by Rickie Blair
“Are you traveling to Paris for the funeral?” she asked.
“I can’t. Important clients are coming to Southampton this weekend. I’ll go to Paris next week.”
Irene nodded and rose to leave.
“Wait. After you give Oakes his money, don’t let him in here again. Call security if you have to.”
“Of course. Is that all?”
He tapped his fingers on the desk, staring at the wall.
“Erase Oakes from our computer system. Any emails, contact information, payments. Everything. Take it all out. And if anybody asks, we’ve never heard of him.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Hari grabbed for his ringing cellphone, hoping to hear news about Benjamin.
“Mr. Bhatt? It’s Detective Nolan.”
“Any luck finding Ben?”
“Not so far. But don’t worry, we’ll get a ping on his credit cards, or his phone, or someone will recognize him from the APB.”
Hari sagged in his chair. At least the police were finally taking Ben’s disappearance seriously. “Is there anything we can do?”
“Just let us know if he contacts you. Meanwhile, I have information about Gregory Keller’s and Brigitte Perrine’s missing investments in Paris that should interest you. Their money was sent back to New York to be invested in the Castlebar Fund, like you told us. But the CEO there, Raymond Fulton, insists the cash was withdrawn weeks ago and both accounts are empty.”
“That’s bad news for our client.”
“Sorry.”
“Thanks for calling.” Hari put the phone down, frowning. In Paris, Nina had said that Keller’s and Perrine’s money was still in the Castlebar Fund. Somebody was lying.
He rocked on the back legs of his chair, staring at the ceiling. Maybe he was going about it the wrong way. Instead of trying to prove that TradeFair’s money was in the Castlebar Fund, he should try to prove that it wasn’t. There had been two million dollars in Keller’s account and another half million in Perrine’s. If the Castlebar Fund had paid out the two and a half million dollars in the accounts—as Fulton told the police—it would have needed to sell investments to raise the cash. And that sale would have been recorded by the clearing house that settled the trades. If there had been no such sale, then Fulton was probably lying.
He could check with DTC, the clearing house, but data on individual companies was confidential and DTC wouldn’t show it to a private investigator. He lowered the front chair legs onto the floor. Felix Payton, an old colleague from his Jason Bros. days, worked at DTC. Why hadn’t he thought of him before? He picked up the phone.
“Hey, Hari, long time no see.”
“Too right, Felix. How are things?”
“Same as ever. You? How’s the new business?”
“We’re swamped. We’re so busy, in fact, I have to stay in town to work on a case this weekend and I wondered if the guys were—”
“Having their usual Friday poker night? You bet we are. And none of that Texas hold ’em, either. We’re old school. Are you interested?”
“Definitely.”
“Great. The usual place, the usual time, and the usual stakes.” Felix chuckled. “Bring your checkbook, sucker.”
* * *
By three a.m. they had been at it for hours and the stacks of poker chips at Hari’s elbow leaned precariously. Potato chip fragments had been trod into the carpet and empty beer bottles littered the card table. Three empty pizza boxes and a dozen used paper plates teetered on the coffee table across the room.
Two players had already called it a night and cashed out. Hari’s three remaining opponents—Felix and two regulars—looked haggard. Felix stroked his black goatee, his eyes fixed on Hari.
Hari assessed his hand as the others watched him intently. He pushed his chips to the center of the table.
“All in.”
“Whoa. I fold,” said one of the regulars, pushing back his chair.
“Too rich for me,” said the other. “I fold, too.”
Felix, sitting opposite Hari, said nothing. He stared at the pot, fingering his chips in one hand.
“Is it true you were banned from a Vegas casino for counting cards?”
“Is this poker, or chitchat?”
“Will you take an IOU?”
“From you, Felix? Sure.”
Felix pulled a pen from his pocket, scrawled ‘IOU $7,000’ on the back of the pizza receipt and tossed it onto the pile of chips. With a grin he laid his cards on the table, face up. An ace and four kings.
“That’s an unbeatable hand, Felix,” Hari said.
Felix grinned and reached for the pot, but stopped when Hari held up a finger. He laid his own cards on the table, one at a time. A five of hearts. Six of hearts. Seven. Eight. And nine. He raised his eyebrows.
“But not when your opponent has a straight flush.”
Felix exhaled loudly and let his head loll back to stare at the ceiling. Then he straightened up and pulled out his checkbook and pen.
Hari plucked the IOU from the pile of chips and studied it.
“I might be willing to call it even, though.”
Felix looked up from signing his name.
“How’s that?”
“You can rip up that check if you agree to do something for me.”
Felix narrowed his eyes, with the pen poised in his hand.
“Why am I not liking the sound of this?”
“I want you to check some trades for me at the office, see if anything pops.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Come on. It’s nothing underhanded, I promise. There’s no way for anyone to make any money from this. These are trades that have already occurred, I just want to confirm them.”
Felix rested his pen and checkbook on the table and crossed his arms.
“You’ll have to sweeten that deal.”
“It’s a pretty good deal already. What else do you want?”
“I’ve never met your partner.”
“You mean Ruby?”
“Yeah.” Felix raised his eyebrows. “Ruby Danger. I’d like to meet her.”
Hari sized up his poker opponent and then reached for Felix’s pen and the half-written check. He scribbled the address of a midtown jazz club on the back and handed it over.
“Drinks, Tuesday night, seven p.m. You, me, and Ruby.”
“And afterward?”
“That will be up to her. And her name is Delaney, by the way. Ruby Delaney.” His mouth twitched into a smirk. And good luck to you, Felix, because your chances are exactly zero.
Grinning, Felix slid the checkbook into the breast pocket of the jacket slung over his chair and stood up.
“I’m going into the office tomorrow to finish up some work. It’s a long weekend, so there won’t be many people around. I can run the trades then.” He held up a finger. “And remember, if anybody asks, I had nothing to do with it.”
Hari grunted in reply, staring at the text icon on his phone. Still no word from Ruby, who should have been well into her own clandestine operation by now. He slid the phone into his pocket and followed Felix to the door. Could something have gone wrong?
Chapter Forty-Four
The Town Car had arrived that morning at Olivia Walter’s midtown Manhattan hotel promptly at nine. Olivia wore a vintage sundress, Birkenstocks, and a felt hat with a huge brim. After checking in the foyer’s mirror to make sure her brown-tinted contact lenses hadn’t shifted, she picked up her overnight case, squared her shoulders, and walked through the hotel’s revolving door.
The Town Car dropped her at the Downtown Manhattan Heliport on the East River. The tang of diesel fuel wafted over the sleek blue-and-white helicopter that waited on the landing pad, its blades slowly turning. The painted logo on its door read Capital Street Management. A young woman walked over, carrying a clipboard.
“Miss Walters?” Smiling, the woman shook Olivia’s hand and turned to the helicopter. “This way, please.” Once Olivia was aboard,
she handed her noise-blocking earmuffs. The door closed, muffling only slightly the chung-chung-chung of the blades. The copter accelerated with a roar and they lifted into the air. Olivia settled in for the trip.
Another car waited for her at the Southampton Heliport. The driver greeted her by name and put her overnight bag into the trunk. Olivia gazed at the whitecaps on the gray-blue Atlantic and inhaled the fresh sea air before climbing into the back. As they pulled away, she leaned over the front seat.
“Is anyone else arriving today?”
“No. The Fultons’ other guests came in last night.”
“Are there many?”
“Just the usual. A dozen, maybe.”
Olivia leaned back. With that many people, it should be easy to slip away unnoticed and locate Fulton’s computer. Then she’d call Hari, who would help her find the link to Capital Street’s server in Manhattan. “Don’t worry about the password. It will be one of these,” Hari had said, handing her a list of possibilities. “It’s his home office, so Fulton will have set the password himself. Once you’re in, take shots of the screen with your phone and text me. I’ll guide you from there.” Then he stepped back and frowned. “I still think this is a bad idea. You could be putting yourself in danger.”
“Danger of what? Eating too much lobster? I’m going to a house party in Southampton. Half of Manhattan would kill for an invitation to this soirée.” She grinned. “I’ll bring you back an ashtray.”
“For the cigarettes I don’t smoke?”
“You can put mints or something in it. Listen to me, Hari. I dyed my hair. I painted freckles on my face that will take weeks to fade. And I’m wearing the ugliest shoes I’ve ever seen.” She lifted her chin. “I’m going.”
In the car headed for the Fultons’ home, Ruby smiled at the memory. Hari always worried too much. What could go wrong? The Town Car took a two-lane road along a narrow scrub-covered spit with Shinnecock Bay on the left and the Atlantic Ocean to the right. After less than a mile the car slowed and turned right onto a narrow tract that led up a hill. A two story stone mansion stood at the top, overlooking the ocean. The car halted outside a white-columned portico, the driver opened the passenger door, and Olivia scrambled out.
A slim silver-haired woman in black capris, flowing silk blouse, and leather moccasins strode from the house and extended her hand.
“Miss Walters! Helen Fulton. I’m so pleased you could join us. Come inside.”
Olivia followed her through the double front doors and into the foyer, where twin staircases curved to the upper floor. Helen pointed at an antique wooden bench near the door.
“Leave your bag there and Carly will take it to your room. This is your first time at Stonehaven, so I want to give you a proper tour.”
“Thank you for inviting me,” Olivia said, dropping her overnight case on the bench and glancing around the sun-drenched two-story foyer. This house had a name? Did it have its own zip code, too? “I’d love to see Stonehaven.”
“And you will. But first—” Helen turned to the woman in a blue maid’s uniform who stood beside her, holding a shallow wooden box. “Carly?”
The maid flipped open the box and took a step toward Olivia.
Helen held out her hand.
“Your cellphone, please.”
“Excuse me?”
“Give me your cellphone so I can put it with the others.”
Olivia gaped at her. “The others?”
Mrs. Fulton gave her a puzzled look and then smiled.
“I’m sorry. No one told you, obviously. Weekends at Stonehaven are sacrosanct. We strive for total relaxation, a complete respite from the workaday world. No television, no Internet, and no phones.”
“But what if—”
Helen smiled benignly, gesturing at the maid to step nearer.
“It’s a house rule, I’m afraid. Everyone complies.”
“Even Mr. Fulton?”
“Especially Mr. Fulton.” Helen held out her upturned palm and raised her eyebrows.
Olivia reached into her fringed suede handbag, pulled out her cellphone, and added it to the jumble of electronics in the wooden box. She tried not to wince as Carly snapped the lid shut.
“Does anyone ever—”
“Tamper with the phones?” Mrs. Fulton laughed. “Never, although you’re not the first person to ask. Carly keeps them locked up. Now, how about that tour?”
“Great.” Olivia looked over her shoulder as the maid disappeared into the kitchen with the wooden box. She hadn’t seen that coming.
Chapter Forty-Five
Hari sprang for his ringing cellphone, hoping to hear Ruby’s voice. But the urgent voice on the line was male.
“Why didn’t you tell me those were Capital Street trades you wanted me to check?”
“Hi, Felix. What difference does that make?”
“What difference? Hari, I thought you were looking into some penny-ante trader who did some insider trading or short-selling or something. If I’d known it was Capital Street—”
“Felix, calm down. You’re not involved in anything. I only asked you to check a few trades for anything unusual. Skip the paranoia and get to the point. Did you find anything?”
“I’m not telling you on the phone. Meet me at the coffee shop on the corner. Fifteen minutes.”
The phone clicked off and Hari stared at the blank screen. I’m not telling you on the phone? That was like talking to Benjamin Levitt. Hari sighed, slipping the cellphone back into his pocket, and headed for the door. Where the hell was Ben, anyway?
At the café, Hari ordered coffee from the slack-jawed lad behind the cash register, sat at a counter along one wall and waited. Ten minutes later, Felix trudged in and sat on the stool beside him with his trench coat buttoned and his hands plunged in the pockets.
“Coffee?” Hari asked.
“No. I’ll only be here a minute.” Felix tugged a hand from one pocket and rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the door.
“So tell me what you couldn’t say on the phone.”
“Those trades you asked me to check?”
“Yes?”
“They don’t exist.”
“But that’s good. For my purposes, anyway. Thanks for checking.”
“You don’t understand. The trades don’t exist. They were never made.”
“I get it, yeah. That’s good.”
“No, you don’t get it. Those trades were never made and neither were any others.”
“What are you saying?”
Felix glanced around the room, leaned closer, and lowered his voice.
“When I checked the dates you gave me, I couldn’t find any Castlebar trades at all. So I checked a few dates before that. Still nothing. Then I went back three months. Not a single trade by the Castlebar Fund for an entire quarter.”
“That’s impossible.”
“That’s what I thought. So I went back six months.” He shook his head. “Still nothing. I searched and re-searched for over an hour and then I erased all the searches from my computer and called you.”
Hari took off his glasses and rubbed his forehead, trying to think.
“Capital Street might be using another clearing house.”
Felix rubbed his fingers through his hair, looking miserable.
“Perhaps. But it’s not likely, is it? That fund has billions in it, according to the chatter on the Street. Its trades would be huge. Transactions that size would move through the market like the proverbial pig through a snake. So where are they?” He glanced around again and lowered his voice to a whisper. “And there’s more. Where are the Castlebar Fund assets? Capital Street has an account with DTC, but there’s only twenty-five million in it.”
“Twenty-five million? Is that all?”
“That’s it.”
“But if they’re not making any trades and the billions invested in the Castlebar Fund aren’t there either,” he stared at Felix, “that means—”
“Exactly.”
They sat silently, staring at each other. The door opened with a gust of cold air and three young women laden with shopping bags walked in. They chattered excitedly as they lined up at the counter to order mochaccino lattes.
Felix jammed his hands into his armpits and leaned in, his voice low.
“I do not want to be involved in this, Hari. I don’t know what you’re planning to do, but you cannot use my name. Fulton will crush me. I’ll be a bug on his windshield.”
Hari slid off his stool and turned to the door.
“We need to check this with somebody. You might be mistaken.”
“No.” Felix looked ill. “We aren’t going to tell anybody anything. If you use my name or any information that could be traced back to me, I’ll deny having this conversation. And if anyone asks, I’ll remind them that you’re a known liar who narrowly escaped a lengthy prison term.” He paused and pointed a finger. “And that you cheat at poker.”
“But without your information how can I prove—”
“You’ll have to do it some other way.” Felix stood up, looking pale. “I’m going home to change my locks.”
“That’s a bit melodramatic, don’t you think?”
“Oh, is it? Have you never heard the story about Fulton’s original partner? The one who supposedly killed himself?”
“Supposedly?”
“Look into it. And while you’re doing that, remind me again what happened to his other partner, the Frenchman? Murder, wasn’t it?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Don’t call me.” He turned to leave and then looked over his shoulder. “Um, that thing with Ruby is still on, right?”
“Are you kidding? No.”
“Yeah, I kinda figured. Well, good luck.” Felix slunk to the door, looked up and down the sidewalk, then darted out into the street and hailed a cab.
Hari sat down, swiveled his stool to face the counter and stared at the dregs of his coffee. If the Castlebar Fund assets weren’t at DTC, then they had to be somewhere else. Because the only other possible explanation was that the money didn’t exist, and that was ridiculous. He had to find out what clearing house Capital Street used. Maybe it was in Europe.
