Death Of A Dream Maker (40 page)

“And the Audi was set on fire later that night?”
Auntie Lil said. “To destroy any evidence?”

“You got it. Which is why I think Sabrina and Jake
were both in on it. Someone had to drive the Audi and someone had
to drive the pickup car that would get the driver back from Jones
Beach. The Audi was driven to Jones Beach, abandoned, and torched.
But heavy rain started soon after and slowed the fire. It was a
half-assed fire to begin with. Car gas tanks don't really explode
like in the movies. We're going over the Audi now, and I think
we'll find what we need.”

“What gun did Jake use to shoot Davy?” Auntie Lil
asked.

“Sabrina claims Jake stole Max's own gun from her
house. I figure she gave it to him, but I can't prove it without
making my only witness into a liar, so I'm swallowing her story. We
haven't found the gun. We probably never will. I suspect it went
over the side of one of the bridges out at Jones Beach. The widow's
word will have to do.”

“I found the empty storage pouch,” Auntie Lil
remembered. “In a drawer the night we searched Max's house.”

“I didn't hear that,” Abromowitz said.

“Who else in the family knew what had really happened
to Davy?” Auntie Lil asked.

“Jake's wife knew something was going on,” Abromowitz
said. “Because Jake asked her to lie about his whereabouts the
night Davy died. She agreed to say that she had been with him and
Sabrina, but as soon as we told her that the two of them were
playing footsies, she changed her story. She'll testify. I guess
she figures her husband is going down and now's the time to take
his money and run.”

“And when did Abby figure it all out?” Auntie Lil
asked.

“I don't know if Jake ever actually told his mother
or if she just put two and two together. But she knew enough to
want to protect Jake from punishment from the start. When you
started nosing around asking the family questions, visiting their
houses, she got frightened. That's why she pretended to be the
Benpensata woman. Her idea. And that's why she accompanied Jake to
the factory the night they attacked you. She knew what had happened
with Benpensata all those years ago. She always kept a close eye on
her husband's actual and attempted indiscretions, it seems,”
Abromowitz said. “Had a whole laundry list of transgressions. Who
knows which ones were real and which ones she imagined? She's not
in good shape right now.”

“Are you charging her with attempted murder?” Auntie
Lil asked. “It seemed to me that they meant business the night they
attacked me.”

“That's up to you.” Abromowitz paused. “We could. We
could even make it stick. You could testify, get your private eye
friend to chime in. And she'd do some time. But first we'd have to
prove she was capable of standing trial. She's under psychiatric
care right now. Like I said, she's not in good shape. What do you
want to do?”

Auntie Lil was quiet while she thought it over. If
only Max were alive to tell her what he wanted. No matter. She knew
what he would want her to do.

“Let it go,” Auntie Lil said. “Abby’s been punished
enough. She has no one left.”

“That's mostly her fault,” Abromowitz pointed out.
“She has a perfectly good son and daughter she's choosing to
ignore. I got kids myself and I could never do what she's done to
hers.”

“I know. But still—let it go.”

“All right,” Abromowitz agreed. “Your call. Makes it
easier for me anyway.”

“You've done a good job of piecing everything
together,” Auntie Lil said.

Abromowitz sighed. “Thanks to you. Getting that
family to talk was like trying to get a convention of clams to open
up. I owe you thanks for all of your help.”

“They're not going to win in estate court,” Auntie
Lil told him. “I'll fight them every step of the way.”

“You won't have to,” Abromowitz promised. “The
murders happened in New York State. You can't profit from your
crimes here. That's because we're supposed to be civilized. Jake
won't be able to inherit a dime from your friend Max, ever, and
this also gives you damn good ammunition to keep the widow at bay.
Without those two, the family will let it drop. We aren't charging
the widow, but that doesn't mean we can't give evidence in a civil
trial. If you need it, you've got it. I owe you big time.”

“Whatever for?” Auntie Lil asked.

Abromowitz hesitated. “Because I put your life in
danger.”

“The day the truck tried to run me over,” Auntie Lil
guessed.

“Yeah. It was kind of my fault. I was keeping the
family informed. Jake was the point man. I called him to calm them
down, you know, to let the family know that I was bringing you in
for questioning and that we were on top of the case. Rebecca was
making a lot of noise about it with the higher-ups within the
department. As soon as I told Jake you were coming in the next
morning, my guess is that he went to the fired shipping clerk who
had helped Davy with the V.J. Productions fraud and offered him a
lot of money to try to run you down. I'm sorry. I put your life in
direct danger.”

“You've already paid me back,” Auntie Lil said. “I
notice that there's no mention of Max's murder being solved in the
newspapers today.”

“That's right,” Abromowitz said. “I'm holding it back
for a couple of days. I'm saying I still have to tie up some loose
ends to be sure.”

“You're waiting for a less busy news day,” Auntie Lil
guessed. “So the story doesn’t buried and Max’s name is cleared
with the same enthusiasm with which it was smeared. It's very kind
of you.”

“Well, Miss Hubbert, Max seems like he was a pretty
good guy. And his name has been dragged through the mud. You were
right. He had nothing to do with organized crime or any of this
mess. I feel like he deserves a couple of headlines making that
fact very clear to the public. So I'm going to wait as long as I
can to make sure he gets better media play. Call it modern police
management.”

There was a sudden lump in Auntie Lil's throat and
she had to swallow hard before she could speak. “Thank you,” she
whispered to the lieutenant.

“No—
thank you,”
Abromowitz said. “I couldn't
get through the family wall of silence. You did. I misjudged you. I
apologize most sincerely for all of the trouble that we have had in
the past.”

She stared at the receiver. “Is this Lieutenant Manny
Abromowitz or an impostor?”

His deep laughter boomed over the line, startling
her. She had never heard him laugh before. “I misjudged you, too,”
Auntie Lil admitted. “Here's to the future as friends.”

Abromowitz groaned. “Please. Having you around is
like having a magnet for dead bodies being dropped in your lap. Do
me a favor. Take up knitting. Leave the investigating to us. And
next time you feel like badmouthing the NYPD, remember who called
to tell you thanks. I mean, have you heard anything from the
feds?”

Auntie Lil was silent.

“I didn't think so,” came the reply. “And that guy
owes you a lot more than thanks. Good-bye, Miss Hubbert, and good
luck.”

“Good-bye and good luck to you.” Auntie Lil replaced
the phone in its cradle and looked at T.S. “She's going to go
free,” she said. “Sabrina will walk away unscathed.”

“No, she won't,” T.S. promised. “We've got plenty of
money for lawyers. We'll see she doesn't get a dime from the
estate. And for her, that's a fate worse than death.”

The afternoon light was fading. They had reached
Casey and told her the details. She had been surprisingly
philosophical about Sabrina's immunity. At heart, Casey was a
realist. She agreed with T.S. that poverty was the perfect
punishment for Max's widow.

With a promise to call them soon, she had rung off
rather cheerfully. It appeared that Dr. Osle was not married after
all. He was divorced and wore a ring to fend off amorous patients.
It had been quite romantic, Casey explained to Auntie Lil. As he
was unwinding her head bandage earlier that morning, he had asked
her to dinner that night. Her headache had cleared
miraculously.

“She's a piece of work,” T.S. said when he heard the
news.

“I'm sure Dr. Osle takes vitamins,” Auntie Lil
answered enigmatically.

Unable to reach Herbert, they spent much of the
afternoon dealing with the question of Max Rose Fashions. If their
math was right, and neither Jake nor Sabrina could inherit any
shares, Auntie Lil now had enough equity between herself and a
cooperative Seth to control the future of the company. The first
thing she would suggest would be bringing back Karen Rosenbloom,
she decided, and then she’d let Karen and Thomas Brody decide what
to do next.

“That's the spirit. Delegate!” T.S. agreed with
enthusiastic conviction. “By god, it's a great solution.”

By late afternoon, they were still sitting in front
of his picture window watching the growing shadows of the nearby
skyscrapers creep across York Avenue. They had cheated the cocktail
hour by a good thirty minutes. Both sat holding glasses of Auntie
Lil's famous Bloody Marys.

Auntie Lil's mind wandered far from questions of
business and money. She had finally been set free. Knowing how Max
had died and why he had died had loosened the stalled memories. All
afternoon long they had bubbled to the surface, as vivid as a movie
before her. She had shared many of them with her nephew, and T.S.
had listened quietly, understanding her need to talk.

“But why did you leave him?” he finally asked, “If
you loved him so much?”

And he finally got his answer. “Because it was so
perfect, Theodore. So very, very perfect. I knew it could never
last.” She stared out into the gathering twilight. “By the time I
met Max, I was already independent. I had seen the world and I
wanted to see more. I wanted to be able to go where my feet and my
heart led me. I wanted to be me.”

“And if you'd stayed with him, you couldn't have done
that?”

She shook her head. “Max cast a long shadow. I would
always have been in that shadow. And as much as I loved him, it
wouldn't have been enough.” She sighed. “I think it would have
killed the very thing that was so fine between us if I had
stayed.”

“You left while the going was good.”

“That's putting it rather crudely, Theodore, but yes.
I left while I still had something to hold on to forever. I knew
that I would always love him—
always
love him. When it
happens to you, you will know. You can never know until then.” Her
eyes roamed over distant York Avenue. “I left when I did because
then I could have our love and myself, too. Staying would have
killed one or the other. I wasn't willing to pay that price.”

“I should have thought that awful family was reason
enough to run,” T.S. said.

“They weren't so very awful back then. Not really. I
don't know what happened to them. Was it the money? Too much time?
Not enough work? Getting old? Jealousy? I just don't know.” Auntie
Lil shook her head sadly. “You should have known them when they
were young. Abby was always a silly girl, but plump and pretty and
full of fun. The last person dancing at every party. And Abe
competed with Max, but the hate wasn't there yet. The adoration
was. Rebecca was always sharp-tongued, but what strength of
character she had. She cared for their parents, you know, until the
day they died. She had no life so that the others could live.”
Auntie Lil sighed. “The older I get, Theodore, the less I
understand this world. I should have thought it would be the other
way around.”

Her apartment seemed oddly cold. She had abandoned it
for several days while she stayed at Theodore's, not wanting to be
alone. But now, dear Theodore was making plans to pick up Lilah
from the airport and practicing his crème brûlée recipe. Auntie Lil
did not want to interfere. Let him enjoy the anticipation. Theodore
and Lilah were just beginning their time together. They had a
future stretching out before them.

And she was alone.

But no matter. She had the past.

Auntie Lil opened the photo album and ran her fingers
over the black-and-white images contained inside. There was Max at
the nightclub. Max at Coney Island. Max in the desert.

Max in the desert.
The memory stabbed through
her heart like a spear. What she would give to see his face again,
to hear his voice, to hold his hand. If only she had been given the
chance to sit down across from him one more time before he died, to
feel the force that had been her Max.

The phone rang. She resented the modern intrusion on
her faraway thoughts. Still, it might be Herbert. He deserved to
know what had happened.

“Yes?” she said quietly, one hand still turning the
pages of the photo album.

“Miss Hubbert?” a voice said through static din.
“I've been trying to call you all day.”

“Who is this?” she demanded. “I can hardly hear
you.”

The connection cleared. “It's Frank O'Conner.”

“And you're calling from your car phone?”

“You got it. Will you be home for an hour or so? I
have something to give you.”

He arrived a half hour later—with nothing in his
hands.

“It must be mighty small,” Auntie Lil said, ushering
him into the living room.

“Well, I suppose I ought to first give you my
thanks,” the special agent said. “And that's pretty big. You don't
know what a good thing you've done. I think your friend Max would
have been pretty proud.”

“He never had much use for people like Joseph
Galvano,” Auntie Lil agreed. “I'm happy to have helped you out, but
it is you who have done a good thing.”

He ducked his head shyly and, despite his ruddy
beard, looked very much like a boy. He thrust his hands in his
pockets.

“What is it?” she asked. “Do you want me or Herbert
to testify?”

“No. We're keeping you out of it. There's no need.
Frankie Five Alarm will bury them all. You won't have to worry
about Galvano anymore. No one will.”