That La Jolla Lawyer
Page 5
He laughed with her.
He checked the calls she had received and had made the two days prior to her death and wrote down the pertinent numbers. Some had been to her mother; some to her friend, Denise. He’d call the other numbers later to see who answered.
Next, he showered and looked at himself in the mirror. He didn’t recognize the man looking back.
It’s time to see my barber, Matt thought.
For years, once a week regularly, he had had cut his hair at
the Oriental man’s small barbershop on Fay Avenue in La Jolla. But since he’d resigned from the human race, any hair cutting that had been done, was by him, with a pair of scissors and a shaver. It’ll be a challenge for him. And, it was, but the barber took it on with a smile. He seemed glad to see his old friend.
After cutting and trimming for over thirty minutes, both men
agreed to leave Matt enough for a beard and mustache. It was kind of like Pavarotti’s except not nearly as dark and certainly not as bushy.
He still had a couple of wearable suits in his closet. It was the first time since Jennifer’s trial had ended that he’d felt good enough to get dressed. He remembered that day like it was yesterday.
Jennifer had thanked him curtly after the not guilty verdict was announced then hugged her divorce lawyer like he was the one who'd saved her. She’d married the guy the next year. He was certain she was going to marry him. It crushed him. But now, the weight had magically lifted. He had a job to do.
It was funny, he told himself, how that changed things. He hadn’t been expecting the job, hadn’t been looking for one but there it was, shoved at him in such a way, he couldn’t refuse. In fact, it was a job he wanted to do. Somehow, he felt he owed Sarah something. She’d been killed under his roof. Probating her estate is the least I can do to settle the debt I owe her for bringing me back to life.
The next day, looking like a lawyer in his dark suit and tie, he drove to the legal library to research how to probate an estate. He made copies of the various forms and pertinent code sections he might need. Afterward, he drove to her condo to see what files she had there. Also, to see if she had a laptop.
*****
Damn, great view, he thought as he walked through the door. The windows looked out over the San Diego Harbor. Ships and boats churned the blue waters. The sun’s rays reflected exploding diamonds of white light off the waves they made. Thinking how she must have felt sleeping in his flea bag of a room, made him laugh.
He didn’t see her cat. He caught the trace scent of someone’s perfume in the room. Her friend’s?
His first search was for her computer. The only one in the condo was a laptop in the spare bedroom. It bore a label – Property of Denise Anderson. Touch it and Die.
Against the wall of the living room was a two-drawer file cabinet. It contained a will file. She’d left everything to her only sister and parents with her mom as executrix. The file also contained a list of her assets. In addition to the condo, which she bought a few years earlier for $425,000, she had a 401k with a healthy balance.
Her sister was the beneficiary of her 401k so nothing to do there. The mortgage was a little less than $200,000. He’d send her mother the particulars so she could make payments until he could get the will probated.
“Be damned, the Bushes are on the deed with her as Joint
Tenants,” he said as he looked at the condo deed. “They own it now. There won’t be much to probate.” He’d send a death certificate and copy of the deed to the bank. She probably put them on as Joint Tenants to protect the money they gave her as part of the down payment.
The car would have to be transferred and her bank account. It was paid off and would go to the Bushes by a summary probate. And I can do that with affidavits.
Her last bank statement showed she had about $8,000 in her checking account. That would also go to her mother.
He determined that Sarah was 44 years old. She looked younger. Her marriage had ended in divorce a year afterward. She had told him that her new life had started the day the divorce was final, December 12 at ten in the morning.
Chapter 7
He overnighted a letter to Mrs. Bush telling her his plans to use a summary probate to transfer her estate to them. The condo already belonged to them under the deed and her sister, Cynthia, was the named beneficiary of her 401K. He listed monthly payments that needed to be made on the condo.
His letter asked what she wanted to do with the condo. If they wanted to sell it, he’d ask a couple of brokers to call her. He mentioned that some arrangements might have to be made with Denise depending on her arrangement with Sarah.
Upon reflection, the probate seemed simple enough, limited assets, only two heirs named in the will, no disputes, no major debts. But, there is something. There might be a wrongful death case here. Whoever killed her might have a few bucks lying around. Problem is, I have no idea who did it.
That thought brought Carter Nelson, his one-time investigator, into his thoughts. It was Carter who had made him file for disability after his collapse; actually did the filing himself. Fatigue and an emotional breakdown were given as the reason.
Using Sarah’s phone, Matt punched in Carter’s number and got a message that it was either no longer in service or disconnected. Not too surprising, Matt figured. Carter was about ready for retirement even before the Schofield case but had agreed to stay with him for the trial.
He turned on his computer, something he had rarely done since he’d resigned from the human race. He was somewhat surprised that it booted up.
“Be damned,” he said to himself, looking at the message on the monitor. “It says I last logged on…the night Sarah was killed.
That’s very interesting. I don’t think a strung out druggie would have done that. What the hell was he looking for?”
He had a bushel of old emails, mostly junk, some dating from the time of the Schofield verdict. He deleted them and emailed Carter and Mrs. Bush.
Hell, Carter may be dead for all I know. But, he’ll only be about 65. That’s young these days. He could still be alive.
An hour later, a ding from his computer announced that he had an email. It was Carter, giving him a new telephone number.
Matt called him.
“I’ve retired, Matt. My Social Security check comes in every month. I’ve driven by your house a few times. I use the word, house, loosely. Every time I do, I wonder when the termites are going to abandon their search for something edible,” he spoke with a southern accent even though he’d been in California for decades, having moved out from Birmingham, Alabama after his parents died. His dad worked in the steel mills in Birmingham and Carter figured to follow, but the steel mills closed and Carter eventually moved out to California.
Matt smiled. “You should have dropped by.”
Carter said, “Started to stop, but I pretty much figured out what happened during the trial and didn’t have any advice for you. Time’s ‘bout the only cure for that problem.”
“That obvious, huh?”
“It couldn’t have been any more obvious unless it had been written across your forehead.”
“She burned me pretty bad.”
“I figured. She and her other lawyer must have had a thing going before you came onto the scene. I kept it to myself. Didn’t figure you needed the distraction. He was a good-looking guy.”
“Yeah.”
“So, what’s all this ‘bout a probate your email went on about? By the way, I read about you finding a dead girl, Sarah Bush, in your bedroom. A reporter for God’s sake. What the hell was going on, Matt?”
“My spare bedroom, Carter, to be accurate. She wanted to interview me for a follow-up piece on the Schofield trial. I told her all I knew, except for the things that still stick in my craw, as my grandmother used to say about things bothering her.”
“The story said she was working to get a Republican congressman elected to take over for the guy who’s retiring.”
“So, you want your old bloodhound back on the trail to help you find out who killed her, eh?”
“Yeah, but if you’re retired …”
“I’m fixin to unretire as of right now. Hell, Matt, working for you was like a never-ending adventure. I don’t reckon I could turn down a chance to ride that horse again. Besides, I’m tired of going behind the gardener doing what I’m paying him to do.”
He’d be right over.
Fifteen minutes later, Matt’s doorbell rang. Outside was a short little man with a wart on his nose, pear-shaped and practically bald. The wisps of hair, half-white, half- dark, still clinging to his scalp looked like they might break off and fly away in a stiff wind. But, his eyebrows were so thick they practically shaded his eyes.
The face trying to compensate for the hair missing from the top of his head. Beard as dark as ever. Still looks like he needs a shave. More lines in his face and less belt room around the middle but otherwise, not much has changed. Still fidgets like he has ants crawling up both legs.
They exchanged firm handshakes and loud pats on the back. “Damn good to see you, Carter. It has been a long time.”
“Blamed if I thought I’d ever see you again, all things considered. With that beard and mustache, I barely recognize you anyway. What’s with that?” He waved a hand at Matt’s face.
“I wasn’t sure I was ready to show myself in public so I kind of adopted a disguise.”
“I can’t say it looks bad, truth be told.”
“Thanks. Come on in. I can make coffee. Actually, Sara left a bottle of red wine, white too, if you’d rather have wine.”
“Damn, Matt, ain’t you got a cold beer? Shit fire, you know I don’t drink that sissy shit.”
Matt laughed. “I’ll get beer now that we’re back in business. At least for one case.”
“Hell, you pretty much look like you’re ready for a closing argument in a murder one case right now.”
“Not nearly there yet, old buddy.”
Matt had taken off his tie, but still wore a white shirt and a decent pair of pants.
Carter stood back and said, “Be damned, Matt! You’ve lost that bicycle tire around your waist too. You been working out?”
Matt laughed. “No. That’s what you lose when you don’t eat regularly. I’ll get the coffee brewing.”
Over coffee, Matt gave him what he knew about the dead woman’s affairs including the facts he found suspicious about her death. “My guess is that she was working on a story and whoever didn’t want the story aired, killed her to make sure it wouldn’t be.”
“So, not a burglary?”
“Unlikely. After they killed her, they searched around for something, likely her laptop. Whoever killed her took the time to boot up my computer. I haven’t turned the damn thing on since the verdict…”
“You may be lucky. If she had used your computer for the story, the killer might have waited around for you.”
“You could be right.” He let that play through his thoughts for a second or two, then said, “Had to be a big-assed story to
motivate murder.”
“Money or power at stake,” Carter said. “That’s what you
always said.”
“That’s what I always found at the bottom of every big murder I handled. Sometimes revenge or a love triangle. Anyway, I never went into the room while she was here so I don’t know what the killer might have found after he killed her. In my opinion he took her purse to make it look like she was killed when she woke up during a burglary. There was no evidence of rape or attempted rape, so why kill her?”
“Pretty much looks like too many odd things sticking out for a druggie to have done it.”
“Yeah. She worked for ANN. Had enough of a reputation, according to her mother, to pick the stories she wanted to work on. She leaned toward controversial issues, her mother said. Won a Pulitzer, so she must have been good.”
“Impressive.” Carter continued, grimacing as he said, “Controversial means she must have been always pissing on somebody’s parade. Hell, Matt, she might have poked her nose where it wasn’t wanted working on the congressman’s campaign.”
“She hinted at that one time when we were talking. Probably a lot riding on the election. A senator has lots of power.”
“Enough to kill for, you think?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I called you. You can sniff out a fart in a hurricane.” Matt laughed. “Hell, the cops thought I killed her to cover up an attempted rape.”
Carter laughed. “That’s bull hockey.”
“Yeah. I think they came to that conclusion, but they haven’t told me yet. There’s always the possibility, Carter, that it was a random burglary and she got in the way. That doesn’t explain why they’d boot up my computer though.”
“Frankly, Matt, don’t be offended, but who would want to burglarize this place?
From the outside, it looks like you’re in need of care packages.”
“That’s funny, Carter. But right on.”
“But, somebody killed her and it wasn’t you.”
“My thinking is that somebody killed her in connection with a story she was working on. They found out where she was hiding and knew enough about my habits, or found out, and killed her while I was having my evening beers. I want to sue the son of a bitch for her wrongful death.”
“If he has any money.”
“Yeah. There is that. It won’t mean anything to Sarah, but it’ll make me feel better.”
“Vengeance is mine,” Carter quoted the Bible with a grin.
“Yeah. Well, somebody violated the Golden Rule and one of the commandants so I think that overrides the vengeance bar.”
“Sounds mighty good to me. I thought it was over for me, Matt. Condemned to yardwork and handyman chores and folding them damned fitted sheets. I hope whoever invented them damn things is burning in hell. That’s where I reckon I’ll end up when I die. That’ll be ‘cause I worked for a lawyer. And, my job will be to fold fitted sheets for eternity.”
He looked down as if suddenly remembering something. “I reckon I didn’t mind folding the things for my wife…before she… passed on. That hit me pretty hard.”
“I understand. After uh … Jennifer, I had a hard time getting out of bed. Somedays I didn’t. Sarah, somehow, changed that. She was a good tonic for me. If nothing else, I want vengeance for her. To hell with the Bible.” He looked up, smiling. “I didn’t mean it, Lord.”
Carter smiled. “I’m glad you added that, Matt. I’d hate to be in this house if a lightning bolt hit it.”
Matt waved the comment off with a smile and added, “By the way, Mrs. Bush left Sarah’s phone with me. I checked her calls. Her friend, Denise got a couple of calls. Her mother a couple. Her boss, Padgett, a couple. Some odds and ends, beauty parlor, that sort of thing, a couple of co-workers. But, one number I called didn’t answer. That one raised the red flag.”
He handed Carter a list of all the calls. The one that didn’t answer was circled in red.
“If you still have contacts around, maybe you can find out about it. I suspect somebody left that number for Sarah to call about a story. She called and told whoever it was, where she was. And, I think that person killed her.”
“I’d say that was a pretty safe bet. I’ll nose around. Most likely it was a throwaway phone, you know, one of those prepaid things people buy with cash and throwaway when they’ve finished. “
“Yeah. I figured.”
They drank more coffee and talked about the “good old days” for another hour.
“Okay,” Carter said. “This is how I look when I’m going to work.” He stood and headed toward the door. “I’ll check in.”
“I’m counting on it. By the way, money is kind of tight now s
o I’ll have to dribble out your fee. Mrs. Bush gave me four thousand to cover expenses. I’ll give you some of it as soon as the check clears.”
“Forget it, Matt. We’ve been working together too long for me to worry about a fee. This one is for old time’s sakes … not to mention my salvation. Maybe you can throw in a beer or two.”
*****
After a Senior Breakfast Special at Denny’s, Matt drove to Walmart and bought a cell phone with limited minutes. He called Carter and left his new phone number with a message.
That evening, he received an email from Mrs. Bush about the condo.
“Sarah would have wanted her friend to stay in the condo so we’re in a quandary about what to do. We don’t want to keep it as an investment, but we don’t want to make Denise move either. If you contact Denise, see if you can get a feeling about what she wants to do.”
He would. His email reply told her about his new phone. He’d mail Sarah’s to her. He also explained that he would be investigating who might have killed Sarah so he could file a
wrongful death action against them if they had any money.
“Oh, thank you, Matt,” Mrs. Bush replied. “I just knew you were a go-getter when I met you. We would be so grateful if you could find out who did it.”
About nine that evening, his doorbell rang. He figured it was Carter and hurried to see why he’d come back.
He opened the door. It wasn’t Carter. It was his ex-client. “Cisco, what the hell are you doing around here?” He jokingly asked. “You need a place to hide out? I have a spare room.”
The man laughed. “No. I can buy a hotel and stay. I now own a house near here. One I can drive into without neighbors even seeing.
Not in my name, amigo. Everything’s corporations these days.” He waved an arm around with a frown on his face. “This one, no disrespect, I wouldn’t sleep in. I am dropping by to see old friend again.”
“Hell, I’m glad to have it. It sleeps okay to me.”
“If it is good for you, I am pleased.” He looked Matt up and down and shook his head. “Damn, man, you look like you’re human again. Not like last time. Good face hair now. Almost as pretty as me.” He rubbed his thin mustache and grinned. “You get laid?”