Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap (33 page)

SIXTY-ONE

“These are wicked,” Mike said, playing with the assortment of spy tools Madeline had picked up from her P.O. box. “Testing…one, two, three…” he said into the microphone of the voice recorder pen. Madeline rolled her eyes but she couldn’t help seeing the humor in Mike’s antics, probably because there had been so little to laugh about lately.

“I think we should have the sign guy change the name on the door to ‘Mad Dog P.I.” This time Madeline shot him a disapproving look. “Hey, why not? We’d probably have greater success with that than we would with an event planning service,” he said, indignant at her hasty dismissal.

What’s with all the “we” business,
Madeline thought, halfway amused by his assumptions. She supposed she could do a lot worse than to have a loyal friend by her side as she ventured into unchartered territory.

“Besides, you’ve got to admit I was rather resourceful at finding your cell phone yesterday.” Madeline smiled, despite herself.

“Too bad you didn’t find me, or my bag,” she said, trying to provoke him for no good reason. She hoped her personality wasn’t irreparably warped after all she’d been through. She regretted her words as they wiped the smug look off Mike’s face.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t find you,” he said, looking like he had just lost his best friend, which he almost had. Madeline gave him a rueful smile meant to absolve him of his guilt.

“And don’t give up on the bag,” Mike said, his former enthusiasm returning. “I think someone’s going to read my ad and want to get the ‘BIG REWARD!’” Madeline shook her head at his indomitable optimism.

“Anyway, I still think it would be a hoot going into the P.I. business. I think you’ve got a remarkable aptitude for it, and well…I’m a quick learner…”

“In order to become a licensed private investigator in the state of California, you must have three years’ experience as an apprentice—2,000 hours, to be exact,” Madeline said, confident that would burst his bubble.

“That wouldn’t be so bad,” Mike said as he examined the miniature GPS tracking device. “How do you know that?” he asked belatedly.

“Through the online private investigator course I signed up for after Burt died. Besides, unlike you, I’m going to need to generate some income. Anyway, who would hire us?”

After mentioning her dead P.I., Madeline’s mood became somber again. Though things had turned in her favor, she still couldn’t shake the sense of melancholy and loss that had replaced her former feelings of satisfaction and contentment. In an effort to organize her thoughts, she grabbed a pen and a notepad and started a list.

Call Barry Houstein

Now that they wouldn’t have any difficulty proving coercion, the divorce agreement she signed could be voided outright, along with the prenup. This time, she’d be the one suing for divorce, with cause. Lawsuits were guaranteed to spring up from all sides: swindled investors, borrowers, and her. By the time those suits made their way through the courts, there might not be anything left. She’d have to let Barry worry about that.

Go see Hughes

Hire website designer

Have business cards made

File fictitious business name

Madeline’s gaze wandered away from her list. Maybe if she’d witnessed Steven’s arrest, along with three of the four thugs he used to bend people to his will, she’d feel lighter inside. But there had been casualties along the way. Though Hughes was released from the hospital with a mild concussion, she would never really shed the guilt of having knocked that gentle man unconscious. She knew if she had to do it over again, she’d do it the same way, and that troubled her too.

Maybe someday she could convince herself that Burt’s death wasn’t a direct result of her decision to go after Steven, knowing full well they were treading on hazardous turf. Intellectually, she knew Lionel and his underlings were ultimately responsible for his plunge over the cliff. But emotionally, she felt just as culpable for putting him in harm’s way.

That was his profession, one he had taken on willingly,
she tried to convince herself for the umpteenth time.
He could’ve always refused…

Madeline got up from Burt’s chair and went to the window. There was something more troubling her than just feelings of remorse. Now that she finally felt she was out of imminent danger, her brain was able to sift through all the layers of intrigue and search for the niggling doubts and suspicions still remaining. She let her mind go blank as she stared at the parking lot with unseeing eyes.

Moments from the last three weeks replayed themselves across her mind’s eye. Suddenly, there it was. Madeline stopped the slideshow and turned the incongruity over, looking at it from the dispassionate distance of time.

Russell Barnett.
Burt knew from their first meeting the name of the detective Steven had paid off while she watched, unseen, from her car. He knew the man personally, and knew he was trailing Madeline like a piece of toilet paper stuck to her shoe. Yet Burt had never confronted him, even though he surely could’ve shed light on the events of the night she’d been raped.

Why? Why didn’t Burt mine that valuable source of information?
Madeline opened the window and let the cool breeze wash over her. She never doubted that Burt was one-hundred-percent dedicated to her case.
So, what gives?

“Your sign’s finished, if you want to come and take a look,” Mike said from the doorway.

A smile spread across Madeline’s face as she gazed at the name of her first ever business venture.

“That turned out really nicely,” she said to the sign painter.

“Thanks. I like the name—‘Current Affairs.’ It has a good ring to it.”

“Thank you. Hopefully, others will think so too,” she said as she went to get her checkbook.

“It’s not too late to add Mad Dog, Private Investigators,” Mike said, shooting her a look of longing. Madeline wrote out the check and handed it to Mike, who gave it to the sign painter.

“So, what now, boss?” Mike asked from the doorway. Madeline had to admit she liked the sound of that.

“Grab your jacket. We’re going to see a man about a job.”

SIXTY-TWO

Madeline let Mike out on the corner of Anacapa and Sola. From there, he took a right and proceeded to the office of Russell Barnett, Private Investigator. Madeline drove past Mike as he went up the front steps. She pulled the rental car into the detective’s small parking area, stopping directly behind Barnett’s familiar silver Accord, effectively boxing him in.

As she walked up the steps, she saw Russell’s expression change from guardedly optimistic to uncomfortably cagey as he realized Mike was not there to engage his professional services. When he caught sight of Madeline, he froze, his mind busily calculating his odds of disarming them versus fleeing the scene.

“What is it you want?” Russell asked offhandedly, as Madeline came in and stood next to Mike’s imposing figure.

“Just some answers,” Madeline said. She could tell by his forced nonchalance how nervous her presence made him. “Might as well sit down—this could take a while.” Mike stood until Russell lowered himself into his chair before taking a seat across from him, closest to the door.

“I imagine you’ve heard the news about your client,” Madeline said, her eyes never leaving her former shadow.

“Ex-client,” Russell said, his voice not carrying the sense of detachment he was shooting for.

“Now that the tables have been turned on Steven Ridley—my soon-to-be-ex-husband—I think you need to tell me what exactly Steven hired you to do for him, besides following me around town.”

“Would you like some coffee?” Russell asked, levitating up from his chair.

“No, and neither would you,” Mike said. Russell let out a breathy snort and sat back down, an ironic smirk on his face.

“I’m not required or even permitted to discuss my cases with anyone other than my clients,” Russell said, leaning back in his chair.

“That privilege doesn’t exclude the D.A.’s office,” Madeline reminded him. Russell tried to retain a stony expression, but Madeline didn’t miss the lump of nervousness he attempted to swallow. “I spent two hours with Conrad Adams yesterday, putting all the jigsaw pieces together for him. As you can imagine, he’s got a lot on his plate with all the charges against Steven. I didn’t even get around to telling him about your involvement.”

“I—”

“At this point, you would surely be considered an accessory to my rape, seeing as how you set up the camera, didn’t report the incident and did nothing to stop it,” Madeline said matter-of-factly.

“But—”

“Personally, I’d prefer to hear the unvarnished truth about your involvement from you, instead of having to tell the authorities about your role in the drama. I mean, you’d lose your license, reputation, the ability to earn a living, on top of facing criminal charges, if Adams gets wind of the part you played. A part that not only ended in my rape and public humiliation, but also the murder of Burt Latham and the attempted murder of me. So…given the choices, wouldn’t you rather tell us everything you know that can help put Steven Ridley and his crew away for as long as possible?”

Russell Barnett licked his parched lips. “Your husband came to me with his suspicions that you were having an affair. Tracking unfaithful spouses is the bulk my business. His request was straightforward—simple garden-variety surveillance with all the benefits of modern technology. He said he’d found notations in your appointment book that were suspicious, and your behavior after these alleged assignations had led him to believe you were having secret dalliances with another man.

“He told me that you had the initials A.R. circled on the day of the fundraiser—the same initials that supposedly popped up in the last few months of your agenda—next to the notation ‘Rm #106.’ He told me he had learned from another source that you had been seen walking through The Edgecliff grounds arm and arm with another man. He wanted me to set up surveillance on that room on the night of the fundraiser. I did as he requested. Afterwards, he had me start following you to see if you’d ever lead us to the ‘other man.’”

Madeline had listened to the account with an impassive expression. She could feel Mike tense up like a tightly wound coil, ready to spring. She knew instinctively he was ready to challenge Barnett, but was holding back out of deference to her. It was her show, and he was going to let her take the lead and provide backup when necessary.

“That’s the PG version,” Madeline said at length. “If I hadn’t just been treated to three weeks of cat and mouse terror, I might’ve taken you at your word, simply due to ignorance of the sordid predicaments people get themselves involved in. But from my new, cynical viewpoint, I see a few flaws in your account of events.

“For starters, if you were taking a flyer at which hotel I was to rendezvous with my secret lover based on a rumor Steven ‘supposedly’ heard, then you are a rank amateur. Secondly, the video and stills were not taken through a pane of glass. Anyone having a secret affair would not conduct it with the draperies opened. Besides, the angle, closeness and clarity indicate the video recorder was
inside
the hotel room.” Barnett coughed and tried to clear his throat. “Being inside means you would’ve had to break into the room to set the camera up, or have help from someone on staff. Either way, you were in the wrong. Are you willing to break the law for all your clients, Mr. Barnett?”

“Now would be the time to give it to us straight, before Ms. Dawkins calls the D.A.” Mike said, eyeing Barnett the way a cat would observe a slow-witted lizard. Barnett tried unsuccessfully to clear his throat again. Madeline got up and filled a paper cup with water from the cooler and handed it to the P.I. She took her seat and waited for him to speak.

“Your husband offered me five-times my going rate to do this job. I knew what he was asking me to do was against the law, but I believed his story and I wanted the case. It had all the earmarks of adultery, so my conscience didn’t bother me at all. In my business, if it walks like adultery, it’s adultery.”

“Right. The rape of an unconscious woman is video-recorded, and getting paid five-times the customary rate persuaded you that the woman in question—
me—
was an adulteress,” Madeline said, not bothering to hide her rancor.

“I wasn’t there when it was being recorded,” Russell said, trying to hold his ground.

“Did you look at it before you gave it to my husband?”

“No.”

“Don’t you usually look at the evidence before you give it to your clients, make sure you’ve got what they’re looking for…?” Madeline said, head cocked, waiting for Barnett to step on his own dick. His bewildered expression and lack of a coherent answer said it all.

“Look, a man walks in here and throws a lot of money at me to get recorded proof of his unfaithful wife, and a bonus if I get the goods. Am I going to argue when he tells me I’m not to preview the evidence?” Barnett said, looking to Mike this time for sympathy.

“Then how do you know it ‘walked like adultery’?” Madeline asked. Russell sputtered.

“This is a waste of time,” Mike said. “I say we throw this loser to the D.A. for target practice.”

“Hold on…,” Russell said, his agitation showing. I’ll tell it to you straight, but I want guarantees you won’t go to the D.A.”

Madeline looked at Mike. They had the dirt she was looking for—preserved for future use, thanks to the multi-purpose pen.

“Can’t do that,” Mike said. “What you did nearly cost this lady her life,” he said, leaning over the desk as though he might make a grab for Barnett’s throat.

“And it did cost Burt Latham his,” Madeline added. Both were surprised when Russell Barnett’s face crumbled into a mask of wretched shame.

“What did you think of Burt Latham?” Madeline asked. Barnett sucked in a ragged breath and regained some of his composure.

“He was a very good detective,” he said with reverence. “One of the best.” Madeline noticed the catch in Barnett’s voice as he said this.

“Considering that I hired him the day after I saw my husband hand you an envelope on Santa Barbara Street and learned your identity when I followed you to this office, why didn’t Burt pursue you as a very likely source of information regarding my rape?” Barnett half- shrugged, but Madeline wasn’t going to let him off the hook. “What prevented him from exposing your part in this crime?”

“I don’t—”

“Don’t give me that crap. What was it that prevented Burt from following the course of action I hired him to perform? Digging up Steven’s possibly fraudulent business dealings was his way of avoiding a confrontation with you. And frankly, Burt Latham was ten times the professional you could ever—”

“Burt Latham was my brother-in-law,” Russell said, looking directly into Madeline’s eyes. “He gave me my start in this business. I was married to his sister. She died of cancer four years ago,” Russell Barnett said, eyes lowered.

“The reason Burt wasn’t keen on pursuing my involvement in your…the setup against you…was because he’d know from looking at the photos that someone would’ve set the camera up on the inside. Knowing I was involved—and breaking the law, again—his enormous sense of duty to his family and clients led him to shoot for sparing one while serving the other.”

“You mean, taking the riskier route of proving embezzlement in order to keep you out of jail?” Madeline asked. Russell nodded solemnly. Madeline and Mike exchanged glances. Russell buried his face in his hands.

“I feel plenty responsibility for your rape and Burt’s death,” Russell said, his voice cracking. He was slouched over, as if he didn’t have the strength to hold himself erect. “I’ll testify to my part in your husband’s scheme to blackmail you. In light of the way this unraveled, there’s no doubt about my culpability. I’m sorry. You can call the D.A. now, if you want. I won’t resist arrest.”

Madeline and Mike pretended to mull this over. Madeline hoped this disclosure would lift the heavy weight of guilt from her shoulders. It should have, but too much had happened in too short a period of time. Maybe in a week she’d feel better. Maybe in a month…

“At this point, Mr. Barnett, adding one more log to the fire under my husband’s feet is superfluous.” Russell looked at Madeline cautiously. “I think I have a proposal which will serve to make amends—to me, at least.”

“What is it?” Russell asked.

“My friend Mike and I would like to join forces with you.”

“What are you talking about?” Russell asked, clearly caught off guard.

“After the up-close and personal crash course I’ve just taken in the world of espionage, Mike and I would like to pursue a career in private investigation.”

“You’re joking.”

“No, we’re very serious,” Madeline assured him.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about allowing us to apprentice with you, with the goal of becoming licensed private investigators ourselves.” Russell stared at them, his mouth open in disbelief.

“I just admitted I’ve broken the law, and not just once…” Mike and Madeline nodded passively. “It takes three years to fulfill the training requirement…” His audience nodded again, more enthusiastically this time. Russell pushed away from his desk, hands to the sides of his head, as if he suddenly had the mother of all hangovers.

“You’re serious…?”

“Serious as a prison sentence,” Mike said.

“What do you say, Russell?” Madeline asked brightly.

“Do you two know anything about this business?”

“I’ve started an online course,” Madeline offered proudly. “And let’s not forget the ‘on the job training’ I just received, thanks to my soon-to-be-ex.”

“I’m just naturally inquisitive,” Mike added.

“You’re probably not bluffing, are you?” Russell asked. Madeline shook her head.

“One more criminal snagged in the D.A.’s net is one more head on his mantelpiece,” Mike said. “We came to you first. Someone will take us on…” Russell blinked hard in an attempt to dispel the scene in front of him.

“Alright. You win,” he said in a voice barely audible. “I’ll train you to pass the exam, but after three years…” Russell paused as he grasped the dubiousness of what he was taking on. “After three years, you’re on your own and I’ve paid my debt to you. And I want it in writing.”

“Not a problem,” Madeline said. “What part do you want put in writing—the part about us keeping quiet about your role in my rape…?” Russell buried his head in his hands.

“Look,” Mike said, “we’ll be out of your hair the minute our licenses come through. Three years is too long to hold a grudge. You’re just going to have to take our word that we won’t renege on the deal.”

Russell studied their faces for a moment. He opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels and a glass. He poured himself a couple ounces and slugged it back.

“Okay, first lesson,” Russell said, eyeing the pen in Mike’s shirt pocket, “recorded conversations are illegal in California unless all parties consent to being recorded.” Mike smiled and turned the pen’s mic off.

“Got it, boss,” Mike said, with a wink to Madeline.

“I think you better offer us a drink to commemorate this fateful occasion,” Madeline suggested.

As she sipped whisky from a paper cup, she supposed that sometimes compromise was more practical than revenge.