A Body to Spare Read online

  I fixed Shipman with a weepy look and spoke through trembling lips. “I’ve already crossed killing a human being off my bucket list, Special Agent. It happened several years ago. Or didn’t you do your homework beyond listening to gossip?” I didn’t have to fake the weepiness. Every time I recalled the horror of pulling the trigger of a gun and ending someone’s life, the waterworks started. It was something I knew I’d never get over.

  I wiped the back of one hand across my eyes, not caring if I smudged my makeup, and turned my attention back to Fehring. “Can I speak to Greg while I wait for my attorney?” My gaze bounced off Shipman. “My Greg,” I clarified.

  “At the moment,” answered Fehring, “your Greg is with Mrs. Littlejohn, helping her through her statement.”

  I was glad for that. Mom’s a tough old bird, but who knew what she would say. She thinks my finding the odd body and getting embroiled in danger is cool—and fodder for her blog. I couldn’t trust her not to embellish once she got on a roll. Greg would keep her grounded.

  “It’s probably best he help her,” I said.

  Shipman got up. “Would you like a soft drink or maybe some coffee, Ms. Grey?”

  “Oh hell, Greg,” I said with false bravado, “call me Odelia. All the other cops do.”

  He leaned forward. His narrow face was so close to mine I could smell toothpaste. Like Fehring, he was probably in his forties but closer to fifty than to forty. “And you can call me Special Agent Shipman.” He straightened up and started for the door. “What’s it to be?”

  I thought about the iced mocha I’d been craving earlier. “You don’t happen to have an iced mocha anywhere on the premises, do you?”

  “Did you see Starbucks posted anywhere on the front of this building, Odelia?” Shipman asked. The sarcasm was heavy, and this time there was no amusement in his look or tone.

  I was pressing my luck. “A black coffee with no sugar would be nice, Special Agent Shipman. Thank you.”

  Once he left, Fehring took the chair he’d abandoned. “I see you’re just as adept at making friends as always, Odelia.”

  “Never hurts to ask,” I answered with a shrug. “Who knows, you might have one of those pod coffee machines around. They make lattes.”

  Fehring chuckled. “With our budget, we’re lucky we don’t have to reuse the coffee grounds a couple of times.”

  She leaned back in her chair. “So who’s coming? Seth Washington or Mike Steele? Or have you finally put a criminal attorney on retainer?”

  “Probably Seth. Steele’s on his honeymoon.”

  “His honeymoon?” Fehring sounded surprised. “He never struck me as the marrying kind.”

  “He finally found someone who could handle him. And he didn’t have to chloroform her to get her down the aisle either.” Fehring and I shared a laugh. Mike Steele was my boss, an arrogant attorney and royal pain in the ass. “She’s a doctor,” I continued. “A pediatrician. Her name is Michelle Jeselnik. She’s super nice and down to earth, and he’s head over heels for her. They’re currently skiing in Switzerland.”

  “Nice,” Fehring said with a nod of approval. “Speaking of friends taking life-changing plunges, what do you think about Dev Frye’s retirement announcement?”

  “Dev’s retiring?” I looked at her with saucer eyes.

  Fehring looked like she’d just let an angry cat out of the bag and was trying to figure out a way to stuff it back in. “I’m sorry. I thought he would have told you since you’re such tight friends. I heard about it last night from another Newport Beach detective. It was just announced.”

  “Dev did invite Greg and me to dinner tomorrow night,” I told her. “Maybe he was going to tell us then.” It made sense, especially since Dev specifically said he had some news to tell us, but I didn’t like being out of the loop so late in the news crawl.

  “I’m sure that’s it,” Fehring said, making a quick save. “He probably wanted to make it a special announcement.”

  I glanced at the closed door and leaned forward like Fehring and I were girlfriends sharing a secret. “So what’s up with Mr. FBI?” I asked.

  A half smile crept partway across Fehring’s face before coming to a halt and changing its mind. “You’ve hit the jackpot this time, Odelia. You’ve stumbled into a federal investigation.”

  “What?” I asked, nearly coming out of my chair. “That dead guy is wanted by the feds?”

  Before Fehring could say anything more, a uniformed officer brought in my coffee with Shipman and Seth Washington on his heels. The two men were about the same height, but Seth had a wider and more solid build that he carried with expert posture. Seth and his wife Zenobia, better known as Zee, are our best friends. Zee’s been my bestie for more than twenty years. Seth had obviously come from his office and was dressed in a snappy gray suit. He nodded to Detective Fehring, having met her on several occasions. “I’d like a few minutes with my client,” Seth told Fehring and Shipman.

  Client? I didn’t like one of my dearest friends calling me his client. Nope. Not one bit. But at the moment I’d have to swallow it like a bitter pill. Seth isn’t a criminal attorney, but he’d be able to guide me through the questioning and determine whether or not I would need more expert representation. It had been Seth who’d tagged me with the nickname Corpse Magnet many years ago. The obnoxious moniker had obviously stuck, having spread to the Long Beach Police Department and even the feds.

  When the detectives left us alone, Seth placed his briefcase on the table and got down to business. “What in the hell is going on, Odelia? Greg said you have a dead body in the trunk of your car.”

  “Had,” I corrected. “I’m sure they’ve removed it by now.”

  “This isn’t a time for your flippancy, girl.” Seth unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat down in a chair next to me. A very handsome African-American man in his late fifties, Seth had a deep baritone voice. Jacob—his and Zee’s college-age son—was the spitting image of him. His close-cropped hair, once jet black, was now salt and pepper. It looked great on him.

  “I have no idea how that body got into my trunk, Seth. Really, I don’t.”

  He pulled a pen and a legal yellow pad out of his briefcase and started jotting down notes. “When was the last time you opened the trunk of your car?”

  I gave the question some thought before answering. “It was Monday afternoon—President’s Day.” I told him. He jotted it down. “I’d done some grocery shopping and bought two cases of water. Greg and I always keep a case of water in each of our vehicles for emergencies and sporting events, and it was on sale. I pulled one case out and moved it to Greg’s van shortly after he got home from work that night.”

  “Wasn’t his office closed for the holiday?”

  “Yes, but Greg went in for a few hours to catch up on some paperwork. He got home sometime between three and four, I think. I know it was before supper time. And that’s when I transferred one of the cases to his van.”

  “And there was no body in your trunk at that time?” Seth asked.

  I looked at Seth as if his brain had skipped a beat. “Don’t you think I would have noticed a little thing like that?”

  “One would hope, Odelia,” he said, his eyes on the pad as he jotted down the information. “How about the name Zach Finch?”

  “Who’s Zach Finch?” I took a sip of my coffee. It was the temperature of pee and of a similar taste—not that I’ve actually tasted pee.

  Seth looked at me. “The dead guy in the trunk. At least that’s the story his prints are telling. That’s all Shipman told me just now. They didn’t mention his name to you?”

  I shook my head. “But I’m sure they would have gotten around to it.”

  “For some reason,” Seth said slowly as he poked the end of his pen at the pad, making an abstract figure of tiny dots, “the name sounds familiar to me, but I can’t place from where or why.” He looked up from his art project. “Does the name ring a bell with you?”

  I closed my eyes an
d quickly ran the name through my personal data bank, whirring it around like laundry on the spin cycle. I shook my head. “Nothing comes to mind.”

  “Then why would he be in your trunk with a note pinned to him saying ‘found me’? Were you looking for anyone?” Seth held the pen over the pad and waited for any answer.

  “These are the same questions the police have been asking me,” I complained.

  Seth continued to hold the pen aloft over the paper. “And now I need to ask them if I’m going to help you.”

  “First off,” I began, trying not to let my exhaustion amp up my already considerable crankiness, “the note was not pinned to him. He was naked; there was nothing to pin anything to. The note, I believe, was taped to him with silver duct tape—the same tape that bound him. At least that’s what the police told me.”

  After writing down that the note had been taped to the body, Seth looked at me expectantly for the rest of my explanation.

  “As for looking for the guy,” I said, “I have no idea who he is…or was…so how could I be looking for him?”

  “So you’re not helping out one of your oddball acquaintances or friends with a little amateur sleuthing on the side?” he asked, then tacked on for good measure, “It’s not like you haven’t been involved with stuff like this in the past, Odelia.”

  “Let me remind you, Seth, that I count you and your family among my oddball friends.” I put down my pee-temperature coffee hard enough to make it slosh onto the table. “And whose side are you on, anyway?”

  “Your side, Odelia.” Seth put down his pen. “But I need to know everything. We have to figure out why this guy and why your car? It’s only natural, given your past, that this might have something to do with your penchant for stumbling into trouble. If we can’t find a link to something or someone else, you’re going to go to the head of the suspect list. Do you want that?”

  “Oh, please,” I said, trying to be indignant when really I was ready to have a major stroke. “If I killed that guy, do you think I’d casually forget and drive my car, with the body in the trunk, to Twinkle Clean?” I gave Seth a one-eyed stare. “With my mother in the car, no less?” I paused, then asked. “And how did he even die? The police didn’t tell me that.” I took a short breath and continued my rant. “And do I look like I’d be able to hoist a grown man’s body into the trunk of a car? Even though that guy—that Simon Fletcher or whatever his name was…”

  “Zach Finch,” Seth corrected.

  “Zach Finch,” I repeated. “Even though Mr. Finch was trussed and folded like a turkey in a roasting pan, he looked pretty strong and fit to me. And young. I can barely lift the kettlebells at the gym more than a few times.”

  “You could have had help,” Seth suggested.

  “Right. Mom helped me. Together we’re quite the killing machine.” I started doodling in the puddle of coffee to calm myself down.

  Seth leaned toward me. “Odelia, did the police ask you about Willie Proctor or Elaine Powers?”

  My heart stopped. My mouth went dry. I stopped playing in the spilled coffee and took a gulp of what was left in my coffee cup, draining it. Years ago William Proctor had embezzled millions from an investment company that he had created and headed, leaving thousands of people bereft of their nest eggs. He went on the run and has been in hiding since to avoid prosecution, even though a few years back he returned every penny. Our paths crossed when I started snooping into the murder of one of the clients of the law firm I worked at then. Over the years, Willie has become a special friend to both Greg and me, and not too long ago my half brother Clark, a retired cop, went to work for a company that is believed to be owned by Willie, though nothing can prove that.

  Elaine Powers is a killer—an older woman scarred for life to the point of no return. Her street name is Mother, and she heads a very scary organization of women who specialize in hits for hire. We’ve crossed paths a few times, and even though she’s saved my bacon and assisted me in the past, I’d hardly call her a friend, as I would Willie. Just thinking about Elaine makes me want to hide in a closet. Both Willie and Elaine have magical powers when it comes to ferreting out information about people, especially people who live and operate in the darkness of illegality.

  “No,” I answered. “They haven’t mentioned either of them yet, although Special Agent Shipman did allude to my having friends in low places. By the way, did Shipman introduce himself to you before bringing you into this room?” Before Seth could answer, I added, “He’s with the FBI. Is that why he’s here? Because they think this might be related to Willie or Elaine?”

  “Yes, Special Agent Shipman introduced himself to me.” Seth scratched something on his legal pad. “And I’m sure it’s a connection they’re thinking about. I don’t know about Elaine Powers, but Willie is definitely a federal matter.”

  “Do you really think Willie or Elaine would willingly put me in jeopardy? Both of them operate in the shadows. This is the sort of bold statement neither of them would make—not to mention, Willie is not a killer.”

  “Since I’ve never met either personally, I’ll have to reserve my opinion.” Seth looked directly at me. “Odelia, someone killed Finch and put his body in the trunk of your car. That on its own is crazy enough, but adding that note was a message. It’s a challenge, perhaps a taunt, to either you or someone you know who might be looking for Finch. Otherwise why would they choose your car out of the millions of cars in Southern California?”

  What Seth said made sense, but as much as I squeezed my gray matter, nothing came out. It was like trying to get juice from a shoe. “I need to somehow ask Willie and Elaine about it,” I finally said. “But how can I do that with the police watching? Not to mention, I don’t even know how to contact them.” I actually knew I could probably reach Willie through Clark, but when it came to reaching Elaine I was clueless, and for the most part glad of it.

  “It’s not just the police,” Seth said. “If the note was aimed at one of them, it could be a ploy to get you to flush them out into the open.”

  “So I don’t try to contact them and hope that justice will prevail and my big behind isn’t put in jail? What if whoever did this set me up to take the fall by planting that body?”

  He shrugged. An attorney who shrugs makes me nervous. If they’re clueless, how in the hell am I supposed to feel confident in justice prevailing?

  “Yes, that’s another thought,” Seth said when he was through shrugging. “One of the other creeps you’ve tangled with in the past could be trying to even the score. That’s one of the things we’re going to suggest to the police. Maybe they can go back and check on the whereabouts of the people you’ve helped put behind bars. Maybe they’re not behind bars any longer. Maybe they have friends on the outside trying to even the score. Wasn’t there one situation several years back involving a federal matter?”

  I put my brain through a series of tricks again. “I think so.” It was my turn to shrug, after which I dropped my head into my hands and uttered a moan that sounded like a wounded animal. “And maybe I should just accept a murder rap and save everyone the trouble.”

  three

  “Would you quit griping about your car, Odelia?” my usually sunny husband said when we finally made it home, Mom in tow. “It’s evidence in a murder investigation. Who knows when or even if we’ll ever get it back? We’ll lease one for you in the meantime.”

  I shivered as the image of that man’s naked dead body in the trunk of my car flooded my brain. It almost felt like I’d found him in my home. “I’m not sure I want it back,” I said as I deposited the Chinese takeout we’d bought on the way home on the counter along with my purse. I knelt down on the floor and gave Wainwright, our golden retriever, a hug. He was very happy to see us, but I could tell the animal was a bit put out. Normally, he goes everywhere with Greg, but as soon as Greg realized he had to hit the road for Long Beach for an indefinite amount of time, he’d swung back to the house and deposited his canine companion at h
ome. Fortunately, we’d caught him before he’d gone very far on his way to the Gull. Muffin, our tiny gray cat, came up for her own greeting. I hugged, kissed, and petted them both, enjoying the simplicity of it after an afternoon of interrogation.

  “If you don’t want the car back, Odelia,” Greg said as he propelled his wheelchair over to where I was receiving furry love, “then we’ll buy you another and sell that one when we get it back. I’ll call the insurance company tomorrow and see what they say. Who knows? Maybe there’s an odd clause about stuff like this.”

  “I’ll bet you could sell the car on eBay,” Mom said. She put her purse on the coffee table and sat down on the sofa with a tired plop. She looked like she’d been dragged behind our van all the way home. “I’ll bet you’d get a bundle for it if you advertise that a dead body was found in it. You could call it the Murder Mobile.” Greg and I turned to her like synchronized swimmers. She was dead serious. Tired or not, she hadn’t lost her gift for the bizarre.

  Greg’s cell phone rang. Looking at the display, he announced, “It’s Clark.” Again, both of us turned our heads toward Mom.

  “You called Clark, didn’t you?” I accused my mother.

  “No, I did not,” she answered, her pointed, straight nose tilted upward in defiance. “I texted him and sent him the photo of the dead man in your trunk.”

  “Oh, no,” I said, lowering my butt onto the floor with a thud. Falling backwards, I lay there on the hard wood with my eyes shut, just imagining what my brother was going to say about this. Both Wainwright and Muffin thought I was playing. Muffin crawled all over me while the dog gave my face an enthusiastic bath.

  “Hi, Clark,” Greg said, finally answering. “By the way, I have you on speaker.”

  “I’ve been calling you, Odelia, and Mom for hours now,” Clark yelled into the phone. “I was thinking the worst after seeing that pic Mom sent.”

  “We had to have our phones off while at the police station. I just turned mine on,” Greg explained.