Back home I put Bonnie down for a nap. We lay together in my bed with her cradled in my arms. “I love you beautiful,” I say.
“Love you,” she whispers before falling asleep.
When she’s sound asleep, I carefully lift myself from the bed. She stirs a little but doesn’t wake. My dad’s in his office so I let him know I’m leaving for a bit.
“I need to run into town,” I say.
“Where you going?” he asks.
“Nowhere really. I just have some errands to do while I’m here.”
“Errands?” he asks.
“Yeah...no big deal. I just need to pick up some things.”
I drive into town to a small house near the courthouse. There’s a little grey and green sign in the yard that reads “AUSTIN INVESTIGATION SERVICE.” I hurried so I’d be here in time for my appointment.
I walk in the front door, and a bell rings as I enter. There’s a reception desk right as you walk in the front, but no one’s sitting there.
“Hello,” I say loud enough for anyone in the house to hear me.
A dark haired woman who looks like she’s been working there for years comes from the back. I don't see anyone else around. “Hello sweetheart’,” she says with a strong Texas draw. Mr. Flint is expecting you. He’s on the phone. Give him a minute, and he’ll be right up. Do you mind filling out this paperwork?”
I take the clipboard, but decide not to fill anything out. I sit in a chair and look around. The building looks old with creaky wood floors and almost no decorations. It looks like a criminal lawyer’s office you see on television. There are old file cabinets in a room that looks like it was once a bathroom. Files are laying around everywhere. It’s not a very big office. You might think the place is vacant if you didn’t know better.
I’m sitting for less than five minutes when a tall, overweight man comes up. His hair is grey and looks like it hasn’t been combed in years. He has a goatee and glasses. “What can I do for you honey?” he asks with the same strong, southern accent.
“I called yesterday and talked to your receptionist. I want to talk to you about some investigation work.”
“Come on back and have a seat in my office little girl,” he says leading the way.
We walk back to his office. There are two maroon chairs in front of an old desk that’s full of papers. There aren’t any diplomas on the wall and no fancy decorations. He has a painting behind his desk of a bunch of Republican presidents sitting around a table playing poker. I recognize Abraham Lincoln, Ronald Reagan, and George Bush. I don’t know any of the others.
“Tom Flint,” he says extending his hand. “How can I help you little girl?”
“Thank you for seeing me. I’m trying to find someone.”
“That’s what I do,” he says. “Who you looking for?”
“I have a photo of my mom ––“
“So you wanna find your mamma?” he interrupts.
I take the photo out of my purse and put it on his desk. “Not exactly,” I correct him. “This is my mom. You can see there was someone else in the photo. The other person in the photo was her boyfriend. I’m trying to find him to tell him about my mother.”
He picks up the photo and takes a closer look. “Why don’t you just ask your mama?”
“My mother passed away a few years ago. The man in the picture is someone she used to date. That’s why I’m trying to find this man. I want to tell him about my mom.”
He pulls out a magnifying glass from his desk and looks at the hand in the photo. I know exactly what he’s looking at because I’ve done the exact same thing. The man in the photo has tan skin, well-manicured nails, and he’s wearing a gold watch.
“Damn,” he says still looking at the photo. “This isn’t the first time someone’s come to me with a photo wanting to locate one person or another, but there’s usually a face or a name that goes along with it. This picture here don’t give me much to work with little girl. It won’t be easy. I charge $175 an hour, plus expenses. I can’t give you any guarantee we’ll find this feller.”
“Mr. Flint, I came here because I believe someone at your company took this photo. Look at the back.”
He turns the photo over, raises his eyebrows, and says, “Why didn’t you say so little girl. I think we can crack this case in no time. What’s your Mamma’s name?”
“Faith Brunick,” I answer.
He pushes a button on his phone and almost shouts, “Patti, get your sweet little self in here for a sec.”
The woman at the front desk walks in and he announces, “This little girl’s mamma passed away. She wants to make sure her boyfriend knows. See if we have a file on Faith Brunick and bring it to me?”
“No problem,” she says and walks out the door.
I sit in his office while he makes a call that goes on for a long time. He covers the phone with his hand, raises his pointer finger, and whispers, “Be right with you little girl.”
Fifteen minutes later, Patti comes back carrying a pretty big box full of papers, envelopes, and files. “I found it,” she says. “This file was closed almost ten years ago. It was with the files upstairs.”
Flint gives her a nod and says, “Thanks, honey.” She walks back to the front.
Flint sets the box on the floor and opens the lid. He opens one file, gives it a quick review, and sets it still open on his desk. Still talking on the phone, he thumbs through the rest of the box until he finds a large envelope full of pictures.
He covers the phone with his hand again and quietly says, “Let’s see here…I think we can find what you’re looking for.”
He opens the envelope and pours the stack of photos into his hand. I can only see the back of each photo. They all have the same gold stamp as the photos I have. I lean forward hoping he’s going to share the photos with me, but he doesn’t. He moves from one photo to the next without saying a word. There are maybe fifty photos in his hand.
While he’s thumbing through the photos I look down at the file he left wide open. There’s a piece of paper secured to the right side of the file by a two-hole punch. It’s all handwritten and the handwriting isn’t very easy to make out. Close to the top there’s a typewritten line that says “Target” followed by a long line. Written on the line is “Faith Brunick.” I wouldn’t be able to identify the name except I recognize the word “Faith” and the “B” and “k” of Brunick.
I can’t make out much else. Halfway down the page, there’s a name that’s circled several times. The first name begins with “Za” and the last name looks like “Ball” but it could be “Bell.” The circled name has an arrow that points to the word “Bangkok.”
Mr. Flint looks up from the photos and sees me reading (or trying to read) the file. “I’ll call you back,” he quickly tells the person on the phone and immediately hangs up. He shuts the file in front of me closed and puts it back in the box. He stacks all the pictures face down in front of him and asks, “What was your name little girl?”
This “little girl” part is so annoying…and belittling. “Faith Brunick,” I answer.
“Well little girl, this file was closed long ago. I’m not at liberty to disclose –“
“Mr. Flint, I really need your help. All I want is to tell this man about my mom.”
“I’m sorry to hear bout your mama, but this file is confidential. Under the law my hands are tied.”
“You can’t give me anything?” I ask.
“I told you little girl. My hands are tied.”
“Just a name?”
He stands up and comes around to my chair. He puts his hand on my back and says, “I’m sorry,” letting me know I’ve overstayed my welcome. He’s practically throwing me out of his office.
“I need my photo back,” I say reaching to him.
He moves a file to his left uncovering my photo. I wonder if he was trying to keep it. He hands me the torn photo I came in here with. We walk to the front door and Patti says, “Have a nice day hon
ey.”
Flint opens the front door and says, “Have a nice day little girl.”
Ryan Brunick
“Falsehood will fly, as it were, on the wings of the wind, and carry its tales to every corner of the earth; whilst truth lags behind; her steps, though sure, are slow and solemn, and she has neither vigour nor activity enough to pursue and overtake her enemy…”
–– Thomas Franklin
“Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.”
–– Confucius
– CHAPTER 19 –
I n his early years, Ryan Brunick gained a reputation as a tough trial lawyer. Twenty-years later he’s known as a tough trial lawyer who never loses. His reputation, and the clients wanting his services, grew bigger every year. Now his office is in the nicest building in downtown Austin only walking distance from the courthouse. This was a must when he chose a location since he spent more days at the courthouse than at his own office.
There’s hardwood on the floors and ceilings and recessed lighting throughout the office. The art is from some of the finest art dealers around the world. The car he drives, suits he wears, and the gold and diamond Rolex on his wrist all advertise his success.
Ryan is sitting in his office with Rob – he always calls his clients by their first name. Rob is a very happy (and relieved) client. He was left with a broken vertebra in his neck after a delivery driver ran a red light and hit the side of his car flipping it around and upside down. The past two years has been too stressful. Rob had two surgeries and is tired, still in pain, and just wanting the case over. He would have taken the insurance company’s last offer, but Ryan said the offer was an insult and they’d get him more money at trial. Ryan was right again.
The trial started on Monday, but settled before Ryan put on a single witness. It was obvious that Ryan developed a connection with several of the jurors during voir dire (the part of the trial where you pick the jury.) When Ryan asked if they were all willing, if the evidence showed it was fair, to award more than ten million dollars they all agreed they could. One of the jurors was injured in a similar collision. By the end of Ryan’s opening statement, the jurors were nodding their heads and looking at Ryan’s client like they were looking at a family member.
When Ryan broke the news that the driver of the delivery vehicle –who the defendant hired and put on our roads, but now won’t even let him sit at their table – had prior convictions for possession of marijuana, two speeding tickets, and one ticket for running a red light, the jury stared at the defense attorney like they were ready to punish someone.
The defense attorney pulled Ryan aside and begged him to “be reasonable.” He agreed to Ryan’s last settlement offer plus an additional $100,000 for the time Ryan spent getting ready for trial.
“God Bless you, Mr. Brunick,” Rob says after Ryan sees him to the door. Ryan extends his hand, but Rob takes him in his arms and gives him a big hug. Ryan’s gotten used to hugs by clients.
When Ryan closes the door and heads back to his office, his legal secretary, Debbie Rios, announces, “Mr. Brunick, Mr. Flint is waiting on line two for you.”
Ryan tells his next waiting client that he’ll be right with him and goes back to his office. He picks up the phone and says, “Tom, how you been buddy?”
“Oh, bout as good as a tick on a dog’s ass,” Tom Flint responds.
Flint always talks like this, and Ryan has never liked it. “How can I help you, Tom?” Ryan asks.
“Well, I got a visitor today. She was asking questions, poking around at an old file. I thought you might want to know bout it.”
“What client?” he asks.
“No client,” he says. “She was asking bout that old, personal matter we took care of for you.”
“What!?!” Ryan snaps. “You gotta be kidding me.”
“I’m as serious as a heart attack.” Tom replies.
You didn’t give them anything did you?”
“Hell no. What kind of dumb-ass do you think I am?”
“Did you get a name?”
“Hope….Hope Brunick,” he answers. “Said she’s checking for her mama’s boyfriend.” When Ryan doesn’t say anything Tom asks, “You there Ryan?”
“I’m here,” Ryan answers.
“Was your ex this girl’s mama?” Tom asks.
Ryan clears his throat and says, “Yes…. yes, she’s my daughter.”
“You’re kidding,” Tom says in a much more serious tone. “Ryan, I don’t need this kind of trouble. I told you this better not come back and bite us in the ass.”
“It’s no trouble, Tom,” Ryan tries to assure him.
“Don't Tom me, God damn it,” Tom shouts into the phone. “I hated this from the beginning. I wanted no part of it, but you promised me everything would be okay.”
“It is okay…it’s going to be okay,” Ryan says to calm him down. “What did she say?”
“She had one of our photos. It was stamped right there on the back bigger den Dallas.”
“What photo?”
“Shit Ryan, I don’t know what photo. It’s the photo of her mamma walking on the beach or something. Photo’s torn in half.”
“Can she tell who the guy is?”
“Negative, that’s why she’s here. Someone torn him right out the picture.”
“Who?” Ryan asks.
“Hell if I know. Maybe she did…maybe her mamma did. She don’t know, but I got the real McCoy. It’s that boy in the photo.”
“What boy?” Ryan asks.
“That Zach boy,” Flint yells like Ryan’s some kind of idiot just for asking.
“Why did she come to you?” Ryan asks.
“I told you. Said her mamma died and she wanted to tell the guy in the picture. She wanted to know who this guy is.”
“This ain’t good,” Ryan says.
“You’re damn right this ain’t good. I don’t know how the hell my photo got in her hands.”
“I have no idea,” Ryan sighs. “I sure didn't give it to her.”
“Ryan, I don’t wanna see her again. Take care of this.”
“Thanks for the heads up, Tom. Don’t worry; I’ll take care of it. Just let me know if you hear anything more.”
After Ryan hangs up the phone, he closes his eyes and puts his head in his hands. How did this happen? Things were so simple when the kids were young. You just tell them what to do and they do it. Didn’t I tell her to let this go? Hope has always been so willful and determined. Whether it’s running for student counsel president, playing volleyball, or getting into Stanford, when she wants something she won’t stop until she gets it.
There are too many unanswered questions. For starters, how did she get a photo, and how many more does she have? How did she find out her mother died? If she knows about this what else does she know?
She has already gone too far. Ryan can’t allow her to dig any deeper. This crusade she’s on has to end – and it has to end now.
– CHAPTER 20 –
T hree and a half years ago, Grace and her husband came over for dinner. When the plates were cleared, and everyone was eating Crème Brulee with homemade vanilla ice cream, Grace told the family the great news – they were going to have a baby. Ryan and Kate were thrilled. They were going to be grandparents!
You’d think it was Ryan and Kate having a new baby. Ryan wanted everything to be perfect. He moved his family to a new home in the hill country with five bedrooms, a big swimming pool, and ten acres so the kids could have a pony. He built a two-bedroom guesthouse on the other side of the swimming pool with its own kitchen so his kids would have their own place to stay when they came to visit with his new grandbaby. Ryan built two magnificent nurseries – one in his house and one in the guesthouse.
Bonnie loved spending time at Gampa’s, Gamma’s, and Princess (her little pony.) She’d stay for a month every summer. When she’s not riding her pony she’s splashing around in the baby part of the swimming pool. This summer she’ll start
swimming lessons.
The guesthouse has a secret closet behind a bookshelf that always remains locked. The only key to the closet stays hidden in Ryan’s home office, taped to the bottom of his center desk drawer.
Ryan grabs the key before walking out to the guesthouse. Once the Bookshelf is scooted over and the door to the secret closet is unlocked, Ryan removes one box after another until he uncovers a large box at the very bottom with “TAX RETURNS” written across the top. The box is taped closed. He pulls out the box, cuts the tape, opens the lid, and removes the layer of tax returns spread across the top. Below these papers is his divorce file.
He thumbs through the file until he reaches a folder labeled “INVESTIGATION”. Inside this folder is an envelope full of all the photos taken so long ago. He hasn’t even looked at these photos in over three years.
The first photos are all of Paul – that son of a bitch who stole his wife and destroyed his beautiful family. But you can’t steal what’s given so willingly, can you?
The first three are photos of the son of a bitch kissing his wife outside a popular Austin restaurant. The next photos are harder for Ryan to look at. The son of a bitch has his hand on his wife’s breast and then has his breast in his mouth. Ryan remembers back when Faith was so self-conscious about her breasts – barely wanted him to see them. Now here she is, exposing herself to some guy she barely knows and any other Austin resident who walks by the parking lot. From that day forward, Ryan never saw his wife the same again. He thought things couldn't get any worse––but boy was he wrong.
Next Ryan’s holding the photos from that day at the park. He knows there are nineteen photos because he’s fixated on these photos so many times. There once was a time when the sight of them actually made him physically sick. Now they’re burned in his mind forever. He shakes his head as he sees his once loving wife laying there for the whole world to see. She’s wearing these sexy panties that even he didn’t recognize.
The Beginning of Hope: The Highly Anticipated, Mind-Blowing Sequel to the Killing of Faith (The Killing of Faith Series Book 2) Page 12
