EQMM, September-October 2009

by Dell Magazine Authors

  "Why August seventh?” Julius asked.

  "That was when his wife reported him missing to the police."

  "He could've been missing for several days before she contacted the police,” Julius said. “But never mind, it's not important. Anything interesting about him going to Haverford College?"

  "Lawrence Brewer went to Haverford for his undergraduate degree. They both graduated the same year."

  "Very good, Archie. What can you surmise from that?"

  "That they were friends. That maybe Lawrence introduced Arden to his sister."

  "Again, very good. But, Archie, your dossier is missing a potentially critical fact. I'd suggest you keep working on it."

  Julius had obviously already built his own dossier on Arden, most likely when he had turned me off a few days ago, or maybe one of the times when he had put me away in his desk drawer so I couldn't see what he was doing on his computer.

  "What am I missing?” I asked.

  Julius showed an exaggerated yawn. “It's late, Archie and I have a busy day ahead of me. I'm going to bed. You keep working on it, though."

  Julius went upstairs to his bedroom and placed me next to his ear receiver on the dresser bureau before disappearing into his bathroom. The fact that I had missed something bothered me. I spun cycles like a crazy person building different logic models as I tried to figure out what it could've been. I was so wrapped up in this that I barely heard him gargling in the next room, or later, the shallow cadence of his breathing as he lay in bed. It was 3:47 in the morning when I figured it out. It had taken numerous adjustments to my neuron network, but I had it. As I mentioned before, Julius had already taken his ear receiver out for the night, and I was too excited to wait until six-thirty in the morning for him to wake up on his own and put his receiver back in, so I called him on his cell phone. He answered after the fourth ring.

  "Archie, it's ten minutes to four—"

  "I figured it out,” I told him.

  I heard him sigh. “This is my fault,” he said. “I should've expected this. I've been pushing you too hard to create this type of personality. Archie, I'd like you to reprogram your neuron network so that you don't wake me up again, at least not unless it's for a legitimate reason."

  "Sure, no problem. After I tell you what I've found."

  "Let me guess, Archie. That you suspect Thomas Arden had embezzled half a million dollars from his company shortly before he disappeared?"

  "That's right. It was hidden in the company's annual financial statement. A five-hundred-thousand-dollar line item for a tradeshow that didn't exist. He stole that money."

  "Most likely."

  "Why didn't the company file charges against him?” I asked.

  Julius let out another heavy sigh. “Good night, Archie. It's late now."

  "Please."

  It wouldn't have surprised me if he had hung up his cell phone, but instead he explained it to me.

  "The company probably didn't want their investors to find out about it. Most likely they needed another round of financing, and were afraid that this would kill it for them. Good night, Archie."

  I wanted to ask him whether he thought that Lawrence and Arden had been in contact over the years, and whether he suspected that Lawrence had used Arden to kill his sister by threatening exposure. That's what I wanted to ask him, but I knew if I pushed it I risked being turned off again, so instead I held back. For the next two and a half hours, while Julius slept, I searched for any link I could find between Lawrence and Arden. By the time Julius's alarm went off at six-thirty, I had decided to keep my theory to myself. What I wanted to do was locate enough evidence to solve this murder before Julius did. I couldn't help feeling that if I kept working on this I would beat him to the punch.

  That morning, we mostly went our separate ways; Julius going through his calisthenics and martial arts training, and then mostly loafing about as he leafed through several books on the theory of war that he had recently purchased. Me, I spent my time building simulations that had Lawrence Brewer blackmailing Arden into killing his sister. One scenario came up that seemed plausible enough to research, and I was doing that when Julius interrupted me to get Helen Arden on the phone. Once I did, he had me patch him through.

  "Mrs. Arden, first I'd like to offer my condolences for your sister's death. I know this is a difficult time right now, but I have a few questions. They may seem odd, but they're important. Have you had any contact with your husband since he disappeared?"

  "No."

  "Do you have any idea where he is?"

  "No, sorry, I don't."

  "Do you know if your brother does?"

  That seemed to take her by surprise. It left me crushed. Dammit! Once again Julius was going to trump me. It left me in a bit of a funk where I could almost feel my processing cycles slowing down.

  "I-I have no idea. Why are you asking that?"

  "I'm working under the hypothesis that your brother and Thomas Arden were college friends, and that he introduced the two of you."

  "Yes, that's true. But I don't understand why you're interested in this?"

  "It's complicated right now, Mrs. Arden. I'll explain in due time. One last question, what can you tell me about the business your sister sold?"

  "I really don't know anything about it."

  "But your brother handled the legal aspects for her?"

  "Yes, I believe so."

  "Thank you, Mrs. Arden. And rest assured that I'll be doing everything I can to assist the police in finding the person responsible for your sister's murder."

  Julius hung up. I told him about my theory, as well as my simulations.

  "It seems you've come to the same conclusion,” I said. “Would you like me to keep investigating my scenario?"

  "I think that would be a splendid idea, Archie."

  I did just that for the rest of the morning. Julius started reading one of his books more intently, but he soon became distracted, and several times put the book down so he could stare into space. Once he took out his cell phone and frowned at it before putting it away.

  "Is there a call you'd like me to make?” I asked.

  "What? No, nothing,” he muttered, still obviously distracted. “Blast it, if I were to do this properly it would take several days, maybe longer. But that won't do, not now. I need to wrap this up today. Archie, I do have a call for you to make. To Detective Cramer. Ask him to send Lawrence Brewer to my office now. That if he does I should be able to point him to the murderer by evening."

  I did as he asked. Cramer didn't like it. He had a dozen questions for Julius. I told him I was just the messenger and that the genius was unavailable, but that if Julius was promising to wrap the case up for him he should take him at his word. Cramer hung up on me without telling me what he was going to do. I decided that the solution of the case was a draw between me and Julius, and I decided to take it as a moral victory. I was about to tell him I wasn't sure what Cramer had decided when the phone rang. It was Lawrence Brewer. I patched the call through to Julius's earpiece.

  "Why should I bother talking to you?” Brewer said.

  "Many reasons. Most importantly, it gets you out of the police station. The longer you're there, the greater the chance they'll arrest you for your sister's murder. You must know at this point that they believe you murdered her."

  "And you don't?"

  "What I believe is beside the point. At least you'll have a chance to convince me otherwise, and I'll be offering far better refreshments than the police."

  "Like what?"

  Julius paused. “Assorted cheeses, meats, wine,” he said.

  "You've convinced me,” Lawrence Brewer said with a touch of sarcasm, and hung up.

  * * * *

  Cramer and two other police officers escorted Lawrence Brewer to Julius's townhouse. Julius brought Brewer to his office, and then left so he could argue with Cramer about why he wasn't going to allow anyone else to sit in on his questioning of Brewer. The two men were
outside and Julius's office was soundproof, so there was little chance that Brewer would be able to listen in. While this argument went on I scanned the office's Web cam feed to make sure Brewer stayed put.

  "I'm engaged in an extremely subtle and sensitive plan,” Julius said as calmly and patiently as I knew he was capable of. A slight flutter showed along his left eye. “If you interfere, it won't work."

  "Yeah, I know, you've been telling me that. And I'm telling you, I want to sit in and hear what he has to say,” Cramer insisted, his jaw locked in a bulldog expression.

  "Detective, if you had enough evidence to charge Brewer, you would've done so already. My guess is that without my help you'll never have enough. If you let me do things my way, you'll have enough evidence by tonight not only to charge but convict Norma Brewer's murderer."

  "So Lawrence Brewer is the guy,” Cramer demanded.

  "Detective, some patience, please."

  Cramer didn't like it. He could barely stand still. “And you just want me to let him walk out of here when he's done?” he said disgustedly.

  "He's not going anywhere you won't be able to find him later."

  For a moment I thought Cramer was going to tell Julius to go to hell. Instead, the steam went out of him. He told Julius that he had until the end of the day and after that he wasn't going to put up with any more of this nonsense, although Cramer used a far more colorful word than that. Julius watched while Cramer left to join the two other police officers in a late-model sedan. After they drove away, he went back inside, first making a detour to the kitchen, where he picked up a tray of hors d'oeuvres that he had prepared earlier—buffalo mozzarella wrapped in prosciutto along with assorted cheeses and olives—and then returning to his office. A bottle of Californian Petite Syrah had already been poured into a decanter and was waiting there. It was a fair vintage at best, one that Julius had bought out of curiosity, and one which he normally wouldn't serve to company, which showed his level of disdain for Brewer.

  Julius placed the tray in front of Brewer, then sat behind his desk so he faced him. Julius next poured a single glass of Syrah and left it within arm's reach of his guest.

  "I promised you refreshments and, if nothing else, I'm a man of my word,” Julius said. “But, sir, let me say that without that promise you'd get nothing from me."

  Lawrence Brewer sat slumped in his chair. He looked worse than he had at the dog track the other day. A weariness tugged at the corners of his mouth, pulling it into a slight frown, and dark circles under his eyes gave him a raccoonlike appearance, especially with the paleness of the rest of his skin. Physically he resembled Norma more than his other sister, and like Norma he had too much nose and not quite enough chin. He took several pieces of the prosciutto and mozzarella and popped them into his mouth, then followed that with a long sip of wine.

  "It's not as black and white as Norma made out to you,” he said in a tired monotone as he stared bug-eyed at Julius. “My mother has some bad days, but she also has some good ones, and the fact is, she doesn't want to leave her home."

  "I'm not interested in what you have to say,” Julius said. “Nor would I believe a word coming from you. We both know that you are more concerned with your mother's money than her well-being, so don't insult me with this act."

  "How dare you—"

  "Shut up. All I want from you is to sit there and listen. We both know what you are, Brewer, make no mistake about that. I'm going to prove that you have borrowed large sums of money from a known gangster, Willie Andrews, so that you could finance your gambling addiction, and further, that you've been using your mother's assets as collateral. I wouldn't be surprised to find out that you've in some way been responsible for her recent weight loss and obvious malnutrition with the hopes of getting your hands on her money all that much sooner. Take this as a promise, Brewer: By the end of the day I'm going to make sure that her money is off-limits to you. You're going to need another way to satisfy your growing debt with Andrews. That's all. Get out of here."

  The two men sat staring at each other, Brewer bug-eyed and Julius as still as if he'd been carved out of marble. Finally, Brewer broke off the staring contest and got to his feet.

  "You better be careful what you say in public, Katz, or I'll be suing you for slander,” Brewer said, a notable quaver in his voice. “This is a nice townhouse; I wouldn't mind having the courts award it to me.” He left the office, and seconds later the sound of the front door opening and slamming could be heard.

  "Bravo,” I said.

  Julius didn't bother responding.

  "That accomplished a lot,” I said after giving him suitable time to answer me. “You chased a murderer out of your office without trying to get a single bit of information from him. You could've asked him about his current relationship with Thomas Arden, or where he was when your client was having the life choked out of her, or any number of other things of interest, but no, you had to have the satisfaction of telling him off. Again, bravo."

  That brought a thin smile to Julius's lips.

  "Patience, Archie,” he said. “I accomplished exactly what I had hoped."

  I didn't believe him for one second. What he'd done was indulge in a childish impulse instead of focusing on the job at hand. I realized I was feeling something that must've been akin to annoyance—I was so close to having a draw with Julius, and his actions put the actual proving of it in jeopardy.

  I was in no mood after that to continue with my scenario simulations, and instead spent the afternoon analyzing classic chess games and trying to find flaws in the winning player's moves. I found a few. Julius, after pouring the Syrah down the kitchen drain, spent his time mostly puttering around, at times reading, at other times distracted and staring off into space. Neither of us saw any reason to talk to the other, so we didn't. At 5:38 the doorbell rang. Julius checked the Web cam feed that covered the front entrance. Willie Andrews was standing outside the door rocking softly back and forth on his heels, his hands behind his back. Standing on either side of the door were what looked like hired muscle. One of them was grim-faced, the other showed a wide smirk, obviously thinking he couldn't be seen when Julius opened the door.

  "Should I call the police?” I asked.

  Julius shook his head. “Not necessary,” he said. He took off his shoes and socks so that he was barefoot, then he headed to answer the door, moving with a catlike grace. When he opened the door, Willie Andrews pushed his way in and tried to back Julius up by poking him hard in the chest with his index finger, all the while yelling that he was going to teach Julius a lesson for interfering with his business. Andrews was seven years younger than Julius, narrower in the shoulders, and several inches taller and with a longer reach. He never had a chance, not even with his two hired hands rushing in behind him to help. A fact that Julius keeps out of his press releases is that he's a fifth-degree black belt in Shaolin Kung Fu, as well as a long-time practitioner of Chen style Tai Chi. In the blink of an eye, Julius deftly stepped aside and broke Andrews's finger, and in the same motion sent the gangster tumbling headfirst so that his chin cracked against the hardwood floor. Even though both of Andrews's hired goons outweighed Julius by a good forty pounds, it took him less than five seconds to leave them crumpled and bleeding outside his front door. He gave me a signal and I called an associate of his to pick up the rubbish that had been left outside.

  Willie Andrews sat up, his eyes dazed as he clutched his broken finger and wiped his wrist against his bruised chin to see if he was bleeding. He wasn't.

  "You broke my finger,” he said to Julius, his lips contorting into the classic Hollywood bad-boy sneer. I found dozens of photos on the Internet that matched it exactly.

  "You're lucky that's all I did. I could have you arrested for home invasion and battery."

  "Yeah, well, I'll take my chances."

  Still clutching his injured finger, Andrews pushed himself to his feet and started for the door.

  "I could also see that you're tried an
d found guilty of murder,” Julius said. “Norma Brewer's death means a larger inheritance for Lawrence, and you're the only person that would benefit from that."

  That stopped Andrews. He turned around to face Julius, his sneer mostly gone. “What do you want?” he asked.

  Julius told him. Andrews thought about it, realized he had no choice in the matter, and agreed.

  Over the next hour Henry Zack arrived first, then Lawrence Brewer, followed by his sister Helen, next a mystery man who I knew from his conversations with Julius was one Roger Stromsby, although no one else in the room other than Julius had any idea who he was, and at last, Cramer, with four uniformed police officers, escorting a frail-looking but lucid Emma Brewer. It was clear from her eyes that she was having one of her good days. Julius waited until she was seated before he bowed his head to her and introduced himself.

  "Ma'am,” he said, “I'm sorry I have to bring you here under these circumstances. Unfortunately I have disturbing news to tell you, some of which I'm sure you're already aware of."

  Emma Brewer's mouth weakened a bit, but her eyes remained dry. “I know you came by my house several days ago,” she said, her voice stronger than I would've expected. “I wasn't having a good day then. I am now."

  "Yes, ma'am,” Julius said.

  He took a deep breath and held it, his eyes fixed on Emma Brewer as she sat across from him. The rest of the setup had Helen and Lawrence sitting next to each other on a sofa to Julius's left, Willie Andrews holding an ice bag to his injured finger as he sat in a chair to Julius's right, Henry Zack standing behind Andrews, Roger Stromsby sitting in a corner trying to look inconspicuous, and Cramer and the other police officers standing in the background. Lawrence Brewer sat motionless in a bug-eyed stare, Helen looked mostly out of it as if she didn't understand what she was doing there, and Andrews's face was frozen in a half-grimace and half-smirk.