And, of course, if these orders weren’t forthcoming, the abyss would open. Nina watched Philip and Kelly Strong blanch as Mike led up to this point and highlighted it. In the galley behind, Marianne Strong and Gene Malavoy reacted, letting out subdued bleats of unhappiness. A good lawyer makes things sound so simple, so reasonable, as if no other interpretation of reality is possible except the one he’s selling on a particular morning halfway between winter and spring in a small mountain town.
Nina’s turn. She stood up behind the counsel table. “Let’s return to Earth, Your Honor. We are talking about two and a half million dollars, most of which should actually go to the rest of the Strong family and an address in some remote corner of the world where a dangerous fugitive may or may not have found refuge. Let’s keep in mind that Jim Strong can’t set foot here without being arrested and very likely convicted of multiple murders, and—”
“I need to interrupt here, Judge,” Stamp said. “Yes, there are charges against him, but he hasn’t been convicted of anything at this point. He has a legal right to make this claim and to receive these proceeds. He may be innocent of the crimes he is charged with. The charges are irrelevant to this proceeding.”
Flaherty said, “He’s playing a dangerous game here, isn’t he, Counsel? Aren’t the American authorities interested in extraditing him?”
“It is my understanding that the American authorities don’t have any way of extraditing him, even if Brazil allows it, because Mr. Strong’s location remains unknown. Brazil is a big country, Your Honor.”
“But he’s an American citizen. He can’t be that hard to track.” Stamp said, “It’s possible Mr. Strong is concealing his identity from the authorities in Brazil.”
“You can bet he is,” Nina interrupted. “Let me go on. Let’s talk some more about what Mr. Stamp said. If Jim Strong were alive, he’d obviously be residing illegally in Brazil, probably under an assumed name. Even if he weren’t wanted for murder here, common sense has to put us all on our guard. If he’s alive in Brazil, he is devious; he’s a liar, and he’s faked an identity, Your Honor.
“But let me now take this further. What if, as seems possible, someone else has faked his identity? It’s not as if this fugitive goes to the same church every Sunday, coaches Little League, says hi to the neighbors. This is a shadowy man on the run. How do we know the signatory on this affidavit is in fact Jim Strong? Did Jim Strong actually execute this affidavit? Or did some third party learn of the proposed sale and his disappearance and try to defraud the Strong family? Enough money is involved that this is an enormous risk. The Strong family cannot permit millions of dollars to be wired to Brazil because somebody down there rigged up an official-looking piece of paper. It’s a joke. Plus I’ve just provided the court and Mr. Stamp with information that Jim Strong may have been stealing from the resort. How is it fair to ask that he receive monies based on the sale, when Paradise Ski Resort is unable to at the same time to make counterclaims against Mr. Strong?” She had taken a risk here. Philip had not authorized her to make that allegation in court. She threw a glance at him. He appeared unhappy but not particularly surprised by her release of this information publicly.
“She’s ignoring the fact that a duly appointed Brazilian notary examined his identification and determined that it was Jim Strong,” Stamp said. “The affidavit is duly witnessed. We have made a prima facie showing that he is alive, and there’s no countershowing.”
“Has Mr. Stamp spoken to his client by phone or used some Internet program such as Skype to permit him to personally interview the signer of this affidavit?” Nina asked, turning and looking directly at Stamp.
His face reddened. “I can’t answer that and she knows it. My contacts with my client are—”
“I thought not,” Nina said. “Your Honor, the Strong family has retained a private investigator, Mr. Eric Brinkman. He’s here in court today—please stand, Mr. Brinkman. He’s prepared to go to Brazil, interview the author of this affidavit, and get to the bottom of this. The buyers are willing to allow an additional two weeks for this purpose. Surely this Court will let no stone”—ugh, clichés, so important in this business—“remain unturned.” She had carefully chosen the word author, too. It reeked of fiction.
“But we have a presumption of regularity and you have made no evidentiary rebuttal, Counsel,” Judge Flaherty said. “Why hasn’t this trip already been made? It’s not enough to opine that the man is dead and that this is a fraud.”
“It’s not like a trip to L.A., Your Honor,” Nina replied. “It takes sixteen hours on a plane, and then a long ride to the coast to an area near the border of Argentina. Mr. Brinkman has a ticket to leave tomorrow. We’re not asking for anything unreasonable when we ask for a little more time to investigate this matter, Your Honor. Millions of dollars are—”
“There isn’t a shred of hard evidence that this affidavit is faulty in any respect,” Stamp said. “Families get greedy. In this case, they don’t want any money to go to Mr. Strong because they want to believe the charges. They prefer to believe the hype.”
“Hype? This isn’t hype. How about arrest warrants? How about—”
Flaherty held up a hand to stop Nina.
“They want Jim Strong dead. He’s an inconvenient truth, Judge, and they have written him off. But have they come up with one single piece of evidence that—”
Angry, Nina interrupted again personally and sharply. “Mike, you seem to have forgotten that I was present when Jim Strong started an avalanche that killed my husband.” She wouldn’t let the lawyer talk bullshit on that point.
Stamp stopped, had the grace to look chagrined. Then, doggedly, he said, “But the fact is, he was never tried on that charge or on any other. He remains innocent in the eyes of the law.”
Reason struggled for dominance but failed. “Innocent? He killed his brother, Alex; he killed his wife, Heidi; he killed my husband, Collier.” Some shred of sense made Nina leave out that he had come to her house that night to kill her, too. Paul was shaking his head slightly at her. Calm down, she told herself. It had been more of an emotional risk taking this case than she’d realized.
Stamp turned back to the judge. “There are no convictions. Counsel practices a lot more criminal law than I do, and she knows she shouldn’t be making all these prejudicial statements, which I’m sure the Court in its wisdom will disregard. He’s innocent until—”
Now Flaherty held up his hand, palm first. “We’re talking about a lot of money, Counsel, and a man who has led his family to believe he’s dead, a man who may have murdered several people. His character’s dubious; I don’t think what you offer is enough.”
“I agree, Your Honor,” Nina said quickly.
“We object to a continuance. We request a ruling today, Judge,” Stamp said. “We’re entitled to it. We have met the burden of showing he’s alive.”
“Ms. Reilly?” Flaherty said.
“Give us a week, Your Honor. Jim Strong’s a murderer, and as I said, recent revelations have given us reason to believe he was also an embezzler from his family business.” Repeating the allegation, she remained unsure about this tactic. She didn’t like giving Stamp a heads-up on what she knew, but she didn’t know what he knew and what he was prepared to do to win his case, so the previous insomniac night, she had decided to go all out.
She went on, “No one has heard from him for years. If by some wild happenstance he’s alive, he has incredible gall trying to take advantage of his family’s hard work after gutting the family business, almost destroying his family emotionally, and putting them in this position. Technically he owned a one-sixth share of Paradise. We can’t permit him or much more likely some other criminal agency, to cause further harm.” Nina said these strong words with absolute conviction. Even Stamp seemed affected. There was no point in being mealymouthed about any of it.
Judge Flaherty said, “So you think it’s some con artist from Porto Alegre trying to make big bucks?” He seemed fascin
ated with the idea.
Nina nodded at the judge. “Exactly. You have your finger right on the problem, Your Honor. As usual.”
Stamp saw that it was time to switch tactics. “If the Court is inclined to give the Strong family more leeway here, there’s no need for a continuance. Lynda Eckhardt and I have already agreed the sale could go through and the money could be placed with Tahoe Sierra Title Company here in town pending any further investigation of this claim. We would then request that the Court order the money be placed in such an account pending a final determination of this issue. If the two and a half million is safe in a trust account, that serves the interests of the Strong family, in that they can still complete the sale in a timely fashion.”
“We object to the placement of that share of the proceeds into trust, Your Honor,” Nina said. She explained what it would mean for Philip, Kelly, and Marianne. All debts of the resort would then be paid from their shares, leaving them nothing to start new lives, while the net proceeds might sit in the trust account moldering for a long time. Nina stressed that the buyers were willing to wait until Brinkman could get down to Porto Alegre and investigate the matter, and that the Strong family would pay all expenses.
“Maybe,” Flaherty said. “I won’t make that order until we find out a little more. Now, then, Mr. Stamp, you have asked that this Court appoint a conservator for Mr. Strong, as he is officially a missing person pursuant to Probate Code section 1845. I have no problem with setting it up as you suggest, with Nelson Hendricks acting as conservator, with the view that if I do order the opening of an escrow, Tahoe Sierra Title, where Mr. Hendricks is an escrow officer, he will also be appointed to handle the escrow account.”
“No objection, Your Honor, the family doesn’t dispute that Mr. Strong is a missing person and that a conservator should technically be appointed.” Nina didn’t want any legal mistakes to allow any further complications down the road.
Flaherty made some notes. The courtroom was quiet. The judge pooched his cheeks as he thought.
“Let’s give her a week so her investigator can travel,” Flaherty told Stamp finally. “Why complicate things further? What’s a week for confirmation?”
Stamp took on the rigid-jawed look of a loser. Nina knew it well. There was a stir in the audience.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Nina said. “What’s a week? We’ll be back in court lickety-split, and Mr. Brinkman will have more information for us. Give us a chance to show this whole thing is a con—”
“I take that personally, as impugning my character and the excellent reputation of my—”
“Oh, can it, Mike,” Flaherty said. “One week. What date is that, Madam Clerk?”
Outside in the courtyard, Philip Strong shook hands all around. He looked ghastly, and Nina had a feeling he wouldn’t sleep until Eric Brinkman came back from Brazil.
“Who is that, Philip?” Nina nodded toward the man who had been texting in court. He walked with urgent speed toward the parking lot, now muttering into his phone.
“Nelson Hendricks. He’s the escrow officer at the title company.” They both watched as Hendricks, distracted by his conversation, slipped on an icy patch of concrete and barely recovered himself. “Poor guy,” Philip added as they watched him climb into an old BMW. “I see him at Chamber of Commerce meetings. His wife was recently diagnosed with MS. He almost cried when he told me, and he isn’t the type to be crying in the office.” Kelly caught up to Philip, thanked Nina, then walked near her father toward the parking lot, not with him, Nina noticed, but a few steps behind, as if she was watching him. The rift between them was wide.
Far from the building, Marianne Strong and Gene Malavoy smoked brown Sherman cigarettes, stamping their feet in the cold, exhaling smoke with cold bursts of angry French chatter. Neither nodded or acknowledged Nina, Paul, or Philip for that matter.
Eric Brinkman and Paul stood right outside the courthouse doors with Nina, a couple of rock-star apostles. Eric was well turned out in his tan sports jacket. Paul wore a tweed jacket that made his shoulders look wider than usual. One of the court clerks, a buddy of Nina’s, walked by, glanced at them, caught Nina’s eye, and gave her a discreet thumbs-up.
“Okay, we’ve got the time,” Nina said.
Eric looked at his watch, gold and heavy, a Rolex Datejust, Nina noticed.
“I’m ready. Gotta go,” he said.
“When’s the flight?” Nina asked.
“Two p.m. United Airlines out of San Francisco to São Paulo,” Eric said. “Then on to Porto Alegre. I’ll go straight to the lawyer’s address. We have been in e-mail contact and she’s cooperating.” He pulled on Prada sunglasses, which made his cheekbones stand out like hard knobs. “The lawyer says she’ll give me whatever other authenticating evidence she can. Obviously we won’t get Strong to sit down for a filmed deposition. I’ll spend as much time as I’ve got trying to track him through the law office. He’s going to be living near there somewhere. Porto Alegre is a very long way from São Paulo or Rio.”
Nina nodded. “Okay. I see that you’re handling a complicated situation as efficiently as possible. But please remember what I said. This is a con.”
“A fiasco,” Paul said suddenly.
Eric turned to him. “So you say. So you keep telling Nina here. That’s why you think he’s dead, am I right, Nina?”
Nina said nothing.
“You drove up to Tahoe right after Nina lost her husband, after Jim Strong became a fugitive, didn’t you, Paul? To help out your friend here?” Eric indicated Nina.
“That’s right.”
“Did you see Strong at any time? Get a line on him? Or obtain some sort of information that he was dead? Because if you know anything factual, Paul, you could save me a trip and save Philip Strong a considerable sum of money.”
“Yeah,” Nina interjected. “Tell us where he’s buried and we can all go home and relax.” Her light tone disguised the fright she felt hearing Eric coming after Paul like that.
Paul stared at her, then at Eric. “Hey, man, you talked yourself into the job, even though you don’t seem to have been very effective when the murders were going down. Now run with it.”
“No need to get offended. I’m asking a legitimate question. Maybe you’re hiding something, or you might open yourself up to the possibility that maybe whatever you think you know could be wrong.” Eric pulled out a pair of soft leather gloves, slipping them onto his narrow fingers.
“How do you come to speak Portuguese, Eric?” Nina asked, trying to deflect the energy she saw fulminating in Paul’s fists. She needed information, not male strutting.
“An old girlfriend from Brazil. I lived there with her there for a year.”
“Best way to learn a language,” Paul said. It came out nasty instead of funny. He seemed to want to say more but controlled himself. Nina had the uncomfortable realization that the two men might not be able to work together, even if both were needed.
“Marianne Strong’s mother came from Brazil,” Nina said. “Let’s keep that in mind.”
“Intriguing, isn’t it?” Eric said.
“I interviewed Marianne in the course of my investigations for Philip when I was attempting to track down the missing money from the resort,” Eric continued. “Well, I’ve already told you I have suspicions about Marianne and Gene. I have their photos, too, to show around down there.”
Nina couldn’t see his eyes now, but she had seen him look into hers too deeply on their first meeting. He was very intelligent, very—sensitive somehow. Sexually conscious. He was watching her now, reading her thoughts, as if he knew all about the red bra—oh, dear, she was straying from the point at hand.
She couldn’t read him well enough. What he cared about, who he really was—she couldn’t tell that yet.
“I’ll call you from Brazil the minute I have something. Let’s meet when I get back. We’ll discuss everything then. By the way, it’s a pleasure to see a woman wearing a nice pair of heels.”
> Paul stepped between them, scowling. Several people in the courtyard observed from a distance, pretending to notice nothing.
“No, Paul,” Nina said.
“No, what?” Paul said.
“No, uh, telling what Eric might stumble into, right? If there’s a con, it’s a lot of money. People will do a lot for a few hundred thou.”
“People will do a lot for a crappy television,” Paul said, still scowling.
“I suppose you would know more about that than I,” Eric said.
“What do you mean by that?” Now the two men were staring each other down.
“As a former detective, I’m sure you saw plenty of random violence. Why did you leave police work?”
“And not so random,” Paul said, ignoring that last question.
Nina had a sudden flashback to being fourteen at school in Monterey, the one year a couple of boys liked her at the same time. She liked the feeling then, how they jockeyed for her attention. Now she was old enough to understand that she had merely served as a handy justification for two hormone-ridden boys to punch each other.
“Please remember, your safety is the most important thing,” she said.
Eric smiled at her again. In contrast to his reaction to Paul, he seemed to like everything about her, including her motherly prudence. “I promise to be careful. I look forward to giving you a full report. Let’s hope this trip takes care of all the issues. Strong’s alive or he’s dead. We find out. We solve Philip’s problems, and we clink glasses.”
Eric didn’t kiss her hand this time, a good thing. He shook it professionally, the entire time moving his gaze between her eyes and Paul’s.
Nina watched him walk over to the parking lot, beeping the door of the eggplant-colored Porsche Cayenne he drove.
Paul took her elbow. “Coffee?”
“I have a bunch of appointments this morning. Got to get back to the office.”
“Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow. I have a couple of errands here in town this morning, then back to Carmel. Got to keep the real business rolling, however Sisyphean the task, under the circumstances.”
Dreams of the Dead Page 11
