by Rickie Blair
Burke and Keller exchanged glances. Shaking his head, Burke turned to Hari.
“No police. We’re a publicly traded company. We can’t afford a scandal. Look, we don’t want to punish Levitt. We just want our money back.”
“But if you’re a publicly traded company, and this turns out to be a significant loss, you must report it in your financial statements. Everyone will know anyway.”
“If you get our money back, it won’t be a loss, will it?” Burke countered. He nodded at Keller, who pulled a small USB drive from his briefcase and laid it on the folders.
“This has the pertinent financial information as well as videos of the employee interviews,” Keller said.
Hari stared at him.
“You filmed the interviews?”
“Of course.”
“Did the subjects know they were being filmed?”
Martin and Keller looked at Durand, who nervously adjusted his glasses.
“Well … no,” he said.
Hari clenched his jaw. What a bunch of buffoons. He picked up the USB drive and tapped it on his leg, then looked over the top of his glasses at Burke.
“We’ll take your case,” Hari said in a controlled tone, placing the drive on the coffee table. He was tempted to add, ‘and later, we’ll send you a whopping big invoice.’
“So you’ll find Levitt and get our money back?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what—”
“I’ll examine your financial records to determine the extent of the fraud, if any. Then my partner and I will find out who’s responsible. After that, we’ll look for Mr. Levitt. Although I still think you should call the police.” Hari stood and turned to the door.
Burke struggled to his feet, shaking his head.
“No police.” At the door, he extended his hand. “You’ll keep us informed?”
“Of course.”
After the TradeFair executives left, Hari sat in an armchair, staring at the daunting stack of folders on the coffee table. The last time he had seen Benjamin Levitt was at a forensic accountants’ convention in midtown. Ben had walked six blocks back to the deli where they’d eaten lunch to return two dollars to a cashier who had given him the wrong change. He was eccentric, yes, but not a crook. Somebody had to stick up for Ben, but why did it have to be him? It would take days to scour Global TradeFair’s financials to determine how much was missing. Or if there had even been a fraud.
Sighing, Hari scratched his cheek and reached for the first folder. At least he could leave the discovery of Levitt’s whereabouts to Ruby. During the six months they had been in business together, Hari and Ruby had developed a division of labor that worked well. He followed the money while his partner followed the people. He smiled as he pictured her enthusiasm over this new case. Fraud investigation wasn’t as lucrative as his last position, but it had its compensations.
A key rattled in the lock, the front door opened and a middle-aged woman with bouffant brown hair poked her head around the door.
“Are they gone?” Zelda asked.
“All clear.”
She stepped into the apartment and leaned over to unclip the leash on the Jack Russell terrier beside her. The little dog raced to Hari’s armchair and sat expectantly in front of him. Hari lifted the lid of the cookie jar on the coffee table and pulled out a dog biscuit.
“Turn around, Charlie.” The terrier did a rapid pirouette and then snapped up the biscuit in two bites.
Zelda pursed her lips.
“You’re spoiling that dog.”
Zelda, the formidable and protective German who had been Ruby and Antony’s housekeeper in Boca Raton, had moved into her sister’s rent-controlled flat in Brooklyn after Anthony’s trial. Bhatt & Delaney didn’t really need a full-time secretary—business wasn’t that brisk—but Ruby had been thrilled to have Zelda back. Charlie was thrilled, too, because he got liverwurst scraps every day from her lunch when she thought no one was looking.
“How did it go?” Zelda asked, hanging up her jacket. “Should I start a new case file?”
“Yes. ‘Global TradeFair.’” Hari handed her Burke’s business card and she turned to climb the stairs to the office. Hari picked up the USB drive and his laptop, set both on the kitchen island, and pulled up a stool. Benjamin Levitt was the key. But where the heck was he?
Chapter Six
Most of the twenty-eight taped interviews were useless. Hari sighed as one after another followed the same script:
‘Are you aware of fraud at Global TradeFair?’
‘No.’
‘Have you committed fraud at Global TradeFair?’
‘No! Can I ask what this is about?’
‘Have you anonymously reported fraud at Global TradeFair?’
‘How could I report it if I didn’t know about it?’
Click, scroll and click. Twenty-four interviews, all the same. Hari checked his watch with a sigh, and clicked on number twenty-five.
‘Have you committed fraud—’
‘Who told you to ask that? I ain’t saying another word without my lawyer.’
Hari straightened up and stared at the screen. A young man wearing a baseball cap and black Megadeth T-shirt slumped in a chair, staring sullenly at the interviewer.
‘Have you anonymously reported fraud—’
‘Are you deaf, man? I said I ain’t talking without my lawyer.’
‘Terrell, we’re not accusing you. These are preliminary questions.’
The young man jumped up, slamming back his chair, and raised both hands.
‘I ain’t talking.’
Hari paused the video and checked the list of interviewees. Number twenty-five was Terrell Oakes, whose job at TradeFair consisted mostly of watering the plants. Hari tapped his finger on the trackpad, studying the face frozen on his screen. It seemed unlikely Oakes was capable of accounting fraud, but his job as general dogsbody gave him access to the entire building including the executive offices. He pulled over a notepad and jotted down a reminder, ‘Global TradeFair—Terrell Oakes?’ Then he clicked on the mouse and scrolled through interviews twenty-six and twenty-seven.
Finally he reached twenty-eight. Benjamin Levitt.
“Hard at work?”
He jumped at Ruby’s voice.
“I’m sorry,” she said, taking a step back. “Did I disturb you?” Her cheeks were flushed and her long hair was wind-tousled.
“Never. I didn’t hear you come in, that’s all.”
Grinning, she held out a bare foot.
“Took my shoes off,” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “in case Zelda saw them. I stepped in mud coming through the park.”
Charlie scampered around her and she clapped her hands.
“Hi baby! Turn around!” The terrier pirouetted on his hind legs and then leaned up against her with his front legs, his stubby tail a blur. “Up!” Charlie leapt into Ruby’s arms and she buried her face in his fur. “You’re such a sweetie.”
“Gee, thanks,” Hari said, raising his eyebrows.
“I meant the dog,” she said, glaring at him.
Hari grinned. They had performed that routine countless times but it always made him smile.
“I could give that animal forty biscuits, no, forty times forty biscuits, and I wouldn’t get a welcome like that.”
“We’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we Charlie?” Ruby crooned at the terrier before setting him on the floor. She walked over to the kitchen island, where Hari had settled in with his laptop. “What are you working on?”
“New case. Levitt-comma-Benjamin. Although we’ll be sending a nice fat invoice to Global TradeFair, an import export company in Jersey City.”
“Benjamin Levitt? Didn’t I meet him at one of your conferences? Two or three months ago? Thin guy with a big nose?”
He nodded. “You’ve got a good memory. One of Ben’s clients suspects that he’s embezzled their funds and disappeared.”
“Did he?
Steal their money, I mean?”
“I’ve known Benjamin for years. He’s a bit unusual, but he’s not a thief.”
“Really? You always say fraudsters are often the last people you suspect.” Ruby put both hands on her hips and tilted her head. “Trust, but verify. That’s you told me.”
“You mean you’ve been listening all this time?”
She gave him a playful swat, heaved her leather tote bag onto the counter, and sat on the stool next to him.
Hari turned the laptop screen to face her.
“You’re right, and Ben could be guilty. But I think something else is going on. Do you want to watch his interview with TradeFair’s audit committee?”
“No time, sorry. That special matinee is this afternoon, and I came by to pick up my stuff. But tell me a little about the case. What will I be doing?”
Hari liked working with Ruby. He liked telling her about his day, conferring over their cases, explaining the finer points of financial statements. She always listened attentively, nodding and asking questions. And she would look up and smile at him, as she did now.
But today something was different.
“Wait.” He narrowed his eyes. “Your hair. Is it a new color?”
She shook her head and auburn curls tumbled over her shoulders, gleaming under the overhead lights.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s nice.”
“Nice?” She rolled her eyes, tucking her hair behind her ears.
“Extremely nice?”
“Spare me the compliments.”
Hari shook his head over the keyboard. If you don’t mention their hair, that’s bad. And if you do mention their hair—
Ruby slugged his arm. “Snap out of it. What’s my role on our new case?
He winced, but he couldn’t keep from smiling as he rubbed his arm.
“Find Benjamin Levitt, if possible. I’m going through TradeFair’s financial records to see what happened, but Ben could fill us in more quickly.”
“So the usual, then,” she said, nodding at the screen. “Contact his friends, colleagues, and family and ask where he might be. Or if he’s done anything out of character recently.” She frowned. “How serious is Ben’s disappearance? If he’s not a thief, why is he missing? Shouldn’t somebody contact the police?”
“TradeFair’s CEO is adamantly against it. And given that Ben’s an adult, and could simply be on vacation, the police wouldn’t take it seriously.”
“But what about the fraud? Isn’t that reason for concern?”
“We don’t know yet if there is a fraud.”
Ruby picked up the folder marked Levitt, Benjamin.
“Is this the file?”
“Yes, and it’s thin. Ben’s address, contact information, résumé—everything TradeFair knows about him—is in there. But not much else.”
Turning back to the laptop, Hari put on his headphones and clicked on Levitt’s interview. After a few seconds he clicked the pause button, took off the headphones and turned to Ruby.
“Why are you staring at me?”
“You’re very handsome, Hari. If only you hadn’t given up singing. You could have been a big star in Bollywood by now, like Shahid Kapoor.”
Hari tugged his glasses down his nose with a heavy sigh and looked at her.
“What do you want?”
“It’s Natalia. She’s involved in an investment that sounds too good to be true. Ten percent a year. Every year for the past five. No deviation. Quarterly payout.”
“Invested in what?”
“She has no idea.”
Ruby slid off her stool to pace the kitchen. Hari followed her with his eyes.
“Did she ask you to look into it?”
“No. She won’t even consider that there might be something wrong.”
“There probably isn’t, then. It’s not impossible she’s found a fund that pays that much. Anyway,” he pointed at the laptop, “this is not a charity and we have a paying case right here. If Natalia doesn’t want your help, you should stay out of it.”
Ruby continued her pacing, without looking at him.
“You know how I feel about Natalia. She’s one of the few people who cares about me, and about the only one who doesn’t want something.”
His mouth slackened as he stared at her.
“I care,” he said softly.
Wincing, Ruby stopped pacing to sit beside him.
“I’m sorry. I meant in the business. Natalia stuck up for me when everyone said I couldn’t be trusted. She got me the Mousetrap gig when the original actress got pregnant and couldn’t finish her run. I owe so much to her. She thinks Bhatt & Delaney is a waste of my time. I want to show her that it’s not.”
“By proving she made a bad investment? That she’s been duped? Be careful what you wish for, Ruby.”
“Please say you’ll think about it.”
“I won’t. And neither should you.” He looked at his watch. “Didn’t you say there was a special matinee this afternoon?”
Her eyes widened and she jumped off the stool.
“Yikes. Where’s my tote bag?”
He pointed at the counter. “Right beside you.”
She flung the bag over her shoulder and headed for the door. “Don’t forget the cast get-together tonight. Joe Allen’s, West 46th,” she called over her shoulder. “You said you’d come.”
“Uh-huh.” Hari waved, put the headphones over his ears, and turned his attention to Benjamin’s interview as Ruby closed the door.
Benjamin crossed his arms and glared at the interviewer, whose head partially blocked the view of the hidden camera.
‘These are damn stupid questions,’ Benjamin said. ‘Why don’t you ask about potential asset misappropriation and where it might have occurred? Billing, for instance. Why don’t you ask about billing?’
‘What do you know about billing?’
‘More than you, obviously.’
‘‘Have you anonymously reported fraud at—’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. You know I’m the one who sent in the tip. Who else would? You’ve all been turning your backs for years.’ Benjamin fidgeted in his chair, pursing his lips. ‘What, nothing to say? Typical.’ He shook his head. ‘This company’s billing system is like a leaky sieve. No, wait, I mean a regular sieve. Leaky is redundant, obviously.’ He added loudly, ‘Too many holes!’ He glanced around the room. ‘Are you recording this?’
‘Let me understand this, Benjamin. You admit to being our so-called whistleblower?’
‘So-called?’ He snorted. ‘So-called? That’s rich.’
‘I sense your frustration, Benjamin, but help us out here. You’ve made allegations before. To what fraud are you alluding this time? Where is it occurring?’
‘I told you. Check billing. It’s all there—a right royal screwup. You’re being robbed blind.’
‘Who’s robbing us?’
‘A senior member of management. That’s all I’m willing to say without protection.’ Ben leaned back, arms crossed. ‘I need protection,’ he said, pursing his lips again.
Benjamin refused to answer any more questions. The interviewer turned to face the hidden camera. It was Alfred Durand, head of TradeFair’s audit committee. The video ended.
Hari dialed Martin Burke’s number and waited as a receptionist put him through to Global TradeFair’s CEO.
“Have you found something?” Burke asked.
“No, but I have a question. How many people saw Benjamin Levitt’s interview?”
“Alfred can tell us. He’s right here.” Burke switched the call to speaker and repeated the question.
“The three members of the audit committee,” Durand answered, “and Martin and Gregory, which makes five. And the legal department, that’s another two. So, seven. Plus my secretary since she compiled the video. Oh, wait. She sent it to IT for compiling, so that’s another two.” A pause, then, “So nine, is that correct? Yes, nine.”
“Thanks,” Hari sa
id, and hung up. Buffoons was way too kind. Criminally negligent was more like it. Any one of those nine could have tipped off the embezzler. In fact, the entire company likely knew about Benjamin’s allegations by now.
At least it gave him a place to start his investigation. Billing. It was also the most voluminous area of TradeFair’s financial records. Hari stuffed the folders and USB drive into his briefcase and shut the laptop. His apartment in the Flatiron District was not as luxurious as Ruby’s, but it was home. Might as well work there.
Charlie, who had jumped back onto the sofa the minute Ruby was out the door, cocked his head at him. Hari smiled, opened the cookie jar and tossed another biscuit to the terrier.
“See you tomorrow, Charlie.”
Hopefully by then they would have found Benjamin.
Chapter Seven
“Darling, where have you been?” Dorothy Burke, the elderly woman who played Mrs. Boyle in The Mousetrap, looked up from her dressing table as Ruby dropped her tote bag on the floor and slid into the seat next to her. “Henry’s spitting bullets.”
Dorothy was dressed in the tweed skirt, cardigan, and sensible shoes of her onstage character. A large cameo brooch fastened the collar of her blouse, her gray wig was appropriately muddled, and reading glasses hung on a chain around her neck. Ruby had been amazed the first time she witnessed Dorothy’s transformation into Mrs. Boyle. In real life, diminutive eighty-something Dorothy wore brightly colored silks, huge round eyeglasses with heavy frames, vividly streaked hair, and high-top basketball trainers. “I had to give up heels, I’m afraid, darling,” she had said when they met, then rolled her eyes and added, with a chuckle, “those silly doctors say I’m too old.”
Ruby glanced at the clock over the door.
“I’m not late.”
“Of course not, but you know how he is, love. A stickler for the rules, that’s our Henry.”
Ruby sighed and clipped her hair back off her face. Damn. In the two months she had been in the cast, nothing she had done to win over their stage manager had worked. And now she had broken one of his most rigid rules. Everyone—except Dorothy, in a nod to her age—had to be backstage half an hour before curtain. Her fellow cast members flouted that rule occasionally without repercussions. But in her case, well, there was nothing she could do now except hustle.
