Brunelle shook his head. He didn’t return Jeremy’s nervous smile. “No, nothing scheduled. I need to talk to you. Something came up yesterday.”
Jeremy raised an encouraging eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”
Brunelle pointed to his cheek.
Jeremy leaned forward and squinted through the glass. “Ouch. That might leave a scar.”
Always the plastic surgeon, Brunelle thought.
“What happened?” Jeremy asked.
“I got punched,” Brunelle explained, “by a Russian guy. Three of them actually.”
What color Jeremy had left after several weeks without sunshine drained from his face.
“We need to talk,” Brunelle said.
Jeremy nodded, but looked down.
“What’s going on, Jeremy?”
When Jeremy just kept looking at the jail floor, Brunelle pressed him. “I need to know. I don’t mind getting punched every now and then. Hell, I even had someone suggest I look into it more. But I can’t defend you if I don’t know what’s going on. Everything that’s going on.”
Jeremy nodded again and took a deep sigh. He looked up at Brunelle, but hesitated again.
Brunelle knew from his work that, despite the best efforts of church and state over the centuries, the most powerful human motivator was still self-interest. “There might be a defense in there, Jeremy. Something I can use. It might not seem like it to you, but you’re not a lawyer. And if it comes out in the middle of trial, the prosecutor may be able to twist it before I have a chance to react. He’s a lawyer too. And he wants to put you in prison for the rest of your life.”
An expression of near-conviction flashed over Jeremy’s features.
Brunelle leaned forward. “Help me help you.”
Jeremy sighed again. He nodded a few more times. “Okay,” he finally said. “It’s kind of hard to admit.”
“Jeremy,” Brunelle modulated his voice from lawyer to friend, “you’re in jail facing murder charges. It doesn’t get harder than that.”
A small smile crept into the corner of Jeremy’s mouth. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Still…”
Brunelle decided he’d pushed enough. Jeremy was about to tell him. The best thing was to stay quiet and let Jeremy fill the silence.
“Vanessa was really excited about her studio,” Jeremy started. It didn’t seem really on point, but Brunelle knew people often took the long way around when telling a story. He settled in. “It wasn’t just a dance studio either. They were teaching aerobics, Zumba, you name it. She was making all these contacts with different art groups in town. She wanted to bring in some African drumming and Brazilian capoeira and Chinese tai chi. She really had big plans.”
Jeremy dropped his gaze for a moment. The excitement he’d briefly shown when talking about his late wife’s dreams faded when he turned to the realities of the situation.
“But it takes a while to get something like that off the ground. Gary and I didn’t start with a professionally decorated office near downtown. We built our practices over years, separately, only becoming partners a few years ago, after we’d established our reputations and our client bases. Vanessa didn’t want to wait that long. I didn’t want her to have to wait that long. I don’t even know if she could have. One face-lift will pay the rent for six months. Throw in a tummy-tuck or some liposuction and we can pay the receptionist for three months. It adds up quick.
“But dance classes? Drums and tai chi? There’s no money in that. Not in this town. Do you have any idea how expensive rent is? And a studio requires a lot of square feet. It’s not a hot dog stand or even a jewelry store. It’s big. And the people who want to do that stuff, they’re the artsy types, you know? Not the bankers and doctors. It’s the starving artists and their urchin kids. Do you know how many families promised to pay next week, or next month? You can’t do that with the landlord, though. Or the power company. Or the city tax department.”
He paused and shoved a hand into his hair. “It just wasn’t working.”
“So you borrowed some money from a loan shark to keep it afloat?” Brunelle guessed.
But Jeremy shook his head. “No. I borrowed money from a loan shark to replace the money I’d taken out of Adonis. I drained those accounts. I can do that. I’m an equal partner. Me and Gary, we both own one hundred percent of the assets. But that doesn’t mean Gary would have gone along with that. When we merged, I took care of the books, at least the day-to-day. We have an accounting firm too. They do quarterly audits. I knew they would find the hole I’d dug, so I borrowed some cash to fill the hole until the audit was over. I figured I could pay it back after the audit, out of our accounts again. By then, maybe, Vanessa’s studio would be on its feet a bit. I don’t know.”
He shrugged. “I guess I knew it wouldn’t work, but she was so excited about that studio. It made her so happy. I wanted her to be happy. She was at that studio all of the time, just working so hard and trying to make it a success. I hadn’t seen her that happy, that passionate in so long. Almost since we met. It was nice. I wanted to support that.”
“So why didn’t you pay the money back?”
Jeremy looked up, surprised by the question. “I got arrested. Vanessa was murdered and the studio was burned to the ground. I never got the chance.”
Brunelle thought through what he’d just been told. “So, the Adonis accounts are in order? No money is missing?”
Jeremy nodded. “Right. If you look closely, there are a series of withdrawals as I tried to prop up her studio, then a large deposit just before the quarterly audit. But the bottom line is what it’s supposed to be.”
“So unless the accountant alerted your partner to the irregularities,” Brunelle surmised, “he probably doesn’t know about this.”
“Gary’s a nice guy,” Jeremy said, “and a hell of a surgeon. But he doesn’t like to be bothered with the money stuff. He’s very successful. He’s always had enough money, so he doesn’t worry too much about it as long as his kids’ private school tuition is paid.”
Brunelle rubbed his chin.
“You know this is just more motive to kill her and burn the place down for the insurance money?”
Jeremy sighed and nodded. “That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
Brunelle nodded too. “I’m probably going to have to tell your partner.”
Jeremy cast his eyes down and dropped his shoulders. “I know.”
“But not yet,” Brunelle said.
Jeremy looked up, askance.
“I bet he knows more than you think,” Brunelle explained. “Let’s see what he lets slip. And what he tries to cover up.”
Chapter 15
The talk with Jeremy had taken long enough that Brunelle had to call and reschedule his meeting with Gary Overstreet. It was just as well though, because it gave Sophia time to check her calendar and schedule a time that worked for all three of them. Brunelle definitely wanted Sophia there for this interview and not just because he wanted to see how a plastic surgeon would react to someone who was naturally more beautiful than anything he could do with a scalpel.
They met at the Adonis office. He almost didn’t recognize her when she walked in. The long brown hair had transformed to a platinum up-do. The clothing style was totally different. Rather than sultry gypsy, it was smoldering librarian. But it was the same face beneath the expertly applied make-up.
“Hey, Dave,” she said casually as she joined him in the waiting room. “This should be interesting. Let me do the talking.”
Brunelle was a bit surprised. They had discussed the situation over the phone. Sophia was pretty well briefed on the areas Brunelle wanted to explore, but somehow he’d imagined himself asking the questions and Sophia taking notes.
“Why?” he asked.
She just smiled, those perfect lips parting to reveal her perfect teeth. “Really?”
Brunelle thought for a moment, then relented. “Never mind. I’ll just sit back and enjoy the show.”
*
Overstreet was staring at Sophia the entire time she unpacked her laptop and supplies in the Adonis consultation room, examining her features while his own betrayed admiration, curiosity, and professional jealousy. Brunelle was already enjoying the show. He unpacked his legal pad and leaned back in his chair.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, Dr. Overstreet,” Sophia began. “This shouldn’t take too long. We just have a few specific areas to cover.”
“Of course, Ms. Farinelli,” Overstreet replied, still staring at her impeccable cheek bones. For his part, he was a good looking man. He was tan, with muscles under his shirt and a whitened smile. Interestingly, he was completely bald on top, leaving a close cropped ring of black hair over his ears and around the back of his head. Brunelle would have expected hair-plugs from someone who made a living off of other people’s vanity. He appreciated the irony.
“I’ll do whatever I can,” Overstreet said, “to help Jeremy.”
“That’s good to hear,” Sophia replied, her eyes cast down at her keyboard, showing off the sparkling gold eye shadow. “He could use your help.”
Overstreet finally tore his eyes from Sophia to glance over at Brunelle. Brunelle nodded to confirm Sophia’s assertion, but elected not to ruin the effect by actually speaking.
“Could you please start,” Sophia asked, still without looking up, “with the nature of your business relationship with Jeremy? Is it a partnership, an L.L.C., or some other arrangement? And how long have you been partners?”
Overstreet nodded. It was an easy question. Factual. Perfect for getting him to start talking.
“It’s a professional services corporation. It functions like a partnership, but given the nature of our services, we were required to form the P.S.C. Jeremy and I are the only owners. All income goes to the corporation, then passes directly to us without tax liability for the business. It’s kind of half way between a true corporation and a true partnership.”
Sophia nodded. Her downcast eyes made her seem coquettish. Certainly approachable. Even more attractive. Brunelle knew Overstreet was eating it up. He’d tell her anything she asked. No wonder Dombrowski said she was the best.
“Do you split the profits fifty-fifty then?”
Overstreet shook his head. “No, that wouldn’t really be fair, if one of us was bringing in more clients or doing more expensive procedures. No, we have an accounting firm that keeps track of that for us and we each draw our share quarterly. In the meantime, we also have a slush fund for unexpected expenses that might come up. We pay that back when the quarterly draw hits. I’ve done that once when my car died and I needed a down payment on a new one. I don’t think Jeremy’s ever done anything like that.”
Think again, Brunelle grinned to himself.
“Do you check the books or let the accountants do that?”
“The accountants,” Overstreet was quick to dismiss the question. “That’s why we hired them.”
“So if there were any irregularities in the accounts, you wouldn’t know about them unless the accountants told you?”
Overstreet leaned forward, his expression finally shifting from the bliss of being the presence of an attractive woman. “Is there a problem with the accounts?”
Sophia finally looked up. Slowly. With a big blink of her long, mascaraed eyelashes. “Don’t worry, Mr. Overstreet. I’m just asking standard questions.”
Brunelle noticed she didn’t say, ‘No.’
“What was your relationship,” Sophia lowered her eyes and pressed on, “with Jeremy’s wife Vanessa?”
That question also impacted Overstreet’s features. And made him forget all about the irregularities in the accounts.
“What do you mean exactly?” he stammered.
Brunelle supposed Sophia hadn’t really meant anything by it. It was his response that held meaning.
“Did you ever meet her?” Sophia asked. “Did you hang out with her socially? Or was she just your partner’s wife?”
“Oh.” Overstreet relaxed a bit. “I see what you mean. I met her of course. We did things socially. Barbeques or whatever. I’m married too. Two young kids. So our wives knew each other. She and Jeremy didn’t have any kids, so we didn’t do those things families with kids do. Swimming lessons and stuff. But yes, we spent time together.”
“Was she faithful to him?”
Now that was a bit blunt, Brunelle thought. Unexpected too. Which was probably good. Overstreet didn’t expect it either.
“Of course,” he said rather too quickly. Then, he caught himself. “I mean, as far as I know. I guess I don’t really know. I think so. She never gave me any reason to think otherwise.”
“Were you looking to think otherwise?” Sophia asked, lowering her voice one half notch. A bit of the sultry gypsy after all.
Overstreet sat up straight in his chair and cast a narrowed glance between Brunelle and Sophia. “Now, look here. If you’re suggesting that I was having an affair with Vanessa, you are sadly mistaken. I would never—“
Brunelle put his hand up. “We’re not suggesting anything, Dr. Overstreet. We’re asking. Someone killed Vanessa and Jeremy’s life is hanging in the balance. We can’t avoid asking hard questions just because it might be socially awkward. If the answer is no, then just say, ‘No.’”
Overstreet crossed his arms and nodded begrudgingly. “No.”
“Good,” Brunelle said. “Glad that’s cleared up.”
He looked back to Sophia and nodded. She smiled at him then turned back to Overstreet. “Dr. Stephenson took nearly fifty thousand dollars out of your corporate account to pay for Vanessa’s failing business venture. He replaced the money with a loan from some loan sharks and intended on repaying them by taking money out again after the quarterly audit.”
Overstreet’s jaw practically hit the floor. But he believed her. “Is that why he killed her?”
Again, it wasn’t Sophia’s question that held meaning, it was Overstreet’s response.
“So you do think he murdered his wife?” Sophia asked.
Overstreet hesitated. “Uh, well, no. I mean, that’s not what I meant. I mean, I don’t know.”
Brunelle frowned, but nodded. That was probably the fairest answer.
“But I don’t understand,” Overstreet went on. “Why would he need to take money out of Adonis? Vanessa had her own partner, Laura Mayer. And she’s loaded.”
Brunelle looked at Sophia, his surprise offset by her apparent lack of it.
“He didn’t mention that,” Brunelle said.
“Of course not,” Sophia answered.
She turned back to Overstreet. “Thank you, doctor. I think we’re done for now.” Then she looked again to Brunelle and smiled that perfectly formed, lipstick-stained smile. “I believe we have someone else we need to go see.”
Chapter 16
Laura Mayer lived in a downtown condo with a view of San Francisco Bay and the Golden Gate Bridge. She was likely in her mid-fifties, but it was hard to tell because she clearly took care of herself. She had that runner’s physique and a healthy, sun-kissed complexion. Her home reflected her sensibilities, decorated with a mix of original art and nature objects. Most of the art was of women—strong independent women, or women supporting each other. Like she’d done for Vanessa, Brunelle thought.
Her straight blonde-gray hair was cut at jaw-length and she was wearing a casual, but classy shorts and tank-top combo. If she was troubled by the appearance of an attorney and a private investigator at her door, she didn’t show it. Instead, she threw her door wide and invited them in.
“Thank you for taking the time to meet with us today,” Brunelle started as they walked into the sitting area. “As I mentioned on the phone, we represent Jeremy Stephenson in the alleged murder of his wife.”
“Vanessa,” Laura said as they sat down and she began pouring them tea from the tea pot she’d filled while they drove over. “She had a name. Let�
��s use it.”
“Of course,” Brunelle replied. He felt an urge to apologize and explain that he really was a prosecutor, but that would have led to an explanation about how not only was he representing Vanessa’s alleged murder, but he was dating the ex-wife of that murderer. Something in Laura Mayer’s demeanor suggested that information wouldn’t prove helpful to his cause. “You knew Vanessa?”
Laura handed out the tea to her guests. She had very nice china. “Yes. We were friends and business partners.”
“The dance studio?” Brunelle confirmed. This time, Sophia would be taking the back seat. They didn’t suppose she would have the same disorienting effect on Laura as she’d had on Overstreet.
“Oh, Mr. Brunelle,” Laura said as she scooted back in her seat and raised her teacup to her lips. “It was much more than a dance studio.”
“Is that right?” Brunelle replied. He was more than happy to let her talk about it. It was how she was connected to the case. If he could get her talking, she’d likely offer information he wouldn’t even know to ask for.
“Oh yes,” Laura replied. “It was the culmination of a dream.”
Brunelle glanced around the condo. It looked like she’d culminated just fine without a bankrupt dance studio. Laura noticed his perusal of her home.
“Not my dream, Mr. Brunelle,” she explained. “Vanessa’s.”
Brunelle took a moment to think. Sophia stepped into the breach. “What was Vanessa’s dream, Laura?”
Laura took another sip of her tea and set down the cup and saucer. “Vanessa was a beautiful soul. She was an artist and a dreamer. She saw beauty where others saw none, or rather, where others didn’t even know to be looking. She was selfless and caring. She found joy in the simplest things, and she wanted to share that joy with others. Have you ever seen a person truly dance? Not repeat the steps of a waltz to music played by musicians playing the notes written by yet someone else. No, I mean a person dancing to the music inside her own soul. Vanessa danced like that. And her dream was to share that joy with anyone and everyone she could.”
A Prosecutor for the Defense (David Brunelle Legal Thriller Series Book 4) Page 6