Death of the Family Recipe (A Scotti Fitzgerald Murder Mystery Book 3) (24 page)

I shook my head. "What about Rose’s father? What did he do?"

Marley shrugged. "He was working the graveyard shift when it all went down. Finally made his way to the station and dragged his daughter out of there. Got her a lawyer and that was that." He tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair and grunted. "But that girl needed more than a lawyer. She just fell apart while everybody else was covering their behinds. Ended up in the hospital for a while too."

I tilted my head and smiled at him. "Sounds like you cared about what happened to her. A little bit?"

He flushed and looked away. "I did feel sorry for Rose. Even if she did lie to me, and I’m not saying now that she did, but at the time when I thought she was lying, I still felt sorry for her. Just a kid — couldn’t blame her for doing something that stupid."

Joe cleared his throat, and we turned to him. "How’d you come to investigate Rose’s murder? That a coincidence?"

Marley squirmed and closed his eyes for a moment — probably regretting that he ever agreed to meet with us. "When the call came in, I asked to take it. I had prior experience with the girl, thought maybe that’d help."

"Help how? Did you think her murder was connected to the kidnapping?" I asked.

Marley nodded. "The thought crossed my mind." He shrugged. "But like your abduction, I never got anywhere."

I smirked. "And the only witness was Kathy? And after the fact."

Marley’s eyes flashed, and he stabbed a finger in the air. "Bingo."

"You didn’t believe it was a robbery?"

Marley shook his head. "It was definitely a robbery. Money was missing. Signs of a struggle. Bad neighborhood. The diner was a good target for a punk looking for some scratch." He smiled at me and smirked. "And I’d met your mother. She was one persistent young lady. If the robber wanted that ring, and she didn’t want to give it to him, I believe she would’ve fought him."

Rose fought for what was hers and that made me proud. "But you never found the ring?"

He shook his head. "No ma’am. We canvassed all the local pawn shops, but nobody’d seen anything like it." He frowned. "I don’t think it was especially valuable, but it was distinctive. Leastways, I’ve never seen one like it before or since. It would’ve stood out."

"What about Rory?"

Marley raised his bushy brows. "Ma’am?"

"Rose’s boyfriend? He died a few months before the baby was born. Did you look into any connection there? To his death and Rose’s?"

Marley pursed his lips and frowned. "No ma’am. He died in a traffic accident —tire blew when they were on the highway. Nothing suspicious there."

"What about his family? Maybe one of them took me."

Joe put a hand on my arm, "Scotti."

I looked at Joe, confused, until I realized I was about two inches from Marley’s face. Blushing, I backed up a few steps. "Sorry. But did you? Try to find Rory’s family?"

Marley rubbed a hand over his face. "He didn’t have no family. None we could find anyway."

My heart splintered — it seemed the only one out there sharing my gene pool was Jennifer Scarpello. Marley gave me a wary look, and I held up my hands. "Okay, okay. I just thought…I don’t know what I thought."

Joe closed up the box of files and got to his feet. "I think maybe we took up enough of Detective Marley’s time."

I nodded and shook Marley’s hand. "Thank you for seeing us."

Marley stood. "Sorry I couldn’t be more help."

Joe shook Marley’s hand and nodded toward the files. "Any chance we could borrow these for a while?"

Marley waved a hand at the coffee table. "You can have them. I’m not ever going to solve those cases." He glanced at me. "Maybe you two will have better luck." He took my hand and squeezed it. "I truly hope you do."

I believed him. And I wondered if what happened to Rose ever kept him up at night. I walked slowly to Joe’s car, looking back a couple of times, maybe hoping Marley would rush out with some new memory or clue – but he didn’t. When I got into the Lincoln, Joe was struggling with answering a text. "What’s up?"

Joe put his cell away and put the car in gear. "Sorry sunshine, we gotta cut this short."

I shook my head. "Oh no, we’re going to see Father Fran." I wagged a finger at him. "You promised I had you for the day."

Joe patted my hand. "Sorry Miss Scotti but you’re gonna have to give me a rain check." His eyes twinkled. "I gotta get to Dan’s right away for a pre-trial meet up."

I slouched in my seat and sulked. "I guess I know now who you like better."

Joe flicked me a look. "You could come along."

I gawked at him. "Why would I want to do that?"

Joe grumbled and flapped a hand at me. "Don’t start. I ain’t in the mood." He whistled through his teeth. "All righty then I’ll drop you at the house."

He nosed the Lincoln toward Glendale, and I looked out the window as the we rocketed down the I-5. "What about tomorrow? Can we pick up where we left off then?" He puckered his lips and looked at me. I threw up my hands. "Seriously! This case hasn’t even started, and you’re already blowing me off?"

He patted my knee. "Now don’t be that way. We got this case late, and we been playing catch-up ever since." He made a face at me. "And I ain’t blowing nothing from you. Be patient, Scotti, we’ll get there."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "After thirty years, it’s hard to be patient, Joe."

He nodded. "I know. But if you got a bee in your bonnet to do something, you could pay your aunt a visit." He glanced at me. "Now that we got some answers from Marley, you got a clue what you might be walking into." He looked at me again. "Don’t you think?

I shrugged. "I don’t know. I wanted to do this with you because…" I shook my head. "Never mind."

He pulled into my drive and threw the car in park. "Now, here you go, curb service. Good as Ted’s."

I put my hand on his arm. "You’ll call me when you get freed up again?"

He nodded. "Yes ma’am, I surely will."

I got out of the car and reached into the backseat for Marley’s files, then thought better of it. "Maybe you should hang onto these for a while."

Joe looked at the box of files then at me. "You sure about that?"

I nodded. "I don’t want Ted finding them." I glanced at him and shrugged. "We’re working the case together, you might as well keep them at your place."

Joe nodded. "Will do. If you’re pining for something to do, head over to Dan’s and dig through Atkinson’s files." I stared at him. "You said you wanted more information for your analysis. And it you’re gonna do it, now’s the time — we start jury selection next Monday."

I cringed because I had conveniently forgotten about that. "I don’t have time today."

Joe chuckled. "Pie emergency or some such?"

I rolled my eyes. "Ha ha."

"If you want a peek, you best get to it soon. Once the trial starts, they won’t be available." He shrugged. "Peggy knows to expect you."

I nodded and closed the car door, then watched Joe drive away. In such a damn hurry to get to his meeting. I’d never seen Joe so in love with a case before, and it puzzled the hell out of me. I went inside to call Peggy. I had Tuesday free and spending the day digging through Atkinson’s files might give me a clue why Joe and Dan were so entranced by the case.

Eight banker boxes awaited me in Dan’s conference room. Wondering if I’d bitten off more than I felt like chewing, I pulled out a cushy leather chair and dived in. Since California is a reciprocal discovery state, I looked for the box of discovery files turned over by the D.A.’s office. The files contained everything Joe had given me previously and a few additional items: witness list, labs on the forensics, crime scene photos and photos of the physical evidence.

The photos of the physical evidence were first on my list. I compared the photos of Atkinson’s shirt, Devereaux’s blouse and the wooden buttons. On both the shirt and blouse the buttons were a pearly translucent white and didn’t resemble the wooden buttons in any way. The buttons were light brown and flat with four sewing holes — too big for a shirt so they belonged to a jacket or a sweater. Curious. I shuffled through the rest of the photos but found no article of clothing that matched. But I snapped a picture of the buttons with my cell phone — thinking somewhere down the line they’d matter. Then I looked at the forensics report for any testing done on the buttons. None. Even more curious. For whatever reason, the prosecution deemed them unimportant. Then why collect them at all?

Then I moved on to the witness list and compared it to the witness statements which were sparse. No surprises there. Holding out the prosecution’s witness list, I dug through the other boxes looking for the defense’s list and found it in the last box — where it didn’t seem to belong. Then I compared the two lists. No mutual witnesses – which isn’t odd, but something bugged me. On Dan’s list there was one name, William Hyden, crossed out. I didn’t know who William Hyden was, but I made a note to ask why he was on the list then crossed off it. I checked but Hyden didn’t appear on the prosecution’s list.

The prosecution’s case was what I’d expected — a relatively strong set of circumstantial evidence that pointed to no one other than Spencer Atkinson. The D.A. expected the jury would connect the dots. The truth is, most cases are circumstantial, and D.A.’s expect that juries will infer the evidence that isn’t there and convict.

The remaining boxes contained additional reports, witness statements that went nowhere, various documents that I’d already seen, a few pre-trial motions and copies of copies. Lawyers could sure waste paper. On the face of it, the file Joe’d given me originally had contained the pertinent information, and I wondered why I’d wasted a trip to discover that. Still, my radar was up, so I kept digging through the boxes and went through the contents, piece by piece to see if anything would jump out at me for any reason.

In the back of the fourth box, tucked under other files, was a steno pad with handwritten notes. I flipped through it, and it appeared to be notes written by Dan — just his thoughts about the case in no particular order. Dan’s handwriting was big and loopy and hard to decipher but I managed to get the gist of what his scribbles said. But I stopped when I saw my name among all the scribbles. One sentence: "Client wants Scotti?" I stared at those three words trying to understand. Had Atkinson asked for me to work on his case? Why? How would Atkinson even know I existed? I frowned. Maybe Dan didn’t finish his thought, maybe he was mixed up when he wrote it, or maybe Joe and Dan conveniently forgot to mention it to me, knowing I’d want to know why Atkinson had requested me. I snapped a picture of the page with my cell phone and moved on.

Then another name jumped out at me — William Hyden — followed by several question marks. "There you are again, Mr. Hyden. Who are you?" I read further, but there was no other mention of Hyden in the notes. I went back and snapped a picture of that page as well. I wanted to ask Joe about Hyden, and if Atkinson had asked them to put me on his case. And if so, why.

Peggy stuck her head in and said, "Want to break for lunch?"

Frazzled, I looked up and said, "Yes, please."

We went to a tavern down the street, and it was so packed, we sat at the bar. Peggy claimed to be addicted to the brisket sandwiches there, so we each ordered one and shared a basket of onion rings.

Even though we were sitting next to each other, Peggy had to raise her voice. "How’s it going with the analysis?"

I leaned closer to her, trying to shut out the chorus of voices and clanging silverware. "I think I’m done. Wasn’t much more in all those boxes." I shrugged. "I guess Joe gave me the important stuff to begin with."

"Breaking News" flashed across the screen of the TV mounted behind the bar. Peggy waved to the bartender and said, "Could you turn that up?" Peggy grinned at me. "I don’t want to cut you off, but you probably want to see this."

We both watched the TV as a reporter standing on the steps of the Burbank County Courthouse said there was a new development in the Atkinson case —then they cut to a live press conference. My mouth fell open, and I stared at Peggy. She smiled and nodded like it was the coolest thing ever and pointed to the TV so I’d keep watching.

Dan stood at a makeshift podium, with a mute Spencer Atkinson standing next to him, and Joe behind them. Reporters asked questions at once, trying to be heard over the others but only succeeding in sounding like a mob. Dan raised his arms and motioned for everyone to be quiet. "If y’all just settle down, I’d like to make a statement."

The room went quiet and so did the bar, where all eyes were glued to the set.

Dan smiled graciously and said, "Thank you, folks. Now as you know my client, Spencer Atkinson is about to unjustly go to trial for the tragic death of his fiancé, Tina Devereaux. However, in his infinite wisdom Judge Sackstein has dismissed the second charge of homicide of Mr. Atkinson’s baby." He paused and smiled for effect. "And in the interest of justice, has granted my client bail."

Gasps went through the courthouse crowd and the crowd in the tavern. I shook my head in disbelief.

Dan raised his hands again to quiet the crowd. "We believe my client’s child is alive and in the custody of the person who perpetrated this unspeakable crime. And we’re asking the public to help us find and bring to justice the real offender. Therefore, we have created a website through which the public can contact us with any information that may lead us to the whereabouts of Spencer’s baby. For those of you interested, the website address is, dubya, dubya, dubya findspencersbabynow dot com." The camera came in for a close-up and tears sparkled in Dan’s eyes. "I beg of you, if y’all have any information about the whereabouts of this poor innocent child, please visit the website and get us the information. Together, we may be able serve justice and reunite a child with its father." Solemnly he said, "That’s all, folks."