Duty and the Beast

by Chelsea Field

  “Gosh,” I said. “That was very diplomatic of the pair of you.”

  Connor gave one of his infinitesimal shrugs. “As he said, we don’t like each other, but we respect each other on a professional level.” He waited a minute before adding, “And I suspect old Hunt’s going soft now he’s got a girlfriend of his own to miss seeing.”

  That made me smirk. Until my thoughts turned to wishing Connor had a girlfriend of his own to miss seeing. Lucky we arrived at our destination soon after.

  Jeffrey R. Dimond, the attorney heading up the class action lawsuit against Rick, did not look the way a prosecutor should. Midforties. Medium brown wavy hair that stopped shy of falling into his eyes. An oval face that was pleasant without crossing the line into good-looking or interesting. And a genuine smile that lit up his eyes.

  He just seemed too nice to be in the profession that was the butt of so many jokes.

  What do you call five hundred lawyers at the bottom of the ocean? My father had asked me once.

  What? I’d asked.

  A good start.

  I couldn’t imagine Mr. Dimond attracting that kind of sentiment. Then again, he wasn’t prosecuting me.

  We sat down in his office, a room that expressed the assurance of wealth but gave nothing away in terms of personality or taste. That was more along the lines of what I would’ve envisaged for an attorney. Connor explained why we were there, and Jeffrey nodded, his smile fading.

  “I saw the news. It’s going to be a blow to my clients.”

  “You don’t think they’ll be glad to see him dead?” Connor asked, blunt as my cousin’s pug after it misjudged the dog door.

  There was no surprise on Mr. Dimond’s face. “I assumed since you’re here that the police suspect foul play.” He steepled his fingers. “I’m not saying they’ll grieve his passing, but a conviction of fraud would’ve gone a long way toward the success of this class action. Now we’ll have to convince the jury both that he committed the scam and that my clients suffered losses.”

  “So the lawsuit will go ahead?”

  “Most probably, yes. Assuming we’re allowed to proceed with the deceased person’s estate being substituted for the defendant. But that’s unlikely to help our cause.”

  “Where would you put the likelihood of the class action trial being successful before Mr. Knightley’s death?”

  “How much do you know about it?”

  “The barest of bones. Enlighten us.”

  “All right. Cold call fraud cases are complex and difficult. The scammers behind them are sophisticated, changing their operation frequently, avoiding face-to-face contact, using overseas accounts that are much harder to dig into, and carrying it all out with technology designed to leave no trace or trail. That makes it near impossible for law enforcement to successfully investigate seeing as the scammers just dissolve everything and move on to the next scheme. Which makes prosecution difficult too since strong evidence is very hard to come by, and yet the onus is on us to provide it. If Mr. Knightley had been convicted of the criminal charges, our class action would’ve had an excellent likelihood of success—”

  “What if he’d been acquitted instead?”

  “It would’ve made things harder. But no harder than it will be now with the prosecution dismissed. A criminal trial needs to be proven beyond reasonable doubt while a civil case only needs what is called the preponderance of evidence—which in laymen’s terms means enough evidence to make it more likely than not that our claims are true. Ultimately, I’d say this case will come down to who the jury empathizes with. But elderly victims like my clients have strong jury appeal, so I was optimistic.”

  “And with the defendant dead? How does that change things?”

  “I would speculate that my clients will want to pursue the lawsuit anyway, but if anything, I imagine Mr. Knightley’s premature death may make the jury feel more sympathetically toward him. The other side of all this is proving the defendant has money, and it’s impossible to say whether it will make tracking that down harder or easier. As long as he was alive, there was a chance he’d give in to temptation and tap into his funds, which might allow us to prove they exist. On the other hand, his death puts an end to any further activities to hide them, and something may be found as his estate is sorted through.”

  “Any idea which of your clients might be more interested in revenge than financial recuperation?” Connor asked.

  I guessed it was worth a try.

  “Client-attorney privilege, Mr. Stiles. Besides, with the exception of Patty Wilkinson who’s the lead plaintiff, I haven’t spent much time with any of them. I suggest you speak with Ms. Wilkinson. I believe she’s been something of a community leader and rallying point through all this and knows everyone in the class action.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m glad to assist. But if you want my opinion, the timing is off. Why attack Mr. Knightley now when the criminal case is finally about to go to trial? Most of them have been waiting twelve months or more for this moment, hoping to see him behind bars. I doubt you’ll find the person you’re looking for among my clients.”

  5

  Patty Wilkinson agreed to meet with us in an hour, so we stopped for a bite to eat at a sushi place. I resolved to wait until our meals were half-gone before making my request to Connor.

  The restaurant offered traditional Japanese decor with short, simple stools that made him appear larger than he was.

  My hulking friend Mr. Black would’ve required one for each butt cheek.

  Within a few minutes of us sitting down, an efficient waiter in a white uniform delivered our orders. I’d chosen raw salmon and avocado inside-out rolls and a matcha green tea milkshake. Connor had opted for one of their variety plates and freshly squeezed orange juice.

  I let him eat in peace for a while, entertaining myself by imagining Mr. Black trying to balance on one of the tiny stools like an elephant at the circus.

  Then I put down my chopsticks. “Connor?”

  “Yes?”

  “Um, how would you feel if I took lead on this case? Unofficially, I mean.”

  “That depends on why you’re asking.”

  Fair enough. There were a lot of reasons. Primarily because I was thinking it might help his fears about my safety if he saw how much more competent I’d become since we first started out together. That maybe he’d realize my newfound confidence was a good thing.

  Then again, Sophia had been more than competent and it hadn’t saved her. But no one was safe, not really. I could die in a car accident tomorrow. In fact, I was probably more likely to die in a car accident than any other physical danger. Besides, how unlucky could Connor be? I mean, I knew it was possible for lightning to strike the same place twice, but to assume it would was like spending his life avoiding every location lightning had ever struck, just in case. It was irrational—and Connor was usually anything but.

  Plus couldn’t he see that I was taking on the same risk with him? His job in high-end security and murder investigations wasn’t exactly a safe one.

  I also wanted to take the lead because for our relationship to succeed, he was going to have to start treating me as an equal in our investigative work as well as the rest of our lives. If he hadn’t had the ability to veto me on the human-trafficking case, I would never have needed to hide my plan from him. Both of us had to learn to work together on the same footing and with more consideration for each other’s feelings.

  But I didn’t want to tell him any of that. At least not yet, so I told him my other reason.

  “Because I’m not sure I want to be a Shade for the rest of my working life, and I’m exploring my options.”

  Yes, that’s right, mister. I wouldn’t always be putting my life on the line for rich strangers. Think about that.

  It caught his attention. “Okay, I’ll allow it. But the buck stops with me, so I’ll be covering anything you miss. And you can’t tell Hunt.”

  “That goes without sayin
g.”

  “If anyone recognizes you from that YouTube video or any other press, we’ll switch around and come up with an excuse for your presence. But other than that, she’s all yours.”

  “Got it. Thank you.” I was a little surprised—and touched—by how easily he’d agreed.

  We lapsed into silence for a bit while we concentrated on our food.

  “You don’t want a dog, do you?” Connor asked.

  “What?”

  “Or know of anyone else who’d like one?”

  “Why? What kind of dog?”

  “I don’t know, a medium-sized, mixed-breed kind. And it’s a long story.”

  “I’ve got time.”

  “It’s not very interesting. I’ve just acquired a dog against my will, and I’m trying to find a home for her.”

  “Well, what’s she like?” I didn’t know anybody who wanted a dog, except me anyway, but I was curious. Sadly, I didn’t think it was responsible for me to adopt a pet right now. My life was too… Well, I was trying not to think about the state of my life. But it wouldn’t be fair to bring a pup into it, no matter how much I might want to.

  “She’s brown. Sheds a lot. Eats a lot. Poops a lot. Likes to sit on your feet and hates classical music.”

  I tried to stifle a snort and wound up with milkshake in my nose for my efforts. “She hates classical music? How do you know?” I couldn’t ask the question without breaking into giggles.

  Connor scowled. “She howls whenever I play it.”

  Since it turned out I couldn’t contain my mirth, I stopped trying. I clutched my stomach helplessly and laughed.

  Connor was unimpressed.

  “She h-howls when you play classical music?” I could barely get the words out, and people were starting to give me the side-eye. I didn’t know who was responsible for this delightful twist of fate, but I wanted to throw them a party.

  Connor made a show of looking at his watch and stood up. “Forget I asked. And for the record, I’m already second-guessing letting you take lead on this case.”

  The lead plaintiff Patty Wilkinson was in her late sixties, older than Mae, younger than Etta. She’d allowed her hair to go gray and was dressed for comfort in stretchy pants, a simple, loose-fitting top, and sturdy flats. But the effect was quietly dignified rather than sloppy. She received us in her formal dining room and served us strong black tea out of flowery teacups. The picture of innocence.

  Except if Etta’s “harmless little old lady outfit” had taught me anything, it was that the picture of innocence might only go skin-deep, and I knew better than to underestimate the older generation.

  Even if they did live in a tangerine cottage with pink jasmine growing over the latticework.

  To get around the problem of my lack of authority or credentials, Connor had introduced us at the door, truthfully saying he was a consultant with the LAPD, and I was his colleague. It was a handy loophole that implied I was working with the police without explicitly lying about it. He’d also revealed that Richard Knightley had been murdered since we’d have no reason to take up her time if he hadn’t been.

  As the attorney predicted, Patty didn’t seem pleased about Rick’s death.

  “Sounds like he got off lightly if you ask me, and it’s not going to help any of his victims, is it?”

  She returned her teacup to its saucer and slumped against the backrest of the ornate timber dining chair.

  “You know, when I started this lawsuit I was doing it for me and my kids, because I lost a bunch of money and I didn’t work my tush off for fifty years to have my daughters’ inheritance stolen by some lazy scoundrel. I was fortunate enough to have plenty left, but it was the principle of the thing.”

  I made the mistake of sipping my own tea and covered my grimace at the bitter, overbrewed tannin flavor by nodding sympathetically. With any luck, Patty would put my twisted features down to distress over the situation she was describing. And I was empathetic. According to Lyle’s list, Patty had lost $70,000. Not as much as some, but a significant amount. A $100,000 debt had uprooted my entire life.

  However Patty interpreted my twisted expression, she continued her tale. “But over the months of preparation, meeting other victims and hearing their stories, it’s become about so much more than that. Some of these people lost everything, and this is their only hope of getting more than a fraction of it back. Many of them have experienced depression, some to the point of having suicidal thoughts, and there’s a lot of self-loathing and blaming themselves going around. You have to understand—imagine staring down the barrel of ten, twenty, even thirty years of poverty, with your life’s work ripped away from you and a workforce that doesn’t want you anymore.”

  “Ouch,” I said. I was supposed to stay objective, but it was hard when the suspects were victims themselves.

  Patty leaned forward. “Exactly. The criminal prosecution was good. We all wanted to see Knightley in prison. But it’s this lawsuit that gave them hope, a purpose, a community of people who could understand what they’ve been going through.”

  That was good then, wasn’t it? “From what I gather, your class action shouldn’t be too disadvantaged by his death. Your attorney thought you still had a decent chance of winning if it came to a trial.”

  She pursed her lips. “Maybe we’ll still win the lawsuit, but there are other repercussions. The media is going to stop talking about Knightley’s scamming activity and start talking about his murder. I wanted to create public awareness. That’s why I’ve been hitting up every publicity angle I can think of. It’s the only way to effectively counter it, you know.”

  “Sorry, counter what?”

  “The scamming of good, honest folk.” Patty’s words and hand gestures were growing more animated. “The police can’t do it. The technology’s getting more advanced, and the scammers are getting smarter and more numerous. It’s estimated that older Americans lose over thirty-six billion dollars to financial scams and abuse every year. Not all of that’s cold-calling schemes like Knightley’s, but it’s one of the more sophisticated ways to do it, and people have no clue how prevalent this stuff is. They say one in eighteen senior citizens are victims of financial scams, fraud, or abuse every single year, and that’s just looking at those of us with our faculties all intact. It gets worse as folks’ mental faculties start to decline.”

  “Wow. I had no idea it was such a big problem.” I didn’t have to ham up my response. I was so appalled by what I was hearing that I sipped my tea again in my distraction.

  Ugh.

  Patty’s tea sat forgotten on the dining table. Which seemed a shame when she was the only one enjoying it.

  She nodded decisively. “You’re not alone. That’s the whole point; people need to know. Never invest in anything, never give out your personal details, and never transfer any money as a result of a cold call—no matter what the person on the other end is saying or how official they sound. You can’t even trust a phone number they tell you to call for confirmation. Some people have been instructed to call the police or the credit card fraud number on the back of their card, spoken to someone who sounded official so it checks out, and then whoosh, gone. Scammers can temporarily hijack calls and phone numbers. So I wanted this class action to send a message to all the thieving lowlifes out there who think they can get away with it and, most importantly, raise public awareness that this stuff is out there.”

  Whatever Patty Wilkinson might be trying to hide from us, I believed her passion for spreading the word was genuine. She seemed to want to make sure we knew before we walked out her door.

  Of course, being cheated raised a lot of strong emotions. She had wound up focusing hers on helping and educating others, but what about the rest of the victims? Or what if she found out that Isaac Anand was plotting to ensure Richard won both cases? That changed the game dramatically. But I wasn’t ready to spill the beans on that one yet.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Wilkinson. Both for giving us a rundown and for your
public service. But I’m afraid I have to ask, with the devastating circumstances you mentioned some of the victims have found themselves in, surely getting revenge would be tempting?”

  She shrugged. “Sure, but murder for stealing doesn’t make sense. It’s better to get your money back. Look, I’m not going to pretend someone might not have thought about revenge, but we’ve talked about this in our group meetings and agreed that it’s best to do everything through the proper channels. There’s much more chance of getting our money, and the publicity is miles better this way too.”

  If she did know about Isaac and Richard’s agreement, she was doing a convincing job of pretending otherwise.

  “Even so,” I said, “we’d appreciate it if you could tell us who among your group might have the skill set or connections to hack into a security system or enough money left to pay for someone else to do it.”

  She gazed at me in disappointment, and I got a fleeting idea of what it might’ve been like to be one of her daughters. I hoped they were high achievers. Was she upset that we weren’t getting the message? Or did she feel it would be a betrayal to her fellow plaintiffs? Either way, after a moment of making my insides shrivel, she cooperated. “All right. I’ll have a think and get their details for you.”

  She retrieved reading glasses and a well-used address book from a drawer in the china cabinet and started flicking through it slowly.

  Connor shifted his weight, a sign of impatience.

  “Maybe you could send the list through when you’re finished?” I suggested.

  She rested the book on the dining table and sent me a stern look over her glasses. “If that’s what you want. But I hope you’re considering other avenues, young lady. Someone immoral and ruthless enough to be capable of what Richard Knightley did is bound to have more personal enemies.”

  She was right. But how many of Rick’s personal enemies had reason to kill Isaac Anand as well?

  Patty’s home wasn’t far from the 27th Street Community Police Station, so we stopped in to swap our early findings with Hunt. We needed any information the LAPD had learned about Isaac Anand, and Hunt needed to hear what we’d found out about Richard. Especially that Knightley Senior had said our two murder victims had been working together to clear Rick’s name.