- I think you're getting paid for this, Vaughn said. So that you understand their psychology.
The Inspector laughed.
- Let's not argue, Mr. Vaughn. You came here last night, didn't you? Was it just the two of you?
- No. We each drove our own car. We met up here.
- I told you that already, Ruell admonished the Inspector. He made it come out very nice like everything he did.
- Excuse me. So, you came separately... But you spent that evening together, am I right?
Vaughn nodded.
- Have you had a fight?
- No, why would I...
- Did you insult her? Did you yell at her? Did you hit her?
- No, Inspector, but ...
- Then I don’t understand why you left here apart. A guy and a girl meet at a party; they know each other well - it is reasonable to assume that they will leave together and go to her or his place. And, what do you think Mr. Vaughn?
- I stayed.
- Well ... Do you know anything about Miss Davis's acquaintances?
- We were all friends of hers, Ruell shot in.
- I meant some particularly close friends, the inspector explained. You see; we have established that Miss Davis had a sexual intercourse prior her death. And judging by the fact that the door hadn't been forced, she let this person into the house by herself... Or maybe you retired with her while at the party?
His smile became disgustingly vulgar again.
- No, Vaughn replied, and immediately regretted it. How many questions would have been avoided if he had answered affirmatively. What if they tested his sperm? Should he fix it up? Or he can do it later? Can he do it later? Should he say he was nervous? Or would that be suspicious? He cast a helpless glance at Craig, but he was looking at the Inspector. That one meanwhile, continued:
- No, so no ... he suddenly leaned forward, and his voice sounded like a whiplash, echoing painfully in Vaughn's head. Have you ever hit her?
- No.
- Have you ever fought?
- No.
- Mr. Vaughn, the inspector leaned back in his chair again and smiled broadly. Drop it. Miss Davis was described to us as an energetic girl, with a strong character. And you never quarreled? I can't believe it.
- I mean... We never really fought. I mean, we've had disagreements, but...
- Excellent, the inspector springily rose from his chair. You've been very helpful, Mr. Vaughn. If you'll excuse me.
You helped us a lot ... he referred to himself as the Queen of England, in plural.
When Inspector Herrmann closed the front door behind him, he finally came to the conclusion that Rowan Vaughn was lying.
Craig Ruell walked over to the bar and poured himself a drink.
- I’m not suggesting to you too, Rowan, you know why, he explained. If you want Hilda will bring you some juice or something.
Vaughn shook his head.
- Thanks, Craig, he said quietly. I will never forget what you did for me.
- Come on. Ruell smiled broadly, and there was something in his smile that reminded Vaughn of Inspector Herrmann, the sadistic confidence of his power, perhaps. What a nonsense...
- Consider it as my birthday present, Ruell continued. Although, of course, I also expect a small present from you.
He sank lightly into the chair and sipped his glass.
- A present? A birthday? I do not understand.
Vaughn's head was still struggling to cope with thoughts, and after the Inspector left, he relaxed, and it became very difficult to think.
- You really forgot that next week is your birthday, Rowan? Come on. You're gonna turn twenty-two and you're finally gonna get your grandfather's inheritance – an extremely sweet stock.
Ruell laughed and took a long gulp. Vaughn stared dumbly at him.
- I do not understand...
- Take a look here, Rowan. Ruell leaned toward him, holding his glass with all ten fingers. For example, I said that Amber left alone, and you stayed. But that's just what I said. Someone could have seen you left together ... The same gardener whose arm you broke then, remember, he does not favor you since. A couple of witnesses like that and I'd have to admit I might be wrong ...
- You won't do it, Craig.
- I’ll do it, Rowan, I have to. Or some man walking his dog saw the two of you go into Amber's bungalow together... I mean, that could happen, too. Don't you think?
- Craig...
- Or they will get the photos...
- Which photos?
Ruell leaned back in his chair and pulled out of his inner jacket pocket a yellow envelope. When Vaughn took it in his hands, they trembled.
A color glossy photography.
Amber is lying on the bed. It's definitely Amber, and she's probably dead. The picture is well taken. And next to her, on the bed....
- Craig, Vaughn whispered.
Craig Ruell rose from his chair and took a few steps across the room.
- In a week you will receive fifteen percent of the shares of Vaughn International Bank, he said. And on the same day you will rewrite them in my name. And everything will be all right.
He turned around and their gazes met.
- Game over, Rowan, Ruell said and smiled again. We're done. Do you understand, Rowan?
Chapter 1
1
As you leave Beverly Hills and turn off the highway, you enter a web of pretty country roads, where on every corner are cute, friendly signs that say, "Don't enter. Private PCooperty." If you come here by chance, you can wander around for hours admiring the locked gates and the blue sky, that is, if your car has an open top, of course. But if you have a weighty reason for coming to this particular area - well, then you know where to head.
Once you get to a big concrete fence, which is usually guarded by a few security guards with dogs, there is the home of a fashion designer whose life was attempted a few years ago, causing him a bit of a stalking mania - turn left twice and right once and your car will hit another gate, and the only way you'll be able to get away from here is back onto the highway.
But you're not going to do that. You're going to go to the gate and you're going to press the button on the intercom. It will cough dryly - it's been a long time since we had to change it for a new one, for a pleasant, at least by my opinion - female voice, that will ask what you want.
If you cheer and run away at that moment, you can be proud of your feat for a long time. Otherwise, it's a good idea to say your name (let’s say, Mr. Jones) and step in.
By making it all the way from the highway to this gate, you will prove that you have serious concerns and are willing to pay any amount of money to get rid of them. When the gate behind you closes, all your problems will disappear.
Or rather, they will become our problems.
The man who sat in front of me that February morning was in a lot of trouble, but he had even more money. And I was prepared to relieve him of both.
His name was Warren Vaughn, for twenty-six years the permanent president of Vaughn International Bank, and he was in deep trouble.
- Do you think your nephew killed her? I asked.
I tried to look as open as possible, businesslike and a little – just a bit concerned.
- I don't know that, Warren Vaughn said. And what's worse, he doesn't know it himself.
I nodded.
- Did you know anything about his inability to drink?
- Nothing. You see, Mr. Hammond, I don't drink much myself, and everybody knows that. I'm the president of one of the biggest banks on the west coast if that counts. Rowan just didn't have the chance to get drunk in my presence - he knew I wouldn’t like it.
- But apparently he found friends with whom he felt more at ease.
- Goddamn Ruell, Warren Vaughn's fist crackled and crunched into his own palm, and I was afraid my future client might have shattered his bones. How would he be able to run the biggest bank on the west coast if he had both of his hands broken?
/> - Your nephew got into a very unpleasant situation, Mr. Vaughn, a voice came from beside me. Heidi Moss, my partner in handling other people's troubles and spending high honoraria, entered the conversation.
- He's a suspect of murder, and from what you've said, in a few days, he could very well be charged she continued. So, before we take your case, there are a few points we must agree upon. Do you realize that you may be an accomplice to a murder?
- That is irrelevant to me, answered the banker. The main thing is my nephew's safety.
- Nonsense. When he's on trial, it'll probably blow up in your face, it'll come out that he told you everything. You're not even his father. By helping him to get away from the police, you're automatically an accomplice to the murder of Amber Davis.
- That's why I came to you. I'm well versed in financial transactions, and hopefully, I'm quite good at reading people, too. But I realize the only thing I can do to help my nephew right now
is with my money.
- What happens if he turns out to stand guilty? I asked.
- It doesn't matter.
Apparently, there were a lot of things in the world that didn't matter to Warren Vaughn, and criminal law was clearly one of them.
- My nephew can't be proven guilty, the banker went on.
- Most likely, these bastards killed the girl themselves, to screw him afterwards.
- No, Mr. Vaughn, it won't work that way, I said. We can't just blindly dismiss that as a possibility. If Rowan loses his head when he's inebriated, it's no wonder he ended up murdering someone.
- That's impossible. I am sixty-two years old, Mr. Hammond, and in the course of a life time I've learned not to believe in coincidences. For this to happen just a few days before Rowan's 22nd birthday, as stipulated in my father's will is the height of absurdity. And when you think about the photos, that witnesses took of Ruell, it's clear as the daylight that it's a set-up.
- Mr. Vaughn, Heidi rose from her chair. I'm sorry, but like this we won't get anywhere. If we do not stipulate what we will do if the guilt of your nephew is being proved, we have nothing more to talk about.
I nodded, confirming words.
- But this is nonsense! the banker exclaimed.
- Perhaps, I said. But this means that our relationship with you will end before it starts. Either you discuss this possibility with us, or you can contact someone else.
The banker nodded.
- All right, gentlemen’s. Sorry. Um, he stammered. I don't know, really how to address both of you at once.
- Talk to us one at a time, I suggested. So what have you decided?
- I know how to make tough decisions, Warren Vaughn said with an air as if we'd been asking him for hours on end. If my nephew did kill the girl, it means absolutely nothing. He couldn't control himself. And those scumbags purposely drove him to that state of mind. So they're to blame anyway, they're the ones who should be punished. And for that I will pay you.
Heidi sat back in her chair, first stage was passed.
- Do you want us to save your nephew, even if he is a murderer? I Rowan ified just in case.
After all, he's the one who can make tough decisions and he was the one who pays our fee. What if in the end he decides his nephew wasn't worth the fancy amount of dollars after all?
- Rowan Vaughn, the banker replied, with a firm voice.
I must admit that at first I didn't understand what he meant. It seemed to me that he was introducing himself, or he was presenting someone who was about to enter the room. But when our client leaned back in his chair and looked pointedly at me, I knew that if a man's name was Vaughn, he must be let go something as trivial as murder.
- Back to the question of the charges, Heidi continued. Are you prepared to be in the courtroom with him?
-Yes, the banker nodded. But I hope it doesn't come to that.
I squinted my eyes.
- I don't understand your relationship with your nephew, I confessed. Now you're saying you're willing to breathe the same air as him all your life, even if you have to do it in the Saint-Quentin gas chamber. But then why Rowan began to look on the side for such dubious friends as little Craig and his crew?
- It's a long story, Warren Vaughn replied thoughtfully.
- Obviously, we'll have to listen to it. Something to drink? Oh, yeah, you're a teetotaler. Pomegranate juice?
- I prefer mineral water.
I gave the appropriate order, and the banker began his sad story. Touching stories told by people who are accustomed to swallow on breakfast small companies, always squeezed a stingy tear out of me.
- My father, Donald Vaughn, in this place he should insert something like "the third" or "fourteenth", but for some reason he didn’t - he founded Vaughn International in 1903. It was not the best time for our economy, but my father was a smart and talented person. He managed to lead the bank through the maelstrom of World Wars, and by the fifties CIB became one of the leaders of the western coast.
I nodded melancholically in complete approval. The bigger the bank, the more its president pays.
Warren Vaughn went on and on about the bank, the situation on the stock market and his relatives, drank a few glasses of mineral water, then set the bottle aside and never touched it again. This confused me, and pondered for a few minutes whether to charge the cost of the whole bottle, or should I use a ruler to measure out the remaining and calculate the required amount.
- It just so happens that my father had seventy percent of the stock of the bank, Vaughn said. He didn't like the idea of capital going out of the family power, but he had to reckon with the necessary costs. He dumped the stock on the market a few times, but he always bought most of them when his financial situation stabilized.
What followed was a new and even longer excursion into the history of the Vaughn family, which I will, with your permission, omit for when I finally retire from the business and start earning my bread writing biographies.
The bottom line was this: Robert Vaughn had two children, our client's brother lived nearby, near Ventura. To each of them the old man left twenty percent of his stock and told them to divide equally the other thirty among their firstborn grandchildren.
Warren Vaughn married early and equally early entered the banking business. On receiving his inheritance, he proved himself a worthy successor of his father, and bought his brother's stock. He now controlled practically the entire bank.
Warren's brokers informed him a few weeks ago that there is unhealthy activity aimed at buying up shares in his bank. It was rather unpleasant, but our client saw nothing wrong with it, believing that the controlling stoke is still in his hands. But last night his nephew showed up and told him his sob story.
- Of course, I still have the controlling interest, Vaughn explained, obviously so he wouldn't be suspected of greed.
- But these people have already bought about seven percent of the stock. If they get their hands on fifteen percent more, which is what will happen if Rowan gives up. Then they'll have considerable weight on the board. It's not enough to take over the bank, but it's enough to put a lot of pressure on things.
- Have you made sure they don't buy up the rest of the stock on the market? I asked.
The banker nodded.
- I put all my money into it. Goddamn it! My bank's stock skyrocketed when they started buying up. I should have been happy, but I'm taking a loss on it. Besides, there are a few shareholders who will never sell their shares. But they can be pressured too. I'm very anxious. I haven't been sleeping well and I hardly eat anything... These people might even try to kill me in the hope of making it easier for them to deal with the heirs. That's why I always carry a loaded
gun on me now. I want you to stop all this.
I nodded.
- We need to talk to your nephew. Do you have a lawyer?
- Yes. He's the one who advised me to come to you.
- In that case, you're not paying him money for nothing... Is he officially representi
ng your nephew?
The banker nodded.
- I must also meet your lawyer, Heidi said, then we will decide what to do next.
I looked sourly at the banker. He had been talking for half an hour, but in all that time I did not hear an answer to the question I asked. I wouldn't want to be a depositor at his bank who needs to make an emergency cash withdrawal, I'm sure I would have gotten a color booklet, "The History and Greatness of the Vaughn Family" in cellophane cover.
- You never told us about your relationship with your nephew, I reminded him. Why didn't his father take care of him?
- Donald, he was named after his father, the banker said, and then he let out a sort of "uh-uh."
I couldn't wait to find out more about the boy that his father had named after himself, but I decided not to rush our client, so as not to throw him off his game.
- When I bought Donald's share, he went out of business, Vaughn finally said. His face told me fiercely that no matter how low and nefarious it seems it should still be justified by an overwhelming majority of votes. He invested in our bank and lived off the interest. Understand, Mr. I'm very fond of my brother, but... Donald is too feeble-minded. Rowan has always needed someone to lean on, to have support, advice, someone to scold him in time and praise him in time.
- Are you saying you've replaced your nephew's father?
- No, Warren Vaughn's voice carried a hint of regret. Unfortunately, I couldn't. I have two kids myself, and I did everything I could to make Rowan feel as much like my son as they did, but... The thing is, Donald was jealous of me, of my success, of my abilities. He never had ambition, he didn't want to get to the top, he was fine living in his little house in Ventura, but it always hurt him to know on what he gave up.
- Did he interfere in your communication with your nephew?
The banker hesitated again. He was having a hard time talking about his own brother. In his sixty-two years, he still couldn't understand how one of the Vaughn’s was able to give up on success.
- That's not the point. You see, I didn't want to come between father and son. It seemed to me that I had no moral right to do this. Now I am sorry. If Rowan saw me as a second father, nothing of this would have happened. But then I was sure that I was doing the right thing. Imagine me in the president's office, in a limousine, constantly making multimillion-dollar operations and his father, sitting around in Ventura all the time. As long as Donald's wife Mary was alive, it was all right. But then...
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