We chatted a little bit further about the group and direction it needed to go in but he had no time for petty details. His work was done and it was time to get another coffee. At the door, I turned back to ask the question that was gnawing at me.
“Hey Pat, if you don’t mind telling me, what was it that made you go with me?”
He thought about it a moment, then said:
“You were very honest in your interview.”
The truth would be revealed some time later when I discovered the real reason I got the job. It had nothing to do with my answer in the interview but everything to do with a few well-placed telephone calls by Carl Valenti to a few select, influential men at the firm. But I wasn’t disappointed in the least. I had always believed that career success was driven by ten percent skill and ninety percent luck. I would forever be grateful for the opportunity to enter into that rarified air of upper management where one’s entire role was just to be — to be and to give opinion.
My old boss Bob Gershon questioned this foundation but that was his biggest mistake. He searched for value, for meaning in the role. The value was simply having the role in the first place.
Later that day I got Paul’s concession speech. He came into my office and gushed on and on about how happy he was for me, but I didn’t believe it for a second. I would in time hear about how Paul had done everything in his power to discredit me with anyone who would listen during the run-up to the interviews. This was revealed to me on numerous occasions after I got the promotion. It was standard corporate operating procedure to curry favor with the new lead by bad-mouthing the guy who had bad-mouthed me.
But I was the victor and needed to display a modicum of humility and to rise above it all and be the better man; righteousness came easily when I had all the power. I put out my hand and Paul, in typical Paul fashion, took hold of it and pulled me in close for a big man-hug. He slapped me hard on my back, too hard, and I winced from the still lingering pain from the hammer blows.
“Paul, let’s meet next week to discuss the obesity campaign,” I offered as an olive branch. Paul accepted it enthusiastically and rattled off several new ideas on how to make it a success. I just smiled to myself because I knew that my very first decision as head of the group was to cancel all work on the campaign. Paul’s rabid pursuit of anyone over a hundred and fifty pounds would finally come to an end, and the one great accomplishment of my career would be what I chose not to pursue.
I had other designs for Paul. And decorum be damned, I was going to make his life a living hell. His first job for me was to make a recommendation on whether we should renew the contract with Badger as our lead investigator. I would let him do the due diligence he needed to discover all of the unseemly details about Badger. I would let him passionately recommend that we terminate relations with him and his firm. And I would wait until the very end before I over-ruled him without even the slightest of reasons why. Badger was someone I wanted around.
No one wanted Sami Halilayen around. He was convicted of the murder of Morgan McIlroy and sentenced to life. Police easily pieced together the events that led to her being strangled in the back seat of her own car and it ended up being a fast trial. Morgan was one of Sami’s many conquests, one of several involving underage girls. Upon learning about his relationship with Jeanette, she confronted him in a meeting at the parking lot in Chinatown. She threatened to dismantle whatever fragile spiritual empire he was building, never mind the threat to land him in state prison for statutory rape, and for that she had to be killed.
There never was any link between Sami and Tala’s activities to extort money. As far as the police were concerned, they were separate incidents. There were surprisingly few details about Morgan’s murder in the press and no charges were ever filed for the illegal acts he performed on underage girls, one of which resulted in a baby boy. For once the influence of the powerful resulted in a good deed — it was better for all involved if the past remained in the past.
As for Valenti and the others, it became clear that they didn’t want me around much either. I tried several times to connect with the Valenti clan but all of my feelers went unanswered. It felt like a non-verbal dismissal. I instead followed their lives from afar through the press.
The museum plan for the edge of Chinatown was scratched in favor of a different spot further up the hill in the Alpine district. It was another random spot but maybe not as random as it looked on the surface. Gao Li was back in the fold as he and Valenti formed a partnership to develop the area into a mixed-use space with the museum serving as the cultural centerpiece. Valenti had seized upon the opportunity with his granddaughter in the birthing clinic to knock Gao Li off his perch. But they were each man enough to put their differences aside when this new opportunity arose — money once again proved to be the great uniter. There they were on the TV praising each other’s virtues as they unveiled the elaborate design for the new museum. Valenti had hired a new architect who clearly understood his vision and the need for that third story with his name emblazoned across the top.
Also back in the fold was the hapless Jeff Schwartzman. He was there during all of the ceremonies but you sort of had to look for him back among the throngs of people. He was the one smiling the most. Valenti had pardoned him for past sins and granted him that which he wanted all along — directorship of the museum. He had the title but it was unclear if any power came with it. I had the sense Jeff only wanted the title.
It was too late to remove the ballot initiative that was at the heart of the museum conflict. As autumn fell over the city, voters went to the polls and overwhelmingly endorsed a measure they didn’t understand. Some bright developer would eventually exploit this unwanted measure in the years to come but for now it was just a bunch of meaningless words etched forever in the books of this great city.
With autumn came the bright days and cooler nights, and my desire for central air conditioning dissipated but not my desire for the hundred grand that I was supposed to use to install it. Valenti stiffed me on the payment. Perhaps he thought saving my job was enough of a reward but I never would have needed that offer if I didn’t get involved with him in the first place. I let my anger fester until one Saturday I decided to confront him. I drove out to Benedict Canyon and parked my car in front of the Valenti compound. I waited most of the day before the front gate. I convinced myself that I needed that money but inside I knew it was for other reasons.
Late in the afternoon the front gate swung open, and I saw the black sedan coming down the driveway. I got out of my car and stood in the middle of the entrance to block it from leaving. The sedan slowed to a stop. Hector was at the wheel. He stared at me from behind dark glasses. I could see the white-haired gentleman in the backseat. I went around to the side of the sedan, the rear window rolled down, and Valenti stuck his head out.
“Let me guess,” he smiled, “you want your money.”
“Fuck off,” I told him. “I want to talk to Hector.” There was a long, awkward pause. “Alone,” I said.
Eventually the rear door opened and the old man dragged himself out. I watched him take the long walk back towards the house and at that moment it was worth far more than any hundred thousand dollars.
Hector got out of the front seat and shook his head but I could tell that even he enjoyed it. Despite the ordeal he had gone through he didn’t look any different. Black shoe polish really was the great concealer. I didn’t know what to say to him so I just put out my hand and settled on, “Thank you.”
“What for?”
“For saving my life,” I told him. “I guess I owe you.”
At which point he tossed my hand aside like it was something rotten.
“You don’t owe me shit,” he said. That same logic had changed the course of his life and he didn’t want it to change mine.
A car desperately in need of a new muffler coughed its way toward us. I recognized Nelson at the wheel and moved out of the way to let him pass. As the car went by
I spied Jeanette in the back seat with the baby. Whether it was deliberate or not, she didn’t look up. Perhaps it was better that way — the last thing she would need was any kind of reminder of the events that led her to that moment. But for me, just getting a glimpse of her put my own mind at ease. As the clunker rattled up the driveway I turned back to Hector.
“She living here now?” Hector nodded. “The old man must be in all his glory.” Hector didn’t have to confirm it because I was certain that was the case. I could even see it on the old man’s face when I told him to leave us to talk.
We stood there for a moment but there was really nothing left to say and it was slowly becoming uncomfortable so I just wished him some random good-bye and headed back to my car.
I drove along the ridgeline until I came to one of the passes. I made the turn and crested the top of the hill and then began the long, rapid descent towards the Westside.
There were questions that needed to be answered.
***
The details surrounding the blackmailing scheme defied logic. The first request for money came from Jeanette for forty thousand dollars. I assumed that money was for the payment to the birthing clinic. She had asked Morgan for a similar amount. The money was paid to Nelson’s brother who was clearly doing his little sibling a favor by collecting it in case there was trouble.
Nothing after that made sense.
Jeanette had the baby in the dingy clinic in Alhambra but was kicked out after Gao got a call from an anonymous woman alerting him to her location. If the caller’s goal was money, she could have easily extorted it from Gao but she never asked for it. Then Jeanette inexplicably leaked her own story to a gossip blogger. I assumed this was her way of putting pressure on Valenti to ramp up the price of her return. But when I spoke to the kids at Nelson’s house, they kept talking about some miniscule amount of money — fifty grand — when the amount requested and delivered to Tala was in the millions. That was where the anonymous female caller returned, and this time it couldn’t have been Tala. Someone had tipped Sami off to Jeanette’s location at the Beverlywood house. Someone wanted her and the baby dead.
Meredith answered the door. Maybe it was the weather but this time she wore a plain pair of jeans and a loose-fitting cardigan. You couldn’t be impressed by the lack of body fat under that ensemble. There was a change in attitude as well. Gone was the transparent pursuit of attention under the overly-flirtatious behavior, which only succeeded in making you feel sorry for her. She just looked like a pretty, middle-aged woman at one of the higher-end department stores. Meredith led me into the living room and we sat in opposite chairs.
“I’d pay you the money if I had it,” she said.
“I know you would,” I told her. “But that’s not why I am here. Have you spoken to her?”
“Have you?” Meredith asked hopefully, and I correctly assumed she hadn’t. I shook my head. “Jeanette’s living with Dad now.”
“I just came from there.” Despite informing her that Jeanette and I hadn’t spoken, she leaned in as if I were about to give an update, but I had very little to give. “She looks good. Nelson seems to still be in the picture.”
“That’s good,” she said. “Poor kid will eventually realize he’s gay but for now it’s better for both of them to have each other. She’ll need that support. And Dad?”
I hadn’t realized the extent of her exile.
“I don’t know, it’s always hard to tell with him,” I started. “He seems happy.”
“I’m sure. It’s a second chance for him,” she added.
I heard no resentment in her words. I gathered from previous talks with Meredith and from my own observations that the old man wasn’t the best father out there. And it seemed that Meredith was coming to the same ugly conclusion about her own efforts. Behind the “second chance” was a hope that there would be one for her. She conveyed that in an odd, but brutally honest way.
“The truly unforgivable is to fail as a parent,” she said.
Once again I treaded in a world I knew nothing about. But I refused to believe in that kind of finality.
“Nothing is unforgivable,” I told her. “It might just take a very long time.”
My words warmed her more than I intended. We talked for a little while about nothing in particular. Soon she slipped back into staring out the sliding door at the expanse on the other side of the glass, and I slipped out the front door without saying good-bye.
My suspicion that Meredith was the anonymous caller no longer felt plausible. She may have inadvertently put her daughter in danger allowing a man like Sami into their household. She may have ignored some of the early signs that Jeanette needed help. She may have done a lot of things that were now coming back to haunt her as only regret can. But I just couldn’t believe she willfully wanted her daughter dead.
That left only one other person.
AN ENDLESS SUNSET
I arrived at the convalescent home after visiting hours. The front desk was empty and I proceeded down the main hallway. I glanced inside the little chapel with the dimly-lit, makeshift altar, but didn’t expect to find her there. I went up the stairs and stepped out onto the balcony. The taillights from outbound traffic cast the entire area in a reddish glow. A voice called out to me.
“I’m over here,” the old woman said.
Sheila Lansing sat in the same chair under the potted palm and looked out at the passing traffic like she was watching a beautiful sunset from a quiet beach, except this kind of sunset never ended.
“What do you want?” she asked as I stood over her.
“I want to know why.”
“You know why.”
“I want you to say it.”
Sheila fixed her gaze on the void in front of her. I needed for her to look at me, to acknowledge my presence, so I moved to my right and cast her face in shadow.
“Because he ruined my life,” replied the voice from the dark.
“Are you aware of what you did?” I asked. “Two people lost their lives. One of them was just a young girl.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with—”
“Neither of them deserved it,” I cut in. I couldn’t let her slough off Morgan’s murder. Without the old woman’s meddling, that girl would be breathing today. I then thought of the Sunday morning that almost got me killed and what the scene could have looked like in that little house if Sami had been successful. I felt something I had never experienced before — a desire to inflict harm on another human being.
“Did you think three million dollars would hurt him?” I asked. “Three billion dollars wouldn’t hurt him.”
“It wasn’t about the money,” she dismissed.
“Then why the ransom?”
“So we could get out of here.”
Sheila clarified the “we” for me — it included her, Jeanette, and the baby. She admitted that the chance encounter with Jeanette wasn’t entirely that. She helped orchestrate the program with Jeanette’s school. And how elated she was when she finally got to meet the young woman. “She is such a sweet girl,” she said without any acknowledgment of how odd it sounded coming from her. “She listened to me. She cared for me. And I cared for her.”
When Sheila found out that Jeanette was pregnant, she and Tala helped get her into the clinic in Alhambra. “You know he turned his back on her when he found out she was pregnant,” she said like an accusation directed at me. “A parent doesn’t do that.” That was her one triumph over Valenti — a feeling of superiority in one aspect of life.
Now they had a baby boy and the scheme was cooked up to bleed money out of Valenti so they could all run off together. Her plan was as equally harebrained as the one Jeanette and Nelson pitched me. I guessed their “home” would be the old one she was forced to leave in Pacoima, but when I asked her where she intended to go, she answered, “Anywhere but here.”
The fantasy life she projected didn’t feel genuine. The words were right but the weight behind them was
missing. I felt no love for a young girl or her baby. There was only anger.
“Why did you try to have them killed, Mrs. Lansing?” I stared down at the face in shadow but could glean nothing. “You hate him that much?”
“It’s more than just hate,” she whispered.
Sheila tugged at the quilt keeping the cool night air off her. Even in the shadow I could see how thin and brittle her arms were.
“What a great man with all his success and money and charity,” she said. “The same man who, when he found out I couldn’t have children, tossed me aside like an old dishtowel. After all I did for him. The way he looked at me,” she stammered back to some memory from decades past. “At least an old rag has some use.
“Poor Charlie,” she said, “he tried so hard.” It took me a moment to realize her mind had leapfrogged in time to a second marriage and more precious memories that unfortunately weren’t quite precious enough. She shook her head at that sad realization and was jerked back to the memory that haunted her.
“I knew on that day the only thing Carl cared more about, even more than money, was having a child.” A measure of control returned to her voice. “And that one day I would take from him what he took from me.”
“Jeanette is living with him now,” I told her. “By her own choice. She’s happy.”
I had the urge to cause her pain and those two sentences were the best way to do it. I couldn’t see her face but I knew they had their intended effect. But I didn’t feel good about it. The words came out too easily for my liking. A second urge overcame me and that was to get away from this place as soon as possible.
I stepped back and her face was again illuminated by the outbound traffic. She stared as if hypnotized by the red lights. I looked at her exposed arms, thinner than I ever thought arms could be. I felt cold just looking at her.
I took up the quilt and wrapped it around her shoulders, then left her alone on the balcony to join my own set of taillights heading in the opposite direction.
The Eternal Summer (Chuck Restic Private Investigator Series Book 2) Page 21
