Dreams of the Dead Page 3

  6. As a resident of a foreign country I am requesting permission to make a Special Appearance in this action in absentia, represented by my counsel, Michael Stamp of the law firm of Caplan, Stamp, and Powell. I am unable to travel to the United States at this time due to pending Warrants of Arrest in the States of California and Nevada which I intend to contest in due course.

  For all the above reasons, I request that this Honorable Court deny the motion of Petitioners to approve the sale of the said company unless and until I have been contacted through my attorneys and my consent or declination of the transaction has been obtained.

  In the alternative, if the Court for other reasons decides to approve the sale, I request that my entire share of the gross proceeds be placed in an interest-bearing trust account pending a final determination of my claim to the proceeds and my obligations as to resort debts and sales costs.

  This Declaration is made under penalty of perjury pursuant to the laws of the State of California on or about the 15th day of March, at the City of Porto Alegre, State of Rio Grande do Sul, República Federativa do Brasil.

  The document was signed, dated, witnessed, and notarized. Nina stared at the signature. She remembered Jim Strong’s writing, the aggressive hook of the g, the pressing-down, the size of his writing. She was interested in graphology and remembered signatures.

  It looked like the real thing. She said, “Do you know if the requirements for notarizing documents in Brazil are as careful as they are here?”

  “No idea. I’ve never been to Brazil.”

  “The signature looks like Jim’s to you?”

  “Looks exactly like his. I can’t tell you the impact it had on me, when I first saw this.”

  “Brazil,” Nina said. “Why?”

  “Don’t know. He’s far away, at least, and it doesn’t seem he has any plans to show up in town, but I wanted to tell you myself, he still seems to be walking this planet. And look here.” Philip reached into his briefcase and unearthed a letter from Michael Stamp dated March 24th. “It’s a demand letter for a complete accounting of the anticipated sale proceeds and for twelve and a half percent of the gross sale, not even the net, to be placed in escrow. That would tie up everything, Nina—the entire two and a half million!”

  “It stinks,” Nina said. “It’s a dual attack. The strategy seems to be this: to demand that Jim’s share of something over four hundred thousand net be paid to Jim in Brazil, or in the alternative Mike Stamp will try to tie up the entire net proceeds in an escrow account, which may well sit for years. The object is to put pressure on the rest of you to accept the affidavit as valid and sufficient proof that Jim is alive and get the four hundred thousand freed up quickly. It’s nasty, but very effective. Very smart.” Stamp was a chess player. Nina played chess, too, and was familiar with a forking maneuver when she saw one.

  “Lynda’s unwilling to try to deal with it. Of course I’m not going to send the money to Brazil. Kelly has been in therapy—I went into a depression myself and had a minor heart attack because of him—look what he did to—I am not going to do anything to benefit Jim except help him surrender. If he’s alive, he can come up here and ask for his share in person.”

  Nina nodded and reached for the bottle of Pepto-Bismol in the bottom drawer and poured herself a slug.

  “Bellyache?” he asked.

  “You got that right.”

  Philip smiled sadly. “He always was.”

  “This signature appears to be authentic.” She couldn’t understand how she could be holding a signed document from a man she firmly believed to be dead. “Of course, we would have it checked.”

  “And after everything, he is my son. I loved him, once. It’s all beyond me. I’ve been torn apart so many times I—”

  “Do you know of any connection he had to Brazil?” Nina thumbed again through the legal pleadings. A pro forma proceeding had exploded into real litigation.

  “Marianne’s mother lives in Brazil,” Philip said, “but she says they aren’t in contact. That’s about all I know about Brazil. Samba. Ipanema. The Amazon.”

  “The other side of the world. Philip, is there any evidence Jim is alive other than this affidavit? Is this it?”

  “Yes. According to his lawyer in Brazil, he doesn’t want to contact us as family anymore. He only wants money. You know, he told Kelly once, he took his anger out on other people by taking away what they loved most. I guess he thinks I’m all about the money. It’s true, it was my hope to use the money to start a new life. This is my punishment. Endless punishment. It’s eerie. The strength of his jealousy and vindictiveness—maybe he is alive.”

  They were both silent for a moment. Nina patted Philip Strong’s gnarly, cold hand.

  He said, “Lynda suggested I try to get you involved. Did she call you?”

  “Not yet. I appreciate you coming here, Philip, but I can’t help you. As you know, I have a close personal stake in this. Your son was my client.” The unspoken flowed between them. Not only had Jim Strong been her client. He had killed her husband.

  “That’s why you should be involved, if you can stand it. You withdrew from handling his defense. There’s no legal conflict. And if Jim is alive, you can find out where he’s living, what he’s up to, what he’s planning. You can track him. Maybe you can get an address or something from his lawyers. Extradite him. Get him tried. Find a silver lining. I don’t know.”

  “Philip?”

  “Yes?”

  “He’s dead. This is a fraud.”

  “So help me prove it. You’re familiar with us, familiar with him, and you are a good lawyer. Hardly a week goes by without news about some case you won.”

  “It’s a small town, once you deduct the tourists. Not so much to write about.”

  “We need you, Nina. I’m sorry, but we do. You know the criminal case against Jim and you practice civil law. Kelly wants you to come on board, too. She told me she’d prefer that any money we need to spend on this case goes to you.”

  “I’m grateful for your faith in me. But—”

  “And Marianne would like it, too.”

  This, Nina did not believe. Philip’s daughter-in-law had always troubled her.

  Philip continued, “I know this might take some time. I’ll give you a generous retainer and front all the expenses.” This all came out in one breath, a plea.

  Nina’s intercom line rang. That would be Sandy. “Excuse me,” she said to Strong, and glanced toward the doorway that led from the outer office, and which sure enough was cracked for Sandy to now catch the gist.

  “Ask for ten,” Sandy said in her ear. “And they pay you to watch over a guy you should watch over.”

  “I’ll get back to you on that.” Nina heard her friend Paul’s voice in her mind. A screw loose, he would say about Jim, as if that explained everything about a boy with the empathy of a slug who grew into a man who killed other people.

  She turned back to Philip. “What exactly do you want me to do?”

  “Talk to Lynda about taking over the sale.”

  “When?”

  Philip said, “Well, right away. The hearing is coming up pretty fast.”

  “I see that. Wednesday at three.” Two days away. For the millionth time, Nina wondered why every single damn legal problem had to be complicated by some sort of insane deadline.

  “Lynda doesn’t know what to do. She realizes she’s out of her depth. We seem to be in a dangerous and chaotic and urgent situation, Nina.”

  “What about the buyers for your resort? Any chance you could convince them to be a little more patient?”

  “It’s not up to them. They have bank deadlines.”

  “So a continuance might be fatal to the sale?”

  Philip spread his hands. “Please. I know it would be smarter for you to not get involved. I know we have no right to ask. But—I don’t know, at least help us complete the sale and prevent the money from going to Jim in Brazil.”

  “He’s dead, Philip. I
truly believe that. I would take that position rather strongly, and that would mean that you would take the position that this is some sort of con.”

  “Take whatever position you think is right.”

  She could imagine nothing more satisfying than a final resolution, Jim declared dead, all of them able to move on without his ghost coming around to haunt them. She was excited, infuriated; the signature on the foreign affidavit she was fingering was like the return of a ghost she had to do battle with, had to fully defeat this time.

  She opened her appointment book and studied it. Philip waited. She could hear him breathing.

  “All right, Philip, I’ll represent you. I can put aside some commitments to get to this right away. I’ll check with the Ethics Committee of the state bar first to make sure there isn’t a legal conflict, but if I get an okay, I’ll do my best to complete the sale.”

  “And you’ll deal with Jim?”

  “And deal with whatever.”

  “Thank you so very much.” Strong reached again into his briefcase and said, “A starter.” He handed her a corporate check made out to Law Offices of Nina Reilly.

  Twenty thousand dollars. A sign that this wouldn’t be easy.

  She stood up, and that urged Strong to get up. His back seemed to hurt him as he did so, and he gave the orange chair a dubious look and arched his body carefully.

  Great.

  “I’ve already hired the same private detective who investigated Jim’s embezzling. Eric Brinkman. Do you know him?”

  “I know of him. I usually use an investigator from out of town.”

  “Eric speaks Portuguese—he’s American, though. He’s willing to go to Brazil. I’ll call him and tell him to make an appointment to see you right away.”

  At the door to the hallway, Philip leaned in close and whispered, “I hate him. My own son.”

  “I can relate. He hurt me, Philip.”

  “He’s a pain. A bad one.”

  She allowed herself to let out a dry chuckle. “He always was.”

  CHAPTER 3

  As soon as she saw Philip Strong out, Nina made a quick call, then stuck her head out her office door and said to Sandy, “Can you get hold of Paul?”

  The left side of Sandy’s lips turned up slightly.

  The Mona Lisa half smile: Sandy ecstatic, Nina thought.

  “About time you talked to him.”

  “I don’t have much choice. He’s involved.” Nobody had a more intimate relationship with the Strong family than Paul, however much he might wish to forget it.

  “I already put in a call to Carmel.”

  Sheer gall or mind reading, Nina could never decide about Sandy. “That was jumping the gun. But okay, thanks.”

  “I knew you needed him. Meanwhile, you have a meeting later with Burglar Boy. I’ll lock up the silver and the files good before he shows.”

  “Fine. I can’t put that off. I’m going to read these papers from Philip Strong and talk to Paul. I’ve got some things to think about.”

  Sandy pulled at her lower lip. “Jim Strong’s in Brazil?”

  “So his father believes.”

  “I can hardly stand to say his name.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Bob told me he was dead.”

  Bob was Nina’s fifteen-year-old son. He, too, had been terrorized by Jim Strong. Paul had talked to him and somehow allayed his fears. With lies?

  “Bob doesn’t know anything.”

  “He said Paul said.”

  Nina felt a cold finger scratching her spine and shook a little to knock it off. “I heard what Paul told him, Sandy. He was reassuring a scared kid.”

  “Don’t worry, I didn’t even tell Joseph. I didn’t even tell God about it in my prayers. But now I gotta say something. Paul told Bob he took care of Jim. He shouldn’t have done that to make Bob feel better.”

  “Maybe Paul needed to make us feel safer.”

  “Maybe Paul knew what he was talking about.”

  Nina didn’t know what to say to that.

  “In spite of what Paul said, if Jim Strong’s in Brazil, can he be extradited?” Sandy asked.

  “I just found out from Sergeant Cheney that the authorities down there have been informed about the contact. I get the feeling that law enforcement is going to let the Strong family do the legwork of confirming it or proving it’s wrong before they try to start any kind of extradition proceeding, Sandy. It’s true, though, if Jim’s alive, the sale of the resort is flushing him out. He has to come forward or forfeit a fortune. There’s so much money involved.” About all Fred Cheney had been able to tell Nina was that murder warrants were still out on Jim Strong.

  Sandy rubbed her nose with a finger. “If he’s alive, we’ll have to kill him.”

  “An affidavit does not a live man make.” Nina went back to her desk and looked at the file pile. Her concentration was blown, but she was used to forcing herself to work in whatever mood she was in. She opened a file and got efficient and busy and let Jim Strong ride a high current in her mind, float there not doing much, waiting. She could hear Sandy in the outer office, clacking on her keys, and the sound was comforting. Sandy sure was working hard these days.

  At noon Nina and Sandy put on their coats and drove through the slush to the new Chinese restaurant near the Y. Nina ordered wine and Sandy’s eye went to the glass. Sandy did not drink, drug, smoke, or tolerate fools.

  “My choice was this or Jack Daniel’s straight,” Nina said. “It’s wine, Sandy, not whiskey. I’m not falling-down drunk in an alley, happy but semiconscious. I’m upset.”

  “Me, too, which is why I’m keeping my wits about me.” Sandy had ordered a plate piled high with cashew chicken over rice, with a side dish of broccoli. She ate, studying Nina.

  Nina sipped her wine slowly, knowing she could not order another without inviting an intervention. Two glasses of wine at lunch was the beginning of the end for a lawyer. The food didn’t attract Nina at all, which on its own was highly unusual.

  “Lynda Eckhardt called.” Sandy delicately sipped her iced Darjeeling. “She’ll cooperate all she can, but you need to decide pronto.”

  “I’ve told Strong I’m in, but I wish I could have talked to Paul first.”

  Sandy speared a piece of broccoli and ate it, mouth closed, chewing methodically. “I like Paul.”

  “Don’t we all.”

  “But he’d lie if he thought he had a reason to.”

  “Yes.”

  A couple of grains of rice remained on Sandy’s plate. She picked up her chopsticks and hunted them down. “Paul hasn’t been up here in the mountains in ages.”

  “His choice.”

  “Not exactly. Yours. Yours and Kurt’s.”

  “No. Paul’s problem.”

  “Still.”

  “Still what?”

  “Still got a thing for you.”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake.” Nina sucked down what was left in her wineglass, gulped some water, and took a bite of her egg roll. “I’m trying to make it work with Kurt right now. Paul understands that.”

  “But,” Sandy said, then sucked down the rest of her tea, “no contact for months.”

  “I don’t know why guys get that way, Sandy. It’s never made any sense to me how they cut you off when things change. They seem to need to go cold and quiet. I’d love to see him.”

  “Really.”

  “Of course.”

  “Why not stay in contact?”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “And there’s Kurt to think about.”

  Nina looked out the window at the happy people moseying along the sidewalk. “You’re right. Paul understands. He stays away because that’s appropriate. I’m with Kurt. I guess I actually don’t like it when people do that, stay in touch with old lovers, like, if things don’t work out, they’ve got an alternative lined up.”

  “Well, you picked Kurt over Paul.”

  “I did.”

  “Kurt’s your son’s f
ather, I get that,” Sandy said. “Aside from that, I wish I knew why you stick it out.”

  The doors to the restaurant opened, letting in a frigid blast of air, but the doors shut and nobody came inside. Nina shivered. “I only want to do my job, make some money, raise my son, and find someone to love. Why’s that so hard?”

  “Yeah, why is it?” Sandy said, her standard impassivity restored. “I think you should get a horse.”

  “What?”

  “Get outside. Do some riding. Do something normal on the weekend besides working.”

  Nina left some money on the table and pushed her chair back.

  “Nix on the horse,” she said.

  “You go ahead.” Sandy scraped up the last of her chicken, steady and deliberate as always. “Don’t worry. I’ll get the receipt.”

  That afternoon in Nina’s office, the young burglar took the news that his case was going to be reduced to a misdemeanor with aplomb. “Time served?” he said.

  “That’ll be the recommendation, along with three years of probation. But, Josh, listen, okay? You need to pay attention.”

  He raised his eyebrows as if attending, but his eyes were glued to his smartphone.

  “You’ll go to prison if you do it again.”

  “You mean, if I’m caught.” He was nineteen, with a shaven head and blue tattoos covering his left arm. His lost eyes, when they finally looked up, bothered Nina. His crying mother had paid his legal fee. Like many young petty criminals, he thought he’d just had a spell of bad luck, when what he had had was a foreshadowing.

  Nina handed him an appointment card. “Nine a.m., tomorrow. Be there. Do not under any circumstances get in any trouble before then.”

  He grinned at her, stroking ornately carved facial hair, then got up and said with a formality that astonished her, “May I ask you a personal question?”

  “What?”

  “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-eight.”

  Her youthful burglar looked her in the eye and said, “I hope when I’m that age, my wife looks just like you.”

  Half her age, he almost had her fluffing her hair. “See you tomorrow.”