Twisted Dreams

by F J messina

  “Wow, and there were times you thought maybe you weren’t cut out for this kind of work. Of course that’s where it happened. That’s where she lived. Nice job partner. Nice job.”

  Sonia started pacing around her office. “Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. But at least now we have something to go on.” The pace of her speech quickened. “We need to talk to the police in Bennington and see if there’s surveillance footage from the bus station there and then do the same thing in Saratoga Springs. It’s not much, but at least we’ve got some questions to ask, and we know the right people to pose them to. You start making some calls to the police in Bennington and Saratoga Springs, and I’ll talk to Brad about . . . .”

  Jet looked sharply up at Sonia. At the very same moment, Sonia realized that her head was leading her somewhere her heart didn’t want to go. There was complete silence in the room. Sonia sat down in her chair, sighing. Much more quietly, she said, “You make those calls. I’ll try to figure out what else we can do from this end.”

  39

  Two thirty on Wednesday afternoon found Sonia sitting at her desk, waiting for Burnett Saunders to appear. She and Jet had spent the last two days in intense conversations with the police departments from Bennington and Saratoga Springs. Searches of bus station surveillance videos were being done in Vermont and New York. Sonia and Jet were waiting for the results.

  At precisely three o’clock, Burnett Saunders opened the door to the offices of Bluegrass Confidential Investigations, a large box in hand. “Greetings, ladies. I bring you treats.”

  Sonia remained at her desk, but Jet stood and walked out of her office toward Burnett. “Well, what do we have here?”

  With all the grandeur he could muster, Burnett bowed at the waist. “I realize how partial you ladies are to Magee’s and its wonderful assortment of splendid fare. But I’m sure you do realize that there are other treats in this town worth savoring as well. And so, today, I have brought you a box of donuts from one of the most esteemed establishments in all of Lexington, Spalding’s Bakery. No doubt you’ve heard of it. But I wondered if you have ever indulged.”

  Jet leaned forward and planted a tiny kiss on Burnett’s forehead. She had just a touch of her southern twang as she spoke. “Honey, I grew up in this neck of the woods. Of course I’ve enjoyed a Spalding’s donut or two in my time.”

  Sonia, on the other hand, walked out of her office saying, “Honestly, Burnett, you’re correct. I have heard of Spalding’s many times, but I have never enjoyed their bounty.”

  They all moved to the table Jet had set up in preparation for Burnett’s visit. Sonia took her first bite of a glazed donut. “Whoa, this is delicious.”

  Jet did the same, swallowing quickly. “So, what is the occasion, Professor. Is this strictly an instructional culinary seminar or are we celebrating something?” There was a pleasant smile on her face.

  Burnett began his classic lapel and bowtie routine. Somehow, however, it seemed to Sonia that he decided it felt unnecessary. He stopped midway. “Ladies, we are here to celebrate hubris.”

  Questions in their eyes, both women looked at him, then at each other, then back again.

  “That’s right. We are here to celebrate the unmitigated conceit of one Michael Oakley, a person so full of himself that he used the same computer with which he has been stealing from several firms to move those ill-gotten funds into his own personal account.”

  Jet smiled and looked at Sonia. “Can I say it now?”

  Sonia smiled broadly, perhaps for the first time in days, bits of sugar on her lips. “Yes, my dear. You can say it now.”

  With a great big smile, Jet bent her fisted arm and pulled it dramatically downward. “KA-CHING!”

  Sonia chuckled. “We’ve got him now.” She turned to the forensic accountant. “Don’t we Burnett?”

  “Absolutely.” His voice actually sounded more masculine than usual. “We have a trail of him moving money, not only from Bronson/Brownlee, but from other firms, into the Bluegrass Sump Pump Company account that he accessed as Mr. James Beam.” He flicked the tip of his nose with his index finger. “And we now have a trail of Mr. James Beam authorizing transfers of said funds from the Bluegrass Sump Pump Company account into the personal account of one Michael Oakley. Done and done.”

  Jet rocked back in her chair and both she and Sonia literally applauded Burnett’s accomplishments. His response was to bow his head and acknowledge their applause with a queenly wave of his hand. After the laughter subsided, Sonia asked, “So, we’ve got him dead to rights, but will any of this hold up in court?”

  Burnett became more serious. “Actually, it’s a little fuzzy, if you don’t mind an accountant using lay terminology.” He placed one arm across his chest and brought the opposite fist to his chin. “You see, placing that keystroke-recording software on his computer would have been entirely illegal if Mr. Oakley himself owned the computer. Since, however, Mr. Brownlee owns the computer, and since he gave you permission to download the software onto the computer, that was not, in and of itself, illegal.”

  Jet licked a little sugar off her fingertips. “Cool.”

  “However,” he responded, now pointing a finger in Sonia’s direction, “since we then used that software to track Mr. Oakley’s access to his personal accounts, things become a little less black and white. In my opinion, as I strive to follow all of the admonitions of the Financial Accounting Standards Board, the organiz─”

  “Burnett.” Jet interjected.

  He stopped short. “Anyway, I think we should be extremely cautious about opening ourselves to any potential litigation that might be the result of our tracking Mr. Oakley’s use of his personal account.”

  Jet leaned forward in her chair, lips pursed, squinting her eyes. “So even though we’ve got him, we can’t do anything to him?”

  Burnett sat up even straighter in his chair and made no attempt to squelch the complete fulfillment of his lapels and bowtie regimen. “Ladies, if you will allow me, I will spend the next few moments explaining to you how even the honorable art and science of forensic accounting can have a dark side─a side of which we might now choose to avail ourselves.”

  Thursday morning, Sonia stood at the door of Magee’s, keeping her eye out for Steven Brownlee. Just before seven o’clock, she gestured to Hildy, mouthing, “Bring ‘em out.” Scooting over to one of the large tables, she took a seat across from Burnett.

  Brownlee walked in, looked around, and locked eyes with Sonia. She motioned him over to their table. “Good morning, Mr. Brownlee. Thank you for joining us.”

  “My pleasure.” He looked carefully around the room. “Gosh, it’s been forever since I’ve been in here. What a great place.”

  Jet reached out, put her hand on his arm, and pulled him gently down into a seat between her and Sonia. “We thought you’d enjoy it.” She extended her hand toward Burnett. “Mr. Brownlee, this is Burnett Saunders. He’s the forensic accountant.” She turned back to Burnett. “Burnett, this is Mr. Brownlee.”

  Burnett stood and extended a hand to the older gentleman. “Mr. Brownlee, sir.”

  Jet looked over her shoulder. “Oh, and here comes our food.”

  Sonia looked back toward the kitchen as well and saw three of the guys and girls who worked back there bringing out four veggie omelets, two almond croissants, and two pecan Danish. There were already four cups of coffee on the table.

  Brownlee watched, surprised. “Wow, what a feast.”

  As the staff members placed the food on the table, Jet squeezed Brownlee’s arm again. “Yes, it is, and we want to thank you for it.”

  Brownlee dipped his head down, adjusting the glasses that often slid down his nose. He didn’t say a word.

  “You see,” Jet waved her arm over the bountiful spread, “we charged all of this to Bronson/Brownlee.” She gave Sonia a sly smile.

  The look on Brownlee’s face became even more confused and a little defensive.

  “Now, Mr. Bro
wnlee,” Sonia leaned in, smiling, touching him on the arm as well, “we thought you wouldn’t mind. Not after what Mr. Saunders has done for you.” She turned to Burnett. “Tell him about it, Burnett.”

  Burnett sat up taller in his chair and put his hands on his lapels. Without saying a word, Jet reached over and gently stopped the process.

  Burnett looked at her quizzically and then smiled. “Okay then, Mr. Brownlee.” His voice became professorial. “As the ladies have already told you, we’ve tracked Mr. Oakley’s transactions and have a complete record of how he has been embezzling money not only from your firm but from others. In addition, we can prove that he has eventually moved those funds to his own personal account.” He paused, but then continued on his own. “They’ve also told you that, given how we came by some of this information,” he glanced briefly at Sonia then back to Brownlee, “they’ve decided it might not behoove you to take this information directly to the police.”

  Brownlee nodded, his face still uncertain. “Right,” he said softly.

  “Therefore,” Burnett’s pride in his work expressed itself in his smile and the sparkle in his eyes, “we made a bit of an executive decision. Last evening, after business hours, Ms. Vitale and I gained access to Mr. Oakley’s personal account. We made a transfer of $28,474.97 directly back into the Bronson/Brownlee general account.” He went on without pausing. “These figures represent all of the funds Mr. Oakley has diverted to his own account, plus interest for the period during which those funds were not at your disposal.”

  Brownlee’s eyes opened wide. “You stole the money back?”

  “Certainly not, Mr. Brownlee.” Burnett had a look of righteous indignation on his face. “As an accountant in good standing with the Financial Accounting Standards Board, I would never steal anything. This is simply an accounting procedure in which unauthorized debits have been redirected as credits into the originating account. It’s simply a matter of bookkeeping.”

  Brownlee took a deep breath. “And all of this is legal?”

  Jet stepped into the conversation. “Well, Mr. Brownlee,” She gave him a coy smile, “it’s all in how you look at it, isn’t it? If you look at the money Oakley stole as an unauthorized loan, all you’ve done is take your money back with a reasonable amount of interest.”

  Brownlee rubbed his neck. “Yes, but without his permission.”

  Jet’s voice became almost motherly. “Now, think about it this way. Is Oakley going to go to the police and say that, without his permission, you took back the money he stole from you?”

  Brownlee looked around the table and smiled. “I guess not.” A moment later, however, he grimaced. “But still, even being made whole, it bothers me that Michael has done this and is going to get away with it. Especially since he took money from other firms.”

  It was Sonia’s turn to speak. “You needn’t worry about that either.” She squeezed Brownlee’s arm and smiled as she spoke. “It seems that whoever got into Oakley’s accounts and returned the money to you, also sent notifications to the other firms involved. They were advised that they might have paid unauthorized invoices to a company that doesn’t exist anymore and that they might have been the victims of fraud.” She winked. “And, of course, they now have the bank names and account numbers that will lead them directly back to Oakley.”

  Sonia leaned back in her chair. “In fact, we anonymously sent the police some information on Oakley’s fraudulent behavior and a message that said we thought he had a plane ticket out of the country for later this morning.”

  Brownlee’s eyes opened wide and his voice rose. “He’s leaving the country?”

  Sonia smiled mischievously. “Noooo. We just said we thought he had a ticket to leave the country. They’re most likely picking him up as we speak and almost certainly before he has any idea what has happened.” She continued, “Still, Mr. Brownlee, I think we would all be a little more comfortable if you took the morning off, maybe went up to Cincinnati or Louisville or somewhere else for the day. You know, just don’t come back until you hear that Oakley’s been arrested.” She put her hand back on Brownlee’s arm. “We certainly wouldn’t want anything to happen to you before Oakley is behind bars.”

  Brownlee released his arm and adjusted his glasses. “I guess. Still, can’t those other companies get in trouble for getting information from Oakley’s computer?”

  Jet leaned back almost gleeful. “You see, since they weren’t involved in any surreptitious activities, they’re standing on much more solid ground when they bring cases against Oakley. And the fun part is that he has no idea that they’ve been contacted. He’ll be caught entirely off guard when the police show up at his door and drag his butt off to jail.” Her eyes went coyly to the ceiling. “And of course, you’ll have no choice but to fire any employee who has been arrested for fraud.” She smiled at Brownlee and her hand went to his arm. “Trust me, Mr. Brownlee, you’ve gotten your money back, and all is well in the heavens and on earth.”

  Steven Brownlee looked around the table and down at the women’s hands on each of his arms. He smiled. “Then thank you all for the services rendered.” It was his turn to wave his arm over the feast that was spread on the table. “Breakfast is on me.”

  Sonia joined the others in the smiles and laughter that followed. Deep down, however, her heart ached. She was a grown-up. She could deal with disappointment, at least as she faced others. But in her private world, almost nothing could relieve the pain or take away the reality of Brad’s betrayal.

  40

  Sonia was home alone on Friday evening. She tried watching television, but there was nothing on TV worth watching . Or maybe it was just her mood. She alternated between pacing around the tiny apartment and plopping down on the couch to give television yet another try. She also gave reading a whirl, a Sue Grafton novel, but nothing could hold her attention, nothing but a growing sense of dread.

  Friday had been another day of waiting, waiting for Mandy to make a move. More importantly, she was waiting for something to break in their efforts to find Mariana Castillo.

  Finally, at about seven o’clock, Sonia’s phone rang. “Hello.”

  “Ms. Vitale, it’s Gabriela. Gabriela Castillo.”

  Sonia popped up. She started pacing around the room, faster than before. “Yes, Gabriela. Are you okay?”

  “Sí. I am okay. I am driving to Miami. It’s a hell of a drive, but I’m already at Daytona. I’ll be there in a few hours.”

  “Why are you going to Miami?”

  “Because I finally found la gusáño, the worm.”

  “Who? What?”

  “Santiago. I finally found him. It took me almost two weeks to find him, and then I had to wait until I could get a few days off from work to go after him. But I finally got one of his friends to tell me that he had run off in the middle of the night to Florida, and that there was a girl with him.”

  The pitch of Sonia’s voice started to rise. “Is it Mariana? Have you found Mariana?”

  Gabriela’s voice rose as well but in a different way. “No, not yet. But I will be in Miami late tonight. Tomorrow I find la gusáño. And if he has her . . .”

  Sonia was momentarily at a loss for words. She took a quick breath. I don’t even know if I want him to have her or not. It would be great to find her, find her still alive. But what if he’s hurt her, or worse, what if he had her but now she’s gone? The only word that softly came out of Sonia’s mouth was, “Right.”

  There were a few moments of relative silence, as neither woman spoke. Over the phone, Sonia could hear the whine of the tires and Hispanic pop music playing in the background. Finally, she spoke. “How did you get his friend to tell you he’d gone to Florida?”

  Gabriela’s voice rose even further. “Escucha señorita, listen. You do your work your way. I do mine my way. I found him, didn’t I? Or at least I know where he is. Soon I’ll see him. He’ll tell me what we need to know.”

  Sonia stopped moving, stood silently still.


  “Okay then. I just called to let you know what’s going on. I’ll talk to you.” The phone went dead.

  As soon as she had gotten off the phone with Gabriela, Sonia tried to call Jet. She wasn’t able to get through, but she left a message saying she needed to speak to Jet as soon as possible. This might be getting out of hand.

  At seven-thirty, Sonia heard a knock on her front door. Her need to share this new information with Jet drove her directly there. She opened the door quickly. She rocked back. “Brad? What are you doing here?”

  Brad’s bright blue eyes stared directly into hers. Behind the softness of his voice was an intensity she had never heard before. “Why do you think I’m here? I’ve been home a full week and you haven’t been willing to see me.” He was slowly leaning forward. “Don’t I get to talk to you? Don’t I deserve to know what’s going on? You’re killing me here. I’ve got to know. What is it? What’ve I done?”

  Sonia stood still, stunned. What’s he mean, ‘What’ve I done?’ He knows what he’s done. What the hell does he think this is all about? Not a word came out.

  “Sonia. Answer me.” His voice was quivering, but not in anger. “What’s going on? Why won’t you talk to me? Why won’t you tell me?” It was hurt she could hear in his voice. Real hurt.

  Her voice was firm. “Brad. I don’t think we should see each other anymore.” Anger smoldered through her chocolate eyes.

  “Not see each other? Why? What the hell is going on?” His anger was growing.

  Unconsciously, Sonia began to back up. It wasn’t that she really thought he would hurt her, but just seeing his pent-up frustration flashing across his face, his hands balling into fists, she couldn’t help but become fearful. He stepped into the apartment after her.

  “What’s going on here?” It was a different voice, a female voice. It came from behind Brad. It was Jet. She had climbed up the stairs to Sonia’s apartment shortly after Brad.