murder weapon concealed in the ceiling of their bathroom,” he reminded me.
Even if I were pure in heart, mind, and deed that might not mean anything to a sheriff ’s department that needed to find someone to hang. My father’s voice whispered again in my ear. Don’t be stubborn, Lili. Lawyer up .
“Will you work with me?” I asked.
“If you can pay my fee.” He scribbled something and then passed a business card across the table. “Here’s my beeper number. If Castro or anyone comes at you with something else, some supposedly vital new evidence or new charge, call me. Meanwhile, I have to get on with my case. Cases,” he corrected himself.
“You’re not doing this as a favor to me. I’ll pay your regular hourly rate. So don’t rush me out with a dismissive wave of your hand. I have another question.”
To his credit, he didn’t roll his eyes or sigh, nor did he offer pretend apologies. He just sat there, large-knuckled hands folded atop the table, and waited.
“What’s your name? I feel weird calling you B.H. It sounds too much like a camera store in Manhattan or something.” He might take for granted that his physical size and his reputation would be imposing, that not telling his real name to an adversary or even a client would create a power imbalance, but I was not about to buy that brand of intimidation.
His head dropped forward, and when he picked it up again a huge smile brightened his face. “Berge Hartounian. Call me whatever you like. My ex-wife had a lot of names for me, but you probably won’t be using those.”
I laughed. Now that the full Armenian glory of his name was revealed, I felt silly to have been so prickly.
“Here’s my real question,” I said. “If the sheriff’s department is already convinced that I’m the one they want, how will they find the killer? I’m not willing to sit around and be railroaded just because the local bureaucracy suffers from a lack of imagination.”
I expected to be treated to a speech about letting the law enforcement agencies do their job. But B. H. Hovanian’s sigh was not followed by a lecture. Instead, he said, “Can you afford a private investigator? I’d guess that once you pay all your bills, including mine, the answer is no. So we’ll have to convince the sheriff’s department that you were nowhere near those woods today. You’ll do that by providing me with as much corroboration for every statement you make as you can, and you’ll share any thoughts or observations you might have with me. About other possibilities, I mean.”
“So you agree? That they may not work too hard to find someone else.”
He leaned back and clasped his hands across his belt, eyes droopy and mouth quirked into a smile. “You sound like a lawyer. I didn’t say that. I happen to know that Anita, Marjorie’s self-indulgent daughter, stands to inherit a comfortable house, ten acres of land, a lucrative business, and who knows what else. She lives in Tennessee in a small town and has a husband who hires on with a logging company when he feels like working. Our Anita didn’t show up on time for work this morning. Rolled in about two hours late.”
“Do the police know this?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. I only just heard that last part myself. And I didn’t say our local law enforcement agency is incompetent. I just think it’s prudent to be precise and thorough.”
Chapter 7
“ He Said yes, and I didn’t even have to badger him much.”
My friend Karen, who knew how to smile with her voice over the phone, said, “That’s great, Lili. I know how much you wanted that. I’m just disappointed because it means you won’t be hanging out here in Brooklyn with me.”
Our visits were always wonderful, satisfying . . . and difficult to end. Even after a year, Karen and I missed the almost daily contact we’d grown so accustomed to when we lived within walking distance of each other.
“So, you’ll have to come up and help me keep my
Even if I were pure in heart, mind, and deed that might not mean anything to a sheriff ’s department that needed to find someone to hang. My father’s voice whispered again in my ear. Don’t be stubborn, Lili. Lawyer up .
“Will you work with me?” I asked.
“If you can pay my fee.” He scribbled something and then passed a business card across the table. “Here’s my beeper number. If Castro or anyone comes at you with something else, some supposedly vital new evidence or new charge, call me. Meanwhile, I have to get on with my case. Cases,” he corrected himself.
“You’re not doing this as a favor to me. I’ll pay your regular hourly rate. So don’t rush me out with a dismissive wave of your hand. I have another question.”
To his credit, he didn’t roll his eyes or sigh, nor did he offer pretend apologies. He just sat there, large-knuckled hands folded atop the table, and waited.
“What’s your name? I feel weird calling you B.H. It sounds too much like a camera store in Manhattan or something.” He might take for granted that his physical size and his reputation would be imposing, that not telling his real name to an adversary or even a client would create a power imbalance, but I was not about to buy that brand of intimidation.
His head dropped forward, and when he picked it up again a huge smile brightened his face. “Berge Hartounian. Call me whatever you like. My ex-wife had a lot of names for me, but you probably won’t be using those.”
I laughed. Now that the full Armenian glory of his name was revealed, I felt silly to have been so prickly.
“Here’s my real question,” I said. “If the sheriff’s department is already convinced that I’m the one they want, how will they find the killer? I’m not willing to sit around and be railroaded just because the local bureaucracy suffers from a lack of imagination.”
I expected to be treated to a speech about letting the law enforcement agencies do their job. But B. H. Hovanian’s sigh was not followed by a lecture. Instead, he said, “Can you afford a private investigator? I’d guess that once you pay all your bills, including mine, the answer is no. So we’ll have to convince the sheriff’s department that you were nowhere near those woods today. You’ll do that by providing me with as much corroboration for every statement you make as you can, and you’ll share any thoughts or observations you might have with me. About other possibilities, I mean.”
“So you agree? That they may not work too hard to find someone else.”
He leaned back and clasped his hands across his belt, eyes droopy and mouth quirked into a smile. “You sound like a lawyer. I didn’t say that. I happen to know that Anita, Marjorie’s self-indulgent daughter, stands to inherit a comfortable house, ten acres of land, a lucrative business, and who knows what else. She lives in Tennessee in a small town and has a husband who hires on with a logging company when he feels like working. Our Anita didn’t show up on time for work this morning. Rolled in about two hours late.”
“Do the police know this?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. I only just heard that last part myself. And I didn’t say our local law enforcement agency is incompetent. I just think it’s prudent to be precise and thorough.”
Chapter 7
“ He Said yes, and I didn’t even have to badger him much.”
My friend Karen, who knew how to smile with her voice over the phone, said, “That’s great, Lili. I know how much you wanted that. I’m just disappointed because it means you won’t be hanging out here in Brooklyn with me.”
Our visits were always wonderful, satisfying . . . and difficult to end. Even after a year, Karen and I missed the almost daily contact we’d grown so accustomed to when we lived within walking distance of each other.
“So, you’ll have to come up and help me keep my
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