consider representing someone who I don’t think can afford your usual fees.”
“You want me to do a pro bono thing?”
“Well, discounted rather than totally free, but yes.”
“Who, and what’s the rap?”
I fill him in on the case against Erik, sharing what I know, which to be honest, isn’t much.
“You think this guy is innocent?” Lucien asks me.
“I do, but I don’t have anything concrete to base it on right now,” I admit. “I need to look into some things.”
“Are there any other suspects?”
“Nothing definite yet, but there’s a boyfriend I need to talk to, some new shrink here in town.”
Lucien groans. I know from past conversations with him that he doesn’t like shrinks of any kind. I suspect it’s because he’s had dealings with them in the past and been told things he didn’t want to hear, giving him a prejudice I’m hoping will work in my favor for now.
