The Heir Hunter (19 page)

His cell phone rang, and he seriously considered not answering. But he had to talk to Alex about it eventually.

“He signed, Nick! We’ve got a client!”

“He . . . did?” asked Nick, dropping the magazine between his feet.

“Thirty percent. He loved me! Thanked me a hundred times. He was a great guy.”

“He signed,” muttered Nick.

“What about you? You sign Jessica yet?”

He paused and took a deep breath. “There was a problem, Alex. She wouldn’t play ball. Things went okay but she decided she needed to think it over.”

“Oh God,” she said, her voice thick with disgust. “I can’t believe it. What was her problem?”

“I don’t know. It was tough to get a feel for her, Alex. I really have no clue which way she’ll go.”

“Probably try to cheat us. Attorneys! What did I tell you? I knew she’d analyze it to death.”

“You were right. She basically guessed that it was coming from her uncle. She’ll never be able to trace it to Gerald Jacobs, though. Unless she goes to Matt Von Rohr.”

“We’re safe there. Matt said he wouldn’t tell her, and I believe him. Did you tell her how much the estate is worth?”

“I tried to, but she was in a rush and pretty much shuffled me out the door.”

“Oh my God,” she said. “Everything we’ve put ourselves through and she doesn’t want to sign? This is
unbelievable.”

“Not much we can do about it now. I’ll have to come up with another approach later.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Hell with it—tell me about the brother. I thought for sure you’d have the same problem.”

“Not at all, Nick—he was great. Just a regular working stiff, engaged to be married. He was overjoyed. He seemed fairly certain that his sister would sign. He also said his brother Tim was in the Navy in San Diego seventeen years ago.”

“What kind of reaction did he have when you told him it was coming from his uncle?”

“Reaction? He was
toasting
the old geezer. Laughing about it. He said he never knew anything about him and never wanted to either.”

“You’ve got the contract with you?”

“No, I left it by the side of the road—of course I’ve got the contract, silly man.”

“Where are you right now?”

“Highway 80, approaching SF.”

“Drop that contract off at Doug’s office before you go to the airport. I want to wrap Matt Von Rohr’s third up quickly. The deeper we get into this, the harder it’ll be for the FBI to pull us out.”

“Are you going to call them?”

“I think I better. I can’t blow ’em off anymore. By the
way, I’m flying straight back to San Francisco. I have some military contacts in SF I can contact to get the search going on Tim.”

“Should I wait here for you or . . .?”

“There’s no need to, Alex. Get back home and I’ll call you in a day.”

“You better. Hey, I think this calls for a name change.”

“Huh?”

“A name change.
Merchant and Associates
sounds so stiff and boring. How about
Merchant and Moreno?
”

“Whatever you say, girl.”

A
T THE MAIN
office of heir-finding giant General Inquiry, the 8
P.M.
chime of the clock barely caused a ripple among the busily working investigators. Two secretaries were dispatched to the deli for take-out dinners and sodas, but most scurried about their desks while trying to make themselves useful and inconspicuous. The talk of the day had been the Henry Orville Roque estate. Jerry Acosta was lead investigator, and he had already utilized the skills of half a dozen colleagues in his search for heirs. Progress was slow and tempers short, as little had been gathered on the decedent, a friendless World War II veteran who had died in tiny Amador County. The classic loner, a completely unremarkable man with nothing to his name but a single bank account holding $380,000. Death had made Mr. Roque suddenly quite popular. Everyone in the building knew his name now.

The two employees in the firm not concerned with Henry Roque were behind closed doors. President Lawrence Castleton knew his second-in-command well enough to know by his expression that something had gone horribly wrong.

“Merchant filed papers.”

In a single swift movement, Castleton took the glass paperweight from his desk and hurled it against the wall.
Borg didn’t flinch. Violence wasn’t unexpected. Depression would surely follow.

“Sonofabitch!
How? How did he do it?”

“He’s only got one, Lawrence. We can get the other two.”

A light knocking came from outside.

“Go away!” shouted Castleton, on his feet now. He rubbed his great bowling-ball head and looked disconsolate. “How could we get beaten, Richard? Have we slipped this much? Why wasn’t Merchant called off? The FBI said they were going to contact him—why didn’t they!”

“They probably did. We never thought he would drop it, remember?”

Castleton fell to his couch and fanned himself. His head was beaming red and looked like a giant swollen beet. “Who are the heirs?”

“Two nephews and a niece. Merchant’s only got one of them. The sister refused to sign and the other brother’s missing—”

“So why are we sitting here talking about it?”

“I’ve got people working on it right now.”

“Why am I the last to know?” Castleton demanded.

“Because if I came to you first, you would’ve screamed at me for not getting our people moving quickly enough.”

Castleton looked stricken as he mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. Borg hoped his heart could take it. The thought of having to perform mouth-to-mouth wasn’t pleasant.

“Why wouldn’t the woman sign?”

Borg shrugged. “Don’t know. All their filing says was that she was contacted.”

“We have an address?”

“Des Moines. Lake’s on the way.”

“I want him to talk to me before he makes the approach.” The president’s composure was slowly returning. “What about this other brother?”

“The file says he’s missing. Neither sibling has seen him
in years. We’ve got nothing so far, but the wheels are turning. We know he’s got a criminal record. A real loser. We may be looking at a street person or a possible incarceration. I’ve got our Prison Bureau people moving, but it’ll take a while.”

Castleton grasped his head again. “How could this happen? Head-to-head and we lose?
To Merchant?
I used to wipe up the floor with his father.”

“It’s not over yet.”

“How much did he get?”

“Thirty.”

The old man slid down the leather upholstery until he was on his back. Borg was certain another outburst would trigger a coronary.

“We’ll get forty,” said Borg. “From both of them.”

“Merchant’s still out there. What if he finds the brother too?”

“I doubt that, Lawrence. He wouldn’t have filed papers and given us the names if he thought he had a chance.”

“The other companies will be in on it now.”

Borg shook his head. “They won’t have any reason to jump on it. There were no cash amounts given in the filing. By the time somebody else bothers to investigate, we’ll have it wrapped up.”

Castleton bolted to his feet quickly. Borg marveled at this sight. This was easily three hundred pounds in motion.

“You said Lake’s en route to Des Moines?”

“Right.”

“Where’s Risso?”

“Here. I was about to reassign him.”

“Well, don’t. I’ve got something for him. He’s going to San Francisco.”

“San Francisco? For what?”

“Something I should have done a long time ago. We’re done playing around.”

Doug insisted on a celebration, and Nick didn’t have the energy to fight him. His attorney took Highway 101 from the airport straight to the city. He passed through South of Market and crossed Market, then up Van Ness to Sutter. The table was reserved at Burris’ Steakhouse, a swanky, dimly lit landmark that catered to the important few who felt the need to order beef at thirty-two dollars a slab.

Nick pulled his tie a bit looser and squinted around the restaurant. A dignified looking older man in a tux was tapping out a forties tune on a piano in the corner. The large round table next to theirs was filled with a mix of drunk Japanese and Americans in suits. Nick wondered what kind of deal was being finalized over the steaks and creamed spinach.

Doug finished the remainder of his second rum and Coke and hung an arm over the leather backing of the booth. His smile had been a fixture.

“Get used to places like this, buddy. Your life’s just taken a sweet turn.”

“Nice. Very romantic. But if you pull out a ring, I’m gone.”

“You notice some of the women walking around this place? Man, if I were still single . . .”

“Never stopped you before,” said Nick, looking around. A stunning young blonde had just settled into a booth fifteen feet away. In the half-light, she looked familiar.

“Take a look over your left shoulder when you get a chance, Doug. Don’t make it obvious.”

Doug nodded and rubbed the back of his neck. He turned after a few seconds and did his best leer. The blonde caught it and gave a little head toss.

“Jesus. Can we switch seats?”

“No chance,” said Nick, motioning the waiter over.

“Another Beck’s for me and a rum and Coke for him.” The waiter bowed and left.

“Oh, before I forget,” said Doug. “I need that Dawson contract from you.”

“Fiftieth time you’ve told me.”

“Usually takes that many times to get your attention.”

“It’ll be at your office tomorrow morning. Rose is going by my place to pick it up.”

“She’s got your apartment key now?”

“She checks my fax and mail when I’m away. Even does my laundry occasionally.”

“You serious?”

“Not about the laundry part.” Nick gave the girl another look. “I know who that blonde reminds me of. She looks just like Jessica Von Rohr.”

“That good?”

“Real close. Christie Brinkley in running shorts. Kind of short, though.”

Doug snorted. “Too bad she was such a little bitch.”

“She
was
kind of uptight. But real sharp. I barely had to explain anything to her.”

“Well, there’s the problem,” grumbled Doug. “Stupid fool thinks she knows everything. She’s probably planning on backdooring us.”

Nick shrugged and stared at the candle between them. “Who knows. Something else is bugging me, Doug. She knew something about Jacobs. I could tell. Man, I’d pay a thousand bucks just to know what was going through her head.”

“You just paid a couple million. How hard did you push the contract?”

“As hard as always. I thought it was in the bag, but she was being a real hardass.”

“She get mad at you?”

“No, it wasn’t like that. She was calm but very adamant. She just was
not
going to sign.”

“She’s cheating us, Nick. Just you watch.”

“She may try. We’ve got no control over that, though. I just wish I knew what the story was with her uncle.”

Doug shook his head and reached for his drink. “All you need to know is we’re out about two million bucks if she doesn’t sign. Who cares who her uncle was?”

Nick leaned back and watched the pianist go to work on the keys. “There may be some family skeletons there. Could be something pretty ugly, like an abusive past or something. Remember the Harrison case? That woman told my father to get lost for a quarter million dollars. Later on we found out the dead guy had molested her when she was a kid.”

“Quarter million’s a quarter million,” said Doug. “This is twenty-two mil, buddy. Why’d we have to get a flaky heir for
this
case?”

Nick shrugged. “What I plan to do is give her a little time, let it cool off a bit, and then maybe visit her again. Hell, we’ll lower our fee to maybe fifteen or twenty percent. If she doesn’t go for that, we’ll just have to write it off. As long as we’ve got her brother, I won’t really care. It’s still a dream case. Think about how lucky we are, man. A multi-million-dollar estate with no heirs hovering around? It’s
unheard
of.”

The waiter returned with the drinks and asked if they were ready to order. Doug chose the lobster; Nick, the pepper steak.

“I think it was a mistake filing the papers so quick,” said Doug. “Everybody and their mother will be out looking for this brother now.”

“He’ll be a tough find. I’ve already run his name through a dozen databases and gotten nothing. I mean zero. The guy may be dead.”

“I still think we should have waited a day or two.”

“I want to see this done, Doug. We still have the FBI to contend with. Which reminds me, I need to call them
first thing in the morning. They can’t tell us to back off if we’ve got our client already going through probate court.”

“Yeah, you hope not.”

The front bar was a bustle of happy businessmen and businesswomen. Coats were off and ties were loosened. One man sat by himself and ignored the revelry. He would not be eating, and he was not waiting for a dinner guest.

Regnier lifted his glass of wine. Red, always. He let the wine stand in his mouth before swallowing. He gave the booth a careful, casual look. The investigator and his attorney were getting drunk and foolish, and this was perfect. They had just ordered and would be in the restaurant for at least another hour. This would be plenty of time. His cohorts wouldn’t need that long to finish their work. He, meanwhile, would indulge himself in another glass. The bartender responded to his nod and brought a full glass over.