by Dave Daren
I made the short walk to the receptionist’s desk, where a thin blonde man with wire-frame glasses was stabbing at his computer keys while he talked to someone through his headset.
“That just won’t work,” the receptionist insisted. “It’s got to be the larger conference room.”
The man looked up at me for a moment then sighed at whatever the response from the other end had been.
“I’ll call you back,” he stated. “Just get it sorted.”
“I’m Vince Creed,” I announced when I saw him end the call. “I have an appointment with Mr. Dunleavy.”
“Oh, the new Glorious Gloria attorney,” the young man declared. “I’ll let him know you’re here. Would you like some water?”
“I’m good,” I replied.
I wandered away from the desk while the receptionist started another conversation on the headset, though this one was considerably quieter. A quick perusal of the magazines on the coffee table showed a mix of very old magazines with a few more recent issues. I picked up one that featured the latest doings on The Bachelor, then set it back down. I moseyed over to look at a framed photograph of Sentinel Falls in Yosemite. It was a beautiful shot that captured the rugged path of the seemingly endless cascades that comprised the falls.
“Yosemite was created for photographers,” a voice behind me stated.
I turned around to see an older version of the man I’d seen in all those TV ads so many years ago. His dark curls were white now and his face held more wrinkles, but he was otherwise the same. His father, Marshall Dunleavy, had been one of the few black lawyers in town when he started the Dunleavy firm, and he’d survived more than a few attacks against himself and his family. Patrick had dealt with his own share of racial tensions as well and I had to wonder what would make a man like that decide to drop a client.
“Come on back, Mr. Creed,” Dunleavy said after we shook hands. “My son Alfonse is in court today so I’m afraid you’ll only be able to speak with me.”
“Did you handle much of the case?” I asked as we walked past the receptionist desk and down a short hallway.
Dunleavy led me to the office at the end and closed the door behind me. The office wasn’t much bigger than my own but it had a nice view of a rooftop garden on the building next door. Dunleavy waved me into one of the two guest chairs in front of the desk before taking a seat in the very comfortable looking chair on the other side.
“I did a fair amount of the paperwork,” Dunleavy finally replied. “But Alfonse took most of the meetings. He was just out of law school and it seemed like it was going to be a straightforward case. I thought it would be a good way to get him some experience, especially with clients.”
“So why did she come here?” I asked. “It seems like there would be plenty of attorneys a little closer to home.”
“I just figured it was a cost issue,” he replied. “I’m not cheap, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not nearly as expensive as those gents near the Hills. I also handle almost any kind of family law case.”
“And most of those gents near the Hills just handle divorce,” I finished for him.
“Exactly,” he agreed. “It happens every now and again so there was nothing unusual about it. How about you?”
“She said she picked me after seeing my name in the paper,” I replied.
“All perfectly normal,” he said with a nod. “Nothing to send up any red flags. But I’m guessing you’ve had a few run-ins with the other interested parties, judging by your bruises.”
“I have,” I agreed. “And more keep popping up.”
“I don’t know what I can tell you that you don’t already know,” he sighed. “We had the Coast Guard report, we posted notice of our action in the local papers, and we established that there hadn’t been contact since he disappeared. You couldn’t ask for a simpler case.”
“How long before that changed?” I asked.
“Nothing happened right away,” he said. “Hell, like most legal proceedings, it was completely ignored. We got a spot on the docket and I figured we were set. But then I started to see these young thugs hanging around outside this building and around my home. They never approached me or anything, but you’d see them just standing there, watching you.”
“That’s unnerving,” I observed.
“I’ve been at this long enough to know trouble when it comes around, and those kids were trouble,” he agreed.
“Did you call the police?” I asked.
“Now, come on, son,” he laughed. “I know you know the deal. A black man calls the po-lice on some Latinos hanging out on the corner? What do you think they’re going to do?”
“Nothing,” I admitted.
“Well, wasn’t anything for the cops to do,” Dunleavy added. “Those thugs were pretty careful to stay on the right side of the law.”
“But it didn’t stay that way,” I guessed.
“As I said, I’ve been at this for a while,” he agreed. “I’ve been in my share of knife fights. I got fed up one night and confronted one of the little bastards in the parking lot. Asked why he and his buddies were always hanging around.”
“Did he tell you why?” I asked.
“Told me ‘the gringa knows’, then punched the shit out of me,” Dunleavy sighed. “I still got a good jab, and I landed some solid blows, but that little punk could move. He knocked me on my ass and he might have kept going if Alfonse and Raymond, that’s my other son, hadn’t stepped out of the office and seen what was happening.”
“Could you tell if he was with one of the gangs?” I asked.
“Nah,” Dunleavy said as he shook his head, “but I was able to pick his picture out of the police mugshots.. Found out then he was part of the Reyes Dorados.”
“So then what happened?” I prodded.
“My sons had called the police and the ambulance, and I ended up spending the night in the hospital,” he replied. “God awful place. They kept waking me up every two hours to take my vitals or hand me more pills. I haven’t had such a poor night’s sleep since Raymond snuck into the neighbor’s pool and nearly drowned when he was six.”
“I’d be happy if I never had to go to another hospital ever again,” I agreed.
“Ain’t that the truth,” he proclaimed. “Well, next morning rolls around and I’m waiting for my discharge papers. My wife is off somewhere trying to figure out what they did with my clothes when two authority figures come into my room.”
“Not cops?” I clarified.
“Definitely not cops,” he stated. “FBI, it turned out. They demanded that I turn over everything I had on Matthew Burke. I refused, of course.”
“Attorney client confidentiality,” I noted. “Sort of.”
“Exactly,” he replied. “Told them everything they needed to know had been filed with the court. Including the fact that he was lost at sea and presumed dead. I think they would have stayed there all day, harassing me, but my wife returned with the doctor, and she threatened to call security.”
“Good for her,” I declared.
“I spent two days at home, mostly just catching up on my sleep,” he continued. “Third day, I convinced my wife to let me come into the office for the morning, just to check on the boys. I promised we would meet for lunch and then I would head back home with her to watch Judge Judy. Lord, she loves Judge Judy.”
“Doesn’t everyone?” I laughed.
“So, I get here, go through my stack of paperwork and Alfonse comes in, looking very unsure of himself,” he continued. “Now, Alfonse has never been unsure of himself a day in his life, so I know something bad is going on. Alfonse tells me that there’s been a motion to deny our request made in the Burke case. I’m flummoxed, because the only other relative I know about is the daughter and she didn’t seem inclined to challenge her mother on the issue. Imagine my surprise when Alfonse tells me it’s the FBI.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, “they’re still hanging around the case as well.”
“Judg
e Campbell is just as confused,” Dunleavy said with a nod. “He calls a conference to ask what the hell is going on. He’s got the Coast Guard statement in his hand but the attorney for the FBI says he’s got proof that Matthew Burke is still alive. That was it. Campbell told us to sort it out and come back when we were ready. Well, I sent a request to the FBI, asking for any information on the whereabouts of Matthew Burke. They told me it was an ongoing investigation.”
“So they didn’t send you anything?” I asked.
“Not a thing,” he agreed. “I was all set to head back to Judge Campbell to demand the Court order the FBI to turn over their evidence when I get a notice from the clerk’s office saying the matter’s been closed.”
“Who closed it?” I prodded.
“Gloria,” Dunleavy replied.
“Gloria,” I repeated in surprise.
“She went down there herself, without consulting me first,” he continued. “Told the clerk what she wanted to do and asked how to do it. Told the clerk I was no longer her attorney, which was news to me. I called her up as soon as I found out and asked what was going on. She told me she’d received death threats at her house. I told her we needed to go to the police with those. I also told her we needed to keep on with the case. We argued about it for a bit, and then I finally told her I couldn’t work with a client who wouldn’t take my advice.”
“A mutual break-up,” I mused.
“Something like that,” Dunleavy agreed. “Though I will say that both the Feds and the gangs disappeared as soon as she withdrew her petition.”
“They got what they wanted,” I noted.
“It was a frustrating case, and to be honest, I still have no idea what the hell was going on,” he replied.
“I’m not doing much better,” I admitted. “I’ve got three gangs sniffing around, plus the FBI, and a whole lot of money unaccounted for.”
“Figured it was money,” Dunleavy sighed. “I know the man handled a lot of it. But how are the gangs involved?”
“The FBI thinks he was laundering money for them,” I replied.
“Well, that’s well outside my purview,” Dunleavy admitted. “I wish you luck. I can send you an electronic copy of our file, though I don’t know what good it will do you.”
“That would be great,” I replied. “Just one question. Did you ever see any of the letters that were sent to Gloria?”
“No,” Dunleavy stated. “And as far as I know, she never went to the police with them either. Why do you ask?”
“Gloria told me she had no idea that anyone was watching her and Perrin,” I explained. “And she definitely never mentioned any death threats.”
“There are a lot of half-truths and outright lies floating around out there,” Dunleavy mused. “I don’t envy you trying to sort them all out.”
“What about the new guy, Geoffrey Dalton?” I added. “Did you ever meet him?”
“Didn’t know there was a new guy,” Dunleavy replied.
“She says she wants to marry him,” I explained.
“Can’t help you with that,” he said. “She told us she was just trying to get access to some of the money Matthew had left behind.”
“Right,” I sighed. “Well, thank you for your time.”
“Let me know if you need a hand with anything,” Dunleavy remarked as we both stood up. “I’ll admit that I’m curious now to see how this plays out.”
“So am I,” I admitted.
Dunleavy walked me back to the waiting area, where we shook hands again. The receptionist was still wrapped up in a discussion about conference rooms, but he managed to spare me a nod as I left. I made my way back to the elevator and spent the ride downstairs trying to match Dunleavy’s story with what I already knew.
I scanned the street as I stepped outside, but there was no sign of any lurking gangsters. I retrieved the Honda and did a quick check of the phone before heading back to the office. The only thing of interest was a text message from Ari asking me to call.
Ari’s secretary answered the phone first, but Ari’s voice quickly overrode hers.
“Thanks, Lakmi, I’ve got this,” Ari insisted.
There was a click and then it was just the two of us on the line.
“New secretary,” I noted.
“Beth started her maternity leave today,” Ari replied. “Lakmi’s one of the floaters from the pool. She’s pretty awesome though.”
“When are you taking her to dinner?” I laughed.
“If only,” Ari sighed. “But she has a husband, and he’s really big.”
“Ah, well,” I replied. “Better luck next time.”
“Listen, are you still trying to find your guy in Mexico?” he asked.
“I am,” I said as I perked up.
“I think I have someone who can help you,” he replied. “He does work for the firm a lot, most of it south of the border. Why don’t you and Sofia meet us for dinner?”
“I’ll need to check with Sofia, but I can certainly be there,” I stated. “Where and when?”
“I’ve got a meeting out your way this afternoon,” Ari mused. “There’s that really awesome ramen place on San Fernando in Burbank. We went there a couple of times with your parents.”
“Kopan,” I replied. I hadn’t been back since the funeral. Kopan had been one of their favorite places and one of the few restaurants outside of Van Nuys they had been willing to visit despite the drive.
“That’s it,” Ari agreed. “Seven okay with you?”
“Seven would be great,” I said.
I hung up with Ari and stared at my phone for a moment. I still had pictures stored on my phone of our last family visit to Kopan. It was right after my law school graduation, and we had taken over three tables, trying to squeeze in all the friends and family that my mom had invited to dinner that night. My dad had taken me aside near the end of the evening and told me he was the proudest father in the world. I hadn’t been able to say anything, and I’d wrapped him in a bear hug to let him know how much I appreciated everything he’d done for me.
The phone suddenly rang in my hand, and I nearly dropped it under the seat in surprise. I checked the number and realized it was Gloria.
“Mrs. Burke,” I said as I answered.
“Oh, God, Vincent,” she wailed. “They’re here again.”
“Who’s there?” I demanded as I pictured gangbangers collecting in her front yard.
“The FBI,” she sobbed. “They’re going through the house.”
“Did they give you a warrant?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said, “and it says they can go through everything on the property.”
“I’m on my way,” I assured her. “Just hold on until I get there.”
I sent Sofia a quick text, letting her know I was on my way to Gloria’s to deal with a new FBI warrant and inviting her to dinner with Ari. Then I put the car in drive and pulled out of the lot. I ran through my options and finally settled on Laurel Canyon as my fastest route. Despite the hairpin turns and periodic stoplights, it wouldn’t be as busy as the interstate and it would dump me out in Studio City not too far from Gloria’s house.
I took the curves faster than I should have, but my Honda hugged the road as well as any sports car. Lucky for me, the traffic along the road was minimal, especially once I hit the stretch of high-priced homes. Studio City was still quiet and I pulled onto the side streets and headed up into the hills.
As I turned onto Gloria’s street, I could see the small fleet of cars pulled up in front of her house. The neighbors who didn’t have to work were out in their front yards, watching as FBI agents moved in and out of her house. Gloria was standing next to the rock with a very familiar body.
“Agent Smart,” I called out as I joined the growing collection of people.
Both Smart and Gloria turned at the same time and watched me approach.
“Here’s the warrant, counselor,” Agent Smart said as she handed me a sheet of paper.
I
skimmed the warrant, not really expecting to find any issues. I nodded when I was done and then walked Gloria away from the crowds.
“What did they say they were looking for?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Gloria replied as she watched one of the agents carry a box from the house and place it in the trunk of a car. “That blonde one who gave you the warrant kept talking about Matthew’s accounts. What accounts? It doesn’t make sense. They already have all of that information.”
“They’re on a fishing expedition,” I replied. “They’re hoping they might find something that will lead them to the money that’s still missing.”
“What money?” Gloria demanded as she turned to look at me.
“They think he stole money from the gangs he was laundering for,” I explained.
“I don’t have anything like that,” she huffed. “You’ve been through the files.”
“I have,” I said. “And I agree, there’s nothing mysterious about it. Although, there is the trust.”
“He started building that up years ago,” Gloria declared.
“The date on the documents was just a few months before he disappeared,” I pointed out.
“Pffft,” Gloria replied with a wave of her hand. “He wanted to update it because Perrin was getting older. He was also worried because he hadn’t reviewed it with a lawyer in years. He was afraid it might not pass muster under some of the new tax laws.”
“Do you know which attorney handled that for him?” I asked.
“Jim LaBatt,” she sighed. “And yes, the Jim LaBatt who passed away last year, and no, I don’t know who’s handling his files now. Somewhere in the house I have a card with that information, but I have no idea where it is. I certainly won’t find it after they get done.”
“I take it Special Agent Smart already asked about the trust,” I remarked.
“That and every other account that has Matthew’s name on it,” she agreed. “Can they really do this?”
“The warrant’s valid,” I replied. “Though they clearly judge shopped. The one who signed off on this is notorious for granting agents and police officers a lot of leeway when asking for warrants.”
“Maybe I should move to Mexico,” Gloria sniffed.
