CHAPTER

41

“HE IS GONE.”

Puller stood in the doorway of Diego’s small apartment and looked down at Isabel. Little Mateo was behind her, his thumb stuck in his mouth.

“Is that unusual?” asked Puller. “Him not being here? It seemed to me that he spent a lot of time on the streets.”

“He comes back for lunch. But he did not. He always comes by six, but he did not,” said Isabel.

“Do you have a phone?”

She shook her head.

“When did he leave?”

“This morning. I worked late at the restaurant with mi abuela. Diego was here looking after Mateo. He left before I got up. Mi abuela did not hear him leave either. I am very worried.”

“Did he say last night what he might be doing today?”

She shook her head again. “He usually goes down to the beach. He sells things to the tourists. Sometimes he works for the hotels.”

“He’s too young for that, isn’t he?”

She looked at him like he was crazy.

Puller said, “Okay, I’ll keep an eye out for him.”

Puller looked at the bruises both had received from the gang of three. “Have any of those punks come around here, Isabel?”

“I have seen none of them. I hear that you beat them up again. And their friends.”

“Who did you hear that from?”

“I just hear it.”

Puller nodded. “I’m going to get you a disposable phone and leave you my contact info. That way you can reach me and I can get in touch with you, okay?”

She nodded.

It took Puller about half an hour, but he dropped the phone off and then climbed into his Tahoe and drove off.

As much as he didn’t like it, Diego would have to wait. He hoped the boy was okay. But something was telling him that wasn’t the case.

Twenty minutes later he pulled onto the street where Griffin Mason had his law office. The same Infiniti was in the driveway.

Yet he didn’t pull into Mason’s driveway. He spotted another little house down the street with a sign out front and pulled in there. He got out and knocked on the door. An attractive blonde-haired woman in her forties answered the door. She was short and curvy and wearing a short black skirt, black hose, and a matching jacket. Her white blouse was open enough at the top to show a slice of cleavage from her ample bosom. Since it was still about ninety degrees outside, Puller assumed that in all that black plus stockings she was probably sweating just by being at the door.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“My name is John Puller. I was out here yesterday meeting with Griffin Mason over an estate issue. He’s not my lawyer. He represented my aunt, who recently passed away. He said to check references before I decided to keep him on with the estate work.”

She blanched. “Grif gave me as a reference?”

“That’s right, Ms. Dowdy. You seem surprised.”

Puller had gotten her name from the sign outside that had her picture and also helpfully included the fact that she was fluent in Spanish.

“That’s because I am. And I don’t really have time to talk.”

She started to close the door, but Puller held out his Army creds. “I came down here yesterday from D.C. My aunt died unexpectedly. I don’t know a soul in town. I’m just trying to come up to speed fast and doing my proper due diligence. The military way. Any help you can give me would be appreciated.”

“My son’s in the Navy.”

“Navy’s given me a ride many a time.” He stared at her expectantly.

She glanced down the street toward Mason’s office. “I’ve got a dinner meeting to go to in about twenty minutes, but I can answer questions for you until then. Come on in.”

A minute later they were seated in her office, which was far neater than Mason’s.

“So, as I explained Ms. Dowdy…”

“Just make it Sheila,” she said. She pulled out a cigarette. “Don’t worry, it’s an electronic one. Damn thing really works. Smoked for twenty years and then went cold turkey with this a year ago. Hope my lungs can regenerate.”

Puller watched as water vapor rose from the device, and then refocused on her.

“As I said, Sheila, I’m just checking references on Mason. I assume you know him?”

“Oh, I know Grif all right.”

“So would you recommend him?”

“I’m a lawyer. I say anything negative then somebody can sue me. And Grif certainly would.”

“Well, that in itself is sort of a negative answer,” pointed out Puller.

“But nothing actionable,” she replied promptly.

“So you wouldn’t recommend him?”

She sat back, studied him. “Who was your aunt?”

“Betsy Simon.”

“Didn’t know her. But if she has Grif handling her estate, it’s probably most cost-efficient to let him keep going. But a piece of advice, watch the financial accounts like a hawk.”

“Is that sometimes a problem with Mason?”

“I wouldn’t use the word ‘sometimes.’ ”

“Then why would people use him?”

“He must hide his tracks well.”

“But you must know differently. How?”

“Let me put it this way. I’ve been practicing law down here pretty much as long as he has. Our client list is very similar. We handle the same sorts of cases. Trusts and estates lawyers are not like the Wall Street M and A guys. We don’t get rich doing this. I sure as hell haven’t, and I work my ass off, excuse the language.”

“But Mason has gotten rich?”

“Don’t let the crummy office in the old house fool you. I live in East Paradise, two blocks off the water because that’s all I can afford. I drive an eight-year-old Toyota Camry. Mason has a one-acre waterfront spread that is definitely well into the seven-figure range. In addition to that Infiniti he drives a Porsche and an Aston Martin. And he takes trips all over the world—Africa, Asia, the Middle East, South America. Doesn’t take a genius. The clients are not footing all that. At least not knowingly.”

“So he’s stealing client funds? Again, how come no one has wised up to it? You can’t be the only one who’s become suspicious because of the house and cars.”

“You have to prove it. You have to want to prove it, and apparently no one has. His clients are old and then they’re dead. The heirs usually are out of town. I see it because I live here and I’m in the same profession.”

“Anything else?”

She tapped her cigarette on the desk. “You didn’t hear it from me, but besides the money there’s also something else going on with that guy that gives me the creeps.”

“What’s that?”

“He seems to like children. He seems to like children way too much, if you know what I mean.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I was with him at a legal function one time. After it was over he got drunk as a skunk in the hotel bar. I was just about to leave when he pulled me back to the table. I thought he wanted to rent a room and get a quickie on with me, as if I’d even consider something like that with him.”

“So he’s tried to come on to you before?”

“Let’s put it this way. He always tries to look down my shirt and feel up my ass any chance he gets. But then he started showing me all these pictures in his wallet.” She paused and pursed her lips in disgust. “They were all of young boys and girls.”

“Did he explain why he had them?”

“He said they were his kids.” She laughed. “He must’ve been drunk out of his mind. Probably doesn’t even remember showing them to me.”

“Are you sure they weren’t his kids?”

She smiled and took a puff on her cigarette.

“Well, considering the fact that he’s a fair-haired Irishman and the kids in the photos were black and Asian, no, I’m pretty sure they weren’t related.”

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