“You can’t just bring up a person’s name in the courtroom and say, ‘Hey! There might be a conspiracy theory here!’ Defaming a private citizen could get us into a lot of trouble. How the hell can I make you understand that our job is not to solve this murder, but just to show that someone else besides Kate McCall might be guilty?”
“If there’s a chance to solve this murder, I’m not ignoring it. But I’ll do my best not to include you.”
Debbie chewed her chimichanga. I offered her my tacos then walked out.
Chapter 26
The next morning we walked in silence from the courthouse to the jail. Kate McCall entered the room with a deer-in-the-headlights look mixed into her usual mournful expression.
Debbie wasted no time. “Did you go to Jackie Whitney’s apartment on the eighteenth, the day before you found her body?”
McCall nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” I said.
She looked at me then back to Debbie. Barely above a whisper she said, “You’ns asked me to account for my whereabouts on Saturday the sixteenth and Sunday the seventeenth. And that’s what I told you’ns.”
“The medical examiner thinks the murder most likely occurred on the sixteenth or seventeenth,” I said, “but I’ve since been reminded that it’s not an exact science. Don’t you think your defense team would’ve wanted to know you were in the victim’s home so close to the murder window?”
“The police had done told me I was on the television goin’ in on the eighteenth. I figured you knowed already or you would’ve said somethin’.”
I looked at Debbie for an answer. “The prosecutor hasn’t given me all their discovery yet,” she said. “The assholes delay information so the defense has less time to figure out a plausible explanation. They may even hold info until the trial and claim all the defense had to do was look at the CCTV, like they did.”
“I stopped watching when I noticed the time stamp gap,” I said, “which was late Saturday night through Sunday morning. Okay, Kate, what were you doing at Jackie Whitney’s apartment on the eighteenth?”
“To see if she was home is all.”
“What did the doorman think about you going up?”
“First he called up to her place. When she didn’t answer, he didn’t like the idea of lettin’ me go on up. But he knowed Jackie gave me a key. I told him I was worried and just wanted to take a look. Him and me talked a bit longer and he become more friendly to the idea and let me go.”
“Had you gotten to be friendly over time with the doorman Manny Alvarez?”
McCall shrugged. “He was always a nice enough fella.”
“How did Jackie treat Alvarez?”
“Jules, what’re you doing?” Debbie said.
“Well,” Kate said, “Jackie can be all forceful like in her talkin’ sometimes. But she’s only tryin’ to help. Tryin’ to make you better.”
“She talked down to Alvarez,” I said. “Like she talked down to you.”
“Jules!” Debbie said. “Don’t badger her.”
“Sorry. So you went in. What did you see?”
“The door to her bedroom was closed. I opened it. She wasn’t in bed. Somethin’ smelled bad and I got real scared. I knowed how dead animals smell. I panicked and ran out of there.”
“You came back the next morning at two-thirty and called 911.”
Kate nodded.
“Again, the doorman didn’t mind you going up?” I said.
“I told him about goin’ up earlier, and the smell, and that I had a bad feelin’. He let me on up.”
“Kate, did you kill Jackie?” I said.
“She already told us she didn’t!” Debbie shouted.
“I didn’t kill nobody!” Kate said, tears falling down her cheek. “I swear to Christ Almighty, I didn’t kill nobody.” She started sobbing into her hands.
Debbie whacked me hard on the shoulder. “What’s the matter with you?” she said.
“I just wanted to hear the truth again, from her mouth.”
“You and your truth. Maybe you should get off the defense team and go find truth on your own.”
“No,” Kate said. “Mr. Landau, I’ve done bad things. I’ve taken stuff not belongin’ to me, but I ain’t got no reason to kill nobody. Please believe me and stay and help.”
Debbie’s jaw muscles strained. She wanted to lecture me again, or beat the crap out of me.
“Okay, Kate,” I said, standing up to leave. “From now on, no matter what, you’re innocent of murder, if only because it’s my job not to think otherwise.”
—
Tamar sat at a table in the Kutaisi Georgian Bakery, reading the paper.
“What’s this?” I said. “Sitting down on the job? What kind of example are you setting for your staff?”
“I’m the boss, remember?”
“May I join you?”
“It’s a free country.”
I sat. Tamar smiled and put the paper down. “What?” she said. “Say it out loud, maybe I can help you figure it out.”
“I’m that transparent?”
“Of course. A bloodhound’s behavior is ruled by the scent it’s following. You’re no different.”
“Calling me a son of a bitch is nothing new.”
“Shut up. There’s no better tracking dog than the bloodhound.”
“I keep following the scent back to Jackie Whitney having some damning information on the dirtbag lawyer, which would’ve been his motivation to kill her.”
“So what’s bothering you?”
“My training tells me anybody can be a murderer. But this guy’s so easy to hate. It’s almost too easy. I don’t trust it.”
Neither of us spoke. Then Tamar said, “You said the dirtbag lawyer likes to take money from old folks?”
“He also likes to put them in expensive nursing homes. He convinces a judge that the spouse is not equipped to take care of their mate.”
“I looked into putting Deida into a nursing home if she got too difficult to take care of. We either warehouse the old in dreary state-supported facilities or put them into expensive resort-like places owned by a corporation.”
The word “corporation” washed over me, inspired DeWeldt’s face to flash through my brain as the embodiment of aloof, corporate arrogance. It was only natural DeWeldt should turn the “prosperous elderly” into a commodity waiting to be exploited.
“Did you look at a place called Contentment?”
“Yeah. They’re popping up like Starbucks and cost around ten thousand a month. More if you need skilled nursing.”
DeWeldt must have a stake in these nursing homes. Each new arrival was another one hundred and twenty thousand dollars of annual revenue. He probably paid bonuses to his associates based on how many clients ended up living at a Contentment facility—or how much they managed to embezzle from bank accounts, estates, or trust funds. Having the Attorney Registration & Disciplinary Commission covering his ass ensured a good night’s sleep. The stress of losing a loved one plus collecting the deceased’s financial information was probably enough to discourage lawsuits.
“Jules! Where’d you go?”
“Can I borrow your laptop?”
“Now?”
“If it’s not a hassle.”
Tamar walked through the kitchen and into the prep room. A door on the far wall opened to a cluttered office. She reappeared a minute later carrying her open laptop, then put it down next to me. “I have to get back to work,” she said. “Bring this to the counter when you’re done.”
“What time are you coming over?”
“Just leave the door ajar.”
She turned to leave. I tugged her arm. “Wait. You mean leave the door unattached, don’t you?”
“Why are you making fun—” I handed her a key. She smiled, kissed me.
“Now it won’t matter if the door is attached or unattached.”
Tamar held the key up to eye level. “You may regret this,” she said then
walked away.
I searched for Contentment Corporation at the Securities and Exchange Commission website. It took a while, but I was able to find the documents stating the percentage of stock owned by the company’s executives. It was no surprise that one of the majority stockholders was Henry DeWeldt, a fact that seemed even more fortuitous after I answered my phone to hear DeWeldt’s voice.
“I want you to come to my downtown office,” DeWeldt said. “Let’s clear the air.”
“My nose feels better and the bruises on my thigh and back are almost healed,” I said. “Do you mind leaving Brookstone in the lobby?”
“Just come to my office. We’ll talk like two reasonable adults. That’s all.”
That’s all. Henry and I would sit and chat. Maybe after one resided too long in an unscrupulous legal system, corruption no longer blipped on one’s ethical radar. How else to explain a debased corporatist like Henry DeWeldt thinking himself “reasonable”?
—
The receptionist expected me. “Corner office to the right,” she said as I walked in.
I knocked twice. The door opened magically, then closed just as magically after I entered. Behind me stood a bouncer in an Armani suit. I smiled, extended my hand. He ignored me. DeWeldt offered me a view of his back while he took in the sweeping lakefront spectacle. I sat in the chair in front of his desk.
“Here I am, Henry. The meter’s running.”
“I know what you think,” DeWeldt said, still with his back to me. “Regardless, that doesn’t make me a murderer.” He swiveled around. “Why do you insist I’m a murderer?”
“Remember our last meeting? The one where you had me kidnapped and taken to your West Belmont office? You asked if I had some documents, then you accused me of wanting to blackmail you. Remember? And do you remember your thugs punching me in the back?”
DeWeldt readjusted himself in the chair. “My apologies.”
“But let me answer your question. Jackie Whitney had damning information and you couldn’t take a chance on what she’d do with it. Sound like a motive?”
“She stole from me. But I didn’t kill her! Don’t you think I would’ve retrieved the stolen item if I had gone to the trouble of killing someone?”
“Tell me what you were fighting about.”
“What fight? When?”
“The argument at the Christmas party.”
“Who the hell told you about that?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
DeWeldt loosened his tie, unfastened the top button. “Jackie had set up a trust for the animal shelter. She wanted to change it so the shelter no longer received money.”
“What pissed her off?”
DeWeldt cleared his throat. “It was about the development director, Lucille Mackenzie. Jackie was upset about her salary.”
I waited. “What about it?”
DeWeldt looked away, folded his arms. “She thought it was too high.”
“How much too high?”
The question irritated him. “Do you have any idea how much money it took to build that place? Furry BFF hired a seasoned, proven, professional fundraiser in Lucille Mackenzie. Without Lucille, there would be no building.”
“Okay, so who decided how much she got paid?”
“The board of directors approves employee compensation.”
“So a board member must’ve told Jackie how much Lucille made?”
“That wouldn’t have been necessary. Nonprofit finances are part of the public record.”
“But considering Lucille’s prestige, the board must’ve deliberated over how much she would be paid.”
DeWeldt chose his words carefully. “The board studied the issue in an executive session, meaning it was discussed confidentially among the officers.”
Confidentially among the officers. “Lucille’s salary was so flagrantly high, Jackie wanted to cut the shelter out of her estate? I need to know how much if you expect me to believe that.”
“Don’t tell me what I need to do, Landau. Lucille’s salary is irrelevant. I didn’t kill anybody, that’s why you’re here.”
“Okay, Henry. Did Jackie end up changing the trust?”
“No. I reminded her how dedicated Lucille was and how much money she had raised for the shelter. She agreed to think about it.”
“Did it anger Jackie that you defended Lucille?”
DeWeldt stood then walked to that same corner window. “I know Jackie could be very insulting at times,” DeWeldt said. “But deep down she was a well-meaning, intelligent woman.” He turned to face me. “I warned her about it. Specifically the way she spoke to Kate McCall. And that doorman. She thought she could make people better by being tough. Sometimes she spoke to me that way. It made sense that Kate McCall snapped. She’s from a different—uh, civilization, with different codes.”
DeWeldt recognizing verbal abuse of Manny and McCall impressed me. I said, “You didn’t answer my question. Did it anger Jackie that you defended Lucille?”
“I suppose.”
“What about your affair with Lucille? That probably pissed her off too.”
“She heard something at that damn party and overreacted.”
“Are you still seeing her?”
“I was never seeing her. We had a couple of meaningless encounters.”
“What’s your relationship with Lucille like now?”
“Purely professional.”
“Professional in the context of a large donor and the chief fundraiser. Tell me about the stolen information.”
DeWeldt sat back down. “Doesn’t matter.”
“It must really threaten your standing in society.”
“That doesn’t mean I would kill to get it back.”
Murders are committed for much less, I wanted to say. “Kate McCall has no link to your stolen information.”
“One has nothing to do with the other. The evidence against McCall is undeniable.”
“But the killer must’ve taken the info from the dead Jackie Whitney. McCall doesn’t know anything about it. How did you discover someone else had the information?”
“I was sent a copy of a page, with a note.”
“How much do they want?”
“They want only that I ensure Kate McCall is convicted of Jackie’s murder.”
“Which is why you hired Brookstone to harass me.”
“Many people will suffer if this information is made public—”
“The pressure must be very unsettling. All those distinguished fellows facing disbarment and extended stays at Club Fed.”
DeWeldt didn’t appreciate my candor. “The alleged motive you’re suggesting will destroy me. The world will assume a man of my means wouldn’t hesitate to stoop to murder. I’d be guilty regardless of what a jury said.”
“And all the publicity might bring unwanted attention to how Contentment rapes and pillages the elderly.”
“Contentment provides top-of-the-line care!”
“You agree Jackie took something from your home. Can we call it a record of transactions?”
DeWeldt responded by not responding.
“When did she take it? And how the hell did she know where it was?”
DeWeldt swore under his breath. “Before going to California, she asked to see me. To make amends, I thought. We talked in my home office, which I also use as a den. I was called away for an hour or so to attend other business. Jackie being alone in my home was not unusual. She must’ve searched through my desk drawers. She left for Palm Springs a few days later.”
“You don’t lock up incriminating evidence?”
DeWeldt’s hand closed into a fist then relaxed. “I do, damn it. But in this case I just didn’t take this kind of possibility seriously enough. And now it’s come back to bite me.”
“She stole the information before she left town in early January. However, you agreed to perform legal work on her trust when she returned four months later?”
DeWeldt pursed his lips. “Jackie cal
led and very calmly admitted taking the information. She said she wanted to hang on to it for a while—to think about what to do, or something like that. I tried to reason with her. I offered to pay, but she wouldn’t listen. We spoke several more times over the next few months. I apologized repeatedly for my behavior. I hadn’t realized how strong her feelings were for me. The last time we spoke she told me about coming back to deal with the renter. She promised to return what she stole. She asked only that I amend the trust to exclude the animal shelter.”
The odor of bullshit drifted past. I walked behind his desk, took my turn soaking in the view. I said, “How much did she know about your assisted-living business and how you operated?”
DeWeldt walked to an antique-looking bar cart and poured a drink. He didn’t offer me one. “Our relationship got stormy at times. We drank too much. We argued politics. She used her big mouth to get at me. It was a kind of game she played.” He sat back down behind his desk. “Let’s just say I talk too much when I drink, and Jackie knew it.”
DeWeldt withheld details, but I felt confident enough to draw some conclusions. “Jackie betrayed you for defending and screwing Lucille Mackenzie. Your bragging about power and influence also helped erode her opinion of you. There was an ad in a magazine on Jackie’s table for the Senior Tricks bridge club. Maybe discovering that you used the club to fish for dupes pushed her over the edge.”
“I told you I did nothing illegal!” He opened the top drawer to his desk and took out a checkbook. “Let’s get down to what matters. I’ll write you a check for fifty grand if you drop your investigation. It’s that easy.”
“Are you sure there’s not more to the story behind Jackie’s betrayal?”
“You know everything you need to know.”
I returned to the guest chair. “Even if I did walk away, Kate McCall’s public defender has plenty of potential evidence to sway a jury.”
“Tell me what it is. We can get to people—”
“I’m not going to help you, Henry.”
We both stood. He walked out from behind his desk. “I’ll double whatever they’re paying you, on top of the fifty thousand.”
Doubt in the 2nd Degree Page 18
