Sticks & Stones (A Hollis Morgan Mystery)

by R. Franklin James

  “What happened?”

  “He left me alone.”

  Hollis mentally racked her brain for the right question to ask that would push open the door to her nagging feeling that something wasn’t right about Cathy’s article.

  “Joe, the photos you told me about earlier, do you remember where you shot them?”

  “No, sorry I don’t re—”

  “Wait,” Hollis broke in, “wouldn’t you put it on your calendar or appointment book? Couldn’t you check that?” Hollis’ voice rose.

  “Yeah, yeah, I can look there.” Joe moved to his desk and picked up his calendar book. “Let me see, the first photos were taken right before Mardi Gras, because afterwards I went to New Orleans. Cathy insisted they had to get done before I left. So that’s February ….”

  He flipped pages and ran his finger down a column. Hollis practiced being patient.

  “Here, here it is. Outside the Remington Building. I remember now.”

  Hollis was confused. “The Remington Building, that’s the one in the financial district? Who did Cathy want you to shoot?”

  Joe rubbed his chin. “You know it was strange. She just told me to be out front and out of sight. Starting at one-thirty, for the next thirty minutes I should take shots of whoever came out of the building. So I did. Less than ten minutes later these three guys come out talking and gesturing. I could tell there was some kind of argument. I used my zoom lens from across the street.”

  “Would you recognize them again?”

  “Maybe … but maybe not.”

  Hollis could feel her frustration rising.

  “You couldn’t hear them at all?”

  “Just a word here and there, nothing that made any sense. I took about a half dozen shots. But I remember Cathy was pleased when I turned them over.”

  Hollis made notes on a pad. “Was Wade Bartlett one of the men on the steps?”

  “Nah, him I would recognize.”

  She put her pen and paper away. “Thanks, Joe. I have another favor to ask. If I came back with some photos, could you let me know if any of them are of those men who stood on the steps arguing that day?”

  He shrugged. “I could try.”

  Hollis made her way back to the car, running through a checklist of suppositions. Something told her that Joe’s photos held the key to Cathy’s death. If Cathy’s story about Fields wasn’t what it appeared, there might be another story, a bigger story that Cathy somehow stumbled across. Suppose she had gotten close to the truth—only it was nothing she was ready to reveal that night she came to ask for Hollis’ help.

  Suppose there was another story—a deadly one.

  CHAPTER TWENTY – FOUR

  Sitting across the polished walnut table in the Transformation conference room, Dorian Fields appeared more like a kindly grandfather than the plaintiff in a libel case. Wade Bartlett sat next to Dorian. He gave Hollis a nod and flashed a smile.

  Hollis sat next to Mark, who was to Carl Devi’s right. Polite small talk was quickly dispensed with.

  Fields was the first to speak. “Let me understand, Mr. Devi, you’re offering me a deal where if I accept your so-called offer, you’ll pretend this whole thing was a … a mistake. Do I have that correct?” Fields’ brow wrinkled and his white-gray eyebrows knitted together. “Clearly you have your own doubts. I read your retraction. It was well done and for once had kernels of truth.”

  Devi glared. “No, that’s not correct. You accept this deal and what we publish will only focus on your poor business practices and questionable oversight.” Devi practically sneered. “We haven’t come out with our most damaging findings. You’ll be an outcast. Your donors will dry up.”

  Hollis and Mark exchanged worried glances.

  Fields was seemingly unfazed by Devi’s comment. With a small smile, he flipped through the settlement agreement.

  “Well, you know what?” Fields tossed the pages on the table, scattering them in front of Devi. “You can keep your agreement. I’ll have no part of it. Fields of Giving does good works. It has real people who count on it every day to be there for them. You can come at me with your lies, but it will not stop me. You can’t prove a thing. But rest assured, I will continue to take my case before a jury, and it will be you, Mr. Devi, who will regret this ill-conceived strategy.”

  Carl Devi stiffened, his face turning a deep red.

  “Then I can promise—”

  “Goodbye, Mr. Devi.” Fields stood and started to move toward the door. “Mr. Haddan, Ms. Morgan.”

  He and Bartlett were gone.

  Hollis and Mark said nothing.

  Devi stayed silent until he reached and gathered up papers. “Well, Ms. Morgan, I guess we owe you for setting us up for this catastrophe. Transformation cannot fight this suit. We have little to no defense.” He replaced the cap on his Montblanc pen. “You and Haddan have wasted thousands of dollars trying to defend your friend from shoddy reporting, and as a coup de grace you pawn off a preposterous idea that clearly will not pass muster.”

  Mark leaned over. “Wait a minute! That’s uncalled for. We tried to help, and Hollis did a great job of follow-up and follow-through. Those centers on that list you gave us left us with a lot of questions. We had a fighting chance at a settlement. If your negotiating skills and bedside manner turned them off, it wasn’t our fault.”

  Carl Devi stood. “Just send us your final billing. I see no need for us to meet again. We can take things from here.”

  Hollis sat, stone-faced. She gave a little shake of her head to Mark when he started to block Devi’s exit.

  She turned to him. “Mr. Devi, I am a professional and I assure you that if there was any evidence to substantiate Cathy’s story, we would have found it.” She swallowed. “No one wanted to find that evidence more than I. You’re right; Cathy was a friend. However, the fact is your legal team let that original article get published without hard proof.”

  “I’m not going to play the game of pointing fingers with you, Ms. Morgan,” he snapped. “If you are as professional as you say, you’ll accept responsibility and move on. We chew up lawyers like you. Oh, that’s right, you’re not a lawyer yet—or maybe just not a good one.”

  “Wait a minute,” Mark objected. “I was the attorney in charge. I’m the one who should have known better. The responsibility is mine.”

  Carl Devi raised his eyebrows. “You’re right. You’re incompetent, too.”

  He slammed the door behind him.

  Mark began, “Hollis—”

  “Mark, don’t. I’m a big girl. I’m not going to say he didn’t get to me, but we let our feelings for a friend blind us to the facts.” She sighed. “Cathy didn’t have a story she could support with facts.”

  Mark was silent. They packed up the papers and files into their briefcases.

  He turned to her. “We could both use a drink. Unless you agree to come to dinner with Rena and me, I’m going to keep on trying to cheer you up.”

  Hollis held up her hand to silence Mark and went over to the receptionist. “Excuse me, can I get a copy of Transformation’s latest annual report?”

  Anti-social Phil, who was madly texting, pointed over to a magazine stand in the corner. “You can find last year’s over there. We won’t have this year’s for another month.”

  “Last year’s is fine.” Hollis smiled.

  Mark came up to her. “What are you doing? Why do you want a Transformation magazine annual report?”

  “I have a long-shot of a hunch.”

  “Let me know what it is before I have to bail you out of jail.” He shook his head. “Now, will you come to dinner with Rena and me?”

  “I’ve got to take care of Stephanie.”

  “I’m suggesting dinner, not a vacation.”

  Hollis gave him a small smile. “That sounds like something I would say.”

  They had decided on a mutually acceptable Italian restaurant in North Beach, not far from downtown San Francisco. Hollis tried to be compa
nionable, but too much had happened over the last few days and she knew her mood was glum. Dinner was quiet and soon over.

  Rena looked from Mark to Hollis and put her final forkful in her mouth. “Okay, do you guys want to talk about this or are we going to end the evening in the cellar?”

  “Sorry,” Hollis said. “I told Mark I wouldn’t be good company.”

  “Hey, I admit we’ve had a few tough weeks,” Mark said, “but we gave it our best shot.”

  “Let’s change the subject. Don’t you get your bar scores soon?” Rena asked.

  Hollis nodded. “Not soon enough. That’s all I need, to bomb there too.” She sighed. “You guys, I’ve got to go home. Stephanie still can’t get around that well.”

  Rena shot a look to Mark.

  “Okay, we’ll take you home,” Mark said. “But you should know that it was Stephanie’s idea to take you out to dinner. She said you’re getting on her nerves.”

  Hollis gave a gentle tap on the bedroom door.

  “Who is it?”

  Pushing the door open, Hollis walked into the room and sat on the end of the bed. “Very funny. How are you feeling? What’s all this?”

  “I couldn’t be better.” Stephanie peeked over the rim of her glasses and pointed to a stack of pages beside her laptop. “This, Ms. Morgan, is the stash you took from Cathy’s apartment. You know, the window sill safe.”

  “I don’t understand. How did you ….? And you are doing what with it?”

  “I didn’t mean to pry but you left it on the coffee table.” Stephanie smiled. “What can I say? I’m a forensic technician; there’s nothing for me to do all day and I’m nosy.”

  Hollis picked up the top article. “I wasn’t able to make the Fields connection, so I think this was going to be her next story.”

  “Then that makes sense. Most of this stuff is about Transformation exposés. I did a little research of my own; they were all later recanted or settled. I couldn’t find any that linked to Fields’ non-profits.”

  “I know. I checked for them too.”

  “I always knew they had to be getting sued for all the crazy stuff they printed.” Stephanie pushed a paper toward Hollis. “So I did Internet searches and found out what I could about the paid-out dollars, but Transformation attorneys are smart enough to ask for a settlement so they don’t go to court, and they don’t have to tell you how much it cost them.”

  “I know. I got to experience that moment.”

  “I don’t know how they can keep it up. Their subscriptions can’t bring in that much.”

  Hollis dug into her tote and tossed Transformation’s annual report on the bed. “My thinking exactly. What do you think is going on?”

  “Well, according to court documents, so far Transformation offered a total of six million last year in settlement claims, and I found another two million this year. They must be self-insured; I can’t imagine an insurance institution would take on that claims record.”

  Hollis frowned. “Those numbers are confidential. How did she, or you, find out the payments?”

  Reaching over to her nightstand, Stephanie picked up a tissue and wiped the lenses of her glasses. “Like I said, I’m a forensic tech. I tracked the original suit number to the closed court file. I’m assuming she did the same.”

  Hollis squeezed her eyes shut; the day was moving into overload.

  “Wait, are you sure Cathy knew about the claims?”

  “See these sketches? They’re of CEOs, financiers, and politicians. It took me a minute—well, a long minute—to figure it out, but these are people Transformation had written about over the past five years, and the magazine had publically promised to delve even deeper for a ‘real scoop.’ ” Stephanie put up her fingers in mock quotes. “But instead they settled.”

  “But Cathy didn’t have access to closed court cases.” Hollis sat straight up. “Wait, I know. She probably sneaked into Transformation’s accounting office.” She glanced down the sheet. “Hey, I know this lady. She’s on one of those receipts in Cathy’s stack.”

  Hollis’ mind was doing somersaults as another picture was forming—a picture that made much more sense and could be proved. “Stephanie, you are fantastic.”

  Stephanie shrugged and then winced. “Ouch.”

  Hollis stood. “I’ve neglected my nurse duties. Are you hungry? Need a pain pill?”

  “No, Nurse Betty, I’m fine.” Stephanie laughed. “Actually, when I go for my checkup next week I’m going to ask the doctor for a return-to-work slip.”

  Hollis leaned against the door jamb. “And I need to return home.”

  “Don’t. Having you around is helping me heal.”

  “I hope so. But I need to deal with my own life issues.” Hollis shook her head. “I’m the reason you’re in this position in the first place. You took that bullet for me.”

  Stephanie feigned a look of dismay. “Rats, I’ve always wanted to say that. Look, stay here at least until I get my release from the doctor,” she said. “You wouldn’t abandon an invalid, would you?”

  Hollis smiled. “I guess I—”

  “Good. Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. Your detective called. I told him you were out to dinner. He said he would call back.”

  Hollis felt herself blush. “He’s not my detective.”

  “Sure, whatever.” Wearing a knowing grin, Stephanie lay back down on the pillow and almost immediately fell asleep.

  Hollis straightened the room. Then she wrote a brief note indicating she was running errands and would return in an hour. After dashing home, she gathered the mail and enough clothes for another couple of days. Other than bills and a couple of ads there was nothing important.

  Still, it felt good to be back. Hollis hadn’t expected to feel apprehensive about returning home after the shooting. She refused to feel like a victim, and she had missed her own nest. She could help Stephanie just as well by dropping in on her.

  She went through the condo, making sure everything was locked up. But she could not help but notice that it was time to clean out her refrigerator. She liked a clean home. Her condo needed a major going over, but over the past few months, her studies had supplanted any free time. As always, her best thinking happened while she was doing mundane tasks. Throwing away mystery leftovers was as far away from Transformation as she could imagine. She emptied the vegetable drawer, which had formed the beginnings of a mold colony.

  In the dining room she paused. The table gleamed with filtered light from the shutters. Maybe it would be nice to fix dinner for a few friends. She could keep it real simple. They wouldn’t have to stay long.

  A slow smile crept on to her face. She finally had a plan, and that always put her in a good frame of mind—a plan to nail a killer.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Morton Photography opened at ten a.m. on Wednesdays. Hollis intended to be there shortly thereafter. This time, if she were right, Joe Morton would identify Cathy’s and Gail’s murderer. She wondered briefly if she should contact Cavanaugh with her suspicions, but just as quickly she discarded the idea. He wouldn’t appreciate how she got the dots to connect. Afterward, if she found the proof, he would be the first to know. She’d learned her lesson about interfering with police work.

  When Hollis left Stephanie that morning, she was happily talking to her family on Skype. She had to make a quick stop at her condo before going to see Joe; she had left her cellphone there the evening before. It was definitely time to return home.

  The doorbell rang.

  It was her neighbor, dressed in cycling gear, helmet in hand. Hollis thought her name was Donna, or Lana? Something ending in an “uh.” Maybe Tanya?

  “Hi, I’m Christy. I live across the street. I accidently got your mail, but I’ve been out of town for the past two weeks and didn’t pick up my mail until today. Hopefully it’s not anything important.”

  The young woman handed her two envelopes and a postal attempted-delivery slip. Hollis glanced through the material quickly.


  “Thank you. It’s just routine bills.” She raised the slip. “And I guess I need to go to the post office.”

  “Sorry.” Christy waved goodbye and took off at a modest trot.

  Hollis called out a thank you and closed the door.

  The post office was not far from the photography studio. Hollis glanced at the clock. First, the quick stop at her condo to pick up her cellphone. After seeing Joe, she’d stop by the post office. If he could identify the pictures, she wouldn’t have to depend on the thumb drive.

  Joe was late opening the studio.

  Hollis kept a lid on her irritation while she waited, gazing out the car window to pass the time. It was one of her favorite weather days—foggy, cool and silent. She had been so intent on solving Cathy’s clues, she had almost neglected to notice her favorite weather. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. A noise caught her attention; Joe was opening the studio door.

  He turned on the lights as she entered, the bells tinkling over her head.

  “Hey, what’s up?” he called from behind the counter.

  “Hi Joe, I have those pictures for you to look at,” Hollis said. “I’d like to see if you can recognize them as the men you saw that day in front of the Remington Building.”

  He beckoned for her to sit. “Sure, give me a minute. I’m on my own. Amber isn’t coming in today.”

  He opened blinds and turned on lights. Finally he sat next to Hollis on a counter stool.

  “Okay, let’s have a look.” He pushed aside a stack of digital card readers spread out on a work table behind the counter and turned on a desk lamp.

  Hollis pushed a folder and let its contents slide out onto the table.

  There were three pictures, two from magazine articles and a third from an annual report.

  He examined one. “I don’t know, maybe.” Joe took a closer look then put it aside.

  “Just take your time.” Realizing that she was holding her breath, she took the one back.

  He picked up the second article. “Yeah, now this guy looks familiar. It’s been a while, but I think he’s one of them. Wait.” Joe slipped on his eye glasses. “Yeah, I remember seeing them together on those steps. Let me see the first one again.”