Dark Waters (The Jeff Resnick Mysteries)

by Bartlett, L. L.

  “Coffee?” Richard offered.

  “Please.”

  Richard got another cup, poured, and handed it to her along with a spoon. She doctored it the way she liked it. The toast popped up, and he buttered it, then handed it, too, to Brenda, who smiled gratefully.

  “I had better call Da-Marr’s parents.”

  “Why don’t you wait until after I go to the marina? He said he made a friend there. I’m willing to bet he stayed with that friend, or maybe on his boat, since ours is…” he didn’t want to admit to Evelyn it had been vandalized. “…not ready for an overnight stay.”

  “Very well. But if you can’t find him, then I will have to call his parents. I just don’t know what I’ll say to them.”

  “Evie, Da-Marr may have already called them,” Brenda said, and took a bite of toast.

  Evelyn shook her head. “Florence would have called me if he had. She didn’t want him to make this trip with me, but Martin thought it would be good for the boy.” Again she shook her head, and wiped at the tears that had formed in her eyes once more.

  “I’ll see if Jeff will drive me to pick up the car. That way you’ll have mine in case — ” In case Brenda needed Evelyn to drive her to the hospital to give birth. This was not the way he’d intended to spend the day.

  Brenda nodded.

  “I’ll call him from my study,” he said, and left the sisters to sit in awkward silence.

  Thanks to blackout blinds, I was usually able to sleep in after late-night shifts at the bar. That is if I wasn’t awakened by the bloody phone ringing at way too early o’clock.

  It rang, waking me with a start. I let it ring until voice mail took the call. I rolled over, intending to go back to sleep, when it rang again. Again, I let it roll over to voice mail, and cursed whoever was on the other end of the line.

  When it rang for a third time, I figured I had better pick up. “Yeah?”

  “We’re good to go to visit Morrow’s office. Can you meet me there about nine forty-five?”

  It took a few moments for me to realize it was Sam speaking.

  “What?”

  “Can you meet me there?”

  Sophie’s warning came back to me. “I guess,” I said without enthusiasm.

  “Great. There’s a ramp garage nearby. It’s within walking distance from my office, so I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

  “Fine.” I already knew we weren’t going to find Morrow’s treasure at that locale, but I had a feeling we might learn something pertinent, and anything that brought us closer to finishing this unsatisfying romp would be welcome.

  “And the address is?”

  He gave it to me. “See you there.” Sam sounded enthusiastic, and I felt anything but.

  I put the phone down, determined to put in another hour of shuteye when it rang again. I felt like tossing the wireless receiver across the room, but instead hit the talk button once again.

  “Jeff, it’s Richard.”

  “I kind of figured as much. Why are you calling at the crack of dawn?” I squinted at my clock. “Okay, the hour after the crack of dawn.”

  “Da-Marr took Brenda’s car and didn’t come home.”

  “I knew that.”

  “Yeah, well, the cops found it abandoned near the marina. I need to pick it up. Can you drive me?”

  “I guess,” I said, and rolled onto my back. So much for going back to sleep.

  “Da-Marr might be at the marina. If he isn’t — we’ve got one last shot at playing with the boat before it’s mothballed for the winter. Are you game?” Richard said.

  I didn’t want to appear too eager so merely replied, “Okay.”

  “The thing is,” Richard began. “What if we find him there?”

  “Then I’ll leave and he can drive home with you,” I groused.

  “I know he threatened you. I know he’s been a real bastard to you, but I think the talks we’ve had since he arrived might have made a difference.” He let out a breath. “Maybe I’m living in a fantasy world, but I want to believe they might have made a difference to him.”

  I can’t read Richard in a psychic sense, but I could hear by the timbre of his voice that he fervently believed what he’d said.

  In the grand scheme of things, Da-Marr was a non-entity … at least in Richard’s and Brenda’s lives. The yawning white hole of death was still a specter that haunted my dreams and waking hours. I already knew my unborn niece … I knew so much about her and who she would become in a future yet to unfold … but I wasn’t at all sure I’d be there to witness and share her life. The thought left me bereft.

  Damn this erratic psychic ability I seemed to be cursed with!

  Richard still waited for me to respond.

  The thought of going out on the boat with that loose cannon of a kid made my chest constrict. And yet … I knew it meant a lot to Richard. He had reached out to the kid — like he’d done for me. Had he made a difference in the kid’s life? He wanted to believe so, and I guess I could at least give Richard that.

  I felt myself giving in. “What the hell.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I just got off the phone with Sam. He wants me to check out an office.”

  “What for?” he asked, annoyed.

  “He’s looking for treasure — in all the wrong places. I’ll probably be back by noon. Is that soon enough?”

  “Yeah. You can tell me what you’re up to on the way there.” He didn’t sound pleased.

  “Fine.” Why did I keep saying that when I felt anything but fine about the demands other people were making of my time?

  “Talk to you later,” he said and hung up.

  There was no reason for me to stay in bed, since I was never going to get back to sleep. I got up and headed for the kitchen to make a pot of coffee when I caught sight of the bag of macaroons on the counter. Breakfast. Thank you, Sophie.

  I frowned as I measured the coffee into the filter basket. Why had Sophie been so damned enigmatic hours before — hinting I wasn’t going to be around to bring her pictures of the baby? But then I remembered I’d broken my camera. Was that what she’d meant? I preferred to think so, but wasn’t going to pin my hopes on it, either.

  Her words came back to me: What looks the most innocent could be the most dangerous. And what seems too dangerous to tackle, might be where you most need to concentrate your efforts.

  What was the more innocent destination — Morrow’s office or Richard’s boat? But she’d also implied that it was the evening that held danger.

  I grabbed a mug from the cabinet and poured the coffee. I had a whole day in front of me that would be danger free and therefore was determined not to worry about it, hoping it wouldn’t be a fatal mistake.

  Chapter 23

  The Banyon Building had been built back in the 1920s and was one of Buffalo’s Art Deco gems. The lobby had never been stripped of its architectural features, nor had it ever fallen into disrepair. Sam had plunked himself on one of the velvet upholstered chairs and was checking his emails as I approached. It took him a few moments to realize I stood before him.

  “Right on time,” he said with a smile. “Are you up for this?”

  “I’m just peachy. Are we meeting the real estate agent upstairs?”

  He stood. “Yeah.”

  We started for the bank of elevators with their elaborate bronze doors etched with geometric lines and scrollwork. “What’s our cover story?” I asked.

  “None. When it comes to high-priced real estate, they do a pretty thorough background check. They don’t want to waste time with jokers who can’t pay the freight.”

  “How are you going to explain me?” I asked and pushed the UP button.

  “I’m not. If pressed, you’re either a colleague or a consultant. Take your pick.”

  The doors opened and two women got off before we could get on. Sam pressed the button for the tenth floor and the doors closed.

  “Are you using your brother’s season tickets for the B
ills game on Sunday?” he asked.

  “Can’t.” I might be dead, I thought sadly. “The baby’s coming tonight or early tomorrow. It would be hard for Rich to leave Brenda the day after.”

  “I’ve got nothing going on. It would be a shame to let them go unused,” he said wistfully.

  “It sure would,” I said non-committedly.

  The doors opened and we stepped out. It looked like Morrow Securities had leased the entire floor. Double frosted-glass doors bore no mention of its last occupants. We could see the silhouette of someone standing behind them. Sam pulled on the handle and it opened.

  A well-dressed man in his late twenties turned to face us.

  “Sam Nielsen. And you must be Eric Armstrong?” Sam asked, offering his hand.

  The man held out his hand. “No. Eric couldn’t make it. He asked me to talk to you and show you around. My name is Harry Morrow.”

  “Jack Morrow’s son?” I asked, taken aback.

  “The same.”

  It was his picture in one of the frames at the auction. Had he been the one who’d held the chalk? I stuck out my hand to shake hands. “Jeff Resnick, I’m a colleague of Sam’s.”

  Harry Morrow briefly clasped my hand. I held on a little too long and he pulled away, looking uncomfortable.

  Nothing. I got absolutely nothing from him.

  “So, what are you doing here — just background for a story?”

  Sam nodded. “We didn’t expect to find anything here in the office, but I had an idea that maybe we could soak up the vibes in what used to be your father’s offices.” He shot an amused look at me.

  “My dad was responsible for the Ponzi scheme. He took the blame, denying anyone else was involved, but he couldn’t have done it alone. He had to have had help. Whoever killed him probably figured he’d eventually crack. Maybe for a plea bargain — or the possibility of parole somewhere down the line for naming names.”

  “You think?” I asked.

  Harry shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. Dad’s dead, and the police say they have no leads.” He eyed Sam. “Do you?”

  “Sorry. Not yet. But it can’t hurt to keep digging. Sometimes the truth manifests itself in unexpected ways.” Again, he looked at me.

  “Several people have come around to inspect the place looking for buried treasure — as if the bank and IRS haven’t already grabbed everything.”

  “How are you making out?” Sam asked.

  “They can’t take my education away from me, but I had to leave my last job because of the scandal. I’m lucky to have a few friends — and their parents — who didn’t invest with my dad’s company.”

  “Do you mind if we walk around and look the place over while we talk?” I asked Harry. This was probably a wasted trip and I didn’t want to spend more time than I needed to. Richard would probably prefer me to show up sooner rather than later.

  “Sure,” he agreed. He was being awfully nice to us. I would have expected some belligerence. Of course, he could be feeding us a line of bullshit, too. Since I’d gotten nothing from him, it was impossible to tell.

  We wandered from what must have been the reception area to a conference room. Sam and Harry hung back, while I entered it. A few sheets of paper littered the floor. I picked one up and glanced at it; a printed handout from the real estate company handling the property someone had discarded. I folded it and stuck it in my pocket to study later.

  “So you never worked for your father?” Sam asked.

  “No. He was adamant about it. I guess he always knew the scheme would fail and he didn’t want me tainted by — ” He left the sentence hanging.

  I sidled past them and continued down the corridor, looking into an empty, glassed-in office, so much nicer — and bigger — than the cell I’d occupied when I’d worked in Manhattan.

  Walking through the office made me feel itchy, like I’d suddenly developed a rash, but I pulled up my left sleeve and didn’t see anything. It had to be the place. But what was it that was trying to get under my skin?

  I entered another of the empty offices. There were no windows; nothing but marks on the carpet where the furniture had stood and a flattened area where a sheet of plastic had protected the rug from the office chair’s rollers.

  I left the office and tried several more. It seemed the farther I went along the corridor, the more I wanted to scratch. Invisible fleas?

  I looked back. Sam and Harry still stood outside the conference room, conversing. I went back to snooping.

  When I came to an intersecting corridor, I turned left. At the end of the hall was a large wooden door — cherry? — buffed to perfection. It had to have been Morrow’s office.

  The door handle turned easily and I entered. Like all the rest of the offices, it was empty, but since I was already familiar with Jack Morrow’s presence — aura, whatever — the place practically buzzed. A bank of windows faced west. In the distance, I could see the harbor, and I wondered if Richard should have chosen to rent a boat slip there instead of on Grand Island. A wide slab of marble sat atop the long sill. I plunked my ass down. Morrow had sat there on many occasions, looking down on Franklin Street while he’d talked on the phone. Had he ever conversed with his killer from that vantage point? I reached into my pocket and extracted the billiards chalk, holding it tight in my right hand, but got no sense of Morrow.

  Something flashed. I looked out the window, confused. It wasn’t even noon. The sun wouldn’t swing around until later in the afternoon.

  The flash came again, and I realized it wasn’t physical light that had burst before my mind’s eye.

  A bright, white light.

  Light. Like in my out-of-body experience.

  It freaked me, so much so that I dropped the chalk.

  I bent to pick it up, and the light flashed again. But different this time — more a sparkle.

  Great. Was I going to start having flashbacks — or were they flash forwards? — on a regular basis? I could crash my car if it happened while driving. Just what I needed.

  I thought back to what Sophie had told me much earlier that morning. What looks the most innocent could be the most dangerous. And what seems too dangerous to tackle, might be where you most need to concentrate your efforts.

  I looked around the empty office. It seemed innocent enough. Well, depending on your point of view. Morrow had cheated thousands of people from this very room. Did that make the space as guilty as he’d been?

  I looked out the office window and watched the traffic crawl along Franklin Street. For all the time we’d spent together these past few days, Sam and I hadn’t talked about the missing assets all that much. He’d mentioned stamps, or bank accounts in foreign countries, but I got the feeling Morrow, who had filled his home with artwork and other beautiful items, would have wanted to have his booty nearby so he could admire it.

  Could he have accumulated gold coins? Outside of Fort Knox with its gold bars, did people keep gold ingots? Would Sam know? If not, I supposed a Google search would fill me in. Would I have time to do so before I had to drive Richard to pick up Brenda’s car?

  “There you are,” Sam said.

  I looked up to find the two of them standing in front of the open door.

  “Here I am,” I agreed.

  “I take it this was your father’s office?” Sam asked.

  Harry nodded. “I came here to visit many times. We’d have lunch by the window. He said he didn’t have time to go out. He said his work was too important to waste on frivolous matters.”

  Did that include spending time with his son?

  “So how did he relax?” Sam asked.

  “He took vacations with Bonnie — my stepmother — usually at the Cayman house. But he always took his work with him. All of his residences had fully functional offices. They entertained clients a lot back in the days when they all loved him. He’d take them to a variety of venues — some he owned and some he rented. It depended on the audience and how much he wanted to impress t
hem.”

  “You loved your father and miss him,” I guessed.

  A blush colored the younger man’s cheeks. “Yes, I do. I never had a clue about his illegal business practices. To me he was just dad, and even though he wasn’t the best father in the world, he tried to carve out time for my sister and me. I think he wanted the best for us, and I know when his empire came crashing down he was ashamed for us — for how we might be judged for his actions.”

  “Do you believe the feds have found all his assets?” Sam asked.

  Harry shrugged. “Who knows? If they’re out there, I certainly don’t know about them, and neither does my sister,” he added pointedly.

  I studied Harry’s expression. I didn’t get a psychic signature from him, but I believed him.

  “We should get going,” I told Sam.

  He nodded.

  I left my perch and followed them back to the reception area. Harry locked up the office and the three of us headed for the elevator. “How ’bout those Bills?” Sam asked.

  “My Dad had a box at the stadium,” Harry said wistfully. “That’s gone, too.”

  “Jeff’s brother has season tickets. We might go to the game on Sunday, right Jeff?”

  I ignored his second hint for the tickets.

  The elevator brought us back to the lobby.

  “Nice meeting you, Harry. Thanks for talking to us,” Sam said and shook his hand.

  I did likewise, and once again got no sense of who this guy was. He gave us both a smile before he turned and headed for the exit. I made to follow when Sam’s voice stopped me.

  “So what do you get from him?”

  “Absolutely nothing. Why do you think he showed up instead of the real estate agent?”

  “Probably to get a feel for how I’d portray his father. He’d prefer a sympathetic angle.”

  “Can you blame him?”

  Sam frowned. “Hang on a minute while I call the real estate agent. We have no clue if that guy actually was Morrow’s son or if he was blowing smoke up our asses.” He pulled out his phone and walked a few steps away. I moved to the big plate glass windows at the front of the lobby and looked for Harry Morrow. There weren’t many people on the sidewalk, but he was already out of sight.