Mystery and Suspense:The Tipping Point: A mystery thriller full of intrigue about greed, fraud and murder... (International Mystery: Book 1)

by Walter Danley

  “Inspector, will you contact the other investigators and collaborate with them? I think it is an easy conclusion to assume our murdered partners were targeted by a person or persons dedicated to the destruction of our firm. The company wants to understand why these murders were committed and who is responsible. We also want protection for the remaining partners. Personally, I am scared to death and feel my life is at risk, or those of my remaining partners and their families. Your leadership with the other law enforcement agencies and combined resources will expose the truth. Nothing could be more important to our partners’ families and our company than seeing the guilty parties brought to justice.”

  “You bet I will. Thanks for the contact info. I’m sure the other jurisdictions will want to have what we’ve got. It sure can’t hurt to have more eyes on the prize.”

  Wainwright put the inspector’s business card in his shirt pocket. “Thank you for your time and efforts for the Keating family, Inspector.”

  The couple left the CHP office building and got back in the rental car. Wainwright reached for the ignition key, and before dropping the transmission into gear, turned to Lacey. “Sweetheart, would you mind if we make another state agency stop while we’re right here?” He turned left out of the CHP parking lot.

  “It’s okay with me. All I wanted was to be with you anyway, so if it has to be in state offices, I’ll just accept that and dutifully follow along.”

  “Tell me people in Boston don’t talk that way!”

  “Speaking of the way we talk, I’ve noticed a hint of Midwest in your speech patterns. Where are you from originally, cowboy?”

  “You know I live in LA, at the beach. Why?”

  “No reason. It’s just that as much as we care about each other, we don’t know that much about each other’s upbringing. When I noticed your speech sounded like you grew up in the Midwest, I realized we should spend some of the time we’re together filling in the blanks. Is that okay?”

  “You know, babe, it is going to be so much fun getting to know you. I want to know everything there is about you,” Wainwright said. “Of course. It’s just the last thing I want to talk about when I’m with you is me.”

  “Where are we headed?”

  “I want to check some real estate records. We’re off to the Franchise Tax Board. They’ll have abstracts of title on their computers for all the fifty-eight counties that make up this beautiful state of California.”

  “Work, work, work. You never get too far away from it, do you?”

  “I need to find out about Keating’s assistant, BJ. Her different versions of employment history are suspicious.”

  “Are you convinced she was involved with fraud? But how can you check on her?”

  “Some things don’t add up. She told me she lived in her condominium for seven years, but she told Tommy she worked in Chicago up until about three years ago. I want to see the title records on her place to figure out which is true. If she lied about the condo, then there are more questions that’ll need to be asked.”

  After inspecting title records, Wainwright and Lacey drove back to the Sherwood. BJ’s house was purchased for cash three years earlier. The Avery Dannenberg Family Trust held the title, with an address in Freeport, Grand Bahama. That was a strange twist, and one he hadn’t anticipated. While there, they checked on BJ’s reported divorce, supposedly three years earlier, but there was no divorce recorded for a Barbara Joyce Dreaver. In fact, he could find no marriage for her, either. Dreaver might not be her married name, but if it was, that was three lies. How many others had she told?

  Lacey was quiet and snuggled close as he drove. “Hey,” he said, “you sure have gotten quiet. Everything all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay. I’ve just been trying to take in all the stuff you guys are dealing with. I guess you could say I’m having an empathy funk.”

  Wainwright chuckled. “Funk? Is that a legal term?”

  “No, but it should be. It is what I’ve been going through today. Robert’s service was a great first act, then this stuff about your ex-girlfriend.”

  “I didn’t know the term is called funk. I was thinking more along the line of deep doo-doo. That’s how we say it to proper Bostonian ladies, being the gentleman that I am,” Wainwright joked.

  “You are a gentleman, Garth, and a wonderful man and cherished friend to Tommy and Shirley. And you were to Robert, too,” Lacey said. “I don’t know if you are aware of it, but I share their opinion. You and I have grown closer in the last several months, Garth. I think we’re both close to the same place—affectionately speaking—aren’t we?

  “My most important goal—that is, before I met you—was to become managing partner of the law firm in Boston. But now, all that has changed. I’ve thought long and hard about this. Anyway, with that as background, I’ve been exploring with my manager the feasibility of a transfer to our LA office. It’s a smaller operation than Boston, but he thinks I can grow our business practice here.”

  “Babe, that’s fantastic! If you get the transfer, we could be together much more, even all the time. This bi-coastal crap has been a burden for us both. I’m so happy you’re considering a move,” Wainwright said.

  “It’s not for sure yet. My managing partner has a bit of politicking to do before he gives me permission. If he doesn’t, I’ve decided to quit the firm. I’ve been on the periphery of all this stuff you and Tommy are struggling to unwind.” Lacey was thoughtful for a moment. “One way or another, I will move out here to be with you. And I could be of some help on the CapVest mess, I think. Maybe, if you solve this, you could save the firm. It’s feasible, isn’t it?”

  “From your lips to God’s ear. I sure hope it is.” Wainwright sighed.

  “Honey, as I said, I’ve been thinking a lot, and here is the rationalization for my executive decision to move to LA, with or without permission from the practice. Number one, or, I guess, in LA it’s Numero uno: I want to be with you. This bi-coastal romance isn’t cutting it for me, either, and you and Tommy need some help, particularly after losing Robert. I have the credentials to help. You know that before corporate law, I was an assistant DA for Suffolk County. I’ve investigated and prosecuted twenty-nine homicide cases with a seventy-two percent close ratio, by the way. I can get you around some bureaucratic agency obstacles. Two: I’m a woman, if you hadn’t noticed. You have women in key positions in this case and I can get to them, and down with them, whatever it takes. Three: It sounds like the company is ignoring these events and you and Tommy could use another hand in trying to figure out the truth. And last, but not least, tomorrow is my birthday and I’d genuinely like you to say yes to all that and ask me to move out here and be with you. That would be the best present I could hope for. Will you? Is it all right? Please?”

  Wainwright pulled the car to the side of the road and shifted into park. He turned toward her and placed his hands on Lacey’s shoulders, looking into her deep dark ebony eyes. The corners of his mouth turned up, smiling at his gorgeous gregarious companion. “Tell me, Ms. Lawyer, how could any sane man deny you anything?” He pulled Lacey into his embrace and kissed her neck just below her ear, then again attentively on the corner of her mouth. She turned into his kiss, her full pouty lips hungry for his taste.

  Wainwright whispered in her ear, “I love you, Lacey, with all my heart.”

  His lips found hers and their tongues tenderly intertwined, then, pulling her closer, they kissed each other with more passion.

  The cab ride to Wainwright’s condominium in Playa del Rey took only a few minutes in LA’s “Friday lite” traffic. Wainwright was holding the birthday girl’s hand in the back of the taxi as she took in the new views.

  “In the interest of full disclosure, there is something you need to know. Geez, I hang out with you and I begin to sound like a lawyer. Anyway, I’ve been married before.”

  “Yeah, you told me that already. You’ve been married two times, right?”

  “Correct, and I have two
estranged sons, Tim and Brian. I need to tell you about the situation that has developed with them, but later. What you don’t know is both of the former Mrs. Wainwrights are Libras, born the third week of October, just like the lady whose hand I’m holding. Since you have never been married, I thought that might make you uncomfortable.”

  Lacey smiled. “No, I’m not uncomfortable, but what it does tell me is you are stuck on Libras. Maybe that is a medically treatable condition, you know, like the Cedars-Sinai Medical Center could do a Libraotomy for you.”

  The village of Playa del Rey is immediately south of the more famous Marina del Rey, one of the largest man-made small boat harbors in the country. Its nineteen marinas have a capacity of more than five thousand boats, and all slips are occupied. Ballona Creek separates the two communities. The cab delivered them to the front of Garth’s building, a four-story wood and stucco structure facing the Pacific Ocean and backed up to the small del Rey lagoon. Lacey looked around as Wainwright unloaded the luggage from the taxi. “Do you have a water fetish or something?”

  “What do you mean, water fetish?”

  “Well, look, you’re almost surrounded by water—an ocean in front, a lagoon in the back, and on the side, a creek. I think the redeeming feature is the grassy park on the south side of your building. That’s a good thing. Terra firma.”

  Wainwright paid the driver, giving Lacey a sidelong glance as he hauled the bags up the steps and through the entry door. They took the elevator to the third level; Wainwright unlocked his condo entry door and allowed Lacey to precede him.

  She looked into the cozy space, took his hand, and said, “How cute is this? You have a split-level condominium. I’ve never seen that before. This is great!” Lacey inspected the entry level, glancing left into the kitchen and advanced to the dining room area. After a pause, she exclaimed, “Oh, no.”

  “What’s the matter, honey?”

  Lacey stood at the dining room railing separating the upper dining room from the living room half a floor below. “Where will we put the piano?”

  “Piano? I don’t have a piano.”

  “Oh, but you soon will. I hope you won’t mind if I rearrange some of your furniture down there.”

  He put his arms around her waist. “Sweet girl, when I invited you to come and live here, that invitation was complete. Please, this is your home, our home, and you are now the lady of the lair.”

  Wainwright stepped into the kitchen and took a chilled bottle of chardonnay from the refrigerator, opened it, and poured two generous glasses. He handed one to Lacey.

  “Welcome home, Lacey Kinkaid,” raising his glass in a toast! “I guess we’d better get you acclimated as quickly as possible to your new LA home.” He took her free hand in his and led her up a half flight to the deck. As they climbed the stairs, he said, “I didn’t know you played the piano. I’m learning new things about you all the time. That’s nice. I like that.”

  “Yeah, I know. Garth, does it bother you that there’s a lot we don’t know about each other? I’m glad we’ll have time together now to fix it. Let’s see, oh yeah, piano playing. Only since the age of four. I love to play, just for my own enjoyment, of course, but it gives me such peace. I think of nothing but the music when I play,” Lacey said.

  “How about we go piano shopping this weekend?” Lacey’s eyes sparkled as she looked up to Wainwright and smiled. At the top of the stairs, he opened the French door to the deck. Lacey put her arm through his and pulled him close to her as they stood at the railing, looking out on the Pacific Ocean. “You know, to quote Bogie, ‘I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.’”

  The view was indeed spectacular. Broad, sandy beaches extended for miles to the left and across the Marina del Rey channel on the right, all the way to Santa Monica. The sea was as blue as the aquamarine gemstone named for it. The waves rolled in, breaking on the beach peacefully, as in the ocean’s name. It was hard to leave the view and gentle warm breeze, but Wainwright moved back indoors, taking the best part of that experience with him.

  They toured the condominium and made room for Lacey’s things in the master bedroom. He put his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close. “I love you so very much, Lacey. I will do everything to make you the happiest you’ve ever been.”

  “Ditto,” Lacey chimed, her arms encircling his waist. “Speaking of happiness, I’ve been thinking about the CapVest mess. I think my roommate,” she grinned, “the last one, Stacy, might be able to help us with the fraud thing. Stacy works in the SEC’s Boston regional office. She’s a senior litigator for the Enforcement Divi—-”

  “Wow, babe, the last thing we need is for the SEC to know about this and get involved. Tommy and I have been trying to keep this thing contained and away from Federal prying eyes. They will close down the firm; I’d be unemployed, as well as unemployable, and we’d have to live on your salary. Hey!” A smile brightened his countenance. “That’s really not such a bad idea, ya know.” Lacey’s hands were on Wainwright’s chest. In retaliation to his joke, she gave his nipple a playful pinch.

  “Ouch! That hurt.” Recovering from her amorist attack, Wainwright said, “You have mentioned Stacy before. Tell me, what kind of act did you two do in Beantown? Lacey and Stacy. It sounds like vaudeville performers.”

  “We went to law school together. We’ve been best friends since undergrad. If I asked, she could do things for us without getting SEC sanctions and all. Stacy is some kind of big deal at the agency, a senior manager, I think. In other words, she can be of tremendous help; an insider working for us on the outside. What do you think?”

  “I don’t know, babe. That’s putting all of us up on a tightrope, and we’d be so easy to push off—by the SEC, I mean.”

  “Not if Stacy is in control. She’s one of the smartest women I know, and she’ll want to help us. I know she will. Why don’t I call her and ask? What do you think?”

  Wainwright rubbed the back of his neck several times. “I think I am a very lucky man that you love me.”

  Lacey was on the phone in minutes. “Hi, Stace, it’s me. Sorry to call you so late. I’m with Garth; I need a favor, and some help from you. The favor is, would you put my stuff in some boxes and ship it out to LA, please? My transfer to the LA office hasn’t been approved from on high, yet, and Garth has asked me to live with him.—I know, me too, overjoyed! Anyway, if those Boston white shoes don’t approve it, I’m quitting—No, not the law. They have law firms out here, too, Stacy….Yeah.

  “The advice is more complex, so give me a minute to explain, okay?”

  Saturday morning, after coffee and more discussion about the kids, Lacey said, “Speaking of this daddy business has you pretty upset. I see it in your eyes when you speak of them. I understand what you said. You think Norman, with or without your ex’s knowledge and collaboration, has influenced them to act this way.”

  “Actually, I don’t know any of this for sure. It’s speculation on my part. I get the boys’ messages from Debbie. She is the pivot point and interpreter of what the guys feel and say. I haven’t spoken to either of them for several months now. It’s killing me, honey, just killing me.”

  “It seems to me there is an easy solution.” Lacey walked to the entry table, picked up the car keys, turned back to Wainwright, and said, “Well, you coming, or are you going to sip cold coffee all day?”

  Lacey drove Wainwright’s ’71 Karmann Ghia convertible into the neighborhood where he once lived with Debbie and his sons. “Take a left at the next stop sign. The park will be on the right. I hope Tim still plays Pop Warner. The teams practice here on Saturdays.”

  “Aren’t they too young for football?”

  “Not Tim. He’s a football addict. He loves the game; playing it is more enjoyment for him than watching college or pros on TV. Brian’s too young for the team, but they made him the manager, which means he’s one notch below water boy. There, on your right, just ahead is a parking space.”

  Nineteenr />
  “I’m free of all prejudices. I hate everyone equally.” ~ W. C. Fields

  THURSDAY—NOVEMBER | Ragnar Borstad took enormous pride that he was now CEO of the largest publicly traded property management firm in the country. Listing All Cities on the New York Stock Exchange came off without a hitch last month, and greatly intensified Borstad’s hubris. In fact, it was his puffed-up, dictatorial attitude that was responsible for a noticeable increase in employee turnover. His arrogance reflected down the line, from Borstad to the regional vice presidents, to the over-stressed human resources staff, to the regional managers, and finally to the on-site property managers and their staffs. What comes around goes around, as the man said.

  Despite these behavioral issues, All Cities continued to grow. In addition to managing the CapVest properties, All Cities now successfully solicited third-party management assignments. It’s like the saying going around business circles lately, “Nobody ever got fired for buying IBM.” Borstad thought of his property management firm as IBM is to computers. His intercom buzzed as he gazed outside his office window at the snow-capped Rockies. “Yes, Marge?”

  “Mr. Wainwright is here and would like to see you. I don’t show an appointment for him.”

  “That’s all right. Give me five minutes, then bring Wainwright in,” Borstad told his assistant.

  The chilly feeling between the two men had not warmed since the last board meeting when they’d seen each other. Borstad offered Wainwright a perfunctory greeting as he entered the Denver headquarters office of All Cities’ CEO. “What brings you east, Garth?”