Suspicion of Vengeance

by Barbara Parker

  "The loan went through. However, one of the paralegals at the bank couldn't find the deed to one small tract, ten acres or so. The owners of record were a husband and wife called Mendoza. Dodson said it had to be an oversight, and he would find a copy of the deed. Several days passed. The bank's title company became impatient, so they checked and found that no deed from the Mendozas to JWM had ever been recorded. Dodson said he'd ask the Mendozas' attorney, who had probably neglected to send it to the recorder's office. Still nothing but excuses. Finally Mr. Hadley demanded to know what was going on. A few days later, the deed appeared in the county records, dated before Dodson's title opinion. There was no attorney for the Mendozas. The deed had been prepared by a notary. Mr. Hadley hit the roof."

  The dog sneezed and shook its head. Its flat face resembled that of an old man. "This firm has a reputation for honesty. Mr. Hadley wanted to make sure that the Mendozas had actually signed the deed, that it wasn't..." Shumway seemed unable to say the word.

  "A forgery?" Gail said.

  "Mr. Hadley would have slit his own wrists in shame. He asked Whit McGrath for proof of payment. McGrath produced a copy of a canceled check made out to the Mendozas. It seemed all right. We had to assume so. But this was not the way we do business. Mr. Hadley asked for Dodson's resignation."

  "Did Mr. Hadley ever speak to the Mendozas?"

  '"They moved away. McGrath said they'd moved out of the country. I think they were from Guatemala."

  The little dog panted softly, its wide mouth in a pink grin. The tip of its tongue curled up, not down.

  Gail said, "When did your firm's relationship with Mr. McGrath end?"

  "July of 1988, I believe."

  "About the same time that Mr. Dodson left the firm. Was it Mr. McGrath's decision to find new attorneys?"

  Shumway hesitated. "I really shouldn't comment."

  "Did Mr. Hadley believe that McGrath had directed Gary Dodson to give a clear opinion of title before the Mendoza deed was signed? And then to backdate the deed?"

  Shumway straightened his dog's curlicue tail. "I don't think I can comment on that, either."

  "It must have been hard to give up such a wealthy client."

  "We have many wealthy clients. Many, many."

  "And you didn't need one who would jeopardize the firm's reputation."

  "Can't comment." The points of Shumway's mustache twitched.

  "The firm was forced to accept McGrath's version because there was no other choice. After Gary Dodson left, you severed your relationship with McGrath and closed the books on the matter."

  The dog's eyes had closed, and its chin rested on its stubby front legs. "A question for you now," Shumway said. "How is this information, which I have not given you, in any way relevant to the murder of Amber Dodson?"

  "I'm not sure it is, but I assume Amber knew that her husband and McGrath were engaged in ... a possible forgery. Gary was fired because of McGrath. He opened his own practice, but he was failing at it. What if Amber demanded compensation from McGrath?"

  Only the lips moved, as if someone might be listening. Blackmail?

  Gail shrugged. "Gary Dodson has been working for McGrath ever since this firm fired him. Did you know that? He gets the crumbs, but it's enough to keep him alive. McGrath told me that he's been directing his employees' legal work in Gary's direction basically because he feels sorry for him. Based on what you know of Whitney McGrath, does this fit?"

  One of Shumway's brows rose sharply. "No comment."

  They finished their tea and chatted awhile longer about a few friends whom they unexpectedly had in common. Finally Gail thanked him for his time and promised to keep him posted. Shumway escorted her to the door of his office, and the dog leaped off the divan to trot at his heels.

  "Mr. Shumway, could I ask you for one more favor?" Gail had just thought of it. "Does the firm have a copy of the Mendoza deed?" When he hesitated, she said, "The deed is in the public records. Nothing confidential there."

  He agreed that she was correct and gave instructions to his secretary. The young man looked up something on his computer, then escorted Gail to the records department downstairs, where he asked the woman in charge to do a search.

  Gail went over to the windows, looking out at a landscaped parking lot with at least three Rolls-Royces. She watched a woman loaded with shopping bags get into one of them, put the top down, and drive off.

  "Ms. Connor?"

  The woman from the records department held up an envelope. Gail took it, thanked her, and opened it as she walked down the hall toward the lobby. A copy of the deed was inside.

  Ignacio Mendoza and Celestina Mendoza, his wife, grantors. JWM Corporation, grantee. Legal description. Date: June 23, 1988. But the deed hadn't hit the recorder's office until about two weeks later, July 7. Something was definitely wrong. In the normal course of business, a deed would be filed in the county records as quickly as possible, preferably the same day it was signed.

  Gail glanced at the bottom of the document, seeing two indecipherable scrawls on the lines for witnesses.

  Her steps slowed. The notary's signature was clear, strong, and feminine, with wide, looping capitals.

  Louise Bryce.

  CHAPTER 18

  Tuesday evening, March 20

  They sat in Jackie's Isuzu Trooper in the parking lot of the Flamingo Restaurant on South U.S. 1. Jackie had propped the deed against the steering wheel. She stared at it as though the clear evidence of her mother's involvement could be erased by force of will.

  "Apparently no one at Hadley and Morgan connected the name with your father," Gail said, "but he wasn't the sheriff then. If this comes out now, people might notice. I have no idea what was going on, but I have to follow it up." She had made the short drive from Palm Beach to pick up the crime scene photographs. After some debate with herself, she had called her cousin. Jackie said she could meet her; with a rotating shift, she had gone back on days, seven to three.

  "It might be that Aunt Lou was the Mendozas' real estate agent. The deed could have been signed and misplaced for two weeks, just as Gary Dodson said."

  With a soft laugh, Jackie folded the copy back into thirds. "Sure. That's what I'd like to think too."

  Gail said, "Maybe I should ask Gary. 'Was your wife trying to blackmail Whit McGrath?' "

  "If she'd done that," Jackie said, "Whit would have fired Gary as his lawyer."

  "Why would Amber care? She was planning to leave him."

  "Good point."

  "Gary is off our suspect list, by the way. Anthony showed the medical examiner's records to a top forensic pathologist, who said the time of death was accurate, as far as he could tell."

  "So you're looking at Whit."

  "He's all I've got. I can't ask him about the Mendoza deed. He might send Rusty after me."

  "Jesus. I can't believe Rusty did that to you and Anthony. I always thought he had a crazy streak, but that's over the top."

  "What is it with him and Whit? They couldn't be less alike."

  "Only on the surface. Underneath, they're not that different. There's this story, which is probably BS, that in high school they used to hate each other. You know, preppy rich kid versus redneck. One day they went target shooting to see who was better. A wild boar attacked Rusty, and Whit shot it right between the eyes."

  "Really." Gail remembered what McGrath had said. "Whit was kicked out of a posh private school in Palm Beach, and his dad shipped him to Martin County High as punishment."

  "That fits. Anyway, Rusty and Whit are pretty tight. As long as I can remember, Whit kept horses out at the ranch, and Rusty took care of them. Diddy was friends with Rusty's father, who was a drunk till he got religion. When Diddy decided to sell the ranch, Rusty bought it. He built a house in the woods, near the canal, and he's got this fourteen-foot gator hide over the fireplace."

  "Did he shoot it himself? Or strangle it to death with his bullwhip?"

  Jackie gave a short laugh. "No, he shot it, r
ight there on the ranch. He's got plenty of room out there, and access by canal, so he can do pretty much what he wants, and nobody bothers him. Whit McGrath, same thing, in his way. Nobody bothers him because he's so damn rich. That's what I mean. They're not all that different."

  "Flip sides of the same coin," said Gail.

  Jackie played with the end of her braid, curling it around her finger. "Okay, what about that deed? Maybe we could track down the Mendozas and find out what was going on."

  "McGrath told his law firm that they cashed the check and went back to Guatemala."

  "Then ... why would the deed be a forgery?"

  "It wouldn't," Gail said, "and there goes my theory that Amber was shaking down Whit McGrath. Assuming that Whit is telling the truth."

  Jackie looked at her. "And if he's lying ... where are they?" The way she phrased the question said that the grim possibility of death had already occurred to her. "I don't guess Gary Dodson would tell us."

  "I guess not," Gail said.

  "You think Whit is giving Gary legal work to keep him quiet about the forgery."

  "Well, it's not because Whit's a nice guy."

  Jackie asked, "Could I get a copy of the deed?"

  "Keep this one. When I picked up the photos, I used their copy machine."

  Jackie put the deed in her shoulder bag. Light glinted for an instant on steel: her off-duty weapon. "If the Mendozas are still around, we should find them. I'll run Ignacio and Celestina Mendoza and see what comes up. Maybe someone in the area knows them. The Guatemalans are close-knit."

  "Are there a lot of them in the area?"

  "Not as many as Mexicans, but yes, some. They came to pick citrus, and some of them stayed illegally. The Mendozas weren't migrants, though, not with ten acres of property. Who's that guy working for you? Hector?"

  "Hector Mesa."

  "Tell him to call me. The Latinos around here hate badges."

  The glass front of the restaurant reflected an orange sky. Gail looked at her watch. "I've got to go. It's late, and I still have another stop to make."

  "Gail? Last weekend... did Aunt Irene tell you what she and I talked about?"

  Irene had told her everything, and Gail knew that her cousin didn't like evasive answers. "She told me your mother had an affair, and that's why your parents broke up. I didn't know about it before."

  "The guy was Whit McGrath."

  "Oh, no."

  "Aunt Irene doesn't know because my mother never told anyone. I sort of put two and two together and came up with Whit. My mother's name might be on this deed because she did it for him."

  Gail reached for her hand.

  "Mom didn't go around having affairs, according to Aunt Irene. Whit wanted her, he took her. She was a beautiful woman. She was smart enough to figure out what she meant to him, so she broke it off Dad wouldn't forgive her, though. She never told him who it was. I mentioned it because you're going to see Vivian Baker tonight. If she knew about my mother and Whit McGrath, she might tell you, and I didn't want you to find out that way."

  "I'm so sorry this is happening."

  "Yeah. What I hope ... I really hope that if it is a forgery, my mother just ... you know, notarized it as a favor."

  "I'm sure that's the reason. Aunt Lou couldn't have known it was a forgery. Never." Gail wasn't sure of that at all and could feel the same thoughts raging in Jackie's mind. "I think Whit manipulated her into it."

  "Think so?"

  "Yes, I do. Really, Jackie, that could be why she broke up with him, because she saw what he was."

  "Bastard." She looked around at Gail. "May I go with you to see Ms. Baker? Unless you'd rather work alone. I can understand that, but I'd like to hear what she has to say." Jackie wanted answers, even at the risk of pain to herself.

  Gail said, "Sure. You can come."

  It took forty minutes to get to the Boca Raton address that Vivian Baker had given her, not one of the fancy condos on the intracoastal but a two-story building a mile inland. Gail and Jackie parked their cars on the street and walked to the gate at the entrance. They could see a courtyard inside with a tiny swimming pool and some concrete tables and benches.

  Gail pressed the buzzer for apartment 204 and said who she was. A voice said to wait there. A minute later a thin woman in jeans and sandals and a loose white shirt came down the stairs on the opposite side. She held on to the railing to steady herself. Her dark hair was pinned at the nape of her neck, and tendrils of it had come loose. Gail tried to fit this woman with the description in the police report: an attractive brunette; business suit and diamond earrings.

  "Hi. I'm Vivian." She opened the gate. "Sorry, I don't have much time. My friend has some people up there, and we're about to eat." The slur in her words said they'd already had happy hour.

  "Is there somewhere we could talk?" Gail asked. They were standing in a dim entryway between the mailboxes and the manager's office.

  "Umm ... over there. Okay?" The patio was deserted, and she led them to one of the tables. The lights were on.

  In a brief phone conversation earlier that day, Gail had explained that she was representing a man on death row. She was reinvestigating his case, and an old deed could hold clues. It involved property at River Pines that Ms. Baker might know about. Gail had feared saying anything more would bring an immediate no. Vivian Baker had said, "All right. I'll look at it if you think it would help."

  As they sat down, Gail introduced Jackie as simply "Jackie, who's working with me on the case." She took the deed out of her shoulder bag. "My client is Kenny Ray Clark. He was wrongfully accused of the murder of Amber Dodson in 1990. You worked with her at River Pines."

  "Amber?" Large hazel eyes focused on Gail. "Yes. Oh, my goodness." Her mouth opened. "Amber. He didn't kill her? Your client, I mean. I thought—"

  "He didn't do it," Gail said. "His alibi witness was pressured not to testify at his trial. Clark was nowhere near Amber's house when she was murdered, and his execution is set for April the eleventh."

  Apparently Vivian Baker was still trying to comprehend this. She frowned, and deep creases ran between her brows. "Oh, my God. What can I do?"

  This woman had lied for Whitney McGrath during the original investigation, but Gail couldn't think of a way to keep him out of it. "Next week I have to go into court and argue that my client is innocent. I have to give the judge some other reason why Amber Dodson was murdered. She was working at River Pines, and this deed ... I can't say it was forged, but something very odd was going on. Amber's husband was a real estate lawyer working for Hadley and Morgan. They were Whitney McGrath's attorneys at the time. Gary Dodson issued an opinion of clear title before this deed was recorded and probably even before it was signed. The law firm fired him and severed its relationship with McGrath. You don't work for McGrath anymore. You may still feel some loyalty, but please. If you could give me any information, anything."

  Vivian Baker's face, whose red splotches had likely been put there by drink, faded to an ivory pallor. "All right. Let me see it." Head bowed over the deed, she murmured, "Mendoza. To JWM. Yes, I see. JWM was buying up property."

  "Have you ever seen that deed before?"

  "No. I wasn't part of that. I sold lots. I showed model homes and matched the people up to architects and interior designers."

  Jackie reached over to touch the signature at the bottom. "Did you know the notary, Louise Bryce? She was a real estate agent. Some of her customers bought homes there."

  "Louise Bryce. The name sounds familiar, but I can't put a face to it. I guess I'm striking out, huh?" Vivian glanced toward the second-floor balcony. "Is there anything else?"

  Gail went on, "Amber Dodson wasn't working at River Pines at the time, but she came back six months after her baby was born. Remember?"

  "Yes."

  "A friend of Amber's told me that she had an affair with Whit McGrath before she left, and I believe she could have come back because she was still in love with him. Is this true? Were they i
nvolved again?"

  "No, they weren't."

  "Ms. Baker, please."

  "It's the truth."

  "They were never involved?"

  "They were, but... not after she came back." Vivian Baker pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. Her fingers were trembling. "I'm only here for a week, visiting my friends. I thought I'd get through it without hearing his name. I saw an article in the paper on Sunday. I used it for the dog." She laughed self-consciously. "Amber wasn't sleeping with Whit. Two women in the same office would've been a little much."

  Gail waited, then said, "You and Whit."

  "Believe it or not. Have you ever met Whit McGrath?"

  "Both of us have."

  "Then you know. He's probably the most attractive man I have ever met, but dig under that, you find out how evil he is. I thought... well, he's just a tough businessman. A man has to be tough. It makes him sexy, all that power. My therapist told me that."

  A door opened along the balcony, and music spilled out. A woman appeared. She held a drink in her hand. "Viv? How much longer? The boys are getting hungry."

  Vivian called, "Go ahead, start without me. It's okay." After a moment, the woman went back inside, and the door closed. "There's an extra guy up there, but I'm not really interested." She crossed her legs. They were so thin she could wrap her foot around the other calf. She leaned on her knee.