Jon was glad to hear that. It further confirmed Schatz’s story. He’d already learned Schatz did indeed own a small, marginal dress factory in New York, and was on a sales tour of the Midwest.
“That’s pretty weird all right. What’d you do?”
“Tossed him out. If he was younger and wasn’t limping on a cane, I’d have knocked his block off.” Molloy looked down. He didn’t like talking about the old days. “By the way. You hear more about your old man? I saw in the papers where you got another two thousand bucks.”
“Nothing’s changed. And Bess?”
“It’s the same. After her mother died and she left California, the trail sort of ends. The last forwarding address I could get was a dump in El Paso, Texas, but that was a long time ago.”
The next afternoon, Jon headed back for Chicago. He hadn’t told anyone he’d gone to Wisconsin; he didn’t want Schatz to find him again just yet. He didn’t think he’d been followed to Molloy’s place either. He’d taken a very circuitous route on little-traveled, country roads.
But just to be sure, he’d follow a circuitous route on the return trip too. That was essential. He had an appointment to keep before going on into the city, and he didn’t want anyone spying on this meeting. At four o’clock, he was to see Adam Lord at Lord’s north suburban home.
* * * *
The black-topped driveway to Lord’s house curved through a grove of tall trees before emerging in front of the dwelling itself, a Tudor-style mansion that backed on Lake Michigan. Jon parked his Pontiac behind a gray Olds sedan, which was parked behind a little red Mustang. The Olds, Jon noted, bore a Chicago vehicle sticker. Lord had another visitor, then.
As Jon climbed the steps the front door opened and a tall, red-headed young woman, wearing green stretch pants and a snug white blouse, walked out. Dark glasses rested on the bridge of her nose, which was large but regular in contour. She had a long face, a strong chin and a wide mouth.
She stopped and said, “Hey, don’t I know you?”
“You might.” She was a trifle thin, but had good hips and firm little breasts.
“I’m Dinah Lord. What’s your name?”
“Chakorian.” Jon said it easily, awaiting her reaction. Her expression didn’t change. “Jon Chakorian. Years ago, you came to my father’s house on a Sunday afternoon.”
“I remember very well.” She pulled off her sunglasses. Her eyes were big and green, with long lashes. “And I wasn’t very nice, was I.”
“You were enchanting.”
“You are a gentleman. But I called you a mongrel. If it’s any consolation, my father spanked heck out of me when he heard about it.”
“That’s hardly fair, since you heard the word from him, and in a way it’s quite accurate.” Jon winked. “Tell you what. I have a piece of a place on North Wells, The Den. Drop in with your friends some night and I’ll buy you a drink as balm.”
Her lips curved in a half-smile. “Maybe I’ll do that. But if you don’t mind—what are you doing here?”
“A minor matter, about my father’s old possessions.”
“I’ll bet.”
Cryptically, she let the words hang there, went on to the Mustang and drove away.
Jon rang the bell. A servant led him down a hall to Lord’s study. The industrialist was not alone. As the door closed behind Jon, Train looked up from a leather sofa. The big investigator’s close-cropped hair was flecked with gray now, but his features were still unlined, except for the jagged scar on his left cheek, and despite his bulk, there was no bulge of fat at his middle.
From behind a large, empty desk, Adam Lord said, “Sit down.”
Jon settled on an uncomfortable, hard-backed chair. His father’s old antagonist, now nearing sixty, seemed much slighter than when Jon had been a boy. Shadows ringed his eyes. His face was wrinkled, and the thatch of white hair had thinned considerably.
“Let’s get to the point,” Lord went on. “You phoned me in Canada. You said you wanted to see me when I got back, to tell me about a million dollars that belongs to Venus. All right, I’m back, so tell me.”
Jon glanced at Train. “I also wanted to see you alone.”
“Train’s still my security chief. Anything involving your father is Train’s department, and I’m damned if I’ll talk to any Chakorian without a witness present. Talk in front of Train or don’t talk at all.”
“Very well.” Jon folded his arms. “Years ago, I promised my father I’d never tell anyone anything I saw in his house. I’ll say no more about that promise, except that I now realize it was unfairly extracted. Also, there’s now the best reason in the world for me to break it. The million, Mr. Lord, is in the form of diamonds. My father hid them in his shoes…
* * * *
When Jon had finished, Lord looked at Train and asked, “Well?”
“It’s possible,” Train admitted cautiously. “We’d heard Chakorian bought diamonds over the years. And it’s common knowledge Schatzmueller’s been nosing around the underworld trying to learn the body’s location, ever since he got out of prison.” Train studied Jon, his look no longer friendly, patient, and kind. His brown eyes were cold and suspicious. “Okay, for purposes of discussion, let’s assume your story’s true. The diamonds, the shoes, the guy who threatened to kill you, Schatzmueller’s mystery list and the rest of it. Why tell us? Why not go to the police?”
“They wouldn’t get a thing from Schatz. The world would hear about the diamonds. Gardino would wind up with the list, and if it’s true the diamonds are with my father’s body and could be recovered, someone—Gardino or my father’s killer—would go dig them up. As a result, Venus would lose its last faint chance of recovering that million, and I’d never learn what happened to my father.”
“You believe Schatzmueller’s theory? That a lone-wolf hijacker killed your father for the contents of his attaché case?”
“Not yet. I’m not even sure my father’s dead. But I think his theory, or something like it, is at least possible. In any event, he seems to have a lead to the disappearance, the only one anyone’s found so far. The fact that I think I was followed from North Wells to Schatz’s motel may indicate it’s a very hot lead, too. I want to follow it up. But at the same time, I propose that I work secretly for you, trying to recover the diamonds or any other of my father’s assets for Venus. You’d still have claim to them, wouldn’t you?”
“If any claim is honored,” Lord said, “it would be ours. Yes, conceivably if you found the diamonds, every cent would still go to Venus. And I don’t mind telling you, I’d like very much to get your father’s ‘hidden million’ back in our treasury, where it belongs.” Lord pulled a cigar from his breast pocket. Slowly, he unpeeled the wrapper, lit the cigar and leaned back. “So in essence, you’re volunteering to be an undercover agent. A Venus security man, looking for our missing property.”
“Exactly.”
“Why?”
“Personal reasons.”
“Such as?”
Jon hesitated. He hadn’t expected the conversation to take this turn. But it was a fair question, which demanded an answer.
“One, despite his weaknesses, I loved my father. I want to know what happened to him for that reason if no other. And two, I’ll be frank. There’s a selfish motive. So long as people think of me as the son of Rudy Chakorian, the swindler who vanished, I’ll never realize my own business ambitions. The best way to overcome this would be to help solve the mystery myself. If in the process I could return any assets to Venus, so much the better.”
“That’s a fine speech. You just made a noble offer. But what’ll it cost us?”
“I’m not a rich man, Mr. Lord. Most of my capital’s tied up in my business and in a North Wells property called Levee Court. My current income isn’t much and will be even less if I spend full time checking out the names on Schatz’s list.
He hasn’t given me any details, but I gather it’ll involve out-of-town travel, which will be expensive.”
“You want Venus to finance you?”
“On a loan basis, yes. The twenty thousand for the bribe kitty, plus travel expenses. You’ll have my personal note for every cent, and if anything goes wrong, I’ll be responsible.”
“You,” Lord said slowly, “must be out of your mind. You think that after what your father did, I’d hand another Chakorian twenty thousand plus expense money? The yarn you just told us has all the earmarks of a con game. You can’t substantiate a word of it. You could have invented the whole thing, to bilk me in revenge because I exposed your father as a swindler.” Lord’s fingers drummed on the desk. “Of course, there is one basis on which we’ll cooperate, doing all we can to help you—and if you succeed I’ll give you credit, which won’t hurt your business career.”
Jon grew a little angry. He’d expected Lord to be wary, but hadn’t anticipated deliberate rudeness. But he kept his tone calm and asked, “What basis is that?”
“Finder’s fee. A sporting proposition. You’re an enterprising young man. If you organized that North Wells property at age twenty-two, as Train’s file on you indicates, I’m sure you could finance this somehow. Do that, and we’ll work with you. Train will check out that list in his own way, and if you actually find this man, we’ll give you the protection you’ll need and act as liaison with the police when the time comes. In return for risking your time and money, you’ll get a percentage, which we’ll negotiate now, of any assets recovered by Venus. Of course if you don’t recover anything, you won’t get anything.”
Train said, “Just a minute, Mr. Lord. I don’t trust him either, but if we’re going into this, I want him on our payroll, responsible to me, not wandering around as a free agent. We could hide his expenses and a small salary in the Security Department budget.”
“No, thanks. If anyone learned I’d advanced a dime to another Chakorian, I’d be laughed out of town.” Lord took a long, bland puff on his cigar. “What about it, boy? You’ve changed your mind? You’ve decided that without a twenty-thousand advance and expense money, those reasons impelling you to seek this man aren’t so important any more? I thought so.”
Jon was quite angry now. “You,” he said, “put me in a peculiar position. I made an offer in good faith. But you insult me and ask me to regard this venture as a sporting proposition. To negotiate a finder’s fee…”
“If we recover assets as a result of anything you do, you’ll be more than entitled to a percentage. I don’t know why you’re so damned sensitive about the point.” Lord flicked ashes from his cigar. “This is business, boy. As far as I’m concerned, the personal note of a thief’s son isn’t worth a damn. You want to prove your sincerity? Then do this my way.” He paused. “Let’s say 10 percent. If you find the million, you’ll get a hundred thousand—a lot of money for someone your age. Unless you’d rather finance yourself and do this for nothing, which of course is okay with me.”
“Oh, no.” That crack about the thief’s son had settled it. “You’re still free to take me on my terms. But if it’s to be on your terms, let’s make it a fair percentage. Since I’m to assume all the risks, I want 50 percent.”
“Half? Why, that’s…”
“Fifty,” Jon repeated. “The odds of my collecting a cent are very slim, and if Schatz is right, I’ll be risking more than time and money. We’ll be seeking a murderer; I’ll be risking my life. As for your stockholders—there’s an old saying. Fifty percent of something is better than 100 percent of nothing, which they have now.”
Lord puffed on his cigar. “All right,” he said heavily. “I’ll go fifteen.”
Jon thought that over. “Forty.”
“Fifteen’s the absolute top.”
“Thirty-five,” Jon conceded. “Bear in mind that if anything’s recovered, I’ll have to share my fee with Schatz. He’ll have a fit if we find the diamonds and I have to tell him I’m giving them to Venus. He’ll be angrier still if we find the man, the diamonds can’t be recovered, and his blackmail schemes go out the window when we turn the man over to the police. But if I get anything at all, Schatz will be entitled to half.”
“Twenty, then.” Lord’s eyes glittered. The industrialist, Jon began to realize, was enjoying himself immensely. “Thirty.”
“I can’t go thirty. If you found the diamonds, the stockholders would never sit still for thirty.” He paused. “But I think I could justify twenty-five.”
“Done!”
They stared at one another.
“You,” Lord said, “drive a hard bargain.”
“You could have avoided it. You still can.”
“I’m satisfied. I’d have an easier time explaining a quarter-million-dollar finder’s fee, if we recovered the diamonds, than I would a twenty-thousand-dollar loan to you if we didn’t. But let’s get one thing clear. If you tell anyone you’re working with us, the deal’s off. If you get in trouble, don’t mention me or Venus. You’re on your own. And Train, don’t let anyone in your department know we’re looking for diamonds. We’ll all have to keep that secret. All they have to be told at this point is that we’re seeking leads to Chakorian’s assets.”
“I agree,” Train said. “But…”
“You have reservations?”
“A few. He was damn quick to take you up on that finder’s fee, jacking the price to 25 percent.”
“Well, a deal’s a deal, and he’s your responsibility now.”
* * * *
Outside, Jon got into his car; Train leaned against the door.
“I don’t suppose,” Train drawled, “you’ve done undercover work before.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“It’s too late to give you even a short course, but the basic rule is don’t let anyone know you’re working undercover, no matter how close they are to you. What your friends and relatives don’t know, they can’t tell anyone else. Another thing. We’d better not risk being seen together again unless something important develops. But before you get too involved checking those names, write a complete description of the guy you say left with your father, everything you remember. Mail it to my office, marked ‘Personal.’ I’ll have my people get the Chakorian records out of storage to see if anyone who meets that description knew your father.”
“Sure. Incidentally, Lord mentioned a file on me. Do you have current files on other people who were close to my father? Bess, for instance? I’d like to know where she is now.”
“We got ’em. Every couple years we check to see if anyone’s been spending large, unexplained sums of money. I’ll see what I can find out. But here’s more advice. Don’t do anything impetuous. If you identify this guy, don’t play hero and try to wrap it up yourself. Let the pros handle it. Don’t try to negotiate with him, and don’t let Schatzmueller try until we work out a plan, some way to control the situation at all times.”
“Electronic bugs, you mean? Surveillance teams?”
“Damn right. The works. At that point, I’ll recommend bringing the police in too. If the guy’s a murderer, we’ll be playing with dynamite.”
“I suppose,” Jon mused, “at that time it’ll be necessary. But I’ll warn you. Don’t get cute and bug Schatz’s room or have people follow him around yet. He told me he’ll be on the alert for that. If he suspects anything prematurely, he might guess what I’ve done and pull out, taking his list with him.”
Train’s attitude puzzled Jon. The investigator spoke cordially enough, but underneath Jon sensed hostility. He decided to learn why.
“Train—what’s wrong? When I was a kid, you seemed to be on my side. But now I get the impression you’re against me.”
Impassive, the big man studied Jon. Then he said, “Okay, I’ll tell you. For one thing, you’re not a kid any more. I felt sorry for you then, but now you’
re a grown man, and this could still be what Lord was afraid of—a con game.”
“Even after the deal we made? Finder’s fee, Venus not giving me a cent?”
“Sure. Maybe you and Schatzmueller already have the stones or know where they are. Maybe you’re afraid of getting caught disposing of ’em on the sly, and you figured 25 percent of something was better than 100 percent of nothing. If Lord hadn’t suggested a finder’s fee, maybe you would have. You must have known he’d balk at advancing twenty thousand dollars.”
“Of course. But I hoped I could talk him into it anyhow.”
“Uh-huh. What really burns me up, though, is that you lied to me and Novak. If you’d told the truth fifteen years ago, we might have solved the case then.”
“It was,” Jon admitted slowly, “a mistake. I know that. I’m trying to rectify it. But it was a ten-year-old child’s mistake. I honored a promise. You’d condemn me now because as a child I was more loyal to my father than to strangers who wanted to hurt him?”
“In my book,” Train said, “you got a long way to go before you erase that child’s mistake. I’ll tell you something else. Even if you are a free agent, I’ll expect you to keep me as informed as though you were on my payroll. You heard Lord; you’re my responsibility. There’s nobody more anxious than I am to recover that missing million, but if I get a hint you’re holding anything back, I’ll tell Lord it’s a double cross and advise him to call the deal off. I’ll want fast reports on everything you learn, so I can do what’s necessary at my end. Especially, I want those names. I want to know where and how Schatzmueller got that list, and what was the item the guy on it supposedly disposed of.”
“I’ll keep you up to date.” Jon started his car. “How do I contact you?”
“Call this number.” Train wrote something in a notebook, tore off a sheet, and handed it to Jon. “Any hour of the day or night. Give your number to whoever answers, hang up, and wait. I’ll call you within fifteen minutes, probably a lot less. If I can’t call, a man named Fogarty will, but don’t tell him about the diamonds. Always call from pay phones, never the same one twice.” Thoughtfully, Train scratched his chin. “You know, to simplify things we better invent a code name for the guy you’re looking for—the guy who walked out with your father and threatened to kill you if you talked. Tell you what. From now on, let’s call him Spook.”
The James Michael Ullman Crime Novel Page 47
