by Alan Cook
She gave some instructions to her staff and then we walked back through the building and out the front door.
When she saw the Mercedes she said, "You know, Karl, for someone with no visible means of support, you sure drive fancy cars. If I didn't know better I'd suspect you were a car thief."
"I didn't want to tell you before," I said, opening the door for her. "I was afraid it would prejudice you against me."
***
The small cafe near Wilshire Boulevard served tasty sandwiches, some with natural ingredients, whatever that means. They must be good because they were expensive.
I paid for our lunches. Esther was always willing to pay her share, and even mine, but I felt guilty taking her money because she was providing half the support for a son and I had no dependents and few expenses.
We sat outside at a small metal table, protected from the Los Angeles weather by transparent glass shields. The breeze was usually cool near the beach but the Santa Ana winds had warmed up the air to the point where we would have been comfortable out in the open, even with our thin California blood.
Esther wore a long skirt, with a slit up the side that revealed flashes of her shapely legs as she moved. When she was concentrating on something she had a habit of playing with her skirt, sometimes pulling it up above her knees, which was more enticing than if she'd been wearing a mini.
Her long hair was auburn, not uncommon for someone of Hispanic origin, as I'd discovered, and she even had some freckles. Her smile would melt asbestos.
I sipped iced tea and watched her expressive face while we waited for our sandwiches.
She caught me looking at her and said, "Why so quiet today, Karl? Your job is to amuse me and keep my mind off work."
"Sorry," I said. "But allow me one question. Is everything falling into place for the big event Saturday?"
The annual fundraiser was expected to bring in several hundred thousand dollars. The planning for it fell on the shoulders of Esther and her staff.
"It's a circus. If I'm not good company it's because I was up until six this morning writing descriptions for the silent auction. The computer was giving me fits."
"Did you get any sleep at all?"
"I went home and caught a couple of hours before I came back in."
It seemed that everybody had gotten less sleep than I had. I said, "And I thought I had problems. You should have called me to help with the computer." Of course I had been in San Francisco.
"Next time I will. Tell me about your problems."
"I won't bore you with them. All I want is unconditional love right now."
"I'll give you an unconditional hickey if you don't tell me. You know everything about me and I know nothing about you."
The hickey sounded good, but I could tell from the sound of her voice and the fire in her eyes that I had better start talking. I hadn't told her who my father was because I wanted to distance myself from him. Emerge was my project. My father had his foundation and if he liked an organization he might donate thousands of dollars to it. Then he would be made a member of its Golden Circle and be invited to sit at a front table for fundraisers, etc. etc. If he found out about Emerge he could with a stroke of his pen, completely overshadow my poor efforts.
I said, "Okay, I'll tell you my story if you'll promise me one thing."
"What's that?"
"You won't contact my father or put him on your mailing list. You have everybody in the entertainment industry on your mailing list as it is; you don't need my father."
"I take it from what you just said that you don't exactly come from a poverty-stricken background. It may shock and distress you, but I'd already figured that out."
Once I got started I couldn't stop. I told her about my father and how I lived in the guest house, rent free, but I helped to take care of the cars, house and grounds, including hiring pool cleaners, gardeners, painters, plumbers, etc. Jacie handled Luz, the housekeeper, but I was careful to maintain her friendship. I told Esther about some of my dealings with Jacie; that made her laugh.
"But my father doesn't give me an allowance, if that's what you're thinking," I said after I'd finished the other stuff.
"I wasn't thinking anything," Esther said, taking my hand. "Don't be so paranoid."
"My baseball card business is getting better all the time."
"I'm sure it is. Now tell me what you've been doing for the last 24 hours."
I had alluded to my trip to San Francisco. I might as well tell her. For it to make sense I had to tell her everything so I gave her a detailed account. When I got to the part about Ned's death, she gasped and two tears ran down her cheeks. I said, "I'm sorry, Esther. This isn't making you laugh like I'm supposed to be doing. It's not good lunch-time talk."
"No, no," she said, taking my hand again. "This is your life. I want to hear it."
I continued my story, and finally concluded by telling about the meeting with my father and Arrow. When I had finished with the details of the meeting I said, without planning it, "And then my father thanked me and arranged to pay me for my time, just as if I were one of his employees. And then he...dismissed me and went back to work." I lapsed into silence.
Esther squeezed my hand and said, "It hurts, doesn't it."
"Well, now that I've got your sympathy, could you lend me a million dollars?" I said, trying to break the lugubrious spell. I looked at my watch. "My God! It's almost 3:15. I've got to get you back."
Esther looked at her own watch and said, "You know what? I really don't feel like going back to Emerge. I think I've done enough for one day."
"What? The workaholic takes time off?"
"I will under one condition," she said, punching the number of her office into her cell phone. "Come with me to my apartment. My ex is taking care of Emilio. I want to take a hot bath. And I need somebody to wash my back—and my front."
***
I awoke with a very pleasant aroma assailing my nostrils. It took me a few seconds to figure out that the aroma came from Esther and that we were tangled together in the form of a knot tied by an amateur. I lifted my head. The sunlight coming in through the south-facing window slanted sharply from the west. It must be late afternoon.
I looked down again. My eyes were inches from her left nipple, which was surrounded by a perfect aureole. I knew that from past experience because my farsighted eyes couldn’t focus on it. However, I couldn't resist taking a taste. She stirred, but didn't awaken. One taste is never enough, but I had to use the bathroom and something was nagging at the back of my mind.
I carefully untangled myself from Esther. She smiled but slept on. I searched for my watch, walking around the small bedroom a couple of times, and finally found it in one of my shoes. The time was five minutes to six. Six! I was supposed to pick my father up at six.
I grabbed the cordless phone beside the bed and took it into the hall so as not to bother Esther. I punched my father's work number.
After two rings he answered with one word: "Patterson."
"Dad!" I said. "I'm supposed to pick you up at six."
"That's what I'm expecting. Where are you?"
"Um...in west LA, near UCLA."
There was a pause during which I wished I could assure him that I'd be there in five minutes instead of a rush hour 45.
"I'll call Jacie and have her come," he finally said.
It would have been easier to take if he had yelled at me. I hung up, feeling the chill. I walked back into the bedroom with my head down. Esther was awake and looking at me.
"Trouble?" she asked.
"Of my own making."
She held out her arms. "I'll make it all better."
She was totally uncovered. What could I do?
***
At eight o'clock we ordered a pizza to be delivered. By nine o'clock we were dressed and I was functioning almost like a human being. It occurred to me that I hadn't checked my telephone messages at home for well over 24 hours.
I checked them using
Esther's phone. There were three. Two were of minor consequence. The third was from Detective Washington, San Francisco Police Department. She said, "Mr. Patterson, I need to talk to you as soon as possible. Please call me." She gave a number but said she was working the day shift the next few days. She probably wouldn't be there now.
When I hung up, Esther, who was making a career out of reading my face, said, "More trouble?"
I told her about the call.
She said, "It's probably nothing. She wants to fill you in on what's happening."
"Detective Washington isn't the type of person who calls people just to chat. I'd better leave now so I can call her from home first thing in the morning."
"Must you?"
The way Esther kissed me at the door almost melted my resolve. I finally had to break away and go—fast.
Chapter 9 DRUGS
On Thursday morning I woke up at six, a half-hour past my usual time. I drank a glass of water and did some stretching. Then I went for my run, up and down the hills of Palos Verdes, for an hour. My body had been more upset by not running yesterday than by my lack of sleep. I was addicted to running and hated to miss a day. I needed the uplift provided by the endorphins flowing into my blood stream and the stress flowing out.
The route back from my run took me past the post office, where I had a mailbox. I kept this PO box because of my baseball card business and also because I didn't want my father, and particularly Jacie, to monitor my mail.
I went into the post office lobby and opened my mailbox. There were several letters; I could tell from the return addresses that they were from successful bidders for my cards on eBay. They contained checks. Receiving checks in the mail, no matter how small, always buoyed my spirits.
I ran back to the house, took my shower and had breakfast, consisting primarily of orange juice and a large bowl of oatmeal, sprinkled with raw cashew pieces I purchased in bulk at Trader Joe's. It wasn't until I was getting ready to call Detective Washington that I noticed I had a message on my answering machine. It must have been left while I was running.
I pressed it the "play" button and heard: "Karl, this is Arrow. I'm at Elma's house. I got here early to work on her finances because she is going to be tied up later with arrangements for Ned's memorial service. She called the San Francisco police yesterday to find out what they were doing about Ned's murder. She just got a call back a few minutes ago from a Detective Washington. The detective told her they had found Ned's rental car in a parking lot and there was cocaine in the trunk.
"Elma went ballistic. She screamed over the phone and said it couldn't be true; it must have been planted. Then she demanded they search her house. She finally got Detective Washington to agree to coordinate a search with the Manhattan Beach police. I'm calling from my cell phone because Elma is on the phone with the Manhattan Beach police right now. I thought you ought to know about the cocaine." She gave her cell phone number and the message ended.
So that's what Detective Washington wanted to talk to me about. I logged onto the Internet and checked the price of Dionysus stock. It had opened down another ten percent. I clicked on "news" and found a story with a dateline of today, saying that two plastic bags of cocaine had been found in Ned's car. Bad news travels fast—maybe too fast. How did it get out?
I didn't know Ned well, but I didn't believe Ned was involved in drugs. I went to my online trading account and placed orders for Dionysus stock for Luz myself. Buy low.
I placed a call to Detective Washington. She came on the line and said, "Mr. Patterson, we need to talk to you again."
"So talk."
"In person."
"About the cocaine?"
"So you know about that."
"It isn't exactly a secret. It's all over the Internet."
"Yeah, well that's unfortunate. Can you come up here?"
"I don't know anything I haven't already told you. Besides, I'm running a business."
"Look, Mr. Patterson, I don't want to get nasty and force you to come."
Could she do that? I quickly weighed my options. I'd rather go to them than have them come to me. And I'd rather go at a time set by me than them. Besides, I wanted to find out more about James Buchanan. "I'll fly up tomorrow morning. I can meet you at 10."
Detective Washington gave me the address of the station she worked out of. I hung up and thought for a minute. Then I called my father's office number. Arrow had undoubtedly already told him about the cocaine, but I wanted to keep him informed about my connection with the police investigation.
John answered the phone. When I identified myself he said, "Karl, it's great to hear your voice. Richard has someone in his office, but I'll tell him you're on the line. Hold, please."
My father answered in less than a minute. I said, "Dad, I'm sorry about the car thing yesterday. I was...upset about what happened to Ned and I lost track of the time."
"That's okay," my father said. "Jacie picked me up. At least she wasn't out playing tennis."
He sounded distant and preoccupied; he was undoubtedly thinking about the cocaine. I quickly filled him in on my conversation with Detective Washington.
"I want an attorney to go with you," he said when I had finished. "Our corporate attorney is going to be present when Elma's house is searched this afternoon, but he should be free tomorrow..."
"Dad, I'm not a suspect. I'm just a witness. An attorney isn't necessary. In fact, there's nothing for an attorney to do in this situation."
He wasn't convinced. We argued about it.
Finally, he said, "All right, no attorney. But I want Arrow to go with you."
"Arrow? Why?"
"To protect the company's interests. I think Ned was set up."
"I'll protect the company's interests."
"You're not an employee; she is."
I had to concede him that point. Arrow was an acceptable compromise. My father already had his attorney protecting Elma's rights and I felt that she was a lot more vulnerable than I was. We left it that John would make our reservations. He switched me back to John and I managed to convey my requests to him and keep him to a minimum of provocative chitchat. I assumed he didn't talk to my father the way he talked to me.
I worked on my baseball card business until noon. Then I took the cards I was shipping and drove to the post office. From there I went to the main library of the Palos Verdes Library District and looked up information on James Buchanan. Between the online databases and the back issues of magazines, there was a wealth of material.
I realized I had heard about James Buchanan before, but until a couple of years ago I wouldn't have considered him part of my universe. That was when I had started taking investing seriously.
I found out that he was 47 years old and had started his investing career right out of college. He and a partner had managed to gain control of a faltering printing business and turned it around. The partner's name was Ned Mackay. With the cash flow generated they had acquired other companies. Eventually, Buchanan had bought Ned out, renamed his company Tartan Enterprises and continued to invest very successfully in corporations large and small.
Buchanan had been married and had two children, but his wife had divorced him 12 years ago. Irreconcilable differences. Of course, that was the only cause for divorce in California.
Chapter 10 SAN FRANCISCO
It was still dark when I drove the Toyota to the airport Friday morning. I picked up Arrow at her condominium in Redondo Beach. I parked on the street and wondered how she had been able to raise the down payment to buy into a new development. It was undoubtedly a good investment, especially since the tax laws greatly favored homeowners over renters.
It was too bad Esther couldn't buy a house or a condo. Unfortunately, I knew she lived from month to month and had almost no money saved at all.
Arrow came along the sidewalk of the complex, wearing a tailored pantsuit some shade of dark green and carrying a new-looking overnight bag. I got out of the car and opened the trunk.
We said hello, stashed the bag and I opened the passenger-side door for her.
As I drove north toward the airport I could feel Arrow glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. I realized I hadn't spoken much so I said, "Thank you for calling me about the cocaine. It helped to level the playing field between me and Detective Washington. And I was relieved to get your second message." Arrow had left another message while I was at the library saying that the search by the police had not turned up anything.
"Elma was magnificent," Arrow said. "When I met her I wondered whether she would be able to cope with Ned's death, but the way she acted yesterday dispelled my doubts. She handled the police as if she was born to rule. She did more than the attorney to keep them from completely ransacking the house. But they did check it thoroughly."
"And they came up empty."
"Completely. They had a sniffer dog and everything."
"Of course, they could take the position that if Ned had anything hidden Elma might have been able to get rid of it."
"From my own point of view, I know that Elma has been struggling just to keep herself going, and dealing with the overwhelming reality of Ned's death, and hasn't had time to do anything else. In addition, that point of view assumes that if Ned were into drugs that Elma was part of it."
"Yeah, you're right."
"Karl?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"You didn't want me to go on this trip, did you?"
"I know I've been a little quiet, but you have to understand that I missed my run this morning for the second time this week. That run is for me what coffee is to some people."
"No...it's more than that." Arrow seemed to be searching for words for the first time since I'd met her. "When I talked to John, for example, he told me that you wanted me to fly back this afternoon after your meeting with the police and not to stay overnight."
"I want to try to talk to James Buchanan again, but I don't know how successful I'll be. It might just be a waste of your time."
"You didn't bother to tell Richard that, did you? I don't think he wants you messing around in company business."
