Brooks-Lotello Collection

by Ronald S. Barak

  “Len, we are dealing with untenable circumstances,” Hart intervened. “I took the liberty of authorizing Judge Brooks and Detective Lotello to initiate a probe of Jonathan. We all hope that it will turn out that Jonathan has been done a terrible disservice—and nothing worse.” Hart turned to Brooks. “Please continue, Judge.”

  Brooks acknowledged Hart as he went on. “Thank you, Mr. Hart. There are also three explanations for the paraphernalia in Mr. Connor’s room. One, he is on some form of authorized medication presently unknown to any of us. Two, he is, sadly, addicted to some kind of drug, also presumably unknown to any of us. Three, these syringes and vials are weapons of malice that Mr. Connor has been putting to criminal misdeeds. At this moment, unless anyone here can shed any light, we presently have no way of knowing what the correct hypothesis is.” Brooks looked to see if anyone in the room had anything to offer in response. No one did. Not even Remington.

  “All right, then, I have two more pieces of disturbing information that I must share. As I think some of you know by now, one of the five participants here at Thriller Jubilee previously rejected by your three fellow board members was a gentleman by the name of George Enright. Unfortunately, we have learned, just this afternoon, that Mr. Enright is now also missing. He has not left the island. His personal effects remain in his room. But he failed to keep an appointment this afternoon.”

  “Painfully,” Hart added, “unlike each of us, Enright is now the first apparent victim who received no notice that there may be a killer here at our writers conference.” Hart redirected his gaze back at Brooks.

  Brooks accepted Hart’s signal to carry on. “Under the adage of ‘better late than never,’ which, frankly, may no longer apply on the occasion of Mr. Enright’s disappearance, you may now wish to revisit your earlier decision not to share with the entirety of the Thriller Jubilee participants the prospect that there may be a killer loose on the island, whose targets you now know may not be confined to TITO’s insiders.”

  The silence that followed was broken by a faint knock at the door. Brooks looked around the table. TITO’s executives appeared to be frozen in shock. None of them exhibited a willingness to be the possible harbinger of more bad news by responding to or even acknowledging the knock. Brooks looked at Lotello, who rose and disappeared through the entryway to the door. After what seemed like an eternity, but was only moments, Lotello returned. “I have some information about Mr. Connor.”

  HAH! I ALWAYS DID prefer live theater to the large screen. Poor Jonathan? Unless perhaps I should say Jon? Too bad for him?

  “SO MUCH FOR OUR three saucy ladies,” Pappas said as she and Rutledge nursed their drinks.

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” Rutledge answered. “A hot date on a hot night always takes precedence.”

  “I was thinking steamy,” Pappas countered. “Three cheers for Eileen.”

  “Well, that’s three of something,” Rutledge observed.

  They laughed.

  I OWED THE IDEA to J.K. Rowling, J.K., to those of us who know her. When she wanted to prove that it was really her writing ability and not just her name, she penned a mystery novel under the alias Robert Galbraith. Well, she wasn’t the first to do that and she won’t be the last, and we know how her big experiment turned out, don’t we? It flopped. J.K.’s publisher was in on her adventure and published Galbraith’s “debut” novel. Sales of the novel were mediocre. Until, that was, someone leaked Galbraith’s true identity. The novel then went straight to the top of the charts, proving my very point, that it was J.K.’s name and not her writing ability that drove the results. Of course, we’re a lot smarter. We can use an alter ego from the get go to achieve the results we deserve.

  CONNOR SAT ACROSS THE dining room table from the two women, one who he was already using and the other who he hoped soon to be using, in some respects in the same way, but not entirely. His two companions were talking to one another. His mind wandered as he listened to their conversation.

  He had intended to launch a new series using a pseudonym to prove that Lasko, Llewellyn, and Simpson had not been serving him well. Worse still, that they had held him back. While they were alive, using an alias to deliver a new series would have been essential. However, now that they were gone, he could simultaneously prove what he had known for some time under his own name and under the name of an alter ego. And here she thought I was editing her writing solely out of kindness to her. Little does she know!

  Connor looked at the time on his phone. I should be at the board meeting, but this is far more important. To me. I’ll show up before they’re finished. So I can see for myself where they’re at.

  He listened to the exchange between Grey and Lonergan. Lonergan was very kind to Grey, in terms of the questions she asked, and the resulting strategies and expressions she offered. It might have been Grey’s wheelchair, but he suspected Lonergan was very caring with all of her clients. Too bad.

  ALL EYES WERE RIVETED on Lotello as he returned to his seat at the conference table. “Connor is fine. Hotel security just spotted him in the dining room with two women.”

  “That’s a fine how do you do,” Remington said. “We’re here taking care of business and he’s off having a grand old time. So where does that leave us?”

  Hart offered his two cents. “It’s disappointing, and strange, that Jonathan found something more important to do than being here with us at this difficult time, but I’m relieved to know that he has not joined the ranks of our missing persons, or somehow found himself in harm’s way. I think Judge Brooks is correct that we must revisit the question of whether we now have any kind of duty to share what we know with our TJ participants at large.” Hart signaled Brooks to continue.

  Brooks observed Hart’s emphasis of the word “now.” Rationalizing why they had not come forward earlier he thought to himself. Before he could continue, Remington asked the room at large, “And what do we do about those syringes and vials in Jonathan’s hotel room? I think it’s time that we have hotel security confiscate that stuff and find out what’s in those vials before anything else, or anyone else, vanishes.”

  Remington seemed done for the moment. Brooks resumed the mantle. “Admittedly, we have two subjects to consider: the items in Mr. Connor’s room and what, if anything, the board wishes to report to the conference participants.

  “Indeed, we may have the power to confiscate the goods in Mr. Connor’s bar refrigerator, but is that wise? What if they’re medical supplies required by Mr. Connor and not weapons? Detective, do you have any suggestions?”

  “When I was searching Connor’s room earlier,” Lotello replied, “I thought about removing and testing just one of the vials but was reluctant at the time both because the contents might prove perfectly explainable and because different vials might contain different contents. The vials might have been coded as to their contents in some way I didn’t spot. However, given the disappearance of Mr. Enright this afternoon, coupled with Connor ignoring his board responsibilities this evening, I no longer feel we have the luxury of worrying about Connor’s feelings. If the board agrees, I think I should immediately arrange for one of those vials to be confiscated by hotel security and tested. If Connor discovers the missing vial, we’ll worry about that then.”

  Hart asked if anyone disagreed. No one did.

  “On it,” Lotello said and left the room.

  “That brings us back to the question of transparency,” Brooks said. “Before the disappearance of Mr. Enright this afternoon, the prevailing sentiment last evening was not to be forthcoming, but rather to try to ride things out. Is that still the prevailing sentiment now that Mr. Enright has joined the presumed missing?”

  Brooks’s question triggered a lengthy and heated discussion. Differing points of view were voiced. Some felt adamant that the board should now become fully transparent. Others felt the die had been cast and to now reverse engines and disclose what the board knew would amount to an admission that it was wrong not to have done so
earlier.

  Hart argued that it was even more important to be forthcoming now. He quarreled with the notion that to do so now would be an admission of anything previously wrong. “What we know now is different than what we knew twenty-four hours ago.”

  Remington was not convinced. “I think coming forward now will kill us, no pun intended.” No one laughed or even smiled.

  “Not funny and not so, Len,” Hart responded. “Last night, in good faith, we thought the killer was only after the people in this room, TITO’s officers and directors. We had no reason to believe the killer was after anyone else. So why on earth would we have needed to create a panic or a stampede, or disrupt the conference, just because someone here was mad at us? We had no reason to believe our participants at large were in danger. Enright’s disappearance would seem to change everything. To put at risk all the good things TITO and TJ does for the arts might have been reckless yesterday. Not today. We can no longer credibly advance the argument that no one besides us is in danger, but that doesn’t mean we can’t defend the decision we made yesterday.”

  “I understand your logic, but it won’t satisfy all the backseat drivers,” Remington stated. “In the face of what has happened to Enright, they’ll contend that had we erred in favor of all of our participants yesterday, Enright might still be alive and well this evening. On the other hand, what happens if we remain tight-lipped and someone else disappears Saturday?”

  “Jeez, Len, make up your mind,” Hart said. “First you were against disclosure because of all we do for the arts, and the need to protect our viability. Now you seem to be insisting on disclosure. You can’t have it both ways. Which do you want?”

  “Damn it, Ryan, I don’t fucking know!”

  “Judge, you’ve been awfully quiet,” Hart said. “You must know more than we do about what a judge or jury might say if one of Len’s backseat drivers were to file a lawsuit against us. What would you do if you were us?”

  Brooks slowly looked around the room, from person to person, and felt their desperation. He waited to be sure everyone was singularly focused on him. “Personally, I think most of you are missing the big picture.” He paused again to be sure everyone was truly listening.

  “What does that mean?” Hart asked.

  “Intellectually, there are equally credible arguments both ways,” Brooks explained. “But if claims are asserted—and they likely will be—the arguments justifying previously sitting on things will be second guessed and picked apart. In my opinion, you probably will lose no matter how good your rationale is for why you didn’t come forth yesterday.”

  Just then, the door to the suite opened. In walked Connor. “Miss me? Sorry, I had some pressing business. Couldn’t be helped.” He fixed himself a drink and sat down. “Where are we?”

  WELL, THAT’S WHAT I would certainly call a grand entrance! Ya just gotta love that! But will it move the needle?

  LONERGAN CAUGHT UP TO Pappas and Rutledge in the bar. She filled the two of them in on her dinner with Connor and Grey. “I think I’m going to be able to build great websites for Grey and Jon. I think that’s going to lead to a bunch more business for us from among the writing community.”

  “Jon?” Pappas asked. “Very chummy, Eileen.

  Lonergan blushed. “That’s what he tells his friends to call him.”

  “Friends, huh?” Rutledge said. “What else do you need to tell us, girlfriend?”

  YEAH, WHAT ELSE DO you need to tell us … girlfriend?

  BROOKS COULD SEE THAT Hart had had it with Connor. And that he didn’t mind who knew. “Be quiet, Jonathan.” Hart’s scowl dared Connor to say another word. “You can find out what you missed on your own time. Please continue, Judge.”

  Brooks was satisfied that he still had most everyone’s attention, Connor’s poor attempt at humor notwithstanding. “Our country’s moral fiber is pretty much at rock bottom,” he resumed. “If the class action settlements USC and the U.S. sports governing bodies have had to pay out is not indication enough where things are heading, the shock and disgust of tens of millions of Americans toward those who fraudulently arranged the admission of their kids to colleges across the country should be. If it were me, and thankfully it’s not, I’d vote to cut my losses right now and publicly disclose first thing in the morning everything we now know.”

  “I completely disagree with Brooks,” said Connor. “Frankly, I’m fed up with his holier than thou attitude. It’s not his money and reputation that’s at risk. He’s nothing more than one of Len’s fucking backseat drivers.

  “You want to talk about where the country’s at today? Look at our so-called president. Not you, Ryan. I’m referring to that embarrassment in D.C. He may have some good points, but he lies through his teeth. Everyone knows it. But most people just don’t care. What’s going to happen to him, besides in all likelihood being elected president for another four years?

  “As for all those fraudulent parents who finessed their kids into college, just as many of those assholes have obnoxiously pleaded innocent as have pleaded guilty. In spite of the fact that we know they’re all guilty. Many of their all-star lawyers have advised them to plead not guilty. I’m a lawyer. That’s how I would have counseled them to plead. No guarantees, but I believe they’ll come out no worse, and possibly better, than those who rolled over and pleaded guilty.

  “I say we quit being wusses, suck it up for the remainder of TJ, and get the hell outta Dodge.”

  “Spoken like the true scholar you are not, Jonathan,” Hart said. “Anyone have anything more to say? Judge, how about you?”

  “I think not, Mr. Hart,” Brooks said. “The issues have been pretty well aired. Probably time for the board to call the question.”

  “I agree,” Hart said. “I think we have aired it all out. Let’s take a fifteen minute break and then vote on what we’re going to say. Or not say.”

  I DON’T NEED FIFTEEN minutes. C’mon, let’s get it on. Time to hit the bar.

  LOTELLO CAUTIOUSLY APPROACHED CONNOR’S suite. He had his hotel passkey in hand. And a pair of handcuffs at the ready. He was prepared to make a citizen’s arrest if Connor was present and uncooperative. Lotello knocked on the door. There was no answer. He let himself into the suite. Connor was nowhere to be found. Neither were the syringes and vials when Lotello opened the bar refrigerator. “Shit!”

  LONERGAN WAS BACK IN her room. It had been a long day, and she was exhausted. She took a warm shower, toweled off, and climbed into bed. The cool sheets felt good against her body.

  “What else do you need to tell us, girlfriend?” Rutledge asked me. I didn’t answer her. How could I? Early as it was, fitful sleep overtook her before she could give the question another moment’s thought.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Day Three, 9:45 p.m.

  CONNOR LISTENED TO HART call the meeting back to order. He wasted no time employing his best legal training to formally recite his desired motion: “I hereby move that we not utter a word outside this room about any missing persons, that we carry on our TJ business as usual, nothing less, nothing more. May I have a second for the motion?”

  The motion was seconded.

  “Any discussion?” Hart asked.

  “Any more discussion, don’t you mean?” Connor said. “Haven’t we already beat this to death?”

  “Under the circumstances, I consider that a poor choice of words, Jonathan,” Hart observed.

  “Under the circumstances, I think you ought to lighten up,” Connor replied. “All I meant was ‘Haven’t we already discussed this enough.’ Jesus. Give it a rest, Ryan.”

  “Actually, I have a related development,” Lewis said, “that I think I need to share before we call the vote. It might influence the outcome.”

  “That sounds ominous,” Hart responded. “The floor is yours.”

  “During our fifteen minute recess,” Lewis explained, “I received an email addressed from one of our participants, Rochelle Jackson. It seems she is very unh
appy with TITO. She says she has consulted with a lawyer and is planning to file a lawsuit against TITO and each of its officers and directors unless we meet her demands.”

  “A lawsuit?” Remington exclaimed.

  “Against TITO? Against each of us? What the hell is going on? I’ve never been sued in my life! What are her demands?”

  “Calm down, Len,” Hart said. “Give Lisa a chance to finish.”

  “She wants a written apology. And two point five million dollars.”

  “What for, for God’s sake? Is she crazy?” Remington was not calming down.

  “As we all know,” Lewis continued, “we put together a list of five participants here at TJ who previously reached out to Genevieve, Jim, and Ariana for representation, and who were rejected by all three. We asked Judge Brooks and Detective Lotello to investigate these five individuals to see if any of them might have anything to do with Genevieve’s, Jim’s, and—”

  “C’mon, Lisa,” Connor shouted, “this is old news. We know all this. Cut to the chase. What’s Jackson’s beef, for cripe’s sake?”

  Lewis summarized what had happened between Lotello and Jackson earlier in the day. “In trying to smooth things over, Lotello explained to Jackson why he had entered her room. She now knows about Genevieve, Jim, and Ariana.”

  “What you’re saying, Lisa,” Remington emphasized, “is that Jackson knows we’ve been sitting on all of this. She thinks she has us by the short hairs and can extort us because we haven’t gone public with what we know.”