Animal Instinct

by Rosenfelt, David

  Another laugh from the audience; Downes has them eating out of her aging hand.

  I stay for a half hour. Downes lectures the audience on how they can prepare to enter the medical services industry, and how they can make themselves palatable to prospective employers. It seems like boilerplate stuff, but she gets away with it because she is charming, and probably because the audience thinks she can help them get in the door.

  I’m on the way home when my cell phone rings. Caller ID says it is Laurie’s home number, and when I answer, Andy is on the phone. “Where are you?”

  “Heading home from Woodcliff Lake.”

  He doesn’t bother to ask why I was there. “Stop over here. We got some of the discovery.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “There is definitely a problem. We’ll talk when you get here.” Click.

  ANDY, Laurie, and I go into the den as soon as I arrive.

  I am not looking forward to what I am about to hear; clearly whatever the prosecution has is a serious negative for our case.

  Andy gets right to the point. “The police searched the entire block around Kline’s house. Four houses down, the people had a Dumpster back near their garage. In it the police found a plastic bag with bloody clothing in it, a sweatshirt, sweatpants, and sneakers. It was a Rutgers sweatshirt. There was also a bloody kitchen knife.”

  I know where this is going. “The break-in at my house.”

  “They had no trouble getting a DNA match; apparently you sweat when you wear a sweatshirt and sweatpants. So their obvious theory is that the reason you did not have blood on you is because you were smart enough to bring a change of clothing with you. It’s the kind of thing a cop would think of. I assume you didn’t report the break-in?”

  “No; I had no way to prove that it really happened; it was just an instinct I had by the way the carpet was slightly out of place. But more it was a feeling I had. And there was nothing missing.”

  “Except the clothing,” Laurie points out.

  “I have a bunch of hooks on the inside of my closet door. I hang sweatpants and sweatshirts on those hooks; there are always three or four of each. There is no way I would have noticed one set missing; it would never have entered my mind that they would be stolen. And I probably have five pairs of sneakers on the closet floor.”

  “This certainly explains the quick arrest,” Andy says.

  “What do we do now, Counselor?”

  “We deal with it. We’ve known all along that they had something that caused them to move so quickly, and now we know what it is. Our job hasn’t changed; we need to figure out who is behind this and why.”

  “Okay. I’ve seen my share of frame-ups; it’s just particularly disconcerting that it’s happening to me.”

  Laurie nods her understanding. “We’ll get where we need to go.”

  “I spent a half hour at a seminar this afternoon. Gerald Kline’s partner ran it; her name is Stephanie Downes. She is apparently not mourning in seclusion.”

  “What did you learn?”

  “How to apply for a job in the medical services industry, and that it’s a huge help to have computer skills.”

  “Well, now we’re getting somewhere,” Andy says. “What made you go there?”

  “Because Gerald Kline met Lisa Yates at one of these seminars, and he may well have placed her in a job. That connection could be important, and this could somehow be tied to their work.”

  “They didn’t work at the same company,” Laurie says. “He just got her hired there. I’m not saying we discount it, but we have no indication their work life was even connected after that.”

  “They had a romantic relationship, and who knows what else,” Andy says. “For all we know they were selling bazookas and hand grenades in their spare time.”

  They are both right, but my instinct says otherwise. “Don’t forget that Lisa Yates quit her job not long before she was killed. Her coworkers were surprised by it and she apparently never gave anyone a reason. That could be significant.”

  Andy nods. “Yes, it could be.”

  “One thing we know for sure is that they were somehow linked, and I don’t mean just romantically. And whatever it was killed them both.”

  “It was something they knew that made them dangerous,” Laurie says. “That’s where you came in, Corey.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When you showed up at Kline’s the first time, it signaled that you were digging into his life. But you were looking at him for Lisa Yates’s murder, based on the domestic violence incident.”

  I nod. “Which must be why he almost seemed relieved; it was because I wasn’t looking into something else.”

  Laurie nods too. “But you must have said something which spooked him, or more likely spooked whoever he was working for. Think carefully, did you say anything that could have set them worrying?”

  I think for a while and then it hits me. “I told him I knew about the cash he withdrew.”

  “Bingo,” Andy says.

  VIRTUALLY everyone has someone they report to.

  It’s simply a fact of life; just a handful of people are technically at the top. But even most of them have someone overseeing them, be it a board of directors, or shareholders, or “the American people.”

  The man who called himself Carlos was certainly not the exception to the rule. He was very much aware of that and literally called his boss “boss.” It didn’t matter; Carlos knew that names meant nothing with these people.

  Carlos had a good amount of autonomy in his job. He had talents that his boss admittedly lacked, and up to this point Carlos had used good judgment in utilizing them.

  He did not for a second believe that he was not always in competition for his job. Months ago his boss made a slight slip of the tongue that seemed to reveal that the operation included other people on Carlos’s level, perhaps in different areas of the country. Carlos knew that he could be moved out if the boss so desired.

  So far the boss had not so desired, but Carlos was also certain that his boss was not alone at the top either. He would occasionally allude to some colleagues that he would consult with.

  Carlos thought this conversation was going to be relatively pleasant. He believed that he had simultaneously solved two problems successfully: Kline was permanently out of the picture, and the ex-cop, Corey Douglas, was effectively eliminated. The damage, if any real damage was done at all, was completely contained.

  The boss had a different view: “You’ve made matters worse. Kline was never a real threat; he had too much invested in this. And the cop cared only about the domestic violence garbage. Now he knows it had nothing to do with that, and we have a lawyer and more investigators trying to get him off. And there will be a public trial analyzing every piece of it.”

  Carlos was taken aback and worried. “It’s manageable.”

  “Everything is manageable; it is just now infinitely more difficult.”

  “I’ll come up with an effective strategy; I always do. You know that.”

  “I do not know that; this incident is the very definition of a bungled approach. You will clear any future steps with me before you take any action.”

  “If that’s what you want…”

  “That’s what I want.”

  “MY name is Corey Douglas. I’m a private investigator. I’d like to speak to Ms. Downes about a personal matter.”

  “Just a moment, Mr. Douglas.”

  This is me taking a wild shot; I would be very surprised if Stephanie Downes is willing to see me. If she doesn’t recognize my name, then she’ll say no because she wouldn’t want to take a meeting with a stranger about an unspecified topic. If she recognizes my name, then there’s that little problem about her thinking I killed her partner.

  It takes about sixty seconds, and I’m surprised when Stephanie Downes’s voice comes on the line; I’m good at voices and I recognize it from the seminar. “Good morning, Mr. Douglas. I understand you left the seminar
early. Was it something I said?”

  “How did you know I was there?”

  “My assistant recognized your face; she was also Gerald Kline’s assistant, so she has an interest in media coverage of his death. And she surreptitiously photographed you as you were leaving, just to be sure.”

  “Sounds like a terrific assistant; you should hang on to her. So can we talk?”

  “I believe that’s what we’re doing now.”

  “I meant in person.”

  It takes about thirty seconds for her to respond; at first I’m not sure if she has silently hung up. Then, “I suppose so. It will be one of life’s adventures.”

  “Where would you like to have this adventure?”

  “Someplace public; I’m curious, but not crazy. Do you know the Suburban Diner on Route Seventeen?”

  “I do. I ate there last week.”

  “Shall we say three o’clock? That way it won’t be too noisy, but will still be public.”

  “Perfect. See you then. You can recognize me from the picture your assistant took.”

  Dani, Simon, and I go for a late lunch at a favorite place of ours in Ridgefield Park, where we can eat outdoors. We take two cars, so she can take Simon home and I can go on to the Suburban Diner.

  We eat at an outside table in deference to the ridiculous rule that Simon cannot eat indoors. He’s a lot cleaner and neater than quite a few people I know, me included. To reduce his embarrassment, we order him a plate of grilled vegetables and a bowl of water.

  At three o’clock, having eaten a lovely lunch and then sent Dani and Simon home, I enter the Suburban Diner and don’t see Stephanie Downes anywhere. I take a table near the back and hope that she hasn’t decided this was a bad idea.

  At three fifteen she comes in, sees me, and walks to the table. “You look just like your picture.” She sits down. “Did you also take a good mug shot?”

  “I forgot to smile.”

  “Don’t you hate when that happens?”

  This is a self-confident woman, comfortable bantering with a man she thinks slashed her partner’s throat. Or maybe she’s just nuts.

  She signals a waitress and orders coffee and a fruit plate; I opt for just coffee. Once the coffee is served, she says, “You have the floor.”

  “I’m trying to discover who killed Gerald Kline.”

  “I was under the impression that that crime was solved.”

  “I’m under a different impression, so humor me. I’m not expecting you to tell me it was Mr. Plum in the library, though I’m fine if you do. I just want to understand how Kline lived, who he associated with, that kind of thing.”

  “I know much less than you’d expect.” Apparently she’s willing to keep talking to me.

  “He was your partner for how many years?”

  “The very premise of your question is incorrect. We shared a business and both of our names were on the masthead, but we were not partners, not in the traditional sense. At least not for a while.”

  “Elaboration would be good, and appreciated.”

  She takes a sip of coffee and settles into her story. “We were both in this business, starting out on our own. This is going back a while now. We were competitors, of a sort, and decided to join forces. It made sense economically, and together we controlled much of the market, so we got an enhanced reputation. But within our company we kept separate accounts. Each of us made what we earned, and we shared the common expenses. It worked well, at least until you or some other person put a gruesome end to it.”

  “What happens to his clients now?”

  “Hopefully I’ll get my share.” Then, “Aha, a motive to kill. Is that what you think?”

  I shake my head. “No. It’s a worthy motive, but it doesn’t fit. Because whoever killed Kline likely killed Lisa Yates.”

  “Lisa. That was a shame.”

  “You knew her? Then is there any chance you killed them both? If you’d confess, it would make my job a lot easier.”

  “Sorry; can’t help you there. I met her a few times at industry events; she was with Gerald. Seemed lovely, which is why they seemed mismatched.”

  “You didn’t like Gerald?”

  “I did not. He had a way about him, a charisma, which one needs in this industry. You saw me demonstrate it onstage, I suspect. But while he could turn on the charm at will, his veneer was thinner than most, and he was a very disagreeable man.

  “But you seem like an agreeable man … for a murderer.” Again, she has no reason to trust me, but she certainly isn’t acting like I might actually be a murderer.

  “You’re making me blush,” I say.

  “YOU want the good news, or the better news?”

  Sam Willis is asking the question, and I have to say I like the way he phrased it. He’s called a meeting to tell us what he’s found and asked for the entire team, including Andy, to be present. Sam seems to like an audience.

  The meeting did not start well. Before Sam showed up, Laurie and Marcus told us that Marcus has been unable to identify the shooter of Lisa Yates. Considering Marcus’s connections and power of persuasion, that is a significant disappointment and a surprise to Laurie.

  Everybody, including me, is of the belief that big money must have been paid, big enough to have the shooter keep his mouth shut. Or perhaps he is afraid of his employer and thinks that an indiscretion could either be dangerous or an impediment to future employment. Or perhaps he was brought in from out of town.

  We’re guessing a lot here.

  But now Sam has arrived, and his opening salvo is promising. Andy answers his question by saying, “Just tell us everything, Sam. The order is not important.”

  Sam nods. “Okay, the good news is that I have identified three cell phones that were in Kline’s house within a couple of hours of the time he was killed. Four, if we count yours, Corey. One of the other three belonged to Kline; it was registered in his name. A second one, an unregistered burner phone, probably also belonged to Kline. According to GPS data, it was most recently at Ridgewood police headquarters, probably confiscated for their investigation.

  “So the last phone is the interesting one, since it may well have been brought there by the killer. That phone is registered to Alvin Szabo, address on Grand Avenue in Englewood. That’s Szabo, S-z-a-b-o. But the name is fake, and the address listed is actually a gas station.”

  “So how do we find him?” Laurie asks.

  “We don’t have to,” I say. “We find the phone.”

  “That’s right, but with a slight correction,” Sam says. “We’ve already found the phone. It lives in a high-rise apartment in Edgewater. But there’s no Alvin Szabo at that address, so we have no way of knowing where in the building the phone is. GPS measures location, but not height. So we have to follow the phone when it moves.”

  “You can do that?” I ask.

  “Yes. I’ll tell you where the phone goes, and when, and you can do what you’d like with it. But I haven’t told you the better news yet.”

  “Sam, I like your style,” Andy says.

  “I had a hunch, so I went back to check out the recent history on the phone GPS, and it paid off. That same phone was in the area when Lisa Yates was shot.”

  It’s significant news, but not surprising. We’ve thought all along that the same people, if not the same killer, were behind both murders. This is confirmation of that, but more significant is that we might be able to get our hands on the killer.

  “Okay, team, what’s your next step?” Andy asks.

  “We identify him, then follow him and see where he leads us,” Laurie says.

  I shake my head. “We can try that, but he’s not likely to lead us anywhere. We have nowhere close to a guarantee that he meets in person with his employer, and that employment may be over anyway. He’s done what he was hired to do.”

  “So what would you do?” Andy asks.

  Andy is taking an interesting approach here, different from that in other cases we’ve worked with
him. When we’re working on behalf of one of his clients, he solicits and respects opinions, but he calls the moves and he sets the strategy. In this case, with me as the client, he is deferring more. He recognizes that it’s my ass that is on the line; if I’m going to go down, he wants me to have taken my best shot.

  “We confront him,” I say. “I’m not saying he’ll confess, or that he’ll reveal his employer, but it might shake things up. And if we have his phone information, maybe he’ll use it and we can track who he calls.”

  “Marcus?” Laurie asks.

  Marcus doesn’t bother saying anything; he just points to me and nods. I’ll take that as a ringing endorsement.

  “Okay,” Laurie says. “Sam, can you monitor the movements? Work with Marcus, so we can identify him, follow him, and figure out the best time to approach. Once we do, Marcus and I can move in.”

  “Excuse me?” I ask. “You think I’m not going to be a part of this?”

  “That’s exactly what I think,” she says. Then, “Andy, you want to explain this to him?”

  Andy picks up the baton. “You can’t be there, Corey. If something goes wrong and violence ensues, your GPS monitor will place you at the scene. You’ll be back in jail for the duration. And I don’t have to tell you that this is the kind of event at which violence can definitely ensue.”

  “I’m not happy about this,” I say.

  Laurie smiles, but her words are serious. “Get over it.”

  FIVE days have gone by since Sam identified the phone.

  He and Marcus have been giving us periodic reports, and while I am going insane over the wait, they have actually been making good progress.

  It took less than a day to locate the man who went by the name of Alvin Szabo. Sam Willis identified an individual as the man carrying the phone when he left the apartment building, and Marcus took a photograph of him.

  Andy sent the photo to Pete Stanton, the captain in charge of Homicide for the Paterson Police Department, who is a close friend of Andy’s. Both Laurie and I also know Pete well, but it seemed best that Andy approach him.