The Marsh Madness

I didn’t trust Castellano. “I want legal advice. I think you are trying to set us up.”


She shrugged. “Why don’t I arrest you? We’ll head to the station and then you’ll be one hundred percent entitled to a lawyer.”

I frowned. I wasn’t falling for the innocent person talk. There have been many, many innocent people filling jail cells and many, many guilty ones walking free. My uncles like to say, it’s all in the way you play your cards. I didn’t know what cards I had, let alone how to play them. I didn’t really have a lawyer either. I’m a researcher for a book collector. I’m saving to get back to grad school. It wasn’t like I needed legal counsel on retainer. Vera had lawyers, but they didn’t practice criminal law.

The one time I’d really needed Sammy, my uncles had arranged it. They had footed the bill for his time without being asked. I couldn’t let that happen this time. I’d hoped never to see him again. Now I needed him and I didn’t even have his number. I had no idea how to reach him. My Uncle Mick, Uncle Lucky and Karen were in Manhattan (I thought) on some business that it was better I didn’t know about. Kev was on the run.

“I need to make a phone call.”

“All right, then,” Castellano said. “You are volunteering to answer questions. If you want your rights and your phone calls and your lawyer, then we’re going to have to head down to the station.”

The office door squeaked open. Castellano turned and glared at the man who lumbered through it. Sammy Vincovic appeared, fastening the top button of his blue two-button suit jacket, which managed to be tight and rumpled at the same time. Had he slept in it? Still, at the sight of his blocklike body and wild black, wavy hair, I felt a huge surge of relief.

“Who the hell are you?” Castellano snapped. “This is a police interview.”

He smoothed his random waves. “Sammy Vincovic. I’m Miss Bingham’s lawyer, and I’ll be sitting in on this interview.”

Castellano glared at Stoddard. The glare said, “You idiot. You let her contact a lawyer?” No words were necessary to convey this. For a second, Stoddard lost his studied cool. He shook his head, meaning, “Not on my watch.”

How, then? I wondered.

Castellano narrowed her eyes at Vincovic. She returned to her questions.

“So you were about to explain how Kevin Kelly’s fingerprints ended up on the murder weapon.”

I opened my mouth to repeat that they couldn’t have been.

Sammy said, “My client has nothing to say.”

She said, “Miss Bingham, you really should answer this question. Evading it could go badly for you.”

“To repeat, my client has no comment. And I would like a word with her.”

As I was not under arrest at that point, Castellano had no choice but to vacate the chair and leave the study. Stoddard slouched out, looking chastened. She cast an angry glance at him, and he shrugged languidly and shook his head. I heard him say, “She didn’t call anyone. We had coffee.”

Kellys do not cry, and as I was a Kelly, I had to keep my eyes dry. I must say I felt like sobbing and wailing, but that was, of course, out of the question.

As the door closed behind the two detectives, Sammy said, “Now you can fill me in.” He glanced at the door and touched both of his small, neat ears. I got the message. Say nothing I didn’t want them to hear. Say only what was on the record. I could do that. It took a while to get the whole story out. He wanted every detail about the invitation, the luncheon and our relationship with Chadwick Kauffman.

“We didn’t have a relationship with him. We got the invitation out of the blue. It was purely business. A cash transaction,” I whispered with a glance at the door.

“You never met him before?”

“Not him and not them. He wanted to sell some books to Vera, who was willing to give him an excellent price for them. Everyone would be ahead. It was a good thing. There was no reason at all for anyone to hurt him.”