Suspicion of Vengeance (28 page)

Miriam told her that the photo lab had finished with the crime scene photos, and the balance came to $285. "He says you can pick them up there, or he can send them over to the sheriff's office."

"God, no. Tell him somebody will go by the lab. I'll probably send Hector Mesa, if that wouldn't be beneath him. Call the lab back and ask if they take credit cards."

"One more thing," Miriam said. "What about Key West? Do you want me to call the hotel and get your deposit back?"

"Key West?" Gail remembered the trip she'd promised Karen for spring break. "I can't go. There's no way."

"I didn't think so. What are you going to say to Karen?"

It wouldn't be enough to say, "Mommy has to work that week." Karen knew there was a client on death row, but Gail hadn't sat her down to explain what that really meant. She hadn't explained that every minute of the day had to be thrown into saving him, and that instead of ambling through the tourist shops on Duval Street she might be at the prison looking through glass at a man strapped to a gurney. "I don't know what to tell her."

For the next hour they worked on the
habeas
petition. Gail used her new headphone attachment so she could talk and drive at the same time.

After Miriam ended the call to work on the draft, Gail jotted notes on a legal pad. Questions for William Shumway. He'd been willing to talk to her over the phone, but she wanted to see him in person. Experience had taught her that more could be obtained from face-to-face conversations.

Her phone rang. She glanced at the caller-ID.
"Hola, chica."

Miriam said, "The bank just called."

Something was wrong. Gail said, "What?"

"Ay,
Gail. The check you wrote to the copy service? They don't want to honor it."

"What?
They have to. We have at least eight thousand in the office account."

"Not until that settlement check clears. They say you already went past your overdraft limit."

"Oh, my God."

"What are we going to do? I put all those checks in the mail this morning. The office rent and the computer lease—"

"Oh, my God." The road ahead of her blurred for a moment, and Gail took a deep breath. "Okay. Call them back. Get an advance on my MasterCard, as much as they'll give me. Transfer it to the office account."

"Gail?" Miriam's voice sounded tight. "You don't have to pay me right now. Danny and I have enough saved—"

"Of course I'm going to pay you, Miriam. You've been working your butt off. Stop crying." Gail clenched the steering wheel. "Call the bank, let them handle it, and get back to work. I want to see that
habeas
when I get back. Okay? It's going to be all right."

Pressing the END CALL button, Gail began to laugh. She wondered what Anthony's buddy, the capital appellate specialist, was going to say when she told him he had to work for nothing. Thanks, but
adios.

Hadley and Morgan looked out on Palm Beach's famed Worth Avenue with its pink stucco, tile sidewalks, and topiary in clay pots. The building itself was catercorner from Chanel. Past beveled glass at the entrance and the reception desk tucked behind marble arches, Gail was led up wide, curving stairs.

William Shumway warmly took her hand—"Larry has spoken so highly of you, Ms. Connor"—and asked his secretary, a young man in a pinstriped suit, to bring tea. Shumway's skin seemed suspiciously taut for his age. He wore a soft gray mustache that turned up at the corners, like a smile. He showed Gail to a sumptuous leather chair by a satin-swagged window. Shumway took the divan, where beside him, its head lifted toward Gail, sat an ugly little dog with a wrinkled black face, wheezing through its short nose. Its eyes were not unlike those of its master: brown, lustrous, and sparkling with eager curiosity.

"I must tell you, this is nothing like what comes into
my
office, day in, day out. I specialize in estate planning, so death is always close at hand, but
this. A
client facing the gallows, as it were. My clients are close to the end too, but they are very old, with live-in attendants and scores of relatives circling overhead on black wings."

Gail had laid out the situation for him, and Shumway leaned toward her. "The rules of ethics will limit what I can say, but I see no bar to my telling you what I know of Gary Dodson's departure from this firm. Just forget where you heard it."

"Of course," Gail said, sipping her tea.

Shumway petted his little dog's floppy, triangular ears. "Gary Dodson was hired in 1984 to work in the branch office in Stuart. He specialized in real estate title examination. He lived in Stuart and had few friends in this office. Mr. Hadley, who's in charge of the big real estate projects, assigned Dodson to River Pines. Around 1985, Whitney McGrath and the other partners of JWM had begun acquiring property in western Martin County. There were dozens of parcels. Most of the land was vacant, although there were some small farms and a few homes. JWM developed part of the property, then in June or so of 1988 applied for a loan with the Bank of Palm Beach for two million dollars to begin building. As you know, to obtain a loan you need clear title. That was Gary Dodson's job, to examine title and assure the bank that JWM did in fact own all the land on which they intended to secure a loan. The bank had its own legal department, naturally, but we've dealt with them for years, and they rely on our word.

"The loan went through. However, one of the paralegals at the bank couldn't find the deed to one small tract, ten acres or so. The owners of record were a husband and wife called Mendoza. Dodson said it had to be an oversight, and he would find a copy of the deed. Several days passed. The bank's title company became impatient, so they checked and found that no deed from the Mendozas to JWM had ever been recorded. Dodson said he'd ask the Mendozas' attorney, who had probably neglected to send it to the recorder's office. Still nothing but excuses. Finally Mr. Hadley demanded to know what was going on. A few days later, the deed appeared in the county records, dated
before
Dodson's title opinion. There was no attorney for the Mendozas. The deed had been prepared by a notary. Mr. Hadley hit the roof."

The dog sneezed and shook its head. Its flat face resembled that of an old man. "This firm has a reputation for honesty. Mr. Hadley wanted to make sure that the Mendozas had actually signed the deed, that it wasn't..." Shumway seemed unable to say the word.

"A forgery?" Gail said.

"Mr. Hadley would have slit his own wrists in shame. He asked Whit McGrath for proof of payment. McGrath produced a copy of a canceled check made out to the Mendozas. It seemed all right. We had to assume so. But this was
not
the way we do business. Mr. Hadley asked for Dodson's resignation."

"Did Mr. Hadley ever speak to the Mendozas?"

'"They moved away. McGrath said they'd moved out of the country. I think they were from Guatemala."

The little dog panted softly, its wide mouth in a pink grin. The tip of its tongue curled up, not down.

Gail said, "When did your firm's relationship with Mr. McGrath end?"

"July of 1988, I believe."

"About the same time that Mr. Dodson left the firm. Was it Mr. McGrath's decision to find new attorneys?"

Shumway hesitated. "I really shouldn't comment."

"Did Mr. Hadley believe that McGrath had directed Gary Dodson to give a clear opinion of title before the Mendoza deed was signed? And then to backdate the deed?"

Shumway straightened his dog's curlicue tail. "I don't think I can comment on that, either."

"It must have been hard to give up such a wealthy client."

"We have many wealthy clients. Many, many."

"And you didn't need one who would jeopardize the firm's reputation."

"Can't comment." The points of Shumway's mustache twitched.

"The firm was forced to accept McGrath's version because there was no other choice. After Gary Dodson left, you severed your relationship with McGrath and closed the books on the matter."

The dog's eyes had closed, and its chin rested on its stubby front legs. "A question for you now," Shumway said. "How is this information, which I have not given you, in any way relevant to the murder of Amber Dodson?"

"I'm not sure it is, but I assume Amber knew that her husband and McGrath were engaged in ... a possible forgery. Gary was fired because of McGrath. He opened his own practice, but he was failing at it. What if Amber demanded compensation from McGrath?"

Only the lips moved, as if someone might be listening.
Blackmail?

Gail shrugged. "Gary Dodson has been working for McGrath ever since this firm fired him. Did you know that? He gets the crumbs, but it's enough to keep him alive. McGrath told me that he's been directing his employees' legal work in Gary's direction basically because he feels sorry for him. Based on what you know of Whitney McGrath, does this fit?"

One of Shumway's brows rose sharply. "No comment."

They finished their tea and chatted awhile longer about a few friends whom they unexpectedly had in common. Finally Gail thanked him for his time and promised to keep him posted. Shumway escorted her to the door of his office, and the dog leaped off the divan to trot at his heels.

"Mr. Shumway, could I ask you for one more favor?" Gail had just thought of it. "Does the firm have a copy of the Mendoza deed?" When he hesitated, she said, "The deed is in the public records. Nothing confidential there."

He agreed that she was correct and gave instructions to his secretary. The young man looked up something on his computer, then escorted Gail to the records department downstairs, where he asked the woman in charge to do a search.

Gail went over to the windows, looking out at a landscaped parking lot with at least three Rolls-Royces. She watched a woman loaded with shopping bags get into one of them, put the top down, and drive off.

"Ms. Connor?"

The woman from the records department held up an envelope. Gail took it, thanked her, and opened it as she walked down the hall toward the lobby. A copy of the deed was inside.

Ignacio Mendoza and Celestina Mendoza, his wife, grantors. JWM Corporation, grantee. Legal description. Date: June 23, 1988. But the deed hadn't hit the recorder's office until about two weeks later, July 7. Something was definitely wrong. In the normal course of business, a deed would be filed in the county records as quickly as possible, preferably the same day it was signed.

Gail glanced at the bottom of the document, seeing two indecipherable scrawls on the lines for witnesses.

Her steps slowed. The notary's signature was clear, strong, and feminine, with wide, looping capitals.

Louise Bryce.

CHAPTER 18

Tuesday evening, March 20

They sat in Jackie's Isuzu Trooper in the parking lot of the Flamingo Restaurant on South U.S. 1. Jackie had propped the deed against the steering wheel. She stared at it as though the clear evidence of her mother's involvement could be erased by force of will.

"Apparently no one at Hadley and Morgan connected the name with your father," Gail said, "but he wasn't the sheriff then. If this comes out now, people might notice. I have no idea what was going on, but I have to follow it up." She had made the short drive from Palm Beach to pick up the crime scene photographs. After some debate with herself, she had called her cousin. Jackie said she could meet her; with a rotating shift, she had gone back on days, seven to three.

"It might be that Aunt Lou was the Mendozas' real estate agent. The deed could have been signed and misplaced for two weeks, just as Gary Dodson said."

With a soft laugh, Jackie folded the copy back into thirds. "Sure. That's what I'd like to think too."

Gail said, "Maybe I should ask Gary. 'Was your wife trying to blackmail Whit McGrath?' "

"If she'd done that," Jackie said, "Whit would have fired Gary as his lawyer."

"Why would Amber care? She was planning to leave him."

"Good point."

"Gary is off our suspect list, by the way. Anthony showed the medical examiner's records to a top forensic pathologist, who said the time of death was accurate, as far as he could tell."

"So you're looking at Whit."

"He's all I've got. I can't ask
him
about the Mendoza deed. He might send Rusty after me."

"Jesus. I can't believe Rusty did that to you and Anthony. I always thought he had a crazy streak, but that's over the top."

"What is it with him and Whit? They couldn't be less alike."

"Only on the surface. Underneath, they're not that different. There's this story, which is probably BS, that in high school they used to hate each other. You know, preppy rich kid versus redneck. One day they went target shooting to see who was better. A wild boar attacked Rusty, and Whit shot it right between the eyes."

"Really." Gail remembered what McGrath had said. "Whit was kicked out of a posh private school in Palm Beach, and his dad shipped him to Martin County High as punishment."

"That fits. Anyway, Rusty and Whit are pretty tight. As long as I can remember, Whit kept horses out at the ranch, and Rusty took care of them. Diddy was friends with Rusty's father, who was a drunk till he got religion. When Diddy decided to sell the ranch, Rusty bought it. He built a house in the woods, near the canal, and he's got this fourteen-foot gator hide over the fireplace."

"Did he shoot it himself? Or strangle it to death with his bullwhip?"

Jackie gave a short laugh. "No, he shot it, right there on the ranch. He's got plenty of room out there, and access by canal, so he can do pretty much what he wants, and nobody bothers him. Whit McGrath, same thing, in his way. Nobody bothers him because he's so damn rich. That's what I mean. They're not all that different."

"Flip sides of the same coin," said Gail.

Jackie played with the end of her braid, curling it around her finger. "Okay, what about that deed? Maybe we could track down the Mendozas and find out what was going on."

"McGrath told his law firm that they cashed the check and went back to Guatemala."