PEDESTAL (JAKE SCARNE THRILLERS Book 5)

by Lawrence de Maria

  Furniture made from coromandel was rare, and thus incredibly expensive. Desiderio had good taste. Scarne hoped he could find what he wanted without doing too much damage.

  The center drawer and all those in the left pedestal were unlocked. Scarne quickly discovered that they contained nothing of interest. The drawers on the right, however, were locked. There were several letter openers in the center drawer. He took out the smallest of those and inserted its point in the single lock located in the interior side of the left pedestal. It controlled all the drawers on that side. It was too large and after a moment he gave up. Opening the center drawer again, he took out two paper clips, which he straightened.

  He lay on the floor, inserted the ends of both clips in the lock and began working them back and forth. After five fruitless minutes he gave that up, too.

  “It always works on TV,” Scarne muttered, getting to his feet.

  He looked out the window and could see Horner and Lucio Russo enter one of the yacht’s cabins. Scarne knew the cop couldn’t keep the man there forever, and there was also the chance someone might stop by. He picked up the letter opener and managed to pry open the top drawer just enough to slide the opener in halfway. He tried not to scratch the wood as he exerted upward pressure on the opener, hoping to get the drawer open far enough to slip his fingers in. Perhaps he could then pull the drawer open by breaking the lock, which looked to be original, and thus old. Then all the drawers would be released. Locks could be replaced.

  The letter opener snapped off and Scarne cursed as he skinned his knuckles on the desk rim. As he put one of his bleeding fingers to his mouth he spotted Horner arguing with Russo on the yacht. They both started back to the house. Scarne forgot about his hand and reached into the top drawer and pulled out the largest letter opener he saw. It was almost 10 inches long and solid brass right through its hilt, which was in the shape of a golf club.

  He jammed it into the space made in the top of the drawer made by the first opener, which was still stuck there. He got it almost half way down its length and then, using both hands, pushed sharply downward. The front of the drawer splintered and fell away, giving Scarne access to lock’s interior mechanism, which he smashed with the opener. He felt like a vandal, but, as he expected, all the drawers in the pedestal were now open.

  “Sorry, your Lordship,” he said as he cleared away wooden shards and began going through the contents of the drawers.

  The top drawer contained what appeared to be legal papers, mostly dealing with real estate. The second drawer contained a single ledger. He opened it. Names, dates and amounts. Some very large amounts. On the assumption that a mobster’s ledger probably contained illegal transactions, Scarne placed it on the desk. He opened the bottom drawer. It was full of DVDs, all neatly lined up and labeled, alphabetically. He started to quickly riff through the discs, to the “Ls”. Just before he reached that letter he spotted a name he knew in the “Ks”. What the hell! He went on. No Landon. He flipped to the end, to the “Ws”. No Weatherly. He thought he heard voices near the back of the house.

  Frustrated, Scarne almost slammed the drawer shut. Then he had a thought and flipped through the discs again, to the “Ts”. There it was. “Touchdown Twins”. He pulled the disc out and sprinted to the DVR player. He heard the back door open. Using the power buttons on the TV and DVR, he played the disc, fast-forwarding.

  Scarne smiled grimly.

  “Backfield in motion.”

  He removed the disc and went back to the desk. He took all the discs and piled them in his attaché case, then threw the ledger on top of them.

  ***

  Scarne was standing in the vestibule when Horner and Russo reached him.

  “Looks like the only thing they got was the Rolex,” Horner said with a straight face.

  “I can’t unnerstand it,” Russo said. “I didn’t hear nothin’.”

  He looked at Scarne.

  “Don’t I know you? You look awful familiar.”

  “Not unless you’ve run afoul of the FBI,” Scarne said. He moved his face inches from Russo. “Have you?”

  Russo recoiled.

  “No, sir! FBI? What does this have to do with the Feds.”

  “Any crime that takes place on the water is a Federal offense.”

  “I didn’t know that. What will happen to the guy who stole Mr. Desiderio’s watch?”

  “Next stop, Guantanamo.”

  “Jesus!”

  Scarne and Horner turned to leave.

  “What about the Rolex? Tony is gonna want to get it back.”

  “Evidence,” Horner said. “Tell him he can file a writ of habeas corpus to reclaim it.”

  Scarne nodded in the direction of Sharon’s Maserati as he got in Horner’s cruiser. She pulled away. They followed. Horner looked over at Scarne.

  “Guantanamo?”

  Scarne laughed.

  “The word scares the hell out of crooks. I didn’t want him looking at me too closely. He saw me the first time I stopped by. And it’s not as bad as ‘Khardasian’. What were you thinking?”

  “I wasn’t,” Horner laughed. “First thing that popped into my head.” He tapped the attaché. “Did you get it?”

  Scarne opened the case.

  “Yeah. And a lot more, I think.’

  He held up a disc.

  “I came across this before I found the one that will nail our two football heroes. You don’t know anyone else named Kummerspeck, do you?”

  CHAPTER 26 - PREMIER PERFORMANCE

  “Oh, my God!”

  Sharon Ross put her hand to her mouth and tears welled in her eyes. She and the two men were watching Weatherly and Landon rape and assault Alva Delgado. “That poor girl. Please turn it off!”

  Scarne removed the damning disc from the DVD player in her living room. Horner handed him another one.

  A few minutes later she said, “Who is that fat pervert with the dimpled ass?”

  “My old boss,” Horner said. “Duane Kummerspeck, Calusakee’s Chief of Police.”

  “Explains a lot,” Scarne said. “Desiderio had Duane in his pocket, too.”

  An hour and a dozen discs later later, they all had enough. There were many more videos but no one had the stomach for more. Sharon Ross had already identified several prominent citizens, including hedge fund managers and elected officials, having sex with women not their wives.

  “I play tennis with some of those women,” she said. “They will go batshit.”

  Scarne had been checking some of the names she mentioned against entries in Desiderio’s ledger.

  “This is one of the best blackmail scams I’ve come across,” he said. “But I bet he and the Stupachis couldn’t believe their luck when the Touchdown Twins starred in one of the videos.”

  “This is sick, sick, sick,” Sharon Ross said. “I’m going to have to take another shower. They should all go to jail.”

  “It won’t be that easy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He means that what we just saw is probably not admissible in court,” Horner said. “We obtained it illegally. Any good lawyer will get it suppressed.”

  “And I’ll probably have to pay for the damage I did to a priceless desk if we follow the rules,” Scarne said.

  “We can’t let them get away with it,” Sharon said. “People died and an innocent man is in prison.”

  “I’m not going to let them slide,” Horner said. “One of those people was my partner.”

  His tone was cold. The other two knew what he might do.

  “Fitch, you’re a good cop,” Scarne said. “I’m not going to let you throw away your career and life. I have an idea that might work. If it does, it will be worse than death for these sleazebags.” He turned to Sharon. “The big Collier graduation party starts around 6 P.M., right?”

  “You mean the President’s Reception? Yes. There is a cocktail hour and then a black tie dinner.”

  “And there is some sort of screening for th
e guests.”

  “Yes, the athletic department is showing highlights of the various teams, mainly football with Weatherly and Landon, of course.”

  “Desiderio will be there?”

  “He wouldn’t miss that. And probably a lot of those jerks we just watched getting their rocks off.”

  “Kummerspeck will probably be there, too,” Horner said. “Our department handles security for most of the school’s big events.”

  “I bet you guys got a bunch of overtime and game tickets,” Scarne said.

  “And were told to look the other way when athletes got in trouble, like driving drunk or bustin’ up bars,” Horner said. “That’s one of the reasons I quit. Like I told you, Herbie was only sticking around because he was in love and needed the dough. I didn’t know she was the reporter, Mulloy. Never met her.”

  “Well, whoever killed them undoubtedly found out about their relationship. Probably figured your partner was helping her with her investigation. That’s why they were both killed.”

  Scarne started putting the DVDs back in the attaché case.

  “Sharon, is there a studio in town that can edit a composite video from a bunch of discs?”

  “I’m sure there is.”

  “And tuxedo rental places?”

  “Of course. This isn’t exactly the sticks.”

  “Good. We’d better get a move on.”

  “Get a move on for what?” Horner asked.

  “Sharon and I are going to that black tie dinner tonight.” He smiled at Sharon. “I presume you have an invitation. You do teach at the university, don’t you?”

  “Yes. But I wasn’t planning on going. I hate those kind of affairs.”

  “What? And miss the premier screening of Desiderio Does Naples?”

  They both stared at Scarne.

  “You’re nuts,” Horner said. Then he laughed. “But I like it. What will I be doing?”

  “You and your uniform will smooth the way at the video studio and make sure they keep their mouths shut. And we may need you to convince the folks running the video show at the dinner to, ah, step aside.”

  “You guys go do your thing with the video and the tux,” Sharon said. “I’ll meet you back here in a couple of hours.”

  “Where are you going?” Scarne asked.

  “Shopping. I have nothing to wear. But I saw a darling little Herve Leger number at Saks.”

  ***

  At 5 P.M., Scarne and Horner were sitting in Sharon Ross’s kitchen drinking coffee waiting for her to finish dressing. Scarne had already showered and changed into the formal wear hastily rented at a nearby Men’s Warehouse. Considering that the tuxedo was basically off the rack, it was a decent fit. The jacket was a little large, but that helped hide Scarne’s shoulder holster.

  “You look like you belong on top of a wedding cake,” Horner said.

  “These shoes hurt,” Scarne said.

  They’d had a busy afternoon. After several tries they’d located a video studio in a strip mall just east of Naples proper that was willing to attempt a rush job on their project.

  Scarne called Bob Huber at The New York Times and told him what he had. The Times quickly agreed to front all of Scarne’s costs, no questions asked. Once at the studio, Horner explained to the owner that the videos on the various discs were part of an child pornography sting operation that was ongoing, and secrecy was paramount, lest child molesters escape the net. Horner’s uniform and threats of criminal liability were enough to insure silence. The fact that some of the girls on the videos looked underage lent credence to the fabrication. The promise of an exorbitant fee for not only a composite video, but for dozens of copies of all the videos, also motivated the studio’s owner.

  The technicians, all of whom appeared to be barely out of high school, did not seem particularly shocked by what they saw. The Internet, Scarne assumed, had deadened their sensibilities. They probably watched this kind of stuff all the time. He was mildly relieved that none of the techies recognized any of the players in Desiderio’s videos.

  “She’s been up there almost an hour,” Horner said. “What could she be doing?”

  “It takes a while for a woman to get dressed for something like this.”

  “She said she didn’t even like this kind of affair.”

  “You didn’t really believe that, did you? All women like to get dolled up. Hell, she even went out and bought a new frock.”

  When Sharon Ross finally walked into the kitchen, both men stared.

  “Jesus Christ,” Horner said.

  She was wearing a black, open-back bandage dress and ankle-strap Monola Blahniks with four-inch heels.

  “How do I look?” she said, twirling, her diamond drop earrings glittering in the late-afternoon sunlight streaming in from a window.

  “Drop-dead gorgeous,” Scarne said, and meant it.

  “Thank you. And you look like a secret agent. Would you like to drive the Maserati, Mr. Bond?”

  Scarne smiled at Horner.

  “Wedding cake, indeed.”

  CHAPTER 27 - BLACK TIE

  With Horner in the lead in his patrol car, they pulled up right in front of Hammond Pavilion, the massive indoor sports arena facility where the President’s Reception was taking place.

  “It just opened this year,” Sharon said. “Greg Hammond is one of those Wall Street guys who was on a video. I think he donated something like $50 million to the school.”

  “Will he be here tonight?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Scarne grinned.

  “This gets better and better.”

  They got out of the Maserati and met Horner. A Calusakee cop walked over to them.

  “Hey, Fitch. What are you doing here? Lose a manatee, or something?”

  The two cops embraced.

  “Working on a case in Sanibel that I think Kummerspeck should know about,” Horner said easily. “These folks are helping me out. Can we leave our cars here?”

  “Sure. I’ll tell the other guys. Most of the department is pulling duty at the school tonight. But I saw you at Herbie’s funeral. I didn’t think you and the Chief were on speaking terms.”

  “This is business.”

  “Right. But you better catch him early, if you get my drift.”

  “You got it, Bobby.”

  As they walked into the arena, Sharon said, “What was that about catching Kummerspeck early?”

  “Chief does some of his best work at cocktail hours,” Horner said.

  Once inside, they asked a campus cop where they could find the people who were running the upcoming video.

  “They are up in the Press Box, I think. You can take those stairs over there.”

  They found the room, in which a man in a suit was supervising two students who were actually preparing the presentation.

  Sharon knew the man, who worked in the school’s public relations department.

  “What are you doing up here, Sharon?”

  “Just giving my date a tour, Mitch. This officer was kind enough to take us up here.”

  “My pleasure, ma’am,” Horner said.

  What time is the video starting?” Scarne asked.

  “Just as soon as everyone is seated for dinner. Probably by 7:30.”

  “And everyone will be able to see and hear it?”

  “Oh, yes. Look down there. We have one of the largest Jumbotrons of any college in the country. That screen is 30 feet wide. And the latest sound system. We owe a lot to Mr. Hammond. I hope the audience appreciates it.”

  “I’m sure they will,” Scarne said. “Come on darling, let’s go down to the cocktail hour.”

  Outside the booth, Scarne turned to Horner.

  “I presume you can handle them, Fitch.”

  Horner tapped the gun in his holster.

  “Piece of cake.”

  “Once our disc ends, I’d vamoose if I were you.”

  “Don’t worry about me. Nobody is going to care about any of us after the video
.”

  ***

  The cocktail hour was in full swing at various bars and buffet tables set up at the periphery of the arena floor. Each of the stations was three or four deep with well-dressed men and women.

  “There must be 500 people here,” Scarne said. “It reminds me of the first-class dining salon of the Titanic just before it hit the iceberg.”

  “Some of these people will wish they were on the Titanic before the night is out,” Sharon said.

  A distinguished-looking man with a full head of flowing white hair came up to them.

  “Well, hello, Sharon. How nice to see you. You look lovely.”

  “Thank you, Thornton. May I introduce Jake Scarne. Jake, this is Dr. Thornton Rumford, the university President and our host for the evening.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Scarne. I hope you are enjoying yourself.”

  “You can’t imagine, Dr. Rumford.”

  “This is a great night for Collier University. We are honored that so many of our friends from the business community have taken the time out of their busy schedules to help us celebrate. Are you in business, Mr. Scarne?”

  “I’m a movie producer at the moment.”

  “Really. How interesting. Have you made any I may have seen?”

  “My first one is coming out shortly. It’s a disaster movie, starring a lot of unknowns who will soon be household names.”

  “A big budget production?”

  “It will cost people many millions.”

  “Where is your lovely wife, Thornton?” Sharon said, kicking Scarne in the ankle.

  “Oh, she is around here, somewhere. I will tell her you were asking after her. Well, I should mingle. And I want to find our guests of honor. Do you follow football, Mr. Scarne?”

  “It’s become my favorite sport.”

  “Splendid. Well, nice to meet you. I hope we will see each other again. And Sharon, in a room full of beautiful women, you stand out.”

  Rumford walked away.

  “Thornton is a bit of a tool,” Sharon said. “But the board and boosters love him. He’s improved academics somewhat, but his real coup was putting Collier University on the football map. The basketball team is also making some national waves. The sports teams bring in serious money and the hedge fund guys donate a lot of their ill-gotten gains to the school. Some of them are grads, but most just want to be associated with a potential national champion. That’s why you see all the construction. The university is drowning in cash. The directors just gave Thornton a five-year contract and a raise. They tried to keep it secret but it leaked. He makes $2 million a year.”