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the one to break this to you, Michael,” Arthur finally said dolefully. “I was afraid of this when I found your accounts were overdrawn. I was notified by the R.C.M.P. just this afternoon that Stokes has disappeared, along with sizable amounts of his clients’ money. It appears two other clients of ours also used him as their business manager. There’s a warrant out for his arrest.”
     

CHAPTER THREE
     
    Michael shook his head in shock and denial. “That can’t be right, Arthur. It must be a different Stokes. I’ve known Raymond for years. He’s absolutely honest. He’s been my business manager for five years. It has to be a different man.”
    “I’ve got the information from the police right here in front of me,” Berina said. “It was actually Mrs. Stokes who notified the police. She thought her husband was away on a business trip, but after a few days she realized that all the money in their personal accounts was missing.”
    He read off Raymond’s business address and phone number. With a sinking feeling inside, Michael recognized them; they were Raymond’s.
    “When the police checked Stokes’s office, they found it stripped,” Berina reported. “Apparently his partner, Ms. Coombs, is missing, too. The police suspect they left together. Several of his clients realized that their accounts were empty, and that’s when it became obvious people’s money and some of their investments were gone along with Mr. Stokes and Ms. Coombs. I hope this isn’t going to affect you too seriously, Michael.”
    Berina paused expectantly, but Michael didn’t respond. He felt as if he’d taken a hard punch in the gut.
    “I suggest you call this Constable Roper I spoke with today.” Berina gave the number, and Michael scribbled it on the pad beside the telephone. Then he slowly replaced the handset, trying to stay calm to determine how serious the situation was, but knowing already that it could be financially disastrous.
    Over the years as his medical practice had become larger and his business affairs more complex, he’d gradually turned over control of almost all his financial dealings to Raymond. Raymond’s office paid all his monthly bills, both personal and business related. They managed his investments, calculated his income tax, kept track of his expenses. He wouldn’t know for certain until tomorrow, but certainly Raymond had access to far more than his checking accounts. Michael swore, and icy foreboding ran down his spine. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers and strode blindly through the gleaming, artistically decorated rooms of his house, cursing his own stupidity at giving such control to someone else.
    Mentally he went over what he could remember of his investment portfolio. There were mutual funds, stocks and various diversified investments Raymond had recommended over the years. The man would have had to forge Michael’s signature to cash them in, but that wouldn’t have posed a problem. Michael had authorized Raymond to sign Michael’s name numerous times, when some niggling piece of paper needed his signature immediately and Michael had been too busy to break away.
    Feeling sick, Michael acknowledged he’d been trusting and increasingly careless, believing Raymond to be an honest man.
    Michael’s practice earned him a generous income, but expenses were correspondingly high. The house was mortgaged fairly heavily; he and Polly had moved to this upscale neighborhood only four years before from the modest bungalow they’d lived in since early in their marriage. They’d done extensive, very expensive, renovations, rewiring, adding the pool in the back and a studio for Polly’s art, putting in another full bathroom on the main floor. The changes had necessitated a hefty second mortgage.
    Also, he’d bought new office furniture and several pieces of expensive medical equipment in the past year. And he’d given Polly the new car for her birthday last November. Plus there