Body on Pine

by DeMarco, Joseph R. G.

  “How about for love? Did you have a thing for Brad? Maybe Smithson—”

  “Don’t be absurd, Mr. Fontana.” Caragan deflected my questions. That wouldn’t stop me from asking again.

  By this time we’d arrived at the café and took a corner table near a window. I always found the strangely mottled walls disconcerting. Weird slashes of muted colors all around, nothing coherent or soothing. I faced the window instead.

  I left Caragan at the table and went to the counter. As I’d hoped, the cute-in-the-extreme, curly-headed guy was still serving his house blends. I asked what his favorite was. I already knew it was the Moroccan blend. I just wanted to hear him rhapsodize about it in his killer French accent, as he filled two cups and placed them before me. He was the best thing about the place and the only reason I ever stopped in. I brought the coffee back to the table, the French guy’s voice still tickling my erogenous zones.

  “So, you wanted to tell me something about Wheeler and Branko but not at the office. That’s why we’re here, right?”

  “I… I didn’t want—”

  “Didn’t want the secretary to hear what you had to say? I thought you were in charge.”

  “Maggie’s efficient. Professional. But she doesn’t like me and she’s close with other developers. Men who’d love to swallow the business whole.”

  “Not if Wheeler has his plans in place.”

  “Maggie’s clever, Mr. Fontana. She has access to things and I’m afraid she could do some dirty work. So, I don’t want her to hear any of this. Not a word. Clear?”

  “As a dewdrop,” I said. “Shoot. What’s Branko’s connection?”

  “You’re sure this won’t…” He looked at me and there was pain in his eyes. Clearly conflicted about whatever it was he knew or thought he knew, Caragan must have felt a great loyalty to Wheeler.

  “I can’t make many promises, Mr. Caragan. I can tell you that I’m not here to ruin anyone’s reputation. But this is a murder investigation. Sometimes people get involved in things they never might have if it weren’t for some pretty strong reasons.”

  “I… I understand… it’s just that Smithson… he was kind and generous. I have a hard time believing anything bad about him. But—”

  “Just tell me what you know. I promise I’ll do what I can.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know every detail but I know, from what I’ve overheard, that there was some kind of connection.”

  “Overheard?”

  “Smithson told me everything about the business. But there were some things I never knew about. They weren’t business related, like this… this… whatever it was I overheard.”

  He paused, put precisely three packets of sugar in his coffee, shook them until not even sugar dust was left, then stirred. As his spoon clinked against the cup, I watched his face. He appeared younger than the late thirties or early forties he must have been. Younger but tired and grieving.

  “I overheard several phone conversations. The walls aren’t thick, and Smithson raised his voice when he spoke. He was excited and his voice was loud enough to hear through the wall.”

  That didn’t jibe with the unflappable Wheeler image Caragan tried to paint earlier.

  “Excited how? Upset, angry, frightened?”

  “All three actually.”

  “What kinds of things did he say?”

  “What I heard was disjointed. Occasionally a whole sentence, but mostly phrases or words. Branko was one of the words…”

  “How many of these calls were there?”

  “I heard a few. There were probably others I didn’t hear. I’m not in the office all the time.”

  “Might as well start from the beginning and go from there. Tell me what you remember as best you can…” I took out a notebook and a pen.

  “Five, six months ago… something like that, is the first time I overheard him.” He sipped some coffee and shut his eyes. “It’s kind of like a dream now. Smithson said, ‘Branko? Who is that? Are you sure about him?’ Then he was silent, probably listening, after which he said, ‘He’ll take care of things? What exactly…?’ Then he began whispering. I didn’t have my ear against the wall. The only reason I paid attention was that he raised his voice. He’d never done that. Never.”

  “Must’ve been important for him to get worked up. Was that all he said?”

  “He mentioned payments and how much something would cost, I don’t know what. And who was going to handle things.”

  “When did the other calls occur?”

  “What I’m telling you is only what I overheard. There may have been other calls.”

  “I understand. For the calls you did hear, when did they occur?”

  “They were spaced out. One was a few weeks later. Another a few days after that. And the next…” He looked stricken.

  “What about that next call?”

  “It’s just… You have to understand I wasn’t listening closely. It wouldn’t have been right. That would have been like spying on him. I only heard whatever came through the walls.” He was weighed down with guilt.

  “Why don’t you continue from the second call, maybe as you work through it things will be clear.”

  “O-okay, I guess so. During the second call Smithson didn’t mention Branko. He spoke about associates who were making contributions of some kind. He said the name Remy.”

  “You know who Remy is?”

  “It has to be Remy Berwick. Another developer, one of Smithson’s oldest associates. Very rich, very powerful. Sometimes they’d clash, sometimes they’d work together.”

  “Wheeler say anything else while he was talking to Berwick?”

  “Smithson said the contributors Remy mentioned had high expectations. Remy must have been particularly pushy because Smithson shouted ‘That’s asking a lot.’ Then he was silent a moment before he said, ‘You’re sure things will work out?’ Something like that. I can’t be sure.”

  “Contributions? Any idea what he was referring to?”

  “No idea. He could have been talking about political contributions. Smithson and other developers often gave money to candidates. The cost of doing business. Smithson told me many times it’s the only way things get done.”

  “Yeah, I know the drill. Is that all the second call was about?”

  “Pretty much. Now that I think about it, Smithson used the same phrase in this call as in the first. He asked, ‘He’ll take care of things?’ That’s all I heard.”

  “The third call?”

  “That was almost a week later. Mr. Wheeler was agitated that whole day. I heard him raising his voice again and he said ‘… realize the implications?’ Then he was silent.”

  “That was it?”

  “He stayed quiet for a while but then I heard him mention Branko and say that Branko’s arrest meant trouble. He said ‘… serious for all of… Remy.’ That’s pretty much… oh!, right. The last thing he said was ‘Will he talk?’ Then he was quiet.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “He spoke again but it was standard building and construction business. I don’t think Smithson liked what he heard. I thought I heard him say ‘code violations’ But there was no context.”

  “You said there was another call and something about it upset you?”

  Caragan was quiet and I let him have time to think and remember. I finished my Moroccan blend and looked at Caragan who appeared uncomfortable.

  “It’s just that… I remembered something else…”

  “About that phone call?”

  “Yes. I keep thinking I’d overheard a total of four calls. But the fourth time I heard anything, there were actually two calls, one right after the other. That was the day Smithson was murdered.” He stared at the empty cup in front of him.

  “I’ll get us more coffee,” I said, keeping my voice low.

  Caragan nodded. I figured he could use a few minutes to collect himself. I went back to the counter but the French heartthrob must’ve been on break. I took two mor
e Moroccan blends and brought them back to the table.

  “Feeling better?”

  “I’m feeling numb,” Caragan said, placing his hands around the cup as if for warmth.

  “Wanna talk about the other calls?” I coaxed.

  Caragan again took three packets of sugar and dumped them into his cup. “It seems so impossible. There I was in the office along with Smithson and later that night he’d be dead. Murdered. Neither of us gave a thought to anything that day except business. We went about our routine…” His voice faded to nothing as he stared down at his coffee.

  “Neither of you could have known anything.”

  “Smithson might have known things were not good. He might’ve…”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “He seemed distracted and worried that morning. Later in the day when I heard the calls, he was not at all happy. He raised his voice again but these calls were different.”

  “Different how?”

  “In the first call, it seemed he spoke with someone he’d never talked to before. It was like this person asked questions allowing Smithson to give only brief answers. It didn’t sound like a conversation. Not like the other calls.”

  “More like an interview?” I suspected maybe Vega had made that call to Wheeler.

  “Could be. All I know is what it sounded like through a wall. Smithson’s answers were clipped. He did a lot of listening.”

  “Was Branko mentioned?”

  Caragan nodded. “That’s when Smithson said the most but it wasn’t much. Smithson said the name Branko and the word ‘conviction.’ At one point, he shouted, ‘They tried what?’ then he was silent. I assumed he was listening to the other person. After a few moments, he said, ‘I trusted him.’ And—”

  “Any idea who he meant?”

  “Not at first. Smithson said, ‘I’ll be there.’ Then he hung up. After a few moments he began speaking again. Just as loud.”

  “He’d made the call?”

  “Must have. I didn’t hear the phone ring. This time Smithson sounded furious.”

  “What’d he say?” I asked.

  “It was brief. Muffled, at first, as if he’d walked to the other side of the room. I only heard him say ‘betrayal of trust.’ His voice became clear again and he said, ‘I’ll handle this myself.’ He mentioned meeting someone and ‘fixing’ things or ‘putting an end’ to something. That’s when I thought I heard him say the word ‘spa’ or something very much like it. If that’s what he said, then I assume he was discussing Brad. I don’t know what was going on. It was confusing. Smithson cared about Brad, so did… I mean it couldn’t be him…”

  I didn’t want to press him. His lower lip quivered and he could barely grip his cup.

  Chapter 24

  Caragan wanted to stay a while longer at the café to sort out his thoughts. I imagined he needed time away from the office. Grieving wasn’t possible there, and he needed to mourn. It wasn’t just Wheeler he’d lost, but a way of life and a sense of himself that was all tied up with Wheeler Enterprises.

  He’d given me a lot to go on, including Remy Berwick. According to Caragan, though, the guy was hardly ever in town, preferring to do business from ever-changing locations in other countries. I’d find him if I had to.

  Unfortunately Caragan also gave me what sounded like evidence that Wheeler wasn’t as saintly as Xinhan and others believed. It was circumstantial at best. Wheeler could have meant a lot of things by what he’d said on the phone. Caragan had only heard one side of the conversation. Still, it didn’t sound good.

  After calling Nina, I headed down to her place, which I like to call the Fortress of Geekiness. Geek is what Nina does, not what she is. She’s more of a sultry computer genius who hides her figure under baggy clothes, and disguises the beauty in her swarthy face with oversized glasses and a chaotic hairdo. She also sports an unusual tattoo of a double-headed ancient Aztec serpent. One head nips at her left elbow while the rest slinks up her arm and onto her neck where the other head stares greedily at her throat.

  Better than being a looker, Nina is smart. Computer smart as well as worldly. She can hack her way into places few others dare and never sweats the details of a job. If anyone could find the information I needed it was Nina and her crew.

  As I walked to her place, I decided to give Shim a heads up about my research. Enough to let him feel I was keeping him in the loop. Enough to remind him he needed to do the same for me. We both knew we were holding out on each other. That’s the game. He answered on the first ring. That was interesting.

  “Just wanted to catch you up on where I am on the case.”

  “I hope you’ve got more than we do.” He sounded frustrated and tense.

  “Nothing on the journalist, yet? I was hoping you could help with some details.”

  “All we know is who he is. The former wife doesn’t know a thing and hasn’t seen him in a few years.”

  “No way to track what he was working on?” I asked wondering if they’d come across the photographer yet. I’d have to give up his name sooner or later.

  “Nope. We’ve got nothing except the mayor nipping at our asses. Needs some good publicity.”

  “Nothing ever changes.”

  “What’ve you come up with, Fontana? And don’t tell me nothing. I know you’re holding back. I’m learning about you fast.”

  “Giuliani’s a good teacher, no doubt,” I said and laughed.

  “She tosses me bits and pieces now and then. If you’re anything like other P.I.s I’ve worked with, you know a hell of a lot more than you’re saying.”

  Couldn’t fault him there and I couldn’t hold everything back. “I did come across a few things like Wheeler and that trial, maybe you should know about. Some of it is supposition… but—”

  “Supposition is better than what I’ve got. Tell me when and where. I’ll be there.”

  We arranged to meet at the Village Brew later that afternoon and I continued down to the Old City neighborhood and The Fortress.

  ***

  Nina’s townhouse was huge and secure. Deena and Hallie, Nina’s partners in her company, InfoMonkeys, were protective of Nina. Way protective. I knew what to expect when I pressed the buzzer. An electrical whirr alerted me to the fact I was being scrutinized by security cameras. I waved and smiled just to annoy Hallie who probably hadn’t smiled since she was an infant.

  The metallic sound of locks pulling back was followed by the door whooshing open. I entered the vestibule and, for all I know, was hit with some kind of disinfectant laser beam. Eventually I was permitted entry into the sanctuary and saw Nina fussing with images that seemed to float in the air.

  “Jefe, long time. How are you?”

  “Getting’ by, Nina.”

  “I’m sorry about your friend.” Nina’s pretty face was drawn down into a sad expression. “You got the other information, right? On the creepy ex?”

  “Yep, but he’s still a ghost. Not making much headway and I need your help.”

  “You got it. Lemme get rid of this stuff.” She flashed her hands over the images and they dissolved into thin air. “You wanna finish that up, Deena?”

  Deena nodded and left the room. Hallie observed from the doorway, her eyes trained on me. Not a whole lot makes me shiver, but Hallie came close.

  “Whatcha got, jefe?”

  I explained about Brad, Wheeler, and Vega. I told her about Branko and the trial and about Berwick. Just about everything I knew so far.

  “You got a lotta dots and no connections.”

  “That’s why I’m here. I’m counting on you.”

  “How do you wanna start this ball rollin’?” She smiled so sweetly, you’d never know she was the best hacker this side of Moscow.

  “I need anything you can get me on Branko and his local connections. That’s easy for you.”

  “You don’t need me for that. Olga is just as good when it comes to…”

  “Yeah, you’re right. She’ll do that.�
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  “So what’s the real deal? I know you want more than that.”

  “What I need is financial records on a few people. Can you do it?”

  “Question is not can I do it. Question is can you afford a lawyer to keep me outta jail?” She stared at me with a deadpan serious expression as if I’d just asked the dangerously impossible.

  I knew she was kidding. She’d been doing this kind of thing for all sorts of people and had never gotten caught. Hadn’t ever been close to getting caught. I knew for a fact she was a legend among hackers. “Like you’d need a lawyer. You’d have to get caught first and that’s not happening.” I laughed.

  She smiled again. Two in a row. I’d hit a soft spot. “So, tell me what you need,” she said.

  I asked her for every financial record she could find tied to Brad. The money to redo the spa had to come from somewhere. Nina would know how to trace it to its source. I also needed financials on Wheeler, Branko, and Berwick which would be trickier, but I’d seen her tackle more complex stuff.

  Of course there was the list of names I’d gleaned from the trial transcript. I needed information on as many of them as I could get. Olga would be overwhelmed but Nina had her partners and they could make quick work of the list. I showed Nina the names and watched her eyes widen. “I’m looking for political donations made by the three I mentioned and the businessmen and developers on this list.” I pointed to the names on the list. “We marked each name with identifiers.”

  “You’re not asking much, are you papi?” She patted my face then gave me a gentle slap.

  “I’ll double your going rate. I need this.”

  “I’m hurt, Marco.”

  “Why? What’d I do?”

  “How can you imagine I would take money for this? This is for your friend Brad, right? To solve his murder?”

  “Yeah, sure, but this is work, a lot of work… and it’s dicey, too.”

  “This I’m not chargin’ for. No way.”

  “Some of it could be dangerous…”

  “Keeps me on my toes, Marco. Besides, I haven’t hacked into banks for a long while. Gonna be like old times.”