Stephen Cannell - At First Sight

"I think that means while she's still alive, Bob," Paige smiled.

"Yep. Ya might be right, but y'see, in my mind Althea is alive. She'll never die. Think about Althea ever day… think about her, talk to her… So it's not like I'm alone. But I can't take her on a vacation either. Can't walk on the beach with her, hold her hand, or go swim-min. So I figure I just might as well stick around here and catch this guy who hit Chandler."

She watched him as he stood and picked up his Bible.

"Best be gettin' started. Workin' only weekends is gonna take me a mess a'time t'get through all these."

"Thank you, Bob," she said. "I can't tell you how much it means… "

"You're welcome, Mrs. Ellis," he said, blushing again. Then he turned and walked back to his car-a rumpled man clutching a Bible who had the softest gray eyes she had ever seen.

I SOLD BESTMARKET. COM IN LATE SEPTEMBER AND managed to get out of that burning building with just a little under two million dollars. But as I sailed out the door, I had mixed feelings. It was like bailing out of your corporate jet at twenty thousand feet. It felt good when the chute opened, but it hurt like hell to watch something you once loved fly on without you.

However, I had bigger problems-much bigger.

Just before the company sale became final, I learned that Evelyn had hired a forensic accountant. What, you might ask, is a forensic accountant? It's a guy who specializes in hunting down hidden assets.

Here's how I stumbled onto this despicable fact. I'd started to record Evelyn's phone calls, so when she and Mickey talked, I would have an incriminating tape of them planning one of their Vaseline parties. I'd removed the speaker element from the garage telephone so Evelyn couldn't hear the background change when I picked up the receiver and started recording. You see, back then I was still counting on getting a divorce. But all I'd managed to record were conversations where Mickey D and Evelyn discussed his body. Believe me, it was a gagger listening to hours of that drivel.

"Mickey, I really don't think you need to work on rear delts anymore. Your shoulders are simply gorgeous. I'd stick with lats and traps, and keep pounding out crunches, keep the ab work up."

They went on endlessly with that shit. As far as I was concerned, the tapes absolutely proved they were doing the sheet dance. But I also knew that since they hadn't actually discussed screwing, the recordings would prove very little in a court of law. You had to know Evelyn to get the drift, to understand the subtext.

During one of these phone tapings, when she thought I was out of the house, she called some guy named Paul Delmonte. When I heard his name I thought, who the fuck is this asshole? But it quickly came out that he was a forensic accountant she'd hired to dig through my bank records. Apparently he was checking for wire transfers to hidden offshore accounts. He told Evelyn he suspected me of hiding funds someplace like the Cayman Islands, which in fact I was. He said, if he could prove I did it in anticipation of a divorce, then it would constitute criminal fraud.

After listening to this, I came to the hard-fought realization that it was time to step up and deal with this bloodless marriage once and for all.

You're probably asking yourself, what the hell does that mean? Good question. But before I explain, just hear me out, okay, because my chain of logic is important.

Since my recorded phone conversations with Mickey D hadn't done the job, I'd been flirting with the idea of hiring a P. I. to follow them around and gather evidence for the divorce, get some long lens shots of Evelyn over at Mickey D's place, going at it. But the more I pondered this, the more I realized that hiring a private detective was potentially a big mistake.

While naming Mickey D as a correspondent would be helpful in a divorce action, it wouldn't solve the problem of dividing up my estate. As I already mentioned, California is a community property state and the courts take a very hard line when it comes to dividing up assets. I had been carefully siphoning off some of the two million from the sale of the company, working up phony expenses, which I could deduct as costs from the total, wiring the proceeds to the Caymans. That's the criminal fraud her accountant was talking about. I doubted the D. A. would file on it, but it would definitely weigh against me in a divorce action.

As soon as her accountant found the money, it would eventually get returned. Then Evelyn would destroy me-use the fact that I'd tried to embezzle from her to gain sympathy with the judge. Once that happened, the odds were good she'd get even more than her half. Plus, I'd be stuck paying for her divorce lawyers and accountants, as well as a lotta other stuff. Bottom line: After federal and state taxes, I'd be lucky to net a few hundred grand. You can see how grossly unfair all this is.

But wait-it gets even worse.

I have a friend who does divorce law. I got him drunk one night, and without letting him suspect I was thinking of dumping Evelyn, I lured him into a discussion on California divorce. I couldn't believe what this guy said. He told me about something called "goodwill." Wait till you hear about this piece of bullshit. Goodwill is not something one person has for another. In a California divorce, a dollar amount can be attached to my reputation as a businessman-my "goodwill" in the marketplace. The way this goes, since Evelyn was my wife while my reputation was being built, she potentially shares in any money it might eventually produce. That means even my future earnings are at risk. Can you believe this?

Then my lawyer friend tells me the bad news on personal property. All of my personal stuff-my car, my golf clubs, everything goes on the pile-gets sold and divided up. But everything she owns-all her stuff-is not personal property. It's all "gifts." That's right, you heard me. The jewelry that we couldn't afford that she bought for herself without telling me is not community property. It's a fucking gift!

I can feel my blood pressure going up again just thinking about it. But I wasn't going to let her get away with it. I wasn't going to let her stand there with one hand on my wallet, the other on Mickey D's schlong, and just pick me clean. I'd worked too damned hard. So what's the answer?

Okay, let's revisit the idea of maybe getting somebody to take Evelyn off the count.

Now you're probably saying, "You can't be serious, Chick. You mean you're actually going to kill her?"

Just stick with me for a minute, okay? When you boil it all down, the criminal fraud, the goodwill, the fact that she ends up with everything I sweated and sacrificed to earn, what other choice do I have? It's either that or walk out of this thing with nothing but the lint in my pocket and the potential that whatever I earn in the future is partially hers.

So yes. The answer is you're damn right. I was definitely thinking about it. However, the more I examined the idea, the more I realized this was the most complicated logistics problem I'd ever faced. Obviously, I didn't want to do it myself, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that hiring a hit man was not an acceptable option either. If I tried that, several things could conceivably happen, all of them bad.

One: The guy I tried to hire could turn me down. Then if I got somebody else to do it, the first guy would know I was behind the killing, and he would own me for the rest of my life. He could blackmail me or, worse still, if in the future he were to get in trouble for some criminal action himself, he could sell me out to the D. A. to get his sentence lessened.

Two: My hired hit man could say yes to me, do the job, and then come back on me demanding more money later. If he's a professional killer, what am I gonna do? Say no? I couldn't go to the cops. I'd be fucked.