Those who worked the case had started referring to Lana Corday as the widow even though they didn’t believe Jeremy Corday was dead.
“How is he?” Ten inquired about the man who had attempted suicide. He was certain Kagen, known for his thoroughness, had gotten an update on the man’s condition.
“He’s going to be fine,” said Kagen as he opened the door to his office and entered the large utilitarian furnished space. It complemented its owner, as it was highly efficient.
Kagen did not sit down but paced the room as he continued, “I don’t know about you, Ten, but I’m feeling mighty frustrated with the lack of progress we’ve had finding Corday. There’s no paper trail, no sighting of him on airport security cameras, absolutely nothing! People are suffering because of him. Losing their homes, senior citizens have had to go out and find work to make ends meet in this economy.” He punched the air with clenched fists. “I know he’s got that money stashed in a bank in the States, possibly right here in San Francisco. But if his wife is somehow hiding something or is the key to the location of those funds, we haven’t been able to connect her.”
Ten had headed the team that had had Lana Corday under surveillance for the past seven months. He knew her personal life inside and out. What time she left her apartment in the morning, how often she ran, whom she saw during the day, and which jobs she was currently working on. If Jeremy Corday had tried to contact her, Ten would have known. Her phone records were devoid of anything out of the ordinary. No calls from a fugitive husband.
“Maybe he’s truly dead,” Ten ventured. He didn’t really believe it, but was being the devil’s advocate just for the sake of argument.
“He’s too slippery to be dead,” Kagen quickly stated. Scowling, he faced Ten. “There’s got to be a way to smoke that rat out of his hidey-hole.”
Ten had been giving that particular challenge some thought. Before he could reason with himself or talk himself out of speaking up at the risk of his idea sounding far-fetched and subsequently being shot down by Kagen, he cleared his throat and said, “I really don’t think Corday is going to show his face in San Francisco. There’s too much of a chance of his being spotted. But, if we could get the widow in a more remote location, say maybe, the Outer Banks, where Lana’s father lives, your rat might nibble on the bait.”
“But how do you propose we accomplish that, short of going to her and asking her to help us entrap her husband? I doubt she’d go for that even if she had no clue as to his business dealings and it’s beginning to dawn on her what kind of man she married.”
“No, but maybe her father isn’t such a big fan of Corday’s,” Ten suggested.
Interested, as the spark in his gray eyes proved, Kagen said, “Go on.”
“I can go to Mr. Braithwaite and explain our predicament, emphasizing the fact that his daughter could very well be in danger. What if she’s in possession of something Corday needs in order to access the rest of the money? I believe her when she says he never gave her a safe-deposit key or any other important item for safe keeping. That doesn’t mean he didn’t hide something in her personal possessions that she’s unaware of. She needs our protection. A father might respond to that.”
Kagen smiled. “You have my permission to give it a shot.”
* * *
“Lana, Lana! A word, please?”
It was dusk, and Lana had just returned home after a long day of putting the finishing touches on the Burrows house in the Russian Hill area. Reporter Gary Randall from the local ABC affiliate was very familiar to her. He was lean, had the polished good looks of an All-American athlete and was relentless when chasing down a story.
Although she wanted nothing more than to get inside her apartment, take off her shoes and relax, she turned to him with a resigned sigh, thinking that it was best to just get it over with. She already knew why he was here.
Luckily, the three-story Victorian home on Lombard Street where she had a one-room apartment was deserted this time of day. Her landlady didn’t get home from her nursing job until after nine. The news van had drawn several curious neighbors to their windows for a look-see, though. A few were coming outside to get a better view.
Randall stood close to her as he began his questioning. “Lana, are you aware that one of your husband’s victims tried to commit suicide?”
He didn’t wait for her to comment before continuing with his line of questioning. “How do you feel about that? Do you feel guilty or sorry that the family suffered a near-tragedy? Or do you feel removed from it all? As if you bear no blame because, as you maintain, you knew nothing of your husband’s fraudulent behavior?”
Lana looked straight into the camera. “I was very relieved to hear that Mrs. Carter got home in time to save her husband’s life. I wish him a speedy recovery. And I hope the authorities will soon track down the funds that were taken from so many honest, hard-working people.” She smiled warmly, after which she turned and went inside.
Gary Randall continued calling questions to her retreating back. When she firmly closed the door in his face he turned back around and said into the camera, “As you can see, Lana Corday remains one cool customer, showing no emotions whatsoever in the face of this horrible, horrible development in her husband’s ongoing case.”
* * *
“What a prick!” Gia said upon seeing the report the next day at noon while she and Lana were in the beautifully decorated kitchen of her home. It was her new favorite room in the house. Lana had turned what was once a cold, austere place into a warm, inviting room that was now deservedly the center of the home. She loved the rich earth tones of the tile on the floor and the cabinets and the deep red of the backsplash. There were two islands, one for food preparation, the other for family and guests to gather around to eat the meals Gia and her husband would cook. They were both budding chefs who loved feeding friends and family.
Lana looked across one of the islands into the face of the woman she had come to consider a friend. During the three months it had taken her to redecorate Gia’s home, they had shared confidences. Lana had told her she suspected Jeremy was still alive and was guilty of the charges leveled against him. Gia had told Lana that at first Derek had married her to spite his overprotective rich parents, but they had fallen in love and now they were devoted to each other. So much so that Derek had given his blessings when she’d told him she wanted to hire Lana to decorate their home. Gia had to promise Derek not to gloat about it to her mother-in-law. That admittedly took some fun out of it for Gia, but she agreed to her husband’s terms. Now she and Lana were sitting on high stools enjoying cups of Colombian coffee. Lana’s eyes were on the TV. Gary Randall had just made that comment about her being a cool customer. Yet, Lana Corday was anything but the emotionless character that Gary Randall was trying to convince everyone she was. Lana fought back tears.
Gia got up and turned the TV off. “Enough of that,” she said with a grin. She spun around on her designer heels. “It’s time to pay up for the fantastic job you did. And I haven’t forgotten I promised you anything you asked for. So...” She whipped out her checkbook and stood with a pen poised over it.
Lana laughed. “Please, Gia, there is already one too many con artists in my family. Just pay me what we agreed on and not one penny over the going rate for my expertise, thank you very much!”
“I didn’t mean anything by that, Lana, I promise you. I was joking.”
“I know that,” Lana assured her. “You were just having fun, something that has been missing from my life for a while now. But I do still recognize it when I see it.”
Lana wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes. She wasn’t wasting any more tears on men like Gary Randall or Jeremy. “So, no apology needed.”
Gia brightened. As she wrote the check, she said,