“I remember you, too. You thought I was a geek, and now you want my cooperation?”
“My editor’s on my case. He wants a new angle—now,” Nielsen said.
I swallowed. To placate him, I’d have to throw him a tidbit. “Concentrate on Sumner’s former lovers.”
“You think a woman did that to him?”
“Doing the deed and responsibility for it aren’t necessarily the same thing.”
“Sounds like a long shot to me. Come on, Jeff—give me a name.”
“I can’t. Not yet.”
Nielsen was quiet for a few moments. “All right. I’ll give you a couple of days to think about that headline. How it could change your life. I’ll be in touch.”
The connection was broken.
I hung up the receiver, stared at the wall phone.
Richard ambled into the kitchen. “You about ready to go?”
I turned to face him, feeling shaky, and leaned against the counter for support.
He frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“Hayden told a reporter that we found Sumner’s remains. This guy, Nielsen, wants me to tell him what I suspect or he’ll go public that I’m a . . . that I can sense. . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Jesus,” he muttered.
“If we don’t leave now, we’re going to be late,” Brenda said as she entered the kitchen. She stopped, took in both our faces. “What’s wrong?”
“Maybe we should consult a lawyer.”
Richard nodded.
While he drove, I relayed the story to Brenda. By the time I finished, she looked as grim as I felt.
They dropped me off at the bank at ten fifty-five. Richard said to call him on his cell phone when I was ready to leave. I told him to just meet me outside the bank at one, after I had lunch with Maggie.
Speaking with Nielsen had shaken my confidence. I no longer felt up to talking with Myers, but I had an hour to kill before I was to meet Maggie. I reported in with the receptionist who’d greeted Richard and me the week before. She ushered me into Myers’s office.
I’d arrived right on time, but he was engaged in what turned out to be a lengthy phone call with an important client. He motioned me to sit and I took in his office as I waited. I tried not to think about screaming headlines in seventy-two-point type and studied the objects decorating Myers’s workspace. Several frames sat on his desk, but I couldn’t see the photographs. His office faced east, on the opposite side of the building from Sumner, with a view of more office buildings. Obviously he wasn’t as important as Matt Sumner had been.
Finally Myers hung up. “Sorry about that. How can I help you, Jeff?” His smile and enthusiastic handshake didn’t conceal his true motivation—to get his hands on more of Richard’s millions. He saw me as a means to an end. The feeling was mutual.
“I don’t know if my brother explained the situation, but I’m investigating Matt Sumner’s death.” The muscles along his jaw tightened at the mention of Sumner’s name. I’d definitely touched a nerve.
Myers said nothing.
“I understand the police have already spoken with you. Your name was on his calendar the day he died.”
“I never even saw him that day.” Myers stopped himself, as though afraid to offend me.
“I don’t think you had anything to do with his death,” I assured him. “I hoped you could tell me more about him.”
“Just what are your credentials, Mr. Resnick?”
I met his wary gaze. “I’m an insurance investigator.” And please don’t ask for proof, I mentally amended.
He didn’t, probably figuring a millionaire’s brother had no reason to lie.
Myers sat back in his chair, the strain around his eyes visibly relaxing.
“What do you want to know?”
“I’m getting conflicting pictures of him. He was a saint or a sinner, depending on who you talk to.”
“He was that. A saint and a sinner.”
“How so?”
He eyed me critically. “Look, whatever I tell you is in confidence, right?”
“Absolutely.”
He took a steadying breath. “Matt treated some of the staff like dirt. Particularly the women. He could be a real jerk. He had this way of making you feel like you were shit, and grinning all the while. He really turned on the charm with the clients. His smile, his manner with them was worth a million bucks. In fact, it was worth more than that to the bank.”
“I’m particularly interested in his relationship with the people at Walker Construction.”
“You mean Sharon Walker.” It wasn’t a question.
I nodded, surprised he knew her by name.
“Matt and I worked closely with the lawyers to pound out a settlement. Sharon and the company comptroller visited often during the bankruptcy proceedings.”
“What’s your impression of her?”
“Tough. She wore all the right clothes, but something about her didn’t fit the image she tried to project.”
“Was she overly friendly with Sumner?”
He shrugged. “Matt always had a woman on the side. I suppose she could’ve been one of them. I know he talked his son out of marrying her. If he had a relationship with her, he never said. He didn’t brag about those things, but everyone knew. Sometimes he’d show up with other women at company functions. He’d introduce them as clients. Claudia knew; she didn’t care. She had his money. That’s all that mattered.”
“What was his relationship with his children?”
“Rocky. The youngest was in rehab a couple of months ago. An alcoholic at sixteen.” He shook his head. “To be a success in this business, you have to put in one hundred and ten percent effort. Matt put in more. He sacrificed his family life for the job. But then my wife divorced me last year for the same reason. She took the kids and moved to Ohio. Now I’ve got nothing but this job.” Regret colored his voice.
“What about the charity work Sumner did?”
“Company-directed. I work with a camp for kids with cancer. Matt had United Way and leukemia. Sometimes we’re given three or four charities and we delegate. Those with the most seniority get the high-profile charities. The company looks good and it’s a tax write-off.”
I thought of Sumner’s glowing obituary and frowned; only P.R. after all.
“I understand Sumner went out of his way to help Walker Construction during the bankruptcy,” I said.
“He originally approved those loans. The deal we cut netted half the bank’s outlay, but we still lost millions. No, he didn’t go out of his way to help them.”
That conflicted with what Charlie Novak said, but it had a ring of truth. “Did he ever speak of Jackie?”
Myers shook his head. “Was she another girlfriend?”
“I don’t know.” I remembered something Maggie mentioned to me at the bar. “How about the guy he fired at Christmastime. Don . . . Don—”
“Don Feddar,” he supplied, and shook his head. “It’s too bad what happened to him. I’m not at liberty to discuss it, but you might want to speak to him yourself. He’s in the phone book.”
I nodded. Thanks to the ache in my head, I couldn’t think of anything else to ask. “You’ve been very helpful, Ron.”
“Your brother means a lot to this bank. If we could get our hands on all his money—”
I forced a laugh. “You’re an honest man. I’ll mention it to him, but I can’t guarantee anything.”
“I can’t ask for more.” He offered me his hand. “Let me know if I can do anything else for you.”
“As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t mind having a look at Sumner’s office. Just to get a feel for the man.”
He hesitated—seemed to weigh the value of pleasing me—then shrugged. “No problem.”
He led me down the hall to the office. Except for the furniture, the room was stripped. Maggie had done a good job of removing everything personal.
“I have a lunch meeting in a few minutes. You can just
shut the door when you’re done,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“Let me know if I can be of any more help.” Myers shook my hand again before leaving.
I took in the bare walls. Although devoid of his possessions, there was still a lot of Matt Sumner left in the room—much more than there’d been in his own home.
Head pounding, I moved to the leather chair, sat down, and closed my eyes.
I wondered if those pills I’d been taking had lost their effectiveness. I reached into my jacket pocket and took out the prescription bottle. Three tablets remained. I took out two, choking them down without water.
A glance at my watch told me I had ten minutes before I was supposed to meet Maggie. I leaned back in the chair and looked out the window. A typical cloudy day in Buffalo. Years ago, the seemingly perpetual gray skies had depressed me; now they seemed familiar and I realized with some surprise I was starting to feel at home here again. Would I still feel that way if Nielsen made good his threat?
I couldn’t afford to waste the time Myers had given me and, straightening in the chair, I began my search. I opened the desk drawers. Empty. I went through the credenza—nothing there either. Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d missed something.
I checked under the couch cushions, and down the sides of the chairs. Nothing. I was about to give up when I thought to look under the desk. Bingo! Caught between the center drawer and the desk frame was a mangled envelope. With some careful maneuvering, I managed to extricate it. I sat in Sumner’s chair and smoothed the crumpled paper on the desk. The return address on the upper left-hand corner said Roche Biomedical Laboratories. It was empty, and was postmarked two days before the murder.
CHAPTER 17
A secretary gave me directions to Maggie’s office. She greeted me with a sunny smile that almost made me forget how crappy I felt. She had on a navy suit with a powder blue blouse, and the same gold chain around her neck. It made her look like a high-powered executive. Despite my own office attire, I felt like someone you might avoid on the street.
“Hey, I thought we were going to meet downstairs.”
“I’m a few minutes early. I can wait.”
“Thanks. Be right with you.”
I took one of the chairs in front of her desk and she turned back to her computer. She made a call, switching back and forth between two databases as she spoke. The fact that she was busy gave me the opportunity to think up various topics we might discuss over lunch. Only, with my head about to explode, I didn’t feel like talking. I didn’t feel like eating or even thinking. At that moment the whole lunch idea seemed like a big mistake.
“Sorry about that,” Maggie said at last. “I’m in the middle of organizing a conference and it’s turning out to be a bitch.”
She grabbed her coat and we headed for the elevator. A minute later, we were waiting for the light to change at the corner outside the bank. A ripple of pleasure shot through me when she grabbed my hand as we crossed the street. Her gloved fingers curled around mine and held on tight.
We ended up at a pizza joint around the corner. I wasn’t interested in food, but Maggie ordered us a small pepperoni and mushroom pizza and a couple of Cokes. My broken left arm rested on the table as I rubbed my forehead with my right hand.
She touched my sleeve. “Are you okay? You don’t look well.”
“Since the mugging, I get these miserable migraines.” I braved a smile. “I have to admit you’re the bright spot in my day.”
She smiled. “How’s your case going?”
“I have a few more people to talk to.”
“You’re really treating this like a job. Have you thought about doing it for a living?”
“I did. I was an insurance investigator, remember?”
“No, I mean being a cop. Or a detective. It’s never too late to start over.”
“‘Fraid not. In fact, I thought about being a bartender. Just until I figure out what I want to do. My brother’s been on my back. Says I shouldn’t even think about work for another few weeks.”
“He’s a doctor. He should know.”
“He’s my big brother and he still thinks of me as a fourteen-year-old kid.” That came out sounding a whole lot angrier than I’d meant. “Don’t listen to me. I don’t know what I’m saying.”
She changed the subject. “Have you had a really good fish fry since you got back to Buffalo?”
I shook my head. A mistake.
“You’ve got to have one on Good Friday and I know the perfect spot.”
“I’d like that.”
“Great. I’ll pick you up at your house about six.”
“Good. You can meet Rich and Brenda, too.”
Her expression darkened, but amusement flashed in her blue eyes. “Uh-oh. Meeting the family already?”
“Hell, you’ve met Rich before.”
“As a client, not a person.”
I had to smile. “And you have to call him Richard. He hates being called Rich.”
“You call him that.”
“I know.”
“Are you sure you’re not still fourteen?”
I shrugged, and she grinned.
“Hey, you’ve got to go to the Broadway Market, too.”
“My mother and I used to do that every year when I was a kid.” I managed a smile at the pleasant memory. It was one of the few traditions we’d observed.
“I’m taking my mother-in-law on Friday.”
“Mother-in-law? I thought you were divorced.”
“Yes. I got the house, but Gary’s mother, Lily, lives in the downstairs apartment. She takes care of my dog when I’m at work. It’s a great arrangement.”
Our pizza arrived and Maggie doled out pieces for each of us. The aroma made me feel sick. Maggie dug in with gusto. She wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Mmm. This is great. Aren’t you having any?”
“I’d like to . . . but I don’t think it’s a good idea right now. Don’t let me stop you. Enjoy.” I took a tentative sip of my Coke. Much as I wanted to be with her, I was counting the minutes until I could get out of there and go home to my bed. I took out my prescription bottle. The last tablet. I downed it with a swallow of Coke.
She ate slowly and in silence, watching me, looking more and more worried as time went on.
“Sorry I’m not better company.”
“Hey, if you don’t feel well, you don’t feel well. I wish there was something I could do. Want me to call your brother?”
“He’ll pick me up at one o’clock.” I took another sip of my drink. Coke is supposed to help settle your stomach, but its sweetness sickened me. I pushed the glass aside.
The waitress came by. “Everything okay?”
“Can you wrap this?” Maggie asked.
“Sure thing.” She took the leftover pizza away.
“You want to take it home for later?”
I shook my head and winced. The waitress returned with a brown paper bag and the check. I fumbled with my wallet, pulled out a ten-dollar bill. My vision doubled; I couldn’t even see the amount on the slip of paper. “Is this enough?”
Maggie took the money and the check from me. “It’s fine.”
“No doubt about it. I make a great impression. Broke, sick . . . a real winner.”
“It’s refreshing to find a man with vulnerabilities. I can’t tell you how many macho jerks I’ve met in the past five years. Come on.”
She grabbed my arm, pulled me up, and helped me on with my coat. Then she paid the check and, with her arm wrapped around mine, guided me back across the street. She parked me in one of the chairs in the bank’s overheated lobby, then made a quick call to her office from the receptionist’s desk. Moments later she took the chair next to me. “I’ll wait with you until your brother gets here.” She took my hand and squeezed it reassuringly.
Embarrassment doesn’t begin to cover what I was feeling . . . except at that moment I felt so awful I would’ve accepted help from the devil himself.
/> When Richard’s silver Lincoln pulled up in front of the bank at three minutes past one, Maggie helped me to my feet and steered me toward the door. “Want me to go out with you?”
“No, please. Gotta have some dignity.”
“Okay.” She squeezed my hand again. “See you Friday night, right?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
The cold air hit me like a left hook, making the ten or so feet from the door to the car seem more like a mile. I practically crawled onto the back seat.
“How’d your lunch go?” Brenda asked as the car took off into traffic.
I sank back into the seat. “Fine.”
My voice must have sounded strained, for she turned to look at me. “Are you okay?”
“I’ve been better.”
I could see Richard’s eyes glance at me in the rear-view mirror. “I got us an appointment with my lawyer in twenty-five minutes. You up to it?”
No, I was tempted to wail, but he wouldn’t need to consult an attorney if it hadn’t been for me. “Sure.” I closed my eyes and sank back against the leather upholstery, hoping I could survive another hour.
* * *
Richard’s late grandfather had been a partner in the local attorneys’ office that still handled Richard’s affairs. Morton, Alpert, Fox, and Jemison had been, and still was, one of the most respected firms in town. That they’d kept the old man’s name years after his death reaffirmed the respect he’d commanded.
Daniel Jemison, son of the last of the original partners, was about Richard’s age. Dressed in a drab gray suit, white shirt, and dark tie, the trim, sandy-haired lawyer didn’t impress me as a man with much imagination. Throughout Richard’s narration, Jemison’s face remained impassive; only a raised eyebrow now and then betrayed he was even listening. I sat hunched in my chair, massaging my forehead, wishing the steady thumping would stop.
When Richard finished, Jemison swiveled his chair to gaze out the window, which overlooked the HSBC Arena, home of the Buffalo Sabres hockey team. We waited for long moments before he finally spoke.
“My advice is to go home and devote yourself to TV reruns.”
I glanced at Richard in the adjacent chair. He looked as baffled as I felt.
Murder On The Mind Page 15
