“Have you ever heard of a business entity, a limited partnership or a corporation known as Jamaile Enterprises?”
She thinks about this, the features of her stern expression softening as mental energy is diverted to firing up the memory cells. “No. I don’t think so. No, wait a minute,” she says. “Yes, once. It was during the divorce.” She breaks her own rule. “My lawyers found out about it. They thought Nick was using it to hide assets from the marriage.”
“Was he?”
“No. I really didn’t want to get into this,” she says.
I look at Susan, who gives me a face, like she wishes she could help but can’t.
“At least they couldn’t find anything in that company when they looked at it.”
“Do you remember when that was?”
“No.”
“Do you remember during the court proceedings whether they asked Nick any specific questions about it?”
“I thought we weren’t going to talk about the divorce.”
“It’s an easy question,” says Susan. “Either you remember or you don’t.”
“Fine. I don’t remember,” she says.
“Did you ever hear the name Gerald Metz used in connection with Jamaile Enterprises?”
“Wasn’t that the man who was shot with Nick?”
I nod. She has to look over at me to see this, so we finally make eye contact.
“Are you telling me they were in business together?”
“Apparently.”
“Do the police know this?”
“They do. Did your lawyers ever look into Mr. Metz to determine who he was and what this business deal might have been?”
“I don’t know. You’d have to talk to them.”
“I did. They wouldn’t discuss it with me without your written consent.”
“I’d have to talk to them about that,” she says. Both Margaret and her lawyers are wary of anything having to do with the divorce and in particular the settlement agreement. They are probably worried that Dana might renew arguments that Margaret had no lawful claim to the insurance.
Susan raises a hand off of the arm of her chair, as if perhaps I shouldn’t press on this any further, that maybe I should move on.
“Have you ever heard the name Grace Gimble?” I ask.
With this she looks at me, almost snaps her neck doing it. “What does Grace have to do with this?”
“You know her?”
“Yes. She’s a friend,” she says. “One of the few friends we both had. I mean one Nick and I both knew, who maintained a friendship with me after the divorce.”
“Do you know where I can find her?”
“Maybe. But first tell me why you want to know.”
“Her name shows up on documents creating this limited partnership. The one I told you about. Jamaile Enterprises. Can you tell me who she is? Why her name might be on those documents?”
She thinks about this for a second, quietly to herself, eyes studying the oak surface of Susan’s desk, perhaps wondering if someone involved with Nick was a friend after all. “That’s easy,” she says. “After Grace retired from the government, she did some private secretarial work. Paralegal, they call it. To make a little money on the side. I know Nick threw some work her way from time to time, before he went to work for the firm. Before we were…”
“I see. Do you know where she lives?”
“I think so.” Margaret fumbles in her purse and comes up with a small black address book, thumbs through it until she finds Grace Gimble’s address. She reads this to me as I write it on a Post-it note from Susan’s desk.
“Do you have a phone number?”
She gives me this as well.
“Have you talked to her recently?”
She thinks. “Not for at least a year,” she says. “I suppose she was probably at Nick’s funeral. I wouldn’t know since I wasn’t there.”
“How did she know Nick?”
“She was his secretary at the U.S. Attorney’s Office before he left.”
I stop writing on the little slip and look at her. She can tell this is not what I had expected to hear.
“She retired about the same time Nick went into private practice. Nick told me she took some paralegal courses and worked out of her house.”
This would explain her name on the documents forming Jamaile, especially if Nick, for whatever reason, didn’t want them prepared using the clerical staff at the firm.
Before Margaret can say anything more, Susan’s phone rings. Susan looks at me, rolls her eyes. “I told them to hold my calls.” She picks it up. “Yes.” Eyes looking at me, down at the desk, then she cups her hand over the mouthpiece. “It’s for you,” she says.
The only one who knows I’m here is Harry.
“Do you want to take it in the other room?” she says.
“No.”
So Susan moves the phone a little closer and stretches the cord so that I can take it at the edge of her desk.
“Hello.”
“Just a moment.” It’s Susan’s secretary. A second later, Harry’s voice comes on the line.
“Paul.”
“Yeah.”
“Listen, I thought you’d want to know. I just got today’s mail.”
“Can this wait? I’m in the middle of a meeting,” I tell him.
“You’re going to want to know what was in it.”
“Fine.”
“A substitution of counsel for Espinoza,” says Harry.
“What?”
“I thought you’d be interested. Some lawyer named Gary Winston down in National City.”
“When was this?”
“Almost a week ago. The notice just arrived in the mail. And that’s not all. Before I wasted your time, I thought I’d check. See if Espinoza is in detention. He’s not.” Harry can tell he has my undivided attention from the silence coming from my end now.
“There was a bail hearing scheduled yesterday. Bail was set at a million dollars.”
“Then it’s probably all right,” I tell him. “Unless I’m wrong, and he’s more flush than I think, he couldn’t raise the ten percent fee, the hundred grand for the bond.”
“Guess again,” says Harry. “He’s been on the street since yesterday afternoon. Are you there?” Harry on the other end, listening to dead air from me.
“Yes. I’m thinking. Who put up the bond?”
“I don’t know. Do you want me to see if I can find out?”
“Do it.”
“They may know where he is. At least the address Espinoza gave them.”
“Let’s hope maybe a bondsman’s watching him.” If they knew what kind of a flight risk he was, they wouldn’t have taken the fee unless they had some guarantee.
“And Harry…”
“Yeah?”
“See what you can find out about the lawyer, this Winston. Call me on the cell line as soon as you have anything. I’ll be in the car.”
