The Case of the Killer Divorce (10 page)

Chapter 3
1

Monday morning found me back at work, but not exactly working. I was off to a slow start--surfing the web, reading the news, checking out Facebook--basically, anything I could do to avoid work.
I'm a master procrastinator, but, like any acquired skill, it took me years of practice.

I was enjoying my early morning solitude when
Lisa burst into my office, clearly distraught.

"Jam
ie, there's a crazy homeless guy in the lobby and he won't leave! He said he has to talk to you. What should I do? Call the police?"

"It's
alright, Lisa, I'll go see what he wants. Why don't you wait here?"

I was a little nervous, I
'll admit. Being a divorce lawyer isn't the safest job in the world, especially considering that two of my colleagues had been killed by angry litigants in the past few years. There's a reason metal detectors had been installed in every courthouse, it was necessary.

I
peered into the lobby and saw a disheveled young guy pacing back and forth, as if he couldn't stand still. I didn't recognize him until l he turned to face me.

"Charlie?
Oh my God, what happened to you?"

He stopped pacing, but still had a wild look in his eyes.

"I need to talk to you. Please, can I talk to you?"

"
Sure, Charlie, but how about I get you a bottle of water and a snack first? Maybe some coffee?"

He shook his head.

"Then why don't we sit right here and you can tell me what's on your mind. Nobody will bother us."

We sat
in adjoining arm chairs and I waited, but Charlie didn't say a word. He just stared at his shoes. I didn't know which topics were safe, or what he could possibly want from me, so I didn't say anything. I would've given him money for food, or referred him to a mental health provider, if that's what he wanted. It sure looked like what he needed.

"So…what's going on, Charlie?"
I asked, after several minutes had gone by.

Once he started talking, the
words flew out of his mouth. "I loved her so much", he said, locking his eyes on my face. "I did everything for her, but she didn't care. No matter what I did, it wasn't good enough,
I
was never good enough. She used me, like she used everyone!"

I wasn't sure if he
meant Becca or his mother.

"
She used you, too, Jamie," Charlie stated flatly.

Okay, h
e was talking about Becca.

"What happened?" I asked.

Suddenly, Charlie was sobbing uncontrollably and it made him look like a little boy. I was in familiar territory now; if there's one thing I'm good at, it's comforting crying people. I patted him gently on the back.

"It's
alright, Charlie," I said in a soothing voice. "Everything's going to be okay."

I saw Lisa peek around the corner and
motioned for her to bring a bottle of water, which she quickly did.

Charlie took a sip of water and then, i
n a ragged voice, continued, "It was Saturday--before the funeral--and Becca was crying. She told me she'd never stopped loving Joe and that I'd never be as good as him. Then she started screaming at me to leave because she couldn't stand to look at me!" Tears were streaming unchecked down Charlie's face.

I nodded sympathetically.
"That must've been rough. Where have you been sleeping since Saturday, Charlie?" I asked.

"In my car."
At that, he started swaying back and forth and I thought he might pass out, but he didn't. Then, in a voice so low he could've been talking to himself, he said, "I just wanted to make her happy. I tried so hard…and I never told anyone…"

Ah! Here we go
.
"Told anyone what, Charlie?"

"About her pills. She took so many pills
! When I threw them out, she'd just go buy more. She said she'd stop, but it was a lie."

"Do you know if she hid her sleeping pills in an aspirin bottle?"

Charlie nodded.

"Did Joe take them with him?"

When Charlie nodded again, he looked like he was barely keeping it together.

"Was it an accident?" I asked.

No response.

"Charlie?" I was sure now that Becca had slipped those pills to Joe. All that guilt and remorse had eaten away at her until she
'd had a major meltdown at the funeral.

Charlie took a deep breath
. When he spoke, it was barely above a whisper.

"It wasn't supposed to kill him,
" Charlie said, "Just mess him up a little, so Becca could get custody of the girls. He shouldn't have threatened her like that! I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn't stop, he just went on and on. It was his own fault, he did it to himself."

"And that's why Becca did it?" I asked.

Charlie looked up at me with dead eyes.

"No, Jamie. That's why I did it."

Chapter 32

I sat there in stunned silence. Although many people have told me their secrets over the years (sometimes while I'm at the grocery store minding my own business), nobody had ever made a confession like that. I don't know why Charlie chose to tell me (I like to think it's because I'm a good listener), but it did put me in a quandary.

What was I supposed to do with this information?
Call Susan Doyle? I sure as hell wasn't going to call Nick Dimitropoulos. I briefly considered calling the Florida Bar ethics hotline, but decided against it. What would I say? That my former client's ex-boyfriend just told me he accidentally killed a former friend who was also his ex-girlfriend's estranged husband in order to help her get custody? I doubt that there's a rule to cover that, or even an Attorney General opinion. Finally, I simply asked Charlie.

"What are you going to do
now?"

"Turn myself in," he said solemnly without hesitation.

"Why?" I asked, "I mean--"

"I know what I did and I have to own it. And
I don't want Becca to take the blame."

"After all she's done to you?" I was incredulous.

"Yes," Charlie said, and he stood up to leave. We shook hands and he thanked me for seeing him. He looked so lost, it was really heartbreaking. As he was about to walk out the door, he turned around and said, "I know it doesn't make any sense, but I still love her." And then he was gone.

***

All of us make our share of poor decisions. Most of the time, it turns out alright and nothing bad happens. Then there's Charlie, son of an alcoholic mother, destined to end up with a woman as messed up as his mother, and he makes a poor decision. He slips Joe sleeping pills that look like aspirin. If Joe hadn't been drinking, the pills wouldn't have killed him, but he was, and they did, and now Charlie had to live with that.

When I told Duke about Charlie, he was sympathetic. Since
Duke also can't resist helping a damsel in distress, he could relate. The difference is that Duke wouldn't kill anyone. At least, I don't think he would. Nah, he wouldn't.

Susan Doyle took the news in stride
, of course. When I asked her about Becca, Susan said she'd been placed in a 30 day drug rehab program. She also told me that the psych eval indicated Becca was bipolar with possible multiple personality disorder, which I thought explained a lot. She said an insanity defense would've been a slam dunk. As for Charlie, she thought he would be charged with negligent homicide; it could've been a lot worse.

After
I hung up with Susan, Lisa popped her head into my office to ask me a question. She said she was so impressed with how I'd handled Charlie that she was considering switching to mental health counseling when she went back to school. She wanted my opinion.

"Do you think it will make you happy?" I asked.

She nodded and smiled.

"Then you should definitely do it!" I
said, hopeful that she wouldn't feel like crying anymore.

I had one more phone call to make. Actually, I didn’t have to, I just wanted to.

"Nick Dimitropoulos here."

"I hate to say I told you so
--"

"That's a lie, Quinn. You love to say it. Why else would you be calling me?"

I laughed. "I
do
love to say it, especially to you. Wrong guy again, Nick! How does it feel? Maybe you should buy a Magic 8 Ball so you can ask it for advice."

"Maybe you should ask yourself how you keep getting in the middle of murder cases," he tossed right back at me.

"I do ask myself that. And I honestly don't know."

"Quit caring so much
. That might do the trick," he chuckled.

"I'll see what I can do," I said. "In the meantime, if you need empathy lessons, you know where to find me."

"Yeah, that'll happen, Quinn. See you in another year."

"I
sure hope not, but don't take it personally."

"I never do," he said.

Chapter 33

I don't want you to think for a minute that with everything else going on, I had stopped obsessing about my own stuff. Au contraire! The debate teams competing in my head were tireless, they never took a break
. Should I contact my dad's wife? What if I ruined my one chance to meet him? Should I be worried about my upcoming date with Kip? What if he realized I was a boring homebody? And what's behind door number 2? Is it a goat or a brand new car?
Those guys loved to argue, but they never had any answers for me.

As f
ar as contacting my dad's wife, Ana Maria Suarez, I kept going back and forth, making lists of pros and cons until I finally just went with my gut. I couldn't picture myself contacting her, so I decided to wait until Grace got me his address in Nicaragua. Then I would write to him.

As for Kip, that problem solved itself.
On Friday night, Kip called to tell me that the forecast for Saturday was thundershowers, so we couldn't go water skiing. I was crushed because I thought he was canceling our date, or at least postponing it, but that was not the case.

"So, Jamie,
" he said, "how would you like to go to Coral Cliffs instead? We wouldn't get wet."

I knew
exactly what that was--it was an indoor rock climbing gym! There was no way on this planet I was going to climb a wall (not that I could've anyway) because I was terrified of heights. It was time to introduce Kip to the real me.

"Kip, I really want to spend time with you
and it doesn't matter where we go
,
but I have to be honest--I don't do heights. No way, no how. It's all I can do to stand on my kitchen counter to reach the top shelf. But I'm happy to watch you climb."             

He started laughing and it was the most beautiful sound in the world.

"Now I remember! When we used to have diving contests at Castaway Island, you were always the judge. I'm sorry, Jamie, that was pretty inconsiderate of me. I want to hang out with you, not terrorize you! What would you like to do?"

I laughed
too. "While I'm being honest about my character flaws, I have to tell you that, in general, I'm kind of a big chicken. Also, I'm not very athletic. And I trip a lot, but only because I'm not paying attention. Now, do you still want to go out with me?"

"More than ever!" Kip said. "How can I resist a girl with so many fine qualities?"

I couldn't stop smiling. "I'm going out on a limb here, but how would you feel about seeing a movie? It can be an action movie, I love seeing
other
people be daredevils."                            

"Only if we can go to dinner and talk
first. Who knows? Maybe you'll reveal some more deep dark secrets."

"Deal. I'd better think of some
before then," I said. "Or maybe you could reveal some of yours. Now, that would be interesting."

"Only if I made them up," Kip said. "Pick you up at six?"

"Perfect!  Can't wait! Oh, and I'm a vegetarian--pescatarian, actually--forgot to mention that."

"Okay, no Brazilian steakhouses then. Got it."

"But it's okay if you want to eat meat in front of me, I don't mind."

"So, as long as I don't make you climb a wall or eat meat, we're good?" he laughed.

"Yes, we're very good," I said.

"You're very good," he said in
a low voice that gave me goose bumps. "See you tomorrow, Jamie."

"Good-night, Kip." 

This was what happy felt like. I'd almost forgotten.

Chapter 34

Although
I was looking forward to volunteering at the Food Bank the next morning, I was relieved that it wasn't until ten o'clock, so I could stay in bed a while longer. For some reason, the only restful sleep I ever got was early mornings. I told you I was weird.

I heard Grace honking her horn, but ignored it, incorporating the sound into my dream
instead. It wasn't until she pounded on the front door that I finally woke up. Damn it! My bizarre sleep habits were so irritating. I threw on a robe, let her in without a word and immediately marched into the bathroom where I hurriedly brushed my teeth, washed my face and tamed my bed-head the best I could.

"
Sorry," I said in a mumble, as I threw on some clothes. "No sleep."

"It sure
seemed like you were sleeping when I honked." She made a face at me, then went into the kitchen and poured me a glass of juice. After rummaging through the cabinets and finding nothing, she grabbed a banana off the counter, and said, "You're slowing me down, woman, let's go already."

I woke up on the
drive to the Broward Outreach Center. As we drove, Grace explained that this was a homeless shelter for women and children, which also had a food bank. They were always looking for volunteers to sort and organize the food bank, but they also needed volunteers at the shelter, including people to help kids with their homework. We talked about maybe doing that another day, although my math skills were pretty rusty. If you saw my checkbook, you'd understand.

Grace asked if I'd
made a decision about Ana Maria Suarez, my dad's wife, and I said I'd decided not to call her. Grace didn't even argue with me, she just dropped it. That was unusual for her, but I knew she'd bring it up again later.

Before we
went to work at the food bank, Grace and I were given a tour of the facility; we found it quite impressive. It was 18,000 square feet with 120 beds, including family sleeping rooms so that mothers weren't separated from their children. They also offered life skills classes, education labs, counseling, drug treatment, career services and access to medical facilities for these homeless families.

I
'm sure there are lots of people who'd like to help the less fortunate in a hands-on way, but they simply don't know how. What I mean is we rarely come into contact with people who need help because they aren't our neighbors, co-workers, friends or family. Volunteering at a homeless shelter or a food bank seemed like an excellent way to lend a hand, and Grace and I vowed to make a habit of it.

A
s we organized the pantry into canned goods, rice, pasta, cereals and peanut butter, Grace kept checking her watch and giving me sideways glances. I just ignored her. I figured she'd tell me what was going on when she was ready. At 11:30, she jumped up and left the room without an explanation. Where the heck did she go? Bathroom break? Next thing I know, she comes bouncing back into the room with a kind-looking older blonde woman in tow and they are chatting excitedly. Grace points at me and says, "That's Jaime!"

The woman reaches for my hands and pulls me off the floor into a tight embrace. She is holding me like I'm a life preserver and she's about to jump ship. I have no idea what's going on.
She starts crying and murmuring, "mi
cariño, mi corazón," and then pulls back to examine my face.

"Dios mio! Look at you--you're identical!"
And she starts crying.

"I'm sorry
, I don't mean to be rude but, who are you? Identical to whom, exactly?"

"
To your father, sweet girl! You look just like him!"

In a daze, I look at Grace who is smiling so hard, her face is su
rely going to freeze like that.

"Is…this?" I stammer.

"Meet Ana Maria Suarez, the director of the shelter." Grace gives me a wink. It's her best stunt ever.

I turn back to Ana Maria with tears in my eyes. I lo
ok at her face and all I see is unconditional love, for me, a total stranger. I give her a fierce hug right back. You can never have too many people to love in this world. Or people who love you back.

Grace is sniffing and wiping her eyes. "Jamie,
can you and Ana Maria come with me, please?"

At this point
, I'm just doing what I'm told; I doubt that I could say anything coherent anyway. We walk into another room and somehow there's my Aunt Peg, my cousin Adam, and Duke, and they're all clapping and cheering. Grace spins me around and there's a giant monitor on the wall. And on that monitor a man is waving and smiling.
It's my father
. I think my heart is going to explode. He looks much older than he did in the picture Duke gave me, but it's definitely him.

"Hello, Jam
ie," he says, choking up. "I am so happy to see you that I have no words to express it."

"
Me too," I say. I've waited all my life to find my father and all I can say is 'me too.'

"I
can't believe it's really you," I manage to say before I burst into tears.

He is emotional, too. "Finding out I have a daughter is like a gift from God, Jam
ie. We have so much to talk about.

"Yes, we do,"
I say with a lump in my throat. "Where should we start?"