The Killing Green

by David Deutsch

  She continued, "It's not as black and white as it seems. After Hitler came to power, things changed. Things for my family changed. My grandfather was a businessman. He owned factories that produced aluminum cans. But, as the ramp-up to war approached, he was contacted by the SS and told that he was to appear in Berlin to meet with Himmler. My grandfather was terrified. He went so far as to tell my grandmother that, should he not return, she should flee the country. To leave everything, just take the money. He had collected a fair sum of British pounds as Hitler started his ascent to power. He had always feared Hitler and what he would do to the country.

  "Then he went to Berlin. My grandmother said that she didn't know if he was ever going to return, but he did. Two days later. He also came with the news that he was now Vice Minister of Business and that his factories were to be repurposed in order to produce rations for the growing army, as well as bullets. He was mortified, but there was no backing out. To refuse such a post would mean death. So, he ran his factories and a number of others that the government seized for the war effort. Always dressed in a suit. Never in a German uniform.

  "So, was my grandfather a Nazi? Yes, technically, but once the war started he left everything. All his money, all the factories. My grandfather bribed a ship captain, and they left, under the cover of night. On their way to America. When they arrived they had nothing. That's how much my grandfather had hated Hitler. He hated the Nazi party. Those were different times. Very troubling times. Sometimes in life, Max, you just don't have a choice."

  We all have choices. We all have free will. What we choose to do with that free will is what makes each one of us who we are. It is the single most defining factor that separates human beings from everything else that roams the planet.

  Mr. Steiner made a choice. But I wasn't convinced that was exactly how it had happened. How would they have gotten the painting out? I was going to go along with Alese and take her story at face value.

  "I see," I said.

  "Terribly tragic," Imogen said.

  Alese looked at both of us. "Thanks. I hope that answered your question, Max."

  It did. I agreed with Alese. Those were troubling times indeed. Where one, more often than not, had to make troubling choices.

  "Who else out there knows that story?" I asked.

  "A handful of close family friends. That's it. It's not something we talk about."

  "I understand," I said.

  I was trying.

  "And you think we can rule those people out?" Imogen asked.

  Alese chuckled. "I'm certain we can."

  "Well then, it appears that we have our work cut out for us," I said.

  It was clear that I had signaled that this meeting was over.

  "Yes, of course," Alese said, rising from the club chair. "I'll leave you to it."

  I stood. As did Imogen. I extended my hand to shake, and she reciprocated. I wasn't sure she was going to shake it. I couldn't get a read on how she felt about me now that she had spilled the beans about her family's Nazi past. She remained pleasant enough as she shook my hand. She acted the same way that she had when she first arrived. Perhaps it was I who had changed. Maybe my demeanor had shifted in some way. I hoped not, but I couldn't speak for my subconscious.

  "I'll let myself out," Alese said.

  "Don't be silly," I said.

  The three of us walked into reception then Alese exited, leaving Imogen and me standing alone in the waiting area.

  "And to think, she could have been our secretary," I said.

  Imogen tossed me a sly look. Maybe more like an annoyed look.

  "Come to think of it, our interview never showed," she said.

  "You just can't find good help these days." I said.

  "Very funny, Max."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I received a call later that day from Eric, asking me if I had had a chance to review the information about the derivatives investment. He also explained to me that our murder victim, my friend Carl, had worked for the derivatives fund. I told him that I didn't have an opportunity to read anything that he had given me or to even look at the man's name on his card. He told me that I really should read through the material as quickly as possible because the guy was going to be at Delmar tonight for dinner and that I was cordially invited as well, Eric's treat. I should also bring along Imogen as she might be able to talk some sense into me once she heard what he had to say. I agreed and told him that we'd be there and that we were looking forward to it.

  The only reason I was willing to attend was that the derivatives guy must have known Carl. And if he knew Carl then he might be able to help in some way.

  "My love," I called, after hanging up the phone. "Imogen."

  I waited a second. Nothing. I didn't have the energy to shout, so I stood up and walked over to Imogen's office. When I got to her office door she was sitting at her desk staring at her computer.

  "I heard you," she said.

  "Then why didn't you answer?"

  "I wanted to see how long it would take you to walk over here."

  "And how did I do?"

  "Surprisingly well. I had the over-under at five minutes. Took you less than one."

  "I'm a man of many surprises."

  "You're more like a work in progress," she said.

  "On that note," I said.

  "Surprise me," Ginny said, interrupting me.

  She makes me laugh sometimes.

  "I'm trying to."

  "Try harder," she said.

  "Ginny, let me finish."

  "This better be good," she said.

  "We've got dinner plans," I said.

  "That's your surprise?" she asked.

  "Well, it started out more like just news a couple of minutes ago. I don't know how we got here," I said.

  "So, we've got dinner plans. Brilliant. With whom?"

  "Eric and Shannon," I said.

  "Let me guess, at Delmar," she said.

  "Yes. At Delmar."

  "This is getting worse by the moment," she said.

  "It's about to get a little worse, more worse, anyway, not better," I said.

  "What just happened there?" she asked.

  "I don't know. Anyway, Eric's bringing someone who used to work with Carl."

  "That's a step in the right direction," she said.

  "The guy is also looking for us to invest in some sort of derivatives fund," I said.

  "Bloodsucker," she said.

  "Let's reserve judgment on him until we meet him. Maybe he can help."

  "Oh, I'm sure he can as soon as I pull out my checkbook," she said.

  She had a point.

  "You might like what you hear," I said.

  "Unless he holds the answers to Carl's death and Alese's death threats, I doubt it very highly," she said.

  "Did I ever tell you how much I love you?" I asked, trying to change the timbre of this exchange.

  "I'm quite sure you haven't told me today," she said.

  "Well, let me tell you right now. Very much. That's how much," I said.

  "And you'll love me even more for attending dinner with you tonight," she said.

  "You're a wonder, my love."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I had showered and dressed and was sitting on my white, art deco couch with my feet up on the ottoman staring at the black television screen, sipping on a scotch, neat, when Imogen came strolling down the stairs dressed for dinner. She was wearing a skintight little black dress that came just above her knee. She had on her large emerald necklace that sat just above her ample cleavage. The jewel made Imogen's green eyes glow, and her dark hair accentuated the effect.

  "Getting a head start on the night?" she asked, descending the stairs.

  I took a sip of my drink and crossed my outstretched legs.

  "Thinking," I said.

  "With a scotch?"

  "Is there any other way?"

  "I suppose not," she said, now standing in front of me.

  "Don
't you look lovely," I said.

  "Why thank you, Max," she said. "And I see you've dressed up for the occasion."

  I was wearing a black suit, no tie. For me, these days, that was a rare occurrence. I had fallen into a habit of dressing in jeans and V-neck T-shirts.

  "I'm a classy guy, with a capital K," I answered.

  Imogen had walked over to the bar that sat in the corner of our living room. She was in the process of pouring herself a drink.

  "So, what were you thinking about?" she asked.

  "Bill," I answered.

  "Funny you say that because I just spent the better part of the afternoon staring at that picture of his schedule book. No matter what I do, I can't seem to figure out what those erased marks look like."

  "He knows something. And that something is the key to those marks."

  Imogen had finished making her drink. She was now sitting in a chair off to my left. Her legs crossed, the middle of her thigh exposed. I took a sip of mine and closed my eyes, letting the alcohol consume me for the moment.

  "How do you propose we find out what those marks mean?" she asked.

  She had interrupted my alcohol stupor. I thought about her question for a moment, took another sip of my drink, and ran my fingers through my hair.

  "I think we need to poke around that shed a little more," I said. "Without Bill there."

  "How are we going to do that?" she asked.

  "I'm not sure. And who knows if anything's there. But it's a start."

  I picked up my cell and checked the time.

  "It's getting late," I said. "You ready?"

  "As ready as I'll ever be," she said, downing the rest of her drink in one sip.

  "You need to stop doing that," I said.

  "Why?" she asked.

  "It's not very ladylike."

  "It is where I come from," she said, slamming the empty glass down on the table. "Cheers. Now, let's go."

  * * *

  We arrived at Delmar a good half hour before dinner in order to give ourselves ample time to consume as many alcoholic beverages as needed to make it through the meal. I was only halfway through my first one before we left, so I was going to need, at a minimum, a full drink before we sat. Imogen, on the other hand, could probably have used a glass of water.

  The main dining room, at the main clubhouse, was crowded tonight. I ordered my drink sitting at the bar, surveying the room. It was elegant. It always was. With floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the golf course, bright and airy, white linens on every table, candles glowing, and magnificent chandeliers draped from the ceiling, it was hard not to be impressed.

  Sometimes I felt like I should be in a top hat and tails with Ginny next to me in an evening gown and long white gloves.

  Imogen was sipping on a glass of sauvignon blanc. I was on my second scotch of the evening.

  "It's always quite lovely in here at night," Imogen said.

  "Country club living," I said. "It has its perks."

  "I think we should call John."

  "And why's that?" I asked.

  "About the Alese thing," she said. "The death threat voicemail."

  "She said the police weren't interested unless there's a physical threat," I said.

  "I know, but surely the voicemail is a game changer."

  "I don't think so, my love. But I do think that you're onto something," I said. "We do need to call John to ask him for his help. Maybe he can trace the call. Certainly the police have those means at their disposal."

  "I think we could do it quicker," Imogen said.

  "You really think so? How?" I asked.

  "Sure. We call the phone company and ask for the number," she said.

  "But it came up private," I said.

  "We tell them to start digging on their end. See if they can come up with it."

  "But the number could have originated with another phone company, or maybe it bounced across a few different phone companies. We might need a court order to get that information," I hypothesized.

  "Yes, Max," she said. "That is a good point. Maybe I shouldn't be trying to figure this out right now. I'm enjoying my wine too much."

  "Drunk or not, you make sense," I said.

  "Hey, I'm not drunk, Max."

  "No? Then what are you?"

  "Relaxed," she said.

  "Perfect. That's exactly how I want you tonight. Nice and relaxed."

  "Well, you're not going to have to worry about that. By the time dinner starts I'll be almost ready for bed."

  "Now, now, we wouldn't want that."

  "Oh no?"

  "Let's save that for when we get home."

  "I wasn't talking about sleeping, Max."

  "Neither was I."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I don't know how we missed them coming into the dining room, but somehow, by the time Ginny and I had finished drinking at the bar, everyone was seated at the table. As we walked over I spied the older gentleman, dressed to the nines, sitting with a woman who must have been his wife, also dressed expensively. This must have been the derivatives guy who Eric was talking about.

  When we arrived at the table, everyone stood. Imogen and I walked over to Eric and Shannon to say hello. I gave Shannon two air kisses and Eric a good handshake. Imogen provided air kisses to both.

  "Max, I want to introduce you to Lee Endicott, Principal of Endicott Financial."

  Mr. Lee Endicott extended his hand, which housed a solid gold Rolex on his wrist and a gold class ring with a maroon stone. I rarely, if ever, wear a watch. But when I do, I wear it on my left wrist. I'm left-handed. I never really thought about it before. Something just struck me as odd about his wrist selection. Regardless, I shook his hand.

  "Mr. Endicott," I said. "Pleasure."

  "Please, Lee. And it is nice to meet you as well, Max," he said.

  "Let me introduce my wife, Imogen," I said.

  Imogen, standing next to me, shook his hand. We were also introduced to his wife, Tori, whom we greeted, expressed our pleasure at meeting her as well, and then we all sat down.

  Imogen immediately started talking to Shannon. The men were seated in a semi-circle on one side of the table, the women on the other. I was next to Lee. So I could get the full court press. As if I would write this man a two million dollar check by the end of the meal.

  "Max, you need a drink," Eric said. "Wine?"

  There was a bottle of red on the table. Eric had a full glass in front of him. Lee had a glass of white. This wasn't going to be a scotch dinner.

  "I'll take a glass of red," I said, noticing the white off to the side of the table in a silver cooler.

  Eric poured, I watched, and Lee sat. The ladies were chatting, engrossed in their own conversation. Imogen, the ringleader.

  "So, Eric tells me you're retired," Lee said.

  "You can't believe everything you hear," I said. "I'm, well, taking some time to explore some new opportunities."

  Nice and vague. Word hadn't gotten out yet that Imogen and I had started our own private investigation firm. It would soon enough, but I was in no rush to leak the word around here yet. There'd come a time for that, but it would be after we had solved Carl's murder.

  "Don't let him fool you, Lee, he's loaded," Eric said.

  Nothing like subtlety. I took a sip of my wine. Lee just played it cool, pretending to ignore Eric's comment. But he looked like the kind of man who was drooling inside at the news.

  "Doesn't look like either one of you are doing too poorly yourselves," I said.

  Lee took a sip of his wine. His grey, straight hair was perfectly combed. He had it styled going straight back, like an aged 1980's stereotype of a Wall Street stockbroker. I half expected him to pull out a giant brick of a cell phone. If he had on suspenders, I might have called off the dinner.

  His light blue-eyed gaze turned toward me. "So, Max, you worked in finance?"

  "I owned a venture capital firm. It was all about investing in start-up technology companies. I neve
r worked on Wall Street. I couldn't tell you a stock from an option from a derivative if you put a gun to my head."

  Lee laughed. Eric just sipped his wine and listened. He must have been promised some sort of cut if he reeled me in. He seemed too intent on what Lee and I had to say.

  "Funny, Max. You and I are sort of in the same business. But instead of companies, I look for financial vehicles to invest in. Same risk, I suppose. But my returns have been stellar. So I guess you could say that I've managed to find a way to minimize the risk and maximize the upside return."

  I sipped my wine then smiled. I loved when people tried to make me feel comfortable by drawing parallels to my own life. It never worked. In fact, it kind of put me off a bit.

  If you've got something to sell me, sell it. Don't pussyfoot around and try to endear yourself to me by giving me the crap that we're all cut from the same cloth. That we share something in common. That we're buddies. We're not. You're just a guy trying to sell me something, and if I like what I hear, then I'll buy. If I don't, I'll pass. It's that simple. Cut-and-dry.

  "That makes sense," I said, trying to move this conversation along. No point in having him give me an alternate explanation.

  "And those vehicles, those financial products, are derivatives. They're just fancy trades of various sorts."

  "And you've figured out how to make those work in your and your investor's favor every trade," I said, interrupting.

  Lee laughed again. "I wouldn't say every time, Max. But a good deal of the time. We tend to beat the Street, every quarter."

  "That must make you a very popular guy. Why do you need me?"

  I was going to jump right to the point of this dinner. I wanted to get it over with early. The food here was very good, and I wanted to enjoy my dinner. Not play small talk through appetizers and the main course, only to get to this point while I'm enjoying my crème brûlée.

  He chuckled. "I don't need you Max. I'm simply offering you an opportunity. I like to choose who I work with. Whose money I take. Whom I make money for. I've learned over the years that this approach has worked for me and Endicott Investments. It has served us well, and I don't intend on changing anytime soon."