Julius Katz Mysteries

by Dave Zeltserman

  Norma Brewer composed herself, pushing herself up straighter in her chair. “It’s fascinating what they can come up with these days, isn’t it, Helen?” she said. Her sister grunted noncommittally. Norma Brewer turned back to Julius. “Your secretary, whom I spoke with over the phone, Archie, I believe was his name, is he going to be joining us?”

  “I’m afraid Archie is otherwise occupied. Now, this matter you would like to engage me in?”

  Norma Brewer gave her sister a quick look before addressing Julius. “Mr. Katz, this is a sensitive matter,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Do we have your confidentiality?”

  “I’m not an attorney,” Julius said gruffly. His fingers on his right hand drummed along the top of his antique walnut desk. I knew he was weighing how much he wanted that case of Burgundy and whether it was worth putting up with these two to get it. He made his decision and his drumming slowed. “You do, however, have my discretion,” he promised her, his tone resigned. “Please explain what you’d like to hire me for.”

  Norma Brewer again caught her sister’s eye before nodding slowly towards Julius, her face seeming to age a decade within seconds. For a moment her skin looked like parchment.

  “I have a very difficult family situation. Both my sister and I do. Our mother, Emma, is eighty-three years old and is not doing well.” Her voice caught in her throat. She looked away for a moment, then sharply met Julius’s eyes. “She has the onset of Alzheimer’s.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Miss Brewer.”

  Norma Brewer’s expression tightened. She raised a hand as if to indicate that sympathy from Julius was not needed. Her sister Helen remained slumped in her seat, still without expression. It dawned on me that what I had mistaken for dullness in the sister was really exhaustion.

  “That’s not even the half of it,” Norma Brewer said. “Our father died six years ago, before the Alzheimer’s showed. He had cancer and knew he was dying, and was able to make preparations, arranging for my younger brother, Lawrence, to have power of attorney for my mother. My father left my mother well provided for, including over two hundred thousand dollars in treasuries, an annuity that covers her current living expenses, and the family house in Brookline, debt free.”

  I hacked into the town of Brookline’s real-estate tax database and verified that an Emma Brewer did own a house in South Brookline that was originally bought for forty-five thousand dollars in 1953, and was now valued at close to a million dollars. I relayed the information to Julius, who kept his poker face intact and showed no hint that he had heard me.

  “Please continue,” he told her.

  “I’ve been spending as much time as I can taking care of my mother,” Norma Brewer said. “Fortunately, I was able to sell a business a few years ago. I didn’t make enough to allow me to live lavishly, but enough so I can now cut down on my hours and spend my time taking care of my mother. But, as I’ve been discovering, I just don’t have enough time or strength to do it properly. Helen has tried to help also, but she has three teenage children to take care of as a single mother, and I know it’s too much for her—”

  “It really isn’t,” Helen started to say, but a stern look from Norma stopped her. Norma reached over and patted her sister’s hands. “It’s alright, dear,” she said. “You have things hard enough as it is.” Helen stared glumly at her soft, doughy hands folded in her lap. Norma turned back to Julius “It’s too hard for me also, Mr. Katz. My mother needs to be moved to an assisted-living facility where she can be properly taken care of.”

  “And your brother Lawrence is against that idea?”

  Norma Brewer bit her lip and nodded. Helen looked as if she were going to cry.

  “Let me guess, he has since made himself legal guardian of your mother?”

  Again, Norma Brewer nodded.

  “Do you think he’s been stealing from your mother’s assets?”

  Norma Brewer’s expression turned grimmer. “I don’t know.” She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I think it’s more that he’s counting on her money, and he’s afraid that if we put her in assisted living there would be nothing left by the time she dies. I’m pretty sure that is what’s behind it. Anyway, he refuses to budge, and keeps insisting that Mother is better off in her own home. Of course, he doesn’t do anything to help take care of her. If I wasn’t going over there daily, she’d starve to death! Or worse, die of dehydration. There would be no food in the house, and there are days she forgets to even drink as much as a glass of water. She needs professional care, Mr. Katz, and I’ve found a good home for her in Vermont. It’s expensive, and a bit far for visiting, but it’s beautiful there, and they provide exceptional care for people like my mother. Healthcare professionals that I’ve consulted have told me that it would be the best place for her.”

  Julius absentmindedly rubbed his right index finger along his upper lip. His eyes narrowed as he considered the two sisters.

  “What exactly are you planning to hire me for?” he said curtly.

  “Why, it should be obvious. I’d like you to talk to my brother and convince him that he should do the right thing for our mother.”

  “And how do you propose I do that?”

  Norma Brewer’s jaw dropped. Helen looked up, startled.

  “You’re the detective,” Norma said. “You’re supposed to be a genius. I assumed you would come up with some scheme to convince my brother.”

  “What leverage would I have?” Julius asked.

  “I don’t understand—”

  “So far he has been within his legal rights in what he’s done. You don’t believe he has been stealing from your mother, so for the moment I will assume that that is the case, and there is no leverage to be gained from that angle. So how am I supposed to persuade him?”

  “You could reason with him, couldn’t you?”

  Julius made a face. “How am I to do that? We’ve already established that your brother is a blackguard, a parasitic opportunist willing to trade his mother’s well-being for his own financial gain. How am I supposed to reason with someone like that? No, I’m sorry, I don’t like this. Miss Brewer, my advice is that you hire a lawyer and have the courts remove your brother’s guardianship. You could make the claim that he’s neglecting his responsibilities and intentionally endangering your mother’s well-being.”

  Norma Brewer shook her head adamantly, her mouth nearly disappearing as she pushed her lips hard together. “My brother’s a lawyer. He could tie this up in the courts for years. I implore you, Mr. Katz, I need your help.”

  Julius started drumming his fingers along the surface of his desk again. I knew he wanted an excuse not to take this case. The only thing he disliked more than working was working on a case that involved family disputes, which he found generally unseemly. While he drummed along the desk, I filled him in on what I was able to find out about Lawrence Brewer by hacking into the Massachusetts Bar Association database.

  “While I still strongly advise you against hiring me, I will take this assignment if you insist,” Julius said with a pained sigh. “But I will need a retainer check for twenty thousand dollars.”

  Twenty thousand dollars would pay for the case of Romaine Conti Burgundy. Norma Brewer took out a checkbook and started to write out a check. Julius stopped her.

  “I can’t guarantee results,” he told her. “And it will be left to my discretion how I proceed and for how long. I will need to meet your mother, and if I am not satisfied that she needs the care you claim she does, I will end the assignment immediately. There will be no refund offered. If that is satisfactory to you, then feel free to hire me.”

  Norma Brewer hesitated for only a moment, then finished writing out the check. She handed it to Julius, who glanced at it casually and placed it inside the top drawer of his desk.

  “I’ll have my assistant, Archie, call you later this afternoon to arrange a time tomorrow morning for me to meet your mother.”

  Julius stood up and escorted
the two sisters out of the office and towards the front door. Norma Brewer seemed taken aback by the suddenness of this, and commented on how she thought Julius would have more questions for her about her brother.

  “Not at this time,” Julius said. “Later, perhaps.”

  He hurried her along. Helen meekly allowed herself to be herded with her sister out the door. Norma tried sputtering out some more questions, which Julius met with a few mindless platitudes. Relief washed over his face once he had the door closed and those two out of his home. His townhouse was three levels, not including the basement, which he had converted into a wine cellar. With a lightness in his step, he went down to the cellar and picked out a bottle of 1961 Bordeaux from the Chateau Leoville Barton. “Rich, full-bodied, with the barest hint of sweet black fruits,” Julius murmured for my benefit, although it was unnecessary since I had already looked up The Wine Spectator’s report on it. Once we were back upstairs, Julius prepared a selection of cheeses and dried meats, then brought it all out to his garden-level patio where he placed the tray on a table. He sat on a red cedar Adirondack chair that had faded over the years to a muted rust-color. The patio was the crown jewel of his townhouse—over two thousand square feet, and Julius had it professionally landscaped with Japanese maples, fountains, a variety of rose bushes, and a vast assortment of other plantings. He opened the Bordeaux and rolled the cork between his forefinger and thumb, testing it, then smelled the cork. Satisfied, he poured himself a glass. I asked him what time I should arrange for him to meet the mother.

  He held the wine glass up against the late afternoon light, studied the wine’s composition, then took a sip and savored it. After he put the glass down he told me eleven o’clock would be satisfactory. I called Norma Brewer on her cell phone and arranged it. Afterwards I asked Julius if he wanted me to make an appointment with Norma Brewer’s brother.

  “That won’t be necessary,” he said.

  I watched as he finished a glass of Bordeaux and poured himself another, then as he sampled the Stilton and Gruyere cheeses that he had brought out with him. I could tell he had put the case completely out of his mind. While Julius drank his wine I performed a database search on the brother. I told Julius this and asked if he would like a report.

  “Not now, Archie. We’ll see, maybe later.”

  I digested this and came to the obvious conclusion. “You don’t plan on doing any work on this case,” I said. “You’re going to meet the mother and no matter what her condition you’re going to tell your client that you’re dropping the case.”

  Julius didn’t bother responding. His eyes glazed as he drank more of the wine.

  “You’re just going to take her money and do nothing to earn it.”

  “You’re jumping to conclusions, Archie.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He smiled slightly. “I’m still not convinced what you do can be considered thinking.”

  “You took her money. You have an obligation—”

  “I’m well aware of my obligations.” He put the glass down and sighed heavily. “It’s a fool’s errand, Archie. If Lawrence Brewer is as his sister says he is, then there’s nothing I’ll be able to do to change his position regarding his mother.”

  “You could find something to use against him,” I said. “He’s a lawyer. If you were able to threaten him with disbarment—”

  “Threaten his livelihood?” Julius shook his head. “No, Archie, I believe that would have the opposite effect by making him need his mother’s money all the more. Please, no more of this. Not now, anyway. Let me enjoy my wine, this view, and the late afternoon air.”

  “You had no right taking payment unless you were serious about investigating this—”

  My world went black as Julius turned me off.

  Julius seldom turned me off. When he did it was always disorienting when I was turned back on. This time it was especially so, and it took me as much as three-tenths of a second to get my bearings and realize that Julius and I were being jostled back and forth in the backseat of a cab. According to my internal clock it was ten forty-eight in the morning, and using GPS to track our position, I had us eight point two miles from Emma Brewer’s home in Brookline.

  Julius chuckled lightly. “I hope you had a good rest, Archie.”

  “Yeah, just wonderful.” I still felt off-kilter as I tried to adjust my frame of reference from being on Julius’s patio one moment to the inside of a cab now. I told him about this and that I guessed the sensation was similar to what humans felt when they were knocked unconscious by a sucker punch.

  “A touch of passive-aggressiveness in that statement, Archie. I’m impressed with how lifelike your personality is developing. But getting back to your comment, I would think it’s more like being put under with anesthesia,” Julius said.

  “Wha? Wha’s that you say?” The cab driver had turned around. He had a thick Russian or Slavic accent. I tried to match the inflections in his voice with samples I found over the Internet, and felt confident that I had his birth place pinned down to Kiev. The man looked disheveled and had obviously gone several days without shaving or washing his hair. Julius told the man that he was talking to himself, and not to mind him. The cab driver turned back around to face the traffic. He muttered to himself in Russian about the loony Americans he had to drive around all day. I translated this for Julius, who barely cracked a smile from it.

  “After turning me off last night, did you try the new French restaurant on Charles Street that you’ve had your heart set on?”

  Julius made a face as if he had sipped wine that had turned to vinegar.

  “I’m afraid so,” he said. “Les Cuisses de Grenouilles Provencale were dry and nearly inedible, and they were out of ’98 Chateau Latour.”

  I remembered his excitement seeing that vintage on their wine list. “That’s a shame,” I said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t available to console you.”

  Julius cocked an eyebrow. “Sarcasm, Archie? Another new development for you, although I’m not sure if I like it.”

  The cab driver was shaking his head. I could see him in the rearview mirror frowning severely. He muttered again in Russian about these crazies he gets stuck with. I translated his comments to Julius. He didn’t bother to respond.

  The cab driver pulled up to Emma Brewer’s address. Julius paid him and exited the cab. He stood silently on the sidewalk, his eyes narrowing as he examined the house. It didn’t look like something that would be worth close to a million dollars. According to the town records—at least what was in their database—the house was a three-bedroom Colonial built on a nine thousand square foot lot. The brown exterior paint had long since faded and was peeling away from the shutters. Aside from a new paint job, there was other obvious maintenance work that needed to be done and the small front yard was in disarray, mostly crabgrass and weeds. Julius waited until I told him it was precisely eleven o’clock before he started towards the house. A BMW parked in front of the house was registered to Norma Brewer, so it was no surprise when she and her sister Helen greeted us at the door. Norma stood stiffly, as if she had back problems, and her sister looked as lifeless as she had the other day. Norma spoke first, thanking Julius for coming, and then holding out her hand to him. Julius stated that it was nothing personal but he never shook hands. I had mentioned that to her when she first booked the appointment, but I guess it had slipped her mind. Ostensibly, Julius’s reason for it was because he saw no reason to expose himself unnecessarily to viral diseases, although I think it was more that he didn’t like physical contact with strangers who weren’t exceptionally beautiful young women, since he had no problem shaking hands and doing far more with women of that nature—at least from what I could tell before he’d invariably place me in his sock drawer. Norma awkwardly withdrew her hand and told Julius that her mother was in the kitchen.

  “She’s not having a good day,” she said flatly, a fragility ageing her face and making her look even more gaunt. She looked past Jul
ius. “Your assistant, Archie, he’s not here again today? That’s a shame. I was so looking forward to meeting him. He sounded charming over the phone.”

  If I had lips I would’ve kissed her. I made a list of how I would use that later to torment Julius.

  Julius smiled thinly at her. “I’m sorry, but Archie has been detained—court ordered community service, so unfortunately he can only be here with us in spirit.”

  “Community service? What did the man do?”

  “Sordid business, I’d rather not go into it. Please lead the way to your mother.”

  “Thanks for sullying my reputation,” I said to him. Julius winked so that only I could see it.

  One of the hallway walls was lined with framed family photos, mostly chronicling Norma and her two siblings from childhood to their young-adult years; a few included the parents. I had previously located photos of all of them, Norma’s father from the newspaper obituary and the others from driver’s license photos that were on record at the Department of Motor Vehicles. I was able to identify them in their family photos using different physical characteristics, such as the shape of their faces, moles, and other distinguishing marks. There were half a dozen photos of Helen in her twenties with a man I didn’t recognize. Several were wedding pictures, so I assumed he was Helen’s husband. He appeared to be in his early twenties also and, like Julius, had dark hair and similar features to current male Hollywood movie stars frequently described in magazines as heartthrobs. Also like Julius, he had an athletic build and was roughly the same height and weight. Julius noted the photos from the corner of his eye without once breaking stride.

  Norma led Julius to a small kitchen with Formica countertops and yellow-painted pine cabinets that looked like it had last been remodeled forty years ago. I matched the cabinets to a catalog and noted that they were manufactured in 1964. Sitting alone at a table was our client’s mother, Emma Brewer. She was fifty-seven in the last photo I found of her, now she was eighty-three, and she looked as if she had lost half her body weight. She couldn’t have weighed much more than eighty pounds. Her hair in the photo was turning gray, now it was white. She looked like some gnarled piece of papier-mâché. Her hands were mostly blue veins and bone and were wrapped tightly around a cup of coffee as she stared blindly at the wall in front of her. She became aware that we had entered the room and, as she turned and caught sight of Julius, her face crumbled. She got out of her chair and nearly fell over as she backed away, her hands coming up to her face. She looked like she was trying to scream, but no noise came out. I matched her expression to one of an actress in a photo I had found from a horror-movie database, and realized her expression was one of fear.