"You look like the cream-only type."
Elizabeth accepted the cup with a nod. He was right. The coffee was fresh with just the amount of cream she liked. "Thank you," she offered.
"Find anything interesting?"
She shook her head. "I didn't really expect to," she told him, holding back the information that she didn't really want to find anything damning about James, just something to tell her why he would resort to embezzlement. Why she thought it was related to the accident she didn't know. "I do have some questions."
"Shoot," he said with a nonchalant shrug. He slid into the worn leather chair behind the cluttered desk.
"There's nothing in this file to warrant it being in a locked cabinet, why hasn't it been archived with the rest of the records? Or is this case still open?"
Detective Robinson sipped the hot liquid before answering. Elizabeth thought it was a technique he'd mastered to slow down the pace or buy himself time when he was deciding how best to proceed.
"No case is ever closed if new evidence comes to light," he said. "The files in that cabinet," he pointed to it. "are my personal files. Every cop has them. Their the kind of files which report the facts, but down deep inside the officer knows there's something that's not finished. It's like getting up from a chess game just before you put the other fellows queen in check."
"You think there's more to the accident than is written here?"
"Not the accident."
"Then what?"
Detective Robinson came forward in his chair. He gave her a penetrating stare. Elizabeth withstood it, realizing he was again using a practiced technique.
"Are you sure you want to hear this? Most people who say they want to know everything have no idea what they're asking."
Elizabeth thought about that. Her pulse increased. She felt the pounding begin in her head and knew another headache was eminent. She'd loved Claire and James more than any other person on earth. The detective might know things Elizabeth would rather not hear, but in the last three years, she'd speculated and wondered. She'd refused to open Claire's files, living in the dark and refusing to see the truth. She wasn't doing that any longer. Weighing the difference between knowing and not knowing, she thought it was better to know, good or bad.
"I want to know," she told him.
He paused again, all the while staring straight at her. Elizabeth held it. He got up then and went to the cabinet. This time the folder he handed her was thick. Papers stuck out of the sides in a haphazard array. Elizabeth wedged the coffee cup onto the edge of the desk and accepted the file.
She read in silence. It was all here. The files in her apartment, copies of them were in this folder and more. James's bank account records were here. Transfers between several accounts showed deposits and withdrawals within days of each other. Large amounts were moved. Elizabeth calculated the amounts in her head. Everything time she did the number $650,000 popped up. Finally, she uncovered mortgage loan papers. Again, $650,000. James mortgaged his house. Why would he do that? Then she found the repayment of the business accounts, Christmas Eve three years ago, the day after Claire's funeral.
"I don't understand," Elizabeth said aloud. She talked to herself, but Detective Robinson didn't know that and answered.
"Neither do I," he said. "Why would a man take his own money, transfer it to his business in a group of small business accounts and within a three month period mortgage his house? Why would we find an account in Barbados with his name on it; an account with several deposits adding up to $650,000 that was opened and closed in the same three month period."
Something about the tone of his voice told Elizabeth he didn't believe the facts of the folder.
"You think this is a frame?"
"As perfect as if he'd sat and had the artist paint it."
Elizabeth hated to ask, but she'd resolved that she had to know the truth. The detective eluded to it yesterday in her shop. "Who do you think the artist was?"
She was subjected to the long stare again. Just as Elizabeth was about to scream at him the man answered her question. "Claire Gregory."
Elizabeth thought she had prepared herself for the answer, but hearing Claire's name made her head reel.
"Claire was my sister. I knew her, better than anybody. She wouldn't do this."
The detective sipped his coffee. It must be cold by now. Elizabeth looked at her cup. The powdered cream thickened on the top of the coffee leaving a circular pattern that fascinated her. She wanted to concentrate on the rings, but the detective broke into her thoughts.
"I can't prove any of this, but what I think happened is your sister got into you fiance's account and started transferring small accounts. She only used accounts that have no activity for over a year. No one would notice the amounts or the accounts for a while. By the time they did she'd be clean. All roads or should I say files would lead to James Hill. She covered herself, by setting up an account with his name on it. If anyone found out he'd be in the hot seat, she'd be uninvolved. The transfers took place during the early hours of the morning."
Elizabeth remembered the dates and times. "It's not unusual for stock brokers to work at odd hours. Like the British Empire the sun doesn't set on world markets. They're open twenty-four hours a day." She attempted a lightness she didn't feel.
"I thought of that, but Barbados is in the same time zone as we are. There would be no need to transfer funds at three o'clock in the morning."
"He could have been also transferring funds from Japanese investments and the Japanese stock exchange would be open and operating at that hour."
Before Elizabeth finished her explanation the detective was already shaking his head.
"We checked all transfers at that hour. Nothing else happened except the ones to the bank on Barbados."
"It didn't have to be Claire. There are other brokers with access to the office and computer code keys."
"That's where my story falls short. I can't link Claire Gregory with any of the transactions." He paused. "I checked everyone in that firm. They come up squeaky clean. James Hill is to be congratulated on his ability to amass so many honest people in one place."
"But..." she prompted.
"Your sister," he said matter-of-factly. "Claire Gregory has no record, no arrest, no convictions, but word on the street paints a blacker picture. She was a petty con artist. After her death we sealed her apartment."
"I remember." It was several days before Elizabeth was allowed inside.
"While we checked into her background we found a diary."
"What diary? I was never informed of a diary."
"It was more like an appointment book. Ms. Gregory had made notations in the margins. The notations led us to the real Claire Gregory."
Elizabeth didn't like the way he said that, but he held her tongue.
"For years she'd...appropriated funds from one mark or another." Elizabeth notice his hesitation. "I have a list of businessmen, some more prominent than others. None of them would go on record. They wanted the entire mess swept under the rug."
"I don't believe you."
"That's your right, Ms. Gregory." He didn't react to her outrage. He got up and for a third time went to the file cabinet. Opening the draw he extracted a single envelope and handed it her. "The amounts of money were small to the marks," he continued as if he'd just remembered his train of thought. "The embarrassment to their good names would be more detrimental than allowing her to get away with it. So they did."
He handed her the envelope.
Elizabeth accepted it. Staring at the unaddressed envelope she turned it over in her hand and looked up at the man in front of her.
"Is there anything else you're going to pull out of that cabinet at the strategic moment?" Her voice held annoyance. She didn't care. She was annoyed. Annoyed at Claire and all the damage she'd done. Even if what the detective said wasn't the complete picture of her sister, there was enough evidence there to create doubt in anyone's mind.
Elizabeth opened the envelope. All doubt disappeared. He'd held the trump card until last. Inside were two unused airline tickets. One to Barbados and another from Barbados to Grand Cayman Island. Claire's name was on each ticket.
"We didn't live well growing up," Elizabeth floundered, thrown by the tickets she held in her hand. "We rarely had enough money to pay the bills."
"But somehow it was always there; the tuition payments, money to send you on the trip abroad your junior year, a designer dress for homecoming parties--"
"Claire got that dress because the woman she was working for didn't want it. She told me." Elizabeth's voice rose.
"I'm sure she did. It was her settlement."
"You're lying."
"I told you most people don't want to hear the truth."
Elizabeth hung her head. He had to be wrong. "Claire wouldn't have done any of those things. Why would she want to frame James? He'd given her the job, let her have responsibility which she deserved. James told me Claire had a real flare for picking the right stocks."
"Your fiancé was just became another mark to her, but with him the money was big time. The carrot was too big to ignore. He covered up for her, just as all the others had done. I imagine his relationship with you had something to do with that."
Elizabeth dropped the tickets inside the folder and closed it. It lay heavy on her lap. The detective's last words made several pieces of the mystery she'd found in the files fall into place.
"He mortgaged his house to replace the money she'd averted. How he convinced the SEC he had nothing to do with insider trading and misuse of corporate funds is beyond me. But he did it." Elizabeth heard the unspoken respect in Detective Robinson's voice.
"You would have stopped it wouldn't you?" Elizabeth said, more as a statement than a question. "If the SEC had turned James over to the police you'd have used this file." Elizabeth tapped the heavy package lying on her legs.
He nodded. "Despite the way law enforcement is viewed by the general public, Ms. Gregory, we want justice done. In my opinion James Hill is a respectable businessman with his clients interest at heart. Prosecuting him for a crime he didn't commit would be abuse to the system I've vowed to protect and serve."
"So why do you still hold onto this file?"
"In my business, I've seen serpents rear their heads long after everyone thought them dead and buried. There's no statute of limitations on fraud. I keep it as a safeguard."
To the principles in which he believed, Elizabeth finished for him. She stood up. "Thank you, detective." One last time she looked at the file, then handed it to him. "Thanks for all your help."
Elizabeth left the office. The detective looked after her. Elizabeth didn't turn back, didn't see him resume his seat and write "closed" on the outside of the manila folder. She didn't know he walked to the grey cabinet and placed the file in the bottom draw where only seven other files resided, all with the word closed written on them in the detective's distinctive scrawl.
Her life had change irrevocably in the last half hour. James hadn't done anything wrong. Why had he let her believe he had? Why hadn't he explained that he had never stolen $650,000; that he'd been replacing money that Claire had--.
Elizabeth choked on the word.
Chapter 9
"You just stood there, not saying a word and let her accuse you of a crime you didn't commit?"
James sat slumped in his chair listening to Theresa accuse him of being a fool. He was a fool. He wanted to tell Elizabeth the whole truth, but he couldn't. Mark had told him how sad she was, how Christmas upset her every year. When he'd seen her he only wanted her to be happy. His proposition for her to change her holidays from bad memories to good ones had been offered in earnest, yet he'd been the reason she would now forever view this time of year in the worse light. He felt helpless. What could he do?
He lifted a paper on his desk and stared at it, but saw none of the writing on it. He dropped it.
"What was I going to say?" he asked, more to himself than to Theresa.
"You could have told her the truth. Elizabeth is a big girl. She can take it."
Theresa's eyes were enormously expressive. Her words made his actions seem inadequate. James shrugged. "It was never my intention to prove my innocence or guilt to Elizabeth."
"Why not? You are in love with her, aren't you?" Theresa stood up and came around the desk. "Don't you know she can never fully trust you unless she knows the truth about you and Claire?"
"Yes," he said, answering both questions.
"Then why didn't you let her know about the money?"
"I suppose I would have told her last night if she'd opened the door, but this morning as she sat in that swing, I knew I couldn't tell her the truth. She was in mood to accept it."
"James."
Theresa's voice was more compassionate than he'd ever heard it. He looked up at her.
"It's time. Both of you have put your lives on hold for three years. All because of Claire's lies. It can't go on. Elizabeth has to be told."
He knew it was the truth. For three years he'd been miserable. The last seven days had been like heaven, then finally on the eighth day everything had fallen apart. He couldn't go on like this and he couldn't let this relationship end the way it had three years ago. This time he didn't have the SEC and the police waiting in the wings, looking at everything he'd done since he joined this firm. He didn't have his partners wondering about the truth of the accusations. This time more was at stake than going to jail. He'd gambled on giving the SEC only enough information to clear himself, keeping Claire's name out of it and with Theresa's help, they'd played a hand that won.
His life with Elizabeth was a much more important ante.
***
Elizabeth drove around in a daze. She needed time to think, put things in order, make some kind of sense out of the information she'd just read and heard. The crawl of the traffic didn't bother her, she had no particular destination in mind so going slow wasn't a problem. She did call Joanne to say she would be late, but her intention was to skip most of the day. Other than Detective Robinson picking up his invitations, there was nothing the young girl couldn't handle. Joanne told her she'd had two calls. One from James Hill, and the other from Theresa Simmons. Elizabeth promised to return the calls and rung off. Not yet, she thought. She wasn't ready to speak to James, but that time would come. She had to...to what? she asked herself -- apologize. She'd accused him of being a theft and he hadn't denied it, why? Yet she knew better now.
Why would he remain quiet, let the SEC rake him over the coals, look into every aspect of his company without a defense? It didn't make sense. Claire was the thief. She coughed at having to admit it. Deep down she'd always known, but time after time she'd told herself Claire was working hard to provide for them; the money she got whenever something important came up was legitimate income. Today, any blinders she'd had on had been ripped away by Detective Robinson and his "always open" file. Claire had used James's identification code. She'd transferred funds to the Barbados bank and James had found out. Why did he let Claire get away with it? Why hadn't he told her? Elizabeth knew why. She was the reason. James hadn't only been protecting his reputation, but hers as well. Any mention of Claire's involvement would have destroyed Invitation to Love. In a government town, the hint of scandal was enough to ruin a business. To have her name linked to the commission of a crime would kill her credibility.
Two hours later Claire found herself in the parking garage under James's office. His car set next to an elevator on the third sub-level. Parking in the first space she found, she got out. Her knees cracked, protesting the amount of time she'd remained in one position. Stretching she closed the door and headed for the elevator. A huge green arrow ran around the wall ending at the double doors. A laughing crowd exited the small room when the doors opened. Elizabeth heard the last man sing a line from Jingle Bells. It was nearly noon, most people would be leaving for lunch. The office would be empty. She acknowledged the
small amount of luck.
James's secretary's desk was vacant when Elizabeth reached it. Strangely enough no one had stopped her. A few people gave her a curious glance, but she appeared to know where she was going. At his door she raised her hand to knock, but the sound of Theresa's voice stopped her.
She needed to speak to James alone. He'd protected her from the truth about her sister for three years. She wasn't sure what she'd say to him, but she needed to say it when they were alone. Using stationary on the desk, she wrote a quick note, found a confidential envelope and stuffed it inside. On the front she scrawled his name and as unobtrusively as she'd arrived, she left.
When James knocked on her door later that night she was as nervous as teenager awaiting the arrival of her first date. She busied herself since arriving home with straightening the apartment and practicing what she'd say. She'd lit the gas fireplace, plugged the tree in, made herself coffee and changed clothes three times. Elizabeth finally decided on a circle skirt of charcoal grey and a red sweater with a large collar. she hung god earrings, James often admired, in her ears. On her feet she wore her highest heels. At least his size wouldn't make her feel meek. Apologizing would be difficult enough.
She swallowed hard when she saw him. She took his overcoat and hung it in the hall closet. He wore a navy blue business suit although his tie was gone and his shirt collar was open.
Elizabeth hadn't given him any idea why she wanted to see him, but he'd come anyway. She smiled tentatively, glad last night hadn't made him too angry to return. The papers that had littered the floor twenty-four hours ago had been gathered and stacked into a neat pile.
"Can I get something to drink?"
"Do I smell coffee?"
Elizabeth nodded. "It's hazelnut," she said as she went to the kitchen.
She returned minutes later with a tray. Silently she poured the gourmet liquid and passed him a cup. They sat on opposite sides of the room facing each other.
"You must think my behavior a bit strange," she started. "I'd like to apologize."
One Christmas Night (Capitol Chronicles Book 6) Page 9
