“Schaeffer’s name wasn’t on them,” I said. “But Ash’s name was.”
Duvall waited as I got in my car. The top was down, which was fine on a sunny, summer day except I wore shorts. As I slid in, the seat practically seared my bare thighs.
“I’d been thinking Schaeffer and Garvey might have stolen information from Ash’s databases,” I said. “What if Ash were in on it? What if he used Schaeffer and Garvey to steal the money, then stole it from them?”
“How do you figure?”
“Those bank statements had Ash’s name on them. Maybe the money in those accounts is the money Schaeffer and Garvey stole.”
“Motive?” Duvall asked.
“I don’t know. He had tax problems. Maybe he needed to come up with ready cash.”
“Why didn’t he put another name on the accounts? Having the accounts in the club’s name doesn’t hide the money very well.”
“True, unless Schaeffer and Garvey didn’t know about those accounts,” I explained.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” Duvall said. “Jamila may want to subpoena Ash’s bank records. Maybe depose Ash and Schaeffer.”
“If she doesn’t, I will.” Tentatively, I leaned back against the hot seat. An asbestos seat cover would have come in handy.
“Might be worth looking into Ash’s problems with the IRS,” Duvall said.
“Might be.”
“Of course, none of this will be necessary if the bank settles. They might do so to avoid the publicity of a trial.”
“I wouldn’t mind that. I’d rather focus on the murder charge. Speaking of which, I also found out yesterday from one of Schaeffer’s neighbors that Tom Garvey was alive after Melanie saw him the weekend he died. He had other visitors very late Saturday night.”
“Maybe this is your lucky weekend.”
I started the car. “I hope so.”
f f f
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I went home and called Melanie with the news about Stavos and Scarface. She was glad to hear she could move home.
“Karen has a one-bedroom, and I’ve been using her sofa,” she said. “She’s been very nice about it.”
“There’s more. Mostly good news, I think. You want to meet for dinner? We can celebrate your first night out of hiding.”
“I could use a night out. OK.”
We met at a Mexican restaurant in College Park, a mock adobe and tiled-floor simulation of a California mission and a popular hangout for the university crowd.
I gave Melanie a quick update on what I’d learned over the weekend. After our margaritas arrived, I raised my glass. “Here’s to success in the future. When I clear you in this case, we can come back and really party.”
Melanie lifted her glass with a whimsical look. “Here’s to getting blasted.” She took a drink, then added, “And forgetting about everything that’s gone before. God knows, I’ve made enough mistakes.”
“We all make mistakes.”
“We don’t all end up involved with criminals. Tom was good at keeping secrets. I never questioned the money he made at first. When the debts started to pile up, I wondered, but I guess I was blinded by some sort of hope he would work out.”
“There are still a lot of unanswered questions. Like where is Gregory Knudsen and how does he fit in all this? You’re sure you never heard of him?”
“Positive.”