Sticks & Stones (A Hollis Morgan Mystery) (16 page)

But deep inside, she knew the woman was telling the truth.

“Come on in the back,” Joe said.

Hollis followed. The studio atmosphere, like its owner, seemed still and subdued. She sat in the same seat she had this morning.

“I still can’t believe Cathy is dead.” He squinted at his hands, folded on top of the desk. “We almost didn’t work together, but we ended up being friends.”

Hollis reminded herself to keep her impatience in check. “Mr. Morton, how did you know Cathy?”

“Call me Joe. I met Cathy about six months ago. She was doing some research on a story. I’d done some photos for a customer, and she found me through one of them.”

“Why do you say you two didn’t start out well?”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “When she first came to the studio, she wanted to know if I doctored pictures. She had one and she wanted to know if I could doctor it.” He shook his head. “I didn’t like the way that sounded, so I told her to leave and take her picture to somebody who didn’t know better.”

“What did she say?”

“She laughed.” He looked into Hollis’ eyes. “She said that I was the man for her.”

Hollis wondered if Morton had had a crush on Cathy.

“Ah, it was a test.”

M
isery washed over his freckled face. He appeared crestfallen; then he sighed and went on. “I really liked her, she was a nice woman and ….”

His voice drifted and Hollis looked away.

“Mr. Morton—”

“Joe, please.”

“Joe.” She smiled and lowered her voice. “Cathy and I went to law school together. We were good friends. I’m representing her employer in a matter that involves determining the validity of her research for an article. I found your name among her things and I was hoping you could help me.”

He straightened in his seat and took a deep breath. “She needed me to blow up some old pictures. Seven of them. She gave them to me on a thumb drive
, so all I had to do was digitally enhance them.”

“Copies of copies?”

He nodded.

“Do you happen to remember what was on them?”

He closed one eye and focused on the past. “Four were of a group of men on the steps at a conference, or maybe it was a reception. One of a woman at an airport—I think she was waving goodbye. And there was one of a document. Looked like some kind of business letter or memo.”

“What about the last one?”

He pursed his lips in a tight line. “Sorry, I can’t remember.”

“What about the logo on the letterhead? Can you remember what it was?”

He squinted again, “I don’t know, maybe an anchor or a shield? I’m sorry.”

Hollis shrugged. “You were very helpful. I really appreciate your talking with me.” She stood.

He slapped his head. “Wait, there was one other thing, I almost forgot. About three weeks ago she called me again and asked me if I had done work taking photos of dead people.”

“Dead people?”

“Yeah, you know, like in the morgue.”

T
he next morning Mark passed a file across his desk to Hollis.

She marked it off a list and placed it in her briefcase. “We’re done here. I’ve got to get back to the office and finish up a couple of cases on my desk
, but I want to brief you on my visit to the photography studio yesterday evening.”

“Did Morton know anything?”

Hollis quickly ran through the conversation.

“Morgue?” He shook his head. “We’ve got our settlement hearing coming up fast. Do you think there’s anything to these photos?”

Pressing her lips into a thin line, Hollis said, “I honestly don’t know. Morton seemed legitimate, but he didn’t appear to know anything about Fields. It may be that Cathy was using him for work on a future article. I just don’t have enough information to know if the photos are relevant to our work.”

“Why would she want a picture of a dead person?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. This is what drove me crazy about her. She was so secretive. She called me paranoid, but she was my mentor.” Hollis played with her pen. “Suppose Cathy found out that Fields was laundering money from the nonprofits into his own accounts. From what I could gather from her notes, she wanted to roll out his story over three issues, and had only turned in her first installment to
Transformation.
The nonprofits themselves might be genuinely innocent, because they had nothing to do with their own account books.”

“And
where do the dead people fit in?”

Hollis dragged her fingers through her hair, “Awrrrrh.”

“I’m with you on that,” Mark said. “We don’t have much time to speculate. Let’s leave the dead for now and focus on Open Wings. It’s the center with the most unanswered questions.”

“All right. I’ll delve into Open Wings
’ operations. If we can find more holes in their story, we’ll know where to start looking in the others.” Hollis picked up her purse.

Mark frowned. “Don’t be getting too far out there. It might be time to let the police know.”

“Know what? That’s just it. We don’t
know
anything.” Hollis put away the last of her pens and markers in her purse. “The interviews, the depositions, the random notes all say something, but what? We’re overlooking it.”

He nodded. “Yeah, other than uncovering some questionable business practices, we’ve been dancing around. Still, you seem to be ruffling a few feathers. You let me know if things are getting too
 … well, dangerous.”

Hollis patted his hand. “Now, don’t I always let you know—eventually?”

“Where are you headed now?”

“I’ve got to go back to the beginning, one more time through all the events, pieces of paper, and interview notes. I’ve got to find the missing connection.”

Hollis closed the door to her office. Leaning back in her chair with eyes closed
, she rocked back and forth. Instead of having no clues, she had too many. It was clear the non-profits were indeed running off “track”—in fact, it was too easy to see. It didn’t take an investigative reporter to find the glaring discrepancies.

In the same vein
, Gail Baylor’s murder following close after Cathy’s left the impression that the murderer was desperate, and whatever he or she faced was worth killing for … twice. If she followed that premise, her own break-in was a red flag, and she could be next on the victims list.

She picked up the receipt she had gotten from Cathy’s apartment. It was orange, five by six inches, a standard form, much like any generic receipt you could get from Staples or
any office supplies store. It had even less information than the phone message; at least the phone message had a number she could call. The receipt listed just the amount—seven-hundred and thirty dollars for consultant services.

“You look deep in thought, what’s on your mind?” George plopped himself in her chair. “Worried about the exam? Scores still come out in November?”

“Some things never change.” Hollis grimaced. “You know the California Bar; they make us suffer until the brink of a breakdown.”

“Well, you appear to be holding up fine. Except, what has you so frustrated?”

Hollis shrugged. “Mark and I have pulled together as much as we can on Cathy’s case, but the dots aren’t connecting like we need them to.”

She picked up the receipt. “For instance, Cathy left this behind in a research folder. It has some importance because she felt she had to hide it, but it tells me nothing.”

“Let me see it.”

She handed it over.

George examined it for a few minutes. “I can tell you a couple of additional things. First, the date is in March, but the reference number is 0012. Assuming they operate on a calendar year, it’s a low volume business to only have twelve invoices in a three-month period.”

Hollis nodded. “I’m impressed
. What else?”

“Most importantly
, the name of the company is at the bottom of the page.” He pointed to the name in the lower left corner. It was in a tiny, embossed eight-point font.

“Let me see that.” Hollis snatched the paper from his hand.

George laughed.

“Templeton Group.” Hollis laughed, too. “I’d hug you if it wasn’t sexual harassment. Thank you. I didn’t see either of those things. I’ll check
them out.”

“You didn’t see them because you’ve been working too hard. You need a break. You got the Koch matter settled
; take an hour off for lunch.”

“Very funny,” she said. “I’
ll slow down once this matter with Cathy is resolved. And then I’ll take some time off after I get my scores.”

He got up. “I hope your life can wait for later.”

She was being followed.

She had the same feeling when she left Mark’s office the day before. Now the feeling was back, and stronger.

At first Hollis thought her peripheral vision was in too high a gear, but as she wandered through the mall
, she sensed, more than saw, someone watching her. She pulled out her cellphone and held it up. It made an adequate mirror for seeing behind her. She whirled around.

“Vince?”

The young man walked slowly toward her, hands shoved in his jeans’ front pockets, the gray hoodie pulled over his straggly brown hair, “Hey, Hollis.”

“Are you following me?” Hollis pointed to a nearby bus bench then tugged his sleeve for him to come with her.

He allowed her to lead him. “Ah, just hanging out. I wasn’t doing anythin’.”

“So why follow me?”

“I didn’t have nothin’ to do. I saw you with Stephanie last week while I was waiting for my mom.” His head was down, his words mumbled.

“How’s your
mom?”

“Oh, she’s out now
,” he mumbled. “But she has to put more time in out-patient rehab.”

Hollis felt a twinge of sadness. Her own family kept their distance from
one another so they wouldn’t have to get involved—or be inconvenienced. Then here was this youth whose care and involvement with his mother was so integral to his purpose in life.

She gave him a half
-smile. “Still, why follow me? I’m not that fascinating. Shouldn’t you be in school? Or at a job?”

“Nah, I dropped out of high school. I work at the Fast Stop at night, cleaning up.”

She noticed his eyes would not meet hers.

“Are you still getting over the drugs?”

Vince’s voice rose defiantly. “I ain’t touched those in weeks. I’m clean. I didn’t have to do no rehab. I did it all myself.”

“I believe you.” Hollis smiled back at curious onlookers and
said in a low tone, “I’m glad.”

For some reason she felt a tie to this young
, ungainly youth. He reminded her of no one she knew, but she felt drawn to his story. It was the same with Margaret. The compelling stories of people who dig deep to change, grow in character and overcome odds were the ones she clung to, only she hadn’t realized it until she found that picture in Cathy’s condo. It gave her hope.

Chest heaving from emotion, Vince sought to regain a steady breath, all the while continuing to nod.

Hollis pointed toward the food court down the block. “Are you hungry? Want to get some lunch?”

He jerked his head up with a look of
such amazement that Hollis was taken aback.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothin’.”

“Well, do you want to get something to eat, or not?”

“Yeah, okay.”

They picked a table with facing seats. Hollis ordered salad and Vince, hamburger and fries. With his head held down, Vince
responded to her attempts at conversation with one word responses.

Hollis took a sip of tea. “Now tell me why you were really following me.”

Vince pulled his hood closer to his head. “’Cuz like I said, I didn’t have anything to do. I saw you in the parking lot and I just followed you.”

A slightly different story than
the one he had given her before, but Hollis held her tongue. “Did you follow me yesterday?”

Vince’s hood could not hide the flame of red that crept up his neck to his face. “Nah, that wasn’t me.”

He’s lying.

“So, you left high school.” Hollis picked at her roll. “Are you working on getting your GED?”

Vince jerked his head up. “What? No, well, maybe. I don’t need school no more. They kicked me out for being a truant. But I had to take care of my mom.”

Hollis sighed as she nibbled on a cucumber slice. “What was your favorite class?”

“I don’t know, maybe … maybe,” he stopped eating and looked past her, “maybe history.”

His answer surprised her. It was not a subject she would have thought he’d be interested in. “History? Why history?”

“Because it’s all over. Everybody knows how things turn out. I like to know how things turn out.”

She tapped her lips lightly with her fingers. “I never thought of it that way, but I see your point.”

They each took another few bites in silence.

When Hollis finished her salad
, she said, “You know, if you wanted, I could get you the forms to go to continuation school and see about that GED.”

Vince frowned.

Hollis held up her hand. “It’s no big deal. I can download forms off my computer at work.”

With his head still down, Vince pushed back his hood
. With his tow head uncovered, he looked even younger. “I’m not ready. I gotta help my mom get through out-patient rehab.”

Hollis nodded. “Okay, okay. Let me know if you’re ever interested.”

“I’m not ready,” Vince repeated.

She checked the time on her cellphone. “I’ve got to get back to the office, but you stay here and finish.”

“Er … thank you for buyin’ me lunch.”

Hollis smiled
. “It was my pleasure, Vince.”

“Why did you?” Vince hesitated. “Why did you spend time with me?”

Hollis raised her eyebrows and shrugged, remembering her friend, Cathy.

“Because I could.”

Hollis put her purse in the lower desk drawer and pulled out the Templeton invoice. George was right. The side trip to the mall and lunch with Vince was just the break she needed.

She Googled the Templeton Group and watched the screen load with ads, sidebars, and quotes—none of which actually indicated what business they were in. The icons at the top were generic descriptions. After hitting the “Contact Us” tab, she took down the San Francisco phone number and punched it in.

“Yes, my name is
Miss Hollis Morgan. Can I speak with someone in your accounting department regarding an invoice we received?”

A few seconds later the same voice who answered the phone came back on line. “This is Nancy, how can I help you?”

Hollis smiled. “We have your invoice number 0012. I had a couple of questions.”

“Oh, yes, I know that invoice. What’s the problem? I know we cut the check about three weeks ago. You should have received payment.”

Hollis bit her lip. The invoice was for Templeton to pay, not owed to Templeton. She scrambled to recast her inquiry. “Oh, no problem with your check, I’m calling to see if our service was satisfactory.”

“I suppose.” Nancy paused. “Mr. Mueller handles that account. I don’t know anything about it. I just cut the checks.”

“Arlo Mueller?”

To say her voice had cooled with suspicion would have been an understatement. “Yes.”

“Is Mr. Mueller available?”

“No, you’ll have to call back.”

Click.

That went well
.

Hollis grabbed her purse and keys. Let’s see what they would do if she showed up on their doorstep.

But by the time she pulled her car up to the three-story office building on San Lorenzo Boulevard, she was having second thoughts. The ground floor windows were shuttered closed. The second floor windows were boarded over. Surprisingly, the entry door opened easily into a stark, dilapidated, and empty lobby. On a rear wall, a tarnished metal case contained a directory. Templeton was on the top floor.