Billy had on rumpled blue jeans, a wrinkled denim shirt, and old moccasins. His eyes looked tired, and he needed a shave.
Dennis was wearing a gray Madison Village sweatshirt over well-worn corduroy pants.
“Sean said it’s important that he talk to us right away,” Nor said as Billy poured coffee into mugs, and the three of them went to the table in the dining room.
From the chair he selected, Sterling could see into the living room. Billy’s place was a comfortable bachelor pad, slightly untidy, with sneakers under the coffee table and a pile of newspapers on top of it. The couch and chairs were basically nondescript but looked inviting.
It was clear that Billy worked on his music in the living room. There were a couple of guitars propped up against the piano, and sheet music was scattered on the couch.
As at Nor’s home, many of the homemade ornaments on the Christmas tree looked as though they had Marissa’s touch.
The ringing of the doorbell indicated that Sean O’Brien had arrived. Billy buzzed him in and waited as he climbed the stairs.
O’Brien’s expression was grave. He nodded when Billy offered coffee, joined them at the table, and told them about the fire.
“How bad is it?” Nor asked.
“About as bad as it gets,” O’Brien said. “Hans Kramer is in the hospital. He’s had a pretty severe heart attack, but he should make it.”
Nor inhaled sharply. “Oh, no.”
“His place burned to the ground,” O’Brien continued. “There’s absolutely nothing left. It was one expert job.”
“It was definitely set?” Nor asked flatly, already knowing the answer.
“Yes, it was.”
“What happens now?” Billy asked.
“The FBI will be here soon. They need to take statements from you. Your testimony directly implicates the Badgetts. When Kramer is well enough, we’ll get his statement. Then the feds will go for an indictment. Since you overheard Junior’s order to torch the warehouse, it looks like this time there will finally be a solid case against them. But I warn you, it’s absolutely imperative that no one knows you two are witnesses.”
Billy and Nor exchanged glances. “I think we both understand,” Billy said.
“I certainly do,” Dennis said grimly.
Sterling shook his head. The lawyer, he thought. The Badgetts’ lawyer, Charlie Santoli. He saw Billy and Nor coming out of the office. Do the Badgetts know that yet?
On Monday morning at 7:30, Charlie Santoli went downstairs to the kitchen of his home in Little Neck, Long Island. His wife, Marge, was already there preparing breakfast.
Hands on her hips, a worried frown on her face, she took a good look at him. “You look like you’ve been up for a week, Charlie,” she said bluntly.
Charlie raised his hand. “Marge, don’t start. I’m okay.”
Marge was an attractive, generously sized woman with short brown hair, a shade she preserved by regular visits to the local beauty salon. For years she had kept a standing appointment every Saturday for a wash, set, and manicure. Every fourth Saturday she had a seaweed facial and a color job.
Marge never allowed circumstances to quiet her lively tongue. She had a reputation for conducting conversations with fellow patrons of the salon while sitting under the dryer. Of course this meant that she had to shout to be heard, but, as Charlie had learned, Marge was born with her Irish ancestors’ gift of gab. Nothing stood in the way of her having both the first and the last word.
Now she continued to scrutinize her husband, studying his face, taking in the lines of fatigue around his eyes, the tightness of his lips, the faint quiver of a muscle in his cheek, and then began a familiar refrain. “You look terrible, and it’s all because those two are driving you crazy.”
A buzzer went off. Marge turned, and with her mittened hand, removed a tray of freshly baked corn muffins from the oven. “Did you get any sleep at all last night?”
Did I? Charlie wondered. His head was aching, his stomach was knotted and churning. He shrugged his answer.
Yesterday evening, when he arrived home at nine o’clock, Marge had pounced on him for details about the party, but he had begged off. “Marge, give me time to get over it.”
Mercifully she had done just that, helped by the fact that a vintage Christmas movie she’d always loved was about to start on an obscure cable station. A box of tissues next to the couch, a cup of tea on the table in front of her, Marge had cheerfully prepared herself for a good cry.
Immensely relieved to have a reprieve, Charlie fixed a strong scotch and buried himself in the Sunday papers.
It had nearly killed Marge to miss the Badgett party, especially with the delicious prospect of seeing Mama Badgett on satellite television. What kept her away was a long-planned, late-afternoon, holiday reunion of her classmates from St. Mary’s Academy. As chairperson of the event, she had chosen the date for it and therefore simply could not miss it. As Charlie had pointed out, she was hoist on her own petard.
Now Marge put a muffin on a plate and placed it in front of him. “Don’t stand there,” she said. “Sit down and eat like a normal human being.”
It was useless to protest. Charlie dutifully pulled out the chair as she poured him a cup of coffee. His vitamins were already lined up next to a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.
If only he could call up the Badgetts and tell them he wasn’t ever going to walk into their home or office again. If only he could just sit here in this cozy kitchen with Marge and have a peaceful breakfast without ever having to think about the brothers again.
Marge poured her own coffee and slathered jam on a muffin. “Now tell me,” she ordered. “What happened at the party? The way you dragged yourself in last night, it must have been awful. Didn’t the satellite hookup work?”
“Unfortunately, it came through loud and clear.”
Her eyes widened. “What do you mean, ‘unfortunately?’ ”
“Mama Heddy-Anna was plastered.” Charlie relayed the rest of the story, omitting nothing and finishing with a vivid description of Mama Heddy-Anna thumbing her nose at the North Shore social set.
Frustrated, Marge thumped the table with her clenched fist. “I can’t believe I missed that. Why do I only go with you to the boring parties? And to think I was the one who said Thanksgiving weekend was a bad time to have our reunion. What did I ever do to deserve this?”
Charlie sipped the last of his coffee. “I wish I had missed it! Those two are going to be in one foul mood today.” It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that it was now obvious to everyone present at the party that the Badgett brothers had not been back to Wallonia since they left it, and to relate to her Mama’s own words, “How much bad you do, you can’t come visit your mama?”
Charlie had never had the courage to tell Marge that it was only after he was in too deep to get out that he had learned the full extent of the situation in Wallonia. Junior and Eddie had been sentenced, in absentia, to life imprisonment there, for a host of crimes Charlie didn’t even want to think about. They could never go back, and he could never get away from them.
With something akin to despair, he got up, kissed the top of Marge’s head, went to the closet, put on his overcoat, picked up his briefcase, and left.
The Badgett office building where Charlie worked was in Rosewood, about fifteen minutes away from the estate. Junior and Eddie were already there when Charlie arrived. They were in Junior’s private office, and to Charlie’s surprise both men were in remarkably good spirits. He had expected them to be in foul moods and to somehow manage to blame at least part of the Mama fiasco on him.
On the drive there from Little Neck he had been preparing his defense: “I suggested you make the donation for the wing, give the party, and present the portrait. The satellite hookup was your idea.”
But, of course, Charlie knew that was the last thing he could say. Any hint that Mama’s appearance had been less than a delight would be unforgivable. By now the bro
thers would have figured out another reason why the party had been a colossal flop.
The entertainment, Charlie thought. They’ll decide that Nor Kelly and Billy Campbell didn’t cut the mustard. They’ll blame Jewel for suggesting them and me for hiring them. As he turned into the reserved parking area, he suddenly remembered how upset Kelly and Campbell had been when they came out of Junior’s office yesterday.
The brothers must have found fault with the way they sang “Happy Birthday” in Wallonian, Charlie decided. Reluctantly he turned off the ignition, got out of the car, and pressed the “lock” symbol on his key ring. Dragging his feet, he walked to the building and took the elevator to the fourth floor, which was entirely dedicated to the Badgett brothers’ quasi-legitimate enterprises.
The reason for the early meeting was that Junior was interested in purchasing a new car dealership in Syosset that was beginning to cut into the profits of his own operation. Junior’s secretary was not yet in. As Charlie murmured a greeting to a receptionist and waited to be announced, he wondered how long it would be before the deal closed, before the new dealer got the message that he didn’t have a choice not to sell to the Badgetts.
“Tell him to come on in,” Junior’s genial voice boomed on the intercom.
The office had been done by the same decorator who had lavished his excesses on the mansion. An ornately carved partner desk with a shiny finish, gold-striped wallpaper, a dark brown carpet emblazoned with the brothers’ initials in gold, heavy brown satin draperies, and a glass-enclosed miniature village with a plaque inscribed OUR BOYHOOD HOME were only some of the points of interest.
To the left of the door, a couch and chairs upholstered in a zebra pattern were grouped around a forty-inch television screen hung on the wall.
The brothers were drinking coffee and watching the local station. Junior waved Charlie in, pointing to a chair. “The news is coming on, I wanna see it.”
“After six hours, the warehouse fire in Syosset is still burning fiercely,” the reporter at the news desk began. “Two firemen have been treated for smoke inhalation. The owner of the warehouse, Hans Kramer, suffered a heart attack at the site, and has been removed to St. Francis hospital, where he is now in intensive care…”
Vivid images of the blazing building appeared. On a split screen, a tape was rerun of a fireman administering CPR to Hans Kramer, who was stretched on the ground, an oxygen mask clamped over his face.
“That’s enough, Eddie. Turn it off.” Junior got up. “Still burning, huh? Must be some heck of a fire.”
“Faulty wiring, I bet.” Eddie shook his head. “Happens, huh, Junior?”
Hans Kramer. Charlie knew that name. He’d been to see Junior at the mansion. He was one of the people who received “private loans” from the brothers. They did this to him. He didn’t pay on time, Charlie thought with absolute certainty, so they burned down his business.
This scenario had been played out before. If the cops can prove Junior and Eddie had anything to do with this fire, they’ll be facing another arson charge, Charlie thought, quickly assessing the situation. If Kramer dies, they could be facing a murder rap.
But of course, none of this would ever be traced back to the Badgetts. They were too careful. The loan Kramer signed with them probably had a normal interest rate on the face of the note. No one would know that the fifty percent interest rate had already been built into the principal. And of course the guy who actually set the fire would not be one of the thugs on their payroll. For that they would have contracted a free-lancer.
But if anything comes up to tie this fire to Junior and Eddie, I get the job of helping people to forget what they know or think they know, Charlie thought despairingly.
“Hey, Charlie, why so glum?” Junior asked. “It’s a beautiful morning.”
“Yeah, a really great morning,” Eddie echoed, as he got up.
“And, like Jewel said, Mama was cute as a button on the satellite,” Junior added. “She always loved her grappa. Like Jewel said, after Eddie and I went into the office yesterday, everyone kept saying that Mama was adorable.”
“Yeah,” Eddie agreed, his smile becoming nostalgic.
“And those entertainers were something else. Good. I mean really good.”
Charlie had not seen Junior bubbling over with such fervent good humor in months. Jewel isn’t the airhead I thought she was, he decided. If she managed to convince those two that everybody loved Mama, she ought to be made ambassador to Wallonia.
“I’m glad you liked Nor Kelly and Billy Campbell,” he said. “They looked so upset when they came out of your office that I thought maybe you’d told them you weren’t satisfied with their music.”
Charlie was immediately aware of a drastic change in the atmosphere. Junior looked at him, his eyes cold slits, his cheekbones flushed, the muscles in his neck suddenly prominent. “What did you say?” he asked, his voice chips of ice.
Nervously, Charlie glanced at Eddie, whose bovine cheeks were now rigid. The sweet sentiment evoked by Mama’s name had vanished from his eyes. His lips had become a thin, grayish-red gash across his face.
“I simply said that…” his voice trailed off… “that Nor Kelly and Billy Campbell seemed a little upset when they came out of your office after your mother’s satellite visit.”
“Why didn’t you tell us they were there?”
“Junior, there was no reason. Why would I have told you? I thought you knew.”
“Eddie, the door was open from the reception room, wasn’t it?” Junior asked.
“Yeah.”
“All right, Charlie. You should have told us they followed us in. You should have known it would be important for us to know. Now you’re going to have to make a few calls to the songbirds.” He paused deliberately. “I think you know what I’m talking about.”
I guess that’s the end of the questions and the depositions, Sterling thought as he watched the FBI personnel shaking hands with Nor, Billy, Dennis, and Sean. It was now eleven o’clock. For the past two hours, the FBI had been taking sworn statements from the four. They even had Nor and Billy draw a floor plan to show where they were standing when they heard Hans Kramer’s voice on the answering machine and Junior’s order to burn the warehouse.
“Ms. Kelly, you’re sure the Badgetts didn’t suspect that you were in the room right outside their office?” Rich Meyers, the head investigator, asked again as he picked up his briefcase. “As I explained, if they knew you overheard them, you’d need to be protected immediately.”
“I don’t think they knew. From what I understand about the brothers, if they had seen us they probably would have called off their plans for the fire.” Nor readjusted the comb that was holding her hair in place. “There’s an old expression, ‘I feel like something the cat dragged in.’…
My mother used to say that, Sterling thought.
“…and that’s exactly the way I feel now. If you’re done with me, I’m going to go home, climb in the Jacuzzi, and then get a couple of hours’ sleep.”
“A very good idea,” Meyers said sympathetically. “All right. We’ll be in touch with you. In the meantime go about your business as usual.”
Sounds easy, Sterling thought. Unfortunately it’s not going to work like that.
Sean O’Brien lingered only a minute after the federal officers left. “I’ll keep you posted,” he promised.
“Dennis, why don’t you take the day off?” Nor suggested. “Pete can handle the bar.”
“And lose all those holiday tips? I don’t think so.” Dennis yawned. “I better start setting up. We’ve got another holiday lunch group, Nor.”
“I haven’t forgotten. But they’ll have to do without me. See you later.”
When the door closed behind Dennis, Billy said, “ Holiday tips? Forget it. He just wants to make sure that he’s around if any trouble starts.”
“I know. Are you going to try to get some sleep, Billy? Don’t forget, we’ve got two more shows tonight.”
“Right now I have to check my messages. I talked to a couple of the guys about getting together for lunch sometime this week.”
Nor slipped her arm into her coat. “Hearing Hans Kramer’s message was the reason we’re in this mess. It would have been one thing if we could have stopped the fire, but now the prospect of being witnesses against those two scares me.”
“Just remember they have no idea we overheard them.” Billy pressed the playback button on the answering machine.
Sterling shook his head as he thought of Charlie Santoli. Maybe he won’t mention that he saw Nor and Billy, he thought hopefully. But given the future events he already knew about, he was sure that wasn’t the way things played out.
“You have two new messages,” the electronic voice began.
The first was from a friend who was organizing a lunch for the next day. “You don’t have to call back unless tomorrow doesn’t work for you.” The second was from the recording company executive who’d offered him the contract last night.
“Billy, this is short notice but Chip Holmes, one of our top guys, is coming into town unexpectedly. He would really like to meet with you today. He’s staying at the St. Regis. Can you join us for a drink around 5:30? Let me know.”
“Why do I think you can make it?” Nor asked when the message clicked off. “Chip Holmes. Billy, that’s great. If Holmes likes you, the sky’s the limit with that company. You won’t just be another singer with potential. He’ll put big money into building you up.”
“Which is exactly what I need,” Billy said, as he did a quick drumroll on the tabletop with his fingers. “I don’t want to be a one-hit wonder. You know better than I do how many guys had a little success early on, and then ended up job hunting when they were thirty-five. Let’s face it. In this business I’m already no kid.”
“I know what you’re talking about, but you’re going to make it,” Nor assured him. “Now I really will get out of here. Break a leg. I’ll see you tonight.”
At the door, she looked over her shoulder. “I always swear I won’t give you advice, but I can’t help myself. You’d better leave plenty of time to get into New York. The holiday traffic is still pretty heavy.”
He Sees You When You're Sleeping Page 7
