The Last Word

by Lisa Lutz

  This left George Rhinebeck and Shannon Crane. George was a close friend of Edward’s and his time was already stretched in many directions. I think he was on the board of at least three other successful companies. Shannon Crane, objectively, would be the person who would want the job the most. She’d once held a CEO position at another well-established venture capital firm, which she’d abdicated after her second child was born. Her children were now teenagers and I suppose one could argue she had a good reason for wanting to get out of the house. I’d have to look at her more closely. But there was no getting around the fact that there were no obvious suspects on the board of directors, and Edward was close friends with all of them. He never brought anyone into the fold whom he didn’t trust implicitly.

  I logged on to my computer to connect to a credit-check database; my computer began to run in slow motion. I shook the mouse and then it was as if a poltergeist had control of my computer. The cursor clicked onto the web browser and then a ghost in the machine typed in the URL for Her Li’l Majesty, a shopping site for all things involving dressing young girls like princesses or prostitutes. The monster in my computer began adding various items into the shopping cart. Mini prom dresses, mini beaded evening gowns, sashes, pumps in size three, toddler makeup, body glitter. I unplugged the computer and dialed the number that Maggie had given me for Craig Finch, computer consultant.

  Craig is a shut-in. Even if your hard drive actually needs to have physical repairs, no contact is made. Instead, you’re given a drop-off location. No one has ever seen Craig, according to Maggie. However, the invisible repairman comes highly recommended.

  “Mr. Finch,” I said. “This is Isabel Spellman; I’m Maggie Mason’s sister-in-law. She gave me your number. I have some strange things going on with my computer.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “Yes. Sometimes it freezes. Once a lot of crazy numbers started showing up on the screen, mostly zeros and ones.”

  “Binary code,” Finch said.

  “Sometimes it’s slow. Sometimes it’s not. Also, sometimes our old computer repairman is inside our computer playing mind games with us. Me specifically. We gave him remote access once and I think he still has it.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “I know it sounds paranoid, but you’re going to have to take my word for it.”

  “You’re going to have to give me remote access to poke around,” Finch said.

  “And then what happens? You have a bad day, you don’t like the way I talk to you or something, and the next thing I know you’re making me watch you buy toddler ball gowns on my computer?”

  “Think about it and get back to me.”

  As soon as I disconnected the call, Mom entered the office and said that she needed her paycheck early.

  “What’s happening to all your money?”

  “We have only a few more days to put money in our IRA.1 Your father and I would like to retire one day.”

  “Talk to Rae. She’s writing the checks these days.”

  Mom returned to the kitchen, where she proceeded to make toast, her signature dish.

  “Is there something I should know?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Mom said. “Navy blue and black are not the same color.”

  “We’re going to have to agree to disagree.”

  If you have to line up a shirt and sweater next to each other because you can barely tell the difference, the difference becomes irrelevant. I’ve argued this point many times before, and would gladly have argued it again, but at that juncture I needed to stay on point.

  “Are you and Dad okay?”

  “Yes, dear. We’re fine.”

  “Are you still thinking about selling the house?”

  “You’ve always known this, Isabel. We’ve never made much with the business. The house is the only thing we have of value.”

  “Should I be more worried than usual?”

  “Yes, Isabel.” Mom said. “You’re thirty-five, single, you live in a dump, your hair looks like shit, and your little sister knows more about running the business you own than you do. You should most definitely worry.”

  “That was a little harsh, Mom.”

  Mom kissed me on the cheek.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just been a long day.”

  “It’s eleven A.M.”

  The doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it,” Mom said.

  Mom returned to the kitchen with Agent Bledsoe.

  “This gentleman, Carl, says he’s here to see you.”

  I didn’t overhear what introductions were made at the door, so I fished for a cue.

  “Carl, I knew I was forgetting something. Lunch, right?”

  “We’ll take my car, if that’s all right?” Carl said.

  “Yes. Your car is fine. Bye, Mom. See you later.”

  “Carl, can you give me a moment?” my mom said, holding me back.

  “I’ll wait outside,” Carl said.

  “I’m glad you’re making new friends,” Mom said. “It would be so much nicer if they weren’t married.”

  • • •

  I’d learned my lesson. The second I got into Agent Bledsoe’s car, I lawyered up and called Maggie; she got an extension on her armed robbery case and met us at the federal building.

  “Did you say anything?” Maggie sternly asked when she arrived.

  “She wouldn’t even chat about the weather,” Agent Bledsoe interjected.

  “Good. If you look at the evidence, it’s obvious that Isabel is being framed. Until you find out who owns GLD Inc. and where the bulk of that money is going, you have no idea who the real embezzler is. My client is happy to write a check now and put it in a trust. Or freeze the account to prevent any more wire transfers. You have our full cooperation as long as I understand that this isn’t a witch hunt on my client.”

  “Thank you,” Agent Bledsoe said. “May I ask your client a question unrelated to the financial issues?”

  “Ask and I’ll let her know if she can answer.”

  “What do you think happened to your boss last night?”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “You didn’t hear?”

  “Hear what?”

  “Edward Slayter was found wandering around Lake Merced at three A.M. last night in his pajamas. He’s being held on a 5150 at the county hospital.”

  I got to my feet and turned to Maggie. “I have to go. Now.”

  As we left, Agent Bledsoe said, “Don’t take any vacations, Isabel.”

  “I never do.”

  • • •

  Maggie dropped me at the house, so I could get my car. I phoned Ethan on our way because, as Edward’s closest living relative, he would be able to get information from the hospital. He returned my phone call ten minutes later.

  “The only way we can get Edward out of the psych hold,” said Ethan, “is with the support of his physician. No one seems to have this information. Can you help?”

  “I have it.”

  “Call him and then if you would be so kind as to pick me up at my apartment.”

  • • •

  Ethan and I arrived at the hospital and were referred to the row of plastic chairs in bondage against the wall. I poured a cup of coffee that had no business calling itself that and waited impatiently for Dr. Lorberg, Slayter’s personal physician, to arrive.

  Ethan played the role of concerned brother with aplomb. He ranted at the nurse at the front desk. He threatened legal recourse. He made a phone call to an attorney friend. He demanded to see the supervising physician. Then Ethan turned to me.

  “You know something,” he said.

  “I know as much as you know.”

  “What is it between the two of you?”

  “He trusts me.”

  “Why?”

  “I got that kind of face, I guess.”

  “I don’t know if I trust you,” Ethan said.

  “I don’t know if I trus
t you either.”

  Dr. Lorberg arrived and spoke to the woman at the front desk. The door to the psych ward buzzed and Dr. Lorberg disappeared behind it. Two long hours later, he returned with Slayter, who was wearing a torn oxford shirt and wrinkled trousers in a wool-silk blend. He had a twelve o’clock shadow and his eyes had the hollow look of someone who’d just seen a ghost.

  Ethan rushed to his brother’s side and gave him a warm embrace. It was a believable gesture if you were in the mood to believe things. Ethan then turned to Dr. Lorberg and asked for medical instructions.

  “Make sure he drinks plenty of fluids, has a good meal, and gets some rest.”

  While Lorberg was debriefing Ethan, Edward pulled me aside.

  “Who is doing this to me?” he asked.

  “I promise I’ll find out.”

  “It’s not the disease.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “How do I look?” Edward then asked. Slayter’s vanity can take hold at the oddest moments. He looks good for his age. Although I’ve learned to leave out the last three words.

  “You look okay,” I said. “More like a painter than a wealthy business mogul.”

  “I can live with that.”

  “But you smell awful.”

  Slayter shook his physician’s hand and thanked him profusely. Lorberg said he would drop by Slayter’s house in the morning to check on him.

  • • •

  Ethan, Edward, and I drove to Slayter’s house. I knew I couldn’t leave my boss alone with his brother, so I texted Charlie from the hospital and told him to be at Edward’s place when we arrived.

  Charlie had a pot of tea and a plate of cookies on the coffee table when we came inside.

  “Can I offer you some tea, Edward?” Charlie asked.

  “No, thank you,” Edward said.

  Charlie looked disappointed.

  “I’ll take some,” I said.

  “Milk and sugar?”

  “Why not?”

  “One lump or two?”

  “Three.”

  “Excuse me,” Edward said. “I’ve been told I need a shower.”

  I followed my boss down the hallway and broke the news.

  “While you were in a padded cell, I was picked up by Agent Bledsoe again. Someone is trying to make you look bad by trying to make me look bad.”

  “Maybe it is time to retire.”

  “I think I’m too young to retire.”

  I guess that wasn’t a time for bad jokes.2 Edward stared blankly at me.

  “You are not giving up,” I said. “Just get some rest. I’ll get Ethan out of here and we’ll come up with a plan in the morning.”

  While Edward was in the shower I checked Edward’s bar and collected every bottle of brown liquor (Edward doesn’t drink gin or vodka) in a box.

  “What are you doing?” Ethan asked.

  “I’m having a party,” I said. When Ethan continued to gawk at me, I continued. “He was drugged. I don’t know how, but any open bottle is suspect.”

  “I think I should stay,” Ethan said.

  I couldn’t leave Ethan alone with his brother, but I also knew that I was not the one to persuade Ethan to go home.

  We drank tea and waited for Edward to come out of the shower.

  “Ethan wants to stay,” I said.

  “Ethan, go home. Charlie and I will be fine. I need some quiet after my evening in the cuckoo’s nest. Let Isabel drive you home. I insist,” Edward said.

  He then took his brother by the shoulder and marched him to the front door.

  “Call if you need anything,” Ethan said.

  “I will,” Edward replied.

  Before I left I whispered in Charlie’s ear, “Order Chinese food. I think he’ll eat the soup, and don’t answer the door for anyone.”

  “Except the Chinese food delivery guy, right?”

  “Right.”

  * * *

  1. Later I learned that IRA deadline is April. When it comes to fiscal matters, it’s really easy to pull the wool over my eyes, it seems.

  2. When is a good time is the question, because I’ve got a lot stored up.

  GLORIFIED SNITCH

  It had been an exhausting morning; Ethan and I didn’t speak on the drive home. The USB voice-activated recorder was still under a wadded-up tissue in the change pocket of the door. If it was Ethan who planted it there, he’d have to swipe it at some point. I kept checking him out of the corner of my eye.

  That’s when I noticed Ethan checking his side-view mirror, and then I noticed the tail. We were being followed by a silver Toyota Prius. It’s a good choice for surveillance in San Francisco and whoever was driving knew what he or she was doing.

  I changed lanes on Gough and made a right turn on Geary. I stayed in the center lane and then swung over to the left lane, cutting off a sluggish pickup truck, and made a left turn onto Van Ness. The Prius got stuck at the light.

  “What the hell was that?” Ethan asked.

  “We were being followed.”

  “That maneuver was unnecessary.”

  “I lost the guy, didn’t I?”

  “You could have caused an accident. Drive like that on your own time.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I followed the basic laws of traffic the rest of the way to Ethan’s apartment. In the distance I could see the Prius resuming the tail. Ethan noted this fact and calmly watched the car through the mirror. I pulled up in front of his apartment.

  “As always,” Ethan said, “a pleasure.”

  Ethan got out of the car and entered the building. I pulled around the corner and checked for the USB device. Still there. It was then that I spotted the Prius again. The driver parked the car in an illegal parking spot that also had a visual on the building. Thirty minutes later, neither Ethan nor his tail had budged. I circled the block to be sure that the car wasn’t following me and returned to the same spot to see the Prius in place. I parked at a meter and casually walked over to the compact fuel-efficient vehicle.

  A large man in a short-sleeved button-down shirt and sunglasses, with the gut of a man who sits in a car all day, was at the wheel. He didn’t notice me until I knocked on his window.

  “Well hello there, pretty lady. I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

  “Who are you?”

  “My friends call me Jimmy.”

  “What do you want me to call you?”

  “You can call me Jimmy too. And you’re Isabel.”

  “How do you know my name?”

  “I have friends.”

  “You got it from my license plate?”

  “Yep.”

  “Ex-cop?”

  “You’re a sharp one.”

  “Why are you following Ethan?”

  “I want to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. Men in his situation get desperate.”

  “What do you think he’s going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” Jimmy said, “leave the country, maybe.”

  “Would that be so bad?”

  “Uh, yeah,” Jimmy said. “That would be really bad. I’d be out ninety thousand bucks.”

  “This is what I don’t understand. Why do you boneheads keep playing poker with somebody if you know they don’t have the money to pay you back?”

  “Lady, I’m a bail bondsman. Jonesy here has three more weeks to get his affairs in order. After that he’s doing a ten-year stint in Lompoc.”

  • • •

  Ten minutes later I knocked on Ethan’s door.

  “I was about to draw a bath,” he said impatiently.

  “That sounds like a good idea. You should take as many baths as possible while you have the chance.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Invite me in for a minute.”

  Ethan backed away from the door. I entered the tastefully gender-specific apartment. I’ve discovered there’s an exact measurement of television size that can inform you whether the dwelling is inhabited by a man or a woman
without any other evidence. Unfortunately, as flat-screen televisions become more economically friendly, that number grows, and I must admit to being lax in updating my graph.1

  I sat down on Ethan’s couch across from a forty-six-inch flat-screen LCD that was mounted to the wall.

  “What can I do you for, Isabel?”

  “What is the nature of this San Francisco visit? Are you really thinking about buying a bar?”

  “It can be a good investment.”

  “Don’t you think several dozen cartons of cigarettes would be a better one?”

  “Cigarettes,” Ethan said as if he were repeating a word in a spelling bee.

  “I’m not suggesting you take up smoking, but they are the best currency in prison.”

  Ethan flopped down in a leather chair that was probably worth more than my car.

  “When did you find out?” he asked.

  “Like ten minutes ago.”

  “Don’t tell Edward.”

  “If you’re not here to shake down your brother, why are you here?”

  “To say good-bye.”

  “That’s all?”

  With everything that had transpired in the last few days, it was a good story, but I wasn’t 100 percent sure I believed him. How trustworthy is a gambling-addicted American with a fake British accent who has done seven years for a Ponzi scheme and is getting ready to go down for ten more? I took his confession with a grain of salt.

  “It was my second conviction. I got ten to fifteen. My earliest chance of parole is eight years.”

  “Were you just going to disappear and not tell Edward?”

  “I’m already an embarrassment to him. I wanted him to remember me fondly.”

  “Too late. Get some rest, Ethan. Then you and Edward need to have a serious talk. Okay?”