Inside, Nate squirmed to pull himself together. “I know my rights. You can't intimidate me. That's witness tampering.”
He heard something very much like a chuckle coming from Sam's direction. This was not unfolding as planned.
“Before you shoot off your mouth any more, you might want to take a look at this.” Stan handed Nate a document from the top of Sam's desk--many pages long--on legal paper.
He took the papers, read the top page. So, Morgan was suing him for divorce. “So what? If Morgan hadn't, I would have.” Wait a minute. How could she have gotten all this together so soon?
“In case you're wondering, Morgan has planned this for some time. She had been willing to give you a very generous settlement, but in view of your unthinkable behavior, that may change. Drastically.”
Nate's confidence was returning. He was even able to muster a bit of a smirk. “You are aware, Stan, that Morgan and I didn't sign a prenup?” He'd thought it strange at the time. Then he had decided that Jerome must hold him in high esteem. The old man would never have been that forgetful. And Morgan would never have thought of defying her grandfather. Conclusion: If Jerome had wanted his granddaughter to have a prenuptial agreement, by God, there would've been one.
“There wasn't really a need for a prenup,” continued Stan, an icy smile on his lips.
Nate's confidence swayed in the chill wind of insecurity. “I know my rights to marital property. I'm allowed one-half.”
“I'm sure you would be…if there was any…to speak of.”
“You're kidding? Right? How dumb do you think I am?”
Both Stan and Sam seemed to find this amusing.
“Oh, Nathan, I thought you knew. All Morgan's interests in the various trusts are income interests only. She has no principal interest, and the income distributions are by and large discretionary. Anticipating that would-be creditors might find Morgan vulnerable, Jerome had us put spendthrift clauses in his trusts for her benefit. But I'm sure he never anticipated how these might come into play to protect Morgan from her own husband.”
Sarcastic bastard. Nate began to pace, crumpling the divorce papers that were supposed to preface his new life.
“There's our house. That was a gift. I know gifts received during marriage are marital property.”
“You are absolutely right. Gifts received during marriage are considered marital property. But you're wrong about the house you occupy with Morgan.” Stan paused a moment, as if to let his words sink in. “The gift from Jerome was of the use of the house. The vesting is in the Elisabeth Bayfield Trust. You never noticed that? On the property tax bills?”
“I…”
“Now, Sam has something to tell you.”
“About your job, Nate,” Sam was obviously relishing every word, “are you aware that Colorado is an employment-at-will state?”
“Of course I am. You can fire me without cause.” Nate had anticipated this. “Since I'm over fifty, you might have a problem with the age discrimination thing, though.”
Sam smiled his little crooked smile. “Everyone in this office, including myself, is over fifty. You will be replaced by someone over fifty, I assure you.”
This was not how it was supposed to go. None of this was supposed to happen. They must be bluffing.
“There is an alternative. Fix the grievous wrong you've done your wife,” Stan said, “by falsely accusing her of involvement in her grandson's death.”
“You mean her nephew.” The old geezer was losing it. Couldn't keep the identity of his clients straight.
“I mean her grandson. I guess you've been kept out of the loop too long, Nathan. Your wife had a child out of wedlock, before you two met. Deidre was that child.”
“That's not possible.” Nate felt the blood-rush color his face. “She…she couldn't have children.”
“Maybe you couldn't conceive a child, Nathan, but Morgan could and she did. The conversation you related to detective Sanchez and ADA Bell, that you interpreted as proof of conspiracy between your wife and Sam in some sort of evil deed, was in fact an expression of their concern over their secret coming out.”
“Their secret?” It can't be. Not Sam and Morgan. All those years…Sam and Morgan…behind his back. Morgan, with a skinny old geek who didn't even look like he could get it up. The picture would have been laughable if it had not been for the fact that, at that moment, Nate wanted to cry.
“Man up,” Stan said. “You need to fix this wrong impression you've given the authorities.”
“And just why would I do that?” He willed the tears out of his voice.
“Maybe you won't.” Stan shrugged as if it didn't really matter. “You definitely need to get an attorney. Also, you may want to imagine your life stripped of the amenities you now enjoy, versus a comfortable life that includes a consulting contract with Bayfield Enterprises.”
*****
It wasn't until he was driving away from Bayfield Commons and life as he'd known it that Nate realized he'd been played by Morgan. Everything she'd done--including the damn needle by his door--had led him to do exactly what she'd planned all along. She'd get her divorce, and she'd be the one wronged, not him. No way in this world was she going down for Kevin's murder, though he was still convinced he'd been right about that. But the fact was, when it came to deciding between justice for Kevin and his own comfort--well, thought Nate, that was a no-brainer.
His cell buzzed. Detective Sanchez again. He let it go to voicemail.
Chapter 47
“It seemed like a small thing at first,” Rae said to Veronica, “but now I think it's bigger than the GST tax.”
The women sat facing each other in Veronica's office. Rae bent down and pulled a file folder out of her briefcase.
“Big is what we need. Let's see it.”
Rae withdrew the copy of the page from the check stub binder. “I know it doesn't look like much.”
Veronica eyed the page, a skeptical look on her face. “You're right. It doesn't. Just what conclusions am I to draw from this piece of paper?”
“It's a copy of a check stub. You remember the old three-to-a-page--”
“I see what it is,” Veronica snapped. “Just how does it impact the case?”
“When I first interviewed Fredricka Halperin, she said she wrote the middle check on Mondy, April 28th. That would mean the check to Kevin was not written on Friday, the 25th.”
“The check to Fredricka is a paycheck. Maybe Sam Garvin skipped a check when he wrote the one to Kevin. Don't accountants ever leave checks, so they can back-date them?”
“I'm sure they do. I don't think that's what happened here. Fredricka got really hostile when I questioned her about when this check was actually written. Then she did a complete about-face, called me at home with a change of story that I think is a crock. But there's something else. See the first check stub?”
“The one with nothing on it?” Veronica's eyes were beginning to take on a glazed look. “I can't see any of this being of use to us.”
“Stay with me. I know it's boring. The top stub has void written on it. And staple holes.”
“So?”
Rae explained what old-time bookkeepers did with their void checks.
Veronica just shook her head. “I thought you had something. This is useless.”
The more Veronica brushed off her evidence, like bread crumbs on a table cloth, the more the theory wove its way into Rae's head.
“Could I see your notes on the interview you had with Sam Garvin? The first one, right after Kevin's body turned up.”
“What for?” Veronica had on her defeated face again.
“Just humor me. Could I see your report?”
Veronica rummaged around in a manila file folder she took from a side drawer. She extracted a two-page hand-written report and handed it to Rae. “Be my guest.”
Rae studied the pages silently for several moments, then looked up at Veronica. “In answer to your question, When did you last see Ke
vin Cantrell, Sam says, He arrived in Mrs. Bayfield Farris's car at around mid-day. Note, he doesn't say the boy was alive. Just that he arrived in Morgan's car.”
Veronica rolled her eyes and growled under her breath.
“Then you say, Did he ask for money? Sam answers, I already knew the amount from Mrs. Bayfield-Farris. Didn't that seem like a peculiar answer?”
“I always find talking to accountants peculiar.”
“Thanks a bunch. I'll overlook it, though.”
“Whatever.” Veronica looked at her watch.
“Then you ask, Did you give Kevin the hundred thousand dollars he allegedly asked for?, and Sam says, I had already written the check. He certainly didn't refuse it. You ask, What did Kevin say? Did he make any threats in your presence? Sam says, I don't remember any specific threats. Doesn't that strike you as pretty non-responsive?”
“No. It seems like a thoughtful response.”
“You can't see it?” Rae hurried on, not waiting for a reply. “Morgan calls and tells Sam what Kevin's doing--the extortion bit. She asks him to get the check ready. He writes the first check, but he doesn't put anything on the stub. He'll decide that later, after he gets the lay of the land, so to speak. Then Morgan calls back, says we're on our way, but Kevin won't be needing the check after all. Sam must've asked her what she meant, but she was probably evasive. So, being the meticulously peculiar accountant that he is, Sam voids the first check, folds it and staples it to the back of the stub, having no idea that Kevin is dead or that anybody but him and the family is going to be looking at that check book.”
Veronica's phone rang, wiping the glazed look off her face. She stood after a brief exchange. “Sorry to interrupt your fantasy, but the coroner has faxed over Reggie Navarro's autopsy results.”
“Any needle holes in him?” Rae asked, choosing to ignore Veronica's arctic splash on her theory, but smarting inside like she'd been slapped.
“I doubt it,” replied Veronica.
Because you were there? “Can I go with you to look at it?”
Veronica hesitated. “Not this time.” Veronica looked at her watch again. “My boss and I have to meet with some IAB people about Reggie's misconduct. His DNA matches the semen from Deidre's rape kit. One of the samples anyway. The second set is probably Camacho's, but we've got nothing to compare it to.”
“Misconduct?” Rae couldn't keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “He raped a victim he was supposed to protect. He's worse than JJ Camacho because he's…he was…a cop. You say misconduct like he got a speeding ticket or something.”
“I do not!” Veronica glared at Rae. “Commander Marsh's and Sergeant Wehr's jobs are hanging by threads as we speak. The cover-up is being taken very seriously. That should make you happy.”
“Nothing about this mess makes me happy. Do you mind if I try to track down Fredricka and dig into this check thing? I know you aren't buying it.”
“Do anything you need to finish up the audit.”
Chapter 48
Fredricka Halperin lived in a modest brick bungalow on Garland Avenue, not far from her place of employment, but a cut above in terms of the neighborhood.
Rae parked in front of the house, noting the neat lawn bordered by a low picket fence. Day lilies poked their yellow heads through the pickets. A small gate barred Rae's access to the front walk, but she found it unlocked--just a catch, probably to keep dogs and kids off the lawn.
The woman who answered Rae's knock on the door threw her off balance for an instant. Through the latched screen door, she appeared almost a duplicate of Fredricka, but not quite. The hair color was the same, but the style was different, and she wasn't wearing glasses.
“Honey, you really need to get yourself a spiel,” said the Freddie look-alike into Rae's gawking silence. “Whatever it is you're selling, you need to speak up, not stand there like a stone.”
“Oh, right,” said Rae, laughing at the prospect of being a tongue-tied sales person. “I'm looking for Fredricka Halperin. Just for a moment, I thought you were Fredricka.”
“What's this about?” A frown puckered the woman's brow.
“I'm Rachel Esposito, from the Lakewood Police Department. This concerns an audit we're working on with the Jefferson County D.A.'s office.”
“Oh, I know who you are. I'm Alvina Halperin, her sister. She told me all about it. But I thought she fixed things before she left.”
“Fixed things?” It didn't look like the sister was going to open the door, but on the plus side, her tone wasn't overly hostile. Maybe a gnat's ass the other side of neutral. Rae strove for optimism.
“Before she went on vacation,” Alvina explained.
So the vacation was for real. At least she's alive. The prospect of a dead Freddie had been looming on the edge of Rae's thoughts. Now she was glad she didn't voice these fears to Veronica. That, on top of her other trashed theories, would've been the kiss of death for future forensic contracts.
Rae nodded, relief softening her expression. “I hoped to catch her before she left. Just some clarification.” She smiled at Freddie's sister.
“Well, honey, you missed her by a day. I'm glad she went. It's the first vacation she's had in five years.”
“Wow, looks like she was due.” Rae pushed on. “Everybody's got to take some personal time or they burn out. I'll bet that was why she got sick a while back and had to come home in the middle of the day.”
“You know, honey, you just may be right,” Alvina said.
“Do you happen to remember what day that was, when Fredricka came home with the flu?”
“Can't help you there. I took a cruise to Alaska the last two weeks in April. You won't catch me being a slave to the office.”
How'd she know it was April? I didn't say anything about April.
“Would you do me a favor, Alvina?” Rae smiled.
“You want my sister to call you when she gets back? That won't be till the end of June.”
Rae blinked. “That's quite a vacation.”
“Europe. I wish I could've gone.” Alvina sighed wistfully, then closed the door in Rae's face.
*****
Rae replayed the events of the day as she did her barn chores that evening. She marveled at Morgan Bayfield's calm upon being arrested. And Sam had acted with amazing alacrity in phoning the lawyer. Not even one blink of surprise between the two of them when Veronica walked through the door and plunked down the warrant.
And what was it she felt in herself? She'd gone through all the motions, given her best shot at presenting her theory to Veronica. But, while Veronica's reaction had hurt her pride, another part of Rae was glad to see the wild geese gliding to safety.
The barn cats trailed her at a haughty distance, their attitudes implying that they'd made their own dinner arrangements. The brindle tabby caught a small wild rabbit and gutted it in front of her. No sense of shame clouded the cat's instincts. Rae wondered if the same could be said of some people.
Self-preservation was strong, but it came out so differently in people, shaped by inhibitions in ways an animal would never dream of…if animals dreamed. What if Morgan and Sam decided she was a threat? Rae shook her head, to clear the vision of a needle coming at her. Goose bumps raised the hairs on her arms though the air was warm. Jagged blades of dry lightning pierced the northern horizon, like a giant's game of mumbledepeg. Not often did she feel so alone and vulnerable.
As Rae hurried toward the house, chores completed, she felt rain drops. Anthony. Sometimes she felt him in just a change of temperature in the air as she passed a certain spot--never the same spot.
The teaser sprinkle of rain had stopped by the time she reached the porch. The pasture was withering in the June heat--too early in the season to be so hot. Rae made a mental note to order ditch water.
In the kitchen, she glanced at the blinking message light on her phone. At the same instant, she thought of Stephen and his two calls she had missed. The caller ID read unavailable.
Whoev
er it was could wait. Rae punched in Stephen's cell number. The phone rang until she thought it would surely go to her son's voicemail. Then she heard a woman's voice, young and self-assured, “Hello.”
Rae paused a beat before asking, “May I speak to Stephen? Uh, this is Stephen Esposito's number?”
“He's not available right now. Who's this?”
Rae wanted to ask back, And who's this? But she killed the urge. “His mom. He called. I'm just returning his call.” Who is she that she's got Stephen's cell? People don't usually leave their cells behind when they go out.
Rae…
I know, Grandma, I've got a nosey streak.
“Oh, right. He'll have to call you back. He's in the shower,” said the perky young voice.
I didn't ask. I didn't ask. “Oh, thank you. I'll be here. Tell Stephen I'm home for the day.” Dummy! It's night. It's ten o'clock in Miami.
“I will. It's good to talk to you, Mrs. Esposito.”
“Thank you. Nice to meet you…”
“Callie.”
“Of course. I'm just a little slow on the draw…it's been a long day. I…uh…just realized the time. Stephen can call me tomorrow. Okay?”
“Sure, Mrs. Esposito. Bye now.”
Who the hell is Callie? Somebody important. Hopefully, Stephen wasn't having casual sex.
Who the hell are you kidding? Stephen is a healthy twenty-four-year-old male.
That's not you, Grandma?
Rae buzzed around the kitchen, hoping sustenance would clear her head. There was morning coffee left in the Krupps and leftover lasagna in the fridge.
Two minutes in the microwave should make the lasagna palatable. While it was nuking, she played the phone message that had been left on her machine: Mrs. Esposito, Sam's voice, the bank has returned copies of the checks to Deidre. I'll have them available for you tomorrow.
Rae picked up the phone. Her first reflex was to call Veronica. But what if Veronica wanted her to wear a wire? Rae replaced the phone in its cradle. What to do? Sleep on it. Fat chance she'd get any sleep tonight. Might as well warm up the coffee.
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