Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Even doubtful accusations leave a stain behind them.”
~Thomas Fuller
Angel entered the offices of Tremble and Wyatt at 4:00 p.m. on the dot. A prim, efficient assistant hustled her into a small conference room, equipped with coffee, tea, water, walls of legal tomes, and a long highly polished wooden table. The windows faced Northeast with a splendid view of the Eastern end of Fisherman's Wharf. A bleak mound of dark clouds crested the hills beyond the bay as if to signal the tone for this meeting.
“Good afternoon, Miss Adair, please be seated.” he carried a sheaf of folders under one arm and greeted her with a firm handshake. Not a hint of emotion traversed his cragged cheeks. His suit held not a trace of lint, and his thick, silvering hair trailed neatly over his collar. Not excessively long, but not shorn close to his head either. Angel thought he’d make a good trial attorney, all polish with a roguish grandfatherly mien.
“I don’t believe we need to review the powers of attorney, property deeds, or accounts again unless you wish for an update from my first report, Miss Adair. I will, of course, give you a report of her credit accounts. Unfortunately, there has been no activity since she withdrew funds in late November. The sum was substantial enough to cover modest living expenses for a few months.”
Angel clutched her hands in tight fists on her lap. “Thank you, sir, but I’m interested in discussing how we can initiate an immediate search with the new branch of the FBI established for finding missing persons. No one has heard anything from Charlotte since Thanksgiving Day, and we are very worried about her.” Her speech came out in a quick whoosh, without a single breath between words. “If that’s not possible, I’d like to hire a private investigator. Do you have any recommendations for a reliable P.I.?”
His eyes, a sharp crystal blue, softened. “I’m sure we could file a search after the first of the year.”
Angel laid her hands flat on the polished tabletop. “Please, could we file the notice tomorrow. I’d like to start a search immediately, without further delay.”
“Do you believe Miss Rutland is in danger or has come to some harm, Miss Adair?” He nonchalantly leaned back in his chair, but Angel noticed a tightening around his eyes and mouth.
“I have no knowledge of anything except that my friend is missing and we have not heard from her for over a month. This is not like her. We were in constant contact before…” a sob caught in her throat.
Mr. Tremble reached across the table and patted her hand. “Yes, yes, I understand. Miss Rutland informed me of your recent loss when she changed her will and arranged for you to have access to her assets and funds. Don’t distress yourself.” He reached over and hit an intercom buzzer to summon his assistant.
Assured that a missing person application would be initiated the next day, Angel left Mt. Tremble’s office slightly relieved. After all the losses she’d suffered, she had to verify Char’s safety and believed this action would put everyone at ease.
In the second week of January, Angel received a phone call summoning her to an appointment at Mr. Tremble’s office. Hopeful that he had news of Char’s location, she cut her classes and called in to say she wouldn’t help at the clinic that afternoon.
Mrs. Black, the same prim assistant she’d dealt with previously, ushered her into Mr. Tremble’s office, rather than the conference room, where the lawyer and another gentleman were engaged in serious conversation. “Please, come in Miss Adair, let me introduce you to FBI investigator, Kevin Chasewell.” Both men rose as she approached and Mr. Chasewell shook her hand with a firm grip while assessing her with dark penetrating eyes that revealed nothing.
In less than two minutes, the conversation became one of intense grilling. Did she have reason to assume Miss Charlotte Rutland was in danger? Why had Miss Rutland changed her will giving Angel a power of attorney and leaving all assets to her? Did she believe Miss Rutland would do harm to herself? When had she last been in touch with Miss Rutland?
At first, Angel easily answered all questions, but after about fifteen minutes with only marginally rephrased repetition, she expected a more sinister purpose. “Excuse me, but it seems you are repeating your questions. I’ve told you everything I know about the circumstances of Charlotte’s disappearance. I simply want to locate my friend to determine she’s okay.”
Mr. Chasewell leaned forward in his chair, crowding Angel. “Why do you believe she is not okay, Miss Adair?”
“I…I don’t know if she is or isn’t. It’s not like her to disappear without contact. Mr. Tremble will tell you that a few days after Thanksgiving, she delivered Christmas presents to this office with instructions to send them to my family a few days before the holiday. We’ve had no word at all since then. That’s not like her. She’s been a part of our family most of her life, we’re all she has left.”
Mr. Chasewell didn’t lean back, he hardly seemed to breathe or blink his eyes. The hard line of his jaw didn’t clinch, but neither did any facial feature show kindness or sympathy over her concerns. “Are you accusing me of something, Mr. Chasewell?”
“Is there any reason why I might accuse you of something, Miss Adair?”
Mr. Tremble rested his forearms on his desk, “No one is accusing anyone of anything. We cannot ignore that Miss Rutland’s directives are very generous on your behalf. That generosity has me and Mr. Chasewell concerned as to her state of mind. We know the history; the loss of her family, her past relationship with your brother and his recent death. Her therapist confirmed that she struggled with depression. All factors that raise the question: would she harm herself? Her actions suggest a possible intention to permanently disappear.”
Every muscle in Angel’s body clenched. “I don’t believe, at least I hope that Charlotte would not—no, she would not harm herself.” Her words didn’t sound positive even to her.
“Perhaps not,” Mr. Tremble said, “but I’ll confess that I was quite concerned when Charlotte insisted on the changes to her Last Will and Testament and power of attorney shortly after your brother’s death. The packages left, with instructions to deliver them to your family a few days before Christmas, further heightened my concern. However, being of age and apparent sound mind, I had no means to interfere. I wish I had found a way, I assure you. Nevertheless, I am confident Mr. Chasewell, on behalf of the NCIC, and at your insistence, will conduct a thorough investigation. In the end, we’ll likely find your friend tucked away in some quaint little town enjoying her leisure.” Nothing in either man’s expression or tone assured Angel of anything.
“Mr. Tremble mentioned you wished to hire private investigators to search for Miss Rutland,” Mr. Chasewell said. “I can’t tell you not to hire someone, Miss Adair, but I advise against it. Additional investigators might inadvertently compromise our search. Have you utilized Miss Rutland’s funds to engage investigators? If so, I’d appreciate a complete list of your contacts.”
Of all the nerve. Angel slammed her fists on the table. “I have no desire to touch Charlotte’s money or claim her property.” Angel couldn’t stop the tears that welled in her eyes. Then in a chocked, whispery voice, “I love her as a sister, I am afraid something has happened. She’d never go this long without communicating with me or my family. There must be some way to pick up her trail. And if I were to use her funds, which I have not,” she stated emphatically, “I would hire an army of investigators. I simply want to find my friend.”
The investigator asked a few more pointed questions and advised she’d receive an update in a few weeks. “Could you give me a status report every week?”
“That’s not normal protocol. We update as pertinent information is revealed.” Something in the tone of his voice made her believe he simply didn’t want to reveal information to her.
“Could you at least give weekly updates to Mr. Tremble, and share anything suggesting a lead?”
She left the lawyer’s office in a complete state of disbelief and vastly shaken by their line of questioning. Chasewell never said it outright, but he clearly suspected her of wrongdoing to obtain Charlotte’s assets. She made it clear she hadn’t been aware of those changes until Thanksgiving Day.
“Oh God, I can’t take much more. First Daniel, then Brian, then you, Char. Now, this investigator thinks I’ve done you harm. You have to come home.” A thick fog muffled her plea and whipped it away on a brisk wind. “Oh, Brian, why did you leave me? I’ve never needed your strong arms more.” The devastation of loss twisted her gut into a stone of pain. She’d never feel whole again.