The Manhattan Deception

by Simon Leighton-Porter

  For the first time during the conversation, Newman’s expression turned from one of adoration to a look of real concern. ‘But what if I meet a real Latvian?’

  Cathy waved her hands dismissively. ‘Dave, you’re a journalist. Make something up, it’s what we do.’ He smiled and to her consternation she saw the hypnotised look of adoration back on his face. ‘Like I said, if you can get a glass or a cup he’s used, that’ll be ideal. If you can’t get that, then I’ll leave it up to your initiative to find something else. Now I know this may be teaching granny, but try not to touch it with bare hands otherwise your DNA will be on it too.’

  He reached across the table and held her hand tightly – just that little bit too tightly. ‘You know you can count on me, Cathy. I’d do anything for you – ’

  ‘I know, Dave, you already said so. Let’s not go there. I’m asking this favour because you’re a friend and I trust you. There’s no quid pro quo.’

  He released her hand and recoiled from her. ‘You didn’t need to say that, Cathy.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Dave. I didn’t mean it to come out like that – that’s not what I meant...’

  ‘You don’t need to explain,’ he said, gazing at her from under lowered lids.

  Oh Christ, thought Cathy uncharitably, he’s going to start humping my leg in a minute if I’m not careful.

  On his return, James left the car at Cathy’s house and, walking the few blocks to Connecticut Avenue, took the DC Metro from Van Ness to downtown where they met in a bar after work. She was already there when he arrived, fending off the unwanted attentions of an overweight man in a Washington Redskins t-shirt who was trying to buy her a drink. ‘Ah, there’s my husband,’ she said on catching sight of James. The tactic worked and her suitor retreated, abashed, to the catcalls of his friends grouped round the corner of the bar.

  ‘Nice place,’ said James after greeting her with a kiss. ‘Maybe we should go upmarket and head for a bowling alley.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s not usually like this. Let’s go for a walk. There’s a place I know just off K Street we can try, if you don’t mind drinking with a bunch of lobbyists.’

  The sun was still warm on their backs as they walked and the streets were crowded with people making the best of a glorious evening. Cathy recounted her success with the ever- and over-faithful Dave Newman and James in turn confirmed that despite driving her car in circles, stopping, making random u-turns and generally making a nuisance of himself on the roads of Maryland and Virginia, he hadn’t seen anyone following him. ‘That’s good,’ said Cathy. ‘If we need to head out to Cunningham to see Hillman in a hurry, then that’s one less thing to worry about.’

  ‘Something else happened too,’ said James. ‘Something really weird. I got a call from Mick Cuthbertson, you know, the PR guy in London who was out here with me?’

  Cathy nodded. ‘What did he want?’

  ‘He told me the UK press have retracted all their allegations about hanging on to valuables my uncle found, and they’ve published apologies without so much as a word from a lawyer. Mick said he’s never seen anything like it.’

  ‘And I got a call from Pauli’s press office saying that they’d had information that the story about my dishing personal dirt about him to the Republicans was untrue and would I like to come to their next “meet the press” day? That can’t be a coincidence.’

  ‘So what the hell is Pauli playing at?’

  ‘I think the technical term is “attempted headfuck”,’ said Cathy. They arrived at the entrance to the bar and Cathy stopped rather than continue the conversation in front of strangers. ‘Whatever he’s playing at, one thing’s for sure, I don’t trust the bastard.’

  Chapter Thirty-two

  I cannot understand why any woman would put herself through this, let alone twice or more. The pain was unbearable and lasted for hours but eventually the baby arrived: a healthy, lovely boy with jet black hair like A. We’ve decided to call him Erich. A. delighted and is already making plans for him. Too tired to write more.

  *

  They stayed longer in the bar than they’d expected, after having got drawn in to a group of Cathy’s friends. Then they headed for a Chinese restaurant, followed by another bar and so it was almost midnight by the time they got back to her house. ‘That’s odd,’ said Cathy as she opened the front door. ‘The alarm warning didn’t go off.’ But when she turned on the hall light she saw why. Before them was a scene of chaos: the place had been ransacked. In the kitchen, cutlery, sugar, melting ice-cubes from the fridge and the half-defrosted contents of the freezer were strewn across the floor, mixed in with cans, broken bottles, pots and pans. Upstairs it was no better: furniture had been smashed, cushions slashed open, drawers and their contents thrown this way and that. She dashed into the bedroom and took some consolation from the fact that her jewellery was still in its wooden box, despite the fact that almost everything else was upside-down. Clutching the box to her chest, she sat down on the burst mattress and began to weep.

  James returned from the second bedroom that Cathy used as an office, his face a picture of dejection. ‘They’ve got what they were looking for,’ he said.

  ‘You don’t mean the letters?’ she said through her tears.

  He nodded miserably, his eyes glazed and focussed on nothing. ‘They’ve taken my laptop too.’

  He sat down beside her and she put her head on his shoulder. Cathy spoke for both of them. ‘All that work for nothing,’ she said with a sniff. James passed her his hankie.

  ‘Not entirely,’ he said. ‘We may’ve lost the originals and even though they’ve got my laptop, I use an online backup service so we can retrieve the entire hard-drive. What we’ve got to do now is call the police. Now, I know you like the guy, but we’re going to have to tell them that Pauli’s behind this.’

  The DC Metropolitan Police arrived quickly – one of the advantages of the Cleveland Park area is its proximity to the embassy quarter – and everything was going smoothly until Cathy broached the subject of Pauli. ‘Are you under the influence of intoxicating liquor, ma’am?’ asked the officer.

  Why the fuck don’t you just ask me if I’m drunk? she nearly said, but instead decided on, ‘Yes, but that doesn’t change the fact that what I’ve told you is the truth.’ She was sober enough to realise that her speech was slurred.

  ‘And you are making an allegation that Senator Pauli is the perpetrator?’

  ‘No, I’m saying that whoever broke into my house did so because of the work I’m doing about him and his campaign.’ James could see that she was getting flustered. Fizzing with adrenalin and fuelled by more alcohol than was good for her, Cathy’s fuse had been ignited by the man’s attitude and James could see something was about to blow, so he led her gently away by the shoulder.

  ‘Just tell us where to go tomorrow, officer,’ said James. ‘And we’ll drop in and give a statement once we’ve found out exactly what’s missing.’

  The police left and Cathy threw her arms around James’s neck. ‘Thank you so, so much,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t been here.’

  ‘Probably got yourself arrested the way you were going,’ he replied, gently stroking her hair while holding her tight to him. ‘I’ve had a lot of practice with burglaries of late. Let’s sort out the bedroom. If we turn the mattress over we can at least get some sleep, then we’ll call the insurance company in the morning and start getting the place sorted out.’

  As they’d suspected, the alarm company’s records showed that the system had been disabled via the keypad and the insurance assessor confirmed there was no sign of forced entry. Nothing had been taken apart from the letters and his laptop. For James and Cathy all the evidence pointed towards Pauli. However, in the cold light of the following day and without any evidence to back up her story, a hung-over and angry Cathy decided to keep her suspicions to herself when they went to the DC Second District police station to make a formal report.
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  Phoning the office to explain what had happened, she begged a few days off from her editor. It was only after hanging up that she realised that one happy, unforeseen circumstance of the burglary was that it would keep her away from Dave Newman, who was probably rolling around on the ground with excitement by now. She’d wait until he’d completed his little favour and the DNA results were confirmed before sticking it to the Democratic nominee. You fuck with my house, Senator Pauli, and see what you get. A dish best eaten cold, she repeated over to herself.

  The day dawned cloudless with the prospect of yet more hot, dry June weather. Dave Newman was raring to go. He’d casually told the New Horizons editor that he’d be working from home that day – something he did frequently – so everything was looking good. Since his lunch with Cathy, he’d devoted almost every waking hour to researching his new trade: how to set a table, which side to serve from, how to pour wine without spillages, what to do if and when a clumsy diner ends up wearing their meal – there was not a single contingency that would catch him unawares. As Ludis Ozols and native of Latvia, he had studied his adopted homeland in minute detail and had even mastered a few basic phrases in Lettish – as for the pronunciation; he made that up as he went along.

  So it was that just after four o’clock, resplendent in the catering company’s livery of dark purple jacket and black trousers finished off with one of his own white shirts and a pre-tied bow-tie, he started work. Being one of very few members of his crew who spoke fluent English – albeit with an accent that fluctuated between the Baltic and Brooklyn – or who knew anything about waiting on tables, his supervisor had no trouble in identifying him as the man least likely to tip soup over the VIPs. As hoped, he was assigned to the top table. Then, when he asked his supervisor whether the number of drinking glasses earmarked for the speakers’ rostrum had been checked against the number of speakers, the poor man nearly fainted with pleasure: another job for the peerless Ludis Ozols, né Newman, and one that would give him the perfect opportunity to complete his sacred quest.

  His baptism of fire came with the pre-dinner drinks: Jeeves-like he shimmered through the crowd. At the merest hint of a raised eyebrow, he would whisk away an empty glass or appear with a tray full of reinforcements, and after about half an hour he chuckled to himself at the realisation that he was actually enjoying it, gliding incognito amongst the very people he would be writing about the following week. As it approached time to head into the dining hall, his supervisor was once again delighted to see that his new star hire had begun reminding guests of the time as he relieved them of their empties or brought them a final sly one to fortify them for the trial by oratory to come.

  Pauli was easy to spot but Newman affected not to recognise him, making a point of treating the senator as just another guest on the top table. He made careful note that for the moment, the guest of honour was sticking to water; a minor hindrance, but nothing that couldn’t be overcome. At the end of the first course, a salmon mousse, he was casually gathering up the white wine glasses and tried to include Pauli’s empty water glass in the trawl, choosing his moment while the senator was deep in conversation. He saw the hand stretch out and then felt it gently on his wrist, ‘That’s all right, thanks,’ said Pauli. ‘I’ll hang on to my glass for now, if that’s ok.’

  ‘But of course, sir,’ said Newman, lowering his gaze, every inch the deferential servitor.

  Despite his outward appearance of calm, Dave Newman’s heart was pounding. Everything had gone perfectly until now but at the very moment of victory, success had been snatched from his grasp. Not only had he missed his chance, but he’d drawn attention to himself and his heart fell at the possibility that Pauli might now subconsciously defend his glass to the end of the meal. Newman took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself down; two more courses, coffee, innumerable speeches and Pauli’s turn at the rostrum would give him plenty more chances. Just relax, he said to himself.

  The main course came and went without a chance to lift the glass, Pauli steadfastly refusing all offers of wine or anything other than mineral water; coffee too was refused, so that was goodbye to grabbing his cup. Stay cool, he told himself, there’s his speech to come and as soon as Pauli goes near the rostrum, I’ve got all the time in the world.

  Time stood still in that mysterious way that only happens when speeches are being given: Pauli was next up to bat, but because the tempo of work for the waiting staff had died down, the supervisor chose that moment to summon his blue-eyed-boy through to the kitchen. He cursed under his breath but trotted dutifully over.

  ‘Hey, Ludo, you’ve done this before, haven’t you?’

  ‘It’s Ludis, actually, sir. And yes I have, many times. This is my first time in DC though.’ From the corner of his eye, to his horror he could see through the half-closed kitchen door that Pauli’s body language presaged the end of his speech. Newman gave the supervisor the details he’d memorised so carefully: the address on Mt Olivet Road in the north-east quadrant of the city – in fact a boarded up convenience store – and an equally bogus phone number. The supervisor was pressing him hard on his availability for the following week when their conversation was drowned out by the applause greeting the end of Pauli’s speech. ‘Excuse me a second, sir,’ said the bogus Latvian. ‘I’ve just spotted something,’ leaving the supervisor beaming with joy that at last he’d found someone who took a pride in his work. It was now or never. Slipping on a pair of white cotton gloves and with a steely gaze fixed upon Pauli’s glass, Newman strode behind the still-applauding VIPs on the top table towards his target, but he was fractionally too late. Pauli saw him coming and, flushed with success and completely unsuspecting, simply picked up the glass to take a sip from it to signal once again that he wanted to keep it. Undeterred, Newman moved in – this was for Cathy, he mustn’t fail and so he lunged.

  In the ensuing tug of war over the glass, Janet Pauli received its contents, ice cubes and all, down the front of her shot silk gown. She screamed and everyone turned to look at her. ‘What the fuck is this?’ said Pauli in amazement and for an instant his grip slackened a little. Newman had the glass – the quest for the grail was over. Shoving it into his jacket pocket he ran back towards the kitchen under the startled gaze of nearly five hundred people, sprinted past his thunderstruck supervisor and out of sight. Without breaking stride he pulled down first one, then another rack of dirty crockery to impede the inevitable pursuit – each crash reverberating around the packed hall like thunder. Then he barged his way through the fire door, setting off the alarm as he went, and running as hard as he could, vaulted over the low fence surrounding the parking lot and was lost to sight in the wooded grounds of the conference centre. By the time Pauli’s Secret Service detail were on the scene, the fugitive was nowhere in sight.

  Although Janet hadn’t yet seen the funny side of it, Eric Pauli was more amused than angry. The appalled supervisor rushed to their side, proffering apologies. ‘Well, I’ll say this for your boys, when they want to clear away, they don’t take no for an answer,’ Pauli said with a smile.

  Vince Novak, whose view of events had been partially obscured, arrived at his chief’s side. ‘Jeez, Eric, what was all that about?’

  ‘Ah nothing, one of the waiters went a bit postal that’s all. Sucker tried to take my glass after the fish course, told him I wanted to hang on to it, but guess he wouldn’t take no for an answer.’

  The smile faded on Novak’s lips. ‘He did what?’

  Pauli shrugged. ‘Grabbed my glass that’s all. We kinda ended up arm-wrestling over it and Janet got an early shower. Good job it wasn’t wine.’ He paused. ‘You ok, Vince? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.’

  Novak ignored him and grabbed the supervisor who was still babbling apologies and frog-marched him out of earshot towards the kitchens. ‘OK, who was that guy?’ he asked, still maintaining his grip on the man’s arm.

  ‘Name’s Ludos something. Hold on a minute I’ve got it here.’ Shaking himself
free he retrieved the details from his pocket. ‘There you go,’ he said, handing the slip of paper over.

  Novak studied it intently. ‘Have you worked with him before?’

  ‘Nope, we get these people from an agency. If we see ’em twice we count ourselves lucky. That’s why we charge them a deposit and a cleaning fee if we provide them with a uniform.’

  ‘And don’t tell, me, he paid the deposit in cash?’

  ‘I don’t handle that side; you’d have to ask the agency.’

  ‘And which agency’s that?’

  The supervisor wrote the name of the company on the back of a menu and handed it over, glad at last to be free of the pint-sized ball of fury that had descended on him.

  With a smile and apologies all round, Novak extracted Pauli from the group that had formed around him and steered him out of earshot. ‘We’ve got a problem, Eric: a big one.’

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Little Erich keeping me awake all night every night – am at death’s door and would do anything just to sleep for more than three hours without being woken. Worried about A. Doctor says it’s Parkinson’s disease but there’s no cure. Also problems with blood pressure – has prescribed pills which A. refuses to take. Says they are trying to poison him.

  *

  They unloaded the last of the shopping from the car: cushions, pillows and sheets and lamps to replace those damaged by the intruders. The light on the telephone cradle was winking so Cathy picked it up and pressed the voicemail button. She recognised the caller’s New York accent at once. “Hey, Cathy, guess who? I called round earlier but you were out. Why don’t you go check your mailbox to see what Santa brought you? Always be something in my sack for you, babe. See you soon.” Without saying a word, Cathy dashed downstairs and out through the front door. Moments later she returned, breathless, clutching a plastic food bag containing a glass. Scrawled on the outside in indelible marker was one word: PAULI. ‘He did it,’ she cried triumphantly. ‘Well done, Dave.’