Howl Deadly (14 page)

“Who’d purposely do that to their kid?” I shook my head. “Especially if they had the last name Doe. Anyway, go on. Who is Jon Doe?”

“Frank didn’t give me any real information after that. Only . . .”

“Only?” I pushed eagerly.

Which, unfortunately, was when the server came to take our order. Of course, I ordered something grilled—a small steak. Ned asked for a sirloin.

When we were alone once more—assuming we could call ourselves alone in this crowded café—I only had to look at Ned to get his amused smile focused on me again.

“I’ll look into this further,” he said, “since I’m definitely intrigued. And I can’t be sure I interpreted what he said right. But—”

“But what?” I urged eagerly.

“He wasn’t exactly forthcoming, nor clear on what he said, but he hinted that he’d learned Jon Doe’s identity through his fingerprints—although there was something odd about that, too.”

“Odd, how?”

“That’s what I need to find out more about. I gathered that they were not in AFIS.”

I knew what AFIS was: the Automated Fingerprint Identification System, a resource used throughout the United States to identify people via their prints. Of course, not everyone’s prints were in the system; there had to be a reason, such as certain state driver’s license requirements and criminal convictions.

“And that was the strange thing I didn’t quite get,” Ned said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if I understood the guy’s hedging and hinting right, I think he suggested that whoever Jon Doe was, he had a criminal record.”

 

 

 

I ENJOYED THE rest of my dinner with Ned, even as my mind sputtered and spun around his revelation. Or at least his suspicion.

Jon Doe, whoever he really was, had a criminal record.

And yet his fingerprints were apparently not in the system.

Jon Doe might have had a past that somehow included both Dante and Brody.

But what? Where? How?

And how could I learn about it?

Ned was smiling after we’d finished our steaks. We sat sipping coffee for a while, talking about unimportant but enjoyable stuff like our favorite cop movies and TV shows.

“I really appreciate the info you got for me, Ned. And if you learn anything else about Jon Doe or what the San Bernardino sheriff’s guys think about his murder, I’d love to hear it.”

“You’re welcome, Kendra. And if you happen to figure out who did it before those guys do, let me know. I’d enjoy thinking the LAPD’s not the only outfit you show up with your oddball investigations.”

I grinned right back into his dark, sparkling eyes.

“Well, if it turns out that Dante really is the guilty party, I’ve got shoulders big enough for you to cry on.” He flexed his biceps, and turned in a manner that showed off said shoulders, even as his smile grew silly.

I laughed. “I’ll remember that, Ned.”

 

 

 

SO OKAY. THAT night before bed, while sitting in a nightshirt in my living room, the TV on mute, I considered my phone options. Not that I’d call Jeff, even though ten had been his time to call me.

But should I get in touch with Dante? Let him know the little I’d learned from Ned?

Probably nothing Dante didn’t already know.

If he had a history with Jon Doe, he might have known him under his previous name. But he didn’t seem willing to discuss that with me . . . yet.

And how could a possible convict not have his fingerprints in AFIS?

Unless Ned or I had misunderstood. Or it was by official decree.

Dante might have some of the answers I craved. But how could I get him to share? He knew my history of resolving murder situations, but he hadn’t let me in on anything about Jon Doe that would help me help him. Why?

Damn! No way was I going to get to sleep easily with my mind swirling around like this. “What should I do, Lexie?” I asked my clearly sleepy Cavalier, who lay beside me on the sofa. She wagged her tail in support, but offered no advice.

Okay. This might be a bad move, but I was miffed enough to do it anyway.

I called Dante’s cell.

He answered so fast I wondered if he’d expected my call. Well, hell, how could he? I hadn’t decided until an instant ago.

“Hi, Kendra.” He sounded happy to hear from me.

Which nearly made me mess up on my resolve to stick it to him. Nearly, but not quite.

“Hi,” I said sexily. “Lexie and I are here alone, Dante. We miss you. And, by the way—Ned Noralles said hi.”

“Sure he did.” Dante’s tone resounded with ironic skepticism.

“He’d gotten some interesting information from his colleagues in the San Bernardino sheriff’s department,” I continued. “Shared some with me, but I had to promise to keep it confidential.” Scrunching my head toward my shoulder to keep my phone at my ear, I reached down to my bare feet and crossed one toe over the other. Wasn’t crossing toes similar to crossing fingers—to hide a lie?

Hmm. My toes’ nail polish needed a little retouching. Something to think about.

“Anything that would help get them off my case?” Dante inquired, sounding quite casual. Of course, he hadn’t gotten so rich and powerful by acting all emotional, so I figured his offhand tone was assumed.

“Gee, I’m not sure. I guess it depends on when you really first met Jon Doe, and under what circumstances. Anyway, I’m really tired. Got to take Lexie out for her last evening constitutional, and then we’ll head to bed. Good night, Dante.”

I hoped that the steaming I thought I heard from the other end, before I hung up, wasn’t just my imagination.

 

 

I DIDN’T SLEEP well that night. Surprise!

Keeping my cell phone charging on the table beside my bed, I half expected Dante to ring me back and demand details. But then again, that rich-and-powerful attitude most likely made him feel above all things trivial, like being a potential murder suspect. Or information possibly leading to that conclusion.

Or even a potential girlfriend playing petty games with his psyche.

Okay, I admit it. I considered calling him back to apologize. To figuratively grovel at his feet for having hinted at things I wanted to know, rather than had any actual knowledge about.

But my phone didn’t ring, and I made no calls.

Morning eventually arrived. I bounded out of bed and grabbed pen and paper.

I’m a listophile. A listoholic. My pet-sitting journals are full of lists of items I need to follow up on about my clients. My computer at the law office has multiple lists regarding upcoming issues about each case.

Right now, I jotted down a list of everything I knew about Jon Doe. And a separate list of things I needed to find out.

Guess which was longer.

At the end of the second one, I wrote at the bottom of the page—“Do I really want to do this?”

I mean, after all, in all my past adventures I’d known that my friend or acquaintance who’d been accused actually wanted, and needed, my assistance.

This time, the main suspects appeared to be Dante and Brody. And both seemed inclined to encourage me to butt out. Well, Dante at least. And Brody had barely spoken to me about the situation.

All this aroused my curiosity all the more.

Lexie had been utterly patient, but I saw my adorable pup prancing on the floor beside my bed.

Time to take her out and start my day.

 

 

 

STILL NO CALL from Dante a while later, after I’d checked in with Rachel, confirmed who was caring for which kitties and pups this morning—no exotic pets currently spiced up our agenda—then finished up my own AM pet-sitting.

I’d dropped Lexie off at Doggy Indulgence as atonement for ignoring her.

Right now, I sat at my cluttered desk at Yurick & Associates. My mind was on my research about conservatorship issues for my new client Alice Corcorian, and I’d brought up some interesting Web sites on my computer. In California, conservatorship required some degree of incapacity. To the contrary, I’d gathered that Alice had all her wits about her. The fact she’d found a young stud to marry? More power to her!

My desk phone rang. “Kendra Ballantyne,” I answered.

And was immediately treated to one of life’s interesting coincidences. “Hi, Kendra. This is Ellis Corcorian. How have you been?”

“Fine, Ellis,” I said, going along with his politeness. “And you? And how are things at Marden & Sergement?” The firm had been Marden, Sergement & Yurick in the days I’d been an associate there, before Borden had formed his own firm.

“Everything here is going well,” he said. “But I think you know why I’m calling.”

“I take it your mother let you know that this firm is representing her.” My voice assumed its professional tone. “Are you representing yourself, or have you hired another lawyer to help you with this matter?”

“Just me, for now. Did Mother tell you why I’m seeking a conservatorship?”

“Why, yes. She even brought that nice young fellow, Roberto Guildon, to meet me.”

“He’s a third of her age!” Ellis exploded. I pulled the phone away from my ear and rubbed it. My ear, I mean.

“That doesn’t mean they don’t love each other.” I reached over to scroll down the computer page I’d been reading. “Basically, a conservatorship can be awarded only if the potential conservatee is too incapacitated to take care of herself. Your mother seemed entirely alive and capable to me.”

“It’s
res ipsa loquitur
!” he shouted, as if his loudness would somehow convince me. It didn’t. Nor did his use of the Latin legal term that meant “the thing speaks for itself.” “Just the fact that someone her age would fall for a young gigolo and not see through his wanting to get to her money is enough to show her incapacity.”

That confirmed my suspicion that Ellis was in it to ensure his mother’s money was there for him when she eventually passed away. But, hell, it was her money. And she and I hadn’t yet discussed any estate planning she had done.

“I don’t think so, Ellis,” I said sweetly. “But I’ll talk the situation over with my client. Maybe we can all meet soon and reach some kind of resolution that will save you both time and money. Okay?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll talk to her, and maybe if you’re there, we’ll be able to discuss this without yelling at each other.” I doubted that, considering the tone Ellis had maintained in this conversation, but why not try?

“I’ll call Alice, then get back to you with some possible times. Talk to you soon, Ellis. And say hi to the gang at the firm for me.”

And be sure to tell them all how happy I am with my life without them.
But maybe they already knew that. I’d stayed in touch with one of them, Avvie Milton—although I had to assume Avvie might have left the firm by now. She’d had an affair with Bill Sergement. Who hadn’t? The thing was, he and I had come to a mutual parting of the ways long ago. Avvie and he hadn’t, and then he’d gone back to his wife. Last I’d heard, Avvie was finally ready to move on.

Hey, what a perfect opportunity to find out how she was doing . . . and maybe get some insight into Ellis Corcorian, too! But when I called her number, I got voice mail.

I left a message, hoping to hear back from Avvie soon.

 

 

 

I GOT SOME times okayed by Alice Corcorian for a meeting sometime in the next few weeks. And back at my desk after lunch, I called another client: Lauren Vancouver, the head of HotRescues.

“Good to hear from you, Kendra,” she said. “I was going to call you. I got an e-mail from Efram Kiley, the guy who supposedly owned Quincy before I rescued and re-homed him. He’s probably just blowing smoke, but he insisted that I give his dog, Killer—that’s what he called Quincy—back to him within a week or pay him a million dollars for his pain and suffering, or he’d make sure I regretted it. He’s made claims before, but none with a time limit like this one.”

“Have you responded?” I inquired, sitting forward in my seat. Were legal services suddenly required immediately?

“I did as you said, and told him I’d referred the situation to my lawyer and couldn’t discuss it with him.”

“Excellent!” Ah, a client who actually listened to legal advice. “Now, how about if I come back to HotRescues—maybe this afternoon—and we can strategize a bit?”
And I can subtly ask you some questions on everything you know about Dante DeFrancisco, including his history
.

“Sorry, but I have a women’s club coming to look over our facilities and pets available for adoption. I’m hoping to place a few of our animals today, and that’ll take up all my time. And I’d rather wait till I get Efram’s answer, to give us a better idea how to respond. If he’s got his own lawyer involved, he’s clearly serious, and we’ll need for you to jump in. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said, keeping the disappointment inside myself and out of my voice.

“But thanks for calling to check on the situation,” Lauren finished.

So . . . no chance to extract Dante info from Lauren. I looked on the computer for my list of stuff to do today at my law job. Nothing leaped out at me as requiring immediate attention. A good thing? Sure, but it didn’t inspire me to dig into researching another brief or drafting a court pleading.

What did inspire me? Curiosity. I really wanted to figure out who’d killed Jon Doe, and why. Fast. Someone other than Dante. Or Brody. No matter what their connection, or not, had been to the guy in some prior life.

Talk about curiosity . . .

Anyway, I had some time to kill and wanted to get busy. I hadn’t the skills of hacker Althea, but I was still pretty adept with the Internet.

I brought up another list I’d made—the one with everyone I’d recalled who had been at HotWildlife the day Jon Doe was killed: Dante. Brody. Me. Megan Zurich. The volunteers: Krissy Kollings and Anthony Pfalzer. The prior visitor who turned volunteer: Irwin Overland. Warren Beell, the hot-headed guy who’d brought the mama wolf there in the first place. And a few hundred visitors whose names I didn’t know.