by David Stever
Patty parked me in a glass walled conference room. One wall overlooked the harbor, and the other wall had a view into the office suite. I waited fifteen minutes before he came in.
“Johnny, sorry to keep you. Thanks for coming.” He was tall, slim, permanently tan, with a full head of thick, silver hair. “First, how’s the beach house?”
“Lots of fix-up, cleanup, but I need the exercise.”
“At least Kelly was cooperative. My second divorce, from Candice, was a nightmare. I’m still paying for it. You want a drink?” He took a bottle and two glasses out of a credenza and poured two short bourbons.
A month ago, Jim handled the legal work when I bought out my ex-wife’s half of a beach cottage we co-owned. “I’m going to make it my hideaway. Maybe move out there someday.”
“Beach hideaway—I need one of those. I got my eye on a pretty little associate we hired right out of law school. She says I’m her mentor.” He handed me a glass.
“Don’t crush her dreams too fast.”
“All part of her education.”
“Uh, huh.”
“Down to business. I have client who suspects her husband of cheating. If he is, she’ll ask for a divorce.”
“You’re doing divorce work?”
“Only as a favor. We went to high school together. Families are old friends. Here’s the thing—the husband’s loaded. So if she wants to go through with a divorce, the negotiations could be endless,” he said.
“And the billing hours.”
“Right. Even with my discount, it will be nice. Strictly pro-bono for now, except for your fee, until we figure out what the husband is up to. Your schedule clear?”
“Wide open.”
“Perfect. Are you familiar with BST—Bellamy Space Technologies?” He finished off his bourbon in one gulp and poured himself another.
“Defense contractor?”
“Yes. Out in the Cameron Road Business Complex. Owned by one Thomas Bellamy.”
“Seen his name in the paper a few times. Charity events and such.”
“He started the company fifteen years ago after making a name for himself in the aerospace community. Developed state-of-the-art technology for GPS guidance systems. Went out on his own, landed a couple of sweet government contracts, and he’s off and running. BST now manufactures navigational components for US military satellites.”
“A sex scandal involving the CEO of a top of a defense contractor. Won’t go over so well with the DOD.”
“Exactly—so keep it by the book. The wife is Mary Ann and she’s one of the sweetest people I know. If she’s right, I want to do right by her.”
“Now you’re scaring me. Compassion? Where’s the cutthroat legal shark who’s always out for blood?”
“Not that compassionate. There’s more to the story. The woman Tom is seeing—allegedly—works for him. Mary Ann is convinced there is more to it than an affair. She’s scared she wants the business, too.”
“Any proof?”
“That’s where you come in. Need pictures, recordings, any other evidence you might come across, plus do a background on the girlfriend, mistress, whoever she is.”
“Do you have her name?”
“Mary Ann will fill you in.” He stood. “Be right back.”
“She’s here?” I said.
“In my office. Johnny, she’s good people.”
“I’ll do my best.”
I helped myself to another splash of Jim’s expensive single barrel bourbon and watched the cranes load containers on the cargo ships in the harbor. A few minutes went by when the door opened and Jim entered with Mary Ann Bellamy. A petite woman with dark hair pulled back from a friendly, round face, large blue eyes, and a wide smile. I figured her to be around fifty. She wore a simple black dress that came to her knees, and low-heeled black pumps, as if she dressed for a funeral.
We went through introductions and pleasantries, and then Jim excused himself. We sat across the corner of the table from each other.
“Jim explained to me what you will do. Part of me is embarrassed and part of me is furious,” she said. “We built a life together and I trusted him. Never thought of not trusting him. Now I sit here with a private detective, wanting my husband followed.”
She had a hard time with the words and her eyes kept going to the floor. I detected the hurt in her voice and she kept her purse in her lap and flipped the handle back and forth as she talked. She sipped at her water, did everything she could to hold back tears.
I opened my notebook. “Mrs. Bellamy, none of this is pleasant, but it happens. I have worked many cases where—”
“It happens?” Her eyes now locked on to mine.
“What I mean is, these cases are more common than you think. I’ve seen all types—”
“Mr. Delarosa, this might be another job for you, but it doesn’t happen to me. Us.”
I let a moment slide by while I did my best to formulate an intelligent response. “I apologize. I’m sure you are hurting, but my experience in these situations, whatever your husband is doing, if he’s doing anything, is—and I don’t mean to sound cliché—call it a mid-life crisis, call it dealing with growing older and the fear of losing our youth…but, it happens. Wives hire me to follow husbands, and husbands hire me to follow wives. I’m sorry it happened to you.”
“So, I’m just another victim?” She sipped the water again.
Could I dig a deeper hole for myself? “Why don’t we first get the facts? I assure you, I work with the utmost discretion. Nobody will know anything about this but me, you, and Jim.”
Her eye caught something through the glass in the outer hallway, and it caused her to glance out a second time.
“Oh, God,” she said. “I know that man.” Two of Jim’s associates, a man and a woman, were chatting in the hallway. She angled her body in the chair so her back was to the corridor. “Tom cannot find out I was here.”
“I’ll ask Jim if there is another office we can use.”
“I want to leave,” she said, with her head down, staring into her lap.
“Can you come to my office?” I asked.
“When?”
“This evening? Seven?”
“Yes.” I gave her my business card and she stood. “Is it clear?” she asked.
I leaned back in my chair to get a view. “They’re gone.”
“Mr. Delarosa, it’s not a mid-life crisis. I’ll explain later.” She hung her purse on her shoulder, opened the glass door, and disappeared into the corridor. I poured a shot-worth more of bourbon.
The attractive and wealthy Mary Ann Bellamy was scared, nervous, and embarrassed. My curiosity, as they say, was aroused.
4
Mary Ann Bellamy arrived right on time at seven. I spotted her in front of McNally’s, checking my business card with the address on the building. She finally ventured inside and stopped at the bar. Mike pointed her to the back and my office/booth. I met her half-way. She had changed from the black dress from this afternoon and now wore a simple button-down cream-colored blouse, blue jeans, and flat slip-ons. Her hair was in more of pony tail and the casual outfit took off ten years. The jeans flattered her; she had managed to hang on to a decent shape at fifty. My guess was a gym membership, personal trainer, tennis, yoga—the benefits of affluence.
“I was looking for an office building.”
“It confuses folks.” I led her to my booth. “Never saw much use for an actual office. Most of my work is referrals. Plus, I have a condo upstairs where I keep files and such. Can I get you anything?”
Her eyes scanned the bar. “I don’t think. I’m not much of a drinker.”
She sat and I slid in opposite her. “Mrs. Bellamy, I realize this is not what you were expecting, but you hired me for my experience, not because I have a fancy office.”
She nodded. “Jim said you’re the best at what you do. I trust his opinion.”
Mike came over and I introduced them. He sat next to her and imme
diately picked up her trepidation. He was an imposing presence and no doubt her sitting in a blue-collar beer joint with two ex-cops was not her comfort zone. “Mrs. Bellamy, Johnny filled me in a bit and I want you to know we are here to help you.”
“Jim didn’t give me any background. Only that you will find what I…what I need to find out.” She blushed.
“We were partners, PCPD, for many years. I retired, opened this place and a few years later, he bought in. He does the detective work and he’s the best in the biz. Trust me when I say you’re in good hands.”
The tall, barrel-chested, redheaded Irishman could be charming and comforting when he needed to be. He took one of her dainty, well-manicured hands into one of his large, meaty paws. “Whatever information Johnny uncovers for you, good or bad, life has a way of working itself out.”
“I hope,” she said.
He let go of her hand and stood. “Drink?”
“Yes, that would be nice after all. Do you have a Riesling? Mosel Valley? Or the Willamette Valley from Oregon?”
Impressive for not much of a drinker.
Mike cocked his head. “I’ll be right back.”
Mary Ann turned to me and smiled. “You were both police officers?”
“Yes, twenty years, and we’ve seen it all. So relax and speak freely, nothing to be embarrassed about. Tell me what happened. When did you first suspect?”
“Six months ago. He became different. Detached. Irritable. I thought it was work pressures. They bid on a new contract and were waiting for the approval. Always a stressful time because his entire business relies on the government contracts. If they go away, then the company goes away.”
Mike came back with drinks. “Best I could do was Napa Valley.” He handed her the white wine and set my usual two fingers of bourbon in front of me.
“Perfect. Thank you,” she said. Mike left and she sipped the wine and savored it for a moment before swallowing. “I needed that.”
“Some liquid courage never hurts.”
The drinks broke the ice and she relaxed and gave me the story. She explained how the company did win the approvals and contracts were signed between BST and the Department of Defense. The new cash infusion improved Tom’s mood but their home life also changed. The new contract required Tom to travel to NASA’s space flight laboratories in Maryland and to visit manufacturers in a few undisclosed locations. “At least undisclosed to me,” she added. “Tom had brought on a new employee, a woman who was some sort of expert in aerospace technologies. A real rocket scientist. The next thing I knew, she was traveling with him to his meetings. Then working much later than he ever had. When I confronted him, he always said the new contract required much more of his time but it would pay off.”
“The woman’s name?”
She took another sip of her wine. “Keira. Keira Kaine.”
“Did you ever meet her?”
“Yes, many times. At first I thought she was a perfect fit for the company. He needed help with research and design, and she came along with all these credentials. Then it became all Keira, all the time. She was all Tom talked about. Keira is amazing. Keira’s ideas are incredible. Keira was the smartest decision he ever made. Keira could charm the pants off a priest. Of course, she’s tall, blonde, beautiful, and confident.”
“Do you know anything about her background?”
“Not much. They met at a conference. She came from the West Coast, I think. He once told me she worked for a competitor. They are together all the time. She goes with him on the NASA trips and to the other labs.”
“Are you sure this is what you want me to do? I’ve had clients who were hell-bent on me finding out everything I could about what the spouse was doing, then when I present the evidence, they get angry with me when I put reality in front of them. Do you understand?”
“I need the truth.” She finished her wine.
“Includes photographs and recordings, if possible.”
She nodded. “I need to know if he is content in destroying our life for…for that woman.”
“Today you mentioned this is not a mid-life crisis. What did you mean?”
“I’m worried about the company. Not too long ago, out of the blue, he mentions giving her part ownership. Said she deserves it. I realize I sound like a jealous wife, but he’s worked too hard to give up any ownership. Anyhow, we ended up in a screaming match and he stormed out. Didn’t come home for three days. Said he checked in to a hotel because he needed time. He was with her.” She held up her wine glass. “Any chance?”
I went to the bar and came back with the bottle and refilled her glass. “Mrs. Bellamy—"
“Mary Ann. Please.”
“And you call me Johnny.” We touched glasses to seal the first-name basis. “Let me go to work. None of this is pleasant, but let’s first find the truth.”
“I feel so hurt and embarrassed. We had such a strong marriage. I can’t believe it.”
We continued with the conversation and the wine allowed her to relax and open up with me a bit. She told me about their son, Adam, who was in his first year of med school at the University of North Carolina. Pre-med and he was their pride. She was afraid to think how this divorce—if it happened—would affect him and the relationship with his father. I was never helpful with words of comfort and consolation, so I leaned back to what Mike said. “Life has a way of working itself out.”
Katie came in and I introduced them and explained how she handled the background research for me. Katie’s upbeat personality kicked in and turned the conversation friendly. Mary Ann relaxed and even laughed at Katie and her quirky goofiness. Katie complimented her jewelry and clothes; they covered fashion, shopping, vacations, manicures, spas and hair salons. I sat back and observed the easy conversation between two women, one a mother and one a daughter, and wondered whether Mary Ann looked at Katie like the daughter she never had. Or, the perfect mate for her son?
Katie grabbed my shoulder. “This man—the greatest boss ever—promised me time off for my vacation. I leave for San Juan in less than a week.”
“You’ll love San Juan,” said Mary Ann. “Just beautiful. Tom and I went there three years ago and…” Realization of the moment stopped her. “Well, you’ll love it.”
We wrapped up the meeting with Katie jotting down some pertinent information vital to us investigating Keira and keeping an eye on Tom. Addresses, birthdates, upcoming business trips, favorite restaurants, and any other information Mary Ann could provide on Keira, which wasn’t much.
I walked Mary Ann to her white Lexus SUV and she surprised me with a warm hug that she held a moment longer than I expected.
“Thank you, Johnny. You made me comfortable and I appreciate it.”
“Do yourself a favor and take a deep breath. I’ll be in touch in a week or so, and you can go from there. In the meantime, stick to your normal routine. Don’t do anything out of the ordinary.”
“I understand. Thanks.” She smiled and climbed in her car.
Inside, Mike stood with his arms crossed.
“Something on your mind?” I went behind the bar and poured a second drink.
“You’re taking a cheating spouse job? Pretty lady and all, but a bit on the routine and boring side.”
“Decent fee on this one. I spent my money buying the beach cottage, now I need cash for renovations.”
“Cyber-security is where the money is.”
“Cyber-security? I can’t even turn on my computer.”
“That’s why you have me.” Katie had come over to the bar and poured herself a draft and parked herself on a stool. “Cool lady. Too bad she married a scumbag.”
“Don’t judge. We need facts.”
“Came off like a rich, lonely wife with nothing to do but snuggle up to a bottle of white wine every afternoon. Husband comes home, nothing happens in the bedroom, so he goes elsewhere. We’ve seen it a million times,” said Mike, with his jaded wisdom. “Johnny, my boy, the door to her bedroom will be wi
de open for you to slide right in. And if you don’t, I will.”
“Sexist.” Katie punched Mike in the arm.
“Whatever, little girl. You’ll see.” She punched him again. “I have work to do.”
He went to the kitchen and I finished off my drink. “First thing tomorrow, start full backgrounds on the Bellamys, the company, and Ms. Kaine.”
“I will, but we need to wrap this one up fast. My—”
“—your vacation starts in four days. Believe me, I know.”
5
The North Shore community is an upscale confluence of mini-mansions on two-acre lots, with each house backing to a fairway of the North Shore Country Club, a thirty-six hole layout with swim and tennis, spa, and a clubhouse with a pro shop, two lounges, and a four-star restaurant. Affluent living at its finest, fifteen quick miles from the center of downtown Port City. It was the land of perfectly manicured lawns, backyard pools, and three-car garages stocked with expensive cars. Private schools are not a luxury; they are the norm.
Tom and Mary Ann Bellamy lived on Lark Way, a winding, tree-lined road that ran parallel between the fourteenth and fifteenth holes. The Bellamys’ house backed to the fourteenth fairway; the homes on the opposite side of the street bordered the fifteenth. Fifty yards from the Bellamy house, I found a narrow dirt access path used by the golf course maintenance crew that snaked through the trees from the street to the course. Backing in, it gave me a concealed observation point. I drove my BMW Z4. I usually employed my Buick LeSabre for surveillance, but in this neighborhood, the LeSabre would be more conspicuous than the Z4. The kink in my plan would be if the grounds crew needed to access the road. It was six thirty a.m. and the goal was to record Tom’s morning routine, snap a few pictures of his car, follow him to his office, and possibly catch a morning Keira Kaine rendezvous.
