by Brad Meltzer
“I’m serious,” Conrad said. “Try again, but this time just point and shoot.”
After reloading, Sara once again faced the target. “Here we go,” she said. “Be the bullet.” She then raised her gun and fired off another six shots. This time, two of them hit the very top of the target.
“Not bad,” Conrad said, stepping into her booth. “I think the only problem is your stance. Your center of gravity is off, so the kick of the gun is forcing you back and making you shoot high.” After reloading Sara’s gun, Conrad said, “Don’t keep your feet together. Put one in front of the other and let your back leg be your anchor.” When Sara rearranged her feet, Conrad stood directly behind her and positioned her hips.
“Easy there, cowboy. Now you’re getting a little personal.”
“That’s the point,” Conrad said. With a grin, he held on to her waist. “Now center your weight there. Your back leg’s your anchor, but your weight’s balanced there.”
“I’m anchored,” Sara said. Then, in a quick blur, she pulled her gun and got off six shots. Four of them hit the paper human target. One of them plowed through his face.
“Oh, my, where’d you learn to shoot?” Conrad asked.
Sara looked over her shoulder. She winked and lowered her voice to a growl. “Chinatown, Jake.”
“Oh, my God,” Guff said. “That’s totally it.”
“What’s it?” Sara asked. “Chinatown?”
“No, no,” Guff said. “Doniger’s motive.”
“Doniger’s motive is Chinatown?”
“It’s not what you said, it’s what you did,” Guff explained. “This whole time we’ve been going for the obvious motives. We went through greed, jealousy, hatred. But we never considered lust. I didn’t even think about it until I saw the two of you together in the booth.”
“What happened in the booth?” Sara asked.
“Yeah,” Conrad added.
“No offense to either of you—since I hold you close to my heart—but are you really that blind?”
“Me?” Sara asked. “I wasn’t—”
“Forget about how he got there; focus on the result,” Conrad interrupted. He stepped out of the booth and approached Guff. “So if the motive is lust, where does that leave us?”
“I have no idea,” Guff said. “It’s only been a minute. That’s as far as I’ve gotten.”
“Maybe Arnold was sick and she killed him to put him out of his misery,” Conrad suggested. “That’s a killing out of love.”
“No way,” Sara said. “She’s not that nice.”
“Maybe she was in love with someone else, and she killed her husband so she could be with her true love,” Guff suggested.
“Too romantic,” Conrad said. “Besides, even New Yorkers are civilized enough to file for divorce.”
“Not when there’s something to be gained by the death,” Sara countered.
“What do you mean?” Conrad asked.
“What if the person Claire loves is one of the people who takes in the will?”
“I see where you’re going,” Guff said. “So both of them hired Kozlow to kill her husband. She grants them easy access to the house, her lover foots the bill.”
“There’s only one problem,” Conrad said. “According to the will, all the assets go to charities and other organizations.”
“Except for one item,” Sara said. “Echo Enterprises. That goes to the company’s other partners.”
“So you think one of Arnold’s partners was sleeping with Claire, and when they realized that his death would not only allow them to be together but would also make them both rich, they hired Kozlow and bumped him off?” Conrad asked.
“It works for me,” Guff said.
“Me, too,” Sara added. “Although I want you both to know there was nothing going on in the booth.”
“Oh, c’mon now,” Guff said. “Does the sun set in the east? Do New Yorkers love to wear black? Was Elvis buried in a white suit, powder-blue shirt, and cashmere tie? Yes, yes, and yes. We’re all simple creatures. So do I know flirting when I see it? Absolutely.”
“The sun doesn’t set in the east,” Conrad pointed out “It sets in the west.”
Guff looked over at Sara, then back at Conrad. “That doesn’t change the facts!” Guff shouted over Sara’s laughter. “Flirting went on in that booth!”
Chapter 14
SITTING BEHIND HIS ANTIQUE DESK IN HIS OFFICE AT Echo Enterprises, Rafferty wasn’t happy. His breakfast with Claire had been stressful, his business lunch at CBS had been an ordeal, and as he stared across his desk, he realized the worst part of the day was right in front of him—Kozlow was in his office. “You better speak to Elliott. We have some serious problems.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” Kozlow said, sitting in one of the two chairs opposite Rafferty’s desk. “You’re the one who’s—” The ringing of Rafferty’s intercom interrupted his thought.
“What is it, Beverley?” Rafferty asked.
“Sir, I have someone named Sara Tate out here who says she wants to see you,” his secretary said.
“She’s out there right now?” Rafferty asked, his fist tightening around the receiver.
“Yes, sir. Says she’s from the district attorney’s office and asked if she can take a minute of your time.”
Rafferty paused and thought about the situation. Finally, he said, “Beverley, I want you to listen very carefully to what I’m about to say. No matter what Ms. Tate says, don’t let her know who’s with me in my office. If she asks, you have no idea who Tony Kozlow is, and you’ve never heard of him. I want you to give us five minutes, then I’ll buzz you and you can show her in.”
The moment Rafferty put down the phone, Kozlow said, “Sara Tate called here?”
“Worse than that. Sara Tate is here. Right outside as we speak.”
Kozlow jumped out of his chair. “Now? She’s here?”
“Calm down,” Rafferty said. “Let’s get you hidden, and then we’ll deal with her.” He walked to the corner of his office, pulled open a swinging panel, and revealed the entrance to his private bathroom. “Get in,” Rafferty said.
“In the bathroom?” Kozlow asked. “Don’t you have another entrance or something?”
“Get in!” Rafferty barked. “She’ll be here in a minute.”
Kozlow stepped inside. “See you soon,” Kozlow added as Rafferty closed the paneling.
Two minutes later, Sara, Guff, and Conrad walked into Rafferty’s office and found him sitting behind his desk, signing letters.
“Hi, Mr. Rafferty, I’m Sara Tate,” Sara said, extending her hand. “These are my colleagues, Conrad Moore and Alexander Guff.”
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Tate,” Rafferty said as he shook her hand. “Please, take a seat.” As Sara and Conrad sat down, Guff pulled up a chair from the far corner of the room. “Now what can I do for you?”
“Well, sir, we’re following up on the murder of Arnold Doniger, and—”
“What?” Rafferty interrupted. “You think he was murdered? I can’t believe it.”
“That’s the theory we’re investigating,” Sara said. “We actually came by to subpoena some of Echo’s corporate records, but we thought it might be helpful to talk to some of the firm’s partners.”
“No, of course,” Rafferty said. “Anything I can do to help, just let me know.”
“Can you tell us a little bit about Echo?”
“Absolutely,” Rafferty said. “Of course. Yes.” Forcing a stutter, he explained, “Echo is an ownership company that deals in intellectual property. In layperson’s terms, we own and are responsible for the copyrights for various theatrical properties.”
“Anything we’ve heard of?” Sara asked, trying to gauge the value of the business.
Rafferty’s answer was quick. “A Chorus Line, Inherit the Wind, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, A Streetcar Named Desire—there are a few others. If someone wants to produce the play, be it a high school or a fifty-million-dollar pr
oduction company, they come to us first. In exchange for our approval, we usually work out some sort of percentage agreement.”
“So you get a percent of the take,” Conrad said. “I imagine that’s quite a cash cow.”
“It pays the bills,” Rafferty said.
“It may do more than that,” Conrad said accusingly.
“I’m sorry, are you insinuating something?” Rafferty asked, trying to keep the conversation friendly.
“Not at all,” Sara said as she glared at Conrad. “We’re just trying to determine if there’s anything we’ve overlooked. Now, let me ask you: How many other partners are there in the business?”
“There are over forty employees, but the only two partners are Arnold and myself.”
“Really?” Sara asked. “Then does that mean you have full ownership of the business now that Mr. Doniger is dead?”
“That depends on Arnie’s will. When we first set up Echo, we decided that specific bequests would take precedence over our partnership agreement. So if Arnie gave his share to someone else, I’m now a partner with them. To be honest, though, knowing Arnie, I’m pretty sure he donated his share to charity. He was a true philanthropist.”
“Actually, he left his share of the business to the partners of Echo,” Sara explained. “Which I guess means you.”
“What?” Rafferty asked, sounding shocked. “That can’t be. There must be some sort of mistake.”
“There isn’t,” Conrad said suspiciously. “Mr. Rafferty, how close are you to Claire Doniger?”
“I’ve known Claire since she and Arnie first met—at the Decorator Show House a few years ago. She’s a wonderful designer.”
“Do you spend a lot of time with her?”
“I’ve called on her a few times since Arnie died, to make sure she was okay. Beyond that, we haven’t really spoken; she prefers to keep to herself.”
“How about before her husband died—you didn’t see her socially?” Conrad asked.
“Not really,” Rafferty said. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” Sara jumped in. “Listen, Mr. Rafferty, we don’t want to take up any more of your time. You’ve been a big help.”
“Well, please let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you,” Rafferty said. “Did you get everything you needed from Business Affairs?”
“I think so,” Sara said, standing and shaking Rafferty’s hand. “Once again, thanks for taking the time to talk with us.”
“Anything I can do to help,” Rafferty said as he walked them to the door.
When the door closed, Kozlow peered out from the bathroom.
“Come on out, they’re gone,” Rafferty said.
As Kozlow stepped out of the bathroom, the door to the office flew open. “Just one more thing,” Sara said. “I wanted to give you my card—just in case you need to reach us.”
Kozlow stopped dead in his tracks. Standing in the middle of the office, Rafferty had Sara on his far right and Kozlow on his far left, in their respective doorways. As Sara was about to step inside, Rafferty quickly moved toward her, blocking her entrance. “Thank you,” Rafferty said. “If anything comes up, I’ll be sure to call.”
“I appreciate it,” Sara said. “And once again, I’m sorry to bother you.”
“No bother at all. I’m glad to help.” When Sara left the office, Rafferty closed the door behind her. Neither he nor Kozlow moved for ten seconds.
“She’s mine,” Kozlow finally said. “Enough of this.”
“Shut up,” Rafferty said, picking up his phone and dialing.
“Jared Lynch.”
“Listen, you overpaid, egotistical talking head, what the hell are you doing over there?”
“What’s wrong?” Jared asked. “Did something happen?”
“You’re damn right something happened! I just spent the last ten minutes entertaining your wife and her pathetic staff!”
“You saw Sara?”
“I not only saw her; I was questioned by her. And I’m telling you, that was it. She’s finished. I’m going to rip a hole in her so deep—”
“Please…just wait. Let me talk to her.”
“I don’t give a shit about your promises.”
“I’ll take care of her. I swear. Just give me a little more time.”
“This isn’t optional, Jared. If she doesn’t back off, I’m going to reunite her with Barrow. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Of course,” Jared said, sounding shaken. “I’m sorry it happened.”
Rafferty readjusted his jacket and paused. He didn’t like losing control, but he wasn’t going to let them take it all away. “Now, do you have any good news for us?” he asked Jared.
“I think so—I just got word from the judge’s clerk. The decisions on our hearings are coming down tomorrow. If we win a few of those, we’ll be able to exclude some of the evidence from Sara’s case.”
“You better pray for a good outcome,” Rafferty said. “Because if you stay on this path, she’s dead.”
“So what’d you think?” Sara asked Conrad as they left the offices of Echo Enterprises.
“My gut says he’s a liar, but I can’t prove it yet,” Conrad said. “Even when I tried to provoke him, he never once started to sweat.”
“Not only that, he seemed like he really wanted to help us.”
“I wouldn’t take anything from that,” Conrad said, standing on the sidewalk. “Feigning assistance is easy. Keeping calm is an entirely different magic trick. Besides, no matter how polite he is, he’s the only person who clearly benefits from Arnold’s death. That alone makes him one hell of a suspect. I mean, he’s about to inherit a fifty-million-dollar business, and he wants us to believe he doesn’t know what’s in the will?”
“Well, if anyone cares, I didn’t like him,” Guff said.
“Anyone who has three telephones—that’s not a good vibe.”
“I’ll make a note of that,” Conrad said, hailing a cab. “Guff got a bad vibe; Rafferty must be a murderer.”
“What’s on the agenda for the rest of the day?” Sara asked.
“We prepare for tomorrow’s hearing, we take another look at the will, and we do our best to figure out if Oscar Rafferty is a concerned friend or one of the best bullshit artists we’ve ever seen.”
“I just wish we had a better way to nail down the exact day of the death,” Guff said. “That might change the whole story.”
As she was about to get in the cab, Sara stopped. “That’s not a bad idea,” she said. “You guys mind taking a ride to the East Side?”
“Can’t do it,” Conrad said. “I have some stuff to do back at the office.”
“Just put it off for a—”
“I can’t,” Conrad said. “I have to get back.” Motioning for Sara and Guff to get in the cab, he added, “You guys go ahead, though.”
“Are you sure?”
“Stop worrying and get out of here,” Conrad said. “I’ll see you when you’re done.”
As the cab pulled away from the curb, Guff turned to Sara. “So where’re we going?”
“To do exactly what you said. We have to nail down the time of death.”
“Wait a second,” Guff said, trailing behind Sara as she walked toward Claire Doniger’s house. “That psycho told you to check out Doniger’s basement, and you’re just getting around to it now?”
“Yes, I’m just getting around to it now. I tried getting a detective assigned, but they wouldn’t give us one, remember?”
“I thought detectives had to be assigned in homicide cases.”
“They do, but the budget cuts are streamlining every department. That’s the only reason we’re doing it ourselves.” Sara walked up Doniger’s front stairs and rang the doorbell.
“Who is it?” a voice asked.
“It’s Sara Tate, Mrs. Doniger. I want to ask you a few questions.”
Opening the door a crack, Doniger said, “I’ve already spoken to an attorney, and he said
I don’t have to talk to you. He said if you want to charge me with murder, that’s your right, but I don’t have to say a word unless he’s present.”
“That’s good advice you got,” Sara said. “But did your attorney also show you one of these?” Opening up her briefcase, she pulled out a single sheet of paper. “This is a search warrant. If you want me to, I can fill it out and call in a busload of cops, who’d love to help me embarrass you in front of your neighbors. Or you can be cooperative and let me in, which would make a lot more sense. The choice is yours.”
Hesitating at first, Doniger slowly pulled open the door. She looked far more tired than the last time they saw her. Her once-perfect salon-styled hair was now flat and lifeless, and her usually well-rested visage was now bordering on haggard. Although she had tried to mask her pallor with a heavy layer of makeup, it was clear that Doniger was not having her best week.
As she stepped inside the lavishly decorated house, Sara turned to Doniger. “How’s everything going?”
“Wonderful,” Doniger said bluntly. “Now have your look around and be done with it. I’m very busy today.”
Making her way toward the parlor room of the beautiful nineteenth-century brownstone, with its matched pair of Dutch landscapes, heavy brocade drapes, and Louis XIV furniture, Sara felt an awkward sense of déjà vu rush over her. For months, she’d been mentally walking through this place. To do it in person felt unnerving.
“Crazy, huh?” Guff whispered as they made their way to the living room.
“Like a dream,” Sara responded. When they reached the kitchen, Sara once again approached Doniger. “So on the night you say he died, this is where you gave him his apple juice and granola bar?”
With a sour look, Doniger said, “I don’t need your accusations. Kozlow was a burglar—nothing more.”
“Whatever you say,” Sara said. “Now can you point us to the basement?”
“Why do you want to see the basement?” Doniger asked.
“We just want to see if there’s any other way a burglar might’ve snuck in,” Guff said. “If there is, it’ll help your story.”
Doniger stared at Guff, deciding what to do. Finally, she offered, “It’s the door right behind you. The light switch is on your right.”
