CHAPTER THREE

Haddie sat in the corner with a yellow pad and pen, trying to look inconspicuous, difficult when she measured nearly six feet tall and sat higher than anyone in the room, especially their newest client, a hunched-over murder suspect.

Nearest to Haddie, Andrea, attorney and owner of Andrea Simmons Law Firm, sat at the end of an oval, mahogany conference table. “Ms. Schaffer, why don’t we start with your relationship with the deceased, Mark Colman.” Andrea wore a navy suit, awkwardly similar to Haddie’s — like they’d coordinated or followed some corporate uniform rules. Though she was over fifty years old, the woman dyed her hair a bright red, then twisted it tightly back into a bun that she stabbed in place with two black and gold hair sticks fashioned at the end into painted lily flowers.

Haddie sat just behind and to the left of her boss, wearing her own long black hair in a loose ponytail, having resisted the urge to put it in a bun after she started working for Andrea. Her pen brushed on the pad silently while she inhaled Andrea’s overwhelming perfume — a floral scent that bordered on sweet.

The client, Mel Schaffer, dressed professional in a blue pinstripe blouse with a knee-length, gray skirt and black pumps, but red, swollen eyes looked ready to cry at Andrea’s comment. From the look of her roots, she dyed her hair blonde; it was cut into a fashionable bob, but today it could use to be at least brushed. She’d been near falling apart, refusing coffee or soda, since they’d tucked her in the conference room. She remained, timidly trying to curl in on herself, where they’d placed her at the first chair of the sweeping table.

She wrung her hands just under the scroll-worked edge of the table, so that her knuckles and thumbs popped up on occasion. “Mark? Our relationship?” Mel asked.

Andrea nodded. “Yes. When did you start seeing him?”

“March, last year.” The woman silently began crying and frantically wiped tears with both hands.

Haddie scribbled down the date.

Their client hardly seemed the murderous type, more of an emotional wreck. She’d barely touched up her face with makeup, and her white skin highlighted the red rims around her eyes. Tracks and smears from her tears glistened on her cheeks.

“And where did you meet him?” Andrea flicked a hand toward the shelving and cabinet behind her, toward a box of tissues.

Haddie jumped up and set the pad and pen on her seat. Behind, the wall unit stretched the entire width of the room. Glass displays held random African or Asian statues that were decorative rather than memorabilia. The bookshelf down the center top held a blue-spined series of Oregon law while the display cubbies on each side held acrylic awards, a lavender box of tissues, and a bowl of fake fruit.

Proffering the box to Mel, the woman took one and said, “Thank you.”

Haddie left the box on the table in front of her.

“The Sailing Inn. They had an Irish party of some sort. I went with Beth.” She sobbed, choking. “He sat with us. He was very nice.”

This was no murderer. Haddie scribbled down the woman’s response. Drained from the stress of trapping the dog-buyer and from staying up into the morning hours, she’d been dragging all morning, but now she perked up. This is why she’d wanted to be an attorney. The District Attorney’s office had a horrible case, based on perceivable motive rather than evidence.

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Andrea swallowed and touched her bun, fingers probing the tightness of it. “And, at this time, did Mark Colman explain to you that he was married?”

Mel groaned in her sobs. “Yes.”

“There will be uncomfortable questions that come up surrounding this, but we can prepare for that later. Let’s move to the night of the incident.”

Haddie imagined the blackened body twisted in the front seat of the burned out car. She’d first seen the pictures with Terry the night before. After a reflexive grimace, she controlled her expression and glanced up to see if either Mel or Andrea had noticed the inappropriately timed grin.

Mel’s eyes were down, she blew her nose with a mumbled apology, and then kept the wadded tissue in her hand.

“Where were you the night of Mark Colman’s murder?” ask Andrea.

“In my apartment — we were supposed to meet at his office, but we’d had a fight, and he canceled.” Mel spoke the latter part almost frantically, as if still regretting the fight.

Haddie mentally ticked through the follow-up questions that Andrea would ask. When was the planned meetup? What was the fight about? Did Mark give a reason for the cancellation?

Instead, Andrea remained on topic. “What did you have for dinner?”

Haddie tilted her head in a light twitch. Of course — keep on the alibi. A delivery could be perfect.

Mel blinked. “Frozen cheesecake. And some whip cream.”

Haddie winced. Must have been a nasty argument. Hastily, she scribbled down the question and response. She could easily forget her job, getting up in her head trying to outguess Andrea’s next round of questioning.

Andrea nodded. “What did you watch? Did you pay for any movies?”

Yes. Service provider logins had been used successfully, even if you didn’t order something. IP address and times were all logged. Haddie twisted her lips. She’d been more invested in the circumstantial evidence and motive, where Andrea went straight for the alibi. Prove that, and little else mattered.

Sniffling, Mel reached for a fresh tissue, the previous wad tucked in her palm. “Nothing. I drove to the park by the courthouse, sat there a while — I don’t know how long and went back home. I told the police, I don’t remember the times.”

Haddie groaned inside. Four or five blocks from the murder. No wonder the DA had moved against Mel. She had the worst alibi possible — but Andrea would likely check the wife’s also.

“Did you buy anything? Coffee, gas?”

Mel shook her head.

“Make any calls? Texts? Check social media?”

Breaking into a sob, Mel put her elbows up onto the table and buried her face in her hands. “I just — waited to see if he — would text me.”

Haddie put her pad down to her lap, fighting her own rising emotions. Unless Andrea found something exceptional for an alibi, Mel’s only chance would be for someone to find the real killer. The police wouldn’t bother, and Andrea had limited resources — Josh and Haddie. A stoner and a college student. Andrea might suggest that Mel hire a private investigator. She hadn’t done so with any of her previous clients that Haddie had seen, but how many murder defense cases had the firm had?

Andrea picked up her pen and took a moment to write ‘park cameras’ at the top of her pad.

Haddie thought of the other security cameras, those near the victim’s car. She still focused on finding the killer, while Andrea aimed for the alibi. Haddie sniffed and tried to see her boss’s expression. The actual attorney in the room might have it right. This job would be good in the long run, to give her some needed perspective.

After an hour, Andrea did get around to some of Haddie’s questions, which included the cause for the cancellation of the lovers’ meetup. Mark had claimed to have a late client.

As Toby, the firm’s secretary, escorted Mel out, Andrea went through Haddie’s notes and added comments.

“Some of this will get cleared up as Grace goes through the police reports; they still haven’t gotten all their interviews to us. I suspect the DA knows how weak of a case they have.” Andrea added a sentence to one of Mel’s responses, squeezing her nearly illegible writing between Haddie’s best attempt at legible. “How long are you here this morning?”

“One this afternoon.”

Andrea nodded. “Good. Type this up and get me something to proof. Then put a call in to Mark Colman’s mortgage company, see if the secretary is answering. I need you to do an interview with her. We’ll get around to a deposition if it proves necessary. Get everything for the day, and anything unusual for the past month, but most important is this late client.”

Haddie wanted to dig, ask questions designed more to suggest that they go after the killer than follow Andrea’s focus. The murder had been brutal, more brutal than she could imagine Mel being able to follow through with. From Terry’s comments last night, it also seemed highly unusual. The police should be looking at someone other than a meek insurance adjuster. Instead, she clamped her teeth and waited until her boss handed back her marked up notes.