The In Death Collection Books 26-29 - J.D. Robb [270]
“It is, yes.”
She turned to her ’link with the memo.
“Eve, you’re in the same time zone now, and it’s closing on midnight.”
She only smiled. “Yeah, there’s this small, petty satisfaction I’m getting at the idea of waking up a lawyer. It’s wrong, but it’s there.”
20
THE LAWYER DIDN’T APPRECIATE THE MIDNIGHT call, but she snagged his interest.
“Mr. Aldo and I are in contact regularly, and have been since Mr. Ortega’s disappearance.”
“You’ve met Mr. Aldo.”
“Not in a personal sense. We correspond via e-mail most usually. He lives in New Mexico, and has a secondary residence in Cancún. He travels extensively.”
“I bet. Mr. Ortega owns a number of properties in New York, businesses, his residence, rental properties. How are those finances handled?”
“I really don’t see how that’s relevant, or how it warrants being disturbed at this time of night.”
“The investigation into Mr. Ortega’s disappearance may be cold, but it’s still open. As his spouse and only beneficiary on record, Mr. Aldo stands to inherit a big, fat bundle if and when Mr. Ortega is declared legally dead. You ever wonder about that, Mr. Feinburg?”
It was hard for a guy with a sleep crease across his cheek to look snooty, but Feinburg gave it his best shot. “Mr. Aldo has handled every aspect of this matter by means both legal and aboveboard.”
“I have evidence that Ken Aldo is an alias for one Lino Martinez, a violent criminal who I suspect duped and disposed of your former client. I can and will get a warrant, within the hour, to access the financials on the Ortega properties, or you can answer the question and get back to sleep a lot sooner.”
“You can’t possibly expect me to believe—”
“And as Lino Martinez is currently cooling it down at the morgue, I don’t believe you have a client left alive in this matter. Do you want me to wake up a judge, Feinburg?”
Feinburg blinked like an owl blasted with sudden sunlight. “I’d require verification before—”
“Let me ask you this,” Eve said, and played another hunch. “Did Aldo contact you recently? Say in the last few weeks, to inform you that he had a beneficiary? A female. He’d want her listed as his legal partner, with full power of attorney.”
There was a long silence. “Why would you ask that?”
“Because I believe the con got himself conned. Your client’s dead, Feinburg, and his killer will continue to correspond with you under his name, and whatever name she’s opted to use. Answer yes or no: The profits from the Ortega properties go into some kind of escrow or trust, and will—once Ortega is declared legally dead at the end of another year—become Aldo’s assets.”
“That would be the usual procedure, yes.”
“When did you last hear from Aldo?”
“About six weeks ago. I did, however, hear from his . . . new partner only yesterday. It’s my understanding that Mr. Aldo plans to travel for several months.”
“I can pretty much guarantee he’s doing his traveling in hell.”
“Lieutenant.” Feinburg shifted, tugged on the robe she assumed he’d pulled on before unblocking video. “What you’re outlining is very disturbing.”
“You think?”
“But at this time, I’m bound by client-attorney confidentiality. I can’t give you information.”
“We’ll work around that. You can do this. Do not correspond or contact your clients until I clear it. If the woman claiming to be Aldo’s partner contacts you, don’t respond. Contact me. I don’t think she will, not yet, but—and trust me on this—I will find a way to tangle you up in obstruction and accessory after the fact if you give my suspect the smallest clue she’s on my screen. Understood?”
Unable to pull off snooty again, Feinburg just looked aggrieved. “I’m a property and tax lawyer, for God’s sake. I’ve done nothing to earn threats from the police.”
“Good. Keep it that way. I’ll be in touch.”
She ended transmission, then frowned at the bowl Roarke set in front of her. “What’s this?”
“Food. We had cake for dinner, if you recall.