Leah did jobs for Flaherty & Associates so often Catrina regularly forgot she was not an employee. Leah worked out of her Mountlake Terrace home and only came in to pick up or drop off documents, and, of course, to discuss her findings.
“Hi, Cat.” Leah slipped into Catrina’s office in her customary, hunched up way. “I’m sorry I’m late. I had a lunch date with Jeremy.”
As usual, Leah was dressed in a baggy sweater and floor-length skirt to hide her figure.
“Jeremy, is it?” Catrina laughed. “Why not ‘Jerry?’ Jeremy sounds so formal.”
Leah let out a little giggle. “That’s because he is a little formal.”
Oh, God. She’s got it bad . . . again.
“Okay, what have ya got for me?”
Leah dug around in her over-sized bag and produced several file folders. “Ted gave me a dump of everything on Brody’s computer. He said he was too busy to go over this before he gave it to me. It took me a little longer to go through it, but I found some juicy stuff.”
Abiba appeared at the office door with her silver tray. “Coffee for Mrs. Flaherty and Earl Gray tea, with milk, for Miss Sykes.”
“Thanks, Abiba.” Catrina smiled at her. “You’re getting pretty good at reading my mind.”
“No mind reading at all.” Abiba shook all over when she laughed. “You two are such creatures of habit.”
“Here’s what I’ve got,” Leah said as she accepted the cup of tea, “financial records, his history files are full of porn sites and he’s been looking at yachts for sale for a while now.”
“Mmmm.” Catrina sipped her coffee. “Abiba, great as usual. Sumatra Blend?” Like most of the people in Seattle, Catrina was a self-admitted coffee snob.
“No, ma’am. Komodo Dragon Blend.” Abiba turned and left the office.
Damn, she’d done it again.
Abiba reveled in fooling Catrina on her favorite coffee.
“Sounds like our Mister Barrett expected to come into a little money. When did he start looking at yachts?”
“As far as I can tell,” Leah said, “he started looking before Lauren died.”
Catrina set her cup down on her desk. “What else ya got?”
“Well, our boy hasn’t filed a tax return in five years. Mrs. Barrett filed as faithfully as Odysseus’s wife, Penelope. Never missed an estimated income filing, got her taxes turned in early every year.”
Abiba appeared back at the door with a tray of pastries.
“Oh my God, Abiba! Don’t you know that those are controlled substances?” Leah squealed.
“Oh, yes, Miss Sykes. That’s why I snuck them in here for you.”
Leah grabbed for a plate and fork and speared a cheese Danish.
She took a huge bite and continued. “It looks like Lauren brought in all the income. The condo was in Lauren’s name. Hubbie made a lot of donations to charitable causes, with her money, of course.”
Catrina hated how Leah could eat like a longshoreman and never gain an ounce. It’s not fair.
“How very generous of him,” Catrina said around a bite of croissant.
“Mister also made a lot of expensive purchases on his credit cards. Jewelry, clothes for him and her, wines, dinners. Keep in mind that he has no reportable income.”
“I’m liking him less and less.”
“Here’s another good one,” Leah said. “Mrs. Barrett had a quarter of a million dollars in her 401K. Guess who the beneficiary was?”
“Don’t have to.” Catrina made another note on her yellow legal pad.
Leah finished the last of her Danish and daintily wiped the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “But wait, now what would you pay? There’s more. I found a copy of their will on his hard drive. Lauren leaves everything to him and vise versa. No mention of their daughter, no trust set up at all.”
“Isn’t that convenient?” Catrina asked.
Leah put her tea cup down on Catrina’s desk. “It doesn’t pass the sniff test. His company has no reported income and no expenses, but somehow he has money for expensive cars and clothes. It doesn’t add up. Her income alone doesn’t support that kind of life-style. It makes me wonder, could he be taking in donor money and using it for himself?”
Catrina sat back in her chair and locked her hands behind her head. “Sounds like I better talk to some of those donors.” And get Higuera to check out his company.
Leah pulled a file folder out of her stack and handed it to Catrina. “I thought you might want to do that. Here’s a list of his donors.”
****
The donors gave the same answers, to a man (or woman). Catrina spent the day on the telephone, no sense driving to such diverse locations. Each conversation went about the same. Every one of his donors thought Brody walked on water.
“Hi, I’m Catrina Flaherty, of Flaherty & Associates.” It was important to establish her credibility. After all, being a PI was half being a con man. “My firm has been hired to do due diligence on Brody Barrett. My client is considering a major business deal with his company and they want to be sure about him.”
“Yes.” The voice came back over the phone.
“May I ask you a few questions?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
At this point, Catrina picked up her pen and started taking notes. “May I ask how much you donated to Mr. Barrett’s charity?”
“Oh, about $20,000.” There was a pause. “Should I be revealing this information?”
“It’s okay.” Catrina smiled. “Mr. Barrett gave us his permission to contact you. As a matter of fact, he gave us your phone number.” Just a little white lie.
“Oh, okay then.” The donor obviously felt better about the call and was ready to open up.
“What kind of charities did you donate money to?”
“Well, there was this Christian school in Africa. Those poor children, they don’t even have clean water in their village.”
Catrina made a note of this. “Is that all?”
“No, there was also a program to help underprivileged kids in L.A. You know, to keep them out of gangs and off drugs and good work like that.”
“Did you make any attempt to verify these charities?” These poor fools. Barrett must have seen them coming.
“Absolutely. I’m no fool. Brody gave us their website addresses. We spent several hours learning everything we could about them.”
“Were you ever worried that your money might not have been reaching the charities?” Catrina knew there were several scams where a private company raised money for charities or police or fire organizations, but only about 10% ever got to the recipients.
“Heavens no!” The voice on the phone sounded indignant. “Brody is a member of our church, a good Christian. He’s dedicated his life to helping those less fortunate. I wish I could say the same about me. He also showed us his books. Ninety percent of what’s donated goes to the charities. He only uses ten percent for his expenses. He minimizes those by working out of his home.”
Catrina thought this over for a minute. It sure didn’t jibe with what Leah told her.
“Is there anything else you’d like to tell me about Mr. Barrett?”
“He’s a good man. Your client couldn’t go wrong doing business with him. He even gives us quarterly reports on the charities we donated to so that we can see the good our money is doing.”
“I really appreciate your time helping me. Have a good day.”
Holy crap. These guys are true believers. What was it Lauren’s best friend said? “He could pick your pocket and you’d thank him for doing it.”
****
Next up was Lauren’s family. Catrina needed to finesse this one. The family had no idea Catrina was investigating their daughter’s death. As far as she knew, they had no idea about Julie’s death, either.
Catrina dressed up for this interview. Usually her wardrobe consisted of black jeans, a black sweater or T-shirt, depending on the time of year, and her black boots. This felt more important
to her; she needed to show respect.
She carefully chose her best blue suit, with an ivory silk blouse and a string of pearls. Blue pumps with three-inch heels and pearl ear rings completed the outfit.
When she called Mark Stevens, Lauren’s father, he assumed she was just another news reporter. Catrina made no attempt to correct his assumption.
The Madison Valley neighborhood was one of those comfortable old districts with mature trees and well-landscaped homes. The Stevens’ house sat on a hillside and Catrina climbed a nicely maintained wooden staircase to the broad porch.
JoAnne Stevens answered the door. Lauren’s mother untied her apron and rolled it in her hands as she let Catrina in.
“Hi, Mrs. Stevens, I’m Catrina Flaherty.” Catrina held out her hand. “I called about doing an interview.”
JoAnne’s handshake was limp. “Yes, Mrs. Flaherty, Mark said you were coming. He’s out in his shop. Let me go get him.”
While JoAnne was out of the room, Catrina took a quick tour, studying the pictures and mementos on display. There were lots of pictures of Lauren and her two sisters. Childhood pictures in places like the Woodlawn Park Zoo and Disneyland, teen pictures in cheerleading outfits, and, of course, wedding pictures. There were few pictures of their granddaughter.
Catrina picked up a photo of a teenaged Lauren posing at the zoo with a little blonde-haired girl with huge blue eyes. I wonder who that is?
“Mark, this is Mrs. Flaherty,” JoAnne said as she re-entered the room.
Mark was an average man, average height, average brown hair turning to gray and average brown eyes. He wore worn jeans and a Husky T-shirt covered in sawdust.
“Mrs. Flaherty.” Mark held out his hand.
“Catrina, please. Or my friends call me Cat.” Catrina shook his hand.
“Please, sit down,” JoAnne said. “Would you like coffee?”
“That would be nice.” Catrina sat in an overstuffed chair. “Thank you.”
“Do you take cream or sugar?” JoAnne asked.
“No, black will be fine.”
“Mark, how about you?”
“No thanks, hon. I’m fine.” He seated himself on the floral-print couch. “Now, Cat, what can we do for you?”
Catrina pulled the notebook from her purse. “Like I said on the phone, I’m looking into certain aspects of your daughter’s accident.”
“OOOh!” JoAnne almost dropped her tray. “The investigation’s closed. The police said it was an accident. Why are you still looking into it?”
“I don’t mean to cause you any stress, but there are certain irregularities that we’re investigating.”
“What kind of irregularities?” Mark asked.
“Well, for instance, did you know that Brody had been married before?’
JoAnne handed Catrina her cup of coffee and sat next to Mark. “Lauren mentioned it. Why?”
Catrina sniffed her coffee. This was good brew. “Did you know that his first wife died in an accident, too?”
“I told you!” JoAnne jumped up from her seat. “I told you, Mark. Ever since that timber incident, I was worried for her safety.”
“Timber incident?” Catrina asked, setting her coffee cup on the side table.
“Yes,” Mark answered. “They bought an old cabin up at Lake Stevens. They were renovating it. Brody thought it would be a good investment.”
“He tried to kill her, Mark.” JoAnne screamed at her husband. “I told you that.”
Catrina’s radar perked up. “Hold on a minute. What are you talking about?”
Mark and JoAnne looked at each other.
Finally, Mark spoke. “Like I told you, they were rebuilding this old cabin. It had a deck off the living room in the back of the house. It was on a hill and the deck was about fifteen feet off the ground.”
JoAnne sat down beside her husband again. “Lauren was working on the landscaping.” She sniffed, wiping away tears.
“Anyway,” Mark said, “Brody was replacing these big timbers that support the deck. He called Lauren to help him lift a timber to the deck. He was on a ladder.”
“He dropped it on her.”
“Now, we don’t know that, Mama. Both Brody and Lauren said it was an accident.”
“An accident, my Aunt Fanny.” JoAnne puffed out her cheeks and exhaled.
“What do you think happened?” Catrina asked.
“I know he dropped it on her head on purpose. I’m sure he tried to kill her. When Laurie had the ‘accident’ at Glacier, I told the police about it, but they still ruled her death an accident.”
“Was she badly injured?”
“I’ll say,” JoAnne answered. “She had a concussion, cuts and bruises. It took her a couple of weeks to get back on her feet. And all of this when she was eight months pregnant.”
What a cold bastard. Was he trying to get rid of a wife and a baby at the same time?
Catrina needed to get hold of Lauren’s medical records. Another job for Mary Beth. She was great at social engineering.
“What can you tell me about the accident with the beam?” Catrina asked.
JoAnne was on a roll. “It couldn’t have happened the way Brody said. My daughter was afraid of heights. I can’t imagine her standing on the edge of a cliff!”
“Our daughter wasn’t a risk-taker,” Mark added. “I can’t believe she would go near the edge of a cliff to take pictures.”
Catrina put her notebook down. “And you told all of this to the police?”
“Yes.” Tears welled up in JoAnne’s eyes again. “And they did nothing. They said it was an accident. And they told Brody what we said. Now he’s cut off all contact with us. We haven’t seen our granddaughter in almost two years.” She burst into sobs. “You can’t understand what that’s like. To be cut off from our only grandchild, our only link to Lauren.”
Damn. Just when I think I can’t get any lower, now I have to do this. I can’t have the Stevens talking with Brody.
“JoAnne, would you like to get visitation rights with your granddaughter?”
JoAnne’s head perked up. “Oh, my, yes! What are you talking about?”
“I haven’t been quite straight with you. I let you think what you wanted about who I am.”
“Just who are you?” Mark had a defiant look on his face.
“I work for Child Protective Services.” Catrina reached in her purse and produced her fake ID. “Debby’s nanny called us. We’re investigating whether the child is living in a suitable environment. So far we’ve found nothing to indicate that she’s in any danger, but it breaks my heart to see you cut off from your granddaughter.” Catrina stopped to gauge the impact her lie had on the grandparents.
“What could you do?” Some of the belligerence left Mark.
“I can start proceedings, as a friend of the court. You’ll need to get a lawyer, but we may be able to arrange for visitation for you. If you hear from Brody, don’t talk to him. Just tell him to talk to your lawyer and hang up.”
“Oh, my.” JoAnne trembled. “Could this really work?”
“I don’t know, but I can’t see how it benefits your granddaughter to be cut off from you.”
Well, at least this is a little white lie. If I can find evidence against Barrett, then the girl will probably end up with the grandparents anyway.
Catrina rose from her chair. “Thank you very much for your time. I know that this is painful for you and I am sincerely sorry that I brought it up. May I contact you if I have any more questions?”
Mark put his arm around his wife. “Yes, by all means. You can show yourself out, can’t you?”
****
It was late when Catrina got back to the office. The large space was empty. It had been a long day and she was exhausted.
She needed to write up her notes. This had become infinitely more complicated since Higuera’s new system. In the old days, Catrina could type everything out on a sheet of paper and file it. Now she had to open Word, find the template, fi
ll in the boxes, run spell check then save it to some unknown drive in the sky.
She hated the complication, but it was worth the effort. No documents ever got lost. Higuera somehow found them no matter how badly they were filed, and they could access them from anywhere.
Higuera bought her a tablet, which she dutifully carried in her bag, but rarely used. However, he had those fancy sunglasses, a gift from Alison Clarke, CEO of Millennium Systems, which let him connect with their network from anywhere. On more than one occasion, he found what they needed on the Internet while she drove down the street.
Be that as it may, Catrina was tired, thirsty, hungry and just wanted to crawl into bed, but duty called. Long ago she learned to write it all down while it was still fresh in her mind.
The tall PI entered her office, took off her suit jacket and hung it behind the door. Then she kicked off her heels and peeled down her pantyhose.
Might as well be comfortable.
Catrina turned her computer on, but her cravings got the better of her. She got up and headed for the break room.
The fridge was her target. Maybe someone had left food she could borrow. Catrina opened the door and looked in. The devil touched her.
There was a half-empty bottle of chardonnay lying on its side on the bottom shelf.
God, it looked good. Catrina wasn’t a white wine girl, but it was cold and wet. What would it hurt, just one glass? She could handle that. It wasn’t like she was going on a two week binge.
Just one glass.
She looked around. Was anyone watching? Anger swelled up inside of her.
God damn it, I’m an adult! I own this place. If I want to have a drink, I’m going to take a drink.
Slowly, her hand shaking, Catrina reached for the bottle. It was so cool and smooth. She held it against her forehead, then her neck. It felt so good. She imagined the slight feeling of euphoria she’d feel when the wine slid down her throat.
That damned Barrett. Catrina knew he killed two women and got away with it. And that was the problem; although there was all sorts of circumstantial evidence, she didn’t have a shred of evidence admissible in court.
Opening the cabinet above the sink, Catrina pulled down a wine glass. Then she dug her teeth into the cork and pulled it out. She stopped to sniff it. If she was going to go off the wagon, she was going to enjoy every sensation.
Murder Strikes Twice: A Catrina Flaherty Mystery, Book 2 (Catrina Flaherty Mysteries) Page 5