After inhaling the food on his plate, Mark leaned back, picking at his teeth with his fingernail. Brian signaled his waiter and asked for his check.
By the time Mark and the brunette came out of the restaurant, Brian was tucked into his car, his binoculars at the ready, should he need them. Out of habit, he scanned the parking lot of the restaurant and noticed a gray Taurus parked out of the way, its driver watching Mark with a camera and telephone lens. Hadn’t he seen a car like that near Mark’s office? Focusing on the car, he saw two men. The man behind the steering wheel was holding a set of binoculars, while the man in the passenger seat held a camera with a long lens pointed at Mark Engstrom and the brunette.
When the couple approached Mark’s car, the brunette waited while Mark got in and rolled down the window. After reaching across the passenger seat, Mark handed the brunette what looked like a legal-sized envelope. In the spirit of being thorough, Brian used the camera on his cell phone to take pictures of Mark and the brunette. While he was at it, he snapped a few pictures of the men in the silver Taurus. Soon Mark drove away, leaving the brunette on her own in the parking lot. To Brian’s surprise, the girl walked over to the silver Taurus and handed the envelope to the man with the camera. Then she got into an old but well cared for Toyota Camry and drove away. The Taurus followed her out of the parking lot, turning toward the onramp to Highway 101.
After Brian wrote down the license numbers of the Taurus and the brunette’s Camry, he sat for a few minutes, digesting all he had seen. He’d bet money the Ford Taurus was a government-issued car. Securities and Exchange Commission? FBI? He wondered if their surveillance of Mark Engstrom had anything to do with Cynthia’s murder so long ago. In any event, he and Olivia would have to be careful. It seemed that bigger things were in play.
Brian cursed himself for being careless when his passenger door opened and one of the suits from the Taurus slid into the car next to him. Unbeknownst to Brian, the Taurus had doubled back and now blocked him in. The man was young; Brian guessed him to be in his early thirties. He tried to grab for Brian’s phone, but Brian was quicker and grabbed his arm, twisting it to an uncomfortable angle while he tucked his phone deep into his suit pocket. “Keep your hands to yourself.”
Brian let the agent wrench free of his grip – he didn’t want to take away the kid’s confidence – and said, “What do you want?”
“I saw you watching Mr. Engstrom. I’m telling you to back off.”
“Which agency are you with? SEC? FBI? What’s he done, money laundering?”
“I appreciate your curiosity, Mr. Vickery, but our interest in Mr. Engstrom need not concern you. You need to cease your investigation immediately.”
Brian believed whole-heartedly in cooperating. He also had plenty of respect for law enforcement, especially an agency designed to track down white-collar criminals, men who stole the life savings from unsuspecting hardworking people. But something about this agent’s tactics, his lack of respect and need to dominate, pushed Brian’s buttons and made him not want to capitulate so easily.
“I can’t promise that. I’m not interested in Mr. Engstrom’s financial dealings. So I’ll stay out of your way. That’s the best I can offer.”
The agent met Brian’s gaze, his baby-faced cheeks flushed.
“Sorry if I hurt your arm,” Brian said. “But you did ask for it when you got in my car without permission.”
“This is an informal request for you to back away from Mark Engstrom. Next time I won’t play nice.” The agent got out of the car, fussed with his coat, and sauntered back to the Ford Taurus. As the car pulled out of the parking lot, the agent stared at Brian, trying without success to look intimidating.
Chapter 18
Mark
Wednesday, January 7
Mark Engstrom returned to his office after his lunch date with the lovely and ever so corrupt Brenda Eldridge, certain he was being followed. In fact, he wouldn’t have been surprised had someone been watching him while he ate his lunch. Not that he cared. After barking out an order for a single espresso to the bimbo who answered his phone and served as general dogsbody, he scurried back to his office and shut the door. Once there, he’d peered through the blinds at the street below. Sure enough, there was the same gray Taurus that he had seen in the parking lot at the restaurant. Well, he wasn’t sure it was the same car, but how many Fords were there in Mill Valley, the land of Mercedes and BMWs?
Ever calculating, his thoughts strayed to his bookkeeper, Brenda, the only person who was privy to his financial shenanigans. Would she turn on him? If she had been approached by the SEC with a promise of immunity in exchange for her cooperation, would she betray him? If I go down, she goes with me.
Grabbing the Zeiss binoculars his father had given him for high school graduation so many years ago, Mark peered through the lenses to the car across the street and nearly toppled backwards when he saw a man using binoculars watching him. Gasping in surprise, Mark closed his blinds all the way before he repositioned the binoculars and continued to watch until another man in a cheap suit got in the passenger side and the car sped away.
A sheen of sweat had formed on Mark’s face. He swiped his forehead with his shirt sleeve and cursed out loud.
“Here’s your coffee. And Mr. Seymour’s here.”
“Mr. Seymour?”
“Your 2:30? New client? Wants to open a trust fund for his grandson?”
“Thank you. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”
She didn’t say anything as she closed the door and left him on his own. He was tired of the women in his life. Melinda, the bimbo, and Brenda the bookkeeper with her doom-and-gloom financial reports. Yes, he was in trouble. But he’d been in trouble before and had somehow managed to sort it all out. Reaching for a fresh button-up shirt and undershirt, he stripped naked from the waist up, went into his private washroom and splashed cold water on his face.
As he dressed, he thought of the soft-spoken man he’d met at the last fundraiser he and Melinda had attended. After doing a little digging, he’d discovered Mr. Cyril Seymour had inherited an exorbitant amount of money from a long-lost uncle. Mark smiled at himself in the mirror. With any luck, he’d get the sweet old guy to write a check for a couple of million. Everyone wanted a piece of his business. His strategy had been brilliant, keeping it exclusive, making investment opportunities by invitation only. He’d used the funds from the initial round of investors – those who never dipped into capital – to pay out exorbitant interest rates to newcomers. And, with Brenda’s help, had been sending out statements every month with grossly inflated returns. Money begets money, and Mark’s investors spoke of his genius to their friends. Soon he had more money than he had expected, some of which went for his management fees, some of which was simply syphoned off the top and transferred into his account in Zurich, with his clients none the wiser.
Mr. Seymour would invest. Everything would work out. If it didn’t, there was always his go strategy. As in, use the fake passport he had hidden away at home, loot his company and go, leaving everyone else to clean up the mess.
Maybe he was being followed, but he still had the upper hand. All he had to do was walk away from it all. Back in his office, he used the intercom on his phone to buzz the bimbo. “I’m ready for Mr. Seymour.”
When the bimbo disconnected without saying a word, Mark thought about how much he would enjoy firing her.
Cyril Seymour gave off the impression of physical frailty, yet his brown eyes were direct and spoke of a certain quiet intelligence that signaled Mark to pay attention and maneuver carefully. “Come in, sir,” Mark said, ushering Mr. Seymour into one of his comfortable office chairs. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Seymour said. Once Mark was seated, Mr. Seymour gave a gentle cough. “I felt I should come and speak to you directly, rather than leave a message. I know when we met I all but committed to investing with your firm. But I had my people do a little digging, and I’m a
fraid I won’t be able to invest while your company is being investigated by the SEC.”
Son of a bitch. “Mr. Seymour, I don’t know where you got your information, but that is a misstatement. Now, if you’ll let me show you—”
“I’m not wrong,” Mr. Seymour stood. “And I can tell by the look in your eyes that you know it. I don’t think we have anything else to discuss. As I said, I simply came here to tell you man to man why I wouldn’t keep my promise.”
Mark turned and stared out the window as the anger started to boil deep in his belly. It took every ounce of discipline he had not to let loose on Mr. Seymour and tell the supercilious bastard just what he could do with his man-to-man dignity. Instead he said in a calm voice, “The investigation is routine, Mr. Seymour …” He turned around to discover Mr. Seymour had left.
Using his cell phone, he quickly accessed his Swiss bank accounts. Seconds later he received the message: This account has been frozen. Please contact our help desk at the following link.
As the reality of Mark’s situation sunk in, he was overcome by a feeling of calm. He’d prepared for this eventuality. He knew what to do. Pulling his checkbook out of his suit jacket, he scribbled a final check to the bimbo – it would probably bounce, but he didn’t care – Mark approached her desk, only to find her speaking on the phone.
“It’s your wife,” she whispered.
“Here’s your final paycheck. You’re fired. Lock the door on your way out.”
Chapter 19
Olivia
Wednesday, January 7
After her meeting with Ebby, Olivia spent the morning doing legal research, boning up on the case law needed to get Ebby’s confession – and his entire case – dismissed. She knew the chance of the confession getting tossed was slim, but she had to make the argument, if for no other reason than to see and evaluate her opposing counsel. Seth Woodson was an unknown quantity. Was he a good lawyer? Olivia couldn’t say. Not yet. But she put herself in his position. What would she do against a lawyer who was trying to keep a bogus confession out of evidence?
At one o’clock she walked the three blocks to Ebby’s restaurant, which was situated in an old house among a grove of redwood trees right off Magnolia Avenue. As she sat at the counter waiting for her food to come, she noticed how smoothly the restaurant operated and how well the staff got along, even though Ebby wasn’t there, a sure testament to his management skills and the loyalty of his employees. Once her classic Reuben with fries arrived, she took her time with her food, reading the last of the newspaper articles about Cynthia Engstrom’s murder.
Six beat reporters covered the murder, but Olivia quickly homed in on one in particular, Gordon LaPorter, whose articles seemed to be intelligent, balanced, and based largely on empirical data rather than speculation and opinion. Thinking that Mr. LaPorter might have insight if he were still alive, Olivia used her phone to search his name, only to turn up an obituary. Mr. LaPorter had died five years ago.
Back at the office, Olivia found Brian focused on his computer, tapping away with two fingers.
“Hey,” she said. “How’s it going?”
He looked up, startled.
“What did you find?” Olivia stepped into the office.
“What makes you think I’ve found something?”
“You get this look in your eyes. It’s your tell,” Olivia said.
He smiled at her and pointed at the tasking chair tucked into the corner of his office. “Come sit.”
Olivia pulled the chair close enough to Brian’s desk so she could see his computer. “Is this about Mark Engstrom?”
“It is. I followed him to Il Fornaio, where he met an attractive brunette for what I thought was a lunchtime tryst. The man has an ego, on full display at the restaurant. I don’t like him.”
“Me neither. Was the brunette his mistress, do you think?”
Brian shook his head. “Based on body language, she didn’t much care for Mr. Engstrom’s company. But the interesting part happened after the meal. When Mark finished eating, I paid my check and hurried to my car. Soon Mark and the brunette came out of the restaurant. That’s when I noticed the tail.”
“Tail?” Olivia repeated.
“Yeah. A gray Ford Taurus, government issue. FBI or SEC, I’m guessing. They were following Mark. Anyway, Mark handed the brunette an envelope. The brunette got into her car, and once Mark drove away, she passed the envelope to one of the men in the Taurus.” Mark sighed. “I had a buddy check the license plate. The brunette is one Brenda Eldridge. She has a freelance bookkeeping service. Works out of her house. I’m betting she’s cooperating with whichever government agency is investigating Mr. Engstrom.”
“So what do we do now?”
“We go out of our way to keep a distance from the agency running this investigation. Something tells me that what I saw today has nothing to do with the murder or the theft of the coins. My gut is saying we should leave it alone. Unless you think otherwise?”
“No, let’s keep our distance for now,” Olivia said.
“And I found out who the medical examiner was in 1984 – a guy by the name of Duncan Wymark. He lives in San Anselmo. I thought we could call him. He might remember the murder. Worth a shot?”
“Definitely worth a shot,” Olivia said. “We should move forward under the assumption that I can’t get Ebby’s confession thrown out.”
“I’ll call him. Who knows, he might be able to help.”
“Well, don’t you two look cozy?” Leanne stood in the doorway to Brian’s office. At her sudden appearance, Olivia stood up and moved away from Brian, as if she were guilty of something inappropriate.
“Hey, Leanne. We were just going over some work. If you’ll excuse me.” She started for the door, not trusting herself to hide her suspicions.
“Wait, Olivia. You don’t have to go. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just had some business in town and I stopped by to see if I could take the two of you out to dinner. What do you say? My treat.”
“That sounds really nice. But can I take a rain check? I didn’t sleep very well last night.” Olivia rubbed her neck. “I’m knackered.”
“You do look tired.” She turned to Brian. “How about you, Brian? Want to grab a quick bite?”
Olivia didn’t wait to hear what Brian said. She went into her office and shut the door. By the time she was ready to call it a day, Brian and Leanne were long gone.
Chapter 20
Brian
Thursday, January 8
Brian didn’t appreciate being played for a fool and had every intention of finding out exactly what Leanne was playing at. Last night, he had gone into professional mode, using the same tricks he used when he worked undercover. He’d even managed a passionate kiss goodnight by pretending he was kissing Olivia.
“Wow,” Leanne had purred when Brian finally pulled away. “Where did that come from?”
Brian had just smiled, given Leanne a wave, and walked away.
Tossing and turning in his bed, Brian didn’t stand a chance of getting any sleep. As he reviewed his relationship with Leanne, he realized she’d been acting suspiciously since the day he met her. She’d told Brian her husband was a pilot, but also said on another occasion that he was a lawyer. When he’d asked her about it, she said he must have misheard because her husband was most definitely a pilot. In hindsight, Brian realized that the dates of her husband’s death didn’t jibe. In one instance, she’d said her husband had died two years ago, another time he’d been dead for five years. There were a handful of other incidents like that, but Brian didn’t pay them much attention at the time. As he lay awake, questions wound round and round his head. What was Leanne up to? Why had she involved him? How could he stop her?
When the sun crept up the next morning, his eyelids were gritty from lack of sleep, but Brian knew what he had to do. After a morning run around Phoenix Lake, a long shower, and a hot breakfast, Brian felt halfway normal. He was still thinking about all his past encou
nters with Leanne, recalling every word and gesture and comment about her family and friends through a lens of suspicion. As he thought about their relationship, he realized she had grilled him, well and truly grilled him, about his life and his marriage, making it seem as though she was genuinely interested, when really, all she wanted was information. And he had played right into her hands, like a gullible idiot. No more.
At eight o’clock on the dot, he dialed Leanne’s number and gave the performance of his life, telling her he missed her, that he was going to be busy until Ebby’s trial, but that he wanted to steal a few minutes with her today. The flattery worked.
“I have to be at work at 10:30. Would you like to have dinner tonight?”
“Can’t,” he said. “Working. Why don’t I come and get you and we can have coffee this morning?”
She readily agreed to meet at him at Peet’s in Bon Air Shopping Center in an hour.
Brian now assumed that everything Leanne said to him was a lie. “Are you sure you don’t want me to pick you up at your new condo? I am looking forward to seeing it. It’s supposed to rain, and I know you don’t have a car …”
“Oh, that’s okay. I have a couple of errands to run. I’ll meet you at Peet’s.”
“Why won’t you let me come and get you?”
When Leanne didn’t answer right away, Brian worried he had pushed too hard and aroused her suspicion.
“Are you okay, Brian? You sound different.”
“I’m fine. Just really want to see you. I’ll run a couple errands myself and see you at Peet’s, okay?”
The Witness Page 13