“And you don’t think she was serious about anyone else?” Mendez said.
Quinn shook his head. “No. Marissa was a free spirit. She enjoyed her life. She enjoyed her daughter. She didn’t need a man to complete her emotionally.”
“What about financially?” Hicks asked. “She has a nice place out there. Had to cost some bucks. Was she that successful as an artist?”
“She did well as an artist, but I don’t think she needed the money,” Quinn said. “I think she has family money.”
“What do you know about her family?”
“East Coast. Rhode Island, I think. She never spoke of them. It seemed to be a sore subject.”
“Were you her attorney as well as her friend?” Mendez asked.
“No. Steve helped her set up a trust for her daughter. That’s been the extent of her business with us.”
“Was he friends with her too?” Mendez asked, wondering why Sara hadn’t mentioned the connection earlier. He probably shouldn’t have been surprised. She had already had the unflattering light of police scrutiny illuminate the flaws in her marriage. Why invite that again?
Quinn frowned. “He wasn’t sleeping with her, if that’s what you mean.”
“Like he wasn’t sleeping with Lisa Warwick?” Mendez challenged.
“You never had any proof he had an affair with Lisa.”
“It’s not against the law to cheat on your wife,” Mendez said, feeling himself get a little hot under the collar. “We’re not going to spend tax-payer dollars trying to prove the guy is an adulterer. But it doesn’t speak well for his character, does it?”
“Steve is a fine person,” Quinn said firmly as he sat back in his expensive leather chair—withdrawing from the interview. “He works hard. He gives back to the community. He’s a good father.”
“He’s just not a good husband,” Mendez said. “I guess everybody has their flaws.”
“I don’t see why we’re talking about this, Detective,” Quinn said. He propped his elbows on the armrests of the chair and made a tent with his hands—subconsciously putting a physical barrier between them. “Someone murdered Marissa Fordham. It wasn’t me, and it wasn’t Steve. You should look elsewhere.”
“Is he in today?” Mendez asked.
“I believe he’s in a meeting with a client.”
And if he wasn’t, Don Quinn was going to make damn sure he pretended he was. Mendez figured he’d be on the phone to his partner’s office the instant he and Hicks stepped out the door.
He glanced at his watch. 4:42. The office would close soon. Steve Morgan would leave and head home—or elsewhere.
Mendez rose from his chair. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Quinn.”
“If you think of anything that might be helpful to the investigation, please give us a call,” Hicks said, setting a business card on the desk.
“What’s with the hard-on for Steve Morgan?” Hicks asked as they walked back to the car parked down the street at a meter.
“The guy rubs me the wrong way,” Mendez said. “He’s got a beautiful wife, a beautiful daughter, a beautiful home, and he’s a fucking dog. There was no doubt in my mind he was sleeping with Lisa Warwick—who ended up murdered. Now he’s got a connection to Marissa Fordham—also murdered.”
“Peter Crane killed Lisa Warwick,” Hicks pointed out.
“I know. I just don’t like coincidence.”
“You just don’t like Steve Morgan.”
“No, I don’t. Do you?”
“He doesn’t mean anything to me one way or the other. He’s just another name on the list of people to talk to regarding our victim.”
“Then let’s,” Mendez said as they got in the car.
“You want to wait for him here?” Hicks asked. “Go back and park ourselves in the office?”
“No. I’d say we go park in front of his house, but there’s no guarantee he’s going home when he leaves here. Let’s go around the back and catch him coming out.”
They didn’t have to wait long.
They had just pulled down the alley when Steve Morgan came out the back door of the Quinn, Morgan offices. He was tall and lanky with a mop of sandy, wavy hair; the kind of guy who would look good with a tennis racket in his hand and a sweater tied around his neck.
Mendez pulled the sedan in directly behind Morgan’s black Trans Am, blocking his exit.
“Slipping out early?” he asked as Morgan got out of the car.
If Morgan was annoyed, he did a good job of masking it.
“Detectives. Don just told me about Marissa Fordham. She was a friend of my wife’s. I want to break the news to Sara before she sees it on TV.”
“She knows,” Mendez said. “As it happens, she had an appointment with Ms. Fordham this morning. I’ve already spoken with her.”
Morgan sighed. “Oh God, she must be upset.”
“She didn’t call you?”
“I’ve been in and out of the office today. I saw she left a couple of messages, but I haven’t had time to call her back.”
“She took it pretty hard,” Mendez said. “You knew Ms. Fordham as well.”
Morgan sat back against his spotless vehicle. “Yes. I knew her. Is this the part where you’re going to accuse me of sleeping with her?”
“Were you?” Hicks asked.
“No. I knew Marissa from the Thomas Center. I helped out with the copyright business on the poster she did. And I knew her socially a little bit—charity functions, cocktail parties, like that.”
“She dated your partner,” Hicks said.
“She dated a few different men. Marissa wasn’t interested in being tied down by anyone other than her daughter. She was a terrific mother.”
“You put together a trust for her little girl,” Mendez said. “Can you tell us who the trustee is?”
“I am. That’s not uncommon when people don’t have close family—and actually just as common when they do. They want a neutral third party. Relatives can get crazy when there’s money involved.”
“Are we talking about a lot of money?”
Morgan frowned. “I can’t tell you that. It’s confidential.”
“Your client is dead.”
“But her heir is alive, and who knows what relatives might crawl out of the woodwork now,” he said. “I can’t release the information without a court order or I could end up in front of the ethics committee and/or being sued.”
“Let me put it this way, then,” Mendez said. “Will the little girl be well taken care of?”
“Yes.”
“What about a will?” Hicks asked.
“I asked her about that. She said it was taken care of. I didn’t draw it up for her.”
“Did she tell you if she had made provisions for the care of her daughter in the event something happened to her?”
“No. Not beyond the trust. But I can’t imagine she hadn’t. Sara and I took care of that for Wendy before she was even born.”
“You’re an attorney,” Hicks pointed out.
“Yes, but I’m a father first,” Morgan said. “Marissa was a mother first—and a single mom at that. I’m sure when you go through her personal documents you’ll find everything you’re looking for.”
“Did she ever mention the little girl’s father to you?” Mendez asked.
“Not by name. And only to tell me he wasn’t a factor in Haley’s life.”
Morgan glanced at his watch and frowned. “I don’t know what else I can tell you. Does Jane Thomas know about Marissa?”
“Yes. We were there earlier,” Hicks said.
“I’d like to get going then—if there’s nothing else.”
“Not for the moment.”
“You know where to find me,” Morgan said.
Yeah, Mendez thought as he backed the sedan up to let Steve Morgan out of his parking place, just this side of a murder victim.