I was as exhausted as Tommy when I settled the bill.
***
Laura took Tommy upstairs to get him ready for bed. “I’m packing it in, Mom,” she called down little later. “My baby’s telling me it’s been a long day.”
I ran upstairs, and kissed Tommy and Laura good night. Back on the ground floor, I splashed chardonnay into a glass, yet again fighting the misgivings about Sam that were pushing their way into my mind. Had she really turned over a new leaf? Could I trust her with my clients?
I downed the wine in my glass. Then the doorbell rang, and Maxie started barking.
I lifted a corner of the curtain on the living-room window. The hair on the back of my neck stood up when I recognized the man on my front porch. Detective Sergeant Neil Hardy was with Toronto Police Service’s homicide division. His presence at my door meant trouble. Maxie must have sensed it because she started growling behind me.
“May I come in, Ms. Tierney?”
I opened the door wider to let him in. His ginger hair was cropped shorter than he used to wear it.
I pointed to the living room to the right of the front hall. I took a seat on the sofa. Hardy sat in the armchair facing me.
“A man’s been murdered,” he said without preamble.
The faces of friends and colleagues flashed through my mind. “Who?”
“Dean Monaghan was found dead in his office this evening.” Hardy’s sharp blue eyes were fixed on my face.
I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. Dean wasn’t the kind of man people murdered. He was a financial advisor, well liked by his clients, not a mobster or a drug dealer. But what did I really know about him? He was passionate about his work, a conservative investor, a man who appeared to have a social conscience. Were there other sides to him?
“There was an agreement for the purchase and sale of Monaghan Financial on the victim’s filing cabinet,” Hardy continued. “Signed by you and the victim. And dated today.”
That was why Hardy was paying me a visit.
His eyes narrowed. “What time did you and Monaghan meet?”
“We didn’t. I signed the agreement in my lawyer’s office. Ilona Horvath. She sent it to Dean’s lawyer.”
He scribbled in his notepad. “What time did you learn that you owned the business?”
“I got a message from my lawyer at…Let me check my e-mail.” I took my cell out of my jacket pocket.
Ilona had sent me her message at 3:48. I showed it to Hardy. Then I opened the attachment, and showed him that the sale agreement had been signed by Dean and witnessed by Sam.
I was thinking hard. Dean had probably signed the document around three, then sent it to his lawyer, who sent it back to Ilona. I let out the breath I’d been holding. All those e-mails had times on them, and the police would check them out.
“How was Dean killed?” I asked.
“We’re waiting for the coroner’s report.”
“Did you find a weapon?”
His sharp look told me to back off. “I’m not at liberty to say.”
He leaned forward in the armchair. “How well did you know Monaghan?”
“Not well at all,” I said. “I met him a few times with an eye to buying his business. But I liked what I saw of him.”
“Did he talk about anyone he’d had beefs with at your meetings?”
“No one he’d been at odds with. He spoke about his son, Lukas, who is in our line of work. When I asked Dean why he wasn’t passing the business to him, he told me Lukas wouldn’t be a good fit.”
“What did he mean by that?”
“Lukas is a financial planner at a big investment house. Optimum Capital. Dean may have wanted him to have more experience before running his own firm. But I think it was because Lukas worked on commission, and Dean ran a fee-based business.”
“Fee-based means no commissions?”
“Yes. Two completely different business models.”
“Did Monaghan need money? Was that why he was selling his business?”
“If he needed money, he never said anything about it to me.”
“Monaghan speak about anyone else?”
The only people Dean had spoken about at any length were Sam Reiss and Ben Cordova. He’d mentioned several clients who were willing to speak to me, and I followed up with them on the phone. I told this to Hardy.
“You met these other clients?” he asked when I’d finished.
“Ben was the only client I met in person.”
“Why meet with him?”
“He was Dean’s top client. The highest net worth, and a complex financial situation.”
Hardy whistled. “Important guy.”
“I needed to see if I could work with him, and whether Ben would stay on after I bought the business.”
“What did you conclude from your meeting?”
“I can work with Ben, but he may not stay with me. He came right out and told me so.”
“What was his reason?”
“He wants to see what I can do for him.”
I had a question of my own. “Who found Dean tonight?”
“The office cleaners, around eight this evening. He may have been dead for some time.”
“Samantha Reiss, Dean’s assistant, leaves the office at 2:30,” I said. “She tutors kids after school.”
“She knew Monaghan’s schedule—whether anyone was booked for meetings that afternoon. And she knew the cleaners wouldn’t arrive until eight.”
“Sam thought a lot of Dean. I doubt she wanted him out of the way,” I said. “What I meant was that 2:30 would be one end of the window for his murder.”
“Have you met Samantha?”
“I had lunch with her last week. Dean insisted that a buyer would have to keep her on, so I needed some idea of what she was like.”
“You certainly researched Monaghan’s business.”
“It’s what you have to do.”
“What did you pay for it?”
He whistled again when I told him. “You do your homework when you’re spending that kind of money,” he said.
“That’s right.”
He slipped his notepad into his jacket pocket. “We’ll be talking to Ms. Reiss.”
As soon as he’d left, I punched Ilona’s home number into my cell.
“Good God!” she cried when I told her that Dean had been murdered.
“It’s terrible. The poor man is dead. But where does it leave me?” I asked. “What happens to the business I bought?”
There was silence for a few moments at the other end of the line. “This has never happened to a client of mine before,” Ilona said. “But the sale went through; both parties signed the agreement. You own the business.”
I hoped she was right, but my dream of owning my own business was starting to fade.
“I will speak to Dean’s lawyer first thing in the morning,” Ilona said. “Try to get some sleep.”
Chapter Eight
Getting some sleep was easier said than done. After hours of tossing and turning, I switched on the bedside light and reached for my cell. I called up the online edition of CBC, our national broadcaster. And there it was, the top story on its Toronto page: “City Money Manager Murdered.” Dean had been stabbed—I winced when I read that—but the type of weapon wasn’t mentioned. The article said a private funeral would be held later.
I had downed three cups of coffee by the time Ilona called around 10. “In his will,” she said, “Dean left his money to his wife, and his business to his only child, Lukas.”
I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. “But he sold his business to me,” I wailed.
“The will was drawn up 14 years ago, and Dean must have changed his mind about Lukas since then. But he hadn’t updated his will.”
That’s a beef I frequently have with clients. Their circumstances change, they move on to new marriages, have more children, start businesses—but they neglect to update their wills. It can create huge p
roblems for those they leave behind.
“Lukas was still in school 14 years ago,” I said. I had looked up Lukas Monaghan on the Internet that morning. He was now 32 years old.
“And Dean wouldn’t have known then that he was a bad fit for his business.”
“But in recent years he did. He sold me the business because he didn’t want Lukas running it.”
“That’s right, but there’s more,” Ilona said. “Lukas wants the business.”
Her words slammed into me.
“What? Lukas has a job at a major investment firm.”
“He wants to run his own shop.”
“Ilona, do I own this business or not?”
“Lukas is out of luck. The business belonged to you at the time of his father’s death.” She paused. “But if I am not mistaken, he will do his best to contest it. You are in for a fight with this man.”
***
Hardy returned later that morning. “A quick word,” he said when I opened the front door.
Had he come to tell me about Dean’s will? Or something else?
“The coroner estimates the time of death was between two and six yesterday afternoon,” Hardy said when we were seated at the kitchen table.
Would Lukas use the two-to-six window in his fight for his father’s business, even though those times were only estimates? Would he argue that his father was dead well before his lawyer received the document of sale?
“Monaghan’s lawyer received the document of sale around 2:45,” Hardy said. “He looked it over, and sent it to Ilona Horvath.”
I nodded, but my heart was racing.
“And we talked to Samantha Reiss. She left the office at 2:30 as she usually does, after witnessing the document her boss had signed.”
The cleaners found the body at eight, so Dean might have been killed at four or five or 5:30. Long after Ilona sent the document to me.
“The people downstairs didn’t hear anything?” I asked.
“The guy who runs the print shop on the ground floor closed his doors at noon yesterday to attend a family funeral,” Hardy said. “Monaghan didn’t have video surveillance, but we’re looking at video footage from some of the neighboring businesses.”
He cleared his throat. “According to the victim’s will, his son Lukas inherits the business. Lukas Monaghan is pushing to have the signature on the sale agreement analyzed. He believes someone else signed the document and sent it to his father’s lawyer.”
His father hadn’t been dead for 24 hours, but Lukas was already spoiling for a fight over Dean’s practice. I sat up straight in the chair. I could play hardball too. “Sam witnessed Dean’s signature,” I said. “Doesn’t that prove he signed it?”
“Given Ms. Reiss’s background, a court might call her an unreliable witness. We’re having a forensic handwriting analyst look at the signature.”
“How long will that take?”
“A day or two. We’ve told Ms. Reiss not to go into the office. You’re not to go in there either.”
My mind was in overdrive. I had to stake my claim on the business immediately. And that meant reassuring clients that they were being looked after—by me. Some would have heard about Dean by now.
Hardy leaned forward in the chair. “Where were you between 2 p.m. and 6 p.m. yesterday?”
With Hardy, everyone is a suspect until they’re not. “I was at Cinnamon Spa until 2:45, having my nails manicured and my hair styled,” I said. “Then I came back here, had a bath and relaxed. At 5:30, I took a taxi with my son and daughter to a restaurant downtown.”
I held up a hand to forestall what I knew would be his next question. “My daughter didn’t get home until around five, so I was alone here for a couple of hours.”
I gave him Cinnamon Spa’s phone number, and Francesca’s name. But he only had my word that I was at home from three until five.
“You had opportunity, Ms. Tierney. How badly did you want Monaghan’s business?”
“Not badly enough to kill a man for it. Lukas Monaghan wants his father’s business, too. Where was he between two and six yesterday afternoon?”
“We’ve been talking to him.”
What did that mean? Did Lukas have an alibi or not?
As usual, Hardy had the last word. “If the signature is valid and you get the business, you’ll need to find another office.”
“What…?”
“A disaster cleanup squad will be going in. In brutal murders like this one, there is a danger of blood-borne pathogens. The floor will be stripped, probably replaced. The walls and ceiling will be scoured and painted. It could take some time.”
I shuddered. That was why Sam and I had been told not to go into Dean’s office. As Hardy had said, it had been a brutal murder.
But I didn’t have time to dwell on Dean’s gory demise. I needed to look for premises where I could run the business I badly wanted to keep.
As soon as Hardy had gone, I called Coronation Property Management, the company that rented out Dean’s office suite and a number of other business properties in the Annex. Nobody picked up, so I left a message.
Then I called Ilona and filled her in on what Hardy had said. “The idiot considers me a suspect. He thinks I had opportunity and motive.”
“Motive? Horsefeathers,” she said. “You had just bought the business. Why would you want to kill Dean?”
“Well, I had the opportunity. I was at home alone for a few hours yesterday afternoon.”
I paused to catch my breath. “A disaster-cleanup company will strip the floors and scour the walls in Dean’s office. Hardy said it could take some time.”
“Find another office,” Ilona said.
I paced the ground floor of the house. Was I really a murder suspect? I had the opportunity to kill Dean, but no motive at all. And there couldn’t be any hard evidence pointing to me, because I hadn’t been anywhere near Dean’s office on the day he was killed.
Then I focused on my real concern: did I own the business? What if Dean’s signature had been forged? Sure, I would get my money back, but I would have to start looking for another business. I’d already spent money on two business valuations. And I’d set my heart on this particular practice, even if it did include Sam.
I knew I should be reaching out to my clients. Many would know by now that Dean had been murdered. Had he told them he was selling his business? If he hadn’t, some clients might start looking for another financial advisor.
Ilona heaved a dramatic sigh when I called her again. “Pat, I have spoken to Detective Hardy. Copies of the sale agreement and other documents signed by Dean Monaghan, including his Visa card, are now with two handwriting experts. Hardy will let me know as soon as they determine whether there is a match between the signature on the samples and the signature on the sale agreement.”
“What about my clients?” I asked. “I need to contact them. They’ll want to know what’s happening, and whether their personal information is secure. And is it? We don’t know what the killer saw or did in the office suite. Dean may have been killed to gain access to his client files.”
“The police have removed Dean and Samantha’s computers from the office, and they’re going through them. Dean’s paper files and all other paper in the suite will be destroyed.”
“Should I—”
“You are not to do anything, Pat. Get hold of Samantha, and see if she has the clients’ contact information. My assistant will get in touch with them.”
“But—”
“Barry is very good at this. He will reassure them without telling them too much.”
She paused. I pictured her taking a deep breath before breaking into her closing aria. “All you have to do is wait for the handwriting reports. And, while you are waiting, you can check out office rental listings.”
She sighed again. “Please, Pat, let me get on with my work.”
Chapter Nine
I called up Canada411 on my computer. The online phone directory listed several
Reisses, but no Samantha or Sam. Would the police give me her phone number or her e-mail address? I didn’t think so.
I jumped when the telephone rang at my elbow. It was Sam, and she sounded shaky.
“Hope you don’t mind me calling you at home,” she said. “I wrote down the contact numbers you gave Dean.”
“How are you?” I asked.
“I’m…terrible. The bottom’s fallen out of my world.”
Sam had lost someone extremely important to her. Dean had rescued her when she was down and out. He’d been more than her boss; he’d been her savior. “Would you like to meet for coffee?” I asked.
We arranged to meet at a Starbucks in the Annex in two hours’ time. Before I hung up, I remembered what I needed to ask her.
“You witnessed Dean’s signature yesterday on the sale agreement,” I said. “Did he tell his clients he was selling his business?”
“Dean spoke to all his clients. He told them he was selling you the business.” Her voice broke halfway through this.
“He gave them my name?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have the clients’ phone numbers with you?”
“I do. They’re on a flash drive I keep in my wallet. Dean sometimes calls—called—me in the evenings wanting to reschedule appointments for the next day.”
I told her to e-mail me the contact list as soon as she got off the phone.
I sat at my computer until her e-mail arrived. Then I forwarded the list to Ilona.
***
Sam was seated at a corner table, hunched over her cell phone. She looked up as I sat down across from her. “Hey!” she said.
Her red hair was slicked back from her face with gel, and her face was scrubbed bare of makeup. She looked like a frightened teenager in her frayed denim jacket and jeans.
“That cop, Hardy, tore a strip off me last night. And he made me go downtown to be fingerprinted this morning.” She looked at her hands and rubbed her fingertips. “Then he grilled me again.”
I tried to reassure her. “The police need your fingerprints to eliminate them from others in the office. And it’s Detective Hardy’s job to ask questions. He’s trying to find Dean’s killer. What did he want to know?”
Uncharted Waters Page 4
