Skip Trace

Mary Tuttle sat in the seedy diner, her hands trembling as she slowly turned her coffee cup. "You don't know him like I do," she said shaking her head. "Chris wouldn't run off. We have a beautiful home and his business is worth millions. He wouldn't just disappear."
Private Detective Mallon bit back a cynical retort and laid a large manila envelope on the table. It held the details of how her husband, Chris Tuttle, had planned a new life in Costa Rica. Wire transfers, lease agreements, and travel itineraries were all clearly documented. Once again, Mallon's skip trace was about to shatter the naive faith of an honest woman.
As Mary leafed through the information in the envelope, Mallon explained. "Costa Rica has long been a haven for runaway husbands and deadbeat dads. They run to the tropics and live like kings for pennies. Unfortunately for your husband, his research is outdated. Costa Rican banking and immigration rules have changed and it was remarkably easy to track both him and his money entering the country on August 15, just one day after you reported him missing. You and your lawyers should have no problem getting your full share."
Mary sniffled just a little as she stuffed the papers back into the envelope. "Thank you, " she said sliding a smaller envelope across the table. "This should settle our arrangement." She rose to leave and then stopped saying, "I'll need you to make yourself available to testify." Mallon grunted affirmative as he counted his money.
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Chris Tuttle waited impatiently in the dark. He wore a black hoodie with the hood up and a blue bandanna tied across his face. Deep in his pocket was a snub nosed thirty-eight. Finally, Mary came out of the diner carrying his perfect alibi.