Dark Waters (The Jeff Resnick Mysteries) (18 page)

The Banyon Building had been built back in the 1920s and was one of Buffalo’s Art Deco gems. The lobby had never been stripped of its architectural features, nor had it ever fallen into disrepair. Sam had plunked himself on one of the velvet upholstered chairs and was checking his emails as I approached. It took him a few moments to realize I stood before him.

“Right on time,” he said with a smile. “Are you up for this?”

“I’m just peachy. Are we meeting the real estate agent upstairs?”

He stood. “Yeah.”

We started for the bank of elevators with their elaborate bronze doors etched with geometric lines and scrollwork. “What’s our cover story?” I asked.

“None. When it comes to high-priced real estate, they do a pretty thorough background check. They don’t want to waste time with jokers who can’t pay the freight.”

“How are you going to explain me?” I asked and pushed the UP button.

“I’m not. If pressed, you’re either a colleague or a consultant. Take your pick.”

The doors opened and two women got off before we could get on. Sam pressed the button for the tenth floor and the doors closed.

“Are you using your brother’s season tickets for the Bills game on Sunday?” he asked.

“Can’t.”
I might be dead
, I thought sadly. “The baby’s coming tonight or early tomorrow. It would be hard for Rich to leave Brenda the day after.”

“I’ve got nothing going on. It would be a shame to let them go unused,” he said wistfully.

“It sure would,” I said non-committedly.

The doors opened and we stepped out. It looked like Morrow Securities had leased the entire floor. Double frosted-glass doors bore no mention of its last occupants. We could see the silhouette of someone standing behind them. Sam pulled on the handle and it opened.

A well-dressed man in his late twenties turned to face us.

“Sam Nielsen. And you must be Eric Armstrong?” Sam asked, offering his hand.

The man held out his hand. “No. Eric couldn’t make it. He asked me to talk to you and show you around. My name is Harry Morrow.”

“Jack Morrow’s son?” I asked, taken aback.

“The same.”

It was his picture in one of the frames at the auction. Had he been the one who’d held the chalk? I stuck out my hand to shake hands. “Jeff Resnick, I’m a colleague of Sam’s.”

Harry Morrow briefly clasped my hand. I held on a little too long and he pulled away, looking uncomfortable.

Nothing. I got absolutely nothing from him.

“So, what are you doing here — just background for a story?”

Sam nodded. “We didn’t expect to find anything here in the office, but I had an idea that maybe we could soak up the vibes in what used to be your father’s offices.” He shot an amused look at me.

“My dad was responsible for the Ponzi scheme. He took the blame, denying anyone else was involved, but he couldn’t have done it alone. He had to have had help. Whoever killed him probably figured he’d eventually crack. Maybe for a plea bargain — or the possibility of parole somewhere down the line for naming names.”

“You think?” I asked.

Harry shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. Dad’s dead, and the police say they have no leads.” He eyed Sam. “Do you?”

“Sorry. Not yet. But it can’t hurt to keep digging. Sometimes the truth manifests itself in unexpected ways.” Again, he looked at me.

“Several people have come around to inspect the place looking for buried treasure — as if the bank and IRS haven’t already grabbed everything.”

“How are you making out?” Sam asked.

“They can’t take my education away from me, but I had to leave my last job because of the scandal. I’m lucky to have a few friends — and their parents — who didn’t invest with my dad’s company.”

“Do you mind if we walk around and look the place over while we talk?” I asked Harry. This was probably a wasted trip and I didn’t want to spend more time than I needed to. Richard would probably prefer me to show up sooner rather than later.

“Sure,” he agreed. He was being awfully nice to us. I would have expected some belligerence. Of course, he could be feeding us a line of bullshit, too. Since I’d gotten nothing from him, it was impossible to tell.

We wandered from what must have been the reception area to a conference room. Sam and Harry hung back, while I entered it. A few sheets of paper littered the floor. I picked one up and glanced at it; a printed handout from the real estate company handling the property someone had discarded. I folded it and stuck it in my pocket to study later.

“So you never worked for your father?” Sam asked.

“No. He was adamant about it. I guess he always knew the scheme would fail and he didn’t want me tainted by — ” He left the sentence hanging.

I sidled past them and continued down the corridor, looking into an empty, glassed-in office, so much nicer — and bigger — than the cell I’d occupied when I’d worked in Manhattan.

Walking through the office made me feel itchy, like I’d suddenly developed a rash, but I pulled up my left sleeve and didn’t see anything. It had to be the place. But what was it that was trying to get under my skin?

I entered another of the empty offices. There were no windows; nothing but marks on the carpet where the furniture had stood and a flattened area where a sheet of plastic had protected the rug from the office chair’s rollers.

I left the office and tried several more. It seemed the farther I went along the corridor, the more I wanted to scratch. Invisible fleas?

I looked back. Sam and Harry still stood outside the conference room, conversing. I went back to snooping.

When I came to an intersecting corridor, I turned left. At the end of the hall was a large wooden door — cherry? — buffed to perfection. It had to have been Morrow’s office.

The door handle turned easily and I entered. Like all the rest of the offices, it was empty, but since I was already familiar with Jack Morrow’s presence — aura, whatever — the place practically buzzed. A bank of windows faced west. In the distance, I could see the harbor, and I wondered if Richard should have chosen to rent a boat slip there instead of on Grand Island. A wide slab of marble sat atop the long sill. I plunked my ass down. Morrow had sat there on many occasions, looking down on Franklin Street while he’d talked on the phone. Had he ever conversed with his killer from that vantage point? I reached into my pocket and extracted the billiards chalk, holding it tight in my right hand, but got no sense of Morrow.

Something flashed. I looked out the window, confused. It wasn’t even noon. The sun wouldn’t swing around until later in the afternoon.

The flash came again, and I realized it wasn’t physical light that had burst before my mind’s eye.

A bright, white light.

Light. Like in my out-of-body experience.

It freaked me, so much so that I dropped the chalk.

I bent to pick it up, and the light flashed again. But different this time — more a sparkle.

Great. Was I going to start having flashbacks — or were they flash forwards? — on a regular basis? I could crash my car if it happened while driving. Just what I needed.

I thought back to what Sophie had told me much earlier that morning.
What looks the most innocent could be the most dangerous. And what seems too dangerous to tackle, might be where you most need to concentrate your efforts.

I looked around the empty office. It seemed innocent enough. Well, depending on your point of view. Morrow had cheated thousands of people from this very room. Did that make the space as guilty as he’d been?

I looked out the office window and watched the traffic crawl along Franklin Street. For all the time we’d spent together these past few days, Sam and I hadn’t talked about the missing assets all that much. He’d mentioned stamps, or bank accounts in foreign countries, but I got the feeling Morrow, who had filled his home with artwork and other beautiful items, would have wanted to have his booty nearby so he could admire it.

Could he have accumulated gold coins? Outside of Fort Knox with its gold bars, did people keep gold ingots? Would Sam know? If not, I supposed a Google search would fill me in. Would I have time to do so before I had to drive Richard to pick up Brenda’s car?

“There you are,” Sam said.

I looked up to find the two of them standing in front of the open door.

“Here I am,” I agreed.

“I take it this was your father’s office?” Sam asked.

Harry nodded. “I came here to visit many times. We’d have lunch by the window. He said he didn’t have time to go out. He said his work was too important to waste on frivolous matters.”

Did that include spending time with his son?

“So how did he relax?” Sam asked.

“He took vacations with Bonnie — my stepmother — usually at the Cayman house. But he always took his work with him. All of his residences had fully functional offices. They entertained clients a lot back in the days when they all loved him. He’d take them to a variety of venues — some he owned and some he rented. It depended on the audience and how much he wanted to impress them.”

“You loved your father and miss him,” I guessed.

A blush colored the younger man’s cheeks. “Yes, I do. I never had a clue about his illegal business practices. To me he was just dad, and even though he wasn’t the best father in the world, he tried to carve out time for my sister and me. I think he wanted the best for us, and I know when his empire came crashing down he was ashamed for us — for how we might be judged for his actions.”

“Do you believe the feds have found all his assets?” Sam asked.

Harry shrugged. “Who knows? If they’re out there, I certainly don’t know about them, and neither does my sister,” he added pointedly.

I studied Harry’s expression. I didn’t get a psychic signature from him, but I believed him.

“We should get going,” I told Sam.

He nodded.

I left my perch and followed them back to the reception area. Harry locked up the office and the three of us headed for the elevator. “How ’bout those Bills?” Sam asked.

“My Dad had a box at the stadium,” Harry said wistfully. “That’s gone, too.”

“Jeff’s brother has season tickets. We might go to the game on Sunday, right Jeff?”

I ignored his second hint for the tickets.

The elevator brought us back to the lobby.

“Nice meeting you, Harry. Thanks for talking to us,” Sam said and shook his hand.

I did likewise, and once again got no sense of who this guy was. He gave us both a smile before he turned and headed for the exit. I made to follow when Sam’s voice stopped me.

“So what do you get from him?”

“Absolutely nothing. Why do you think he showed up instead of the real estate agent?”

“Probably to get a feel for how I’d portray his father. He’d prefer a sympathetic angle.”

“Can you blame him?”

Sam frowned. “Hang on a minute while I call the real estate agent. We have no clue if that guy actually was Morrow’s son or if he was blowing smoke up our asses.” He pulled out his phone and walked a few steps away. I moved to the big plate glass windows at the front of the lobby and looked for Harry Morrow. There weren’t many people on the sidewalk, but he was already out of sight.

Sam’s call didn’t take long, and he soon rejoined me. “He was the real thing,” he said, which I already knew. “Armstrong described him to a T. It just seems odd that he was so willing to talk.” He shook his head. “You said you got nothing from him?”

“Not a thing. But I’m also sure he wasn’t the one who held that billiards chalk when playing pool with Jack Morrow.”

“I asked him about it. He said he hates the game, but his father would snag anyone who came in the door — guests, friends, relatives — to play. Morrow liked to make it more interesting with a side wager — and he usually won.”

“Do you think the person who killed him was a disgruntled pool player?” I asked skeptically.

Sam shook his head. “But say the topic of hidden assets came up while they played. Did Morrow brag about how he’d outfoxed his creditors and the IRS? Everyone I’ve spoken to said the guy had a big personality, that he liked to brag. It wouldn’t be the first time a tall tale got a guy killed.”

“Maybe.”

“Did you learn anything from coming here today?” Sam asked, sounding a little desperate.

“What do you know about diamonds?”

“Diamonds?” he asked, his eye growing wide.

“I’m not saying I got anything solid, but when I was in Morrow’s office I got a couple of flashes of — ” It wasn’t really insight. “Of something. And when I thought about it, I thought of diamonds.”

“Hidden in the office somewhere?”

“No, definitely not. And I get the feeling they weren’t in his home, either. They’d be somewhere he considered safe, but he never got a chance to retrieve them, and I haven’t got a clue where that could be, either.”

“You’re not being all that helpful.”

I shrugged. “Sorry. It’s the best I can do. But maybe if we go to enough places I’ll soak up something else and figure it out.”

“I’m running out of ideas,” Sam admitted. He let out a long breath. “I’ll do some more digging and get back to you by Monday at the latest. That is, of course, unless you want to call me to join you at the game on Sunday.”

“Don’t push it,” I warned him.

He shrugged. “It isn’t sold out, so it won’t be on TV. You can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“What’s your next line of inquiry?” I asked.

“I’ll spend the weekend rereading my notes. I’ve got a hunch there’s something we’ve overlooked.”

“I’m the one who’s supposed to have hunches.”

“Then reconsider everything we’ve looked at. Maybe you’ll come up with something.”

“Okay. But right now I’ve got another errand to attend to.”

“Anything interesting?”

I shook my head. “Just something my brother needs help with.”

“Remember, I’m free all day Sunday if you want to contact me,” he said with another not-so-subtle hint for Richard’s Bills tickets.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

We headed for the exit.

“Later,” I called, and Sam gave me a wave before we separated. I had a lot to consider that weekend, but was determined to put Jack Morrow and his hidden assets at the bottom of my list. I was supposed to work on Sunday evening. I might be able to fudge an hour so and go to the game, but I hated to even mention the tickets that would probably go unused. Then again, Richard would probably rather see them used. I’d wait until Sunday morning to ask him about it.