by E. Groat
She turned to him, shaking her finger at him mockingly. “You got a deal, Sport,” she shot back.
“We’ll take your car; it’s bigger,” he said, as he picked up three apples and tossed them to the boys. “That ought to hold you till we get there.”
Josh had never witnessed such gratitude over such a seemingly small gift. The apples were gone, core and all, before they reached the garage. Opening the rear door of the town car, he beckoned them inside, still facing uncertainty in their eyes.
Rachel turned from behind the wheel and cooed, coaxing the boys with her reassuring smile. They got in reluctantly, unsure again of what lay ahead. Jumping in up front with his mother, Josh suggested she lock all the doors, still concerned that Lech might bolt.
Twilight was near when they reached the Village, and the small township sparkled with tiny lights and soft music reverberating from the taverns. It was more like an Aspen or Vale setting than a typical New England seafaring community. Franco’s was a warm neighborhood bar and grill with a family atmosphere. The food was basic, reasonable, and very good. Josh and his mother entered with her holding the little ones’ hands, and Josh’s arm wrapped casually around Lech’s neck and shoulders.
The bedazzled children cautiously surveyed their surroundings, examining every detail with trepidation. Unusual sights and smells overwhelmed their senses, beguiling every instinct that measured fear. They were safe. They knew they were safe. A white-shirted waitress wearing a black bow tie led them to a booth Josh had motioned to just moments before.
“I don’t think we’ll be needing menus,” Josh told the waitress just as she was turning to bring water and menus. “We’ll have Franco’s Super Duper Godfather salad all around. Roquefort dressing, with bleu cheese sprinkled on top.” Josh had made this same request before with the family, surrounded by his nephews, brother, sister, and their spouses. Franco’s always spelled enjoyment when the clan got together. “I’ll have Heineken on tap and Mother, you want iced tea?”
“Brandy,” she broke in, “on the rocks. Tonight, I may have several.”
“Bring a bottle of wine,” Josh added, “And 7Up for the kids. Better put a rush on that pizza, we’ve got a hungry lot here.”
He grinned at his mother, always the rock, always the patient one, until now. When the waitress was gone and she was satisfied that the children were calm, she demanded an explanation for the bruises — the why and the how. Josh started from the beginning, telling her everything — Beckman’s plan to rob Zoe and Garth of the downtown project already set up with Mayor Hanks, Beckman’s dependence on Josh to find something dirty on the new mayor to ensure Beckman’s control of the area tabbed for urban renewal, Walt Erskine wanting new schools and manufacturing facilities. How Walt wanted it to be a cleaned-up, self-sustaining industrial park, and Beckman did not want that to happen.
“That’s what prompted my visit to you,” he continued. “To see what Beckman had on our family, to see if I should continue to do his dirty work.”
They stopped their conversation long enough to indulge in the pure joy of watching the children hungrily devour their salads — which they had only done once they understood that it was all right to eat them. They knew how to use knives and forks, but this seemed foreign to them, like something they had not done for a long time.
Josh motioned for them to use their forks, while his mother covered their laps and chests with napkins. They began hesitantly, then ate with gusto. They were not piggish, but certainly ate heartily enough to let Josh and Rachel know the children did indeed have some upbringing at one time. The pizza was unfettered delight, a taste assuredly unknown to the children. Their expressions could only be described as a Kodak moment lost. For the first time since Josh’s initial encounter with the children, he saw them smile. The toothsome, wholesome smiles of these children brought tears to the onlooking adults.
“Someone needs to do something for them,” Rachel blurted in her motherly, demanding way. “What happens to them, Josh?”
“Nothing for right now. Are you up for them to be your houseguests for the next several days?”
The twinkle in her eye was an unspoken affirmation. “What happened after our last visit, Josh?”
Josh picked up his story where he left off. “I did find some dirt on Mayor Harris, but I didn’t want Beckman to pull it off. If Beckman couldn’t buy Harris off, he wanted some leverage to crush the downtown project. That’s where this becomes interesting. What I had on Harris was on a video. Strictly by chance — by chance! — I caught Beckman briefly on the same video as Harris. I asked my source if he had anything else on the other guy, meaning Beckman.
“Given time, my source came up with another video of Beckman. In the meantime, I get a call from Zoe Erskine telling me that Harris released all the permits and gave them the green light for the project. Zoe started thanking me, thinking I had something to do with the mayor’s cooperation. I didn’t; something else changed Harris’s mind. Of that I have no knowledge, but after receiving the other video of Beckman, I realized the disgusting vileness of this man. That was where I first saw the twins.”
Josh nodded toward Lech’s brothers, still enjoying their first taste of that smile-maker known as pizza. “Mother, I can’t begin to tell you, and wouldn’t even try to tell you, the filth and vermin that Beckman embodies.”
“Josh...” she stopped him before he could go on. “I have seen many horrific things in my life; you need not protect me from it. I’ve seen these boys’ bodies. If this is by Beckman’s hand, I hope Justice is in a very black mood when she condemns him. Is this where Lech comes into the picture?”
“Yes,” Josh said, nodding. “I feel he must be responsible for Beckman’s murder. But if I have my way, this will never come to trial, given the circumstances. My biggest problem now is the press. Hopefully, it will die down, but I’m not too confident that will happen. Beckman is too big. Too many lives revolved around him, but after I talk to the prosecutor and show him what I have, I think we can make a deal for Lech. For right now, Mother, they are in your hands. When I get back to Manhattan, all hell breaks loose. Half the city of New York, Beckman’s widow, and his mother are all waiting to hear from me.”
Finishing her drink and motioning toward the children, Rachel beckoned Josh to go. “Come on, we’ve all had a long day. The children will be fine. They can stay as long as it takes to do whatever it takes. You are staying the night too,” she said sternly. “Tomorrow will be soon enough to get back to your rat race. In the meantime, if you’re good, you may find some milk and cookies on the counter later tonight.” Josh chuckled and called for the tab.
The children, without hesitation, allowed themselves to be swept out the door and corralled in the backseat of the town car. The drive home brought peace to the three confused and tired passengers. Somewhere between Franco’s and the welcoming hearth of the Lawtons’ home, sleep overtook them. Dr. Mellon’s sedatives would not be necessary that night.
Chapter 24
Garth leaned back and stretched broadly. He was taking a break. The weeks since Beckman’s death had been hectic. Never one to take good fortune for granted, he mused at how swiftly and smoothly the past few days had gone, but remained alert that Murphy’s Law was a constant in this life. Dozers were running, breakdowns were at a minimum, schedules were met, inventory was on hand, engineers and architects were in harmony, there were no cost overrides to speak of—in short, everything was going smoothly. So why was he so nervous?
When Francis J. Harralday, Warren’s faithful counselor for the past thirty years, decided to retire and move to Maine, Garth and Zoe retained the services of Josh Lawton as their corporate attorney. Garth was not as easily convinced as Zoe, given the unsavory nature of Josh’s previous clientele. Skeptical by nature, he had a thorough background check performed on Mr. Josh Lawton and his company. Once Harralday’s investigators approved of Josh, all corporate papers of the firm of Erskine and Avery were sent to his offices. Harral
day said his fond farewells to Garth and Zoe, and happily relocated with his wife and a basset hound named Zeke.
Josh was more than happy to accept the position. Zoe made it clear that it was not out of gratitude, but based on his reputation as a highly rated counselor. Plus, she thought it was good and noble how he was handling the future of the young boy accused of the Beckman murder. Ever since Beckman’s death, Josh was eager to help with the downtown project in any way he could, and help with anything else Zoe and Garth needed. Giving generously of his time and money, Josh built a kinship with Garth in a very short time. They were alike in many ways, and worked well together.
Garth knew Josh was hopelessly in love with Zoe, and told him so many times. When Garth and Zoe announced their plans for their wedding shortly before Christmas, Josh deferred good naturedly, saying that the better man had won. He embraced them warmly, and constantly chastised Zoe for not having a sister for him. All in all, they became quite a trio in the weeks since Beckman’s demise. Josh had brought in a few more investors, himself included, providing sizable working capital for Garth—more than enough to see him through the next two years and the planned completion date for the project.
He had no more money problems. He was looking forward to finally getting married to Zoe. Everything was rosy. So, why were his palms sweating?
Garth put his elbows on the desk and eased both his palms through his thick, curly hair at the temples. He decided to get another cup of coffee, then decided against it, thinking that must be what was giving him the jitters. He spun around twice in his new, high-backed executive chair, the one Zoe chose for him just for these precise times when he was overtired or edgy. He was grateful for it on a day like this one. He was peering out the window in a half trance when Ms. Potter came dashing in, disturbing the troubled peace he found in his leather cocoon.
“It’s Norm,” she blurted. “He needs to talk to you right away.”
Josh picked up the receiver and heard his foreman bark, “Boss, you’d better get over here right away!”
Chapter 25
“I’ll bet the old monster’s turning over in his grave, spitting maggots,” Josh thought, grinning widely as he wrote another sizable check — this time for Dr. Alverez and his clinic, to be held in escrow until completion. From what Garth had told him, that should be soon, as the project was going great guns.
Since Beckman’s death, Josh had written many such checks for Erskine Foundation projects. The clinic, daycare, repair work for St. Xavier, training, scholarships, charities. He was giddy, flying high on retribution. How ironic that Beckman left him as executor. Beckman had his father, the senior Lawton, as executor, with a stipulation that Josh would step in as counselor and executor in the event of his father’s death or incapacitation.
True to form, Beckman had left his wife a paltry allowance per month, considering his vast fortune and assets. Julie was a pathetic thing. She was old beyond her years, beaten, cowed, and unable to say “boo” to anyone. Beckman had done this to her. Josh remembered her as a radiant young woman at their wedding fifteen years earlier, when Beckman wanted to take her under his wing. Josh was convinced that she genuinely cared for Beckman in a fatherly, protective kind of way. She happily signed a prenuptial agreement. Over the years, he saw her at social functions and business affairs, and in that time saw the light in that young woman flicker and die.
There she sat at the reading of the will — stoic, quiet, immovable. There wasn’t a trace of emotion to be found in this solemn, black-clad figure. She sat motionless as Josh droned on about Beckman’s assets and how he wanted them distributed. The house Julie lived in was not even her own. Beckman had placed it in a life estate, to be handled by counsel. Everything was in Josh’s control — Beckman’s companies, his real-estate holdings, his stock portfolio, even the small radio station he picked up six months before at Josh’s suggestion. Josh delighted in the irony that Beckman’s fortune was benefiting his former rival’s charitable and corporate affairs.
Within six weeks of the reading of the will, Josh met with myriad white-faced presidents, vice presidents, and assistant vice presidents of various companies. Half of them were now out on their ear. He had handled Beckman’s affairs long enough to know who he liked and who he didn’t. Beckman was a miserable taskmaster, and most of his hired CEOs were of the same ilk. Changes Josh made were welcomed with enthusiasm, including employees’ profit sharing, new insurance policies, and flexible working hours for longtime employees and new mothers. Offices were buzzing. Walls were painted. Dingy working areas were revived and decorated with new furnishings and paintings. Music filled the halls. There was a new respect from all the employees. Memos flew from office to office.
It was amazing what could happen in a few weeks, given the right motivation. Josh knew he would see an increase in productivity in all of Beckman’s holdings. Beckman hated happiness. If only he could see the smiles on all his employee’s faces. He would hate it, and Josh reveled in the thought.
He also visited Beckman’s mother, Estelle. He never had reason to dislike her, except that she bore the likeness of her son. She was a stately old woman, still in complete control of her faculties and most of her physical being. She needed only the use of a beautifully carved, ebony walking stick to propel her around her vast home. When Josh remarked about its uniqueness and elegant design, she explained her dislike of those horribly ugly, three-pronged steel canes. She was quick witted and competent, living in sleek and tasteful surroundings, odd for an elderly woman who had just offered him tea in her sitting room.
As a courtesy, Josh brought her up to date on the day-to-day happenings of the business, still very much aware that she was a major stockholder in all of them. Josh found that all the changes he had made met with her approval. It was something he didn’t really need, but he nonetheless found it had a comforting effect on him. He liked the old woman. Throughout their discussions, through veiled innuendo, he got the feeling that the elder Mrs. Beckman did not always approve of her son’s behavior. Could she possibly know the sub-human life form that emerged from her womb? Josh could only speculate. The media circus that had grown around Beckman’s death was showing no signs of relief, but Josh and Mrs. Beckman deftly averted any conversation concerning her son and the bizarre circumstances of his death.
Estelle Beckman’s extremely gracious manner and sincere interest in the progress of the business prompted Josh to initiate a somewhat regular meeting with her. They would meet on a quarterly basis to discuss the happenings at the various stockholders meetings, and he would update her on any changes and improvements concerning the business. She delighted in the thought that she still had somewhat of a position, and that this young man would consider her views of any value. When her son was alive, she heard little about anything concerning the state of the corporation.
She was wealthy in her own right, with a fortune borne of her husband’s ill-gotten gain during the war. In her youth, she had preferred to turn a blind eye to her husband, and to her young son’s quest for wealth. She was well kept and pampered, the recipient of expensive clothes and trappings, and a jewel collection to rival any high-ranking Gestapo officer’s wife. Little thought was given as to how these things were acquired. In the haunting years that followed, Estelle Beckman gave pause to many things she had overlooked in her youth. When she and her son arrived in New York minus her husband, shortly before the war ended, the accumulated wealth of the family started the Beckman financial empire. It would seem, as many have noted, that the past is inextricably tied to the future. Old ghosts and new hopes emerged from uncanny and unsavory alliances with past and present.
Now the pendulum was swinging for purer motives. Beckman surely would not find a place in heaven, but the legacy he left was heaven sent. It would be put to positive use; Josh would see to that. The twins, Lech, and many more like them would become Beckman’s benefactors.
Josh rose and extended his hand to the frail lady he had just now begun to know
. Josh knew she would approve of the plans he had for the Beckman fortune. Unspoken words made Josh realize that Beckman had caused this woman a great deal of pain also. In her recessed thoughts, her son’s death had removed a great burden from her own regrettable life. He was her son; she had no choice but to love him. All anxieties for her son were now buried with the rest of her torments.
When Josh excused himself, indicating he knew the way out, Estelle asked if he might check on Julie. Estelle had not spoken to her since the reading of the will. They were not close, but the old woman did show concern for her — another indication that she knew her son more than she was willing to admit. Assuring her that this was part of his plans for the day, Josh left her with her thoughts.
Chapter 26
Julie answered the door. She had given the staff the day off, something she was fond of doing these past few weeks. She wanted to be alone. Her face ran the gamut from surprise to a look of “oh no, not you again.” Sweetly but begrudgingly, she let Josh in. Julie led him into the living room with twelve-foot ceilings and motioned for him to sit down in an intricately ornate, heavy damask chair. The room was decorated in gold and white. Thick, gold-damask drapes hung in billows over thick, white carpeting. There were mirrors, candelabrum, and chandeliers everywhere. Josh had been here many times, but he never remembered it being quite so ostentatious. Beautiful, but just too much.
His silent critique of the interior design was interrupted by Julie’s offer of something to drink. He declined, but she walked behind a gold filigree bar and topped off an already half-filled glass of wine. Josh knew this woman was not given to drink, but death, stress, and the unknown had brought many to an alcoholic well. She was dressed simply, in a pair of lounging pajamas, and her face was clean but haggard. It looked as if she had been crying. Her hair was neatly tied back, and her feet were bare. Inwardly, this was a mark of defiance, as Beckman tore into her unmercifully if he ever caught her barefoot. She waited for Josh to speak.
