Christie was no novice to courtroom tactics. McCullough’s technique was impressive, as was his obvious self-assurance. She was convinced he did not rely on the vagaries of a jury to win acquittal for his clients. He won his cases by attention to detail combined with a skillful examination of witnesses.
A few of his cases had been rather notorious and he had received mixed press, some hailing him as a champion of the underdog, others crying foul, and stronger. Whatever reaction he provoked, he was never boring.
She had spent hardly more than an hour in the courtroom and only five minutes in McCullough’s company. Yet that brief contact had left her not only in awe of his talent, but also with a desire to know him better.
During the past several years, there had been little opportunity for her to meet or date interesting men. She had focused on her career and channeled all of her energy into establishing herself as a questioned document examiner. Many other professionals in her field were self-taught, serving an apprenticeship before working independently. Christie’s training was outstanding. During her final year at San José State University, she enrolled in a course on document examination. An elective in the Criminal Justice Department, it was taught by an extremely knowledgeable professor with many years of professional as well as classroom experience.
When he recommended her for a highly regarded document examiner’s course in Washington, DC, Christie hadn’t hesitated. Returning to the Bay Area with skills honed to a degree of sharpness that could be surpassed by few, if any, of her peers, she apprenticed in a bank, examining signatures on canceled checks, and moonlighted scrutinizing wills. She had uncovered a few skillfully crafted fraudulent wills by determining the age of the paper that was utilized.
Three years ago she began working with Gates Investigative Agency as an independent contractor. The move provided career recognition. Although most cases were channeled through Tom Gates, she also received referrals from bank managers and attorneys. Many cases were routine, but there were enough challenging projects to excite her interest. Testifying for McCullough had provided a stimulating break from her usual schedule.
A week after the trial, Christie was peering through a desktop magnifier at a pair of ragged documents when she received a call from Cash McCullough. He asked her to stop by his office as soon as possible to discuss another case. When she suggested an appointment later in the week, he impressed on her the urgency of the matter and she agreed to see him at noon.
McCullough’s office was in a fashionable glass-and-steel building on Market Street. Christie took an elevator to the twelfth floor and walked down a plushly carpeted corridor to his suite. A receptionist greeted her and instructed her to go right in.
McCullough’s private office was generously proportioned. The deep glow of cherry paneling was accented by a Native American rug, a dramatic oil painting of the California coast, and an antique Wells Fargo clock. A leather couch faced a floor-to-ceiling bookcase crammed with law books. Street noises hummed through a tall window.
McCullough was seated in an oak-and-leather swivel chair, with a phone pressed to his ear. Suddenly the telephone receiver hit the cradle and the chair snapped upright.
“Christie! I appreciate your coming.” McCullough stood with hand outstretched to shake hers. His grip was strong, his hand warm. “I’m looking into the possibility of a forged document as a favor to a longtime friend,” he said. “His father-in-law disappeared a year ago after a dispute over control of the family business. They haven’t communicated with each other since the argument. My friends, Hal and his wife, Margo, live in Arizona. Yesterday morning they got a call from their stockbroker. He had received instructions from Margo’s father, Elliot Parker, to sell a large block of company stock and to send a cashier’s check to a post office box in Marin. The broker thought that rather odd, so he called Hal.”
“I don’t understand the problem,” she said.
“Hal believes the letter is a forgery. His father-in-law holds a majority stake in the company, and Hal finds it hard to believe he would relinquish that power.”
“But if Mr. Parker left the company under unfriendly terms, perhaps he no longer feels any ties to the company,” Christie suggested.
“That’s possible, but Hal insists on following up. I told him about you, and he had the broker overnight-express the letter and a copy of Elliot’s signature card, along with a note Elliot wrote to Margo when she was in college. I’m hoping that is enough documentation for you to do a comparison of the writing.”
“It should be.”
“There’s a time factor here. The broker can’t hold up the sell order more than a day or two. Can you meet that time frame?” Cash picked up a trio of papers clipped together and passed them across the desk.
Christie removed the paper clip and looked at the writing on each page. A quick survey indicated similarities, as well as possible differences. The signatures on the letters closely resembled the signature card. Of course, an experienced forger’s work would be hard to discern with a cursory glance.
“Why don’t we discuss this over lunch?”
Before she had a chance to answer, Cash came around his desk and took her arm. He steered her out of the office and mumbled their destination to his receptionist as they exited. Outside, he hailed a cab and gave the driver a Fisherman’s Wharf address. Before she knew it, they were seated in a nondescript café overlooking San Francisco Bay. Christie suspected Cash patronized the restaurant because it suited his restless energy—only minutes after they ordered, a lunch tray was delivered to the table.
“Hal and I were best buddies growing up,” Cash said. “And we were roommates at Stanford. Margo was the proverbial girl next door. We were a threesome, and we spent a great deal of time at Margo’s house. The Parkers were my second family. Mrs. Parker died about two years ago. Cancer. It devastated Elliot. He became a lost soul, withdrawn and isolated. Margo and Hal tried to console him, but to no avail.”
“Losing a spouse is life-altering, but it must have been hard on his daughter as well. I’d be devastated if anything happened to my parents.”
“Yes, it hit Margo hard, but she tried to be strong for her father. Elliot was the CEO of Parker Electronics. After his wife died, he couldn’t concentrate on work. Every decision had to have his approval, and in his emotional state, that could take days or weeks. The company began losing contracts. Hal tried to convince Elliot to take a leave of absence, but he wouldn’t step down even temporarily. Eventually the board of directors voted to oust Elliot. Hal became the new CEO, and a family battle ensued. It was nasty.”
Christie nodded; combining family and business could have disastrous results.
“Elliot was angry and hurt, and he wasn’t thinking straight. He considered himself a victim, and he cast Hal as the bad guy. He swore never to see Hal and Margo again. True to his word, they haven’t seen or heard from him since. The situation has torn Margo apart. She’s loyal to her husband, but she also loves her father.
“It’s ironic. Hal pleaded with the board on Elliot’s behalf. He suggested they give Elliot a sabbatical to put his life back in order, but the board refused.”
“Where is Elliot now?”
“No one knows. The really sad part is that Margo is pregnant and Elliot doesn’t even know that he is going to be a grandfather.”