Grave Matters

'Ah, Cath, you can't-'

'I can. It's always a possibility, you know.'

'What is?'

'Being up against a killer who is well and truly around the bend.'

Warrick had no response to that.

After he ambled out, Catherine began going through Vivian Elliot's personal papers.

The CSI had brought in all the things she'd found at the Elliot house. The checkbook, with more than a thousand dollars in it, hadn't been used since the morning before Vivian's car wreck. Looking through the register, Catherine saw that Vivian had purchased a brake job, radiator flush, and oil change with check #9842. That had been from the dealership that had sold her her 1999 Chrysler Concorde.

The next day, Vivian had been traveling south on Nellis Boulevard when the drunk ran the red light and plowed into her. Since the woman hadn't written a check thereafter, the top check in the book should be #9843. Flipping past the register, Catherine saw the correct check on top.

She wondered why Vivian hadn't carried the checkbook with her on the day of her accident. Thinking it through, she thought she had the answer: Catherine knew that many older folks, especially those raised during the Great Depression, believed in paying most things with cash. Three hundred dollars, the price of Vivian's auto repairs, was probably more cash than the woman liked to carry…hence the check.

Vivian's financial advisor was Christian Northcutt, whose office was in a new complex on Robindale near Las Vegas Boulevard, the same office park as Newcombe-Gold, an advertising company Catherine had investigated just last year.

Looking through the statements from Northcutt, Catherine discovered that Mrs. Elliot had a money market with about three thousand dollars, a mutual fund program with a shade over fifty thousand, and an annuity valued about forty-five thousand dollars. In no way could Vivian Elliot have been considered rich, but she hadn't exactly been standing in the government cheese line, either.

If someone wanted to steal Vivian's estate, how would they go about it? Was there a will? There was only one way to find out: Catherine would have to talk to Vivian's lawyer.

Before Catherine could take that thought any further, however, Vega entered her office, hauling a monstrous cardboard box, the sleeves of his suit straining to contain his biceps as he brought the thing over and dropped it unceremoniously on her desk.

'The hospital records,' he said. Fit as he was, the heat had him sweating and even panting a little.

'What took so long?'

He cut her a look. 'Court order, Cath-you know how it is.'

'Yeah, I sure do. Doctor Whiting give you any trouble?'

'Naw. Once he saw the paperwork, he pretty much fell all over himself trying to help. He would've been fine without it, personally, he said-but Sunny Day's a business like any other.'

'I think,' Catherine said, gesturing to the financial records spread out elsewhere on her desk, 'we need to talk to Vivian's lawyer.'

'Do we know who the lawyer is?'

'Yeah-Pauline Dearden.' She handed Vega an invoice the attorney had sent Vivian. 'Know her?'

'No.'

'Me either.'

'Let's get acquainted then,' Vega said.

Next thing Catherine knew, she was riding in Vega's unmarked Taurus, headed south on Boulder Highway. She filled him in on the news of the murder weapon, and he was pleased, though frustrated that it didn't seem to lead anywhere.

Just north of Flamingo, Vega waited for a break in traffic and turned left into a strip mall parking lot. A two- story stucco building, the mall was home to a variety of offices. The bottom floor included an insurance company, a loan company, a bail bondsman, and a pawnshop; top floor held another insurance company, a baseball card and comic book store, a vacant storefront, and, at the very end, PAULINE DEARDEN, ATTORNEY AT LAW.

They went up the stairs and entered the office. Catherine expected to find the firm of Drab, Dreary, and Dubious practicing here; to her surprise, the office was spacious and the decor bright and cheery-blond furniture, light green walls, waiting area with mini-sofa covered in a floral pattern, three chairs, and a coffee table scattered with glossy magazines. Beyond was a good-sized desk, two client chairs, and a high-back leather number for the attorney-the one who didn't seem to be here. A computer sat on a smaller desk next to the main one, and beyond that was a closed door, from behind which came the sound of a flush and then running water.

That door opened and a tall, wide-shouldered woman in a high-collared navy blue jacket and skirt stepped out, patting her hair, as if it could be out of place. Catherine knew the latter was unlikely, as the woman wore enough spray to shellac her obviously dyed red hair into a tight helmet. The blue-eyed redhead wore a great deal of scarlet lipstick, too, and when she saw her guests, the woman looked up and smiled with bright, white teeth- something slightly predatory about it, but then…this was a lawyer.

'May I help you?' she asked cordially enough.

Vega showed the badge and introduced them both. The woman studied the IDs carefully before handing them back. Then the attorney shook hands with them and gestured to the client chairs. 'I am, as you've surely guessed by now, Pauline Dearden. What's this all about, Sam?'

Catherine glanced over toward Vega, to see how this no-nonsense professional was taking this woman he'd just met using his first name.

Vega let the comment pass without a ripple in his impassive expression. 'We'd like to talk to you about one of your clients-Vivian Elliot.'

Pauline Dearden leaned forward a little. 'Within bounds of client confidentiality, I'm of course happy to help the police. But why Vivian?'

'Haven't you heard, Pauline?' Vega said. 'She's been murdered.'

The attorney's eyes opened wide, then she sagged a little. 'Hell…. No. No, I hadn't heard anything about it. I seldom read the paper and almost never watch television.' She sat for a long moment, her manner suddenly morose.

'Ms. Dearden?' Vega prompted.

'Sorry…. Vivian was a good client, and a nice woman.'

Catherine asked, 'Can you tell us a little about her?'

The Dearden woman opened a drawer and withdrew a tissue and dabbed at her eyes. 'What…what would you like to know?'

'What legal work had you done for her recently? I noticed an invoice from your office among her financial records.'

A humorless laugh coughed out of her. 'Normally, I'd have to rail on and on about attorney-client privilege… but since she's been murdered…'

Catherine waited.

Gathering herself, the attorney said, 'She was considering suing Doctor Larry Whiting for malpractice.'

Catherine blinked. 'Doctor Whiting? First we've heard of that.'

'Well, it's true.'

Vega was still trying to wrap his mind around this. 'Doctor Whiting at Sunny Day?'

'Uh huh-the very one.'

Catherine sat forward. 'Why did Vivian stay under his care, then-if she was considering suing him for malpractice?'

A grunt of a laugh preceded the attorney's answer: 'She thought all the other doctors at Sunny Day were even bigger problems than Doctor Whiting!'

Catherine said, 'She could have moved to another facility, if she thought the care was subpar. It's not like Sunny Day's the only game in the valley.'

'She was an old woman,' the attorney said matter of factly. 'Set in her ways, and not willing to listen to anything I had to say.'

'You're not saying she was senile, or that Alzheimer's was setting in-'

'Oh, no! Far from it.' The attorney sighed. 'But Vivian could be very stubborn. Hell-bullheaded is more like it.