by Jim Stevens
“Or Joan needed some extra cash and pocketed half, figuring the hit man would work for whatever. It really doesn’t matter now,” I say.
Conway Waddy has sat through the show, merely scratching his belly and fiddling with his suspender straps. I face the fat man.
“Conway watches the rider being signed and knows something big is up. He asks Alvin, but Alvin won’t tell. He pleads with him, but Alvin won’t budge. Conway decides not to keep this all close-to-his-vest; but figures Alvin’s life must be hanging by a thread to go through all this rigamarole. The last thing Conway wants is to miss out on a piece of the estate Alvin will be leaving. Make sense, mister counselor?”
Conway smiles, plays with the end of his tie. “Absurd,” he says.
“Conway goes back to his office and prepares a bill for thousands of dollars of fees to be sent to Alvin, dated the day before his assumed demise. Lawyer Waddy, being the executor of the will, will administer the payouts, no doubt paying himself first. It’s a foolproof plan, almost.”
“You can’t prove any of this ridiculousness,” Conway says.
Steve Burrell waves an invoice for all to see. “Ah, over here. Your invoice.”
“That’s no proof,” Conway is adamant. “You could have written that up yourself.”
I take a short pause to give time for some of this to sink in. “If only the hit man would have whacked Alvin, it would have all been so much easier, because the entire situation changed when the bullets missed.
“Alvin lies low, doesn’t go home anymore, either staying in his condo or taking a room at the Hilton. The only person he talks to business-wise is Joey Villano, the trader he employed. Daddy’s disappeared from your view. And you people can’t find him.
“Time is of the essence. Something has to be done and done quickly. Cell phone lines are burning up, as all of you chat each other up. In criminal endeavors this is seldom a good thing, but none of you would have known that except for Augie and Lizzy, who have much more experience in these matters.
“The problem is simple. If any of you are going to see a dime from husband or daddy, he better get dead before he leaves the country for good. Six heads become one to solve the dilemma.”
I take another sip of punch. “I admit you people really had me going in this case. I didn’t know if it was six o’clock or Wednesday half the time. I’d go from one of you to the next, trying to connect the dots, and fail each time. It wasn’t until my daughter suggested I try figuring out who didn’t do it, instead of who did, that I began to see it was a family project in the truest sense of the word.”
Norbert and Steve smile at me, as if to say they knew I’d get it sooner or later.
I continue. “And while all of you are talking, discussing, plotting and planning, Alvin’s wasting no time. He’s got Joey Villano working overtime, cash is being transferred out of NIVLA into foreign banks and, as Heffelfinger discovers, Alvin pulls four-hundred large, in cash, out of his secondary account at Northern Trust.
“The red flags are flying high. The clock is ticking.” I look across the table to see every eye upon me, in fear, in amazement and in awe. I decide it is time for a break in the action. “Before I go on,” I say, “I’d like to bring in the last family guest of the reunion.”
Jonas exits the room and returns with a fifty-something woman who has a striking resemblance to one of the people at the table.
“Christina, I know this has been a difficult day thus far, but maybe seeing your mom for the first time in years will help brighten it a bit. Ladies and gentlemen, coming to us all the way from Boston, Mass., meet Alvin’s first wife, Didi.”
Christina’s eyes almost drop out of her head, “Mother?”
The woman comes in, escorted by Jonas to the chair next to Augie. She seems confused to see him, but says, “Hello, Christina.”
“Didi has come all the way from Boston to finally get what she believes is coming to her.”
I motion to Didi, as if to say welcome to the family, then start up again. “If you think you got hosed in your divorce, Joan, Didi here, got absolutely screwed. She never got a dime. Alvin skated from alimony, claimed he was broke, and must have hid every asset, because all he had to pay was a lousy child support amount. I don’t blame you for being angry, Didi, and I applaud you on your persistence in never giving up; but using your estranged daughter to steer your ship, that was a little much.
“Didi lives in South Boston and had a neighbor named Lizzy, each has survived over the years by their wits. Didi comes up with a plan for Lizzy to move to Chicago, meet her lesbian daughter, gain her confidence, and clean her out of her cash. Didi figures little Christina will merely go back to dad and get more money, so nobody is really hurt in the plan.”
I see a change in Didi’s mood.
Christina is stunned at the news; but Tiffany seems to be the most shocked in the room. She didn’t see this one coming.
“I’m not sure of the technology used; but once Lizzy moves in, she pokes around and sees a much bigger reward than Christina’s lousy couple-hundred-grand trust fund. She sets off to get a piece of the bigger, better, Alvin-pie. To do so, she brings in her old buddy, Augie Rinaldi, who you’ve already had the pleasure of meeting, to help in the criminal endeavor, and satisfy, shall we say, her basic human needs.”
I stop at Christina’s side. “I know this is all tough to take, but hang in there, okay?”
Lizzy speaks up. “I had nothing to do with this and want to go home now.”
Norbert uses his considerable bulk to sit her back down in her chair. “Have a piece of cake,” he suggests.
“Lizzy begins making family inroads. Doris hates her, which means Brewster hates her. She’s kept out of the family loop. But Lizzy is smart, and when she sees the opening, she’s ready to jump in with both feet. And so is another person, but I’ll get to her, later.”
“I told you Lizzy was the one who did it, didn’t I?” Clayton reminds us of our non-lunch, lunch conversation.
“Kinda,” I tell Clayton, “but not really.”
“This is like the plot of a bad TV movie,” Brewster says, visibly upset.
Tiffany walks across the room to a small refrigerator, pulls out a beer, and hands it to Brewster. “Here, this might make the reunion a little more fun.” Then she pulls the beer away from him, “But everyone has to promise not to say anything to Brewster’s AA people if they ask if he’s cheating.”
Brewster takes the beer out of her hand.
“Now, what do you people decide to do?” I wait for an answer from my peanut gallery, but no one speaks up. “You decide to throw a party.”
“Whee,” Tiffany says.
“But you can’t locate the honored guest.” I pace over and stand between the two escorts. “Brewster’s girlfriend, Diane, comes to the rescue.” I pause to say to Doris, “You could have done a better job of teaching him about picking girlfriends.”
Doris’ head rivets to her son. “What is he talking about?”
Brewster shrugs innocence.
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t date professional women, Brewster, just women in her profession.”
“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Diane argues.
“Diane can easily find Alvin. She merely waits for him to get horny and call Alexis, who has been Alvin’s number-one hump for months, and doing him without the knowledge of her boss at the escort service. Diane, who has put up with Brewster long enough, and is anxious to finally get her share of Alvin’s pot of gold, becomes the party planner.”
“The only thing I did was have sex with him,” Alexis says. “Can’t bust me for that.”
“Well, we could, but with everything else going on, it might seem a bit silly.” I say and turn back to the group. “I’m sure it was to Alvin’s great surprise when everyone shows up at his condo, his secret home away from his wife.
“Diane knows how to throw a party. She’s got booze, weed, cocaine, and Alexis-all designed to wea
r Alvin down to a state of unconsciousness. Alvin drinks, smokes, and snorts; but the old man has a constitution worthy of a modern-day Rasputin. He won’t drop. Finally, in desperation, Diane dopes Alvin’s drink with a shot of Rohypnol and Alexis screws him into hibernation. Nothing is ever easy in love, war, or crime, but finally, it is time to proceed with the plan.”
The three detectives and Tiffany stand stock still at the back of the room. They seem to be enjoying my little show-and-tell.
“This is when one of you, probably Diane because the others are too scared, takes out a syringe, plunges it into his vein and loads him with a concoction of drugs. Heck, you shoot enough drugs in him to open a pharmacy. The deed is done. Alvin’s not moving, a clump of rubberized humanity on the floor. The plan now is to get him home and make it look like a drug overdose.” I pause. “Next time, if there is a next time, spread his cheeks and inject him in his butt crack, so someone at an autopsy can’t see the needle prick on his arm.”
No one is arguing. Each participant sits back in his or her chair, pretending this isn’t happening. “I’m pretty sure it is Clayton’s and Brewster’s job to get daddy downstairs, into a car and back to home-sweet-home in Kenilworth, because it had to be someone who knew to take the back way in.”
I clear my throat. I want to make sure I get this next part as clear as possible.
“You park on the sand. Good move, no tire tracks. You lift Alvin out of the car, get him to the edge of the trees and bushes and what does he do? He comes to. He’s alive. You stand back as Alvin flounders around to the bushes at the edge of the sand and vomits.”
Clayton’s mouth drops open a bit. Brewster swigs his beer.
“He’s not dead. You can’t believe it. If you two would have done your homework, you would have known that most druggies do vomit before they die, but you didn’t learn that. You figure daddy is making a miraculous recovery. You probably look at each other as Alvin vomits what’s left in his stomach with what do we do now? on your faces. You argue. ‘You kill him. No, you kill him.’ I have no clue how long this goes on, but neither of you has the guts to finish the job. So, “momma’s boy” Brewster gets on the phone and calls mom. Doris calls Joan. Joan calls Lizzy. This is what I meant about technology. Aren’t cell phones wonderful?
“Lizzy, the only good criminal in the group, immediately cuts a deal to get adopted into the family for a full share. She knows the perfect man for the job and in no time whatsoever, Augie arrives in Kenilworth.”
“I didn’t go nowhere and I didn’t do nothing and I don’t know none of these people,” Augie says. Spoken like a true criminal.
“Augie, my good man, we have pictures of you at your motel with Lizzy in your room.” This is a lie, but how would he ever know?
“I want to see a lawyer,” he says.
“Doris has one that will work for a hundred dollars,” I tell him. “And I think you’ll like his suit.”
I take a moment, move to Christina and ask, “You and Lizzy didn’t share a bed that Friday evening, did you?”
“We certainly did,” Lizzy belts out.
“You said you weren’t feeling well, got up in the middle of the night,” Christina says.
I move behind Augie. “So Augie shows up before daylight, has some choice words for the idiots who can’t finish the job, picks one rock out of the lined path and whacks Alvin right on the forehead. How difficult was that? But suddenly, there is a whole new problem: How do you make this look like an accident? The overdose idea won’t work anymore, nobody would believe a Kenilworth mugging and you can’t drown him in the lake.
“Necessity, being the mother of invention, one of you comes up with a brilliant idea. Alvin is dragged along the path to the base of the rock garden, where he starts to twitch, which leads everyone to believe he has once again cheated death. So Augie drops a boulder on his head. Finally, with Alvin’s brains draining on the path, there is no doubt whatsoever.” I take a deep breath. “Whew.”
No comments or questions or arguments from the assembled.
I change my tone of voice. “This reminds me of a joke. One guy tells another that he had a fire in his factory and got a million dollars from his insurance company. The other guy says he had a flood in his factory and got two million. The first guy asks, ‘How do you start a flood?’”
Only my fellow detectives and Tiffany laugh.
“As is the case with most on-the-spot criminal decisions, something again is amiss. The crushing idea wasn’t as complete as first thought. It doesn’t look natural that one boulder could have rolled off and landed so perfectly on Alvin’s skull. More must be done, but what? I can imagine the three of you standing there, trying to come up with the next great idea.
“You give up. Augie calls Lizzy, the junior architect, and she comes up with the idea in no time. She gives you directions, and the wall of rocks came tumbling down, covering Alvin’s body. The deed is done. It is time to go home, except for one thing. One of you remembers Alvin has a pack of cash in his pocket; and to leave that behind would be a crime. So, you uncover the rocks from the left side of his body, remove the wad, split it up, and now you’re finished. Talk about a long night.
“I will admit, you did an excellent job cleaning up. All wore gloves because nary a fingerprint was left, and you even smoothed the path back to the car so no footprints were evident. Bravo, good work. The party’s over.”
Clayton says, “This is the most absurd idiocy I’ve ever heard.”
“And now comes the real tragedy of the story. The next day, Lucy, the dog from next door takes a break from playing fetch to eat Alvin’s drug-filled, puke and less than an hour later Lucy the Labrador drops dead. Killing Alvin is bad enough, but killing a dog. That’s cold.”
Norbert holds Lucy’s autopsy report, “What was in Alvin ended up in the dog. Got to be careful where you eat,” he says.
I pause. “Guess what happens next?”
“Oh, tell us Sherlock, tell us,” Brewster says.
“Worry sets in, which is usual in a case involving amateurs. So much worry, one of you actually places a phone call to the house that evening to be sure all went well.”
“That was me on the line, if you didn’t know,” Tiffany says. “At first I thought you were a telemarketer.”
“Next day, you see on the news and in the paper the Kenilworth PD has labeled it an accident and the cha-ching floodgates will open. All that is left is for Alvin’s money to be disbursed.” I take a deep breath.
“What you didn’t know, but Heffelfinger and Waddy did, is that before Alvin died, he not only changed his insurance policy, but also removed the bulk of his cash from his account at Northern Trust. Why?”
I pace around to Millie and Heffelfinger. “Because there is one string still hanging out there: Joey Villano. The money is Joey’s reward for all his fine work.”
It is Horace’s turn again on the hot seat. “Heffelfinger sees three things. One: a personal four-hundred grand payday; two: the last link to the one guy who can blow the lid off the scam; and three: personal retribution for Joey being the one who discovered and told Alvin his accountants were stealing him blind.”
“You are out of your mind,” Heffelfinger says.
“You followed Joey to the condo when he went to pick up his money, killed him, and stuffed him in the chest. To make it look like a break-in you trashed the place, but not very convincingly.”
“I did not,” Heffelfinger screams.
Millie sits contrite. She looks up at me and says, “I didn’t have anything to do with killing anyone. I want you to know that.”
The weakest link in the chain breaks. It is the first confession of the day. I have a feeling there will be more.
“Thank you, Millie. I never thought you were the type.”
“How can you say such a thing?” Heffelfinger continues to scream.
“He was a nice boy,” she says, “a little overweight, but a nice boy.”
“Surprise, surpri
se, there is no 400k; but you do find a portion of that amount. You figure Alvin screwed Joey too. It certainly would be in character, wouldn’t it?”
“I want to see a lawyer,” Heffelfinger says.
“You visit his house in Kenilworth, flip off the alarm and trash it, looking for the rest of the money missing from the chest.”
Heffelfinger clams up tighter than, what else, a clam.
“At the funeral you all play it pretty cool, but people are getting antsy. You can’t wait to get your money and split. At Conway Waddy’s office, the day of the disbursement, it all falls apart.”
The detectives in the room begin to position themselves for the inevitable.
I continue on a roll. “It must have been one painful moment when you all heard that Alvin had outsmarted the lot of you. Not only was there no money in the corporation, but the life insurance policy holds a rider that could tie up the money forever. Four-hundred grand has disappeared. Most of you are already broke. Instead of one for all and all for family, it becomes every man and woman for his or herself. Let the other guy take the rap, and you take the money.
“Doris, figuring Heffelfinger knows more than anyone else, casts her lot with him and phonies up some of the most obviously forged travel documents imaginable. Clayton tries to pin it on Lizzy. Diane is so pissed at Brewster, that she plants drugs on him and has him busted. Alexis wants her money out of the deal, so she and Diane finagle to tap into whatever is left of the estate. Lizzy and Augie are the maddest of all. They did the deed and have only Christina’s money to show for it; and they have to split the amount with Didi. One of you even has the audacity to write a phony confession note to throw us off tract. Talk about an amateur stunt. And to make matters even worse, there is a sting at the Board of Trade. Then you read in the newspaper that an eyewitness has popped out of the woodwork. What a set of revolting developments this has become.”
I stand at the head of the table where I began, and look at the players. What a sorry bunch of losers.
“The scramble is on. Millie decides to sell her house, and move to Florida with a sister she doesn’t have. Doris, or Conway Waddy, rehires Joan’s hit man to miss Brewster this time, to throw off suspicion on themselves. Heffelfinger leaves town for the Cayman Islands, where he transfers the money from the account he shares with Millie to an account of his own. Lizzy and Augie have to hang around and hold out hope for a disbursement of the Insurance money or at the least wait for Christina to get hers, so they can clean her out again. Clayton’s company is broke and in danger of an IRS investigation of his accounting practices. Brewster starts drinking again, which for Brewster is par for his course. Didi remains in Boston, happily spending Christina’s money.
