Free Firm Ambitions by Michael A. Kahn Page A

He’s been running down other leads.”
    â€œAnd Tommy’s a suspect, too?”
    â€œAgain, not much of one. That’s my sense. Frankly,” he said with a wry shake of his head, “I am a little surprised. In a pill-tampering case, one would think Tommy would be more of a suspect than his wife, at least at the outset.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause of Tommy’s prior experience—or, more precisely, his alleged prior experience—in the, shall we say, pharmacological area.”
    â€œBut where’s his motive?”
    â€œThe oldest in the book, Rachel: the jealous husband.”
    â€œTommy knew?”
    Kimball raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “Attorney-client privilege.”
    I nodded. “If you’re relying on that privilege, Charles, how can you represent Eileen when the police still suspect Tommy? You have a conflict of interest.”
    â€œI agree, Rachel. For that reason, I’ve given her no legal advice and have told her to confide nothing in me. I’ve merely shielded her until you arrived. Although I hope neither will be charged, I certainly cannot file an appearance on behalf of Eileen until, if, and when the police confirm that her husband is no longer a suspect.”
    â€œFair enough. What made the police so sure she was having an affair with Andros?”
    â€œThe autopsy report revealed that he had sex shortly before he died. In addition, the medical examiner recovered several pubic hairs from his body that were not his. Witnesses placed Eileen in the hotel, and probably in the room, at the time he died. For that reason, the police were already considering a warrant for a medical examination of Eileen. But that was before they searched his apartment last night.”
    â€œWhat did they find?”
    Kimball studied me. “Wait here, Rachel,” he said as he placed his hand on the doorknob. “Let me see if Poncho will let you see it.”
    Kimball returned a few minutes later with Detective Israel. I had assumed Detective Bernard Israel was Jewish, and perhaps he was. When I heard his nickname, I thought perhaps he was a Sephardic Jew, and perhaps he was. But he certainly didn’t look Jewish. Bernie “Poncho” Israel was black as coal and built like an offensive tackle. He seemed to fill up the doorway. He was holding what looked like a photo album.
    â€œRachel, allow me to introduce Detective Israel.”
    â€œHello, Detective,” I said as we shook hands. “Nice to meet you.”
    â€œSame here, Miss Gold.” He had a Fu Manchu mustache and sad eyes.
    â€œCall me Rachel.”
    He smiled. “And call me Poncho. Charlie said you’d like to see this.” He held out the photo album.
    I took it from him and set it on the table. “You found it in his apartment?”
    Poncho nodded. “We’ve already checked it for fingerprints. They all belong to Andros. As you will see, it’s clearly his album.”
    â€œIt’s an album full of suspects,” Kimball said. “I should think it will keep Poncho and his posse busy for quite some time.”
    I looked down at the album cover. I knew what was inside, but was reluctant to open it with the two of them watching me. I looked up. They both got the hint.
    â€œI’m down the hall to the left,” Detective Israel said as he backed out of the room. “Just drop it off when you’re through.”
    I nodded.
    â€œIf it’s okay with you,” Charles Kimball said to me, “I’ll go bring Eileen up to date while you look through the album. I think Poncho may let her go home after she answers a few questions. I’ll check back here before she talks to him.” He closed the door behind him.
    I opened the album.
    It was not the type that Mom, Dad, Junior, and Sis leafed through while seated before the fireplace in a Hallmark Christmas card scene. There were close to thirty pages of Polaroid