Embezzlement? Why would he do that?
But that was what the papers had said. She dug farther, found the follow-up pieces. He’d raised cash, using clients’ accounts, to bilk the company of a small fortune.
And Delamore was right. The dates matched up. Michael had stolen from her own clients to pay her for her own business. He had bought the business with stolen money.
She bowed her head, listening to the computer hum, counting her own breaths. She had never once questioned where he had gotten the money. She had figured he’d gotten a loan, had thought that maybe he’d finally learned the value of savings.
Michael. The man who took an advance on his paycheck once every six months. Michael, who had once told her he was too scared to invest on his own.
I wouldn’t trust my own judgement, he had said.
Oh, the poor man. He had been right.
The trail did lead to her. The only reason Delamore couldn’t point at her exactly was because she had stashed the cash in a blind account. And she hadn’t touched it.
Not yet.
She’d been living entirely off her own savings, letting the money from the sale of her business draw interest. The nest egg for the future she hadn’t planned yet.
Delamore wanted fifty thousand dollars from her. To give that to him, she’d have to tap the nest egg.
How many times would he make her tap it again? And again? Until it was gone, of course. Into his pocket. And then he’d turn her in.
She wiped her hand on her jeans. It was a nervous movement, meant to calm herself down. She had to think.
If the cops could trace her, they would have. They either didn’t have enough on her or hadn’t made the leap that Delamore had. And then she had confirmed his leap with the conversation tonight.
She got up and walked away from the computer. She wouldn’t let him intrude. He had already taken over her bedroom. She needed to have a space here, in her office, without him.
There was no mention of her in the papers, nothing that suggested she was involved. The police would have contacted the Reno police if they had known where she was. Even if they had hired Delamore to track her, they might still not have been informed about her whereabouts. Delamore wanted money more than he wanted to inform the authorities about where she was.
Grace sat down in the chair near the window. The shade was drawn, but the spot was soothing nonetheless.
The police weren’t her problem. Delamore was.
She already knew that he wouldn’t be satisfied with one payment. She had to find a way to get rid of him.
She bowed her head. Even though she had done nothing criminal she was thinking like one. How did a woman get rid of a man she didn’t want? She could get a court order, she supposed, forcing him to stay away from her. She could refuse to pay him and let the cards fall where they might. Years of legal hassle, maybe even an arrest. She would certainly lose her job. No casino would hire her, and she couldn’t fall back on her CPA skills, not after being arrested for embezzlement.
Ignoring him wasn’t an option either.
Then, there was the act of desperation. She could kill him. Somehow. She had always thought that murderers weren’t methodical enough. Take an intelligent person, have her kill someone in a thoughtful way, and she would be able to get away with the crime.
Everywhere but in her own mind. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how much he threatened her, she couldn’t kill Delamore.
There had to be another option. She had to do something. She just wasn’t sure what it was.
She went back to the computer and looked at the last article she had downloaded. Michael had stolen from people she had known for years. People who had trusted her, believed in her and her word. People who had thought she had integrity.
She frowned. What must they think of her now? That she was an embezzler too? After all those years of work, did she want that behind her name?
Then again, why should she care about people she would never see again?
But she would see them every time she closed her eyes. Elderly Mrs. Vezzetti and her poodle, trusting Grace to handle her account because her husband, God rest his soul, had convinced her that numbers were too much for her pretty little head. Mr. Heitzkey who couldn’t balance a checkbook if his life depended on it. Ms. Andersen, who had taken Grace’s advice on ways to legally hide money from the IRS — and who had seemed so excited when it worked.
Grace sighed.
There was only one way to make this right. Only one way to clear her conscience and to clear Delamore out of her life.
She had to turn herself in.
***
She did some more surfing as she ate breakfast and found discount tickets to Chicago. She had to buy them from roundtrip Chicago to Reno (God bless the casinos for their cheap airfare deals) and fly only the Reno to Chicago leg. Later she would buy another set, and not use part of it. Both of those tickets were cheaper than buying a single round-trip ticket out of Reno to Racine.
Grace made the reservation, hoping that Delamore wasn’t tracking round trips that started somewhere else, and then she went to work. She claimed a family emergency, got a leave of absence, and hoped it would be enough.
She liked the world she built here. She didn’t want to lose it because she hadn’t been watching her back.
Twenty-four hours later, she and the car she rented in O’Hare were in Racine. The town hadn’t changed. More churches than she saw out west, a few timid billboards for Native American Casinos, a factory outlet mall, and bars everywhere. The streets were grimy with the last of the sand laid down during the winter snow and ice. The trees were just beginning to bud, and the flowers were poking through the rich black dirt.
It felt as if she had gone back in time.
She wondered if she should call Alex and Carole, and then decided against it. What would she say to them, anyway? Instead, she checked into a hotel, unpacked, ate a mediocre room service meal, and slept as if she were dead.
Maybe in this city, she was.
***
The district attorney’s office was smaller than Grace’s bathroom. There were four chairs, not enough for her, her lawyer, the three assistant district attorneys and the DA himself. She and her lawyer were allowed to sit, but the assistant DAs hovered around the bookshelves and desk like children who were waiting for their father to finish business. The DA himself sat behind a massive oak desk that dwarfed the tiny room.
Grace’s lawyer, Maxine Jones, was from Milwaukee. Grace had done her research before she arrived and found the best defense attorney in Wisconsin. Grace knew that Maxine’s services would cost her a lot — but Grace was gambling that she wouldn’t need Maxine for more than a few days.
Maxine was a tall, robust woman who favored bright colors. In contrast she wore debutante jewelry — a simple gold chain, tiny diamond earrings — that accented her toffee-colored skin. The entire look made her seem both flamboyant and powerful, combinations that Grace was certain helped Maxine in court.
“My client,” Maxine was saying, “came here on her own. You’ll have to remember that, Mr. Lindstrom.”
Harold Lindstrom, the district attorney, was in his fifties, with thinning gray hair and a runner’s thinness. His gaze held no compassion as it fell on Grace.
“Only because a bounty hunter hired by the police department found her,” Lindstrom said.
“Yes,” Maxine said. “We’ll concede that the bounty hunter was the one who informed her of the charges. But that’s all. This man hounded her, harassed her, and tried to extort money out of her, money she did not have.”
“Then she should have gone to the Reno police,” Lindstrom said.
An assistant DA crossed her arms as if this discussion was making her uncomfortable. It was making Grace uncomfortable. Never before had she been discussed as if she weren’t there.
“It was easier to come here,” Maxine said. “My client has a hunch, which if it’s true, will negate the charges y
ou have against her and against Michael Holden.”
“Mr. Holden embezzled from his clients with the assistance of Ms. Reinhart.”
“No. Mr. Holden followed standard procedure for the accounting firm.”
“Embezzlement is standard procedure?” Lindstrom was looking directly at Grace.
Maxine put her manicured hand on Grace’s knee, a reminder to remain quiet.
“No. But Mr. Holden, for reasons we don’t know, decided to end his life, and since he now worked alone, no one knew where he was keeping the clients’ funds. My client,” Maxine added, as if she expected Grace to speak, “would like you to drop all charges against her and to charge Mr. Delamore with extortion. In exchange, she will testify against him, and she will also show you where the money is.”
“Where she hid it, huh?” Lindstrom said. “No deal.”
Maxine leaned forward. “You don’t have a crime here. If you don’t bargain with us, I’ll go straight to the press, and you’ll look like a fool. It seems to me that there’s an election coming up.”
Lindstrom’s eyes narrowed. Grace held her breath. Maxine stared at him as if they were all playing a game of chicken. Maybe they were.
“Here’s the deal,” he said, “if her information checks out, then we’ll drop the charges. We can’t file against Delamore because the alleged crimes were committed in Nevada.”
Maxine’s hand left Grace’s knee. Maxine templed her fingers and rested their painted tips against her chin. “Then, Harold, we’ll simply have to file a suit against the city and the county for siccing him on my client. A multi-million dollar suit. We’ll win, too. Because she came forward the moment she learned of a problem. She hasn’t been in touch with anyone from here. Her family is dead, and her friends were never close. She had no way of knowing what was happening a thousand miles away until a man you people sent started harassing her.”
“You said he’s been harassing you for a month,” Lindstrom said to Grace. “Why didn’t you come forward before now?”
Grace looked at Maxine who nodded.
“Because,” Grace said, “he didn’t show me any proof of his claims until the night before I flew out. You can ask the bartender at the Silver Dollar. He saw the entire thing.”
Lindstrom frowned at Maxine. “We want names and dates.”
“You’ll get them,” Maxine said.
Lindstrom sighed. “All right. Let’s hear it.”
Grace’s heart was pounding. Here was her moment. She suddenly found herself hoping they would all believe her. She had never lied with so much at stake before.
“Go ahead, Grace,” Maxine said softly.
Grace nodded. “We had run into some trouble with our escrow service. Minor stuff, mostly rudeness on the part of the company. It was all irritating Michael. Many things were irritating him at that time, but we weren’t close, so I didn’t attribute it to anything except work.”
The entire room had become quiet. She felt slightly light-headed. She was forgetting to breathe. She forced herself to take a deep breath before continuing.
“In the week that I was leaving, Michael asked me how he could go about transferring everything from one escrow company to another. It required a lot of paperwork, and he didn’t trust the company we were with. I thought he should have let them and the new company handle it, but he didn’t want to.”
She squeezed her hands together, reminded herself not to embellish too much. A simple lie was always best.
“We had accounts we had initially set up for clients in discreet banks. I told Michael to go to one of those banks, place the money in accounts there, and then when the new escrow accounts were established, to transfer the money to them. I warned him not to take longer than a day in the intermediate account.”
“We have no record of such an account,” the third district attorney said.
Grace nodded. “That’s what I figured when I heard that he was being charged with embezzlement. I can give you the names of all the banks and the numbers of the accounts we were assigned. If the money’s in one of them, then my name is clear.”
“Depending on when the deposit was made,” Lindstrom said. “And if the money’s all there.”
Grace’s lightheadedness was growing. She hadn’t realized how much effort bluffing took. But she did know she was covered on those details at least.
“You may go through my client’s financial records,” Maxine said. “All of her money is accounted for.”
“Why wouldn’t he have transferred the money to the new escrow accounts quickly, like you told him to?” Lindstrom asked.
“I don’t know,” Grace said.
“Depression is a confusing thing, Harold,” Maxine said. “If he’s like other people who’ve gotten very depressed, I’m sure things slipped. I’m sure this wasn’t the only thing he failed to do. And you can bet I’d argue that in court.”
“Why did you leave Racine so suddenly?” Lindstrom asked. “Your friends say you just vanished one night.”
Grace let out a small breath. On this one she could be completely honest. “I had a scare. I thought I had breast cancer. The lumpectomy results came in the day I left. You can check with my doctor. I was planning to go after that — maybe a month or more — but I felt so free, that I just couldn’t go back to my work. Something like that changes you, Mr. Lindstrom.”
He grunted as if he didn’t believe her. For the first time in the entire discussion, she felt herself get angry. She clenched her fingers so hard that her nails dug into her palms. She wouldn’t say any more, just like Maxine had told her to.
“The banks?” Lindstrom asked.
Grace slipped a small leather-bound ledger toward him. She had spent a lot of time drawing that up by hand in different pens. She hoped it would be enough.
“The accounts are identified by numbers only. That’s one of the reasons we liked the banks. If he started a new account, I won’t know its number.”
“If they’re in the U.S., then we can get a court order to open them,” Lindstrom said.
“Check these numbers first. Most of the accounts were inactive.” She had to clutch her fingers together to keep them from trembling.
“All right,” Lindstrom said and stood. Maxine and Grace stood as well. “If we discover that you’re wrong — about anything — we’ll arrest you, Ms. Reinhart. Do you understand?”
Grace nodded.
Maxine smiled. “We’re sure you’ll see it our way, Harold. But remember your promise. Get that creep away from Grace.”
“Right now, your client’s the one we’re concerned with, Maxine.” Lindstrom’s cold gaze met Grace’s. “I’m sure we’ll be in touch.”
***
Grace thought the eight o’clock knock on her hotel room door was room service. She’d ordered another meal from them, unable to face old haunts and old friends. Until she had come back, she had never even been in a hotel in Racine, so she felt as if she weren’t anywhere near her old home. Now if she could only get the different local channels on the television set, her own delusion would be complete.
She undid the locks, opened the door, and stepped away so that the waiter could bring his cart/table inside.
Instead, Delamore pulled the door back. She was so surprised to see him that she didn’t try to close him out. She scuttled away from him toward the nightstand, and fumbled behind her back for the phone.
His cheeks were red, and his eyes sparkling with fury. His anger was so palpable, she could feel it across the room.
“What kind of game are you playing?” he snapped, slamming the door closed.
She got the phone off the hook without turning around. “No game.”
“It is a game. You got away from me, and then you come here, telling them that I’ve been threatening you.”
“You have been threatening me.” Her fingers found the bottom button on the phone –which she hoped was “O” If the hotel operator heard this, she’d have to call security.
“Of
course I’d been threatening you! It’s my job. You didn’t want to come back here and I needed to drag you back. Any criminal would see that as a threat.”
“Here’s what you don’t understand,” Grace said as calmly as she could. “I’m not a criminal.”
“Bullshit.” Delamore took a step toward her. She backed up farther and the end table hit her thighs. Behind her she thought she heard a tinny voice ask a muted question. The operator, she hoped.
Grace held up a hand. “Come any closer and I’ll scream.”
“I haven’t done anything to you. I’ve been trying to catch you.”
She frowned. What was he talking about? And then she knew. The police had put a wire on him. The conversation was being taped. And they – he – was hoping that she’d incriminate herself.
“You’re threatening me now,” she said. “I haven’t done anything. I talked to the DA today. I explained my situation and what I think Michael did. He’s checking my story now.”
“Your lies.”
“No,” Grace said. “You’re the one who’s lying, and I have no idea why.”
“You bitch.” He lowered his voice the angrier he got. Somehow she found that even more threatening.
“Stay away from me.”
“Stop the act, Grace,” he said. “It’s just you and me. And we both know you’re not afraid of anything.”
Then the door burst open and two hotel security guards came in. Delamore turned and as he did, Grace said, “Oh, thank God. This man came into my room and he’s threatening me.”
The guards grabbed him. Delamore struggled, but the guards held him tightly. He glared at her. “You’re lying again, Grace.”
“No,” she said and stepped away from the phone. He glanced down at the receiver, on its side on the table, and cursed. Even if he hadn’t been wired, she had a witness
The guards dragged him and Grace sank onto the bed, placing her head in her hands. She waited until the shaking stopped before she called Maxine.
***
Grace had been right. Delamore had been wearing a wire, and her ability to stay cool while he attacked had preserved her story. That incident, plus the fact that the DA’s office had found the money exactly where she had said it would be, in the exact amount that they had been looking for, went a long way toward preserving her credibility. When detectives interviewed Michael’s friends one final time, they all agreed he was agitated and depressed, but he would tell no one why. Without the embezzlement explanation, it simply sounded as if he were a miserable man driven to the brink by personal problems.
Cowboy Grace SS Page 4