Anthony Carrick Hardboiled Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3)

by Jason Blacker

  This tower of technological triumph wasn't as tall as Salisbury's but just as opulent, especially the thirty first floor. That's where we were headed. Blue Ocean LLC. It reminded me of Santa Monica, of home. I missed the ocean, the tang of salty air nuzzled into my nose by the ocean breeze.

  Blue Ocean LLC was a hedge fund for the rich and famous. Actually, it was for the rich. If you were famous but not rich, it wasn't for you. At least this is what I was led to believe. Not in such pedestrian language mind you. No sir, Blue Ocean was nothing if not consummately professional.

  They took up the whole thirty-first floor. The elevators opened up into a cavernous and opulent reception area. It smelled of old wood and fine leather. Perhaps that was the smell of old money. Coulda been new money too. It smelled rich. I already felt uncomfortable and nobody had said a word to me.

  On either side of the elevators were large leather sofas, soft as clouds or so I imagined. There were lazy boys too and large, thin TV screens on each side, angled off the wall slightly so that nobody should have to crane their neck to watch Bloomberg and other such financial news channels. Each side of the waiting area had it's own espresso machine. I walked up to it. It must have been a ten thousand dollar machine. There was plaque just above it that read:

  "Thirsty? Just request your beverage of choice from reception."

  There was also a cooler with an assortment of soft drinks, waters, juices and the likes. Next to the espresso machine were baskets filled with perfect looking fruit, bags of nuts, chips and the like. I walked back over towards the receptionist where Dykes and Jackson were about to talk to her. I noticed there was nobody in the waiting area.

  Her desk was large and modern and with real wooden top. I fancied calling it teak or mahogany but truth be told I hadn't a clue. All I knew was that the wood looked heavy and it was dark. Dark like burnt almonds. She was a pretty blonde woman with her hair in a bun behind her head and librarian glasses. She looked like every teenage boys dream of the naughty school teacher. But she was all business with us. She wore a white blouse, blue blazer and blue skirt. She wore a name tag that had her first name on it. Vivienne. Jackson went first, smiling like he'd brought home the prize.

  "Vivienne," said Jackson. "I'm Detective Jeramie Jackson and this is my partner Detective Bradley Dykes and that's Anthony Carrick. We're with Chicago Police Homicide. We're here to see Dennis Blaney."

  She nodded and picked up the phone.

  "You have three homicide detectives here to see you," she said.

  She nodded again and then put down the phone.

  "Please follow me," she said.

  We followed her into a larger and more opulent space behind two large dark wooden doors that were off to the left of her desk. They were mirrored on the opposite side as well. These doors opened easily for such surprisingly heavy and tall doors, there was probably a mechanism that enabled that. The doors stood from floor to ceiling which I put about ten feet high. At least.

  We followed her left towards the corner of the floor. We passed a couple of conference rooms with dark wooden doors and frosted glass windows that walled them off from the hallway. We passed offices with dark doors of the same wood and similarly frosted glass walls with a slim rectangular strip of clear glass just by the door to give you a small look into the interior.

  At the end of the hallway she knocked on a door that stood floor to ceiling. I could see by the clear glass strip our man Dennis Blaney inside behind his desk. He stood up and I heard him say, "Enter."

  Vivienne opened up the door and we walked in after her.

  "These are the homicide detectives that are here to see you, Mr. Blaney," she said.

  She waved her hand towards each of us in turn, palm up.

  "This is Detective Jeramie Jackson, Detective Bradley Dykes and Detective Anthony Carrick."

  "Mister," I said.

  "Sorry?"

  "Don't be."

  Dennis had come around and shook each of our hands in turn. He was a middle aged man in his late forties at about six feet in height. He had a good grip and he was dressed impeccably. A blood red pocket square matched his tie against a pale blue shirt under a navy blue suit that fit him perfectly. His dark brown hair was styled and perfectly in place, likely with the help of product though it didn't look wet. He had a square face and at the right angle some women might find him handsome. He had silver or platinum cufflinks that matched his tie bar. It looked to me like he did some manscaping on his eyebrows.

  His smile was warm and genuine and he smelled great. An expensive cologne that was bright, citrusy but with musky undertones. It was not oppressive. His shoes were shiny and clean and black. He looked like he took good care of himself, as though life had been good to him. He was thick teetering on the seesaw of fatness. He seemed superficially pleasant but I wasn't going to let him babysit Aibhilin.

  "Can I get you detectives anything to drink?" he asked.

  Dykes and Jackson declined. I was inclined to try one of their fancy coffees I'd seen earlier.

  "A coffee would be terrific," I said.

  Blaney smiled and nodded at me.

  "How do you like it?" he asked.

  "Two sugars and cream," I said.

  Blaney nodded at Vivienne and she left us. He waved towards the glass window of his expansive office. There was a couch and two large leather chairs. They looked to be of the same design as those found in the waiting room. They looked new. Dykes and Jackson took the couch. Blaney and I had a chair each. They were comfortable. They didn't look like they reclined but I liked one for my apartment in front of the TV. We all had a view outside of downtown Chicago. A mix of high rises, older buildings and dotted green spaces like squares of mowed lawn.

  "How may I help you detectives?" he asked.

  "Just mister," I said.

  He looked at me with a quizzical look.

  "Carrick is from LA, he's a private investigator," said Jackson.

  Blaney nodded.

  "I see. How can I help you three gentlemen?" he asked again.

  "I imagine you know why we're here?" I said.

  He nodded again and put on a grave and serious face. I preferred the smiling, collegial mask he'd worn earlier.

  "Yes, I imagine it must be about James Ensor. Terrible and so random."

  "Very seldom random," I said.

  He looked at me again.

  "You know who did it?"

  "Not yet," I said.

  There was a knock at the door and behind it Vivienne entered carrying a coffee in a dark blue mug. It had the logo and the name of Blue Ocean LLC on it with the tagline. The logo was a curling wave in a circle and the tagline was "More Profits, Less Turbulence." I took the coffee and thanked her. I took a sip, it was perfect. Just how I liked it. Good coffee.

  "Anything else?" she asked.

  "No thank you, Vivienne, that'll be all," he said, smiling at her as she left. He turned back and looked at the two detectives.

  "So how can I help you?"

  "We'd like to know about Ensor's financial situation. Any insights you can give us about his personal issues related to money or otherwise," said Dykes.

  Dykes fished out another Lifesaver and popped it in his mouth. He put the roll away and opened up his notebook. Jackson had his notebook already open, pen in hand. I had my coffee in my hand and my charm in my pocket in case it was needed.

  "Well, I can tell you that James was a friend and he'd been with us just under five years," said Blaney, preferring to use the deceased's first name.

  "Now I understand that you only take clients with a minimum of twenty-five million to invest?" I asked.

  Blaney turned to me and smiled. He smiled like a politician who had practiced every morning in front of the mirror.

  "That's correct."

  "And yet, I doubt that James Ensor would have had that sort of money when you first met him," I said.

  The smile wouldn't slip of his face. It was making me tired just looking at it.
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br />   "You're right, Mr. Carrick," he said. "When James was introduced to my firm he only had a couple of million to start with. But we make exceptions for some of our preferred clients."

  "High profile clients then, like actors and sports stars," I said.

  He nodded. I sipped my coffee.

  "That's right, high profile clients give UHNW individuals more confidence in our services. You know what UHNW means?"

  I nodded.

  "Celia was very eager to school us in the lingo," I said.

  Blaney nodded.

  "Ultra high net worth individuals are our bread and butter but folks with that sort of money are a, rare and b, not quick to trust just anyone with that sort of wealth. Having a roster of professional sportsmen and women as well as actors and the like helps imbue confidence in our services."

  "Is Salisbury a client?" I asked.

  "Of course," said Blaney, still smiling like the wax statue of himself.

  "I'd be hard pressed to believe he has the minimum to invest with you," I said.

  "And you'd be right. Like I said, we do make exceptions. Fred is extremely valuable to my firm with his referrals. More than that, we go back a long way and I consider him a friend and colleague."

  I considered Blaney a politician. He was as smooth and slippery as an oiled baby.

  "Everyone speaks highly of your services and your results," said Dykes.

  Blaney nodded and turned to look at Dykes with that smile of his.

  "We do aim to achieve above market returns. In fact, our own income is performance based. We only make money if our clients make money."

  "Well now, that's not entirely true," I said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Celia mentions that you take a flat management fee," I said.

  "Quite correct. Five percent is our management fee to cover expenses. It is expensive to manage a lot of money and outperform the market consistently."

  "But," said Dykes, getting back into the discussion, "Celia did not seem quite as happy as you'd think she should with the returns you're able to produce."

  Still smiling Blaney said, "I'm quite aware of that, Detective. And she's free to take the money now that it is hers and to do what she likes with it, which is probably to fritter it away."

  "The two of you seem to have a mutual disrespect," said Dykes.

  "If I can speak freely and confidentially," said Blaney looking at Dykes and Jackson.

  Dykes nodded.

  "I often don't care for the wives of my clients and I'll tell you exactly why. In fact, Celia is the poster girl for this dislike. The only thing she has going for her is her looks. She has no education. She's uneducated and backwards in many ways. She's your classic gold digger, as most of them are. All she knows is what she hears from her peers and I use the term peers loosely. She'd be what we'd call in the vernacular white trash, though she pretends not to be."

  "That's quite an opinion," said Dykes.

  "It's my honest and confidential opinion. Never liked her from the beginning, it was a good thing that Fred had James do up a prenup."

  "So you don't think your fees are unreasonable?" asked Jackson.

  Blaney looked over at Jackson and smiled again.

  "Not at all, Detective. They might seem high to you, but they are commensurate with our peers. More than that we are one of the top three performing hedge funds in North America. Over the past ten years we've attained returns of twenty-three percent on average annually. We take twenty-five percent if our returns for the year are above the market rate. So, for example, last year the S&P returned fifteen percent which was a good year for the market, we managed thirty-three percent. Our clients made on their money almost twenty percent. That's a good return."

  "Celia said she made," and Dykes flipped through his notebook, "uh, twenty-four point seventy-five percent."

  Dykes looked back up at Blaney. Blaney continued to smile and nodded at Dykes.

  "Quite right, Detective. But that doesn't take into account our management fee which is then deducted on top of that. Five percent is our management fee."

  "Which is where Celia had her problem with you," said Jackson.

  Blaney chuckled. This seemed almost unrehearsed and natural.

  "Yes, yes she did," he said, looking at Jackson. "She's continually tried to barter with me as if we're some sort of bazaar in Iran. Our fees are not negotiable. If clients aren't happy I counsel them to look elsewhere."

  "And did you counsel Celia Ensor to do just that?" asked Dykes.

  "Certainly not, Detective, Celia was not my client. James was."

  "Well, how did she go about trying to negotiate your fees?" asked Jackson.

  I sipped on my coffee and thought of Emily on the beach in a bathing suit. It must have been the Blue Ocean logo. Outside there were no beaches and no Emilys in bathing suits. Just little upright ants crawling all over the Chicago asphalt thinking how important their lives were. From this vantage point it looked more farcical than anything.

  "Like I said before, Detective," said Blaney looking over at Jackson with that practiced smile on his face, "the wives love to be involved in these meetings. On more than one occasion at these meetings Celia has voiced her concern over the management fee. Nothing comes of it of course as James is quickly able to steer the conversation back on course."

  "How often do you meet with your clients?" I asked.

  "As often as they like. We are here to serve them. Usually we'll set up meetings quarterly to go over the results and to discuss where we're going in the future. The least often we see our clients is once a year. I prefer not to leave them without any contact from us longer than that."

  "Because you're worried they'll be stolen by others?" I asked.

  The smile broadened into a grin. I was quickly becoming a connoisseur of smarmy smiles and facial ticks. I was also quickly realizing that the English language didn't have enough words for the repertoire of facial expressions that masqueraded as smiles on Blaney's face. That made me think of all those hundreds of words the Inuit have for snow. Or so I'm led to believe.

  "No, Mr. Carrick," said Blaney, unperturbed, "I am not worried they'll move. You must have heard of Newton's Laws of Motion?"

  I nodded. I had heard of them. Remembering them was something else. Thankfully, Blaney was about to school me in physics.

  "Newton's First Law of Motion is also known as the Law of Inertia. Basically what it means is that an object at rest, or an object moving, will stay at rest, or keep moving, so long as no other force is applied to it."

  "Sounds swell," I said.

  "Okay, Mr. Carrick, I'll humor you. What I'm trying to say is that applying a force to either a stationery object or a moving object requires a lot more energy than leaving them be. This is the case in my business. I don't have to be the best, but so long as I'm performing adequately my clients are reticent to change anything."

  I nodded.

  "I get it," I said. "So you're sort of like the Jedi of Inertia. The force is strong with you."

  Blaney let out a forced laugh.

  "Not exactly."

  "Getting back on track," said Dykes. "What is the value of the deceased's investments with Blue Ocean?"

  "If you'll give me a moment I can tell you exactly how much?" said Blaney, starting to get up.

  "Just a ballpark figure will do," said Dykes.

  "North of one hundred million."

  "Perhaps I should put my money with you," I said. "I like your returns a lot better than the eight percent I'm getting on my mutual funds."

  I was lying through my teeth. I didn't have any mutual funds. I didn't think I had money under my mattress either, but there were some quarters jangling in my pocket and that gave me comfort. Blaney looked at me.

  "Mutual funds are a very good way for the average investor to safely earn market returns," he said.

  "But I want above market returns. I want north of one hundred million," I said.

  Blaney smiled and nodde
d.

  "Don't we all, Mr. Carrick. Don't we all."

  "Can you tell us anything interesting about Mr. Ensor's personal life?" asked Dykes.

  Blaney looked back over at Dykes and then looked back down at the table in thought.

  "Uh, usually our conversations revolve around investments and other financial matters. I prefer not to get involved in my client's personal matters."

  I drank the last of my coffee. I was sorry to see it go. I put the mug back down on the coffee table. Blaney looked at it. Then he looked at me.

  "Would you like some more Mr. Carrick?" he asked.

  I shook my head.

  "But certainly sometimes, some clients will give you an inkling into their lives," said Dykes.

  Blaney looked back at him and nodded.

  "A few weeks ago James came to me asking about making sure that Celia couldn't access his money."

  Dykes nodded.

  "The thing is, Celia couldn't access the accounts, not without his signature. The most we'll allow is a combined account where both spouses need to sign off on any withdraws. Oftentimes it's just our client who has full control of their account."

  Dykes nodded.

  "And Mr. Ensor wanted to change this?"

  Blaney nodded again.

  "He did, he wanted the account to revert to single account holder privilege."

  "And did you do that?"

  "Of course, Detective, we are here to serve our clients. Since it was his account originally and he authorized her to be a cosigner it was easy enough just to revert it back to a single authorized holder."

  "Did he give you any idea as to why he wanted it this way?" asked Dykes.

  "As you probably know he didn't trust her. Not that I blamed him. He said she was being unfaithful. I asked him if he was certain. He said he was. He insisted that I put a note on his file that nobody was to access his account without his authorization and in the event of his death to freeze the account until the manner of his death had been determined."

  Dykes nodded and added scribbles to his notebook.