by Dave Daren
“I don’t,” I said. “I’m sure you can get the statements of all of the credit cards he had with him in Africa. He would also likely have some sort of e-mail confirmation.”
“Right,” she said. “I’ll look for those.”
“Great,” I said. “Also we’ll need a copy of your return flight, showing that you returned earlier than the band.”
“Okay,” she replied. “I’ll get those as soon as possible.”
“Thanks,” I said. I was grateful she was cooperative now.
We ended the call, and Vicki dropped her bomb.
“Irwin Montague is out of the country,” she said.
“Damn it,” I said. “Where is he?”
“Europe,” she said.
“He’ll be back,” I said. “He loves his mom, and she’s in prison out here.”
“Are you so sure about that?” Vicki said. “Because he’s our kingpin.”
“I’m sure about that,” I said. “We’re going to get this guy this time.”
“I hope so,” she said. “That whole family deserves to go to jail.”
“That’s what we’re trying to do,” I said.
That was when I got a text from AJ. Your brother wants me to have coffee with him. WTF?
I just laughed.
Chapter 8
It took a week to get any movement on the Kelsi Matthews case. I waited for her to get me the documents on the wildlife donation, and then my phone buzzed.
“Henry Irving,” I answered to the unrecognized number.
“Hello Mr. Irving, this is Agent Ashley Winslow with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
It was about time. I hadn’t heard from the FBI on the Matthews case yet.
“Morning, Agent Winslow,” I said. “How are you doing this morning?”
“Very well,” he tone was perfunctory. “As I understand it, you’re chief counsel for Kelsi Matthews?”
“That is correct,” I said.
“I’m an attorney with the federal prosecutor’s office,” she said, “and I’ve been assigned to this case.”
“Perfect,” I said. “What are we looking at on charges?”
She sighed. “Right now, we’ve got her on illegal transportation of wildlife. But, I’ve got the Department of Homeland Security breathing down my neck on this one. If this goes to trial, it could end up years in the federal court system, and half of the security community weighing in on it.”
“She’s a preschool mom that’s been framed,” I said. “She’s not a terrorist.”
“I understand that,” she said. “But the evidence we have proves otherwise, and I know you don’t want to spend the better half of the next decade fighting the DHS and NSA and whatever other agency comes out along the way.”
“I’d rather not,” I said. “But my client’s innocent.”
She laughed weakly. “Mr. Irving, we don’t want to be buried alive in paperwork, either. We’re giving your client a chance here. We’re offering her a deal of three to five years. In the end, she’ll serve two. I think it’s more than fair, and I’d advise her to take it.”
“I doubt she will,” I said. “But I’ll inform her of the offer.”
“Please do,” Agent Winslow said. “Because like I said, the DHS is salivating over this case, and if gets much bigger, it’ll get out of my hands, and I can’t tell you what might happen then.”
“Thanks for the heads up,” I said.
“You bet,” she said. “We’ve got a temporary headquarters in Flagstaff right now. I’ll e-mail you the address, and feel free to contact me at this number if you have any further questions.”
“Great,” I said, “I’ll be in touch Agent Winslow.”
“Thank you, Mr. Irving,” she said. “Good day.”
“Good day,” I said.
I ended the call and Vicki turned to me.
“Prosecutor?” she asked.
“We’ve got the plea deal,” I nodded. “They’re offering three to five.”
“Not bad,” she said. “Are we taking it?”
“She’s pleading not guilty,” I said, “at least she was last I checked. I’ll call her though.”
“You think she is, not guilty?” Vicki asked.
“I think James’ death and the smuggling are related,” I answered. “But I have no proof to that effect, so it doesn’t matter.”
I called Kelsi.
“Kelsi,” I said as she answered. “Good to hear from you.”
“Henry,” she said. “I know, I know, documents. I’ve been working on getting them together. It’s just, hold on.”
They were muffled voices, in the background.
“No, no, mommy said no,” Kelsi said. “Sorry about that, Henry.”
“Is this a bad time?” I asked.
“No, no,” she insisted. “I’m just dropping the kids off at preschool. Give me a sec.”
More muffled voices, and then she came back.
“Sorry,” she said. “I’m a single mom. There’s never a good time for this.”
“How you holding up?” I asked.
“Not great,” she admitted. “My mother is staying with me, so that’s good. She’s been a lifesaver. Hold on.”
More muffled voices.
“Sorry,” she said again. “I’m just leaving the school now. It’s just a hectic morning. Like all mornings these days.”
“Well,” I said. “The reason I called is because we heard back from the prosecutor.”
“What did they say?” she blurted out.
I had her full attention now.
“They’re offering you a plea deal of three to five years,” I said.
“Three to five years?” she repeated. “You mean, I’d go to jail?”
“It does look like you’ll do some time,” I said. “They’re saying you’ll serve two. But, what they’re offering isn’t bad. If this goes to trial, it will be federal court and you could go to prison for the better part of your life.”
“Wait,” she said. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around this. Trial? Jury? ‘Objection your honor,’ the whole thing? Is that really what this has come to?”
“Hopefully not, “ said. “Believe me, no one wants that.”
“For elephant tusks?” she responded. “That’s insane. Especially considering I didn’t do anything. I... honestly Henry, I’ve told you this before. I didn’t do anything. I went to Africa, saw my husband play in a couple of community centers and bars. Then I went home. Then my husband dies.”
“Can’t wait,” her tone was flat.
“Think about the plea deal,” I said.
“You think I should take it?” she asked.
“I think it wouldn’t be bad to consider it,” I said. “The FBI is saying the DHS wants to get involved, and if that happens...it could be really bad.”
“DHS?” she gasped. “Homeland Security? I’m not a terrorist!”
“No one’s saying you are, Kelsi,” I said. “But if those goes to federal court, it could get really nasty.”
“You think I’m guilty,” she said.
“No,” I said. “We just don’t know what we’re dealing with. Once we know what Feds have, we can frame a better defense.”
“But I’m asking you,” she repeated. “Do you believe in me? I don’t need a lawyer that doesn’t believe in me.”
“What you don’t need,” I replied, “is a lawyer given to sentiment over evidence. We’re going to leave no stone unturned on this case, and we’re going to get to the bottom of it. I haven’t lost a criminal case yet. Stick with me, and justice will be served.”
“Spoken like a true lawyer,” she sighed.
“You’re going to be okay, Kelsi,” my voice softened.
“See you in two days,” she repeated
We ended the call and I opened the email that came in from the prosecutor’s office. It had the formal terms of the plea deal in a massive PDF file that was going to be fun to read.
AJ was back from
class now, and she settled in for the day.
“Hey guys,” she sighed. “Can someone please explain to me why the hell I need to read Tale of Two Cities to be a private investigator?”
Vicki and I both laughed.
“College,” I smirked. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”
“Oh, god,” she said. “We have to memorize that paragraph. It’s positively useless.”
“I agree,” Vicki said.
“Well, it teaches you to read boring ass shit like this plea deal,” I muttered.
“We got the plea deal?” AJ asked. “On the Matthews case?”
I nodded.
“What are they offering?”
“Three to five,” I said. “
“Hmmm,” she said. “Not bad.”
I could tell something was on her mind and had been for several days.
“So what’s the deal with Phoenix and this studio?” she blurted out. “I had a meeting with him. He wants to absorb what Leila and I are already doing. And I’m told you, of all people, are behind it all.”
“I’m not trying to take over anyone’s idea,” I laughed. “You artistic types are all the same, always worried about someone taking over your art. No, I’m just investing in Phoenix’s studio, and I thought, all of you, Landon, Phoenix, you, Leila, could join forces. Recreate Steele Productions, but without the murder or sexual harrassment.”
“And what role would you have?” she asked.
“No real one,” I said. “I’d just sit back and collect my money. Phoenix would run it.”
“Hmm,” she said. “Leila was actually interested. We just weren’t sure what the dynamic would all be.”
“As far as you would be concerned,” I told her. “I’m not even a part of it. My role is pretty much just between Phoenix and me.”
“Cool,” she said. “I mean, not cool that you’re won’t be involved. It’s just my writing is not always...professional...shall I put it that way?”
I laughed. “Well, you don’t have to worry. I’m too busy planning a wedding, building a house, and defending a woman on a smuggling charge to read your NSFW screenplay.”
AJ blushed, and Vicki laughed.
“It’s not erotica,” AJ defended. “It’s just goofy humor.”
My phone beeped with an e-mail.
“Ah, yes,” I said. “The footage came through.”
I had ordered the footage of the event from Starbright Media, and I finally got it in.
I clicked on it and Vicki and AJ gathered around my desk.We watched the corny opening monologue, and I fast forward through the t-shirt contest, and my own cameo in the broadcast.
Finally, we got to James’ song. Then the transmission showed James’ horrified expression and ended there.
“There was nothing here,” AJ said. “What are we doing with this?”
“Nothing right now,” I said. “I need to figure out how the smuggling and the death are connected.”
Over the next week, I pored over every piece of evidence I had, and couldn’t find a single thing that connected these two events. Every instinct I had, and all the experience with criminal law I had, albeit limited, pointed to a connection. But, I couldn’t find it.
Maybe that was the problem. Maybe I’d stumbled across too many complicated and convoluted murder plots, that I saw too many connections where there weren’t any.
I was about to give up, and urge Kelsi to once again take the plea deal, when she burst into our office.
“Kelsi,” I rose to greet her.
Her long blonde hair was tousled and frizzy in her face, and she wore sweatpants and a tank top with coffee stains. She had on dark shades that covered much of her face and carried a travel coffee mug.
“Are you okay?” Vicki asked. “Do you need water?”
“No,” she said breathlessly. “I’m fine. I’m just in a hurry. Two toddlers, and two jobs, and two legal cases, and I’m straight up losing my mind. And I’m already late for work, and I’ll just deal with it. And I’ve got coffee on my shirt.”
Her voice choked up and then she swallowed and smiled. She pulled two large accordian files out of her tote bag.
“I don’t know what’s in here,” she said. “These are all James’ records. He-- I don’t know.”
There was one paper stuck to her hand and then it dropped to the floor.
“Ooops,” she said. “I’m making a mess here. Look at me.”
When she bent to pick it up, her coffee spilled onto the floor and onto the paper.
“I’m so sorry,” she gushed.
“Don’t worry about it,” Vicki said as she grabbed paper towels and bent to clean the mess.
Kelsi was on her knees, desperately and apologetically trying to scrub the floor, and her tote bag spilled dry cereal and tampons everywhere. The paper was still on the floor, and her shoe had just ripped it.
“Kelsi,” I said. “It’s okay. We’ve got it. Go. Go to work. It’s okay. Coffee spills.”
“Right, right,” she said. “You guys have to…”
She grabbed her bag off the ground and the tampons scattered everywhere. She buried her face in her hands.
“And you know what the worst thing is,” she said. “This isn’t even the worst day I’ve had this week.”
Vicki calmly picked up the tampons which had now rolled under my desk and Kelsi had passed the point of embarrassment, and just laughed hysterically. She laughed so long I thought she would flip a switch and begin weeping in our office.
“Here,” Vicki handed the tampons to her and Kelsi slipped them into her bag.
“Thanks,” she sighed. “I’m going to go now.”
She walked out the door. As soon as she was out of sight of our windows, we all laughed.
“Wow,” I said. “What was that?”
“Poor lady,” Vicki shook her head. “She’s at the end of her rope, poor thing.”
I pulled the coffee soaked, ripped paper off the ground and shook it off.
“It’s the coroner’s report,” I said.
“Well,” Vicki said. “At least we got it.”
“We got it,” I said.
I took it back to my desk and dried it off. Once I had it all dried, I skimmed it, and found it was longer than I thought it should be. But, it was coffee soaked, and so I ran a copy of it.
Then I looked through the accordian files she had given us. I tossed one to AJ.
“Find out what we have in there,” I said.
“A whole lot of paperwork,” AJ said. As soon as she opened it, receipts and papers came flying out. “This explains some things.”
I went through the other one. It seems James may have been a little bit more organized than his wife. There were motorcycle receipts, vehicle titles, insurance paperwork, and then the occasional receipt from Target crumpled in the middle of it all.
I spent the rest of the day going through these papers, piecing together a portrait of this man. Finally, smashed beneath a pile of electric bills, was a stapled document that I pulled out and smoothed. I skimmed the contents.
“Holy shit,” I muttered.
The document was a five year contract between Roy Oberland, and James Matthews. It was signed about a year before his death.
James was contractually bound to Roy as a manager for five years. This happened in the mainstream music world, but in the independent circuit, it seemed a little pretentious and unnecessary.
But, it was a simple homemade contract, not admissible in court. And, if any inference could be made regarding the physical state of the contract, it wasn’t important to James.
Suddenly, this case started to make a lot more sense to me. There was a residency in Vegas. There was a contract. There was an ego. There was a death.
But what was with the elephant tusks?
Chapter 9
It was the next morning in the office, and now that we had fresh energy, we could look at the case with new eyes. This was great, because the arr
aignment was right up on us, and we still had nothing concrete.
“So our prevailing theory right now...” AJ conjectured. “Is that Roy killed James because he tried to fire the whole band, including Roy, before he left for Vegas. Roy told him ‘you can’t do that, we have a contract. Blah blah blah’.”
“Right,” I said. “And James said ‘then sue me with your little Microsoft Word printout’.”
“But why the smuggling?” AJ asked. “Who was doing that and why?”
“After the whole thing with Kelsi in the office,” Vicki said. “I find it difficult to believe she mastermind a smuggling operation.”
I laughed. “That would be hard to imagine.”
“Holy shit,” Vicki said. “I just got a notification. The police have picked up Irwin Montague.”
“Where was he?” I asked.
“He came back to his house for some reason,” she said. “That’s all I know. I want to talk to him. He’s supposedly the one that name Kelsi.”
“You think he’ll talk?” I asked.
“He already did,” she said. “He’ll talk more.”
She left the office and I turned to AJ.
“We’ve got the arraignment tomorrow,” I said. “Do we have a list of preliminary discovery requests?”
“I’m getting them now,” she said.
That just left me with the contract-smuggling link. I turned the details over and over in my mind. Did James smuggle with Montague, and Roy killed him over the profits? Was Kelsi indeed involved? All four of them? Why? Was the music a front? Why the donation to the wildlife fund? I still hadn’t found that receipt. As disorganized as Kelsi was, I doubted I would ever get it from her.
I searched Kenyan Wildlife Fund and came up with a perfectly legitimate looking website. I browsed through their social media, and it looked perfectly normal. Photos of giraffes, and smiling people in uniforms. Facts about endangered species and the like. There was nothing here.
Just when I couldn’t find any more leads, my phone buzzed.
“Henry Irving,” I answered.
“Mr. Irving, this is Gary from the James Matthews band,” he said.
“Hello, Gary yes,” I said. “How can I help you?”
“Well,” he said slowly. “I wondered if I could meet you for a coffee this morning.”