The Case of the Guilty Fiance

Despite what you read, the life of a private detective is boring. These days I can solve half my cases from my phone, while I sit in the school carpool line. Sure, I have my fair share of long telephoto shots through cheap motel windows, and into parked cars, but people usually hire me because I know how to search bureaucratic databases, and find their particular straw of hay, in the haystack. When Carol called me from the hospital, I thought that was what she needed.

“Hey, girl,” I answered. “You calling me from work?”

Carol had her doctor voice on, and I was surprised when she answered, “Listen, Tammy, I’m calling you professionally. I need to hire you for something a little sensitive.”

“Oh, Carol. I am sure it’s a misunderstanding. . .” I began, and she cut me off.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Tammy. I don’t need you personally. Everything is fine at home. I have a patient here with major trauma. We’re in the midst of a massive transfusion, and even then it’s even odds on her life. I think she’s being used as a drug mule, and I think the bastards tried to cut the load out of her and make it look like a bad abortion.”

I had never heard Carol’s voice this hard. We mostly knew each other from school plays, PTA cookie time, and the occasional Mom’s margherita night. This was new territory for both of us.

“So she’s been in before, and she always self pays through a private set up. Now don’t get me wrong. I want the s-o-bs who did this to her to pay every penny, if that’s who is footing the bill, but damn it, I want to know who they are, and what we can do to keep her from going back.”

I was silent for a moment.

“So. . . you want me to find a drug organization that cut up their mule?” I didn’t know how to tell her that was WAY outside my expertise.

“I don’t have time for this, Tammy. I have a girl on the table, right now! I want to make sure saving her life isn’t sending her back into more danger. I am going to text you the billing information I have. I need you to find out who is paying her hospital bills.”

“OK. I can do that. Send it over.”

“And Tammy,” Carol dropped her voice a little, “Um. This is probably a huge HIPAA violation. Please, please, just help me with this, OK. I don’t know why, but this one. This one is getting to me. It’s so . . . senseless and cruel.”

I was getting a bit shaken myself, over this woman I had never met, so as soon as the text came in, I got right to work. It turned out that the information Carol sent over was a bit of a dead end. It was just a credit card with a larger credit limit than my mortgage, that drew on an account managed by a local law firm. So I kept digging a bit.

It turned out that the trauma patient had a mile long rap sheet of minor drug convictions, solicitation, trespassing, and petty theft. It was all small stuff that painted a big picture of a life running on the worst end of bad people. I had a few hours to kill before I had to pick kids up from school. I could run by the courthouse, and ask a few questions.

The superior court clerk for our county had a bit of a weakness, and I had taken advantage of it before. I had to sort of spread it out, and use it sparingly, but this situation absolutely called for it. I opened my freezer, dug to the very bottom, and pulled out a tin with the words “Do Not Touch! Mama’s bribe stash” written on the lid, in thick tip Sharpie. I was running low. I would have to make time to replenish it sometime over the weekend.

Brown paper bag in hand, I strolled up to the court clerk’s office. The long counter just inside the window was empty, but the sound of my paper bag brushing against it made Ellen’s head lift. Her blonde hair bobbed gently, as she stepped away from her desk, and sidled up to the counter.

“OK. You brought me gluten free, dairy free, soy free chocolate chip cookies, is that right?”

I smiled sweetly.

“One day I will not succumb to your sweet treats,” she said, sternly. “But today is not that day. What can I do for you today, Tammy?” The last question ended through a mouthful of cookie. What followed was incredibly informative.

The young woman in question had all her fines, fees and various court expenses all paid with different accounts. I searched them as Ellen gave them to me, and each one dead ended in the same law firm as the hospital bill. At every court appearance she was ruled indigent, and represented by a different lawyer, paid by public funds.

“What firms are represented?” I asked Eileen.

“Oh. That’s a dead end, Tammy,” Eileen was working on her second cookie. “There’s really only 2 firms that participate in indigent defense. They put their brand new lawyers on it for 6 months as a bit of a training ground. So . . . “ her voice trailed off a bit, then “but it’s kind of weird that she only pulled lawyers from. . .”

“Bristow and McCloud?” I interrupted.

Ellen looked at me over her glasses, and squinted.

“I never know if I am helping you our confirming what you already know. This is not how most women do office gossip. You know that, right?”

I grinned, and pulled a second paper bag out of my purse. I slid it across the counter.

“This one is important to me, and you’ve been a big help. Thanks Ellen.”

Ellen just laughed, and her blonde hair swung back and forth, as she shook her head and walked back to her desk. I watched her tuck the cookies into her purse before I turned and walked away. School pickup was in 15 minutes, and I was 20 minutes away.

The pickup line snaked through the parking lot, and back down the otherwise quiet residential street that fronted the school property. While we all knew it was technically still against the law to check our phones as we inched forward, we all still did it. I was busy deep researching the Bristow and McCloud law firm, and creeping along at the tail end of the line, when the text came in from Carol.

“She’s closed up and stabilized. Took another 8 units of blood. Any news? I have less than 24 hours until she’s conscious.”

“Have a strong lead.” I answered. Then paused before typing “It’s a little complicated.”

“Was afraid of that.” Carol answered.

The complete lack of any relevant information regarding Bristow and McCloud had me deep in a search frenzy when my eleven-year-old flopped onto the front seat of the van and said, “So you’re on a case today?”

Her twin nine year old siblings tumbled through the sliding door, into the center seat, both talking a mile a minute, interrupting each other, and managing to spill 2 book bags simultaneously. I put my phone down, and mommed so hard for the next 26 minutes.

“OK guys. I’m on a case today.” I said, as I pulled into the driveway. “You know the drill, but I won’t be in the office.”

The center seat duo groaned and their eleven year old sister grinned wickedly.

“That means I’m in charge!” This was new territory for her, and she was relishing it. “Homework first, then I am going to beat you at Mario Cart!”

The groans turned to cheers, as they tumbled out of the van, arms full, trailing things behind them.

“Grandpa’s next door, in case of an emergency!” I called, as I backed up. My daughter threw me a thumbs up as she surveyed the trail of detritus and called her brothers back.

It wasn’t until I was sitting in the tastefully decorated waiting room of Bristow and McCloud, that I really thought through my situation. Was I really going to ask a law firm to tell me if they had clients who would have a woman’s uterus packed with drugs, and then hacked out? What did I think was going to happen here? This was my only lead, but I had to be really careful.

A gentlemen in his early thirties crossed the reception area, spoke briefly to one of the secretaries, then came toward me.

“Ms. Fanshaw?” he asked.

I rose, and extended my hand.

“Yes. I am sorry not to make an appointment. I just have a few questions, and someone in the firm may be able to point me in the right direction. I don’t want to take up much of your time.”

He smiled at me, and gestured through some doors as he said, “I hope I can help.”

I was a little startled to find myself ushered into a corner office, with the words “Edward McCloud” printed on the door.

Before I could say anything, the man I was with closed the door, and turned to look at me with a hard face.

“You’re here about Jane. No one ever comes to the office. Ever. Cut to the chase, but understand this isn’t going to go down the way you think it is.”

I sat down in a large leather chair, and said, “Mr. McCloud, who do you think I am?”

He looked me over, messy bun to Dr. Scholl’s, and relaxed slightly as he rested on the edge of his desk.

“You told the receptionist you had been hired to collect an overdue medical bill for Jane Ourstead. That is a lie. Jane has no outstanding medical bills. I assume you are here to try to extort something from me. It will not work.”

I had to think fast.

“OK, look. I am a private investigator, hired by someone who cares about Jane. I need some information to guarantee her safety.”

“That is another lie. There are only three people who care enough about Jane to attempt to guarantee her safety. The other two would have consulted me before hiring anyone. I think you are a pawn in an attempted con. I will pay no ransom, no matter what you call it. I don’t know what she’s into this time, but I am not what you think I am.”

I chewed on my lip a little and looked at him. He walked over to the door and opened it. I stayed seated.

“She’s in an intensive care bed. She has received more than ten units of blood in a little over 12 hours while having her abdomen rebuilt, but now she’s stable.”

The blood drained from Edward McCloud’s face. He closed the door again and he dropped into the chair opposite mine.

“I was hired to make sure she didn’t go back to the bastards who packed her with drugs, and then cut her open for the load. The only constant I could find in her life was this law firm. Until two minutes ago I was operating on the assumption that you represented said bastards. I am now guessing we have both come to this meeting under flawed assumptions.”

He suddenly looked so young.

“All medical bills will be handled directly with the hospital. The best help you can be to Jane is tell whoever hired you to leave her alone. She can’t be protected from the people who did this to her. She’ll just end up right back with someone like them, like she has for the last ten years.”

He almost whispered those last lines, and I wondered if he was still talking to me. I sat there, completely still, and just listened. He got up from the chair, and crossed to a book shelf, bringing back a photo album. He put it in front of me, open to the second page. It was a prom picture. The young man was clearly Edward McCloud. I leaned in, to take a closer look at his suit.

“Yes. It’s made of duct tape,” He said, with a bit of a grin, then he sobered. “I just wanted you to know she hasn’t always been what she is now. I tried to save her for a long time. I tried to love her in spite of the drugs. Then I tried to love her out of the drugs.”

I was flipping the pages in the album now. It was happy couple pictures of picnics and hikes and college campuses, but as the pages turned, both of their faces looked more and more desperate.

“It’s taken me a lot of years to realize that I can’t love her enough for both of us.”

The last picture in the album was Jane happily waving a ringed finger. She was so thin, and her eyes were haunted behind the happy smile. Edward clung to her, like she might slip away.

I looked up at him, and he was looking straight into my face. There were no tears. I got the impression the tears were long since cried.

“She missed the wedding. She had run out of pills, and went to get more so she would have enough for the honeymoon. We found her passed out in her car 24 hours later.”

“But you kept trying, even after that, didn’t you?” I asked.

He nodded.

“And even after all this time, you make sure she has legal representation, and you pay all her medical bills, because you still love her.” That time I wasn’t asking, but he nodded anyway.

I closed the album, and stood up.

“You need to know two things,” I said to him, as I walked to the closed door. “First, it was the doctor who stitched her up that hired me. This isn’t a long con. I am not a pawn in a bigger game.”

He visibly relaxed. Just before I opened the door, I said, “Secondly, you need to know this isn’t your fault. You’re right. You couldn’t save her.”

I closed the door behind me, and walked out to my mini van.

Carol and I had a bit of a discussion about how to proceed with Jane, after I filled her in on the details. Eventually she said she would still try to get Jane some help, and I said it couldn’t hurt.

Then I walked through my front door, hugged my kids tight, and got in the shower, and cried.