Hart frowned. “The problem, then, is what we need to do. We have this evening and three more very full days left until TJ ends, not counting many who stay over a few extra days to network and vacation. If we do nothing and just tough it out until we formally wrap up at the awards dinner on Saturday night—and nothing further blows up in our faces between now and then—the conference routinely concludes, everyone goes home, and we’re none the worse. Aside from poor Lasko, Llewellyn, and Simpson, whose fates are apparently already grimly determined, in spite of any action we could possibly take at this point.”
“What’s the big deal?” Connor asked, running a hand through his thick silver locks.
“Just this,” Hart continued. “Those here at TJ can be divided into two groups. Our other TITO executives, who already know about Lasko and Llewellyn but maybe not yet Simpson. Of course, they will shortly know about Simpson too. And the other TJ attendees, virtually all of whom presumably are in the complete dark. Not counting the observant Brooks and Lotello, hotel security, and our apparent adversary. We can quietly alert our comrades and have them hang together and closely watch one another’s backs through the end of the week. That’s the easy part.
“And the hard part?” Remington interrupted.
“The hard part is how we handle all of the others here at TJ. If we do nothing other than protect our own and one or more of the other TJ participants disappears, we are royally fucked. Worse, what if matters escalate and our enemy opens gunfire at one of our events?”
“Aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves?” Remington interrupted a second time, pulling absentmindedly on his moustache.
Hart was losing his patience. “We’re in a humongous Catch-22. Arguably, we are legally and morally obliged to alert all TJ participants. However, if we do, people may bail on the retreat. And demand the return of their registration fees. And perhaps their travel and lodging expenses as well. Having to deal with such demands could prove extremely costly. If we do nothing, and matters become worse, the fallout could be far greater. Think about what has recently happened to our various U.S. gymnastics governing bodies. And to USC. Their losses are reportedly far from over.”
Connor appeared irritated and to be losing his patience. “What are you talking about?”
“Some women’s gymnastics team physician was accused of sexually abusing our young women gymnastics stars for a number of years. Complaints were lodged with the appropriate sports organizations. They took no action to remove the doctor because of the possible fallout and the doctor continued to abuse dozens more of our young female gymnasts. The doctor is now behind bars for the rest of his life. More to our point, class action lawsuits were filed against the sports organizations involved. They were accused of hiding the ball and harming more gymnasts in order to selfishly protect their own interests. They’ve had to pay out hundreds of millions of dollars to get rid of the lawsuits.”
“And what about USC?” Connor pressed.
“Jonathan, do you not follow the news in between working on your novels? USC had a gynecologist on staff at their student medical center. He was accused of a pattern of sexually abusing female students who used the medical center’s services. Complaints were filed within the campus system and worked their way up the executive food chain at the university. Instead of surfacing the complaints and reporting the doctor to the state authorities, senior USC officials quietly sat on what they had been told, arguably in fear of the adverse impact the University might have suffered had the doctor’s reported behavior been publicly revealed. More students were supposedly abused. An investigation by the Los Angeles Times exposed the university’s failure to act. Heads rolled all the way to the very top of USC. USC has also had to pay out hundreds of millions of dollars.
“And now it’s turning out that UCLA may be guilty of a remarkably similar impropriety with one of its former campus gynecologists.
“If we sit on what’s been happening here at TJ so far, and further participants disappear or are otherwise harmed, we could suffer the same kind of consequences as these other supposedly impeccable institutions.”
“I’m not sure I agree,” Remington said. “In the case of the gymnastics organizations and USC, the reported thugs were under the dominion and control of those institutions. They knew who the miscreants were and they had the ability to cut them off. That’s not the case here. TITO has no influence or control over our perpetrator. We don’t even know who it is. Can’t we simply alert the authorities and put the monkey on their back rather than ours? What more do we have to do?”
Lewis spoke up. “There are several problems with what you are suggesting, Len. As I reported at our annual dinner meeting last night, I looked into this. In essence, there are no authorities here at the present time, not in any meaningful sense of the word. The one police officer on the island is away on holiday. We can reach out to the appropriate authorities in Barcelona, but I’m told they can be very aggressive. They may swarm onto the island, start an investigation, and lock everyone down. Imagine the consequences if our participants are not allowed to catch their scheduled flights home.
“Exactly,” Hart agreed with Lewis, sounding very presidential. “What happens to TITO if hundreds of TJ participants are not allowed to leave at the end of the week on schedule? Who pays for the extra lodging and similar expenses, including additional flight booking charges and penalties? What about the claims of those who say they are damaged by not being allowed to leave the island and return home at the end of the week to attend to their other commitments? We are a philanthropic organization. We support the arts. What if we come forward, there is a run on the bank, so to speak, and we are put out of business and can no longer serve our public purpose?”
Connor, the one lawyer in the room, speculated the legal issues might not really be all that bad. “I think you guys are worrying way too much. First, we have liability insurance. Second, our registration form contains exculpatory language—drafted by our insurance carriers and their lawyers—that bars these kinds of casualty losses and indirect ‘consequential’ damage claims. All registrants, even our executives, are required to sign our registration form. And have done so.”
“Jonathan, you have more confidence in these forms and the law—and lawyers for that matter—than I do,” Hart replied. “You’re the lawyer, not me. But in my lay opinion, we are in a bad place. A very bad place. Damned if we do, damned if we don’t.”
Remington was coming around. “I’m beginning to agree with Ryan.” Ignoring the fact that Connor was also one of TITO’s founders, Remington said “I am the lead founder of TITO. I’ve been here since day one. TITO is my baby. I say we hear out Brooks and Lotello when they join us,” he glanced at his watch, “in just a few minutes. Let’s see what they have to say before we make any hard and fast decisions.”
Everyone seemed to agree. Reluctantly. Anything that would put off having to make a painful decision. At least for the moment.
BROOKS AND LOTELLO WERE seated in an out-of-the-way corner of the hotel lobby. One might have called their congregation a … meeting. Or at least a pre-meeting. To prepare for … the meeting. The one Remington had invited Brooks and Lotello to attend with representatives of TITO in barely another few minutes.
“Tell me,” Brooks said to Lotello, “what do you make of things? What pearls of wisdom do you think we should shortly dispense?”
“To TITO or to Eloise?”
“Haha. Aren’t you just hilarious? To both, I guess.”
“Ironically, here we are, right in the midst of the very kind of calamity Eloise was hoping to extricate you from. Sorry, no marital advice for you. You’re the one who’s been married for fifty-five years. You’re on your own with that.”
“Great. Now that you’ve been so helpful on the home front, why don’t we move on to the subject I actually meant to discuss before you partook of your stand-up comedy routine. What are we going to say to TITO’s executives?”
“I’m reminded of some
of Agatha Christie’s novels, Judge. In particular, And Then There Were None. Very good, by the way. Have you read it?”
“I have, indeed. Is there a point in there you wish to make?”
“Yes. Actually two. First, Christie said she had more trouble writing that novel than any of her others.”
“That’s certainly good to know. Although I’m not sure why. And your second point? Hopefully more valuable than your first.”
“Patience, please. I’m coming to it. As in the case of Punta Maya, Christie’s novel took place on a small, out-of-the-way island with no authorities available to help identify and capture the killer. Why someone elected to kill off the ten guests, each of whom had a skeleton in his or her closet, was not initially clear. At least in terms of why the unknown killer chose to mete out punishment to the ten.”
“And? Still listening. Getting older.”
“If Christie found her story difficult, I find our situation next to impossible,” Lotello said.
“How so? Please come to your second point soon, if not your first as well. If we’re not to be late to our meeting. In which case your point or points might not matter.”
“We, too, are on a somewhat isolated island without the benefit of any local authorities on whom we can call for assistance. However, we have way more than ten potential victims. And we have on the order of some two thousand potential culprits. So far, we have three actual victims. With no skeletons in their closets that we know of. Our case is far more difficult than Christie’s.”
“Perhaps I can help us narrow down the task,” Brooks said. “Are you familiar with William Congreve, Detective?”
“I’m afraid you have me there.”
“Allow me to assist. Congreve is the famous author who coined the phrase ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.’ Or in the case of Eloise, like a woman whose wishes are sometimes ignored. If I may borrow from Mr. Congreve, I submit to you that hell also hath no fury like an author scorned.”
“And that helps us how?” Lotello responded to Brooks’s lecture. “Excluding the fifteen hundred or so book lovers here at Thriller Jubilee, that still leaves us with on the order of five hundred potentially scorned authors on this island.”
“If I may follow your approach,” Brooks rejoined, “let us borrow from another of Ms. Christie’s island mysteries, Evil Under the Sun. As a fan of whodunnits, I’m sure you are intimately familiar with that Christie story as well. I mention this novel to see what instruction we may derive from the indefatigable Inspector Hercule Poirot. What might Monsieur Poirot have to say about our case?”
“Beats me. You’re the one on a roll, Judge. Don’t let me stop you.”
“We have three persons who we assume have been murdered: a well-known literary agent, Ms. Lasko; a prominent publishing executive, Mr. Llewellyn; and last—let us hope last—a publicist who specializes in the representation of authors, Ms. Simpson. Would not Monsieur Poirot counsel us to find those among the five hundred authors on this beautiful island who have been turned away by all three of these victims? Pray tell how far this might constructively reduce our five hundred suspects, Detective?”
“Interesting. But how do we identify any such tri-rejected authors?”
“Leave that with me for the moment because our meeting approaches, and we have yet another important matter to touch upon first: how does the TITO board choose between the inevitable errands of concealing from the Thriller Jubilee participants what seemingly has transpired and revealing such happenings to them with the near certainty of causing pandemonium? Each alternative risks severe adverse attendant consequences to TITO.”
“The classic ‘sword of Damocles,’” observed Lotello.
“Ah, yes,” Brooks replied. “Cicero’s infamous fable illustrating that those in power always labor unhappily under the apprehension—worse still, the outright fear—that the exercise of their power will be incorrect and will lead to tragedy.”
“And the solution?” Lotello asked.
“Peace comes only from the recognition that there is no solution. One can only do one’s best and take solace that in good faith one did so. And accept whatever follows as inevitable. Like TITO’S board, we can only do our best. Come, Detective, a meeting awaits us.”
WHAT ABOUT ME, ASSHOLES? This meeting awaits me as well! I can hardly wait. Actually, I’ve been waiting a long time already. For precisely what’s coming!
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Day Two, 9:00 p.m.
BROOKS KNOCKED ON THE door, as Lotello stood deferentially at his side. Lewis opened the door, acknowledged the two of them with a nervous flick of her head, and invited them to follow her through the entry of the board’s suite and into the living room. Remington thanked them for coming. Connor glared openly at them but said nothing, at least not so far. Brooks wondered how long that would last. Lewis introduced them to Hart, the only one present whom they had not met earlier. Hart was gracious, although reserved.
“I’ve read several Mack Renton novels, Mr. Hart,” Brooks said. “Very entertaining. It’s an honor to make your acquaintance.”
His eyes directed at Hart, Lotello tipped his head slightly, but said nothing.
The social preliminaries were thus quickly completed. This was TITO’s requested meeting. At least, Remington’s. As usual in the company of others, Lotello deferred to Brooks. In keeping with his general style, Brooks left it to the others in the room to initiate the discussion.
Connor quickly began. Noticeably chomping at the bit, he wasted no time picking up where he had left off at the cocktail reception earlier that evening, cut short only by the unscheduled appearance of Donnelly. “Mr. Brooks, I understand you’re a writer. More accurately, someone who aspires to become a writer. Mr. Lotello, I gather you’re a mere gatecrasher. Frankly, I have no idea what the two of you are doing here. If it were up to me, neither of you would be here, and we wouldn’t be having this meeting at all.”
Brooks calmly looked Connor in the eye. He waited to make sure he had the attention of everyone in the room. And also to see if Remington would remind Connor that it was Remington who had requested the meeting. Remington, however, was stone silent. Must have suffered a sudden bout of amnesia. Or cowardice.
Brooks held onto the silence a few more seconds. He finally decided it was time: “Sir.” Brooks directed his attention to Connor, continuing to hold the man’s gaze as he spoke. “You have me at a disadvantage. You are, I’m told, an accomplished writer. Someday, I do hope someone may say the same about me. I understand from your résumé that you’re also a lawyer. Or at one time were. My published opinions from the bench have on occasions received a compliment or two. Even from those who didn’t necessarily agree with what I had to say, or how I chose to say it, but who understood the precepts of civility. I never did care much for lawyers in my courtroom who were rude. I always took rudeness as a sign of weakness. Perhaps it’s different among writers.
Believing he had effectively neutralized Connor, Brooks continued: “As for why we’re here, correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought this meeting was requested by your associate, Mr. Remington. Which request, I recall, was made in your presence, Mr. Connor. To see if my colleague here, Homicide Detective Lotello, and this retired judge, who still manages to practice a spot of law now and then, might be of some help to TITO—at whose pleasure you serve … Mr. Connor. If there was a misunderstanding, Detective Lotello and I will be only too happy to take our leave.”
Except for the bolts of lightning shooting out of his eyes, Connor was silenced. For the moment.
It was Hart who responded. “Please forgive Jonathan’s remarks, Judge Brooks. He tends to have a short fuse. And an unrestrained mouth. He certainly does not speak for TITO, at least not when he behaves in this manner. We are grateful for your and Detective Lotello’s presence. We are most anxious to hear whatever guidance either of you may have to offer us. TITO is obviously caught in a terrible dilemma. We need all the help we can muster.”
Brooks then launched into how he and Lotello saw things. “TITO is confronted with two separate and distinct tasks. The first is whether to continue or suspend the retreat. The second, if you decide to soldier on, is what to disclose to the registrants, if anything, and what security measures to implement in order hopefully to prevent apparent harm to any further persons, including possible pursuit and apprehension of any murderer. Or murderers.”
“As far as I’m concerned, suspending the retreat should be out of the question,” Connor said. “TITO cannot allow itself to be intimidated or manipulated. To me, that’s simply unacceptable and out of the question.”
I might not be an author, but I do know the nuances of language and words. Interesting how Connor has switched from speaking for TITO to speaking for himself. Brooks glanced around the room and observed that none of the other board members in the room expressed a different point of view than what Connor had just said. Neither in words or demeanor. If only by default, there appeared to be an unspoken consensus that the retreat must, or at least should, go forward.
“Well, then,” Brooks added, “if TJ is to go on, you have to decide whether to come clean or close ranks and disclose nothing, each of which has potential dire consequences. You can’t be criticized for coming clean about a problem you didn’t create in order to protect your participants, but can TITO survive a possible run on the bank if significant numbers bail on the retreat and demand the return of their registration fees, and possibly also their travel and lodging expenses? TITO’s exposure in this regard could hinge on what kind of insurance the organization maintains and on what TITO’s retreat registration documents have to say about this kind of situation. As a registrant, you would think I’d know what these documents say. However, it never occurred to me to pay any attention to what I signed to register for the retreat, and I presently have no idea what those documents say.”
Brooks-Lotello Collection Page 78
