The Fallen Angels Book Club

by R. Franklin James

  I smiled to give her reassurance as I said, “Hey, I may have left a line or two off my résumé, too.”

  “Yes well, it was a little more than a line or two, but you get the idea.” She rested her forehead on her hands. “Every day I wonder how I could have allowed myself to get into this mess. I come from a straight-laced American family. My parents were loving people who taught their children to do the right thing. I married my college sweetheart.”

  Our waiter came by to check on us and Abby stopped speaking. I was afraid she would change the subject.

  She took a few bites of salad. “I guess it started to go bad when Paul, my husband, said he wanted children. Suddenly it was all he talked about. It was as if he had the ticking biological clock instead of me. I couldn’t stand the thought of having someone dependent on me. I didn’t want to share my time or money. Paul made a good salary, but not good enough to support my spending habit. To make a long story short, I ran through my money and his. Soon I crossed a line and started dreaming up ways to take other people’s money.”

  I hoped my mouth wasn’t hanging open. I never would have guessed that selfless Abby, who did so much for our club, could have ever been a thief.

  “How do you think Rory found out where you work?”

  “I don’t know. Remember, up until a couple of days ago, I honestly didn’t know it was Rory. I never heard his voice. I still find it hard to believe. I’d changed my name to protect myself, as well as Paul.” She frowned. “I bet I know what you’re thinking, but Paul would never put me at risk.”

  She was wrong. I wasn’t thinking of Paul, only that Rory’s behavior was starting to make sense.

  “He may have tried to get something on each of us.” I spoke more to myself than to Abby. “Still, Wallace is the only person who has our histories. He could have revealed everything a long time ago. I refuse to believe he’s involved in blackmail.”

  “Hollis, there’s more. If it was Rory at the money drop the night he was killed, he stayed in the dark. A note left on my windshield told me to put the money in a certain can in an alley. When I got there, a typed note was taped to the top saying this was my last payment. I didn’t have to worry about meeting him again.”

  “Well, that was polite of him. Of course it was Rory. Didn’t you think it was someone you knew when he didn’t allow you to hear his voice?”

  Abby shook her head. “Well, now I would assume that, but I just thought he wanted to make sure I couldn’t identify him. Anyway, when I got in my car, this other car pulled in the lot. I didn’t hang around. I just got out of there.”

  “You saw the killer?”

  “I saw a silver car. It looked like a Mercedes, but it could have been a BMW. I don’t know who was in it. I didn’t get a good look. It could have nothing to do with the murder.”

  “Get real. I hope you told the police. Even if it wasn’t the killer, that person might know something. You have to go to the police.”

  “No.”

  “What do you mean ‘no’? If they find out you withheld information, you’ll be in even more trouble. They could decide you did it.”

  “I know. I know.” She twisted her glass on its coaster.

  I leaned back in the seat and gazed out the window. People moved busily down the sidewalk. It never ceased to amaze me how normal things looked when all hell was breaking loose in my life.

  “Why’d you decide to tell me all this?”

  She hesitated for a moment. “I want you to tell the police.”

  I gave her what I hoped was an incredulous look. “Me? Just what good do you think that will do?”

  She leaned into the table. “I don’t want you to tell the police what I saw. I want you to tell them you saw it.”

  I almost fell off my chair. “You have got to be kidding.”

  Abby gasped. A shadow came over our table and I looked up.

  Avery Mitchell stood tall and handsome at my side. “Good evening, ladies. Hollis, I saw you from across the room and just wanted to say hello.”

  Abby gave me a questioning look.

  “Abby, this is Avery Mitchell, one of the senior attorneys at the law firm where I work. Avery—Abby Caldwell.”

  Avery nodded and shook Abby’s offered hand. “You’ve discovered one of my favorite hangouts. You seem engrossed. I’ll be on my way.”

  Abby gave him a tentative smile. “Maybe we could use a break.”

  Avery and I exchanged looks. He straightened up.

  “No. Maybe another time. I’m meeting my brother. He’s running a little late.” He looked over his shoulder. “I’d better get back to my table. Ladies, have a pleasant dinner.” At that he turned and moved smoothly through the twisted path of tables.

  Abby squinted at his back. “Attorneys make me nervous. You work at a law firm?”

  “I’m a paralegal.” I smiled.

  She didn’t smile back. “Don’t brag. I never want to see another lawyer again. Although, it is interesting.”

  “What?”

  “Our table isn’t in his line of sight. Maybe he was looking for you. Is he your boyfriend? Is this one of your regular haunts?”

  I shook my head. “Enough with the interrogation. He has a better pool of candidates. Let’s get back to the subject at hand. You can’t really be asking me to speak to the police for you.”

  “You’re right. Just forget it.” She dabbed her lips with her napkin and pulled out her wallet. “What’s the check?”

  “I’ll treat. I said I would.” I took out a credit card. “Don’t be upset with me. Let’s come up with some other plan.”

  “I spoke to you in confidence. I hope I didn’t make a mistake. Like I said, just forget it. Won’t be the first bad idea I’ve had.” She rose. “I’ll tell the police. I agree with you. It’s the right thing to do.”

  She didn’t fool me. I knew she had absolutely no intention of talking to the police.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Every once in a while I missed having a best friend. Dinner with Abby reminded me of how I’d isolated myself since getting out. I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t let anyone in. There was no room. I was too full of shame.

  At work the next morning, I decided to do something I never thought I’d do. I’d run all the club members through PeopleSearch. At Triple D, we used PeopleSearch to verify client backgrounds and track down missing heirs. We weren’t supposed to use it for personal reasons, but I had to know who I was dealing with. I could only check under the names that club members used now. I started with Gene—the guy with the meticulously groomed eyebrows—who apparently hadn’t changed his name. Even so, his profile was limited. Now thirty-seven, Gene had served his time for libel and bribing a federal official. I read the pages quickly. There didn’t appear to be any gaping holes.

  Putting aside my guilt, I finished gathering information on all the remaining members. Nothing incriminating popped up.

  I checked the newspaper. A small article reported Rory’s murder and one of his aliases. I took a slow breath when nothing showed up about the club.

  “Hi.” Avery stood in my doorway. “Something interesting in today’s paper?”

  “No, just taking a break at my desk.” Heart pounding, I put the paper aside and clicked my screen to dark. “What can I help you with?”

  I saw him glance over the stacks of my files.

  “A new probate assignment. Pretty straightforward. Not a big estate.” He dropped the paperwork on top of the files closest to the edge. “Finish your break and then come see me.”

  “No, it’s …” I started to protest but realized I needed the time to reset my state of mind.

  The new probate assignment would help distract me from obsessing over Rory’s murder for a brief while; I was in danger of driving myself crazy. I sought the reassuring smell of law books sitting solidly on library shelves to center me. Researching appeal cases to defend inheritance claims was my specialty. I placed yellow Post-its to mark the applicable case
citations, which would save time when it came to drafting the lengthy points and authorities. I put aside a stack of books on a nearby library table. Mark, in the opposite aisle going through the federal directory, smiled at me.

  “Mark, how would you track down someone who may or may not have had a name changed by the court?”

  “You got a social?”

  “No.”

  “Did you run him through PeopleSearch?”

  “That was the first thing I did.”

  “Okay. There’s this new software called Inquiry First. I’ve been beta-testing it for the other associates, and it seems reliable. You can use my computer with the network password. The icon is on the start-up screen. All you need is the name he’s using now, the state of residence and his birth date. His known aliases should show up. Remember, even though it’s a beta site and we’re not being billed, you still need a case code to charge it to.”

  “Thanks. I’m trying to anticipate what Avery needs for this real picky client we’re trying to sign.” I told myself to shut up. Any ex-con knows explanations are dead giveaways that you’re lying.

  “Sure. Well, it should get you what you want.” He turned back to the shelves.

  I was glad I had helped Mark the other morning. Now we were even.

  How would I get birth dates? The club talked about celebrating birthdays, but it made too many of us nervous to give up personal information about ourselves. I was a terrible judge of age and I’d have to guess. Then I’d have to be careful not to get locked out of the software application with multiple guessing of dates. I had no intention of raising a red flag in Accounting from having to keep logging in each time I got kicked out.

  Fortunately, the attorneys were out of the office at a half-day management meeting. The day went by quickly. The other paralegals apparently picked up on my pensive mood and left me alone. I tried to reach Abby several times without success. I wanted to know if she had gone to the police.

  Eventually, I got some time to work on my petition. I was on my third draft. Having to detail the state of mind that led to my crime and the new thinking that filled me now wasn’t easy. I didn’t want it to sound like a confession or a denial. Still, I knew I grappled with too much anger and blame. I would have to get it out of my system before I could move on.

  I glanced at the picture of me holding my Hastings acceptance letter and finally the words came. Slowly at first and then nonstop, as if they had just been waiting for me to get out of the way.

  I finished.

  Emily, the office receptionist, knocked gently on the open door and told me to make sure to turn off the lights in our hallway when I left.

  “Avery, Phil and Simon are still behind closed doors. I think Grace is with a client in the conference room. You’re the last one on this side of the floor.”

  “Thanks. Good night.” I waved her on. She was used to leaving me to turn off the lights. It wasn’t unusual for paralegals to spend time after hours on a case. The firm didn’t encourage it, but they didn’t discourage it, either.

  I went into Mark’s office, shut the door and keyed up Inquiry First on the computer. I still lacked birthdates, but I had to give it a try. It loaded in seconds. I quickly read down the small print to see what search and sort options they offered. Mark was right, it could do skip tracing and alias tracking. I did a quick test using Rory’s name, but after I had tried three different birth dates, Inquiry First kicked me out. I hit the keyboard with my fist. I wouldn’t get far without Rory’s real name or birth date.

  Taking in a deep breath and blowing it out slowly, I decided to use my own name to see if my information was accurate. A chill went up my arms as my life, captured in a few sheets of paper, spilled out for the entire world to see. I scanned the pages then logged off, feeling strangely as if I’d violated my own privacy. I’d try again later with the others, but for now I’d had enough and wanted to go home.

  The next day I left work a little early for my appointment with Jeffrey Wallace. As I approached his office, I took deep breaths to calm myself. I hadn’t realized how much I had counted on this meeting. When I had been on parole, Wallace had believed me when I said I was innocent. He was the only one who had. My former parole officer’s support meant everything to me.

  Being in the familiar hallway gave me an odd sense of comfort. Wallace was on the phone. “Yeah, well, I don’t want to hear it,” he was saying. “You’ve played me for the last time.”

  He looked up. I was in the doorway. He put his hand over the receiver and said, “You’re early. I’m glad.” Pushing aside a stack of papers, he signaled for me to sit. “Bear with me. I need to finish this call.”

  “I’ll wait outside.” I started to rise.

  “No. Stay,” he mouthed.

  From the conversation, I could tell it was a parolee, not a friend or acquaintance. I realized I didn’t know anything about Jeffrey Wallace’s family. I slowly looked around the room for pictures or awards—nothing. Bare walls, except for a calendar and the inevitable poster with a cat hanging on a bar with the saying, “Hang in there.”

  True to his word, he finished the call and smiled at me. “You look good, Rebecca. Sorry—Hollis.”

  “Old habits die hard.” I sat back in the chair.

  “Okay, let’s cut to the chase. Why the visit? It’s been years since the last time I saw you. Then you said, and I quote, ‘No, offense, I’m never coming back here again.’ ”

  I nodded. “What can I say? That’s why you should never burn any bridges.” I went over to his bookshelf. “Jeffrey, do you have a family? I mean—”

  “I’m a loner. Don’t avoid my question.”

  I gave him a look to let him know I didn’t believe him. I wouldn’t want ex-felons to know anything about my personal life, either. I placed my manila folder on the only cleared space on his desk. “I spoke without thinking back then. Now I need your help.”

  A crease formed between his eyebrows. “Does this have to do with Norris’ death?” The tone of his voice had changed.

  “Why would you think that?”

  “The police were here yesterday. They requested club members’ background records. They asked a lot of questions about the initial formation of the club and how members were selected.”

  My heart took off in my chest. Breathe. Breathe. “They’ve already talked to me. I’m not here about the club.”

  “You okay?” He offered me a cup of water.

  I shook my head.

  “I’m kind of bummed out about the whole thing,” he said. “I thought the club was one of my success stories.”

  “Don’t write us off so fast.” I took another breath. “I’m hoping you’ll recommend me for a Certificate of Rehabilitation.”

  He raised an eyebrow but let me go on with my speech.

  “About two years ago, I assisted one of Triple D’s criminal attorneys who had a very rich client with an errant son. I learned California has a restoration of rights law. I prepared court documents to get his record cleared. Our client worked hard to write a statement and obtain the signatures and references that eventually led to his son’s pardon. I want a pardon, too. Under the penal code, the law permits someone convicted of a crime to petition the court to re-open the case, set aside the plea and dismiss the matter. I’ve done my research and I know I qualify. I completed parole and I’ve kept my record clean for five years.”

  Jeffrey nodded in acknowledgment.

  “I know expungement won’t erase my criminal record, but my finding of guilt would be dismissed. I could then honestly and legally answer a question about my criminal history and say that I hadn’t been convicted of a crime. Eventually, I’d submit a request to the court to have it converted to a full pardon.”

  I took another deep breath.

  He gave me a long look. Finally he got up, took a book off a nearby shelf and started flipping through pages. I knew what he was searching for. A Rehabilitation Pardon is usually granted to persons who demonstrate e
xemplary behavior following a felony conviction. A useful, productive and law-abiding life wouldn’t be enough. The life I’d led had to be stellar.

  Jeffrey wasn’t a large man, but he always looked huge to me. Kind of like a puffin I saw on the National Geographic channel. The bird is relatively small, but to help it survive in a big bird world, Mother Nature gave it guts and the ability to blow up its chest. These talents made it appear just as large and formidable as its peers. That was Jeffrey.

  He set the open book in front of me. “I’m familiar with the petition. They aren’t easy to come by.” His index finger tapped a long paragraph and then, without saying another word, he sat down at his desk.

  I knew it by heart—the checklist of qualifying requirements. “I’m determined. I know what it takes but I think I can make my case. I want to finish law school and take the California Bar.”

  “I see.” He fiddled with the pens on his desk. “It’s going to take some paperwork and you’re going to need a lawyer.”

  “Jeffrey, I work for a law firm. I know a few lawyers.” I grinned at him, but he didn’t grin back. “Okay, I retained an attorney from another firm. To save money, I’m assisting by coming up with all the section codes and citations. All my attorney has to do is review my brief and declaration.”

  “First of all, it goes without saying that you have my strongest recommendation.” His forehead creased again.

  “Second?” I paused. “What is it? There’s something you’re not saying.”

  “You know I’m one of your biggest supporters.”

  I waited for the “but.”

  “But until this Rory thing gets settled, all club members will come under a lot of scrutiny. I know you don’t want to hear this, but all the club members are prime suspects.”

  I slumped in my chair. “Okay. What do you think I should do?”

  “Tell the truth. Tell the others to do the same. I know each of you and I don’t think any of you did it. Misjudgments happen in my line of work. I misjudged Rory and—”