by Dave Daren
Chapter 1
The wildfires had been burning for days in the hills that surrounded the city. Van Nuys wasn’t under threat, but the air had turned dark and stagnant. The office AC had made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a death rattle, and I’d finally turned it off and opened up any doors and windows that hadn’t been painted shut by my overzealous handyman. Sofia Calderon, my paralegal and sometime paramour, had arrived at lunch time, armed with a pair of overstuffed burritos from the Mexican place downstairs and an old circulating fan that looked like it had been pulled off the scrap heap from a building demolition.
“At least the air is moving,” Sofia had commented with a wink when she caught me scowling at the fan. “And it won’t suck up as much power as that air conditioner you keep freezing me with.”
I had to grin at that one. “Maybe you should wear heavier clothes.”
She waved off my suggestion with a graceful hand before depositing one carne asada burrito, a vegetarian tamale, and a cold cerveza in front of me. “Do you really want to see me in some bulky ski jacket?”
“I like to see you in anything,” I replied as I took in today’s ensemble. She was wearing a sunflower yellow dress that made her skin glow which had a neckline just low enough to leave you wondering what lay beneath the rest of the dress. It showed off her curves without being obvious about it.
Sofia sat down in the guest chair with a martyred sigh and then tore into her burrito with all the gusto of a lioness taking down a zebra. I still hadn’t figured out where the food went or how she burned it off, but she swore that her daily run was more than enough to keep her trim. Whatever she was doing, I couldn’t argue with the results.
We spent the rest of our lunch discussing the various clients we had at the moment. It was mostly small matters, and while they helped pay the bills, a part of me was still hoping for another good adventure, like the Bernardi case. Sofia was as well; she loved the challenge of tracking down information, but the biggest challenge she’d dealt with recently had been helping a client pick through thousands of pounds of paper to find the mother’s will. The client swore up and down that she had no idea her mother’s hoarding had taken such a terrible turn for the worse, but neither Sofia nor I had really believed that one.
The afternoon moved slowly, and I was set to call it quits early, when I heard the office door open.
“Is this the attorney?” a woman’s voice asked doubtfully.
“It is,” Sofia replied. She sounded positively cheerful.
“Oh, good,” the voice replied. The potential client sounded more self assured now. “This is the man who took on the yakuza?”
“We helped our client recover her company,” Sofia agreed.
“Then I’m in the right place,” the woman replied.
“How may I help you?” I asked as I stepped into the room. Curiosity combined with boredom had won out, and I decided to investigate this newest matter first, rather than letting Sofia do the vetting. Sofia shot me a knowing smile as I appeared in the doorway.
“Well, it’s a family matter, I suppose,” the woman replied. I placed her in her early 50’s, with artfully streaked hair and perfect skin. The glow of her tan was a shade too even to be sunkissed, and her face was suspiciously unlined, but she looked good.
“Why don’t you step into my office?” I invited.
“Thank you,” she said as she walked past me. She eyed the guest chairs suspiciously, and then dusted one off before taking a seat. I returned to my spot behind the desk, just as Sofia entered with two cold bottles of water and set them on the desk.
“How we may help you today, Ms… ?” I prodded.
“Mrs. Burke,” she declared as she picked up one of the bottles and examined it. Apparently, it didn’t pass her test, as she set it back down without opening it. “My name is Gloria Burke. As I said, I have a family matter. Well, matters, I suppose. It’s all connected.”
“Okay,” I encouraged. “What is it you’d like to accomplish?”
“I’d like to marry my fiance, Geoffrey Dalton,” she replied.
“Do you need a pre-nup?” I guessed.
“No,” she sighed. “You see, technically, I’m still married.”
“Technically,” I repeated. I was already planning how to gracefully decline the case. I’d handled one divorce case so far, and had no desire to handle another one.
“Yes,” she replied. “My first husband was Matthew Burke. He was a wonderful man.”
“Was,” I emphasized.
“Was,” she agreed with a nod. “He disappeared six years ago.”
“Disappeared how?” I asked. I pictured a buxom secretary that had convinced Mr. Burke to head for greener pastures down south somewhere.
“He was a fisherman, you know,” she said. A distant look had settled on her face, and a small smile tugged at her mouth.
“A fisherman,” I repeated. I had a hard time picturing this carefully coiffed woman on the arm of a fisherman.
“Not professionally,” she quickly assured me. “Matthew was an investment manager.”
“Ah,” I replied. That made more sense.
“But he loved fishing,” she continued. “He spent a great deal of his time on the weekends out on the water. We all did, I suppose, though I never took to fishing the way Matthew did.”
“And six years ago?”
“Matthew had been having a tough week at the office,” she sighed. “We hadn’t planned to go out that weekend. In fact, I was scheduled to take Perrin to music camp. Matthew was supposed to finish some projects around the house while I was gone. But, as I said, he’d had a rough week. He decided he needed time to just relax, so he took the boat out.”
“Was anyone with him?” I asked.
“No,” she replied. “That was unusual for him, but I think he just wanted some time to himself, so he could think, without having to entertain anyone.”
“What happened next?” I prodded.
“A storm came up,” she said. “A rather nasty one. Of course, no one realized he was missing until I returned from dropping off Perrin. I was back by Sunday afternoon, and I didn’t think anything was odd about him not being there. I was annoyed, truthfully, because none of the chores were done. I had a good head of steam worked up, ready to chew him out for not doing anything over the weekend, but by Sunday evening, I was really worried. I tried calling his friends first, but none of them had seen him or heard from him.”
“When did you discover the boat was missing?” I asked.
“One of his fishing buddies mentioned that he had gone to the marina to do some work on his boat, and he’d noticed that the Reel Investment wasn’t there,” she explained.
“The Reel Investment is your boat,” I clarified.
“Yes,” she agreed. “I checked around the house then, and I realized he must have left not long after Perrin and I had. Matthew liked to stay out, but he wouldn’t stay out for two days alone. I called the Harbor Master, just to make sure the boat was still gone, and then I called the Coast Guard.”
“Did they find anything?”
“They found the Reel Investment, drifting,” she said quietly. “It had run out of fuel. Matthew wasn’t on board. The Coast Guard theorized that he was washed overboard during the storm, and the boat had just kept on until there wasn’t any fuel left.”
“Well, this should be easy enough,” I replied. “We’ll need to run an ad and establish that no one has had any contact with him since the accident. The court will have a hearing, but I don’t foresee any problems.”
“Ye-es,” Gloria stuttered. She picked up the water bottle again, and performed another examination of the label. Still unsatisfied with the results, she returned it to its spot on the desk. “This is where it
becomes complicated.”
“How so?” I asked.
“You see, I attempted this last year, just after I met Geoffrey,” she said.
“Okay,” I commented when she didn’t continue. “You had a problem proving he was dead?”
“Another party stepped forward to challenge my request, and I expect they’ll do the same again,” she replied. “It’s very annoying, because they didn’t offer any proof, just speculation. It’s very hard to move on with my life when no one will just let the court declare him dead.”
“Who is this other party?” I asked. Typically, some other family member would step in, but the only other family member she had mentioned was the daughter.
“The FBI,” she huffed. I know I had a blank stare on my face when she said that. It certainly hadn’t been the answer I was expecting.
“The FBI,” I repeated.
“They have some inane theory that he faked his death,” she explained. “They didn’t offer any proof, just some vague accusations. As if Matthew would just abandon his family. Do you have any idea how hard it’s been for the two of us?”
I shook my head, my mind still sorting through the implications of taking on the FBI.
“There was money in our joint accounts, of course,” Gloria continued, “And Matthew had set up an investment trust, which has been paying a small monthly income, but it’s been tight. I earned my real estate license, and we’ve done all right on that, but I had to sell the boat, and some other property. Matthew would never have wanted us to scrape by like that.”
“Scrape by,” I murmured.
“Exactly,” she declared, and I had a pretty good idea of what she meant when she said scraping by. “Perrin had to attend college on a partial scholarship. And I gave up several memberships. Oh, and the cost of upkeep on the house. I had to cut back on the weekly visits by the lawn crew, which did not go over well with the HOA.”
“Well,” I replied, uncertain what else I could say.
“And then I read about your exploits in the paper,” she added. “Taking on the Japanese mafia. I knew you were just the person to take on the FBI.”
“About that,” I interrupted as she prepared for another monologue. “Why is the FBI even involved?”
“I have no idea,” she snapped, and I could see the anger flare in her eyes. “They said they were investigating certain investments, and that was it. No other information forthcoming. I believe they made some claims about an ongoing investigation. As if Matthew would consort with common criminals.”
“Did they talk to anyone else about this investigation?” I asked.
“Who knows,” she sighed. She puffed up her cheeks, and then slowly exhaled. I could almost see her doing a slow count to ten in her brain. “It’s ridiculous. I just want to move on with my life. I’ve spent five years mourning Matthew. I can’t do this any longer. I need closure.”
Her anger had faded as she spoke, and I saw the telltale brightness of a tear in the corner of her eye. I handed the box of tissues to her, and she pulled several from the box. She dabbed at her eyes, and then drew another deep breath.
“We may have to take on the FBI directly,” I said when she finally looked at me. “We could demand any information they have on Matthew’s whereabouts.”
“That would be good,” she replied, and I saw the flame rekindle in her eyes. “I need to know what they supposedly know.”
“It won’t be easy,” I added. “And it may take some time.”
“I need to have this settled,” she sighed. “That’s all I want. If I have to steamroll the FBI to do that, then that’s what I’ll do. Are you with me?”
I couldn’t hide my smile. Usually, I was the one giving pep talks to the client. Part of me was still hesitant about taking on the FBI again, and I had a feeling that Gloria had sensed that. But I had been hoping for another interesting case, and this was the most exciting thing to walk in the door since Anna Bernardi had come into my life.
“I’m with you,” I agreed.
Gloria didn’t exactly smile, but she sat up a little straighter and gave me a nod of approval. I made the usual speech about drawing up a contract for her to sign, assured her that we would start right away, and then walked her to the door. She shook my hand and nodded to Sofia, before turning on her heel and marching down the walkway toward the stairs. She looked like a force of nature, and I actually felt sorry for the FBI.
“Well,” I said as I closed the door and turned to face Sofia.
“Good case?” Sofia guessed.
“We get to take on the FBI,” I replied.
“Again?” Sofia teased. “This is becoming a habit with you.”
“I think a phone call is in order,” I declared as I retreated toward my office.
“Agent Smart’s going to stop taking your calls,” Sofia called after me in a bantering voice. “All you ever do is walk all over her cases.”
“I’ve given her plenty of information,” I replied defensively. I closed the door on Sofia’s laughter and settled behind my desk. I dialed Agent Smart’s office number, expecting to get her voice mail, or maybe a night receptionist who would inform me that Special Agent Tabitha Smart had already left for the day.
“Smart,” came the short response after two rings.
“Oh, you’re still there,” I said in surprise.
“Vincent Creed,” Agent Smart sighed after a moment. “What can I do for you today?”
“I have a new client,” I began.
“Oh, no,” Agent Smart huffed. “Who is it this time? A mob boss? A bank robber?”
“Gloria Burke,” I replied.
“Burke,” Agent Smart said, and I could hear the surprise in her voice. “Matthew Burke’s wife.”
“That’s the one,” I agreed. “She wants to have him declared dead.”
“Again,” Agent Smart pointed out.
“She mentioned that the FBI protested her actions last time,” I continued. “I’m curious as to why.”
“She didn’t tell you?” Smart hedged.
“She said you guys were a bit vague, that you were convinced he was still alive, for some reason,” I replied.
There was a long pause, and I thought that she had hung up on me. I was about to redial when I heard what sounded like a chair squeak in the background.
“It’s not my case,” Smart finally said. “It’s with the White Collar guys.”
“White Collar,” I mused. “So they think he was doing a little hanky-panky with his investments?”
“There might have been complaints from some of his clients,” she admitted.
“But you won’t tell me which clients,” I prodded.
“You know I can’t,” she replied sharply. After a moment, she added quietly, “He had a lot of clients, some on the books, some not.”
“Maybe a few guys you know,” I guessed. Agent Smart worked primarily RICO cases, which meant mafia guys of every stripe. If white collar had asked for her help, then Burke’s off-the-books clients were probably tied to one of the families. It would explain why the FBI was so interested in his case.
“Maybe,” Agent Smart agreed.
“I still don’t understand why they’re opposed to having him declared dead,” I replied. “It’s been six years. If he did have any information, it surely wouldn’t be very useful now.”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Agent Smart sighed. “White Collar is still looking for him. They’re convinced he faked his own death.”
“How?” I asked, genuinely puzzled. “He was lost at sea during a storm. The Coast Guard found the boat drifting in the Pacific.”
“It’s surprisingly simple to pull that off, if you have the resources,” she replied. “All I can tell you is that there’s reliable information that he survived the storm and made it to land.”
“We’re not talking about some super secret agent,” I protested.
“Vince,” Agent Smart sighed. “Don’t underestimate this guy. He’s clever, i
n his own way. Especially when it comes to his survival. How much did Gloria tell you about his background?”
“Not much,” I conceded.
“He grew up on the wrong side of the tracks in some podunk town in Texas,” she replied. “By the time he was sixteen, he’d already been arrested multiple times for bar brawls.”
“So how did he end up as a financial advisor to the wealthy?” I asked.
“As I said, he’s smart,” she explained. “He hit eighteen and he apparently cleaned up his act. Enrolled in the local community college, earned a degree, and then sweet talked his way into the business school at USC.”
“But you don’t think he cleaned up his act,” I suggested.
“He realized anything he did when he turned eighteen would follow him,” she said. “I think he just got smarter about what he did and how he did it.”
“And Gloria?” I asked.
“He met her at USC,” she replied. “She comes from the usual upper middle-class family, always trying to make that move into the elite, but never quite making it. They shared that interest, at least.”
“I still don’t see anything that screams criminal,” I pointed out.
“Just be careful,” she said. “White Collar’s pretty thorough. If they think this guy was into something, then he probably was.”
She hung up then, and I leaned back in my chair to contemplate what she had said, and what she hadn’t said. So far, all I had were vague accusations that Matthew Burke might have been working the books for the mafia or some similar criminal organization. But looked at from another angle, he sounded like the American Dream. He had pulled himself up by his bootstraps to go from poor kid to successful businessman. Either way, his wife deserved some closure. She could probably file for a divorce on the grounds of abandonment, but I suspect there might be financial considerations to that she wouldn’t want to occur. I still didn’t see why the FBI should be allowed to interfere with her claim, and I was determined to help her move on to the next stage of her life.
Chapter 2
Sofia was already at her desk by the time I arrived at the office the next morning. Thick smoke enveloped the city overnight and caused all kinds of traffic nightmares. Even the short drive from my apartment had looked like a scene from one of those old horror movies, where the eerie fog rolls in off the moors. I gave her a questioning look as I stepped inside.
