The Last Word (26 page)

“Are you and Dad okay?”

“Yes, dear. We’re fine.”

“Are you still thinking about selling the house?”

“You’ve always known this, Isabel. We’ve never made much with the business. The house
is the only thing we have of value.”

“Should I be more worried than usual?”

“Yes, Isabel.” Mom said. “You’re thirty-five, single, you live in a dump, your hair
looks like shit, and your little sister knows more about running the business you
own than you do. You should most definitely worry.”

“That was a little harsh, Mom.”

Mom kissed me on the cheek.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just been a long day.”

“It’s eleven
A.M
.”

The doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” Mom said.

Mom returned to the kitchen with Agent Bledsoe.

“This gentleman, Carl, says he’s here to see you.”

I didn’t overhear what introductions were made at the door, so I fished for a cue.

“Carl, I knew I was forgetting something. Lunch, right?”

“We’ll take my car, if that’s all right?” Carl said.

“Yes. Your car is fine. Bye, Mom. See you later.”

“Carl, can you give me a moment?” my mom said, holding me back.

“I’ll wait outside,” Carl said.

“I’m glad you’re making new friends,” Mom said. “It would be so much nicer if they
weren’t married.”

•  •  •

I’d learned my lesson. The second I got into Agent Bledsoe’s car, I lawyered up and
called Maggie; she got an extension on her armed robbery case and met us at the federal
building.

“Did you say anything?” Maggie sternly asked when she arrived.

“She wouldn’t even chat about the weather,” Agent Bledsoe interjected.

“Good. If you look at the evidence, it’s obvious that Isabel is being framed. Until
you find out who owns GLD Inc. and where the bulk of that money is going, you have
no idea who the real embezzler is. My client is happy to write a check now and put
it in a trust. Or freeze the account to prevent any more wire transfers. You have
our full cooperation as long as I understand that this isn’t a witch hunt on my client.”

“Thank you,” Agent Bledsoe said. “May I ask your client a question unrelated to the
financial issues?”

“Ask and I’ll let her know if she can answer.”

“What do you think happened to your boss last night?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“You didn’t hear?”

“Hear what?”

“Edward Slayter was found wandering around Lake Merced at three
A.M.
last night in his pajamas. He’s being held on a 5150 at the county hospital.”

I got to my feet and turned to Maggie. “I have to go. Now.”

As we left, Agent Bledsoe said, “Don’t take any vacations, Isabel.”

“I never do.”

•  •  •

Maggie dropped me at the house, so I could get my car. I phoned Ethan on our way because,
as Edward’s closest living relative, he would be able to get information from the
hospital. He returned my phone call ten minutes later.

“The only way we can get Edward out of the psych hold,” said Ethan, “is
with the support of his physician. No one seems to have this information. Can you
help?”

“I have it.”

“Call him and then if you would be so kind as to pick me up at my apartment.”

•  •  •

Ethan and I arrived at the hospital and were referred to the row of plastic chairs
in bondage against the wall. I poured a cup of coffee that had no business calling
itself that and waited impatiently for Dr. Lorberg, Slayter’s personal physician,
to arrive.

Ethan played the role of concerned brother with aplomb. He ranted at the nurse at
the front desk. He threatened legal recourse. He made a phone call to an attorney
friend. He demanded to see the supervising physician. Then Ethan turned to me.

“You know something,” he said.

“I know as much as you know.”

“What is it between the two of you?”

“He trusts me.”

“Why?”

“I got that kind of face, I guess.”

“I don’t know if I trust you,” Ethan said.

“I don’t know if I trust you either.”

Dr. Lorberg arrived and spoke to the woman at the front desk. The door to the psych
ward buzzed and Dr. Lorberg disappeared behind it. Two long hours later, he returned
with Slayter, who was wearing a torn oxford shirt and wrinkled trousers in a wool-silk
blend. He had a twelve o’clock shadow and his eyes had the hollow look of someone
who’d just seen a ghost.

Ethan rushed to his brother’s side and gave him a warm embrace. It was a believable
gesture if you were in the mood to believe things. Ethan then turned to Dr. Lorberg
and asked for medical instructions.

“Make sure he drinks plenty of fluids, has a good meal, and gets some rest.”

While Lorberg was debriefing Ethan, Edward pulled me aside.

“Who is doing this to me?” he asked.

“I promise I’ll find out.”

“It’s not the disease.”

“I know,” I said.

“How do I look?” Edward then asked. Slayter’s vanity can take hold at the oddest moments.
He looks good for his age. Although I’ve learned to leave out the last three words.

“You look okay,” I said. “More like a painter than a wealthy business mogul.”

“I can live with that.”

“But you smell awful.”

Slayter shook his physician’s hand and thanked him profusely. Lorberg said he would
drop by Slayter’s house in the morning to check on him.

•  •  •

Ethan, Edward, and I drove to Slayter’s house. I knew I couldn’t leave my boss alone
with his brother, so I texted Charlie from the hospital and told him to be at Edward’s
place when we arrived.

Charlie had a pot of tea and a plate of cookies on the coffee table when we came inside.

“Can I offer you some tea, Edward?” Charlie asked.

“No, thank you,” Edward said.

Charlie looked disappointed.

“I’ll take some,” I said.

“Milk and sugar?”

“Why not?”

“One lump or two?”

“Three.”

“Excuse me,” Edward said. “I’ve been told I need a shower.”

I followed my boss down the hallway and broke the news.

“While you were in a padded cell, I was picked up by Agent Bledsoe again. Someone
is trying to make you look bad by trying to make me look bad.”

“Maybe it is time to retire.”

“I think I’m too young to retire.”

I guess that wasn’t a time for bad jokes.
²
Edward stared blankly at me.

“You are not giving up,” I said. “Just get some rest. I’ll get Ethan out of here and
we’ll come up with a plan in the morning.”

While Edward was in the shower I checked Edward’s bar and collected every bottle of
brown liquor (Edward doesn’t drink gin or vodka) in a box.

“What are you doing?” Ethan asked.

“I’m having a party,” I said. When Ethan continued to gawk at me, I continued. “He
was drugged. I don’t know how, but any open bottle is suspect.”

“I think I should stay,” Ethan said.

I couldn’t leave Ethan alone with his brother, but I also knew that I was not the
one to persuade Ethan to go home.

We drank tea and waited for Edward to come out of the shower.

“Ethan wants to stay,” I said.

“Ethan, go home. Charlie and I will be fine. I need some quiet after my evening in
the cuckoo’s nest. Let Isabel drive you home. I insist,” Edward said.

He then took his brother by the shoulder and marched him to the front door.

“Call if you need anything,” Ethan said.

“I will,” Edward replied.

Before I left I whispered in Charlie’s ear, “Order Chinese food. I think he’ll eat
the soup, and don’t answer the door for anyone.”

“Except the Chinese food delivery guy, right?”

“Right.”

1
. Later I learned that IRA deadline is April. When it comes to fiscal matters, it’s
really easy to pull the wool over my eyes, it seems.

2
. When is a good time is the question, because I’ve got a lot stored up.

I
t had been an exhausting morning; Ethan and I didn’t speak on the drive home. The
USB voice-activated recorder was still under a wadded-up tissue in the change pocket
of the door. If it was Ethan who planted it there, he’d have to swipe it at some point.
I kept checking him out of the corner of my eye.

That’s when I noticed Ethan checking his side-view mirror, and then I noticed the
tail. We were being followed by a silver Toyota Prius. It’s a good choice for surveillance
in San Francisco and whoever was driving knew what he or she was doing.

I changed lanes on Gough and made a right turn on Geary. I stayed in the center lane
and then swung over to the left lane, cutting off a sluggish pickup truck, and made
a left turn onto Van Ness. The Prius got stuck at the light.

“What the hell was that?” Ethan asked.

“We were being followed.”

“That maneuver was unnecessary.”

“I lost the guy, didn’t I?”

“You could have caused an accident. Drive like that on your own time.”

“Yes, sir.”

I followed the basic laws of traffic the rest of the way to Ethan’s apartment. In
the distance I could see the Prius resuming the tail. Ethan noted this fact and calmly
watched the car through the mirror. I pulled up in front of his apartment.

“As always,” Ethan said, “a pleasure.”

Ethan got out of the car and entered the building. I pulled around the corner and
checked for the USB device. Still there. It was then that I spotted the Prius again.
The driver parked the car in an illegal parking spot that also had a visual on the
building. Thirty minutes later, neither Ethan nor his tail had budged. I circled the
block to be sure that the car wasn’t following me and returned to the same spot to
see the Prius in place. I parked at a meter and casually walked over to the compact
fuel-efficient vehicle.

A large man in a short-sleeved button-down shirt and sunglasses, with the gut of a
man who sits in a car all day, was at the wheel. He didn’t notice me until I knocked
on his window.

“Well hello there, pretty lady. I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

“Who are you?”

“My friends call me Jimmy.”

“What do you want me to call you?”

“You can call me Jimmy too. And you’re Isabel.”

“How do you know my name?”

“I have friends.”

“You got it from my license plate?”

“Yep.”

“Ex-cop?”

“You’re a sharp one.”

“Why are you following Ethan?”

“I want to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. Men in his situation get desperate.”

“What do you think he’s going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Jimmy said, “leave the country, maybe.”

“Would that be so bad?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jimmy said. “That would be really bad. I’d be out ninety thousand bucks.”

“This is what I don’t understand. Why do you boneheads keep playing poker with somebody
if you know they don’t have the money to pay you back?”

“Lady, I’m a bail bondsman. Jonesy here has three more weeks to get his affairs in
order. After that he’s doing a ten-year stint in Lompoc.”

•  •  •

Ten minutes later I knocked on Ethan’s door.

“I was about to draw a bath,” he said impatiently.

“That sounds like a good idea. You should take as many baths as possible while you
have the chance.”

“Excuse me?”

“Invite me in for a minute.”

Ethan backed away from the door. I entered the tastefully gender-specific apartment.
I’ve discovered there’s an exact measurement of television size that can inform you
whether the dwelling is inhabited by a man or a woman without any other evidence.
Unfortunately, as flat-screen televisions become more economically friendly, that
number grows, and I must admit to being lax in updating my graph.
¹

I sat down on Ethan’s couch across from a forty-six-inch flat-screen LCD that was
mounted to the wall.

“What can I do you for, Isabel?”

“What is the nature of this San Francisco visit? Are you really thinking about buying
a bar?”

“It can be a good investment.”

“Don’t you think several dozen cartons of cigarettes would be a better one?”

“Cigarettes,” Ethan said as if he were repeating a word in a spelling bee.

“I’m not suggesting you take up smoking, but they are the best currency in prison.”

Ethan flopped down in a leather chair that was probably worth more than my car.

“When did you find out?” he asked.

“Like ten minutes ago.”

“Don’t tell Edward.”

“If you’re not here to shake down your brother, why are you here?”

“To say good-bye.”

“That’s all?”

With everything that had transpired in the last few days, it was a good story, but
I wasn’t 100 percent sure I believed him. How trustworthy is a gambling-addicted American
with a fake British accent who has done seven years for a Ponzi scheme and is getting
ready to go down for ten more? I took his confession with a grain of salt.

“It was my second conviction. I got ten to fifteen. My earliest chance of parole is
eight years.”

“Were you just going to disappear and not tell Edward?”

“I’m already an embarrassment to him. I wanted him to remember me fondly.”

“Too late. Get some rest, Ethan. Then you and Edward need to have a serious talk.
Okay?”

“I’m not telling him.”

“Then I will,” I said. “But I think you can put a better spin on it.” Before I left,
I held up the USB device. “Is this yours?”

“No. What is it?”

Was it my imagination, or was I getting
everything
wrong?

•  •  •

I returned to the Spellman compound and found D sitting behind his desk, running diagnostics
on his computer. It was long past quitting time.

“D, what are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you.”

“Why?”

“Things are slipping through the cracks.”