Free Death Turns A Trick (Rebecca Schwartz #1) (A Rebecca Schwartz Mystery) (The Rebecca Schwartz Series) by Julie Smith Page B
Authors: Julie Smith
from Elena who knew where Kandi’d been sent. Anyway, whether the killer was someone who knew where Kandi was going or someone who followed her, he must have been a party guest. That narrowed the field to about 125 people. Swell.
But if he was someone who followed, how could he tell which apartment Kandi’d gone into? He wouldn’t find her name on any of the mailboxes. Ah, but he
would
find the note. Maybe he even watched her scribble and insert it in the mailbox before she went in.
I remembered I was having dinner with Jeannette von Phister that night. It would be a good chance to pump her about Kandi. Parker may not have meant to, but he’d painted his sister as a rather poisonous little cup of tea. Maybe a lot of people had reason to kill her.
Then there was the ransacking. As I saw it, there were three possibilities: Kandi actually had been killed during the course of a burglary, or the ransacking was done to make it look like that—the position of the police, no doubt—or the murderer had been looking for something. Something Kandi brought there. I decided to proceed on the third hypothesis, since it looked like the only one that held any hope, from my point of view. If the killer had been looking for something, he must have found it, because it wasn’t there now. That meant he must still have it. If I could find any evidence at all that such a thing existed, that would strengthen my case a good deal. And if I could find out
who
had it—well!—I might even solve a murder.
I couldn’t believe what I saw when I turned into the two-hundred block of Green Street. Two vans bearing the call letters of TV stations were double-parked, and a strange car was in my space. A swarm of humanity buzzed around my building. The dread mass media.
Would they know I was Parker’s lawyer? Or care? Probably no to both questions. It must be the address. The police could have told them where Kandi’s body had been found and probably who discovered it. They must have come to hear me tell the terrifying tale in my own words. And they’d taken my parking place.
It wasn’t reserved, so I couldn’t make them move. I drove to the end of the block and turned around. Since it was a Saturday, I figured Telegraph Hill and North Beach would be full of tourists and shoppers. Finding a space would be practically impossible.
These parasites had already caused me considerable inconvenience, and they were about to invade my privacy as well. Briefly, I considered giving them the time-honored slip. I could just go to Chris and Larry’s place or somewhere. But then it occurred to me that maybe I could turn the thing to my own advantage. Parker’s advantage. The case just might come to trial, and there were plenty of potential jurors out in TV-land. Never too early to start planting the idea that my client was innocent.
It took me fifteen minutes to find a parking place, and then I had to walk back three blocks to my house. But I was glad of the delay. It gave me a chance to plan what I would say. The only thing I was sorry about was wearing a white blouse that day. Anybody knows white isn’t good for TV.
I walked up to my gate as if I didn’t even notice that twenty-five or thirty people wanted to make me a star.
An unprepossessing sort of fellow with hunched shoulders separated himself from the crush and tugged at my sleeve: “Excuse me, but you wouldn’t be Rebecca Schwartz, would you?”
I nodded. He produced a tape recorder and held a microphone in my face. “I’m Dave Schildkraut from radio station KCBS. I was wondering if…”
I held up a palm to stop him. “If you don’t mind,” I said, “I’d like to do it for everyone at once. That way I won’t have to repeat myself.”
He looked taken aback, but he went back to talk to the others, who were beginning to close in anyway. It seemed I was having a press conference on my front steps. I was shocked at my own chutzpah. Why, I could even go in and change my blouse and
But if he was someone who followed, how could he tell which apartment Kandi’d gone into? He wouldn’t find her name on any of the mailboxes. Ah, but he
would
find the note. Maybe he even watched her scribble and insert it in the mailbox before she went in.
I remembered I was having dinner with Jeannette von Phister that night. It would be a good chance to pump her about Kandi. Parker may not have meant to, but he’d painted his sister as a rather poisonous little cup of tea. Maybe a lot of people had reason to kill her.
Then there was the ransacking. As I saw it, there were three possibilities: Kandi actually had been killed during the course of a burglary, or the ransacking was done to make it look like that—the position of the police, no doubt—or the murderer had been looking for something. Something Kandi brought there. I decided to proceed on the third hypothesis, since it looked like the only one that held any hope, from my point of view. If the killer had been looking for something, he must have found it, because it wasn’t there now. That meant he must still have it. If I could find any evidence at all that such a thing existed, that would strengthen my case a good deal. And if I could find out
who
had it—well!—I might even solve a murder.
I couldn’t believe what I saw when I turned into the two-hundred block of Green Street. Two vans bearing the call letters of TV stations were double-parked, and a strange car was in my space. A swarm of humanity buzzed around my building. The dread mass media.
Would they know I was Parker’s lawyer? Or care? Probably no to both questions. It must be the address. The police could have told them where Kandi’s body had been found and probably who discovered it. They must have come to hear me tell the terrifying tale in my own words. And they’d taken my parking place.
It wasn’t reserved, so I couldn’t make them move. I drove to the end of the block and turned around. Since it was a Saturday, I figured Telegraph Hill and North Beach would be full of tourists and shoppers. Finding a space would be practically impossible.
These parasites had already caused me considerable inconvenience, and they were about to invade my privacy as well. Briefly, I considered giving them the time-honored slip. I could just go to Chris and Larry’s place or somewhere. But then it occurred to me that maybe I could turn the thing to my own advantage. Parker’s advantage. The case just might come to trial, and there were plenty of potential jurors out in TV-land. Never too early to start planting the idea that my client was innocent.
It took me fifteen minutes to find a parking place, and then I had to walk back three blocks to my house. But I was glad of the delay. It gave me a chance to plan what I would say. The only thing I was sorry about was wearing a white blouse that day. Anybody knows white isn’t good for TV.
I walked up to my gate as if I didn’t even notice that twenty-five or thirty people wanted to make me a star.
An unprepossessing sort of fellow with hunched shoulders separated himself from the crush and tugged at my sleeve: “Excuse me, but you wouldn’t be Rebecca Schwartz, would you?”
I nodded. He produced a tape recorder and held a microphone in my face. “I’m Dave Schildkraut from radio station KCBS. I was wondering if…”
I held up a palm to stop him. “If you don’t mind,” I said, “I’d like to do it for everyone at once. That way I won’t have to repeat myself.”
He looked taken aback, but he went back to talk to the others, who were beginning to close in anyway. It seemed I was having a press conference on my front steps. I was shocked at my own chutzpah. Why, I could even go in and change my blouse and
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