Revenge of the Spellmans (12 page)

T
o the naked eye, Linda Black wasn’t doing anything wrong. But she must have been doing something to have two private investigators following her. I decided against telling Ernie about my latest information. I kept an eye on the blue Nissan’s whereabouts over the next few days. If Bob’s car was idling outside of Ernie’s muffler shop or home, I wouldn’t bother leaving the house, but on the rare occasion Linda (followed by Bob) ventured somewhere else, I’d pick up the tail. Other than the bank, lunch with a local female friend (not Sharon), and a trip to the library (where Linda used the computer but did not check out any books), the only location Mrs. Black visited was a mailbox center to check her mail.

I called Ernie that evening to ask about the rented mailbox.

“What rented mailbox?”

So Ernie didn’t know about the mailbox. Ernie also couldn’t come up with a plausible explanation for why his wife might require the mailbox. It occurred to me that his wife might have some financial issues that she was hiding from him. I asked Ernie who handled their finances. Linda, of course. He didn’t know how his business would have survived without her. Ernie was floored by the mailbox discovery. But his mind was still on Linda having an affair, so he molded this new information to fit his fears.

“Maybe she’s using the PO box to communicate with her lover,” Ernie said.

“Probably not.”

I tried to get Ernie interested in the money situation, but he wasn’t. Since I wasn’t ready to inform Ernie about the second investigation on his wife, I asked for Linda’s Social Security number and date of birth and offered to do a quick check on her finances. He didn’t see what that had to do with anything, but I pushed and he agreed.

And that’s how I learned that Ernie and Linda were not legally married. This took a few days to confirm. Linda Black’s credit reports bore the name Linda Truesdale—according to Ernie, his wife’s maiden name. Also according to Ernie, this was Linda’s first marriage. But since Ernie wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, or at least not the most suspicious, I decided to check their marriage license, which should contain each party’s birth name, location of birth, and previous marital history.

I phoned Ernie to verify the location of his wedding. They traveled a short distance up the coast, stayed at a beach hotel in Marin County, and were married by one of Linda’s friends, who just happened to be a minister of the Universal Life Church.
1
The wedding took place in Marin County, but there was no record in Marin. The couple lived in San Mateo County. There was no record in San Mateo County. In between San Mateo and Marin you will find San Francisco County. No record there.

I phoned Ernie again to see if maybe I had misunderstood him.

“Ernie, when you say that you’re married, do you mean you’re married in the legal sense, or that in your heart you’re married, or that you’re married in the common law sense of the word?”

“I mean I’m legally married with a marriage license and all that stuff.”

“Could you get me a copy of your marriage license, Ernie?”

“I’m sure it’s around somewhere.”

“How about your tax returns?”

“Linda handles all that.”

“But you should still have access to them, right?”

“I’m sure I
could
get that stuff for you, but why?”

“It’s important, Ernie. I’ll explain later. Just bring whatever you can by the bar sometime this week, okay?”

Two days later, Ernie dropped by in the afternoon. I served him club soda with a splash of whiskey. He’s not an afternoon drinker, he informed me, as if I would consider that a credit to his character.

Ernie had never been a fan of paperwork, filing, government documents, or proofs of existence. Ernie liked working on cars, buying suits, and taking short vacations in which relaxation—not education or experience—was the key ingredient. Ernie was a simple, likable man. He was probably even a very good husband, or at least was trying to be, based on the ridiculous literature he carried with him. (The latest tome under his arm was
How to Make Women Happy Even If It Makes You Miserable: A Guide for Men.
) He was also the kind of husband one could easily dupe if one were in the business of duping husbands.

My client had only an hour to visit with me while Linda was running the shop. Ernie ran home and pulled every file from their file cabinet and brought it to the bar. I told him to chat with Milo while I perused the box. The most significant piece of paper that he pulled for me was a marriage license. It looked legitimate enough on the surface; in fact, it was—or had been once. It would be difficult to prove, but what I was holding in my hands was a doctored copy of a marriage license, with the names and dates changed to fit the parties involved. This document surely existed for Ernie’s benefit alone and therefore required minimal effort to create. I didn’t say anything to Ernie at the time. How do you tell a man who thinks he’s been married for five years that he’s not married at all? I’m all for the sport of uncovering bad news, but I’ve never enjoyed being the bearer of it. For the time being I would keep my silence. I searched through the rest of the box to see what else I could find.

The tax returns were enlightening. Ernie and Linda filed separately.
As an employee at Ernie’s muffler shop, Linda received a W-2. A legitimate-looking W-2 sat in the file, but it was under Linda’s maiden name, Truesdale. It seemed safe to question Ernie on the financial matters. I interrupted him and Milo, who were in the midst of griping about Sunday’s game.

“Ernie, why do you and Linda file separate tax returns?”

“Linda has had some credit problems in the past and wanted to limit my liability. Something about the IRS coming after my business.”

“Did Linda legally change her name from Truesdale to Black?”

“No. I mean, people call her Mrs. Black, but on her driver’s license her name is Truesdale. She said she couldn’t deal with all the paperwork of a name change.”

A name change is a simple procedure with a legitimate marriage license; this detail I kept to myself. It’s quite possible that Linda wanted to keep her maiden name but didn’t want to offend her more traditional husband.

“Do you mind if I make a couple copies of things?” I asked Ernie. “I promise I’ll shred everything when I’m done.”

Ernie looked to Milo for the answer. His first question was unspoken:
Can I trust her?
Milo nodded and Ernie said, “I guess so.”

As I headed for Milo’s office, Ernie’s second question was posed.

“What is it you’re looking for?” he asked.

Ernie was a nice guy and I’d made mistakes before by assuming the worst about people. I didn’t want to make one again. At least, I didn’t want Ernie unduly suspicious of his wife unless I was positive those suspicions were justified.

“Maybe nothing,” I replied. “Just being thorough.”

That evening, I studied the financial data that Ernie provided. Ernie’s tax return, which included his business income, appeared legitimate enough. Only a forensic accountant could prove otherwise. Linda Black-Truesdale’s
two-page 1040 required only basic math and probably took her approximately ten minutes to complete. She had one W-2, took the standard “married, filing separately” deduction, and that was that. The odd part to me was that the copy kept in the file was the original. I smudged the signature to be sure.

It was impossible to point suspicion in any one direction, but the most suspicious part of the story was that Ernie and Linda were not married and it appeared that Linda was going to great lengths to convince Ernie that they were. From a practical standpoint, this didn’t make any sense. In the event of a divorce, Linda would have difficulty proving community property. It only made sense if she had something to lose. I did an asset search and nothing showed up in her name. I ran a credit check, thinking if she had a bankruptcy in her wake, she might want to protect Ernie from her credit problems. But her credit was impeccable. At this point my investigation was stalled. All I knew was that there was more to the story.

But the investigation got a jump start when Bob Goodman showed up at the headquarters of RH Investigations. This might not sound like a big deal to you, but you’re going to have to take my word for it. It was big. In retrospect, it was the point of no return.