E Is for Evidence

that was about.

4
    I packed up my personal belongings and my current files. California Fidelity had suspended our relationship until the Wood/Warren matter could be "straightened out," whatever that meant. I had until noon to clear the prem-ises. I called the telephone company and asked to have calls forwarded to my home until further notice. I un-plugged the answering machine and placed it on top of the last cardboard box, which I toted down the back steps to my car. I had been asked to turn in my office keys before I left, but I ignored the request. I had no intention of giving up access to five years' worth of business files. I didn't think Mac would press the point and I didn't think anyone would bother to have the locks changed. Screw 'em. I know how to pick most locks, anyway.
    In the meantime, I was already analyzing the se-quence of events. The Wood/Warren folder had been sit-ting on my desk the entire weekend so the fire department reports could have been switched at any point. I'd worked from notes that morning without reference to the file it-self, so I had no way of knowing if the inventory sheets were in the file or not. I might not have registered the loss had I looked. My office door and the French doors opening out onto the balcony showed no signs of forced entry, but my handbag, along with my keys, had sat in Lance Wood's office for three hours on Friday. Anybody could have got-ten into that bag and had duplicate keys made. My check-book was there, too, and it didn't take a wizard to figure out how somebody could have lifted a deposit slip, filled it out, stuck it in an envelope with five grand, and put the whole of it in the night-deposit slot at my bank. Obviously my instant-teller card couldn't be used because my code number wasn't written down anyplace.
    I drove out to Wood/Warren, my brain clicking away, fired by adrenaline. The moment I'd understood what was going on, the anger had passed and a chill of curiosity had settled in. I'd felt my emotions disconnect and my mind had cleared like a radio suddenly tuned to the right fre-quency. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to discredit me. Insurance fraud is serious damn shit, punishable by two, three, or four years in the state prison. That wasn't going to happen to me, folks.
    Heather stared at me, startled, as I moved through the Wood/Warren reception area, scarcely slowing my pace. "Is he in?"
    She looked down at the appointment book with confu-sion. "Do you have an appointment this morning?"
    "Now I do," I said. I knocked on the door once and went in. Lance was meeting with John Salkowitz, the chemical engineer I had been introduced to on my earlier visit. The two men were bending over a set of specs for an item that looked like a giant diaper pin.
    "We need to talk," I said.
    Lance took one look at my face and then flicked a signal to Salkowitz, indicating that they'd continue some other time.
    I waited until the door closed and then leaned on Lance's desk. "Somebody's trying to shove one up our collective rear end," I said. I detailed the situation to him, citing chapter and verse in a way that left no room for argument. He got the point. Some of the color left his face.
    He sank into his swivel chair. "Jesus," he said. "I don't believe it." I could see him computing possibilities the same way I had.
    I drew up a chair and sat down. "What was the emer-gency that pulled you out of here so fast Friday after-noon?" I asked. "It has to be connected, doesn't it?"
    "How so?"
    "Because if I'd questioned you as I intended to, you probably would have mentioned arson, and then I'd have known the fire-department report was counterfeit."
    "My housekeeper called. I'm in the middle of a nasty divorce and Gretchen showed up at the house with two burly guys and a moving van. By the time I got home, she'd cleared out the living room and was working on the den."
    "Does she have the wherewithal to set up a deal like this?"
    "Why would she do that? It's in her best interest to keep me alive and well and earning money hand over fist. Right now, she's collecting over six grand a month in tem-porary support. Insurance fraud is the last thing she'd want to stick me with. Besides, she's been in Tulsa since March of this year."
    "Or so she claims," I said.
    "The woman is a twit. If you knew her, you wouldn't suspect her of anything except licking a pencil point every time she has to write her name."
    "Well, somebody sure wanted to blacken your name," I