I stifled a groan. Divorce cases could be lucrative for me, but also filled with toxic emotions. I knew why cops hated domestic violence calls. "So what can I do for you, Ms. Paulette?"
"Figure out where he is. I already called my lawyer."
"Good. That's a start. I'd recommend—if your lawyer hasn't—trying to make sure he doesn't move the money someplace you can't find."
"She's working on that. It's a corporate account—my name isn't on it—but I'm fine. I'm just making sure he can't clear out our joint account. Damn him!"
I waited for her to calm down. After a moment s took a deep breath. "Sorry. What do you need? A retainer?"
Yeah. "That, and also any information you have on friends and associates." The secret to finding someone who's hiding out is finding someone who knows where he'd hiding out. Hardly anyone can resist the impulse to call a friend or two.
"I'll do that. Thank you. Call me when you find out something."
"It may be a while. These things take time."
"As fast as you can. How much is the retainer?"
I gave her a figure. She didn't argue—a good sign.
Rachel sauntered into the office, yawning. She'd slept late, with no urgent projects on tap. "What's up?"
"Ms. Paulette's husband has skedaddled. It's a whole new case."
"Yay." She sank into her chair. "Shoot. I forgot coffee."
I grinned. "No problem. I need a refill anyway."
I had to wait for my client to send her list of Marvin's contacts, but I thought I'd start with a hunch: Emma Pope.
She had a Facebook page. Little personal information, no work information, a few pictures of her in miniscule bikinis (which I quickly scrolled past before Rachel could see me looking at them) and tight dresses, and some photos with Charles Pope, although he wasn't tagged.
Sometimes I can get phone numbers through different channels in the internet. This wasn't one of those times. I called Pope's office, hoping to get someone on the phone even though he was hospitalized. No answer, just a voice mail message—"We are not available right now. Please leave your message—" so I hung up.
Okay. I'd finished the CEO checks yesterday. I had a few easy background cases, and nothing that required me to go out and tail anyone. So once Marlene Paulette sent me her list, I spent the rest of the morning, and after lunch, calling friends, acquaintances, and business partners, or sending emails. Nothing.
I had one idea, following up on my hunch about Emma Pope. Ms. Paulette had sent me Charles Pope's address in Orland Park. It was an idea. Maybe not great, but until I got some emails and messages answered, it was the best I could think of.
Another rule of being a private eye—if you can't do anything else, follow someone. Or at least look for someone to follow. I called my client to get the okay for the hours I'd have to spend. She was fine with it.
"Hey, I'm going on a stakeout." I had bottles of water and a box of granola bars in a messenger bag. "Want to come?"
"Ooh, so I can watch you using that wide-necked bottle in the back seat?" Rachel smirked. "Pass."
I nodded. "Can't say I blame you. I'll call if anything exciting happens."
"Wait—" Rachel stood up. "This is just your way of getting out of making dinner, isn't it?"
I shrugged. "Depends on how long this takes."
"I'm making lasagna, and I'm going to leave a mess. And you're cleaning up."
I kissed her. "Looking forward to it."
No comments:
Post a Comment