Chasing a Dead Man

by Kathryn J Bain

  “Are you all right?” Analyn’s voice brought him back to the present.

  A warm hand touched his cheek. He glanced at the people around the table. All three of the females in his life stared at him.

  “I’m fine. Just thinking of someone who gave me a hard time yesterday.” He smiled, hoping they bought the lie.

  “It’s okay, Daddy.” Olivia got up and gave him a hug.

  “That’s right,” Brittany said. “You’re the one who says troubled people like to give everyone else trouble. He was just a troubled person.”

  “Yes, he was.” Gabriel patted Olivia on the back. She smelled of strawberry shampoo.

  His phone buzzed again in his home office.

  “It’s time I get these girls to school.” Analyn placed her arm around his shoulder. “And from the sounds of it, someone’s looking for you.” She turned to the girls. “Put your plates up and let’s go.”

  The girls mumbled as they stacked their dishes in the sink and headed upstairs.

  Gabriel watched until they disappeared. He let out a deep breath. Analyn knew about his brother’s death but didn’t know today was William’s birthday. He considered telling her when his phone buzzed again.

  He marched to his office and glanced at the screen. Employee 368 had left a text.

  The Company didn’t share employee’s names, making it harder for each to get to know one another. Except for that one time when two bumped into each other in the hallway outside the office. That’s what started this mess.

  Only one employee, a blackmailing piece of trash, knew he was The Company, the person in charge.

  The text read: Call now. Important.

  Didn’t he know this was family time? Gabriel dialed the man’s number.

  “What took you so long?” His employee asked. “Got some sweet woman in bed?” He chuckled.

  Gabriel sneered. He’d never cheat on Analyn and take a chance on losing his family. “Don’t worry about it. Did you find it yet?”

  “No. But thought you should know the police finally removed the crime scene tape.”

  It’d been two weeks since the home invasion. What had taken them so long?

  “Get into that house next time she leaves,” he ordered. “It’s got to be there somewhere. Just make sure no one can tell you’ve been there. We don’t need the cops coming back.”

  Footsteps pounded on the stairs.

  He needed those files found. If they were hidden in a storage unit like that blackmailing thief had claimed, then he would need not only the key but the location as well. Hopefully, a search of the house would give him what he needed.

  He’d not lose everything because of a bunch of worthless homeless people.

  Chapter 3

  Winston Black had arrived five minutes late for her first appointment. Not acceptable. She hadn’t been able to get out of bed until the last minute. Too many late nights missing her husband, wishing she’d done things differently. Now it took all her power to focus on her current appointment.

  Stuart Newberry smacked his hand on the oak desk, startling Winston.

  “It’s not right they’re going to get rewarded for raising a murderer,” he said.

  Winston understood the need for a parent to get even with the person who murdered their child. She’d want the same, not that she would have any of her own to avenge. But after losing her siblings, Nicki and Jenna, she knew how easy it was to hate.

  Stuart and his wife, Fran, sat on the opposite side of the desk from Winston. Fran’s tear-stained face and Stuart’s stooped shoulders told of their pain from losing their son, Kevin, in a robbery. They’d aged a lot since hiring Winston to open probate on their son’s life insurance proceeds. Losing a child would do that to you. It didn’t help the news media had started to rehash the incident again.

  Their sixteen-year-old had been clearing off tables at a pizza joint on Jacksonville’s Westside. Kevin was carrying dirty dishes into the kitchen that Friday evening when a guy rushed in with a gun around ten o’clock. By the time the robbery was over, two people were dead, one injured. Three days later, the police caught up with the killer and took his life.

  “We don’t want the money from the lawsuit for ourselves,” Stuart was saying. “Just want to make sure those parents don’t get it.”

  “Let me see what I can come up with,” Winston said.

  Stuart took hold of his wife’s hand and helped her up from the chair. Fran let out a sob. Do you ever get over such pain? Probably worse than losing a spouse. Tears welled in Winston’s eyes.

  Don’t go there.

  She followed the Newberrys to the front door. Voices murmured from the waiting area. She stood staring at the closed door for a second. Life was hard sometimes.

  “Your two o’clock is here.” Brenda Phillips’ voice interrupted Winston’s thoughts. “She’s here for probate. Name’s Pamela Evers.”

  Winston nodded. “Set up a phone conference with Kimberly Shea as soon as possible. Tell her it’s about a shooting at Carlo’s Pizza a couple months ago.”

  She entered the waiting room. A light aroma of perfume hung in the air. Hibiscus. Seated to the right were two women. The one with dark hair glanced through a magazine, and the other, a blonde, stared at the wall.

  “Ms. Evers, I’m Winston Black.” She nodded at each woman.

  “This is my friend, Trish Peterson.” The blonde stood. “Can she come in with us?”

  “Whatever makes you most comfortable.” Winston led them to her office in the back, Pamela’s gait slow. “Please, have a seat.” Winston motioned with her hand to the two chairs just vacated by the Newberrys. “Would you like something to drink?”

  Both women declined.

  Pamela’s buttoned-down blue blazer stressed her small waist. She was carrying a black briefcase in her right arm and an expensive purse on her shoulder. Straps from a white sling were visible around the back of her neck.

  Ms. Evers dropped into the chair on the other side of the desk, followed by her friend.

  “How did you hear about my office?” Winston asked. She liked to send “thank you” emails to those who referred her clients.

  “From Detective Charles Iverson.”

  Winston raised her head in a nod. She wondered how the JSO would feel about one of their own referring business to her. Not that the sheriff’s office had anything against her, but some might question whether she paid for the referral. She didn’t.

  “What can I do for you, Ms. Evers?” Winston placed her laptop in front of her. Since going paperless, she’d begun taking notes electronically.

  “Pamela, please.”

  “Pamela.”

  “My husband’s life insurance company said I needed some sort of letter to get the proceeds.” She placed a document on the desk.

  Winston glanced at the seven hundred fifty-thousand-dollar policy. “I take it there was no beneficiary.”

  “No.”

  “What you’ll need are Letters of Administration.” She glanced through the form. Standard. “Let me get some information, then we can proceed.” She took down Pamela’s address, phone, and email. “Did your husband have any children?”

  “No,” Pamela whispered.

  “If you don’t mind, how did your husband die?”

  The woman's hands shook. “Two men broke into our house.” Pamela glanced at her friend, but she offered no help. “With g-guns.”

  Jacksonville used to be a pleasant city, but too many people thought they deserved things that didn’t belong to them. And they’d kill to get it.

  Pamela dabbed at her eyes with a wadded-up tissue she held in her palm. A sob escaped her pink-colored lips. “We had just found out I was expecting a month ago.”

  “I’m sorry.” Winston swallowed a lump in her throat. Between Pamela and the Newberrys, this was not a good way to return to work. She swallowed back her emotions and said, “To get started, we’ll need a certified copy of the death certificate.”

  “I
haven’t got it yet. The Medical Examiner hasn’t released his body yet.”

  Winston jerked back. Highly unusual after two weeks, but she wasn’t really sure how these things worked when it came to a crime. “That’s okay. You can get it to me later. Were there any other assets that are in your husband’s name only?”

  “No. Everything had been in my name.”

  Winston tried to hide her dismay. Usually, it was joint or in the husband’s name. Let’s hear it for women’s lib. “How about creditors? Anyone he owed money to?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “We’ll have to publish what’s called a Notice to Creditors in a local business newspaper. It gives unknown creditors ninety days to file a claim or be barred from ever doing so. Once you are appointed personal representative, we’ll transfer the money into an estate bank account. When the ninety-day creditor period is over, and all creditors, if any, are paid, the money can be released.”

  “Okay.”

  “The funeral itself can be paid out of the proceeds of the policy once we receive the assets. Also, any invoices paid on your husband’s behalf, like final doctor’s bills, and attorney’s fees can be reimbursed. You’re also entitled to take a fee as Personal Representative, but it’s taxable, so we’ll go into that once you’ve been appointed, and we determine if it’s beneficial to you.”

  “Exactly how much is this going to cost?”

  Winston had almost forgotten Trish Peterson was there.

  “The filing fee is $415, and publication is $125.”

  “And your fee?”

  It was times like these Winston felt like she was one of those wacamoles where their head stuck up out of the game only to get pounded back down by her fees. But she didn’t need to take any case she didn’t want. She had more than enough money. It just irritated her that others were surprised by how much an attorney charged.

  “Since it’s a simple estate, just getting the insurance, I’ll charge a flat rate of $4,000.” Winston would do the case pro bono because of the death of the child and husband, but the woman was about to get $750,000; plus, her Louis Vuitton purse said she could afford it.

  “Why so low?” Trish asked.

  The question took Winston aback. “What do you mean?”

  “We called another attorney before coming here, and he wanted three percent of the insurance, which came to over twenty thousand.”

  Winston huffed out a laugh. “That’s the statutory fee for an attorney, but I don’t do it that way. It shouldn’t take more than eight hours of work. No attorney is worth thousands of dollars an hour, even me.” She gave Trish a smile, but it did nothing to soften the edges on the woman’s face.

  “And you’ll put this in writing?” Trish raised her chin.

  “Yes, I’ll draw up an agreement. And if need be, I can wait to take the fee from the life insurance proceeds.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Pamela gave a weak smile.

  Trish took a card from the holder on the desk and leaned back in her chair.

  Winston typed a quick note into the computer. “Let me get Brenda started on the documents. We’ll have you sign everything so we can open the estate today. We can do the rest through email, so you won’t have to come to the office until it’s time to close the estate.”

  “Sounds good.” Trish folded her hands in her lap. “Traffic was terrible getting over here.”

  “Yeah, Ponte Vedra’s really grown in the last couple decades. It used to be heading east was a lot easier, but then homebuyers wanted property near the ocean.” Winston stood and walked out to Brenda’s desk. “Have you got the documents drafted?”

  “Just finished up.” She handed the stack to Winston. “I already have a copy of her driver’s license.”

  Seven years prior, when Winston left her former firm to start her own business, she had talked Brenda, her assistant, into leaving with her. It was the best decision Winston had ever made.

  She returned to her office and read through the documents. “Here you go.” She passed them to Pamela. “Make sure everything’s correct.”

  The woman read through the first page of the Petition for Administration. She paused with her pen in the air on the second page. “Under penalties of perjury?”

  “Yeah, you’re swearing that everything is correct.” Winston tried to get a read on the woman. Was she hiding something? “Is there an error in the document?”

  “No. Well, not exactly.” The woman blinked hard, as if hoping the words she needed would form in her mind. “I know this may sound crazy.” Pamela leaned closer as she spoke. “But the man killed in my house wasn’t my husband.”

  ***

  Everyone had gone silent when Pamela made her pronouncement. Maybe she should have kept it to herself.

  “Not your husband?” Winston asked.

  “I swear, he’s not.” She should have taken the money and ran. Hired someone to investigate afterwards. But she was sure that man in the morgue was not Phillip. And it wasn’t like she needed the money.

  Winston leaned forward; her brow furrowed.

  Pamela was sure no one had ever come into the office making such an assertion. No, only her. Any lawyer would think she was crazy.

  “What do you mean, not your husband?” The attorney glanced at her computer screen, then back at Pamela, who’d found something had lodged in her throat. Even though she opened her mouth, no words came out. Only a sob.

  She had to make this woman understand how brutal the attack had been. And why she was so sure the police were wrong.

  The diploma behind Winston’s head blurred in Pamela’s tears. Her crying turned to sobs. Why couldn’t she control herself? But even Trish seemed to think she was crazy. But it wasn’t like Trish understood what it felt like to lose everything. She didn’t know what it was like to stand in a morgue and try to identify a man whose face was missing. And then not recognizing him as her husband. Everyone whispering as if she’d gone insane. But she wasn’t crazy.

  She knew the man lying on that gurney wasn’t Phillip. Deep in her soul, she knew it.

  “Let me get you some water.” Winston disappeared from the room.

  Pamela looked up at the overhead light, remembering the bright lights of the hospital, her body numb. If only she could have shut her mind off as well. Every time she closed her eyes, memories replayed. The gunshots. The pain of losing her baby. Phillip. Everything.

  More tears escaped.

  Trish, her constant babysitter since the shooting, took hold of Pamela’s hand. “It’s going to be all right,” she said. “Just catch your breath.”

  Winston returned with a bottle of water. She unscrewed the cap and handed it to Pamela, who took a swig.

  She wiped her nose and eyes with the tissue in her hand.

  “If you don’t feel up to this,” Winston said, “we can try another day. I don’t want to push you if you’re not ready. You’ve been through a lot.”

  Pamela sucked in a ragged breath. “I have to get someone to believe me.” She looked at Trish. “I know you think I’m wrong, but I’m not.” She turned back to Winston, who’d returned to her seat. Pamela sucked down another gulp of water. Salty tears entered her mouth.

  After a moment of collecting herself, she finally said, “I know I sound crazy, but I’m sure that man killed in my house last week is not my husband, Phillip Evers. The tattoos prove it.”

  Chapter 4

  Winston stared at the woman for a moment. A lot of women didn’t want to admit their husbands had passed. On top of losing a baby, the woman’s denial was understandable. They’d have to wait to continue. It would be unethical for Winston to have her sign the petition if she didn’t believe the man was dead.

  “What do you mean the tattoos prove it?” she asked.

  “Here, look.” Pamela dug through her briefcase and brought out a manilla folder. She handed over the autopsy report.

  “Where’d you get this?” Shocked, Winston held up the report. Some spo
uses had a hard time with the long version of the death certificate, much less the autopsy report. The reality of the report took the pain from the death of a loved one to a deeper level.

  “Let’s just say I bought it from someone.” She turned her face away.

  “They thought I was crazy when I told them this man wasn’t Phillip,” Pamela continued. “But I can prove it. See here.” She pointed to the autopsy report. “It says he has a tattoo of an eagle on his left arm, a circular blue symbol on his back, and the same symbol in purple on his torso.”

  “Okay.”

  “My husband only has one tattoo. On his right arm, not his left.”

  Winston looked over the autopsy report. Medical examiners made note of birthmarks, tattoos, and any other scars as a form of identification. This report made no mention of a tattoo on the right arm.

  “Maybe the M.E. got the wrong arm,” Winston said, knowing it was highly unusual but possible.

  “That’s what the police said, but it doesn’t explain the others. Besides, Phillip’s tattoo is of a tiger.” Pamela dug out a photo from her bag. “Here’s my husband.” She handed over a picture showing a handsome man with brown hair and green eyes wearing only bathing suit trunks. A tattoo of a tiger was clearly visible on his shoulder. “He looks nothing like the man who died. Just look at the pictures with the police report.” She pulled out another document from her briefcase.

  Winston grimaced at the photograph of the dead man; half his face gone. Only his dark hair was clear. She compared it to the other photograph. Both had similar features. Hard to say.

  “Who identified him?” she asked.

  “Trish did. I was in no shape to.” Pamela took her friend’s hand. “But she had spent all night with me at the hospital while I went through surgery, and they only showed her that photo. Besides, she only met him once. It’s understandable why she’d make the mistake.”

  “Do you think that’s what happened?” she asked Trish.

  Trish looked between her friend and Winston. “Honestly. I don’t know.”

  Winston glanced again at the pictures. If this wasn’t Phillip Evers, that would mean someone had screwed up badly at the M.E.’s office. “Could your husband have gotten the other tattoos not too long before he died?”