Leader of the Pack (Andy Carpenter) (8 page)

“Why?”

“Because the information about them is all bullshit. Those people do not exist, at least not as they are listed. Names, addresses, phone numbers, next of kin … all fake.”

“And that’s not true of all the other company employees?”

“All the others are legit. Only Callahan’s crew was bogus.”

I have no idea what all this means, but I know enough to think it’s very significant.

“Where did you get the information?”

“You really want to know?”

Sam is protecting me because the hacking he does is for the most part illegal. Since he’s doing it for me, I decline the protection. “I really want to know.”

“The computers at a company called Capital Equity; they bought Solarno’s company about a year before he died.”

I nod. “It’s owned by Edward Young.”

“Right,” Sam says. “It was company policy to have the employee information, but I don’t think they’ve accessed it since. They might not even know they have it. It’s an investment firm; it’s not like they have a big HR department, or schedule alumni reunions.”

“By the way, did you find out who Alex Solarno called after I left his house?”

He nods. “I’ve got the name and number, but I’m still checking it out. Won’t be long now.”

“Great work, Sam. You can take me through the information when we get back. I want Laurie to see it as well.”

“Are we going to be getting back soon? My face is frozen.”

“Afraid not, we haven’t even stopped for our bagels yet.” Tara and I always loop around to a bagel place on Broadway. We sit outside, in all but the absolute worst weather, and Tara graciously accepts petting from passersby as we munch.

“Any chance of getting the bagels to go?” Sam asks.

“Zero. But I’m buying.”

He nods. “Then I’ll have an onion bagel, with cream cheese. And a hot chocolate. A very hot chocolate.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Robby Divine really came through. Within three hours of my calling Edward Young, I’m in his office at Capital Equity, on Fifty-first and Sixth. The offices themselves are so modern I think they must be updated every couple of weeks, and I have a hunch cost does not come up in discussions about furnishing and decorating the place. There are paintings on the wall that could feed Third World countries.

I’m brought into Young’s office within five minutes of my arrival. Robby Divine’s mode of dress apparently isn’t standard issue among billionaires, because Young is wearing a suit and tie, though his jacket is draped over his chair.

His office is as modern as the rest of the place. The art on the wall is no doubt nouveau-something, except for the signed Bob Gibson Cardinals jersey, which is framed and proudly hung behind his desk.

I’ve done some research into Young, so I basically know where he’s from, where he went to school, what companies he runs, and where they’re located. Since the companies are privately owned, they don’t have to file financial reports, so the actual amount of his holdings is unknown. But suffice it to say that his career has been a very impressive one, and has obviously paid off.

He’s at least fifteen years Robby’s senior, which probably puts him in his early fifties, and he has a relaxed air about him, smiling as he comes over to greet me. “Andy, Edward Young, nice to meet you.”

“Thanks for seeing me.”

He laughs. “I didn’t have any choice. I lost to Robby last week at golf. We play for favors, and he called this one in.”

That makes sense to me. Betting money wouldn’t make it interesting, not for guys this wealthy. “But it snowed last week.”

He smiles. “Not in Cabo.”

“He says you cheat.”

“He’s right about that. But this time I lost by so much that cheating wouldn’t have done any good. What can I do for you?”

“I’m investigating a case involving Solarno Shrimp Corporation.”

“The murder? Didn’t they put someone away for that years ago?”

I nod. “My client. But he’s innocent.”

“Aren’t they all.” It wasn’t a question, but rather a cynical comment.

“Some aren’t, but this one is. What made you buy the company?”

He frowns. “Temporary insanity. There’s a fairly short list of bad business decisions I’ve made. That one would be near the top of the list had it been a more expensive purchase.”

“How much did you pay?”

“Seventeen point five million.”

“Your memory is precise,” I say.

“Mistakes stay with me longer than successes. My advisers studied the company and said it was undervalued at the price, because the owner of the company was in need of cash.”

“Did they say why?”

He shakes his head. “Not that I can recall.”

“You only ran the company for eighteen months.”

He smiles. “Is that a question?”

“Sorry, let me rephrase. How come you only ran the company for eighteen months?”

“A combination of factors. Once Solarno died, I had no one to run it. I could have found someone, but the company was not what I thought it was.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning it started bleeding cash.”

“Was there anything about Solarno that concerned you?”

He frowns. “That’s a broad question, Andy. When I take on a company, I hire good people to run it, I pay them very well, they give me their best advice, and I make the major decisions. If those decisions are consistently wrong, and they cost me money, I get rid of them.”

“You make the decisions but get rid of them?” I ask.

He nods, and smiles. “It was their advice. Besides, who am I going to fire? Me? Anyway, buying the company was a mistake, and keeping Solarno on compounded it. I didn’t realize the depth of the problem until he was gone, and by then it was fiscally responsible to shut down the operation.”

“Do you keep records of all the employees?”

He shrugs. “Probably somewhere. Maybe in a warehouse, or on some computer.”

“Do these names mean anything to you?” I take out the list of five names that Sam had given me, and read them aloud.

He shakes his head. “Afraid not. Who are they?”

“They all worked on one of Solarno’s boats. Run out of Portsmouth, New Hampshire.”

“So?”

“So the guy they worked for was the victim of a hit-and-run about a month after you closed the company.”

He frowns. “Sorry to hear that. What about the other five?”

“They all had fake identities, and can’t be traced.”

“Whoa,” he says, obviously surprised. “I don’t like the sound of that. Are you saying there were some kind of criminal activities going on? Maybe including a hit-and-run murder?”

I nod. “It’s definitely a possibility. Maybe more than one murder.”

He thinks about this for a few moments, shaking his head. “I said that buying that company was near the top of the list of bad decisions I’ve made. It is now the permanent champion.”

I smile. “And we’re just getting started.”

He sighs, apparently resigned to his inadvertent involvement in this.

“So where is it going?”

“I think Solarno was smuggling arms into the country, and he was doing it through that ship. And he was doing it with handpicked people, who didn’t want to be identified, and melted away when they were done.”

“So who killed Solarno, and maybe the hit-and-run guy? Those five people?”

“I don’t know yet. But you can bet I’ll find out.”

“You ready for bed?” Laurie asks. It is a question I simply never get tired of hearing, and on the list of questions I root for every day, it ranks just above “What will you do with your lottery winnings?”

“I’ll race you to the bedroom,” I say.

“You think you’re going to get lucky?”

“Hey, babe, there’s no luck involved.”

She smiles and takes my hand, leading me toward the stairs. “We don’t need to race. We can take it slow.”

I’m about to reply with some banter, but force myself to be quiet. The only way I can blow this is by saying something stupid, so I clench my teeth as hard as I can, to prevent my mouth from opening. Then I say, “Mmmm,” because that’s all I can manage.

We go upstairs, and as we approach the bed, the phone rings. “Don’t get it,” I say. “People shouldn’t be calling at this hour.”

“It’s nine-thirty,” she points out.

“East Coast time,” I counter, seeking refuge in a non sequitur. “In France it’s four o’clock in the morning.”

Laurie doesn’t seem moved by this logic, and she answers the phone with “Hello?”

“Get to the point,” I say, but she’s not listening.

Laurie engages in some more chitchat, then says, “Hold on, he’s right here.”

She hands me the phone, and it turns out to be Cindy. “I’ve got some information for you,” she says.

“Can I call you back in the morning?” I ask.

“I need to make an appointment to do you a favor?”

“I’m a high-powered attorney,” I say. “My calendar is booked solid.”

“OK. How about a year from Thursday?”

“Actually, I just had a cancellation. So now works.”

“Good,” she says. “And just so we’re clear, if you reveal where you got this information, your life will have a cancellation.”

“You’re a cold woman.”

“It’s part of my charm. Homeland Security was investigating Richard Solarno around the time that he was killed.”

Laurie is undressed and under the covers already, so I want to move this along, but what Cindy is saying is crucial. They didn’t cover this dilemma in law school.

“For arms dealing?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t they intervene at Joey’s trial?”

“Come on, Andy. Trial intervening is not their specialty, you know that. And there was nothing to indicate that the murders were related to anything they were investigating.”

“What specifically did they think he was doing?”

“Using at least one of his fishing boats to bring in mostly small arms, and possibly shoulder-fired missiles.”

“Did they know where it was going?” I ask.

“Montana. And probably elsewhere.”

“Militia?”

“Land of the free, home of the brave. Montana State Police could be your source on the other end. If you call my office in the morning, I’ll give you a contact name there.”

Laurie seems to be about to doze off, inducing a wave of panic in me. But I need to finish talking to Cindy.

“Can I use this?”

“Make an application through Freedom of Information. You’ll get it. In the meantime, you can use it.”

“This is great, Cindy. Thanks. Gotta go.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let me talk to Laurie.”

“
LAURIE
?” I scream it into the phone, hoping it will wake Laurie up from the beginnings of sleep. “Laurie took Tara for a walk.”

“Andy,” Cindy says, “you’ve got mental problems.”

It didn’t work; Laurie is asleep. “Mental problems are the least of it,” I say, before hanging up.

Now my dilemma is how to wake Laurie up without making it look like I’m intentionally doing so. It’s got to be handled with some subtlety.

I pretend to stub my toe on the foot of the bed, and I scream in pain. Torture victims have screamed less loudly than I do, and when that doesn’t work, I do it again. She doesn’t wake up, but neighbors up and down the street are probably calling 911.

I scream again, figuring if she hasn’t woken up yet, then as far as she knows, it’s the initial scream. Her eyes finally open, and she looks at me. “Why are you pretending to be in pain?” she asks.

“So you’ll wake up.”

“A gentle, loving nudge would have done the trick.”

I nod. “I’ll try that next time. I’m going to Montana.”

“Tonight?”

“No.”

“Then get into bed,” she says, raising one side of the covers so I can do so.

“If you insist,” I say.

I decide to call Edna in to work. I break the news to her over the phone.

“You’ve got a client?” she asks, the surprise evident in her voice.

“We’ve got a client” is how I correct her.

“Who?”

“Joey Desimone.”

“Again?”

She agrees to come in this morning, not a major concession since she has to pick up her check anyway. But I’m going to need Edna to woman the phones and coordinate communication among the team members while I’m in Montana.

I’ve called a meeting of the team, such as it is, this morning. It includes Sam, Edna, Laurie, Hike, Willie Miller, and myself. As teams go, it’s not exactly the ’27 Yankees, but we get the job done.

Willie, my former client and partner in the Tara Foundation, our dog rescue operation, is almost as rich as I am, since we won a big civil case after he was wrongly imprisoned for seven years. So he and his wife, Sondra, work at the foundation full-time, while I just show up when I can. I feel guilty about it, but not as a result of anything they say or do. For them it’s a labor of love. I feel the same way, except for the labor part.

Willie likes to be involved in our investigations whenever he can, I think primarily because he feels protective of me. As protectors go, he’s pretty good at it, holding a black belt in karate and a fearlessness that’s a perfect complement to my fearfulness.

Before the meeting starts, Sam comes over to me and tells me that the name of the person Alex Solarno called after I left his home was Richard Atkins. It was his cell phone.

“But he’s a fake also, Andy. The name and address he gave the phone company aren’t real. But I’m still working on it.”

Rather than being upset by the information, I’m heartened. It confirms my belief that Solarno was worried about me, and that he has something to hide. It also reinforces my general belief that we’re on the right track.

I start updating everyone on where we stand with the case when the door opens and Marcus Clark comes in. Rooms always become instantly quiet when Marcus enters; everything stops, including breathing.

Marcus is a talented investigator I sometimes use as a bodyguard when Marine battalions aren’t available. He barely talks, never smiles to anyone other than Laurie, and is willing to inflict pain and death with no apparent conscience.

He’s not a guy you’d hire to entertain at your son’s bar mitzvah.

Suffice it to say I’m glad he’s on our side, though I have no idea what he’s doing here today.