Brett Battles - Every Precious Thing

Fulkerson was not in a cubicle. He had a corner office that looked toward the smog-hidden mountains. His desk was an old metal monstrosity that seemed out of place with the rest of the furnishings. Joe was sitting behind the desk, squinting at a computer monitor. He was a thin, middle-aged man who’d buzzed what little hair he had left on his head as close to his skin as he could without shaving it off. It was what Joaquin back at Dunn Right liked to call the full Captain Picard.

“Mr. Fulkerson?” the woman said. “This is Mr. Harper.”

Fulkerson immediately rose from his chair, a large smile appearing on his face. With unnecessary enthusiasm, he came around the desk and extended his hand.

“Mr. Harper. Thanks for coming down.”

They shook.

“You can call me Logan.”

“And I’m Joe.” Fulkerson glanced at the woman. “Thank you, Mary.”

She smiled and left.

Fulkerson motioned toward the guest chair in front of his desk. “Please, have a seat.” Once they were both settled, he said, “Would you like anything to drink? Coffee? Tea? Water?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

They looked at each other for a moment, then Fulkerson leaned forward. “So Mrs. Johnson says you have some questions?”

“Yes, about the Lindley case,” Logan said.

“Right.” Fulkerson looked at his computer screen, moved the mouse, and clicked a few keys on the keyboard. “What can I help you with?”

“First off, I would love to take a look at the report.”

Fulkerson’s smile turned stale. “I believe Mrs. Johnson has copies of that at her office.”

“She probably does,” Logan agreed. “”But I’m not at her office, I’m here. And she said you’d be happy to help me.”

The private detective was having a hard time holding on to what was left of his smile.

“Is it a problem?” Logan asked.

“Of course not.” He picked up his phone and punched in a number. “Mary? Can you print out a copy of the Lindley file and bring it in here, please?” After he hung up, he stood. “I’ll walk you out to the lobby. My secretary will bring you the report as soon as she’s done.”

Remaining in his seat, Logan said, “Actually, I have a few questions I’d like to ask.”

“Like what?”

Logan eyed him for several seconds. “Sit down, Mr. Fulkerson. I’m not here to assess your performance or take work from you or anything like that. I’ve been asked to provide Alan Lindley with some help, and that’s all I’m trying to do.”

With reluctance, Fulkerson lowered himself back into his chair. “If Mrs. Johnson requires more help on the Lindley case, my agency is fully capable of providing that.”

Logan almost laughed. “I’m betting your agency does a lot of business with Mrs. Johnson’s firm. Is that right?”

“The relationship between our companies is none of your business,” Fulkerson said, but the narrowing of the man’s eyes told Logan he’d been right.

“I don’t give a damn about the relationship. I have nothing to do with it. And just so we’re clear, I haven’t been hired for anything . I’ve been asked to help. That’s it.”

“Right. You do this job gratis, and then use that to leverage yourself into more work. I’ve seen people do that a million times. Go ahead and try, but don’t expect me to assist.”

“Fair enough.” Logan retrieved his phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Just give me a second.” He found the number he was looking for and placed the call. As soon as it was answered, he said, “Callie? It’s Logan.”

Fulkerson tensed a little at the use of Callie’s first name.

“How did the meeting go?” she asked.

“I’m actually sitting here with Joe right now.”

“Joe? He must really hate you.”

“That seems to be my take. Mind if I put you on speaker?”

“Not at all.”

Logan activated the speaker function as he set the phone on the desk. “Are you still there?”

“I’m here,” she said, her voice coming out clearly.

“Hello, Mrs. Johnson,” Fulkerson said. “I think there might be some kind of misunderstand-”

“Let me fill her in first,” Logan jumped in. “You can correct anything I get wrong. Callie, I’m calling because we have a little problem you might be able to help with. Joe here seems to think I’m angling to take future work you might otherwise send his way. Is that right, Joe?”

“Well, I’m not sure I’d put it that way,” Fulkerson stammered.

“It’s how you just put it to me. Anyway, I tried telling him I have no interest in taking work from him, but he doesn’t seem to believe me. And, because of that, he’s, well, reluctant to provide additional help.”

Callie said, “Is that right, Mr. Fulkerson?”

“Mrs. Johnson, your firm and FNR have had a very close working relationship for several years. I would hate to see anything damage it.”

“Good,” Callie said. “Then you’ll give Mr. Harper whatever help he needs. Mr. Harper is not now, nor will he ever be interested in taking over any of the work you do for us. Mr. Harper is strictly a specialist I’ve brought in on this. You will treat him with the same respect you would treat me. If you do not, then the relationship you are so worried about will indeed be in trouble. Is that understood?”

“Of course,” Fulkerson said, looking uncomfortable. “Like I said, it was simply a misunderstanding. Of course I’ll give Mr. Harper whatever help he requests.”

“That’s any help, Mr. Fulkerson. If you incur any cost, just forward them directly to me.”

“I completely understand.” The mention of potential revenue brightened his demeanor considerably.

“Are we finished here?” she asked.

Logan looked at Fulkerson, who nodded.

“Yep,” Logan said. “That about covers it.”

“Just call if you need anything else.”

“Will do, Callie. Thanks.” He disconnected the call, and looked at the detective. “So we’re good?”

“Yes.” Fulkerson still wore some of his earlier resentment, but he’d obviously gotten the message.

“Excellent. How did you determine Sara Lindley wasn’t who she said she was?”

“All that’s in the report.”

“I’m sure it is,” Logan said, waiting.

Fulkerson sucked in a breath, and blew it out through his teeth. “Various ways. First we checked the background she’d given her husband, but could find no trace of her prior to when she’d moved to Riverside. Then we checked with the management company that runs the apartment building she was living in when she and Mr. Lindley met. From them we were able to get a copy of her rental application, which, we’d been told, had been thoroughly checked and approved. None of the previous addresses or jobs she listed actually exist, but since they were back east-”

“Philadelphia?”

Fulkerson gave Logan an obligatory smile. “Right. Because of that, the management company relied strictly on phone calls. Turns out all the phone numbers she listed were for disposable phones you can pick up at any convenience store.”

“Let me guess,” Logan said. “None of them are active anymore.”

“Not a single one.”

“Did you check the addresses?”

“Mr. Harper, we do know how to do our job. Of course we checked them. In fact we went so far as to hire an investigator in Philadelphia to visit each location. The addresses themselves existed, but the businesses they were supposed to represent never did.”

That was consistent with what was already clear-whoever Sara Lindley really was, she didn’t want anyone to find out. “What else?”

“Driver’s license, fake. Social Security number, valid, but was actually issued to a woman killed in a car accident overseas three years ago. The Social Security Administration doesn’t even know that yet.”