The Return of the Fallen Angels Book Club (A Hollis Morgan Mystery 3) (4 page)

“H
ello, fellow Fallen Angels, welcome back.” Hollis came from around the large conference table to give each member a hug. “I can’t believe how glad I am to see you guys.”

Gene and Hollis had confirmed the attendance of each Fallen Angel for a meeting at the club’s old location in the San Lucian Library.

“I can’t get over it.” Miller Thornton glanced around the room. Pulling out a chair from the table, he added, “It’s been over a year and nothing has changed. The library still looks the same.” Miller’s hair was a little grayer and his hairline a little higher; other than that, at forty-five he still had the same youthful face.

Gene Donovan walked slowly around the room, examining the photos of historical Northern California that lined the wall. “Miller, what are you talking about? None of this was here. Not one of these pictures. And the furniture is all new. Remember how we had to set up our own table and chairs?”

Miller frowned. “Really? Hmm …. Still, some of this stuff looks familiar.”

Richard sucked on his teeth—an annoying habit she remembered well—and rocked back in his chair. “Probably because you’re a librarian. All libraries must look the same to you.” He rose to his feet to give Gene and Miller pats on the back. “It’s good to see you two.”

“How did you know I worked in a library? Oh, yeah. I guess we don’t have to hide our identities anymore.” Miller pulled out a small sheet of turquoise colored origami paper from his shirt pocket and started folding it into a tiny crane.

Gene turned to Hollis with a pleased look.

“You look good, Ms. Morgan,” he said, swirling an index finger about her hair. “New haircut, new style, even a new briefcase. Being an attorney must agree with you.”

She performed a fake curtsy. “Why, thank you, Mr. Donovan. You look pretty good yourself. In fact everybody seems to have weathered the last year well.”

“Everybody except Jeffrey.” Richard stopped doodling and raised the cap off his bald head.

There was a momentary silence.

Miller stopped folding. “Is Rena coming?”

The door burst open.

“Hi, everyone, it’s so good to see you all again.” Rena entered the room and flopped into the closest chair. She wore an ankle-length camel coat and a maroon cashmere scarf that was doubled into a large knot around her shoulders. She held up her hand. “I know, Gene, I’m late.”

As she unwound the scarf, Hollis caught a whiff of a tuberose fragrance.

Gene sat next to Rena. “Doesn’t matter. It’s good to see you.” He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the forehead.

“Hi, Rena.” Miller took her outstretched hand in his own and squeezed it warmly. “It’s good to see you … all of you. What’s everybody been up to?”

Gene looked boyish as ever with his blond hair gelled into spikes. He mockingly raised a manicured hand. “I’m still with the newspaper. About a year ago, I got promoted to editorial page chief, but I still love a good book.”

“Until the trial, I never knew you worked for a paper. Had I known back then, instead of me coming out of pocket for our books, you could’ve gotten them for free.” Miller shook his finger. “I manage a regional library system.”

Gene shrugged. “Sorry, how was I to know? You told us you got the books at no cost.”

“Yeah Miller, you should have said something,” Rena said. “Isn’t it interesting to find out as we go around the room how we moved on. I knew about you, Gene, because I saw your name in the paper.” She sat a little straighter in her chair. “After the trial I officially changed my name to Rena Gabriel. I had gotten used to it. Now I work for a retail store—”

“Barneys,” Gene interjected, then, “Sorry, go on.”

Hollis wagged her finger. Gene was fashion conscious as ever.

Rena laughed. “Yes, Barneys.” She swiveled her chair. “And yes, Gene, before you ask, I do get a discount.”

He slapped his leg. “I knew it.”

“Anyway, I still love to read too,” Rena said. “What about you, Richard? You didn’t end up testifying.”

“No. My wife has a sensitive job in government, and I didn’t want my name out there. Fortunately the DA gave me a break. I didn’t have to testify at the trial unless they absolutely needed me.” He looked around at each of them. “But you know, I’m glad I don’t have to hide anymore. I was starting to confuse myself.”

They all laughed with more than a little self-consciousness.

Gene pulled out a mint and popped it into his mouth. “I never changed my name.”

Hollis crossed her arms. “Well, you guys all know my background. The trial spared nothing in revealing the details of my life.” She leaned into the table. “Miller, what exactly do you manage for the library?”

“I’m able to request information from any library in the world. We obtained a new—”

“No offense, Miller, hate to cut you off, but I can’t be here all evening.” Richard pointed to his watch. “Gene, what did you learn about Wallace’s death?”

Gene slipped on a pair of reading glasses—not the dime-store kind—and pulled a piece of lined paper from a folder in his backpack.

“He was shot in the stomach with a .38 caliber. He could have survived, but he bled out before anyone found him.”

Rena hugged herself, her hands gripping her upper arms. “When did it happen?”

“Monday night in his office between eight and nine p.m. He was working late. His body was discovered by the janitor early the next morning.”

Richard frowned. “There was no one else working late? No security walking around?”

Gene shook his head. “Due to state budget cuts, security is limited to the lobby. So they would have called him to tell him he had a visitor. He’d have to let whoever killed him into his office.”

Hollis was silent.

“What do you think, Hollis? You’re awfully quiet,” Miller said.

She looked up from where she was taking notes. “It sounds like whoever killed Jeffrey knew he was working late and knew the cleaning schedule or was just lucky.” She scribbled on a piece of paper as she finished her thought. “Was there anything else, Gene?”

“Yeah, the police don’t have anyone in custody. They brought his son in for questioning, but they let him go.”

Rena raised her eyebrows. “Jeffrey had a family? I mean it’s not impossible but I just never saw him with a family. He didn’t have any pictures in his office.”

Miller wrinkled his forehead. “I never saw any either. I guess he wanted to keep his personal life private. He only had that stupid cat poster. It had a pocket in the back where he stuffed all his career acknowledgments and certificates. He didn’t want those in view either.” He shook his head. “I’ve known him longer than any of you, and he never mentioned a family.”

“Would you want former residents of the prison population to know about your family?” Richard said. “I can understand his reasoning.”

Hollis looked up at the ceiling, remembering the extent to which Richard had gone to hide his own background.

“The police always check out the relatives first.” Gene, done reading, took off his glasses. “They look for a family dispute. His family would have known about his schedule.”

“Geesh, I’m still getting used to the fact that he had a family,” Miller murmured.

“When’s the funeral?” Rena asked.

“No funeral. It’s a memorial, set for this coming Wednesday.” Gene took out another few pages of paper and passed them around the table. “Here’s the article in the
Herald
.”

Richard tossed the paper onto the table. “Well that’s it then. There’s nothing for us to do except attend the memorial. Can I get a ride with somebody?”

“Sure, Richard, you can ride with me.” Miller folded the paper into a series of squares. “I’ll pick you up in front of the main library.”

“Hollis, do you and Rena want to ride with me?” Gene packed up his backpack.

Rena raised her hand.

“Sure, sure.” Hollis folded her hands together. “By then the police might have caught the killer. I’ve asked a friend who used to work for the police to see what he could find out about the status of the case, so we’ll see what comes up.” She paused. “Er … hey you guys, what about our book club? What about starting it up again?”

Richard took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and Miller’s right leg bounced restlessly up and down.

Miller spoke first. “Yeah, I’d be willing to try it out. But I’m not willing to get the books. Gene, your paper gets books. Couldn’t you tap that resource?”

Gene nodded. “The advance reader copies go to the review section, but we also purchase published books at a discount. I know the paper has a few copies to give away. I can buy any extra books we need. So, to answer your question, yes, I can supply the books.”

“I’d be willing to start up again,” Rena said. “I haven’t read nearly as much as when we were together. I guess I need the pressure of knowing we’re going to have a discussion about it.”

Hollis looked over at Richard. “Well?”

“Sure, why not? But no Saturdays. I can only do Wednesday or Thursday nights.”

Gene moved toward the door. “Let’s meet on Thursday, the week after the memorial.”

After agreeing on the time, everyone walked out into the lobby.

Rena waited in the hall for Hollis to turn off the lights.

“You think Jeffrey would be happy to see us together again?”

Hollis gave her a sad smile. “Knowing Jeffrey, he’d be happier to see us staying out of prison.”

T
he wind carried chilling fog across the Bay, making insidious snake-like pathways between the gravestones. Mourners wrapped in overcoats and scarves lined up on either side of the mound of dirt. Some dabbed at their eyes with tissues, others looked as if they wished they could be anywhere else but there. Everyone looked somber.

Hollis and Rena stood closest to the casket at the far end of the gatherers. Richard, Miller, and Gene stood behind them.

“Is there anyone who would like to speak before we proceed?” The minister kept shifting from foot to foot. It looked as if it was all he could do to keep his teeth from chattering. His cassock waved gently with the wind.

Hollis looked around. There were about thirty of them gathered. Women outnumbered men, but not by much. She looked over at the family. Jeffrey Wallace’s wife, brother, and son stood apart from the others at the head of the gravesite. Their faces were stoic, unexpressive, as if they were still in shock.

“Very well then we—”

“Wait, I want to say something.” A large burly black man wearing a beige trench coat over a suit without a tie came forward. He looked to be in his forties, with a shaved head and heavy mustache. He wore thick glasses and carried what appeared to be the Bible.

“Yes, please, go ahead.” The Minister backed away to let him come forward.

“Er … my name is Warren, and Jeffrey was my parole officer for five years. I hate to say it, I gave him a real hard time at first, but he stayed with me. He didn’t let me get away with anything, but he didn’t let me dangle either. We weren’t close friends, but I respected the dude. He was okay.”

Warren stepped back and the crowd closed the aisle behind him

“Anyone—”

“I’d like to speak.”

This time a young woman came forward, shouldering her way briskly through the group, saying “excuse me” repeatedly as she made her way to the front. Hollis had noticed her at the beginning of the service. She was extremely tall with pale blue eyes and thin blond hair that she wore in a bright red clip on top of her head. Despite the cold, she only wore a brown sweater and a thin beige sheath. Her nose had turned bright red. She wasn’t pretty in the classic sense, but attractive in a quirky way.

“Jeffrey Wallace was a good man. He wasn’t perfect. He sent me back to prison even after I told him I couldn’t pass the surprise urine test because I’d made one little slip the night before. But I didn’t blame him; he had to do his job. The thing is, he didn’t give up on me either. When I got out again he found me work, and now I really am clean. That’s it. Goodbye, Jeffrey.” She took a tissue out of her sleeve and dabbed at her nose.

The minister, not wanting to preempt any further speakers, stood quietly. Hollis could sense more than see Richard shifting restlessly behind her. Rena had also started to rummage about in her purse for tissues.

When no one else came forward, the minster checked his watch and looked to the widow for a sign. She gave a curt nod.

“We should all bow our heads,” he intoned.

A few minutes later the service was over, and a winding group of mourners passed by the casket. They trudged steadily to the family’s receiving line formed at the end of the path to introduce themselves and give condolences.

Hollis tried to think of some inconspicuous way of getting out of the line without having to interact socially with a family she knew she would never see again. But she was gently herded forward by the people around her. She wondered if her expression looked as grim as those of the other Fallen Angels.

A few steps behind Gene, she approached the mourning family. She couldn’t resist peering at the woman Jeffrey had married. According to the obituary, Jeffrey had been married to Frances for eight years. Even more of a surprise was that this was his second marriage. His first ended when his wife died in childbirth. Their son, Brian, had survived. She did a quick calculation; Brian must be in his mid-twenties.

The line moved at a steady pace, putting her one person away from an older man standing next to Frances. It was a safe guess that he was Jeffrey’s brother. People were murmuring their sympathies, and the family of three stood with their backs together as if poised to ward off the furies.

Hollis was now next in line. The man was short like Jeffrey, but the resemblance ended there. Jeffrey always reminded her of a friendly puffin. His brother looked like a hawk.

“I’m Jeffrey’s brother, Calvin, thank you for coming.” He reached out his hand for a gentle shake.

“I’m Hollis Morgan, I’m a former … client. I’m sorry for your loss.”

At the sound of a raised voice, Hollis looked ahead to see a young man grabbing Gene’s arm.

“You’re Gene Donovan? I need to speak with you.” Brian, Jeffrey’s son, put an arm around Gene’s shoulder and pulled him aside.

Brian was his father’s double—short, with brown hair and a solemn face. Hollis stopped behind Gene, who turned and gave her a questioning look.

“Ah, ah sure … wh-when?” Gene stuttered uncharacteristically. Usually full of confidence, he must have been caught off guard.

Hollis left Calvin and stood in front of Frances. She could see that Brian Wallace had not loosened his grip on Gene’s shoulder. But it was clear from her clenched jaw that Frances’ plan was to ignore the interchange.

“I’m Frances, Jeffrey’s wife, thank you for coming.” Either she had repeated the phrase one too many times, or she was simply bored. She sounded like a robot.

Hollis sympathized and wasn’t thrown off by her tone. “I’m Hollis Morgan. I was a client of your husband’s. He was a very good—”

“You’re Hollis? I was hoping you’d come,” Brian said. Letting go of Gene’s shoulder, he reached across his stepmother with his hand outstretched for Hollis to shake. “Are all of you in the book club?” He pointed to the five of them now bunched together and halting the receiving line.

Gene was going through his jacket pockets, searching for a card.

Hollis looked past Frances to Rena, who was stopped in front of Calvin. Frances, who could no longer ignore her stepson’s conversation, was looking more irritated by the second.

“Yes, but maybe we should talk after you’ve met the rest of the visitors?” Hollis said in a low voice. “We’re holding up the line.”

“Brian, please.” Frances’ raised voice was strained.

“Sorry.” He spoke urgently to Hollis and Gene. “Call me and let’s talk. My father told me about you and I think I could use your help.” He gave his number.

Gene pulled a business card from his pocket and scribbled a number on the back. He handed it to Brian. “What kind of help do—”

“Yes, of course we’ll call and set something up,” Hollis interjected, not wanting to be any more obvious than they already were.

Gene let her lead him away from the line, and they headed down the grassy pathway, back to their cars.

Gene got behind the wheel. Hollis sat in the back.

“What was that about?” she asked.

“You tell me. I guess there’s a dysfunctional family out there for everyone.” Gene shook his head.

Rena slid quickly into the car, followed just as hurriedly by Richard and Miller.

“Now that was strange,” Richard said, taking a knit cap out of his jacket pocket and pulling it down to cover his bald head.

“No, that was bizarre,” Rena said, briskly rubbing her arms against the cold. “What could he want with us?”

“I don’t know, and I get the feeling Frances may not know what he has in mind either,” Hollis said, watching the mourners return to their cars.

When Brian reached his car, he looked back at them. Frances must have pulled on his arm, for he immediately climbed into the limo waiting to take them away.

Gene followed her gaze. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

Hollis was focused on writing a brief for George when the phone rang.

“Check your email,” John said. “I just scanned information that was used this morning for a press conference. It’s about six pages. Let me know if you have questions.”

“John,” she said, “thank you.”

“Yeah, sure. I said I would do what I could.”

“I appreciate it. I’ll let you know if I have any questions.”

She let a silence rest between them.

Finally she said, “Well, I’ll call you later.”

He grunted goodbye.

Over the next few minutes she retrieved the report and printed out the pages of photos, text, and charts. She quickly read the summary conclusions and picked up the phone.

John answered on the first ring.

“What do you want to know?” he asked without preliminaries.

“The length of time before Jeffrey was discovered was long enough for him to completely bleed out. Do they know how long that could be?” It pained her even to say it. “Does it mean he suffered?”

Faber was silent for a moment. “This is a preliminary report. The ME wants to see the toxic analysis before he finalizes it. Only then can that question be answered.”

It was Hollis’ turn to be silent as she struggled with what it all meant. The tox report wouldn’t wipe out the finality of a bullet.

“If he was shot and just left to die, wouldn’t that mean not only malice but possible premeditation?”

“Yes, Counselor, it probably would,” he said.

Hollis made a thumbs up gesture. “Well, this counselor has got to get back to work.” Her eyes wandered back to the half-finished brief on top of her desk.

Associate attorneys were used by their senior attorneys to do grunt work. It was a complicated probate matter and likely to be research intensive. No wonder George was glad to see her pass the bar.

John gave a small cough. “What about getting together tonight?”

“Do you mind if I take a pass? With the funeral and everything, I wouldn’t be very good company.”

“Sure, I understand. Why don’t you call me when you’re feeling better?”

She heard papers shuffling. “I better get back to cleaning out my files,” he said. “Talk to you soon.” He was gone.

Hollis sighed. She couldn’t explain to herself what the matter was. The other night she’d been terrified John was going to ask her to marry him. Then she felt less terrified but more worried he was going to ask her to live with him. As it turned out, he knew her well enough not to ask anything of her.

She picked up the new case file and spent the rest of the day outlining the issues. When it was time to leave for home, she made five copies of Jeffrey’s medical examiner report to take with her.

Hollis did some chores and took a long shower before picking up the copy of the ME report. Pouring herself a glass of wine, she carried it and the pages onto her townhome patio. She wasn’t sure what role Brian Wallace thought the Fallen Angels could play in finding Jeffrey’s killer, but she wanted to be familiar with the facts of his death.

She started with the photos.

Blood was everywhere. The color photos were as gruesome as she feared. She could see that Jeffrey had lost weight since she’d last seen him and had started to gray around the temples. He’d died in a pool of his own blood.

She shuddered.

She looked in the report for his age—fifty-four. The bullet had gone through his stomach sometime between five thirty and eight thirty on Monday evening. The time was set largely by the cleaning people and office personnel who said goodnight on their way out and less by the ME’s determination of his physical condition. He evidently had eaten a late lunch. From the angle of the bullet, his killer wasn’t much taller than Jeffrey. And from the trajectory of the bullet, he—or she—was right handed. There wasn’t much more to go on.

Hollis frowned and picked up her cellphone.

“Gene, I know we said we would meet next Thursday, but can you call the Fallen Angels together for a meeting tomorrow after work, say six o’clock?”

Gene agreed. “Yeah, that encounter with the son was a little strange. I can probably switch some things around to make a meeting.” He paused, as if checking his calendar. “Sure, I’ll call the others. Where do you want to meet?”

“It’s too late to get the library.” Hollis sighed. “We can meet in my firm’s conference room. I’ll make arrangements.”

“You got it. By the way, what’s the rush?”

“I’ve made copies of the medical examiner’s report for everyone. I was going through it. It seems that Jeffrey was deliberately left to die.”

She heard a harsh intake of breath.

“I’ll start calling now.”