Choke

by Stuart Woods

  “If it was in the desk, then Myrna has already been into the safe.”

  “The wife?”

  She nodded. “I’m sure she’s been through the place thoroughly.” She looked up from the file drawer. “The computer,” she said.

  Tommy turned and looked at the system, which rested on a built-in cabinet along the wall. “Did he use it a lot?”

  “Yes, he did, every day; kept all sorts of notes on it.” She went to the machine, switched it on, then sat down and waited for it to boot up.

  “What sort of file might it be in?” Tommy asked, looking over her shoulder.

  “Probably a file of its own, if I knew Barry. He was very neat and organized, for a cop.” She typed “TREE” and watched as the computer displayed a list of directories.

  “Try ‘Miscellaneous,’”Tommy said.

  She switched to the directory and moved the cursor down the list. She stopped on a file called “Security” and opened it.

  “Aha,” Tommy said as a list of numbers appeared on the screen. “That was easy.”

  “It might not have been if you hadn’t been here,” Rita said. “I don’t know how long it would have taken me to think about going through the computer.”

  “There’s something else,” Tommy said, pointing at a file called “Partner.”

  Rita opened the file and began reading. “This is it,” she said. “He wrote the whole partnership plan down.”

  “Trouble is, you can’t sign a document on a computer,” Tommy said. “There must be a hard copy somewhere.”

  “Time to open the safe,” Rita said. She printed out a copy of the combination file, then knelt before the safe and began twirling the knob. In a moment she had it open and was shuffling through papers. “Here it is!” she cried. “Signed and notarized, and only two weeks ago!”

  “Good for you,” Tommy said, clapping her on the back.

  “There’s a copy of the will, too.” She flipped through the pages until she found what she wanted. “It refers to the partnership document and says I get the business!”

  “That’s great, Rita,” Tommy said, genuinely glad for her. “Maybe you’d better make copies of these and put them back in the safe for Myrna to find. That way she can’t stiff you.”

  Rita went to a copying machine against the wall, made the copies, and returned the originals to the safe. “There’s this, too,” she said, handing Tommy a photograph.

  “Barry showed me this; it’s Marinello. I doubt if he still looks like this, though.”

  “Yeah, this is at least fifteen, twenty years old, according to the client.”

  “You said you were in Records at LAPD. When Marinello stole the money, did the client beef to the cops? If he did, there might be some good information there.”

  Rita shook her head. “These are the kind of people who do their own missing persons work, if you get my drift.”

  “I do. You ready to tell me who the client is?”

  Rita flopped down in her chair. “I have the feeling you haven’t told me everything about this guy in Key West yet.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You said he was murdered; who did it?”

  “Tell you the truth, I don’t have a handle on that yet. There’s a suspect, but I don’t buy it. My boss does, though.”

  “Is the wife involved?”

  “A possibility.”

  “If she knew about her husband’s past and if she had a handle on the money, is she the type to knock him off?”

  Tommy had hardly thought about anything else lately, but he thought about this again. “She’s a pretty cool customer, but I don’t think she could have brought this off by herself. She strikes me as the type of woman who has always depended on her looks to get guys to do what she wanted, and I think that’s maybe what happened this time.”

  “How old is the lady?”

  “Early thirties, I’d say.”

  “Marinello would be, let’s see, early sixties,” Rita said. “You think the missus traded him in on a newer model?”

  Tommy grinned. “Great minds think alike. You should have been a detective.”

  She smiled. “Maybe so. What was the murder victim’s name?”

  Tommy shook his head. “Not yet. There’s more involved here.”

  “What?”

  “After you tell me who the client is, I want to go see him, and I don’t want him to know about the dead guy yet, if Barry didn’t already tell him. There’s a better than even chance that my guy wasn’t Marinello, and if he wasn’t, then I don’t want a bunch of goons coming onto my turf and calling on the widow. Okay, maybe she’s a regular black widow, but she may not be Mrs. Marinello, and she shouldn’t have to pay the guy’s dues.”

  “I see your point.”

  “So, who’s the client?”

  “Wait a minute; you want me to tell all, but you’re going to hold back. That’s not fair.”

  “Life is not fair, sweetheart, but sometimes it’s just. I want to do what I can to keep it that way. To you, too.”

  She looked at him carefully. “Are you married?”

  Tommy laughed. “Very.”

  “Too bad; all the good ones are married.”

  “Tell you what, Rita: you put me with the client, and when I’m sure that all my bases are covered, I’ll tell you the whole story.”

  Rita looked at her watch. “He’s not open for business yet. Come on, I’ll buy you some breakfast.” She got up and headed for the door.

  Tommy trailed along behind her.

  33

  Tommy stood in front of his hotel, freshly shaved and dressed in a suit, and wondered if he had been stiffed. It was 3:20, and Rita had been supposed to pick him up at three. Had he misjudged the woman?

  A red Volkswagen convertible screeched to a halt, top down, Rita at the wheel. “Sorry I’m late.”

  Tommy got into the car. “You had me worried.”

  “I was primping. This is the first time I’ve met the guy face-to-face, and I wanted to make a good impression.”

  Tommy looked her over. “Don’t worry about it.”

  She shot him a smile. “Thank you, kind sir.”

  “What time’s our appointment?”

  “Three forty-five. Don’t worry, we’ll make it. Century City isn’t all that far.”

  “So who is the guy?”

  “First I want to know what you’re going to say to him.”

  “What I’m going to try to do is get information.”

  “What’s in it for him?”

  “Maybe I can help find Marinello.”

  “What happens if you do?”

  “Rita, baby, I don’t want the money, I promise you. I’ll see that you get all the credit.”

  “It’s just that the money could help me a lot in making the transition to running the business. A lot of Barry’s buddies are going to stop making referrals now that he’s gone.”

  “I understand, believe me; I’m on your side. Now tell me about the client.”

  “His name is Barton Winfield.”

  “Yeah? I was expecting a name that rhymed with macaroni.”

  “Your expectations are not misplaced. The guy’s name used to be something else, the rumor is, but I guess he thought he’d get more business and attract less attention if he came on like a major WASP. That’s what Marinello did, too. By the time he was in college he’d changed his name to Ralph Marin, like the county, but his friends called him Rock.”

  “What’s Winfield’s line?”

  “He’s a lawyer. In fact, Barry said he was Marinello’s law partner in the old days, before our boy decamped with the cookie jar.”

  “A mob lawyer, huh?”

  “Oh, no; he’s an arm’s-length operator. The gossip in the legal community, if you can call it that, is that Winfield doesn’t represent any mob guys directly; he’s more of a consultant. He suggests who they hire if they’re busted, that sort of thing, and he’s supposed to be a key business advisor to the head o
f one of the families out here, but nobody could ever prove it. It’s also rumored that he oversees their money-laundering operation, from a distance. Barry figured that Marinello was doing all this before he lit out, and that’s how he got hold of so much cash all at once. Winfield, whom he’d known since Stanford Law School, replaced him.”

  “So he knew Marinello well, huh? Perfect.”

  “Perfect is always good,” Rita said.

  The offices of Winfield & Carrington were like a movie set for a white-shoe law firm. There was lots of shiny paneling, and the furniture looked as if it were out of the Rockefellers’ attic. The receptionist was middle-aged and plump; nothing flashy for Winfield & Carrington. After a ten-minute wait they were shown into a corner office.

  Winfield rose to meet them. He was sixtyish, widening at the middle, gray at the temples, and beautifully tailored. He was also very gracious.

  “Please sit down, Ms. Cortez, Mr. Sculley.” He directed them to a grouping of sofas and chairs, rather than facing them across his desk. “Ms. Cortez, I was so very sorry to hear of Mr. Carman’s death. He always struck me as an extremely competent man.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Winfield,” Rita replied. “I wanted you to know that since Barry and I were partners, I will now be running the firm.”

  “Oh, good,” he said. “I hope we can send some work your way.” He turned to Tommy. “Tell me, Mr. Sculley, are you a private investigator as well?”

  “No, sir,” Tommy said. “I’m a police officer in South Florida.”

  Winfield blinked but recovered quickly. “Are you the investigating officer in Mr. Carman’s case?”

  “No, sir, I’m involved in a more tangential way,” Tommy replied. “In fact, my visit here is entirely unofficial and off the record.”

  “I see,” Winfield said, obviously not seeing at all. “And what can I do for you?”

  “I’m aware of Barry Carman’s work for you, and…”

  Winfield turned to Rita, and his voice was icy. “You brought the police into this?”

  “Oh, no, sir,” Tommy said quickly, stepping in to save Rita, “nothing like that at all. I assure you, there is no official interest in your relationship to Barry Carman or his firm.”

  “Oh, good,” Winfield said, relaxing a bit. “So what is your interest in this matter?”

  “During Mr. Carman’s investigation of… the missing person in question, he came to me unofficially to check out some things. I wasn’t able to give him any pertinent information, but when I heard of the manner of his death, I looked into it, and it occurred to me that there might be a direct connection between Mr. Carman’s death and the matter he was pursuing.”

  “It was my impression that Mr. Carman met his death as the result of one of those ugly tourist killings that seem to be plaguing Florida these days.”

  “I’m inclined to think that’s not the case, sir, although I believe some effort was made to make it appear to be such a murder.”

  “That’s very interesting,” Winfield said, his eyes narrowing slightly.

  “Also, it appears there might possibly be a connection between the missing person in question…”

  “His name is Marin,” Winfield said; “you may use it.”

  “Between Mr. Marin and another case I’m investigating.”

  “And what case would that be, Mr. Sculley?”

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss it at this stage, sir, but I believe that if I were able to locate Mr. Marin, it might materially help my investigation.”

  “Is Marin a suspect in your case? I mean, should you find him would you wish to arrest and try him?”

  “No, sir, it’s not that kind of connection. I just believe Marin could be of help in resolving a difficult case. Actually, it’s a long shot, but you and I may have some mutual interests.”

  “Should you find Marin, what would be your course of action?”

  “I would detain him on a minor charge and notify Ms. Cortez immediately.”

  “And how long would he be likely to be in custody?”

  “I could hold on to him for twenty-four hours, maybe more.”

  “I see,” Winfield said. “And what do you want of me?”

  “As I understand it, you knew Mr. Marin well. It would be of great assistance to me if you could tell me as much as possible about him.”

  “May I have your word that you have no other official interest in Marin than to question him in your other case?”

  “You have it, sir.”

  “Very well. What would you like to know?”

  “When did you first meet Mr. Marin?”

  “Our families knew each other when we were very young, and we were both at Stanford; he was a couple of years ahead of me in law school. When I graduated I went to see him, and he helped me gain a position in the firm he was working for at the time. Later we left together and opened this firm. We did very well. After many successful years together we occasioned to have a very large amount of money in the firm’s trust account, as the result of a real estate transaction we had just closed. Before the funds could be transferred to the client, Marin raided the trust account and decamped with the funds.”

  “May I ask how much he took?”

  “That’s not really important; let’s say many millions of dollars.”

  “You went to the police, of course.”

  “I did not. If I had done so the resulting publicity would have destroyed the firm. I made arrangements to replace the funds-with great difficulty, I might add-and our clients were simply told that Marin had taken his own life, a notion which he took some pains to further.”

  “If you’ll forgive me saying so, sir, that’s extraordinary.”

  “I’m aware of that; nevertheless, it’s what I did. To this day, I do not wish for any client of mine to know that a member of this firm behaved in such a manner. That is why I hired Mr. Carman, so that this matter might be resolved in a private manner.”

  “And if Marin is found, how do you intend to resolve it?”

  “That question, Mr. Sculley, is outside the parameters of this discussion. Now, what else do you wish to know about Marin?”

  Ground broken, Tommy took out his notebook and began in earnest. “Let’s begin with a description; height and weight, et cetera?”

  “Six-two, about two hundred and forty pounds, thick dark hair, brown eyes.”

  “Did you ever know him to be slimmer than two-forty?”

  “He was always beefy, muscular, an athlete.”

  “What sports?”

  “In high school he played football; maybe that’s where the weight came from. Later it was tennis, swimming, golf; he played all three for Stanford. When he got out of college some of the muscle turned to fat, I guess. The only sport he played with any regularity was golf.”

  “What sort of personality?”

  “Gregarious, charming, very smooth.”

  “Did he ever do any scuba diving?”

  “No. He did sail, though. He kept a small sailboat at Marina del Rey.”

  “What was his taste in women?”

  “He liked them very beautiful. His wife was, and although he never talked about it, I suspected he played around.”

  “Where’s his wife now?”

  “Remarried. It wouldn’t do any good to try and see her; she wouldn’t talk about him. She believes that he took his own life.”

  “Any vices? Drink, gambling, drugs?”

  “He drank in moderation, didn’t use drugs. He never seemed to be interested in gambling.”

  “If he didn’t kill himself, how do you think he managed to disappear so thoroughly?”

  “I believe he planned it all very carefully. He knew there were times when the trust account would have a lot of money in it. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that he’d planned it for years; he was very methodical, thorough.”

  “How do you think he could move around such a large sum of money without attracting attention?”

  “He was very
clever in financial dealings. My guess is he had planned a way to move the money offshore in a hurry, probably to some place with banking secrecy laws like Switzerland or the Cayman Islands.”

  “Had he had a lot of experience with such transactions?”

  Winfield looked at him sharply for a moment, then answered. “Yes,” he said.

  “Can you think of anything else that might help me? Some personal characteristic to look out for? Some weakness?”

  “Nothing I haven’t already told you. As for weaknesses, he always appeared not to have any. He was a very self-confident man.”

  Tommy closed his notebook. “Thank you, Mr. Winfield. It’s unlikely you’ll hear from me directly again; if I learn anything I’ll communicate it to Ms. Cortez.”

  Back in the car, Rita was the first to speak. “Did that help you any? Does Marin sound like your dead guy in Key West?”

  Tommy shrugged. “Might be, might not. There are some similarities, but who knows?”

  “Can I buy you dinner tonight?”

  “I’d love to, but I’ve got a plane to catch.”

  Rita laughed ruefully. “The good ones have always got a plane to catch.”

  34

  On his first morning back in Key West Tommy picked up Daryl and headed for Dey Street, along the way explaining what he had learned in Los Angeles.

  “Sounds to me like the guy could be Carras,” Daryl said, “but what are you going to talk to Clare about?”

  “I thought I’d just mention some of this stuff and see how she reacts,” Tommy replied.

  “Pull over a minute, Tommy.”

  Tommy stopped the car. “Yeah?”

  “I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “First of all, our experience so far with this lady is that she doesn’t give away much, at least she hasn’t so far. She didn’t bat an eye when we nearly caught her with the boyfriend, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So, you go and lay all this Marinello stuff on her, and she’ll just stare you down.”

  “You got a point.”

  “Also, she could bolt and leave us holding a very big bag.”