“Rose says he’s on a sailboat off the coast of Maine. If he contacts Paul, she’ll flip him over to you.”
For the moment, Frank Wrenley’s unexpected appearance gave me a reprieve from McKinney’s plan to boot me off the case.
Mike came back into my office with Wrenley and I rose to shake his hand across the desk. This time he was head-to-toe in slate gray, a slight contrast to his jet black hair and almost a match for the cloud-filled sky that hugged the city with its humidity.
“Why don’t you have a seat and tell us what brings you down here?”
Wrenley turned to sit and I saw my bag in his way. “Just put it on the floor. Sorry.”
He lifted it and sat it down next to the row of file cabinets. “Must have your whole arsenal in there, Miss Cooper.”
Chapman laughed. “She would if we’d let her. Temper like hers, Mr. Wrenley, Cooper couldn’t get a permit to carry a pointed pencil.”
Wrenley looked directly at me. “I wasn’t sure who to talk to about this, but perhaps you ought to know. And you might be able to help me, too.”
It was getting harder and harder to find anyone to talk to us who didn’t want something in return. “What is it?”
“Last evening I found out that Lowell Caxton is going to be closing his gallery.”
He stopped speaking and both Mike and I waited for him to continue.
“I mean, this week. Abruptly. Doesn’t that surprise you?”
“Elephants flying? Monkeys tap-dancing? Those things might surprise me. The people in this case, the pals you’ve been running with who’ve been scamming each other and the public for most of their adult lives? Very little they do could surprise me at this point.”
Wrenley ignored Chapman and talked to me. “Caxton’s had one of the most substantial businesses in this city for longer than I can remember. It would be one thing for him to announce a closing and wind down his affairs over the next few months. But to pull a few moving vans up to the front of the building and start loading them like a gypsy in the middle of the night, well, it’s more than a bit odd.”
“Last night?” I asked. “Who told you about it?”
“Bryan Daughtry called me. He still has a lot of contacts who work in the Fuller Building.”
Wrenley’s statement reminded me that before Daughtry went to jail on the tax case, his original gallery had been on Fifty-seventh Street, several floors below Caxton’s suite.
“What else did he say?”
“One of the custodians, a fellow who runs the freight elevator, figured he could make a few dollars by passing the information to Daughtry. It worked. Bryan went right up there and gave the guy a hundred bucks. Saw what was going on himself. Paintings and sculptures being loaded onto a truck at eleven last night, complete with a cadre of security guards. But Caxton’s employees wouldn’t spill the beans. Not a word about where they were taking the stuff, or why. I’m sure he paid them well enough to ensure their loyalty.”
“I guess I’m missing the reason why either you or Daughtry think any of this is your business,” Chapman said.
“Understandable. That’s why, as I said a few minutes ago, I wasn’t sure what to do about it when Daughtry called me in the middle of the night. Both Bryan and I were involved in a number of art deals with Deni. She and I recently bought some paintings at auction together,” he said, switching his attention to Mike. “You’re the skeptic, Detective. Check with Christie’s. Back in May we were partners on some minor Impressionist works that sold pretty reasonably.”
“Lowell’s in on this, too?”
“Oh, no. Not at all. But a lot of the things we bought- well, it just made more sense for Deni to keep them for us, to store them until we decided whether we were going to hang on to them or sell them to clients. I mean, Lowell had warehouses and guards and insurance. Even their apartment was a safer place to keep artworks than any temporary facility she and I could arrange. We were lovers, after all, Detective. I didn’t have to get a signed pledge from Deni when I agreed to let her hold on to something we bought as partners. She wasn’t trying to screw me out of anything, if you’ll forgive the expression.”
“So you think some of the art you own is being spirited away by Lowell?”
“Possibly. And I don’t even mean intentionally. Lowell doesn’t have any reason to know the details about Deni’s latest acquisitions. I just think there should be some way for me to have a look at what he’s got before he ships it out of town or abroad. I have papers and sales receipts for everything. I’m not asking you to get in the middle of deciding what’s mine and what isn’t. My lawyer will handle all that. He wanted me to, well, to exaggerate to you a bit.”
“What do you mean?”
Wrenley was fidgeting now. “I called my lawyer to ask him to get involved this morning. The problem is, of course, that Lowell won’t let me inside to look, neither at the gallery nor the apartment-still their home, certainly. It was my lawyer’s idea to come to you, Miss Cooper. Look, I don’t want to lie to you, but he suggested I swear to you that I know Lowell Caxton has got property in the gallery that belongs to Deni and to me. That perhaps then you could intercede and go in with a warrant to search for things.” He tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Frankly, I have no idea what Deni did with some of the paintings. I can’t ‘swear’ where they are-that would simply be a logical guess, but not necessarily true. Bryan Daughtry’s been very helpful. I’m going to go through his warehouse, too. Perhaps some of the things I’m looking for are stored with him.”
“Can you give me an inventory, a list of the works you have a claim to?” I asked.
“I don’t have one prepared right now, but I can have it drawn up within a day or two.” Wrenley’s hands were on his knees, and he looked down at the floor before he spoke again. “When you’re in love with a woman as young and healthy as Deni, you just never think that she’s going to walk out the door and… never, never come back. The business side of our partnership was the last thing it occurred to me to worry about during this past week. That afternoon, I just waited and waited for her to meet me for lunch-”
“The day she disappeared? She was on her way to meet you?” Chapman asked.
“Perhaps I have surprised you after all, Detective. I assumed you’d know that, from the housekeeper or someone you’d interviewed. Didn’t you ask me that the first time we met? I was sure you had.”
Chapman seemed embarrassed that he didn’t know one of the fairly basic facts about Denise Caxton’s last day. “The guys who work in her garage have her going out with the car early in the morning. No one else we talked to seemed to know much about her plans for the day. What did you do when she didn’t show up for lunch?”
“I waited half an hour. Tried her at home, in the car, at the gallery. No luck. Check with the maître d’ at Jean-Georges-I thought you would have done that by now. I must have tied up his phone for twenty minutes calling around to find Deni.”
“Were you upset? Call the police to look for her?”
“No, I suppose the maître d’ would also tell you I wasn’t very upset, so there’s no point pretending. Nothing from which a couple of martinis couldn’t distract me. I’d half expected she might stand me up that day. We’d had a bit of a tiff the week before.”
“Business?”
“Not business at all. And in retrospect, not exactly pleasure, either.” Wrenley looked me in the eye. “I told you when I met you the first time that Deni and I dated other people. Well, I ran into someone in Paris, a woman who’d been recently widowed and was doing the grand tour to announce that her mourning period was officially over. We spent a weekend together, which there was no need for Deni to find out about. Unfortunate coincidence, she turned out to be a friend of Deni’s.”
“Marina Sette?” Chapman asked.
“ Bravo, Detective! Forty-eight hours in a small hotel on the Left Bank, and tout New York seems to know all about it. I know Marina told Deni, and that’s what had her so m
ad at me. Deni didn’t mind what she didn’t know about, but Marina really pushed her nose into it.”
“Was it over between you and Deni?”
“Of course not. But it was cool, to say the least. She made a point of letting me know that she was spending a lot of time with Preston Mattox. But that was just to get back at me.”
“You don’t think she was in love with him?”
“Deni was an intensely physical creature, Ms. Cooper. She’d once made the mistake of telling me, when she was unusually giddy in the middle of a rather vigorous round of lovemaking, that there wasn’t enough Viagra in all the laboratories in the country to get Preston through another month of his relationship with Deni.”
Every time I was on the verge of liking her a bit more, I’d hear something that would cause me to take three mental giant steps in reverse. No point in exploring with Wrenley whether his rival had other redeeming features.
“When she didn’t show up at the restaurant for lunch and I couldn’t find out where she was, I thought that all she needed was some time to get over what I had done with Marina. She’d only graced me with the luncheon meeting because we had some business decisions to make and because she wouldn’t accept an evening date with me. She already had dinner plans with Mattox.” I didn’t think I had displayed any expression, but Wrenley looked from me to Mike. “Surely you knew that, didn’t you? Preston would have had more to worry about than I did when she didn’t show up for that date.
“I guess my trip down here wasn’t altogether useless,” Wrenley said. “I do hope you’ll give some thought to looking into why Lowell Caxton is in such a hurry to close his gallery.”
I had no intention of telling Wrenley what we would do next. “I’d suggest you let your lawyer go ahead with whatever action he thinks will protect your business interests as well.” I stood up to see him out. “Thanks for letting us know about it.”
“Do you still have any contact with Marina Sette?” Mike asked.
“Nothing directly. But I hear about her from time to time.”
“When’s the last time you saw her?”
“Couple of months ago.”
“She call you when she came to New York?”
“You mean yesterday?”
Chapman didn’t hesitate for a moment. “Yeah, yesterday.”
“No, but she called Bryan Daughtry. He told me that last night when he telephoned to let me know about Lowell Caxton. Bryan said that Marina had stopped by the new gallery on Twenty-second Street to see him. Probably to find out if he’d heard any rumors about whether Deni had left a will, or any instructions about who was to get which paintings.”
I thought she had told us she detested Daughtry. “Why did she go to him?”
“She could hardly go to Lowell, considering their relationship, and she wasn’t talking to me.”
“What did Bryan tell her?”
“That the only will he knew of was the original one Lowell’s lawyers had prepared for Deni when they first married. Like so many people her age, Deni thought she’d have all the time in the world to amend it. But Marina was still looking for her piece of the rock, what she thought was her ‘entitlement.’ She really believed, when their friendship was in full bloom, that she had convinced Deni to give her some of the Caxton heirlooms.”
“So Lowell gets it all?”
“I suppose. I mean-except for the handful of things that Deni bought with either Bryan or me. Her fortune all started with Lowell, didn’t it? In any event, Bryan just wanted me to know that Marina was bad-mouthing me, blaming me for her falling-out with Deni. And that she seemed frantic, out of control. Very hyper about something. That I should stay out of her way if she tried to see me.”
“Will you let me know if Marina Sette calls you?” I asked.
“Certainly, Miss Cooper. Thanks for your time.”
Chapman waited several seconds after Wrenley shook our hands and walked out the door. “Saddle up, blondie. Let’s see why Caxton’s heading for the hills.”
30
Mike parked the unmarked car illegally and threw his laminated police identification plate in the windshield. The Fuller Building was on the northeast corner of the intersection, with entrances on both Madison Avenue and Fifty-seventh Street. An eighteen-wheeler was parked in front of the side door in a large space protected by a red sign that announced no standing except trucks loading and unloading.
The lettering on the vehicle said Long Island Baking Potatoes, Bridgehampton, New York. It was definitely loading, and the cargo was not spuds.
There was a fine mist and I hurried to get inside the lobby. In addition to the two men standing at the rear of the truck, there was another person stationed inside the double doors whom I assumed to be part of Caxton’s security team.
“Recognize any of them?” I asked Chapman, hoping to get lucky and discover that some retired cops were on the payroll.
“Too ugly. Must’ve been Feds.”
The building was familiar to me because I’d been coming to the hairdresser there for almost ten years. With the exception of the Stella salon on the second floor and a handful of dental and medical offices, the structure was almost entirely leased by gallery owners. I knew that the eastern bank of elevators I used once a month went up only eighteen stories, so I led Mike to the western bank and pressed 35 to get to the top floor and the Caxton Gallery.
We stepped off onto an empty hallway. The glass doors of the space were covered by some kind of makeshift screening, and a note that said the gallery was closed. There was a telephone number to call for people making inquiries about exhibits and purchases.
Mike tried the brass handles on the entrance behind the temporary partitions, but they didn’t give. He knocked several times on the panels and the door was eventually opened by an unsmiling man in a dark suit.
“Lowell Caxton’s expecting us,” Mike said.
That brought a smile to one half of the man’s mouth. “Mr. Caxton is not here.”
“That’s strange.” Mike looked at me as though surprised and asked, “Didn’t he say today, at eleven o’clock?”
The man didn’t wait for me to answer. “He’s been called out of town unexpectedly. You can leave a message for him at this number.” He pointed to the paper that we had just seen.
“I’d like to leave a note for him. May I come in and-”
Mike had started to walk inside but was blocked by our somber gateman.
“Don’t make it difficult for me, will ya?” He took the leather case from his pants pocket and held up the gold shield, expecting to be let through the doorway.
“Let’s see your warrant, Detective.”
“Very good, very good. So, you probably finished at the academy, huh? Must have worked your way right up to the top, ironing Mr. Hoover’s dresses, to get yourself a plum job like this one when you left the Bureau. Can you at least call Caxton now and tell him that it’s urgent we talk to him today?”
“I just told you how to leave him a message.”
“Suppose I told you his life may be in danger. You realize there’ve been a series of killings since his wife was murdered, and we’re the ones working on that case. It might behoove him to let us tell him what’s been going on with-”
“Mr. Caxton is not in any danger. If he’s interested in talking to you, he’ll give you a call. He’s a bit bored with being looked at as a suspect in Mrs. Caxton’s death. He’ll get back to you when he’s ready.”
“You know where he is right now?”
The man stared back at Mike without answering.
Mike took my arm and started to lead me away before turning back to his nemesis. “I’d rather have my balls cut off by a great white shark than end up doing bullshit security work for some billionaire dirtbag. Have a nice day.”
On the way back down to the lobby, we talked about whether or not it was worthwhile to hang out there for a while to see who was coming and going from the thirty-fifth floor.
“Can’
t you get someone from your squad to sit on the place this afternoon and evening?” I asked.
“Let me call and find out who’s around. Maybe the lieutenant can get the precinct to send some Anticrime guys over. We haven’t got the manpower to do this stuff.”
“Come up to my hairdresser. Elsa’ll let us use the kitchen to make calls.”
“Don’t you have your cell phone with you?”
“Yes, but let’s see what the girls know about what’s happening in the gallery. When Daughtry had his business here, there wasn’t much they hadn’t heard about him. They had better sources than the Westchester District Attorney’s Office. Sooner or later someone from the staff in just about every place in the Fuller Building uses Stella for color or cuts. Besides, wait till you see how adorable Elsa is.”
We switched elevator banks and rode up to the second floor. Pat, the manager, was surprised to see me walk in without an appointment in the middle of the week. Her eyes went directly to my hairline, looking at the state of my roots.
“You’re not due till Saturday morning, week after next, right?”
“That’s some welcome. Just came by to gossip with Elsa and use the kitchen to make a few phone calls.”
I introduced her to Mike and she led us past the reception desk into the rear of the busy salon. Elsa, my colorist, was wrapping foil around a client’s hair strands while Mike watched in bewilderment. I signaled to her that we were going into the back room, and she mouthed to me that she’d join us as soon as she was finished.
Mike called to explain the situation, and the boss told him that he would try to arrange for coverage from the local precinct as soon as possible. Mike also asked that a car be sent to sit on Caxton’s residence, check with the doormen, and monitor the movement of traffic in and out of that location, too. We helped ourselves to coffee and tried to figure out how we could find Caxton quickly and learn what had prompted this sudden move.
Elsa came into the kitchen, removed her rubber gloves, and washed her hands so that I could introduce her to Mike. I had spent so much time talking to each of them about the other over the years that it was hard to believe they had never met. Elsa had long been my friend, and in addition to restoring the blonde to my naturally light hair, as a devotee of the opera and ballet she alerted me to theater and art events that I had neglected to read about. I knew, also, that when there was a rare lull between clients, she explored the galleries throughout the building and collected catalogues of the shows.
Cold Hit Page 30
