The Tipping Point: A Wainwright Mystery

by Walter Danley

  The library was a large space, as were all the rooms in the elegant home. As the gathering of dear friends and former corporate combat colleagues convened in the library, Tommy said, “Hey, Jules. I love the floors here. What kind of stone is this?”

  June stepped in to explain. “This is blue slate. They were an afterthought during construction. The contractor ordered more slate for the roof than was required,” she said. “It was actually the roofer’s suggestion the flooring guys use the excess for the library floor. Looks great, huh?”

  “It was the only savings we managed to accomplish in the four-year-long project,” Jules said.

  June continued. “Jules was so happy about the savings he covered most of the slate with expensive Persians!”

  “Well, they are lovely rugs,” Shirley said. “I love the muted colors of red, blue, and yellow. Those colors set off the cherry wood paneling, bookcases, and cabinetry around this beautifully graceful room.”

  “Aah, thank you, Shirley. That’s so nice of you. I’m impressed with your knowledge of interior design.”

  “I picked up what little I know about woods and cabinet making from my grandpa. He was a real craftsman and I learned a lot by helping him in his workshop. I love woods, and these fixtures are exquisite.”

  The library fireplace was centered on an outside wall. Large windows flanked the fireplace looking out on the vista of Lake Tahoe. Beyond that stood the ancient volcanic mountain which created it. The other three walls of the library featured built-in cherry bookcases that reached the open beam cathedral ceiling fifteen feet above the floor. Jules’ leather-bound book collection was more ornamental than literary, Wainwright assumed. Their guests sat in comfortable art deco furniture; some designed and built exclusively for this room, which could effortlessly accommodate a much larger group than the assembled friends.

  “Hey, what can I get you to drink?” Jules asked, verifying his butler was in the room and prepared to serve cocktails.

  “We all have had quite a ride these past few months,” Tommy said as each of the guests gave a drink order to the butler, “and the truly great news is the court ordered the bank to release the fraud money Larry Rubens stole to CapVest.”

  Wainwright picked up the story from there. “After the Five’s agreement was repaid—thank you very much, Lacey and Stacy—the firm is twenty-three million ahead of the game.”

  “And CapVest will be making an exclusive distribution to investors of those funds next week,” Tommy said. “It all worked out.”

  Reflecting on the past year events, Wainwright passively said, “Yup, but way too costly in terms of human life: Arnold, Bennie, Thomas Burke, Billy Clyburn, and Robert; all dead—for what?”

  “Let’s not forget Rubens’ law partner, or that poor girl in Chicago, Cassie. She was just as much a victim as the others, maybe more so, being a pawn of gang hoodlums,” Lacey added. Anniversary Six barked her concurrence from her bed in the corner. “Thank you, Annie. Ladies should always stick together.”

  “Greed and glory, you might say. It was Bennie’s plan to show his partners and wife he was much more than the joker everyone happily labeled him. He murdered his partners for insurance money.”

  “But also to eliminate his competition, don’t you think?” said June. “Then he runs off with BJ to live the good life.”

  “BJ was both a victim of Bennie and, sadly, a perpetrator in her own right. Her Cardinal sin of envy gave her no alternative than to be with powerful and wealthy men. It’s a terrible sickness,” Wainwright said.

  “You should know, lover boy,” Lacey quipped, putting her arm through Wainwright’s and snuggling. “But in the process, Bennie apparently intended to destroy the firm. My guess is to prove it couldn’t prosper without him. We’ll never know why he needed to take it away from his partners; maybe just to demonstrate his unacknowledged superiority.”

  Lacey looked around the room. “Where are the boys, Garth?”

  “Oh, not to worry,” Jules said. “My yardman has taken them down to the boathouse for a bit of nautical history. They’ll be fine.”

  “Well, with Bennie dead and BJ hooking up with Amiti to escape to parts unknown, we’ll never know the story of what motivated your former little partner,” June added.

  “You know, some people are like onions. They rot from the outside, one layer at a time.”

  The next morning found the adults in the kitchen for coffee and Danish, and sparkling sunshine reflected into the room off the snow-covered lawn. The door chime brought Stacy to attention.

  “I’ll get it. I hope it’s Greg.”

  And it was. The very worn-out Supervising Special Agent was jet-lagged, but still had the energy to fill his arms full of Stacy as he carried her into the back part of the Castle to join his friends. After hugs all around, Mulholland lovingly put his burden on a bar stool as June offered him a cup of coffee.

  Wainwright asked, “Any news from the island?”

  “Nothing you don’t already know. Between my agency and the constabulary, I had more paperwork than I did for my master’s thesis. Sorry I had to miss your flight out Thursday.”

  “How about we move into the library? We’ll have more room and softer cushions,” Jules said. The group picked up coffee cups and relocated to the larger room.

  “Greg, we now know it was Amiti who killed Cassie in Chicago. Why didn’t the Chicago PD get any results on him from the trace evidence on Cassie? That never made sense to me,” Wainwright asked.

  “The blood, hair, and semen analysis didn’t match because Amiti was Mossad. Those guys make sure their agents are not traceable on any system. As far as the world is concerned, they don’t exist. And now, thanks to BJ, he’s gone again. Of course, the official J. Edgar position is we’ll get him…someday.” After a thoughtful pause, Mulholland said, “So much of what has played out in this case, since Stacy got me involved, was just dumb luck. And those two had more than their share of good luck coming their way, but it won’t last.”

  Shirley asked, “I want to know why they attacked Caroline and broke into our house. What was the message, and who was sending it to us?”

  Mulholland put his arm around Stacy next to him on the couch. “I’m sorry. I forgot to tell you this in the rush to go after Bennie in Freeport. There was no message. The break-in at your house was just some Laguna Beach kid looking in your bathrooms for prescription drugs. The Orange County Sheriff nabbed the kid that same afternoon. Caroline’s car crash was simply a Seattle drunk driver that split the scene. The hit and run driver was caught within a few days. They are both in jails and both incidents are unrelated to our case. They had nothing to do with the Rubens or Amiti.”

  Tommy said, “On behalf of CapVest, we want to thank you and Garth about twenty-three million times for nabbing Dallas with Bennie’s trust fund money Slocum administered. How could Bennie have ever trusted a guy like Slocum, anyway?”

  “Bennie Rubens didn’t know or trust him,” Wainwright said. “He had never met the guy. McKenzie, Bennie’s lawyer who we all remember from the Bellevue Five meeting, had clients who did business on the island. He hired Slocum to do some small deal. Then, to accommodate Bennie’s insistence he needed to park his brother somewhere, McKenzie forced Slocum to take Larry Rubens on as a partner in his flaky practice.”

  “Well, our Mr. Larry ‘Dallas’ Rubens will spend the next fifty years in a Bahamian prison for embezzlement and the murder of Slocum. His involvement in the killing of your partners will never get to court; he won’t live that long,” Mulholland said.

  “I guess Bennie paid the ultimate price for setting up those murders he had his brother contract with Amiti,” Wainwright said.

  “Vida told me BJ was spending some time up on her floor after the bean counters shut down for the day on the eighteenth. A lot of time, she said. Apparently, those two had something going for several years. Nobody saw that coming,” Tommy said.

  Turning toward Tommy, Wainwright said, “What, now y
ou and Vida are pen pals?”

  “No, Vida and I are now employer and employee. She is my administrative assistant as of last week. Vida—all those years with Arnold taught her plenty. One of the best assistants I’ve ever worked with. You ought to stop in more often, when you aren’t chasing down killers on foreign lands. You’d learn these things.”

  Wainwright was staring into the fire and holding Lacey’s hand when he responded to Tommy. “You remember our conversation about the seven deadly sins? Well, the theme keeps popping up in my head. I’ve modified my theory somewhat. For example, you know, it’s too bad BJ was beset with envy. That showed in her eyes. She seemed to need more than she already had, more of everything. And she already possessed a lot.”

  “I think there is more to it than that,” Shirley said. “Envy has two sides, those being ‘I want what you have’ and ‘I don’t want you to have it longer.’ Maybe that’s part of what she had with Bennie—his vast wealth could accomplish both.”

  “I don’t think it was just the money. She needed to be able to manipulate him. Some men can be, but then there are those who just can’t be stage-managed. I know one like that myself.” Lacey smiled in Wainwright’s direction.

  Wainwright continued with his notion. “Envy was missing from my earlier hypothesis, and so was lust. As things have developed, I guess I’d have to attribute the Cardinal sin of lust to Bennie along with pride. Together with BJ, those two have won the seven deadly sins trifecta.”

  “How about we change to a more pleasant bit of news? Stacy, the floor is yours, dear one,” Lacey said.

  After a pregnant pause, Stacy said, “Well, Greg finally popped the question…and I said ‘Yes.’ We are going to get hitched! Greg and I want you all to come to our wedding in the spring.” The room burst into applause from all her friends.

  “Wow, congratulations to you both. I’m so happy for you,” exclaimed June. “Would you like us to host a wedding reception here at the Castle? Maybe Jules and I could even arrange to be in Palm Springs for a week or so if you’d like to honeymoon here.”

  Stacy replied, “Oh, June! That is unbelievably generous of you. Can we talk about it and let you know? Hey, I don’t think you guys know this, but Greg has gotten a promotion. He will now be referred to as Assistant Special Agent in Charge Greg Mulholland. Isn’t that great?”

  Mulholland, with a blush, said, “Since we’re all good friends, you guys can just call me ASAC. But I am proud of the promotion, especially since they jumped me up a couple of notches of the pay grade thing. It is the one way we could afford to marry, so I’m certainly happy about the new title and the extra money.”

  Later that evening, after bedding down the boys with a short ghost story read by Lacey, Wainwright and Lacey lay in bed, looking out the window at the snow-covered mountain. Lacey was spooned around Wainwright’s back, snuggling him tightly. The blazing fire in the fireplace made the room warm and cozy. They had the duvet folded back, with only a sheet covering them.

  “I’m so happy for Greg and Stacy. She waited so long for the right man. Well, we both did.” She squeezed Wainwright affectionately.

  “Greg will bust a gut to make Stacy the happiest girl in the world. It’s just one of the endearing qualities about him. That and he always has his pistol with him!”

  Lacey slapped his arm playfully. “She loves him so much.” She paused reflectively for a short moment. “You know, if it wasn’t for CapVest buying Thomas Burke’s business, you and I might never have met.”

  “That would have been a tragedy worthy of Shakespeare’s pen. I’m so glad Meyer focused on Burke’s company. You and I are together, and I hope we will be for all the days of our lives,” Wainwright told her as he rolled over to face the love of his life.

  “You’ve been watching daytime soaps again, haven’t you?”

  He kissed her tenderly and held her close. And that is how they fell asleep, peacefully and content in each other’s arms.

  Thirty-five

  “Some see private enterprise as a predatory target to be shot, others as a cow to be milked, but few are those who see it as a sturdy horse pulling the wagon.” ~ Winston Churchill

  MONDAY—JANUARY | On getaway Monday, Wainwright came into the breakfast room to find Jules and Tommy in relaxed conversation. They had empty coffee cups in front of them and the morning paper looked like professionals had mauled it for information.

  “The weather reports say a storm is moving in from the coast. Supposed to be a wet one, up to twelve inches of snow here,” Jules reported.

  “There is nothing I’d like more than to get snowed in at the Castle, but there are places to go, people to meet, and things to do back in the real world. We better head to Reno before the storm hits, Tommy,” Wainwright said. “I hate to pull my guys in off the beach. Annie Six is having a ball with them. She will never speak to me again if I have to go get them.”

  The boys and Annie Six did come in. As the entire household assembled in the breakfast room for coffee and Danishes, they decided to leave the Castle by ten o’clock for the drive to Reno. Mulholland and Stacy would have had the shortest flight, if they hadn’t driven up from Sacramento. Wainwright and Tommy would fly to Sea-Tac and work the week in Bellevue, while Lacey, Tim, and Brian opted for a flight to Long Beach company with Shirley.

  The Wainwright’s baggage was loaded in the Grand Cherokee, Mulholland’s in their SUV. They all thanked the Jarvises for their hospitality. As good-byes were exchanged, Jules pulled Tommy and Wainwright aside.

  Jules said, “Tommy, got a twenty dollar bill? Do you, Garth?” A little confused that the multi-millionaire was asking for money from them, they both reached into their wallets and Jules received two twenty-dollar bills.

  “Hey, Jules, the way you guys treated us here is worth a lot more than twenty bucks.” Wainwright tried a laugh.

  In exchange for the money, Jules handed each an envelope, which they opened to find an individually addressed letter. The letter was a written promise to deliver to the addressee, for the sum of twenty dollars and other good and valuable consideration, Capital Vested Corporation shares equivalent to twenty-four and one half percent of the outstanding shares.

  “Jules,” Tommy said, “this is generous beyond belief. But you understand this will reduce your ownership down to twenty percent? I mean, you are a dear and valued friend, but I can’t believe you’d sell us millions of dollars of stock for twenty bucks.”

  “Look, guys, it was really June’s idea, but I agree with her entirely. I’m not going to be an active board member of CapVest, and I have never wanted anything to do with management. I made a ton of money when the company was much smaller. Back then, I owned the same number of shares as I’ll have now. CapVest is a giant today and it’s going to grow much larger under your leadership.

  “You guys are running the company now. You’ll need the stock as incentives and rewards to all those young stallions you have in the training stable. You two are now majority shareholders. New partners you invite in will cost you, just like it will me, okay? You will earn every cent you make, this I know. Go now, and let me know how things are going…but not too often.”

  The Grand Wollcott alarm clock on Wainwright’s nightstand buzzed him awake at six o’clock Tuesday morning. He missed Lacey and the bewitching delight of sleeping with her. Without her curled around him, it was hard to relax. Deep, restful sleep was rare for a road warrior anyway.

  He and Tommy agreed to meet for a light breakfast at seven. When he entered the hotel coffee shop, he saw Tommy had arrived early. He’d already finished his orange juice. The pulpy glass stood empty against the white tablecloth.

  “Good morning, sunshine. Been here a while?”

  “Yeah, I couldn’t sleep. Too many things on my mind, I guess. How about you? Did you get some rest?”

  “Not really. So what’s got your wheels turning through the night?” Tommy asked.

  He started to answer his longtime partner when a familiar-loo
king person with a steno pad in his hands approached their table. “Mr. Shaw, Mr. Wainwright. Having a little morning protein before another day in the trenches?”

  Tommy looked up at the shabby younger man with sparse facial stubble masquerading as a beard. Wainwright stared at him, trying to recall where he’d seen this guy before.

  The man reached his hand toward Tommy and introduced himself. “I’m Travis Crocker, a reporter for the Bay Guardian. Would you mind giving me a statement for the record?”

  Then it came to him. Wainwright flashed back to the ballroom of the King Alfonso. He’d used the same introduction then, and it hadn’t become any more appealing now.

  Tommy shook his offered hand and said, “This is Garth Wainwright, one of our—”

  “Oh, Mr. Wainwright and I have met; isn’t that right, Mr. Wainwright? Do you remember?”

  “Yes, and I remember you didn’t do your homework when you crashed that reception at the Alfonso. Have you changed your evil ways, Mr. Crocker?”

  Crocker ignored the comment and turned back to face Tommy. “How is it going as the new CEO? You do have lots of loose ends to tie up, don’t you? You’re dealing with murders and suicides, to name just a few of the items on your plate. There must not be time left for running a business.”

  Tommy did not take the bait.

  “Would you care to make a statement for the record regarding Ragnar Borstad’s recent bankruptcy of Vulcan Systems?”

  Tommy said nothing for a few seconds, and then looked up at the man standing next to Wainwright’s chair, returning Crocker’s stare. “The company has had some tragic experiences of late, that is true. Some of the founders have retired, and some were victims of crime. The companies are under new management, which is effectively dealing with these things.

  “If you do the homework, as Mr. Wainwright suggested, and call my media office for a meeting, it will be granted. I will meet with you. My head of media relations will also meet with you, as will our General Counsel. We have a difficult time ahead of us, Mr. Crocker, and the company could benefit from the facts, published accurately and without a personal journalistic agenda. Do you have an agenda, Mr. Crocker?”