The Heir Hunter

by Chris Larsgaard

  “Nick?”

  He turned to her, looking without really seeing.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, laughing at his blank look.

  “Yeah,” he said softly, feeling somber from the memories. “This contract’s really simple. It basically says—”

  “I don’t think you need to explain every phrase and clause, Nick. I am a lawyer, remember?” She smiled and put her hand on his shoulder. “Just give me a pen, okay?”

  He reached into his coat and handed her one. She gave a cursory look over the document and signed her name on the line marked Client.

  “There’s no percentage filled in.”

  “It doesn’t really matter. Put anything under forty.”

  She printed in 35 and handed it to him. Nick glanced over the contract and felt only hollow. There was supposed to be such a celebration for this one. The dream contract. He shook his head and placed it aside, in the middle of the wrinkled paper and scraps accumulated over the past week.

  “I’m catching a flight to Denver tomorrow,” she said, rising to her feet. “Cab’s picking me up in the morning to take me to the airport. . ..”

  Nick didn’t know what to say. He began gathering up what he needed for the rest of his agenda that evening.

  “I’ll let you get some sleep, then,” he said, finding the car keys. He fidgeted with them for a moment, then looked up at her. “I want you to know that I am truly sorry for everything that’s happened.”

  She nodded at him, accepting this. “Me too,” she said. “Before you go, there was something I wanted to ask you about in this contract.”

  She sat next to him, closely enough for her leg to touch his. He looked at her. She was reading over the agreement, her silky blond hair blocking her profile. Nick wasn’t too tired to notice how nicely her jeans hugged her legs. For the first time since Iowa, he noticed what an attractive woman she was.

  She placed the contract aside and leaned back on the bed, casting her hair aside with a slight head toss.

  “Never mind. I suppose everything’s okay after all.”

  “That’s . . . great,” replied Nick, after a pause.

  She smiled at him. “Where are you staying tonight, Nick?”

  With some effort, he turned away from her. “Haven’t really thought about it. Somewhere nearby.”

  She rose to her feet and approached the blinds, taking a careful peek out. She lingered there a moment, legs and waist displayed in full glory. Perfect thighs and calves. Smooth, tight waist. She turned back to him and suddenly clicked off the lights, leaving only the indirect beam of the bathroom light streaming in.

  “You don’t think there’s any way we could have been followed, do you?”

  Nick felt magnetized to the bed. The room was small and cozy, an oasis against the cold, dark streets. It was safe there, and comfortable, and the bed would be warm.

  She settled on the bed next to him. Nick caught a trace of a fragrance that smelled very, very appealing.

  “Why don’t you stay for a while,” she said softly. “I don’t want to be alone tonight. I would feel better if someone were here with me.”

  Nick looked at her and realized he felt the same way. He had felt that way since his apartment had been reduced to rubble, since a deputy director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation had told him he would soon be wanted for attempted murder. He had felt like that the entire time in Geneva, but somehow that someone hadn’t been there for him. But tonight that would change. He knew where he needed to be.

  He rose to his feet.

  “They have no way of tracing you here. You’ll be fine.” He held out his hand to her. “Take care of yourself.”

  She drew back, looking disappointed. “You sure, Nick?”

  “Sorry.”

  They shook hands. Nick removed his keys and walked to the doorway. He paused as the door swung open, then shut it without looking back.

  Nick scanned the parking lot of the Towne Villa apartments and walked quickly to unit 204. The door opened only seconds after he knocked.

  Alex was wearing an oversized T-shirt, just like the night they had started the Jacobs investigation. In the faint light of the apartment she looked just like a twenty-one-year-old coed.

  “For once you ring my bell at a decent hour.”

  Nick stepped forward and hugged her. Alex was startled for a moment, then hugged him back.

  “What’s this all about?” she asked, laughing.

  “It’s been a long trip,” he replied. He released her and held her at arm’s length. “Just happy to see a friendly face.”

  She let out a slight gasp as her smile vanished. “Oh my God, Nick—what happened?” she asked, touching the right side of his face lightly.

  It took him a moment to remember. Chagnon’s crew had left their mark on his cheek.

  “Slept on it wrong,” he said, smiling to hear the genuine concern in her voice. “Let’s get inside.”

  Nick could just barely see his way into the kitchen. Alex had the blinds nearly closed, and the final bit of daylight cast a dull striped illumination over the carpet. They sat in the dark at the kitchen table. The laptop was there, as well as the small laser printer.

  “I want to know what happened to your face, Nick.”

  “I’ll tell you in a little while. I’m fine—that’s all that counts. How are you doing?”

  She shrugged. “I just got off the phone with my mother. I’ve got her at a friend’s apartment in Flushing.”

  “Good. Does she know about the charges?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “What’s she have to say about it?”

  Alex shook her head helplessly. “She doesn’t know what to say. It’s too much for her. Her entire world is work, prayer, and television, Nick. At least she’s still got prayer. I couldn’t pry that rosary out of her hand if I wanted to.”

  “A few prayers might come in handy.”

  “Probably would.”

  He brought his hand to hers, and she squeezed it. Alex broke the silence after a moment.

  “I’ve got to make sure she’s safe, Nick. I’ve made arrangements at an airfield for a flight out to Canada tomorrow.”

  “Good. I think it’s a smart move.”

  “I’ve decided I’m going too.”

  Nick stared at her.

  “I have to,” she continued. “I can’t just sit around here waiting to get arrested. I know you think we’re going to be free and clear after we get this report or whatever it is together, but I’m not taking any chances. I’m not risking prison, Nick. No way.”

  Nick slowly nodded. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Alex. Do what you think is best. Hell, I’ll probably skip the country for a while myself until all this blows over.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that, because you’re coming with me. I lined up a six o’clock flight for us.”

  “Where?”

  “A little airfield upstate. Friend of a friend has a six-passenger Cessna. Five thousand dollars, but more than worth it, I’d say. He’ll take us right over the border to Canada.”

  “Where’s this airfield?”

  “Simple—just take 87 north to the first dirt road after the Fernwood exit. The road winds for about a mile or so. It’s a little strip of concrete in the middle of nowhere. We ask for Bob. He should be the only one there. Five thousand dollars a head—a bargain if you ask me.”

  “Yeah, I guess so . . .” he said softly, looking down at the table.

  They both fell silent. Alex took a trembling breath.

  “How did this happen, Nick? How? A week ago we were set. We were having the time of our lives. Everything’s ruined now. Forever. What’s going to be left for us?”

  “It won’t be so bad, girl. Things will cool off, and then we’ll rebuild. Yeah, we’ll have to lay low for a while, but at least we’ll have the money to do it.” He wrapped his fingers around hers. “Jessica Von Rohr signed. Thirty-five percent. Doug’s flying in tomorrow
, early afternoon. Half of it’s yours. You deserve every damn penny.”

  She looked down at their hands and showed little reaction. “This money’s dirty, Nick.”

  “Yes, it is, but unfortunately we need it right now. I’m going to be sinking a chunk of it into a couple of high-priced lawyers who are to begin working on my defense. On our defense. We going to clear ourselves, Alex. The report we put together tonight will be a huge step in the right direction. Once we get ourselves out of this mess, we’ll figure out something to do about this money.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe with a little work, we can find some heirs. I don’t see why not. It’s no different than what we’ve done with regular bank accounts here in the States.”

  Alex’s silence was skeptical.

  “I met with that PI I was telling you about, Nick.”

  “The one who worked with Jacobs?”

  She told him about her visit to the PI office in the Bronx. Nick leaned forward in his chair, hanging on every word.

  “So this person wasn’t Demello, then.”

  “It was his partner, last name of Blount. He said Demello’s dead.”

  Nick frowned and rubbed at his eyes. “Why does nothing about this story shock me?”

  “We knew it was Jacobs in those pictures,” said Alex. “But it’s the State and Swan part that really grabs me.”

  “What’s the significance there?”

  “State and Swan Street are right where all the government buildings are in Albany. Empire State Plaza, the capitol building. The thing is, I’m not sure if he meant that area specifically. He said the pictures were taken at a park near there. I think that’s what he said, anyway.”

  “He couldn’t be more specific?”

  “Nick, this poor man was literally dying there on the floor. I had to call him an ambulance, and I wasn’t about to stick around and wait for them to show up.”

  Nick nodded and rose to his feet. He looked through the shades down to the quiet, empty street.

  “It’s another thing to add to the mix. You and I are gonna put this all together right now. We’re going to assemble our documents, write up a summary of everything we’ve learned, and mail it off to the Post and the Times. I—”

  “What exactly do we know? I’m not even sure if I know.”

  “Yes, you do,” he said. “Alex, think about this. Think how huge this is. We’re talking about a cover-up involving a war criminal, we’re talking about robbery on an unprecedented scale, we’re talking about multiple murders, possible FBI complicity, and God only knows what else. The newspapers are going to go absolutely wild over this.” He approached her. “We were perfect scapegoats for them. We happened along and they jumped all over us. Well, this is gonna be our first shot back. Our first step toward exonerating ourselves. When we mail these packets off to the newspapers, some very deserving people are going to get fried. The mailer’s going to lay it all out—everything we’ve learned in this past week. I don’t know who exactly will get nailed, but I have a feeling there’s more than one of them. The media will figure out the specifics. There’s about a million reporters and journalists who’ll take this and run.”

  Alex nodded, looking a bit more heartened now. She stood.

  “I’ve got something that might help us.”

  She went to the bedroom and returned with a small camcorder.

  “All right,” said Nick, taking it from her. “Where did you get it?”

  “Debra Ramos rented it,” she said, with a wink. “I think it’ll drive our point home a little better, don’t you?”

  “You bet it will.” He held it to his eye. “Hope you know how to work it.”

  “Point and shoot.” She turned and clicked on the laptop. “Let’s get this done.”

  Nick had decided during the flight home from Geneva what the form and content of the packet would be; it was now simply a matter of assembling it. Exhibits would include the FBI document taken from Claudia Dorsch, the letter from Holtzmann to Claudia explaining his “obligations” to the Americans, and a sampling of the letters of authorization found in Gerald Jacobs’s garage.

  The written summary would give it a cohesiveness. It would explain everything the partners had done in regard to the Jacobs case—except the break-in of the Jacobs home. Although it was true that they were guilty of bribery and technically burglary as well, they would admit to nothing. The readers would draw their own conclusions as to how the partners had obtained the crucial documentation included in the mailer.

  The video account would follow. It would begin chronologically. They would explain who they were, what they did, how they initially became involved with Gerald Raymond Jacobs. The account would take them from San Francisco to upstate New York; from Germany to Iowa; from Geneva and back to upstate New York. They would introduce the viewer to Rose Penn and a dead killer-for-hire by the name of William Brecker; to Lawrence Castleton and Richard Borg; to Matthew Von Rohr; to Victor Chagnon and the proprietors of Hahn and Konauer, Gubelin & Cie, and all the other dead bankers surrounding an eighty-seven-year-old millionaire recluse from the little town of Hudson, New York.

  “Is this really enough, though?” asked Alex.

  “Are you kidding?” replied Nick. “There’s too much to just ignore here. My God, the Post will have an absolute field day with this. They’ll have two dozen reporters looking under every rock to get to the truth. Sure, it’s not everything, it doesn’t have all the answers, but it’s an incredible jump start.”

  They gave them the rest of it then: the photographs taken by Jacobs’s PI’s (two more of the dead); the status of the Swiss bank accounts; the identities of the secondary holders that Alex had found; the result of the efforts to obtain the death certificate of Ludwig Holtzmann; and of course the complete details of the intensive efforts made to murder both the partners and the heirs to the estate. No detail here was insignificant, no facet ignored. It would land in the newsmen’s laps partly assembled; from that point it would be up to them to use the resources at their disposal to make the picture whole and clear.

  The final segment of the deposition was Nick’s personal statement addressing the criminal charges pending against him. He unequivocally denied the attempted-murder charge levied against him, pointing instead to the at-large murderers-for-hire who conspired in the deaths of Rose Penn, Matthew Von Rohr, Lawrence Castleton, and the others named in the statement above. He would not be turning himself in to the authorities, because it was his desire and intention to clear himself by his own means and methods of any charges related to the shooting of a City of Hudson police officer.

  Nick splashed cold water on his face. It was nearly 5 A.M. They had printed eight copies of the document and were satisfied with the video. Any touch-ups or additions could be made after three or four hours of sleep. He stood in the bathroom doorway and wiped his face with a towel. Alex was examining the first printing. She looked up and shrugged at Nick.

  “It’s all in there.”

  “All of it,” agreed Nick. “You think everything’s clear? Phrased right?”

  Alex thought for a moment. “Maybe we say a little too much in this paragraph. I don’t think we should admit to anything illegal. Whoever reads this and sees your name at the bottom will be skeptical right off the bat. The fact you’re wanted is bad enough—we don’t need to say anything more to discredit ourselves. Let the report speak for itself.”

  Nick nodded thoughtfully. “Makes sense. For a minute you sounded like a lawyer there, you know.”

  “Yuck,” she said, making a face. “Speaking of lawyers, where’s your little blond friend?”

  “At a motel. She’s hitting the road.”

  “Not giving her a ride, Nickie?” she asked, with a smirk. “The loyal chauffeur?”

  “You never stop, do you?”

  She chuckled to herself. “Remember that argument we had a couple of days ago? When I told you I wasn’t jealous?”

  “Yeah?�
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  “Well . . .” She broke into an embarrassed smile. “Maybe that was just a teensy lie. I might have been a little bit jealous.”

  “A-ha,” said Nick.

  “It’s just that . . .” She paused, looked down at her hands. “What we have means a lot to me, Nick. You do too. We’ve been through a lot the last four years. The last fifteen years. It’s pretty much been the happiest time of my life.”

  “Mine too,” said Nick, smiling warmly.

  “I guess I . . . just didn’t want you to forget that I’m your partner. I don’t want that to change.”

  “Like it ever would, you dummy.”

  They smiled at each other and enjoyed the silence for a good five seconds.

  “Have you spoken with any of Rose’s relatives?” she asked.

  Nick instantly sobered. The thought had crossed his mind—numerous times. “I don’t know what I could possibly say. Everything I can think of sounds horribly inadequate. Do you think I should call them?”

  “I don’t know. Under normal conditions, yes. But now I really don’t know.”

  Nick looked down at the carpet. “I still can’t believe it about Rose, Alex. Of all people to be caught in the middle . . .”

  “My stomach hurts whenever I think about it,” she said. She turned to the bedroom. “I’m going to bed. I don’t want to think about any of this for a while.”

  Nick didn’t either. He entered the bathroom, taking a change of clothes with him. He took a long, hot shower and put on a pair of shorts and a flannel shirt.

  The apartment was dark when he stepped out. He walked into the living room and groped in the dark for his suitcase, laying some clothes out. He found his jacket and paused as he lifted it. There was something in the inside pocket. He reached in and pulled out the framed little watercolor he had bought in Geneva. The thin plate of glass over the painting hadn’t survived the day’s excitement. A spidery fissure ran the length of it. He looked it over and walked over to the bedroom doorway.