by Alan Hruska
“And did you hire him?” Tom asks.
“Absolutely. And he’s been worth what I paid him. I knew before anyone that Lowell Jockery was dead. When that news hit, my brokers were poised to buy another huge chunk on the predictable downtick.”
Tom says, “When you say he knew it before—”
“Before it was on the broad tape.”
“Any idea how?” Elena asks.
Sofi shrugs. “He’s more plugged in than J. Edgar Hoover was … and probably more dangerous.”
FORTY-FIVE
Mid-afternoon, office of the District Attorney. The acting incumbent, Mike Skillan, is telling his new recruit, Tom Weldon, how pleased he is to have him on staff, when Sammy Riegert breaks in, speaking to Mike, but looking strangely at Tom. “Can we talk?”
Mike nods.
“I mean alone,” Sammy says.
“Now’s fine, let’s hear it.”
Sammy continues to look uncomfortable.
“I said—”
“Right,” Sammy says. “We’ve got the chauffeur coming in, then Althus, but now this guy, right off the street, some big Arab mucky-muck, part of the UAE delegation, just shows up. No lawyers, no fanfare, no notice. Says he wants to chat. How ’bout that?”
“What do we know about him?” Mike asks.
“Not much. When I interviewed the guy running the New York office—sub-consulate, whatever they call it—this guy, Rashid al-Calif, was there.”
Mike, registering this information, says almost distractedly, “Sammy, this is Tom. Tom Weldon. He’s joining our staff. I’ll announce tomorrow.”
“Recognized him,” Sammy says. “From the photo of the guy we recently indicted.”
“We’re dropping the indictment, Sammy. The proof’s been discredited. That will be part of the announcement. We won’t put him on the Riles case, of course, but I think he can help us in other areas. Complex frauds, for example.”
“Been a day of surprises,” Sammy says. “Anyone else here know about this?”
“Joe and Foster, few minutes ago.”
“Should we talk?”
“No need.”
“Yeah, well,” Sammy says, “you’re the boss.”
“Where’d you put al-Calif?”
“Room three.”
“Let’s start with him. You examine. We’ll observe.”
Sammy looks at Tom.
“Get his feet wet,” Mike says.
Usual setup: windowless room; gray walls, vinyl floor; witness, interrogator; two chairs and a metal table; two-way mirror, allowing observers to observe without being observed. Mike leads Tom into the carpeted room on the transparent side of the glass, where they’re joined by Joe Cunningham and Foster Donachetti, both of whom look uneasily at the team’s new member.
“So,” says Sammy, switching on a device, “you have something to tell us?”
“This will be recorded?” Rashid says.
“Do you object to that?”
“On the contrary. I want there to be a record. Will I be given a copy?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Rashid retrieves a small device from his pocket. “But you’ll have no objection to my making my own recording?”
“I’m afraid I do.”
“A bit one-sided, wouldn’t you say? Uneven playing field?”
“I don’t make the rules,” Sammy says.
“You agree it’s unfair, though? Were you to make the rules, you would permit mutuality in the matter of recording?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Suppose we just take this into your office? Or perhaps a conference room? Invite the others to join us? The ones behind the glass. Then I would know to whom I was talking.”
Mike leaves his chair, says to Tom, “Stay here.” He beckons Joe and Foster to follow him. The three file into the interrogation room, and Rashid smiles in greeting. “The man who does make the rules,” he says.
“I’m Michael Skillan.”
“Yes, that’s what I meant.”
“Joe Cunningham, chief assistant, and Foster Donachetti, head of the trial division. My office is a mess. We’re probably more comfortable in here.”
Chairs arrived as he spoke, and the three seated themselves, Mike alongside Rashid. “So what have you come to tell us, Mr. al-Calif?”
“Not all that much, really. I’m here because of the murder of Lowell Jockery. When Robbie Riles was shot, it seemed to be a family matter, evidence pointing to the daughter. Jockery’s murder may of course put all that in question. Regrettably, however, it also points the finger at me.”
“Does it?” Mike says, affecting surprise.
“It’s not necessarily public knowledge,” Rashid says, “but it soon will be, that Jockery had backing in the UAE for his takeover bid of GT&M. I am in charge of the UAE’s interests in this matter.”
“Which gave you a motive for killing him?”
“On the contrary. And that’s the reality. But on the surface—two competing bidders for the same company are killed. At least that makes me a person of interest. I came here to tell you I am interested. Interested in helping you. Lowell Jockery was a friend. Also a highly valued business partner in a venture of great importance to the Emirates. His death has set us back immeasurably. So I’m here to offer my services. I will help you in any way I can.”
They consider this statement for enough time to make Rashid uncomfortable. Then Sammy says, “Riles held a huge loan of yours, didn’t he?”
“His company did, yes.”
“So—”
“Please, sir. Having a man killed in those circumstances would have been not only immoral but extremely stupid.”
Sammy nods and says, “Do you remember me?”
“Of course. You interviewed my associate Yasim Maktoum. I was present.”
“And what about Mr. Maktoum?”
“Yes, what about him?” Rashid says. “He had been heading up the Emirates team on GT&M until I arrived to take over.”
“Was he happy about that, your taking over?”
“Of course not. But he accepts it.”
“How did Mr. Jockery feel about your taking over from Maktoum?”
“He was very much in favor of the move. He may even have engineered it.”
“He had influence in the UAE?”
“At the highest level.”
“Did Yasim know that?”
“We all knew it. But frankly, gentlemen, if you have suspicions of Yasim, he’s too unlikely. Not at all the type.”
Mike Skillan asks, “What do you know about Elena Riles?”
“I’ve never met her.”
“But you’ve collected information on her?”
“Naturally. And paid well for it. But that sort of intelligence is never totally reliable.”
“You willing to share, for whatever it’s worth?”
“I’ve no objection. Our sources say she hated her father. He interfered in her life; she always resented it.”
“Who are your sources?”
“One of the investigation firms in the city. I didn’t hire them.”
“Mr. Maktoum did?”
“Either he or Mr. Jockery. Such people—investigators—are only marginally competent.”
“Was it Teddy Stamos?” Mike asks.
“I think that’s right, yes.”
“With Lowell Jockery gone, will his company stay in the fight for GT&M?”
“They’re contractually committed. But….”
“Yes?”
“It won’t be the same.”
“Putting you at a disadvantage?”
“Over Riles Whitney? Well….”
“I understand that the Riles family is solidly behind the takeover.”
“Perhaps.”
“You sound confident, despite the loss of Jockery.”
“There’s no question that was a setback. Among other things, we wanted him to run the combined company. But I think I personally have an advantage over
the Riles family. I think Mrs. Harding trusts me.”
Sammy leans back in his chair. “Let me just suggest, sir, that it would be a good idea for you not to leave the city.”
“I’ve no intention of leaving the city,” Rashid says. “It’s my favorite place on earth.”
With the team reassembled in Skillan’s office, Mike asks Sammy, “Why’d he come in, al-Calif?”
“Ballsy move? Thought we’d distrust him less, if he did?”
“Do we?”
“I don’t,” says Sammy.
Mike nods, waves them toward room number three. Which is empty.
A young ADA arrives. They call him “Little Mike,” since he’s half Skillan’s size and, on the depth chart, ranks close to the bottom. “Khalil’s not here. No calls, no word.”
Big Mike says, “Track him. Call him, go to the house, inside, if possible, call me as soon as you get there.”
Tom says, “I think he’s flown. I was there this morning.”
“Were you?” Mike says, surprised. He turns back to Little Mike. “Check it anyway.” Then to Sammy as Little Mike leaves, “Althus?”
“Waiting,” Sammy says.
Skillan leads all but Riegert into the observation room.
On the other side of the glass, they watch Sammy greet witness and lawyer. He says, his eyes on Harry Stith, “You’re not a suspect, Mr. Althus.”
“So why pay a lawyer his exorbitant fees to be here?” Julian says. “The fact is, Mr. Riegert, I go few places unaccompanied by counsel, and the DA’s office isn’t one of them.”
“It’s fine. I just have a few questions. Been meaning to speak to you earlier. Good of you to come down here.”
“Happy to help in any way I can.”
“Excellent. One thing you can clear up right away is who told the chauffeur, Morrie Khalil, not to wait for Mr. Riles on the night he was killed?”
“That’s simple enough. I did. I may not have been the only one, but I certainly mentioned it to him when he dropped me off at my building.”
“Did Mr. Riles himself ask you call off Khalil?”
Julian smiles. “You’re thinking that’s a rather menial job for the COO of a large company.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No doubt. But the Hollywood version of how a company like ours operates and the reality are two very different things. Robbie ran an extremely taut ship. We have one executive car and one driver. Robbie had first call, I second. So every day, usually in passing, Robbie said, ‘Car’s yours tonight, Julian’ or ‘I’m using it.’ Or his secretary told mine.”
“And on the night in question?”
“I believe it was Robbie. As I recall it, he had a date that night with Elena. She and her father sometimes met after work, and he liked to walk her home. She lives just twenty blocks or so north of the office.”
“So she might have arranged to meet him outside the building that night and called off the car?”
“She might well have arranged to meet him, but I doubt she would have gotten involved with the car.”
Sammy stops a moment to digest this. “Do you have any idea where the driver, Khalil, is tonight?”
Julian looks confused. “I thought he was on vacation.”
“So you don’t know where he is?”
“I, no. If it’s important—”
“Who do you think gained from Robbie Riles’s death?”
“Certainly not Khalil.”
“Who then?”
“I assume you’re not asking me for an evaluation of guilt?”
“No. Just who gained financially or any other way?”
“Obviously his heirs, though I believe they were all fond of him. Elena especially.”
“Especially fond or especially benefited by his death?”
“Both, I should imagine.”
“And others benefited?”
“Of course anyone owing him money might expect his death would provide some easing of the pressure to repay. Time pressure at least. Robbie was notoriously … shall we say, hard-nosed. And, obviously, our adversaries in the GT&M takeover battle might see themselves as benefiting.”
“Lowell Jockery, for one.”
“I suppose we can take him off the list?”
“Why’s that?” says Sammy in a flat tone that somehow manages to question Julian’s acuity.
“Right,” Julian says. “I see your point. His being murdered doesn’t necessarily mean—”
“Anyone else?”
“There’s a rather long list of people who might have conceived a dislike for him.”
“Could you supply such a list?”
“I could, yes,” Julian says, “but with the explicit understanding I’m not accusing them of anything.”
“You got it.”
“And,” Julian says, “may I ask you something? Does the fact your investigation is continuing mean that the indictments will be—”
“Let me stop you right there, sir.”
“I understand.”
“We do not talk about suspects in an ongoing investigation.”
“To be sure.”
“Very good,” says Sammy, getting to his feet. “That list. Soon as possible, please. I think you can appreciate time is short on this. Can you get it to us by tomorrow?”
Harrison Stith holds up his hand. “That’s a request best addressed to me, sir.”
“All right, fine,” Sammy says. “To you, then. What’s the response?”
“We’ll take your request under advisement.”
Sammy’s heard this before. “You want a court order?”
“Apply for one, if you like, but I have every confidence the advisement will be favorable to your request.”
Sammy laughs.
In the adjoining room, Tom turns to Mike. “This is the first time you’ve questioned Althus?”
“Welcome to government office,” Mike says. “We prioritize the obvious. A few hours ago, the evidence overwhelmingly pointed one way.”
“At me. And now I work for you. Although I used to work for that asshole purporting to represent Althus.”
“Ain’t it wonderful?” Mike croons. “Life? Full of surprises. And do you think he’s guilty, Althus?”
“I don’t, actually,” Tom says. “Elena likes him.”
“And you trust her instinct.”
“I do.”
“Also wonderful,” Mike says. “True—”
“Don’t,” Tom warns.
FORTY-SIX
This!” Tom exclaims, pulling into the driveway of an enormous white-shingled house in Old Greenwich. “This pile is yours?” Parked on the pavers are two blue Bentleys, a silver Porsche, and a gray-gold Aston Martin. Tom and Elena step out of their rented Camry. She wanted a Prius, but Tom couldn’t fit in.
Elena walks directly to the side lawn, where Tom joins her. Over the ridge, behind the house, there’s a view of five rolling acres of gardens and trees and, beyond that, the Long Island Sound.
“This, I assume, you don’t tire of.”
“I don’t,” she says.
“And the auto show in the driveway?”
She gives him an expression of distaste.
“What about the memories?” he asks.
“Some good ones,” she says. “Not many.”
“Older sisters can be bitches.”
“Yeah,” she says, in a tone implying a level of cruelty he knows nothing about.
They walk in on the two sisters and their husbands lounging in the living room amid scattered sections of the Journal and The Times.
Elena says, “Everyone comfortable?”
“Elena!” says Constance, greatly surprised. “How delightful to see you.”
“I’ll bet.”
“And this must be Tom.”
“Hi,” says Tom noncommittally.
“You guys living here?” Elena asks in a tone of sweet insincerity.
Patricia says, “Jasper and I are in the guest house.”
“And when did this happen?”
“Daddy let us move in,” says Patricia defensively.
“And you and Lawton are living here, in the big house?” Elena says to Constance.
“You object to that?”
“It’s the first time I’ve been asked.”
“Must we, Elena?” says Connie. “The house was empty. You weren’t here, were you? If you and … Tom want to move in, I’m sure we can come to some sort of accommodation.”
“You know damn well I won’t live here.”
“Then what’s all the bother about?’ Connie says. “Really, Elena.”
Lawton, flipping pages as if bored by the whole conversation, says, “You two like some coffee? It’s a bit cold, but we could heat it up.”
“Lawton,” Elena says to him, “look at me.” He does with an attitude of withering sufferance.
“Tom and I are here for the weekend. We want the house to ourselves.”
“And what?” Connie says, with a harsh laugh. “We should move out?”
“You don’t belong here.”
“That’s not quite settled yet. Tom, you’re a lawyer. Surely you understand that. And until it’s settled, I’d say possession is nine-tenths of the law.”
“Indeed,” Lawton says. “In the circumstances, I’d say it was damn white of Connie to invite you to stay at all.”
Tom Weldon steps forth. “This may startle you people, but it appears we have a situation here requiring the use of force.”
Heads snap, eyes blink.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Lawton says, as if reacting belatedly to an off-color remark.
“Very simple,” Tom says. “You’ve been asked to leave. I suggest you start packing immediately. Because if you don’t, I’ll lift your pompous ass out of that sofa and deposit it into the street. Or maybe into one of those fancy cars in the driveway.”
The sisters and spouses regard him with disbelief.
“The guest house,” says Jasper, “where we are, is actually the gate house. It’s a hundred yards away.”
Elena says to Connie, “You live five blocks from here.”
