J is for Judgment (Kinsey Millhone 10)

“Name sounds familiar, but I don’t think we ever met.”

“He was probably working out of the Pasadena office back then. Good man. He’s retired now. Anyway, he did what he could, but there was no way we could prove Wendell Jaffe was alive. We did manage to overcome the presumption of death—temporarily. In light of his financial problems, we argued successfully that it was unlikely, if Jaffe was living, that he’d voluntarily appear. Judge ruled in our favor, but we knew it was only a matter of time before he reversed himself. Mrs. Jaffe was plenty mad, but all she had to do was wait. She kept the premiums on his policy paid and went back into court when the five years were up.”

“I thought it was seven.”

“The statute was changed about a year ago. The Law Revision Commission modernized the procedure for probate in the estate of a missing person. Two months ago, she finally got a finding and order from the superior court and had Wendell declared dead. At that point, the company really had no choice. We paid.”

“Ah, the thick plottens,” I said. “How much are we talking?”

“Five hundred thousand dollars.”

“Not bad,” I said, “though maybe she deserved it. She sure had to wait long enough to collect.”

Mac’s smile was brief. “She should have waited a little longer. I had a call from Dick Mills—another retired CF employee. He claims he spotted Jaffe down in Mexico. Town called Viento Negro.”

“Really. When was this?”

“Yesterday,” Mac said. “Dick was the agent who sold Jaffe the original life insurance policy, and he went on to do a lot of business with him afterward. Anyway, he was down in Mexico, dinky little place, midway between Cabo and La Paz on the Gulf of California. He says he saw Wendell in the hotel bar, having drinks with some woman.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he echoed. “Dick was waiting for the shuttle on his way out to the airport and he stopped off in the bar to have a quick one before the driver showed. Wendell was sitting on the patio, maybe three feet away, a little trellis arrangement between the two of them. Dick said it was the voice he recognized first. Kind of gravelly and low with a south Texas accent. Guy was speaking English at first, but he switched to Spanish when the waiter came over.”

“Did Wendell see Dick?”

“Apparently not. Dick said he never was so surprised in his life. Said he sat there so long he nearly missed his ride to the airport. The minute he got home, he picked up the phone and called me.”

I could feel my heart begin to thump. Put me anywhere close to an interesting proposition and my pulse accelerates. “So what happens next?”

Mac tapped a length of ash into his pants cuff. “I want you to go down there as soon as possible. I’m assuming you have a valid passport in your possession.”

“Well, sure, but what about Gordon Titus? Does he know about this?”

“You let me worry about Titus. This thing with Wendell has been sticking in my craw ever since it happened. I want to see it settled before I leave CF. Half a million dollars is nothing to sniff at. Seems like it’d be a nice way to close out my career.”

“If it’s true,” I said.

“I’ve never known Dick Mills to make a mistake. Will you do it?”

“I’d have to make sure I can clear my schedule here. Can I call you in an hour and give you an answer then?”

“Well, sure. That’s no problem.” Mac checked his watch and stood up, placing a thick packet on the corner of my desk. “I wouldn’t take much more time if I were you. You’re on a flight leaves at one for Los Angeles. Connecting flight’s at five. Tickets and itinerary are in there,” he said.

I started laughing. California Fidelity and I were back in business.

2

Once my commuter flight landed at LAX, I had a three-hour delay before the Mexicana flight took off for Cabo San Lucas. Mac had given me a folder full of newspaper articles about Jaffe’s disappearance and its aftermath. I settled myself in one of the airport cocktail lounges, sorting through the clippings to educate myself while I sipped a margarita. Might as well get into the spirit of the thing. At my feet I had a hastily packed duffel bag, including my 35-millimeter camera, my binoculars, and the video recorder I’d given myself as a thirty-fourth birthday present. I loved the impromptu nature of this trip, and I was already feeling that heightened sense of self-awareness that traveling engenders. My friend Vera and I were currently enrolled in a beginning Spanish class through Santa Teresa’s adult education program. So far, we were confined to the present tense, short, mostly declarative statements of little known use—unless, of course, there were some black cats in the trees, in which case Vera and I were prepared to point and make remarks. ¿Muchos gatos negros están en los árboles, sí? Sí, muchos gatos. I saw the trip as an opportunity to test my language skills, if nothing else.