by Sanctuary
Marge cupped her brow with extended fingers, protecting her eyes from the onslaught of the midmorning sun. “You’ve got to ask yourself why a top dog like Milligan would bother with Yalom. The answer is, he had something she wanted. But I can’t think that his stockholdings would be anything worth screaming about. Hell, if they were truly valuable, seems to me the easiest thing would be for VerHauten to buy the guy out.”
Decker said, “Agreed. Something else is at stake. You want to pay an impromptu visit to Ms. Milligan?”
“What are the chances that she’ll be in or that she’ll see us if she’s in?”
“Her offices are only a few blocks away. Let’s go for it.”
Marge shrugged. “You’re the veteran.”
Decker looked at the street signs. “This way. Let’s walk. The weather’s nice.”
Ten minutes later, Decker was standing in front of a waffled monolith of chrome and glass that reflected the glare of sunlight. He shielded his eyes and rolled his shoulder.
“Your bullet wound acting up?”
“Just when the weather’s been damp.” He smoothed back his hair. “Let’s do it.”
They went into a sunlit lobby, taking another express elevator. Decker felt his stomach lurch with each stop until they exited onto the twenty-third floor. Steel doors opened and they stepped into a paneled lobby. The entrance to the inner sanctum was blocked by a twenty-foot walnut desk manned by a pair of headphoned receptionists—one blonde, one brunette. The blonde had on a short-sleeved teal-blue dress; the dark-haired lass wore a tomato-red suit. Across the satin-smooth paneled barrier bronze capital letters spelled out MILLIGAN AND ASSOCIATES. The left side of the lobby held a six-foot leather couch; on the right were two wingback club chairs, between them a table holding several copies of the day’s Wall Street Journal. Decker approached the desk, attracting the attention of the blond receptionist. She smiled at him, but continued talking into her headphones. A moment later, she gave them her full attention.
“May I help you?”
Her voice was delicate, shaded with a South African accent. Decker said, “Kate Milligan, please.”
The blonde furrowed her brow. “And your name?”
“We don’t have an appointment.” Marge took out her badge. It attracted attention not only from the blonde but from the brunette as well.
The brunette said, “What’s this all about, Mae?”
Mae answered, “I don’t know.”
The phone rang. The brunette answered. “Milligan and Associates. This is Ellen. How may I direct your call?”
Mae said, “So Ms. Milligan isn’t expecting you?”
Decker smiled. “Just tell her the police are here.”
Mae seemed mired in indecision.
Decker said, “Why don’t you pick up your phone and call her?”
Mae seemed impressed by Decker’s solution. She pushed buttons on a switchboard, then turned her back. Neither Marge nor Decker could hear what she was saying. Then she swiveled back to face them. “May I have the nature of your business?”
Marge said, “Personal.”
Once again, Mae turned her back. Then she hung up the phone. “Ms. Milligan’s secretary is contacting her. Why don’t you have a seat for a few moments.”
The moments stretched to minutes, then to a half hour. Just as Decker was about to get up, Mae smiled at him. “That was Ms. Milligan’s secretary. He said that she’ll be down in a few moments.”
This time the moments were really moments. A woman appeared, and instantly, Decker felt his heart lurch in his chest. He cursed himself for reacting like a man first, a cop second. But he just couldn’t help himself. He stood, focusing on her face, trying to observe without staring.
Goddamn Guttenburg for not warning him.
She was beautiful—tall and lithe with skin as smooth as buffed bronze. Her bone structure was flawless, her eyes clearwater blue. Her hair was a wavy perm of copper-colored tresses. She wore a tailored ivory suit with a lace camisole peeking between the lapels. Her perfume was light with a floral hint. Decker’s eyes went from Milligan’s face to the shield in his hands.
“Ms. Milligan?” He showed her his shield. “Detective Sergeant Peter Decker from the Los Angeles Police Department. This is Detective Dunn. We’d like to have a word with you.”
Milligan stared at the badge, then at Decker. “What’s this about?”
Of course, her voice had to be husky.
“Arik Yalom,” Marge said.
“Oh, not him!” She became cross, her South African accent pronounced with her anger. “I can’t actually believe he’s sicced the police on me! I resent having to deal with such rot! While I have nothing but admiration for law and order, I am very busy. You may feel free to take any official matters up with my personal lawyers. Their offices are on the floor above. I’ll even have Ellen ring them up for you.”
“Can we just have a few minutes of your time, Ms. Milligan?” Decker said. “I promise we’ll be brief.”
Milligan’s eyes met his. They were exquisite but unreadable. “All right. Come.”
She turned on her heels, expecting to be followed. Decker looked at Marge, who rolled her eyes. They walked behind Milligan’s long legs, her heels clackety-clacking on the hallway’s floor. Up yet another two flights in an elevator. Decker never thought of himself as claustrophobic, but he felt a sweat coming on.
Maybe it was the woman.
Milligan turned into her executive secretary’s office, waltzing past the young man’s desk. She led them into a grand-sized room sporting a panoramic view of downtown LA.
Decker’s sweat had turned suddenly cold. Maybe that was the office—all chrome and glass and ultra-modern with wall art that didn’t believe in anything representational. Expensive though. Big canvases and big names, the most notable being the dripping style of Jackson Pollock. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, but instead of providing warmth and softening, it only added heat and glare. About as inviting as the spotlight on an operating table.
“Have a seat,” Milligan said.
But she remained standing by her desk—an enormous high-polished piece of granite rock. Behind the desk was a floor-to-ceiling bookcase. The top half held law books—American law, South African law, English law and international law. The lower half was dedicated to books on economics. Books by John Maynard Keynes and Milton Friedman. There was one full row of books on the post—World War II economies of Germany and Japan.
Immediately, the phone rang. Milligan told her secretary to hold all calls and slammed the receiver down.
“He sees I’m leading two people into my office, you’d think he’d know better than to ring a call through.” Milligan shook her head. “But he’s loyal. Followed me from VerHauten. I suppose you can’t put a price tag on allegiance.” Absently, she leafed through a folder that was lying on her desk. “You said you’d be brief. I’m already behind schedule.”
She’d pronounced the last word sheduel.
Decker pocketed his shield. He sat on a black leather couch big enough to accommodate his frame. Marge sat next to him, spine ramrod straight. They both were intimidated by the wealth, the power. A big no-no for a detective, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped.
Decker said, “Thanks for your time, Ms. Milligan—”
“You may skip the pleasantries.”
There was an awkward moment of silence. The rudeness kicked in his professionalism.
He stood. “Okay, ma’am. Then just tell me why a multibillion-dollar company like VerHauten felt threatened by Arik Yalom’s meager holding in African diamond mines.”
Milligan’s eyes became hot blue flames.
Decker smiled. “You can start anytime you want, Ms. Milligan.”
A slow smile spread across Milligan’s lips. She leaned against her desk, placing a hand on her jutting hip. “Are you serious?”
Decker said, “Yes.”
Milligan straightened her spine, crossing her arms in front
of her chest. “I don’t answer absurdities.”
“We have records of your correspondence with Mr. Yalom,” Marge added.
“Then you have records of a deranged man sending VerHauten his incoherent ramblings.”
“Why’d you bother answering them?” Decker asked.
“VerHauten answers all its correspondence, deranged or otherwise.”
“That’s not what I asked, Ms. Milligan,” Decker said. “I asked why you, personally, bothered answering them.”
“His correspondence was sent to my division—”
“And you answer all correspondence directed to your division?”
Milligan bit a coral, bee-stung lower lip, but her eyes never wavered from his face. Decker had faced many an ice-water-veined felon, but her stare went right through his spine. He dropped his voice a notch.
“When you surmised the nature of his business, why didn’t you immediately forward his letters to VerHauten’s attorneys? Correct me if I’m wrong, but you had already been moved out of the legal department by then.”
“You seem to know a great deal about me.” Milligan let her arms drop at her sides. “Why the interest?”
“I’m interested specifically in your business with Arik Yalom. When you realized that Yalom was a quote-unquote deranged man, why didn’t you forward his correspondence to VerHauten’s attorneys?”
“Because they are busy individuals, not to be bothered by cranks and fools.”
“VerHauten’s attorneys are on retainers and are paid handsomely to deal with cranks and fools. I would think you, on the other hand, a one-of-a-kind, highly valued employee would have better ways to spend your time.”
Marge found her voice and broke in. “Look, Ms. Milligan, Sergeant Decker and I are working very hard, trying to investigate this double homicide. We’re not out to give anyone grief. So let’s work together.”
“If for no other reason than you’ll get rid of us faster,” Decker added.
No one spoke for a moment. Then Decker noticed that Milligan seemed frozen in position. He said, “You didn’t know?”
Milligan stiffly shook her head.
Decker said, “Arik Yalom and his wife, Dalia, were found murdered a couple of days ago.”
Marge said, “It was extensively covered on television and in the newspapers. I’m surprised you didn’t hear—”
“When was this?”
“It was two days ago,” Decker said. “We’ve started going through Mr. Yalom’s affairs and found your letters. Tell me about them. What was Yalom onto?”
“Nothing as far as I could ascertain. Nothing that anyone would want to…murder for. My God, that’s…this is surreal.”
Decker said, “Mr. Yalom had some holdings in African diamond mines. What do you know about them?”
Milligan dropped into her desk chair and stared out the window.
Decker said, “Are you all right, Ms. Milligan? Do you need some water?”
“Nothing,” she whispered.
They gave her a minute to get over the shock. Then Marge said, “Beautiful view. Especially on a bright, sunny day like today.”
Milligan continued looking out the window. “I hadn’t heard about Yalom. I’ve been rather preoccupied with my own affairs. This seems very tragic.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Decker said.
“So why are you interviewing me?”
Marge said, “You two exchanged angry letters. You want to tell us about them?”
“What is there to tell? The man was delusional.”
“How so?” Decker asked.
Milligan said, “Allegedly, he owned land that was supposedly rich in diamonds. He wanted a joint venture with VerHauten and they weren’t interested. Mr. Yalom wouldn’t take no for an answer.” She looked down. “I can’t believe someone actually murdered him.”
“And his wife,” Marge said. “Do you know if he was involved with anyone—business or otherwise?”
“I only know he wasn’t involved with VerHauten.” Milligan took her eyes from the window. “I don’t know anything about the man except that he had grandiose ideas.” She stood. “Anything else?”
“Ms. Milligan, why did you deal directly with Mr. Yalom?”
“A grave error on my part.” She laughed but it lacked mirth. “I answered Arik’s correspondence directly because the man had a sterling reputation as a player in the secondary market. As a top employee of VerHauten, I was very conscientious about the company’s image. They don’t look kindly on top-rated dealers bad-mouthing the company. They try to appease before setting on their barristers.”
“A billion-dollar company like VerHauten actually gives a hoot about one lone salesman?” Marge asked.
“Yes. Despite what you’ve heard, VerHauten is very much a family business.”
“Mr. VerHauten is personally involved in the day-to-day activities?” Marge asked.
“VerHauten’s the company’s name,” Decker said. “Thaddeus Whitman is the chairman of the board. Sir Thaddeus Whitman, isn’t it?”
Again, Milligan, bit her lip. “Very good. Sir Thaddeus is VerHauten. And he doesn’t like slights, no matter who gives them.” She leaned forward and rested her elbows on the desk. “These people are very…gossipy. Very clannish.”
These people. Meaning Jews? Because most diamond dealers were Jews. Decker asked, “Which people?”
Milligan’s eyes went to his face. They betrayed nothing. “Diamond dealers are a very closed-minded lot. But they’re jolly good at what they do. No one’s debating that, least of all Sir Thaddeus. The company needs them to process and sell its raw stones through America. Not that VerHauten puts up with renegades. But Yalom’s reputation, according to the IADD and word of mouth, was beyond reproach.”
“What’s the IADD?” Marge asked.
“International Association of Diamond Dealers.” Milligan looked absently at her desktop. “VerHauten had had direct dealings with Yalom in the past with no problems.”
“Overseas dealings?”
“Pardon?”
Decker said, “VerHauten isn’t allowed to do business in the States, correct?”
“Yes, correct.”
“So their dealings with Yalom. They were overseas dealings?”
“Of course.”
Marge asked, “What kind of dealings? I thought he wasn’t considered a major player. He didn’t warrant a box, did he?”
“Of course not!” Milligan smiled. “You two have done some homework.”
Decker said, “So as a buyer, Yalom was small.”
“As a buyer, Yalom was a flea,” Milligan stated. “But as a cutter…he was on our list.”
“List?” Marge asked.
“Every so often VerHauten unearths a particular stone with the potential to become a world treasure—if it’s cut correctly. It takes a very special cutter to look inside the stone—”
“Cut a window?” Decker said.
Milligan smiled. “Yes, Sergeant. They cut a window to try to determine how the grain runs. But that’s not enough—not nearly enough. Computer enhancement helps, but it still boils down to human experience, judgment, and just plain talent. One wrong move and a stone can be shattered. VerHauten has a list of preapproved exceptional cutters and Arik was on that list. He had done fine—exceptionally fine—work in the past. That’s why we…that’s why I was taken aback by the vehemence of Yalom’s accusations. I’d maintained good relationships with the man, found him quite sane actually.”
Marge said, “And you’re telling us that VerHauten wasn’t interested in Yalom’s land and mining company holdings?”
“It was an interesting moment of diversion,” Milligan said, casually. “VerHauten is very much aware of the Angola problem. It’s an annoyance, but they’ve been dealing with it for years.”
Decker said, “Tell me about the Angola problem.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Let me make a stab at summing up the problem,” Decker said. “Angola has la
nd that’s diamond-rich, thereby presenting VerHauten with unwanted competition.”
Milligan seemed to be choosing her words. “There has been some free flow of loose stones from the alluvial riverbeds. But the company has adjusted itself to the situation.”
Marge said, “Why doesn’t VerHauten with its billions in assets just buy up the land?”
“Because most of the land produces boart—industrial diamonds—about two dollars a carat on a good day. Yes, there’s money to be made in boart. But at the time I was with VerHauten, they chose to concentrate on gem-quality stones. From VerHauten’s perspective, it was easier to buy up the few expensive diamonds the lands produced than to mine the stones themselves.”
“But that swells up VerHauten’s inventory, doesn’t it?” Decker said.
Milligan pursed her lips. “Have a side interest in business, do you, Sergeant?”
Decker said nothing.
Milligan said, “Suffice it to say VerHauten knows what it’s doing. It has been around a long time. If Sir Thaddeus says Angola’s not worth the bother, it isn’t.”
Marge said, “And Yalom’s holdings weren’t attractive to VerHauten?”
Milligan started rummaging through papers. “His alleged interests held no interest at the prices he wanted.”
Decker said, “Why the word alleged when talking about Yalom’s land holdings?”
“VerHauten had some doubt as to Yalom’s claims of ownership. Another reason we didn’t want to deal with him.”
“Doubt of ownership based on what?”
“Based on sources.”
“What sources?” Marge said.
“That’s VerHauten’s affair.”
Decker said, “Why’d VerHauten try to negotiate with Yalom if you felt he didn’t own the land you were negotiating for?”
Milligan’s cheeks took on a blush. “I have been quite patient with you. And I really am very busy. As a matter of fact, I am no longer even associated with VerHauten. So you really should be taking matters up with their barristers.” She walked over to the exit and opened the door. “Good day.”
