Read Online Last to Die by James Grippando - Free Book Online
Authors: James Grippando
Tags: Fiction, LEGAL, Suspense, Legal Stories, Florida, Lesbian, Murder for hire, Miami, Miami (Fla.)
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said Jack.
Theo blotted away a smear of blood on his wrist. He was sure it wasn't his. You don't have to worry about my brother smokin' you no more.
What do you mean?
Let's just say Tatum passed a lie detector test. He didn't kill Sally Fenning.
You sure of that?
Sure as I can be.
Did she hire him to kill her?
Tried to. He sticks by that, yeah.
Theo took a seat on the bench, waiting for Jack to speak. He sensed that something was still troubling him. What now? asked Theo.
It's the same thing Kelsey and I were talking about last night. Here's a woman who goes through the worst nightmare imaginable, the brutal murder of her own child, but it takes five years, a new marriage, and a mega-million-dollar prenup settlement for her to decide that she can't go on living anymore.
Maybe it was just something that ate her up over time.
That, or maybe something else pushed Sally over the edge. Something more horrible than having your child murdered in your own home.
What could be worse than that?
I don't know. But I aim to find out.
Theo smiled thinly and said, As usual, boss, I aim to help.
Chapter Eight At 1 P. M. Monday Jack was in the law office of Vivien Grasso. His client, Tatum Knight, was at his side.
Vivien had yet to make an appearance. Her secretary had simply escorted Jack and his client back to the main conference room, where three men and a woman were waiting at the long mahogany table. They were the other beneficiaries, Jack presumed, but he was reluctant to jump to any firm conclusions.
Jack introduced himself and his client to the group, which precipitated an exchange of names only. Everyone seemed cautious, if not suspicious, reluctant to divulge anything about themselves.
Deirdre Meadows, said Jack, repeating the final introduction as if he recognized the name. She looked familiar, too. Plain but potentially attractive, her simple clothing, minimal makeup, and efficient brown curls befitting of a woman who was perpetually on deadline.
Jack asked, Don't you write for the Tribune?
I do, she answered.
What, they got you covering this story from the inside?
No. I was invited to this meeting. Just like everyone else.
Did you know Sally Fenning?
Sort of. She looked away, as if catching herself in a lie. Not really.
Are you a beneficiary under the will?
I guess we'll find out.
Jack checked around the table. Does this arrangement strike anyone else as odd? I get the sense that everyone knows there's a lot of money at stake, but no one quite knows why they're here.
I know why I'm here, said the guy across the table. Miguel was his name, and he'd introduced himself only by his first name, as if he were under strict orders to be tight-lipped.
Be quiet, the older man next to him grumbled. He was short and stocky, like a fireplug in a double-breasted suit. His hair was slick and dyed black, his mustache perfectly groomed, his midsection soft and round, as if he spent all day looking in the mirror from the shoulders up. His name was Gerry - just Gerry, as he was evidently operating under the same brilliant first-name-only strategy.
You two together? asked Jack.
They answered simultaneously: Sort of, said Miguel; None of your business, said Gerry.
Jack said, Let me guess. Gerry, you're Miguel's lawyer.
Gerry didn't answer.
That's Geraldo Colletti, said the reporter. The divorce lawyer. I'm sure you've heard of him. Made quite a name for himself in family court by snaking other lawyers. First thing he tells his client to do is spend some money interviewing the five best divorce lawyers in town. That way, the other spouse can't go out and hire them, because Gerry's client has already revealed enough confidences to make it ethically impossible for them to represent the other side.
That's hogwash, said Gerry.
I have heard of you, said Jack. I don't do divorce work, but aren't you the same Gerry who got himself into trouble for running an ad that labeled you Gerry the Genius.'
Gentleman Gerry, he said,
Theo blotted away a smear of blood on his wrist. He was sure it wasn't his. You don't have to worry about my brother smokin' you no more.
What do you mean?
Let's just say Tatum passed a lie detector test. He didn't kill Sally Fenning.
You sure of that?
Sure as I can be.
Did she hire him to kill her?
Tried to. He sticks by that, yeah.
Theo took a seat on the bench, waiting for Jack to speak. He sensed that something was still troubling him. What now? asked Theo.
It's the same thing Kelsey and I were talking about last night. Here's a woman who goes through the worst nightmare imaginable, the brutal murder of her own child, but it takes five years, a new marriage, and a mega-million-dollar prenup settlement for her to decide that she can't go on living anymore.
Maybe it was just something that ate her up over time.
That, or maybe something else pushed Sally over the edge. Something more horrible than having your child murdered in your own home.
What could be worse than that?
I don't know. But I aim to find out.
Theo smiled thinly and said, As usual, boss, I aim to help.
Chapter Eight At 1 P. M. Monday Jack was in the law office of Vivien Grasso. His client, Tatum Knight, was at his side.
Vivien had yet to make an appearance. Her secretary had simply escorted Jack and his client back to the main conference room, where three men and a woman were waiting at the long mahogany table. They were the other beneficiaries, Jack presumed, but he was reluctant to jump to any firm conclusions.
Jack introduced himself and his client to the group, which precipitated an exchange of names only. Everyone seemed cautious, if not suspicious, reluctant to divulge anything about themselves.
Deirdre Meadows, said Jack, repeating the final introduction as if he recognized the name. She looked familiar, too. Plain but potentially attractive, her simple clothing, minimal makeup, and efficient brown curls befitting of a woman who was perpetually on deadline.
Jack asked, Don't you write for the Tribune?
I do, she answered.
What, they got you covering this story from the inside?
No. I was invited to this meeting. Just like everyone else.
Did you know Sally Fenning?
Sort of. She looked away, as if catching herself in a lie. Not really.
Are you a beneficiary under the will?
I guess we'll find out.
Jack checked around the table. Does this arrangement strike anyone else as odd? I get the sense that everyone knows there's a lot of money at stake, but no one quite knows why they're here.
I know why I'm here, said the guy across the table. Miguel was his name, and he'd introduced himself only by his first name, as if he were under strict orders to be tight-lipped.
Be quiet, the older man next to him grumbled. He was short and stocky, like a fireplug in a double-breasted suit. His hair was slick and dyed black, his mustache perfectly groomed, his midsection soft and round, as if he spent all day looking in the mirror from the shoulders up. His name was Gerry - just Gerry, as he was evidently operating under the same brilliant first-name-only strategy.
You two together? asked Jack.
They answered simultaneously: Sort of, said Miguel; None of your business, said Gerry.
Jack said, Let me guess. Gerry, you're Miguel's lawyer.
Gerry didn't answer.
That's Geraldo Colletti, said the reporter. The divorce lawyer. I'm sure you've heard of him. Made quite a name for himself in family court by snaking other lawyers. First thing he tells his client to do is spend some money interviewing the five best divorce lawyers in town. That way, the other spouse can't go out and hire them, because Gerry's client has already revealed enough confidences to make it ethically impossible for them to represent the other side.
That's hogwash, said Gerry.
I have heard of you, said Jack. I don't do divorce work, but aren't you the same Gerry who got himself into trouble for running an ad that labeled you Gerry the Genius.'
Gentleman Gerry, he said,
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