“On the highway from Vegas to L.A., ma’am,” the younger officer said.
“What would he be doing in California? L.A.?” she asked.
“We don’t know, ma’am.”
“He was headed for Seattle. He wouldn’t have been in California. He had no reason to go there.”
“We’ll pass that information along ma’am.”
“Would you like to come inside?” she asked. “I’m going to call Dick right now.”
She stepped through the door and fended off the tiny dogs while the officers entered.
Chico stood and growled at the policemen.
“Oh, don’t mind him, he doesn’t like men.”
“Yes, ma’am” the older officer said.
Karen picked up the cordless phone and speed dialed Dick’s cell phone. It rang several times then a female voice came on the line.
“The cell phone you have dialed is not available. Please try again later.”
“Oh.” She put down the phone. “His phone isn’t on.”
“Can you think of any reason he would be out of touch this long?” the younger officer asked.
“Like I said, we don’t communicate every day. But it isn’t like him not to have his cell phone on. It’s his life-line. He has to stay connected to all of his businesses.”
“Just for the record, ma’am,” the older officer said, “where were you last night? Say around ten p.m.?”
“Ah... I was here. At home.”
“Alone? Do you have anyone who can corroborate that story?”
“Story? What story? I was here. By myself. I didn’t see anyone. I didn’t talk to anyone.”
“All right, ma’am. Thank you. If you leave town, please call us with your contact information.”
The two police officers turned, passed through the door and walked back to their patrol car.
Chico got out and chased after the officers, nipping at their heels.
“Chico, come back here, you bad boy.” Karen chased after her miniature dog.
What had happened to Dick? Was he all right? Karen’s mind ran a thousand miles an hour. She knew he had some shady business dealings. Did they finally catch up to him?
That night Karen had the first of many sleepless nights.
Chapter 9
Catrina Flaherty didn’t need much sleep. Although she often worked late, she was up at the first light of dawn every day. No matter what time she made it to the office, Abiba was always there, with a cup of coffee in her hand. Abiba must have some kind of supernatural boss radar, Catrina thought.
“Good morning, Mrs. Flaherty,” the large black woman said in a strong British accent. Abiba wore a loose-fitting dress, as always, with outrageously bright colors and an orange band around her head, making her kinky black hair stick straight up.
“Morning, Abiba.” Catrina smiled, reached for the coffee and gratefully took a sip. Hazelnut creamer this morning, her favorite.
Catrina scanned her domain. The office was on the mezzanine floor of an old warehouse. A sea of battered second-hand desks filled the room. One or two were already occupied, the others still waiting to start the work day.
A raft of flyers for safe houses, women’s centers and rape prevention classes were lined up on Abiba’s desk.
“Anything exciting on the books today?” Catrina asked as she moved into the room.
“You have an appointment with a new client, ma’am.” Abiba turned back to her desk and picked up two pink slips of paper. “A Mrs. Randall. Seems her husband is missing. Here are your messages.”
Catrina walked to her office on the back wall. More women filed in and sat at the sea of battered desks. An excited buzz of conversations filled the air. Catrina stopped at her office door, turned and looked back over her little fiefdom.
Not too bad, girl, she thought. Just seeing the women she helped to start new lives always gave her a warm glow.
An hour later her intercom buzzed.
“Mrs. Randall is here to see you, ma’am,” Abiba said.
“Thank you, Abiba. Show her back.” Catrina put down the phone and looked around her office. The ancient desk and aged furniture weren’t too impressive. Oh well, results are more important than looks. Still, first impressions are important.
Catrina got up from her desk and headed to the door. Meeting new clients standing up always made a good impression. At five foot nine, with the three inch heels on her boots, she could stand eye to eye with men and tower over most women.
“Mrs. Flaherty, this is Mrs. Randall,” Abiba said as she brought a good looking middle-aged woman to Catrina’s door. It always amazed Catrina how Abiba moved with such grace.
“Thank you, Abiba. Mrs. Randall, it’s nice to meet you,” Catrina said, extending her hand.
Not many women were as tall as Catrina. With Karen’s six-inch stilettos, Catrina had to look up to her.
“Karen,” the new client said as they shook hands. “Please call me Karen.” Her high-pitched voice reminded Catrina of Minnie Mouse.
“Okay, Karen. Would you like coffee, tea, water?”
“Coffee would be nice.”
Catrina looked at her receptionist. “Abiba?”
“Coming, ma’am.”
“Step into my office. Please have a seat” Catrina waved towards the chairs in front of her desk. “How may I help you?”
Karen eyed the beat-up chair suspiciously then carefully sat down. “I’ve heard about you,” she said. “I live in Vegas, but my husband has a house here in Seattle. I remember watching you on TV when you had the sexual harassment suit against the Seattle Police Department. I Googled you and found you always seem to take the woman’s side, to help them out of jams.”
“Actually, that was the Port of Seattle Police Department. And what kind of jam are you in?”
Abiba arrived with a silver tray with two stemmed glass mugs with gold rims, an ivory creamer and sugar bowl and a silver thermos.
“Coffee’s here,” Abiba said, setting the tray on Catrina’s desk.
While Abiba poured the coffee, Catrina studied her new client.
Karen was probably ten years or so older than Catrina, but in pretty good shape. Blonde over blue. She wore tight white slacks, an ivory-colored silk blouse, fire-engine red acrylic nails and a September tan.
Definitely not from Seattle.
“My husband disappeared,” Karen said. “The police came to my house a few days ago to tell me his truck was found burned out along the road to L.A. I don’t know what he was doing in California; he had no business there.”
“And you haven’t heard from him since?”
“No. I’ve tried calling his cell phone a dozen times. It’s turned off. He never does that. I’ve talked to the people in his businesses, his son, my brother and no one has heard from him.”
“Your brother?”
“Danny works for Dick. Actually, Danny is Dick’s accountant.”
“And Dick is your husband?” Catrina put her cup down on her desk and started taking notes on a yellow legal pad. “Have you filed a missing persons report yet?”
“I did. I called the Seattle Police. They were as bad as the Las Vegas Police. Worse. They were already looking into the case.”
“Hmmm...” Catrina said, still scribbling away. “Why do you think they were already investigating?”
“I guess the San Bernardino Police had asked them to find Dick. They treated me like a suspect, like I did something to him.” Karen curled her lower lip in disapproval. “They put me in a little room and grilled me just like on TV cop shows.”
“Just so I get this straight, we’re talking about Dick Randall, right?”
“Yes.” Karen leaned forward in her chair. “Do you know him?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Catrina tapped her pen on the yellow tablet, deciding. “He’s in the same business as me. He does criminal background checks out of his garage. I have a background check division myself. We’ve crossed paths a time or two.”
“The police seem to think that something happened to him.” Karen’s eyes were blinking rapidly, her breathing rate accelerating. “They think I did something.”
“And did you?”
“No! Of course not.” Karen’s voice got even higher, bordering on a shriek. “I filed for divorce again. But they haven’t served him with papers yet. I have no reason to hurt him. He said he was behind on payments for my house. If something happened to him, who’d pay for my house?”
“Does he have any life insurance?”
“Yes. I remember him talking about it once” Karen wrapped her arms around her midsection and bobbed forwards and backwards in her chair. “At least I think he does. That was several years ago. I don’t pay any attention to his business. I assume he kept the policy.”
Karen’s breath was heavy and labored.
“What was the value of the policy? Do you remember?”
“I think it was a million dollars. I would remember a nice round number like that.” Karen’s eyes teared up.
Catrina put down her pen and looked in her client’s eyes. “I can see why the police might think you had something to do with it. That’s a lot of motive.”
“I hadn’t thought about it in years.” Karen reached in her purse for a tissue then wiped her eyes. “Can you help me?”
“Just exactly what do you want me to do?”
“Find Dick. That scum-sucking bastard has probably run off. He faked his death then escaped to some Caribbean Island. He’s probably sitting on a beach, sucking up piña coladas with an empty-headed bimbo by his side.”
“You know, this won’t be inexpensive, especially if we have to travel to find him.”
“I don’t care. He has plenty of money. If you can find him, I’ll get it out of him.”
****
Ted looked up to see his boss standing in his office doorway. Well, technically, she wasn’t his boss anymore, she was his partner, but he would always think of her as the boss.
“Whatcha workin’ on, Higuera?” Catrina asked.
Ted’s heartbeat always sped up a notch when Catrina entered the room. Her deep voice and cat-like movements always caught him off guard.
“Just reorganizing the background check database. You haven’t done any maintenance on it in a while. This’ll save disk space and make it faster to search.”
Catrina took a chair.
“Great. I have something else for you to look at.” She crossed her legs. “We have a new client.”
Ted slid his keyboard off to the side and grabbed his Surface tablet. “Oh?”
“Karen Randall. Her husband, Dick, disappeared. She thinks he’s run off. The police think he’s been killed. They like Karen for it.”
“That’s Richard Randall?” Ted typed furiously on his tablet. “Have you talked to the cops yet?”
“Yeah, I just got off the phone with Tom.”
Sergeant Tom Bremen was Catrina’s off-again, on-again boyfriend, a Seattle Police Department homicide detective.
The SPD had no use for Catrina. Her successful sexual harassment suit made her a pariah in law enforcement circles. Even worse, she often did a better job than they did. She didn’t have to worry about paying attention to little things like laws and Constitutional rights. They hated to be shown up, especially by a woman.
If Tom’s captain ever found out he passed information to Catrina, Tom would spend the rest of his career handing out parking tickets, but he always managed to find a way to help her.
Catrina continued. “He says the San Bernardino Sheriff’s office found evidence of a crime.” Carina brushed her short blonde hair behind her ear. “There was blood on the ground under the truck and a .45 slug embedded in the back seat. They’re looking at this as a homicide.”
Ted looked up from his tablet. “But they haven’t found the body yet?”
“No. They’re looking at the wife. ”
“So what do you want me to do?” Ted started typing on his tablet again.
“We’re going to find the runaway husband for her, if he’s still alive. I know Dick Randall. He has a background check business here in Seattle. He’s always on the shady side of the law. He runs a chain of bikini barista stands. I’ve already done a little digging. He was just convicted for sexually exploiting a minor, faced some hard time. Didn’t show up for his sentencing hearing. There’s a bench warrant out on him.”
Ted stopped writing and looked up. “Sounds like a slimy dude. Do you think he skipped?”
“I don’t know yet, but I wouldn’t put it past him. I need you to look into it. Dig around a little. Find out everything you can about him. His wife said he missed their house payments. Look at his financials. It seems to me that he has a pretty lucrative little business. Find out where the money’s going. See if he’s been stashing it anyplace.”
“Gotcha. What’s the priority? I’m still digging into the Murray case. Is this more important?”
Catrina got up from her chair. “No. This is just lukewarm. Go ahead and finish up on Murray. Fit this in when you have time. There’s nothing urgent about this... yet.”
Ted thought for a moment then pulled his keyboard back in front of him. His curiosity got the better of him. A new case was always too tempting to put off.
“Let’s just see what Mr. Dick Randall has been up to,” he said and began typing.
Carina sat back down.
He called up WebPI.com, a subscription detective website. He typed in Dick Randall’s name and got several hits. He selected the one with a Seattle address.
“Wow! This guy’s been married five times. He really gets around. Owns eight coffee stands, been arrested four times. Uh-oh. You’re not going to like this.”
“What?” Catrina asked, scooting forward in her chair.
“His lawyer is Abe Weinstein.”
Ted and Catrina had crossed swords with Weinstein in the past. He did a lot of work for the mob and Mexican drug cartels.
“Why would Randall be mixed up with a mob lawyer?” Catrina asked, absent-mindedly scratching her head.
“Randall’s credit rating is a mess,” Ted went on. “It looks like he makes good money, but never pays his bills on time. Complaints from ex-wives about missing alimony payments.”
He typed in a few more key-strokes.
“He owns three houses and is behind on the mortgages on all of them. He has two apartment buildings in the Seattle area. His tenants filed claims against him saying he wasn’t making repairs. He has two lawsuits pending from landlords of his barista stands saying he was late and missing payments to them.”
“How does this guy stay in business?” Catrina raised her coffee cup to her lips, only to find it empty. “Why would anyone want to be a vendor to some schmuck they had to chase down for payments?”
“I got Randall’s bank’s name.” Ted copied and pasted the information to a Word document. “I can hack in later and get his financial information. Find out if he’s used any of his credit cards since his ‘disappearance.’”
What’s happened to my moral code? Ted thought.
There was a time when he would have refused to hack a bank or the phone company because it was illegal.
Has Catrina really led me so far astray or am I just growing up and not seeing the world in such blacks and whites? he wondered.
Whatever the case, if they were going to find out what happened to Randall, Ted needed to get the data.
“What else?” Ted asked. “Oh yes, phones.”
Back when Ted was on the Millennium Systems case, he’d gotten the back door into the phone company’s system. He hoped Randall’s landline carrier was his cell carrier too. That would make it easier.
“How about a little honey pot?” Ted smiled. “I have a porno website I can use to plant a Trojan horse in his computers.” His voice rose with excitement. “I’ll email Randall a solicitous message getting him to click on the link. When Randall opens the web page, it’ll capture his IP address and downloa
d the virus to his computer.” Ted clapped his hands and leaned back in his chair.
“What will that get us?” Catrina was not wise to the computer world.
“After that, ol’ Teddy will own his systems. The Trojan horse will capture all of Randall’s key-strokes and build a file with an image of his hard drive. I’ll upload them later and get all of his passwords, bank accounts, correspondence and anything else that would help find him.” This was better than sex.
“Poor bastard. He doesn’t stand a chance against Super-Teddy.”
Chapter 10
Ted’s smart phone chirped. He looked at the screen.
“R we still on 4 dinner?” Maria texted.
Ted typed “Nuevo Chaparral. Meeting C and H.”.
He looked at the corner of his computer screen: 6:13 p.m. I better get going, he told himself.
His Wednesday tradition of dinner with Chris had expanded to include Hope. Now it was about to expand again. If Chris could bring his main squeeze, even if she was his little sister, then ol’ Teddy could bring his lady too.
Ted grabbed his jacket and headed out the door. The office was still a hive of activity. Flaherty & Associates didn’t work nine to five.
It was already dark out. Ted couldn’t get over how quickly that happened in the fall. The heavy overcast helped blot out what little rays of sunlight might try to sneak in. It seemed like only last week that the sun was still up at ten o’clock at night. He climbed into his black roadster and turned on the head-lights.
It was a short drive from Catrina’s office in the SODO neighborhood, (Would he ever think of it as his office)? to Lake Union. Ted pulled into the parking lot and noted Chris’s Porsche. Chris must be awfully anxious to meet him; he usually worked late every night. Hah! Meet him. What a joke. He knew good and well who Chris wanted to meet.
“Hey, amigo,” Chris shouted when Ted walked in. He already had a Margarita and a basket of chips and salsa in front of him. Juanita, the waitress, was dropping off a tray with pickled onions, carrots and chiles.
Bikini Baristas: Ted Higuera Series Book 4 Page 9
