Muzzled

by David Rosenfelt

  The answer has to have something to do with Pharmacon. That was the only source of big money in Alex Vogel’s life. Unless he was withholding information from me, which I suppose is possible, then his life was dominated by his work. Nothing else was important enough or lucrative enough to interest people like Victor.

  I call Sam and ask him if he had gotten a list of investors in Pharmacon, as I had requested.

  “I have it. I wasn’t sure if you still wanted it. You know, because…”

  “I do. Tell me the highlights.”

  “I don’t know that much about this stuff, but it’s got to be unusual. About thirty percent of the shares are owned within the company, mostly by the top executives, but all the employees above a certain level are in the stock-sharing plan. Another five or six percent are owned by individuals outside the company. They are apparently just regular investors, and no one owns a particularly large piece.”

  “What about the other sixty-five percent?”

  “Owned by companies, but that’s where it seems strange. They are a bunch of shell companies, apparently set up for the purpose of this and maybe other investments. If they have other functions, I haven’t been able to find them.

  “But the weirder thing is these shells are owned by other shells; there is just no way to break through and get any actual names of people that might be involved. But some are definitely foreign.

  “One thing is for sure: a lot of lawyers and accountants got rich setting this stuff up.”

  Sam says he will email me a full report, though he’s already told me all I need to know. Robby Divine’s money-laundering theory just got put back on the front burner.

  If that’s the answer, then I assume these shell companies will be selling and then repurchasing the stock over and over. I don’t know whether that would require the complicity of executives within the company, but I expect on some level either Eric Buckner, the CEO, or Gerald Bennings, the CFO, must be involved.

  The company, in the person of one of those individuals, must have arranged who could buy into the original IPO. Robby Divine said that he had no interest in it, but my guess is that he would have been shut out either way. The stock was destined to go to these shell companies.

  Some internal executive or executives must be friendly to the laundering scheme. Way too much effort and focus has gone into Pharmacon for it to be just another company; they had to be welcoming of the efforts, if not directing them. Bennings is the most likely candidate; as the CFO, he would have been on the front lines. I don’t know that Buckner would have cared who was buying the stock; his concern would have been the price.

  But I still come back to the same question: What could Alex Vogel have known that would be so dangerous to their scheme? If he knew about the money laundering, he would have told me. There would have been no reason to withhold it, and it would obviously have been in his best interest to share it with me.

  He had to know something else. Could it have been the identities of one or more of the actual investors? Could that person have been so obviously toxic that it could have brought the whole thing down? But wouldn’t Alex have realized that?

  He knew something, and that knowledge caused his death.

  I wish he was here so I could ask him about it.

  This is a trip I never expected to make.

  Laurie and I are going to the Jefferson Home for Seniors in Rockland County to see about the possibility of my mother moving in there. It’s not urgent, since my mother passed away more than a decade ago, but it can’t hurt to prepare.

  Corey had followed Victor to this place the other night, though Corey has no idea what he did here or why he came. We’re heading today to check out the place, pretending to be assessing it as a home for my beloved but already-departed mother.

  We’re doing it for two reasons. One is that we have nothing else to do, and the other is that if it’s interesting to Victor, it’s interesting to me.

  We have given ourselves a one-week deadline to get somewhere. If we haven’t made real progress by that time, then we are going to tell Pete Stanton, the state police, and the FBI everything we know and suspect.

  None of that will be enough for them to make an arrest, but it will be more than enough to get them to check Victor out. Once they do, I hope they will find out that he is wanted for other crimes, and they can arrest him. I would say it is a safe bet that Victor has not spent his life on the right side of the law.

  My fear, and it gnaws at me constantly, is that Victor will complete whatever he’s doing and go back to whatever rock he lives under, probably in another country, and then we will have lost him. That would be a disaster that would haunt me for the rest of my life.

  So, no pressure.

  The Jefferson Home for Seniors, as Corey accurately described, sits on top of a hill, about a quarter mile up from the main road. That main road is not exactly the FDR Drive either, but at least it’s paved. The road that goes up the hill is 100 percent dirt.

  We head up toward the home, and when we’re about two-thirds of the way there, we pass a small shed. Corey said that he thinks Victor might briefly have stopped at that shed, but he couldn’t be sure because of the distance and darkness.

  “Stop for a second,” Laurie says. “Let’s take a look.”

  I stop and she gets out. She opens the door to the shed, then quickly closes it and gets back in the car. “Just a pumping station.”

  I don’t know what I was hoping for, but a pump wasn’t it. We drive farther up the hill and park at the main building. Half a dozen cars are in the parking lot; I would assume they are either staff or people visiting someone who lives here.

  A woman answers the door and greets us with a smile. “Hello, can I help you?”

  “We’re interested in finding a place for my mother to live. She’s getting on in years, and we want to make sure—”

  She interrupts my lying about my mother’s life status. “I understand, but I’m sorry. At the moment we have no availabilities. We never exceed our set limit because we do not want it to impact our services.”

  Laurie smiles her understanding. “That’s fine; Mother probably won’t be ready to make the move for months. We just like to be prepared. We’ve heard such good things about your facility that we thought we should see it.”

  “Well, I’m certainly happy to show you around. My name is Tina Cheney; I’m the house director. Please call me Tina. Come in.”

  “That would be wonderful, thank you, Tina,” Laurie says, introducing us as Edna and Corey. Laurie appears to be not that original at name creation.

  So we start off on the tour. The place seems to be generally busy; staff members are doing things … cleaning, baking, and working on what seems to be a makeshift stage in a large meeting room.

  “This is our rec room,” Tina says. “I’m sorry for all the commotion, but Sunday is our family day. We get a lot of visitors, and the residents put on a little show. They love it.”

  Four people, all elderly, are playing cards at one of the tables.

  “Look, honey,” Laurie says. “They’re playing bridge.” Then, to Tina, “Mother loves bridge. She played in tournaments back in the day.” Laurie is pouring it on a little thick.

  We check out the rest of the facility, which is quite nice and comfortable. Laurie especially seems to like it; maybe she is planning to dump me here in a couple of years.

  When we finish, we sit down for a cup of coffee as Tina has more to tell us and also invites us to ask any questions we might have. “We are a completely self-contained facility. A full kitchen with our own chef, a generator that will always provide heat and water even in adverse weather conditions or if county services should be interrupted for any reason, a nurse on the premises…”

  “What about security?” I ask. “You’re in an isolated location up here. We saw a man while driving up the road who didn’t look like he belonged here. He was standing near the shed.”

  She seems genuinely surprised
. “Really? I have no idea who that could be. There is a police station less than half a mile away, so they could be here very quickly, should that ever be necessary. There is also a hospital only a mile away, with a very efficient ambulance service. The residents here feel quite safe, and justifiably so.”

  We ask a few more questions that we basically have no interest in, and Tina gives us a price list. She tells us to call when Mom is ready, and she hopes there will be availabilities then.

  We thank her and leave. When we get to the car, I look down the hill. This would be an easy place to defend; only one way up the hill, and no chance to conceal the approach.

  Is that what Victor wants? To use this place like it’s the Alamo? Or maybe Victor’s mother is here playing bridge, and he came to visit her. That makes as much sense as anything else.

  When we get in the car, I say, “Mom played in bridge tournaments back in the day?”

  Laurie shrugs. “I was in character; I went with it.”

  “Why the hell don’t you put me on retainer? My hourly rate is a million five.”

  I’m back talking to Robby Divine, this time in his office on Fifty-seventh Street off Madison Avenue in Manhattan. The small two-room office houses just Robby and his assistant. I’m sure it’s ample for what he does, which is simply invest in stuff. As he once told me, the only thing his company builds is wealth, and all he needs is a computer and a phone.

  Robby always complains when I bug him for information and expertise, but I think down deep he likes it. It gives him the opportunity to simultaneously show off and complain, which I suspect are two of his favorite things. He’s wearing his Cubs cap and is actually in a good mood today because they just beat the Mets three straight at Citi Field.

  “A million five an hour? I don’t have the budget for that. Do you rent out in ten-minute increments?”

  He frowns. “I should have known. What do you want to talk about today? Pharmacon again?”

  “You got it. I’m still beating my head against the Pharmacon wall. I think you’re right that the money is dirty and that they’re laundering it.”

  “When was the last time I was wrong? Oh, I remember now … never.”

  “Sixty-five percent of the stock was bought by shell companies, and the parent companies of the shells are also shells. The ownership is impossible to trace.”

  He nods. “There you go.”

  “But why Pharmacon? Would someone in the company be in on it?”

  He thinks for a few moments. “Probably. Especially in terms of the IPO and setting up the investors. It sold out, which means they probably turned people away. Somebody had to make that call.”

  “Who would that be? Gerald Bennings? He’s the CFO.”

  “Definitely; he’s a slimy piece of garbage.”

  “You sent me to him; you told me was the guy to talk to.”

  Robby shakes his head. “I told you he’s smart and knows what he’s doing. I never said he was a decent human being.”

  “But how could they be making big money off of this?”

  “I never said they were making big money. I said they were laundering money they already had. That can be just as valuable, depending on the situation.”

  “But to do that, wouldn’t they have to keep buying and selling the stock? Or at least selling?”

  He doesn’t answer, but instead walks over to his computer and types some information in. Then, “Volume is very low.”

  “Exactly.” I already knew that from Edna’s cousin Freddie. “Why would that be? How does that fit with the theory?”

  “It doesn’t.”

  “Could they have inside information that the stock is going to go up? What about if they just invented a new drug?” I’m back to thinking that maybe Robert Giarrusso’s drug is what this is about.

  Robby shakes his head. “No, that’s not how this industry works. It takes years to bring a drug to market; there is all kinds of testing in the lab, then on animals, then humans, then you fight with the FDA. If this is mob money, they’re not in it for the long haul. They are looking for a quick hit. If you came here looking for a tip to buy a stock, it wouldn’t be Pharmacon.”

  “Would the SEC have a role to play here?”

  “Sure, take this to them and your grandkids can wheel you to their offices the day they make their ruling.”

  I thank Robby for his time and leave. The only thing I got from this meeting is depressed.

  I’m driving home during rush hour through the Lincoln Tunnel, which means I would get their faster by walking. Laurie travels distance faster on her exercise bike than these cars are moving.

  But it gives me time to think.

  Robbie is right. They are not making big money by laundering. All they’re doing is washing money that they already have. I’m sure that’s valuable, but would they be killing people like this to accomplish that laundering? I don’t think so.

  They’re also spending money like crazy. Russo and his people didn’t come cheap. They wouldn’t spend that kind of money unless they were going to make an entire trainload of it.

  But Robby is also right about something else. They’re not in it as simple investors. First of all, you don’t have to murder to do that; all you do is call your broker. More important, there is no reason that the stock would be considered a particularly good investment.

  Robby doesn’t think it is, and he is as wired into these things and as knowledgeable as they come. He said Pharmacon would not be a tip he’d ever give me. Even more significant, none other than Alex Vogel said the same thing. He wouldn’t be specific as to why, but he was clear that he, Giarrusso, and Mellman weren’t giving up much by leaving the company before it went public. He implied that its prospects were fairly bleak.

  So is there something he didn’t know?

  Or was there something he did?

  “Pete, I need your help. And you need mine.”

  In response to an approach like that, Pete Stanton would ordinarily insult me and tell me to get lost. He’d say I was an ambulance chaser and someone willing to defend the lowest of the low to make a fee. I’d tell him he was a clownish cop who might mistakenly handcuff himself.

  Typical friend stuff.

  He’d eventually help, but not before putting me through conversational torture.

  Not this time, and I think there are two reasons for that. One is the tone of my voice; it is deadly serious and as far from friendly banter as a voice could be. The other is that I am standing at the front door of his home at 8:00 A.M. on a Saturday morning.

  “Come on in,” he says, which is exactly what I would expect a good friend to say.

  We go into his kitchen, where he has a pot of coffee already made. He pours me a cup, but before I can say anything, he says, “I don’t think Vogel was guilty.”

  That surprises me, so I ask him why he said it.

  “The connection to Phillips and Bledsoe, especially the fact that they chartered the boat that day. Those guys weren’t going fishing.”

  “Vogel was definitely innocent. They killed him, just like they killed Carla D’Antoni, Phillips, Bledsoe, and Big Tony.”

  “You think you would have gotten him off?”

  “I think it was less than fifty-fifty, but I wish I had the chance to find out.”

  “Why did they need him out of the way?”

  “Because he knew something that could destroy everything they built.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  So I tell him, first detailing everything I know and how I know it. They I move on to what I believe, but can’t prove.

  In a few cases I describe things that Alex Vogel told me, which is technically a breach of privilege, even though the client is deceased. Somehow I don’t think Alex would mind.

  Pete takes it all in, not interrupting or questioning anything. When I’m finished, he asks, “So what do you need?”

  “I need to get hold of Judge Mahomes; he has to issue a search warrant. You have the credibilit
y to get that done.”

  “That may be tough on Saturday. Why Mahomes?”

  “Because he’s a part of it; it was his courtroom that was violated. He’ll want to do it. We don’t have much in the way of facts to go on; we’re pressing the envelope here. So Mahomes is our best shot, but you’ll still have to do some persuading. Rita Gordon knows how to reach him.”

  Rita is the court clerk and a good friend; I’ve already called her and she’s promised to help.

  “Okay,” Pete says without hesitation. “I’m all in.”

  “Thank you. You’re also going to have to get the state cops in on it. You won’t have jurisdiction.”

  “That won’t be a problem.”

  “You sure? You think they’ll take your word for this?”

  He nods. “I’ll tell them what you told me. But that’s not why they’ll be there.”

  “Then why?”

  “Because if we’re right, they’ll want to be in on it. And if we’re wrong, then they’ve only wasted a couple of hours. It’s a no-brainer; they’ll be on board.”

  I stand up. “Then let’s do it.”

  Laurie and I leave the house at 5:00 A.M.

  We want to be in place in plenty of time, though our presence isn’t completely necessary. Marcus and Corey are also in the loop and know their respective responsibilities, and they’ve been on the job since midnight.

  Just in case.

  On the way, I say to Laurie, “I need to be there when it happens.”

  “Andy, we’ve talked about this. You agreed this is not your strength.”

  “I know, but now I’m changing my mind. I’m aware that this sounds stupid, but I’m going to be Alex’s eyes and ears. It’s something I have to do.”

  She looks like she’s about to argue, then says, “Okay, I understand.”

  “You’re the best.”

  “Yes. I am.” She hands me the gun. I’m nervous about even touching it, so she tells me that the safety is on. I’m still nervous about touching it, but I don’t tell her that.

  At a quarter to seven, Corey calls with a simple message: “He’s on the move.”