Page 44 of Justice Denied

“One video only. We will provide no commentary.” Dr. James spun on his heel and marched to the table and conferred with the room’s third occupant, a young man who looked barely old enough to shave.

Mae nodded her agreement, then cued up her phone’s camera and waited for the demonstration to begin. Soon Dr. James waved her over.

“You may begin filming and must stop when we say.”

Mae held up her phone without bothering to agree. The device, which appeared to be similar to a smart watch, buzzed and lit up, its small screen going through a series of changes. She couldn’t tell what was special about Vie but figured it didn’t matter. Getting the video was all that did.

“That’s it,” Dr. James intoned.

She hit end on the video.

“Get what you needed?” Dr. Willis’s question was tinged with impatience.

“Yes, thank you.” Mae lowered her phone. “I’ll be sure to let Ryan know about your cooperation. He also asked for an update on the timeline.”

“And we told him soon is the best we can do,” said Dr. James. “Now leave us to work in peace.”

Gladly. Mae hustled toward the exit, the man who’d let her in at her heels. He let her out, then practically slammed the door on her. His actions screamed good riddance, but she wasn’t offended. She was more than happy to be done with this particular assignment.

Ten minutes later, Mae hit upload and sent the video to her contact, then typed up the minutes from Ryan’s Saturday morning emergency meeting with the executive board. As she finished her tasks, she hoped the person would be satisfied with the video and ask no more of her, but she wasn’t confident that would be the case. The thought she should simply retire now crossed her mind. She had calculated she’d need to work another two years to replace the money in her retirement fund, but perhaps they could manage on what they had now. But to do so would mean telling her husband what she’d done, and she wasn’t ready to have that conversation. She doubted she ever would be.

ChapterSeventeen

Across the street from Dolores Green’s modest brick home in south Arlington, Jetta wedged her vehicle between a pickup truck and an older model sedan. She winced afresh at the dented and mangled rear bumper now bungee-corded in place. She needed to get it fixed but hadn’t had time to figure out where to take it. Maybe Seth would have advice.

The man uppermost in her thoughts exited his vehicle and joined her on the sidewalk in front of the Green residence. When he’d texted her about his idea to drop by unannounced, she built all sorts of scenarios about the woman who had implicated her father in the embezzlement scheme, painting her like some femme fatale of 1940s noir films.

Now surveying the flower beds that lined the walkway to the home, a surge of pity batted away those images as she noted signs of neglect. Paint peeled from the shutters framing two windows while the concrete stoop crumbled at the edges as if too tired to hold itself together anymore. It was also one of the few original homes left intact on the street. On either side, larger, more modern houses had probably replaced similar 1950s abodes.

“It always saddens me to see neighborhoods turn over because so many times, it means tearing down the old and building the new.” She’d seen the same kind of changes in her mother’s neighborhood and wondered if whoever bought her childhood home would tear it down to start again.

“Sometimes the old needs to be torn down and rebuilt into something new.” The bitterness behind the statement surprised her, but he changed the subject before she could delve deeper into what he meant. “How do you want to play this?”

“Maybe you should take the lead.” Although she had taken a short nap after Melender left, she still wasn’t feeling herself.

He nodded, then knocked on the door. Jetta stood on the walkway below the one step leading to the stoop.

An older woman wearing stretchy pants and a flowery top stood to the left of the now-open door. “If you’re selling, I’m not buying.”

“We’re not selling, Ms. Green.” Seth’s easy reply did little to eliminate the suspicion hovering in her eyes.

“How do you know my name?” Dolores swiveled her gaze from one to the other.

“Ms. Green, I’m Seth Whitman, and this is Jetta Ainsley. We’re hoping you could help us.”

“With what?” She planted a hand on an ample hip and narrowed her eyes. “I haven’t got all day, so spit it out.” Her annoyance played a band concert of discordant sounds.

“Ms. Ainsley’s father, Jay Ainsley, worked for Topher Robotics. He was accused of embezzling a lot of money, but he died before he could prove his innocence.” Seth let the statement hang in the air like a basketball player going for a slam dunk.

Jetta watched as emotions she couldn’t identify flashed across the older woman’s face.

For a moment, Dolores didn’t respond, then she huffed a sigh. “You’d better come in.”

Jetta entered, Seth at her heels, as Dolores led them into a living room crammed with knickknacks on every available surface. Upon closer inspection, the glass and ceramic figurines appeared to all be dogs. She didn’t know how the woman lived in such a cramped space, but Dolores didn’t seem to mind. Their hostess crossed her arms, her stance radiating distrust and tension.

Seth pointed to an amateurish watercolor still life of a body of water with what Jetta supposed was a duck floating on the surface hanging above the mantel. “That’s Burke Lake, isn’t it?”

Dolores uncrossed her arms. “Yes, my grandson painted that for my birthday years ago.”

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