The Pallbearers

Chapter 29

The flash drive was behind a Dumpster in an alley off Spaulding Drive, about three blocks from the Mesa high-rise building. I gathered it up and got into the car beside Jack, who was sulking.

"What's on here?" I asked.

"Uh… it's like an audit or something."

"An audit or something?"

"Yeah. For Huntington House. A private audit done by some company named Randall Weis and Associates."

"So what's the audit say?"

"I don't know. I'm not a fucking accountant."

"I thought you said you broke the case while I was sitting on my ass."

"I said I could've broke the case while you were sitting on your ass."

"You said you broke it. You said it was huge. You don't even know what's on here? How 'bout finally telling the truth? I thought you said you cared about Pop."

"Okay, okay, stop with the nitpicks." He took a deep breath. "I followed O'Shea to the Mesa Building, went in behind him when he keyed his security card. He was accessing shit on the computer. When he was done the numb nut left the fucking thing on. There's all kinds of spreadsheets and shit. I just copied the pages. I didn't have time to sit around scrolling columns of figures. The file was marked Huntington House Audit 2005–2008 so I took it, but I musta tripped a silent alarm when I split. Are you happy now?"

I called Vargas and got him out of bed. I told him I wanted a meeting with everyone in an hour at Huntington House.

"Jeez, Scully, can't it wait until morning?" he complained sleepily.

"No, it can't. And make sure that Vicki is there. I need somebody who can understand a complex fiscal audit."

After I hung up, we headed to Huntington House. Jack was complaining all the way. "I don't see why you won't do me a solid and let me go."

"I won't let you go because I don't want to."

"We both went to Huntington as kids," he persisted. "We both got the same lousy start in life. I'll tell you, man, Pop really cared what happened to me. He would shit if he knew you were gonna bust me for those two nothing bank heists." It went on and on and on.

"Shut up, Jack," I kept saying, but it didn't slow him down.

He finally just ran out of gas. He had stopped sulking and was ignoring me.

We pulled up to Huntington House a little past 3:00 A. M. I took the cuffs off Jack while we waited for the rest of the pallbearers to show up. They all made it by four. The last to arrive was Vargas, but that was understandable because he had to call everybody else before he left and he had the farthest to drive.

Diamond unlocked the door, and we trooped into the makeshift office in the rec center. Vicki sat at the computer, which was set up on Diamond's card table, and opened the first file. All of us hunkered over her shoulder, peering at the screen as she began scrolling through spreadsheets and columns of numbers.

"Stand back, you're crowding me," she said. We gave her some space, and after a minute she said, "This looks like it's an independent audit commissioned by Creative Solutions to cover the last four years. This first file lists some accounts payable and where the money went." She leaned forward, studied the screen, and frowned. "A lot of this references private loans that I have no record of. The documents probably all got lost in the fire."

She opened the next folder, scrolled through the files, and then did the same for the third and fourth. The first file of the final folder contained a summary letter from Randall Weis, who apparently did the audit.

"Uh-oh," Vicki said, as she started to scan the screen. "What is it?" Diamond asked, moving closer. Vicki turned off the monitor so she couldn't read it, then put her head in her hands.

I moved Vicki aside, sat down, then turned the monitor back on. The letter was short. Under the accountant's letterhead it said:

Our audit of the disbursements made by Huntington House, LLC, for the fiscal years 2005 through 2008 uncovered numerous irregularities and charges without appropriate documentation. We also discovered several fraudulent loans. The totals of unaccounted-for losses by year are as follows:

2005 — $407,631

2006 — $100,455

2007 — $566,923

2008 — $398,765

The fraudulent transactions were initiated by the executive director, Walter Dix, who authorized payments to entities that were secretly controlled or owned by him, for services not rendered or goods not purchased. These fraudulent documents all contain his verified signature. Further; the executive director authorized loan repayments to himself when in fact there was no evidence that any loans from Mr. Dix to Huntington House ever existed. A full analysis and documentation of these transactions has been scanned and appears on this disk.

Randall Weisy CPA

"What's it mean?" Seriana asked.

I turned to look at her, but her face told me she understood. "According to this, Pop was stealing a lot of money from the home," I said.

"He wouldn't do that," Vicki protested. But this time she sounded less convinced.

"With the state audit coming, I guess Creative Solutions wanted to do their own audit in advance to find out what the state was going to come up with," Diamond said. "They must have done it during my vacation last month. During the weekend Pop went surfing in Mexico. Mr. O'Shea could have arranged it. He had the keys to the old office."

"That could explain why Pop called me," Vargas said. "With this state audit coming, he knew he was going to get caught. Criminal charges would be filed. He probably wanted to get legal advice."

"Pop didn't steal from this place," Jack asserted hotly. "I don't understand why you're all going along with this bullshit. If he was stealing and was about to be caught, I could maybe understand him committing suicide, but he didn't commit suicide. He was murdered. Explain that, why don't you?"

"Okay." I was trying hard to separate myself from my emotions, to work it like I would if it was any other murder.

"If Pop did take this money as this audit indicates, then where the hell is it?" I began. "He didn't have a new car or a new house. He lived on the cheap. His only vice was surfing, so where did it all go?"

"What are you saying?" Seriana said.

"Somebody might have known he took the money and that person was looking for it. Maybe that's why Pop was beaten-why he inhaled his own blood before he died. Maybe somebody was trying to get him to tell them where a million and a half in missing cash was. Then after they found out, they blew his head off."