Victims (13 page)

Guest and I were alone at the large round corner table that had been set for six. I’d read that, whenever Guest was in town, holding court, his table was always filled with the rich and the famous.

Yet, today, it was obvious that no one else was expected.

Why?

As if he’d sensed the question, Guest said, “You know, of course, why I wanted to talk to you.”

“You want to find out what progress we’re making.”

He nodded to me, at the same time thanking a waiter named Paul for serving the entree. “Exactly,” Guest said, smiling at me over his raised wine glass. I raised my water glass. Then, while we ate, I gave him an edited version of the Quade investigation. At intervals, Guest nodded sagaciously, as if to compliment me for coming to conclusions that, of course, had always been obvious to him. Twice he scrawled something on an envelope. When I finished, he sat silently for a moment, nodding thoughtfully. Finally, glancing at the notes, he said, “It’s interesting that Kramer would think to wipe his fingerprints from the gun, but wasn’t smart enough to ditch the gun farther from the scene. He was apprehended in Oakland. He could’ve thrown the gun off the Bay Bridge.”

“I know. I wondered about that, too.”

“Have you queried him on that point?”

I hesitated, then decided to say, “I think Lieutenant Friedman asked him about it.”

Guest waited for our coffee to be served, then asked, “When’s the case going to the grand jury?”

“I don’t know. That’s up to the D.A.”

“Is your investigation complete?”

“A case like this is never closed, Mr. Guest. Not until the trial starts, and sometimes not even then. In fact, there’re a couple of points that I wanted to check with you.”

“I was sure you would. That’s one reason I invited you to lunch. More coffee?”

“No, thanks.”

“Before you start, ah, grilling me, Lieutenant—” Plainly amused by the image of himself being questioned by an ordinary policeman, he permitted himself a small smile. “Before you start, there’re a few things that I’d like to tell you, by way of unburdening myself. Obviously, at four o’clock Saturday morning, we couldn’t cover all the pertinent details, especially since neither of us knew exactly what really happened.”

I nodded, but decided to say nothing.

“At that time,” he continued, “I remember telling you a little about Marie’s marriage to Kramer—and their subsequent divorce. The reason I did it is, of course, self-evident. Their marital problems are the root cause of what’s happened. However, as I thought back on it, I realized that you were probably puzzled by some of the things I said.”

“As a matter of fact, I—”

“Wait.” He raised an abrupt, authoritative hand, at the same time glancing pointedly at his watch. “Let me finish, please. Then I’ll take your questions.”

I nodded again, agreeing. Why, I wondered, did the phrase
Then I’ll take your questions
sound so familiar? The answer seemed to sum up the situation: It was the same phrase the President often used, opening a Washington press conference.

“I might’ve mentioned to you that, when Marie and Kramer were married, I had Kramer checked out—thoroughly. And, to put it mildly, the report I got back was a shock. I discovered that, since his early twenties, Kramer was connected to organized crime in New York.”

I sat up straighter, “Are you sure?”

“I’m positive. His first job was with a bail bondsman. Obviously, organized crime has infiltrated the bail bond business, especially in New York. Just as obviously, they’re constantly looking for ways of infiltrating other legitimate businesses, especially businesses that can launder money from drug trafficking and gambling and vice. They’re also looking for people like Kramer: Young, smart, ambitious men who can learn how to dress, and talk, and act—who can learn, in a word, how to pass for legitimate businessmen.

“So they set Kramer up in a small loan business, which was really a front for loan sharking. Kramer learned fast—very fast, I’m told. From the first, apparently, he was smart enough to keep a safe distance from the mob, or the Mafia, or whatever term is current. He never let them take him over completely, never totally became their creature. Which is why, when it came time to leave New York, he didn’t have any trouble getting turned loose. Because he was never a part of organized crime, you see. Not an integral part. He simply worked for them, like thousands of others.

“From the small loan business, he went into venture capital, so called. Which, of course, was ideal for laundering large sums of money. It was also the perfect means of gaining control of all manner of businesses, since venture capitalists usually take a percentage of the businesses they fund, rather than ask for repayment of seed capital.”

“How long were they married, before you discovered all this?”

“About three months, I’d say. They got married at City Hall, unannounced.”

“Did you tell your daughter what you found out?”

“Naturally.”

“Did she believe you?”

He nodded. “Yes, she did. Whatever Marie’s faults, she’s intelligent. And she’s also a realist. She doesn’t believe in dodging issues, or deluding herself. However, as it turned out, she was pregnant when they got married. Which, of course, made the whole exercise moot.”

“You’d intended to break up the marriage. Until you discovered your daughter was pregnant. Is that what you mean by ‘moot?’”

“Yes,” he answered coldly, staring at me with his ice-blue eyes. “Yes, that’s exactly right. Obviously, a change in tactics was indicated. One doesn’t put pressure on a marriage that’s about to produce one’s first grandchild—probably one’s only grandchild. So I took the only course that seemed feasible. I made it very attractive for Kramer to relocate his venture capital business in San Francisco.”

“Why do you say the ‘only course?’ Couldn’t you have continued to try and break them up?”

“I’ve just explained, Lieutenant, that I wanted their marriage to work, because of John. I’m not an ogre. I’m a realist, but not an ogre. Additionally, once John was born, I wanted him close to me, obviously. And, as long as it was workable, I wanted Marie and Kramer together, as I’ve already said. Which meant offering incentives for them to come to San Francisco. And, of course, Kramer was smart enough to recognize the advantages of taking my offer. Among other things, it allowed him to shake off his ties with organized crime, which he was anxious to do. Kramer is smart. He’s tough, too. I’ll give him that. And he’s a quick study. A
very
quick study.”

“If he’s so smart, and so tough,” I said, “how did it happen that you were able to run him out of town so easily? It must’ve taken more than threatening to expose his Mafia connections.”

He looked at me thoughtfully. “Why would you say that? I’m curious.”

“Because it sounds like he had himself covered. Right from the first.”

Approvingly, he nodded, then smiled indulgently. “Very good, Lieutenant. As I said earlier, you’re an atypical policeman.”

“Even a typical policeman could figure that one out.” I didn’t return his smile.

He sat silently for a moment, studying me. Finally he said, “You’re right, of course. It did take more. A lot more.”

I decided not to say anything in return. He knew what I wanted: an answer to the riddle.

He was staring off across the quiet restaurant now, obviously deciding how much to tell me. Finally he said, “I’m going to take you into my confidence, Lieutenant. That is to say, I’m going to tell you some things that, frankly, I wish I didn’t have to talk about. I’m not proud of them. However—” He drew a deep breath and looked again at his watch. Then, speaking faster, in the clipped accents of a lawyer summarizing his case for the jury, he said, “The reason I could ‘run him out of town,’ as you say, is simply that, in the vernacular, I made it my business to get the goods on him. Old habits die hard, you know. He cut some corners, doing business in San Francisco. I found out what he’d done, and documented it.” He paused. It was a taut, meaningful silence. Then: “When you realize that, as a lawyer, I’m an officer of the court, you’ll realize how difficult it is for me to admit that to you, to a fellow officer of the law. However, you’ll also realize why I’m doing it. I want you to hear the facts from me. Not from someone else.”

“Are you saying that Kramer broke the law? Committed a crime?”

He nodded. “That’s what I’m saying.”

“Did you get this information after the divorce? Or before?”

“I got it before. Call it a precautionary measure. I always distrusted Kramer, always suspected that he’d cause me trouble. As it turned out, I was right.” He hesitated, then said, “I’m being candid with you, Lieutenant. I hope you appreciate that. And I hope you respect my confidence.” He sat silently for a moment, eyeing me speculatively as he toyed with the stem of his wine glass. His fingernails, I noticed, had been manicured. He was dressed in a beautifully tailored double-breasted gray flannel suit. His white shirt and stiff collar gleamed. His gray-on-gray silk tie was impeccably knotted. His gray hair was beautifully barbered, meticulously styled. His expression, as before, was sardonic. His lips were curved in a slightly supercilious smile. His eyes, coldly unrevealing, never left mine.

“I should probably make it clear,” he said, “that we’re not talking about your kind of crime, Lieutenant. Nobody got killed. Nobody got hurt. We’re talking about white collar crime. Specifically, falsification of assets for the purpose of borrowing operating capital. Fraud, in other words. It happens every day, believe me.”

“He could’ve gone to jail, though, if you’d given the information to the D.A. Is that it?”

Guest nodded. “Yes, he could’ve gone to jail. Not for long. But long enough.”

“But, ultimately, it didn’t work. He came back to see his son. Then he hired Lester Bennett to steal John.” I decided not to go on. I wanted to see how Guest would respond. Would he tell me, voluntarily, about Bennett warning him that John might be taken?

“And then Bennett told me of Kramer’s plans.” The supercilious smile widened almost imperceptibly. He’d anticipated my tactic, and finessed it. “Or didn’t he tell you?”

“Yes,” I admitted, “he told me.”

“And did Bennett also tell you that I hired Charlie Quade to work for me, on his suggestion?”

I nodded. “That, too.” Then, continuing the game, I said, “And Charlie’s girlfriend told me you hired him to go to New York.” It was a lie, but a safe one.

His eyes flickered momentarily. Had I caught him by surprise?

“Charlie talked too much.” He spoke quietly, ominously.

I didn’t answer, and after a moment of calculating silence he said, “She’s right. When Bennett told me what Kramer was planning, I hired Quade to go to New York and threaten him.” He eyed me for another calculating moment before he said, “I mentioned earlier that I intended to unburden myself. Now you know what I meant.”

“What’d you threaten him with? Physical harm?”

Instead of answering directly, he said, “The case of fraud I mentioned involved a company called Generex. Basically, Quade’s mission was to get on an airplane, and go to New York, and tell Kramer that the Generex file was still active.”

“Just that? Nothing more?”

He nodded. “Just that. But the implication is, you see, that others know about the file, except me. Kramer would wonder how many others.”

“Quade seems an odd choice for a job like that.”

He shrugged. “He was handy. And I felt I owed Bennett something.”

“Couldn’t you simply have called Kramer? It would’ve served the same purpose.”

“Almost the same purpose, not quite. I also instructed Quade to imply that, should Kramer come back to San Francisco, Quade and a couple of others like him would break Kramer’s legs for him. He’d stand trial for fraud with his legs in casts.” He smiled, subtly taunting me. “I’ll deny I ever made that statement, of course. But I want to be perfectly candid with you, as I’ve said.”

“You did threaten him with physical harm, then.”

“Only if he came back to San Francisco. As long as he stayed in New York, he had no problem.”

“Would you actually have done it—hired people to break Kramer’s legs?”

He shrugged. “Probably not. But, of course, Kramer didn’t know that.”

“Had you hired Charlie to bodyguard John when he went to New York?”

“Yes.”

“Did Quade tell Kramer he was John’s bodyguard?”

“I’ve no way of knowing.”

I nodded. “It doesn’t appear that Quade was very successful, scaring Kramer off.”

“Obviously. On the other hand, Kramer didn’t succeed in stealing John.”

“He would have succeeded, if Quade hadn’t interfered—and gotten killed.”

“Yes,” Guest answered, “that’s probably true. But the point is, you see, that he
did
interfere. He was doing his job.”

“About that night—Friday night—there’re a couple of points I’d like to clear up with you.”

“What points are those?” He glanced at his watch again, then signaled for the check. My time was running out.

“The number of shots,” I said. “You say—you’re positive—that four shots were fired. Is that correct?”

He nodded. “Of course. Four.”

“The physical evidence bears you out. Four shots were fired. But Kramer says only three shots were fired.”

“Kramer also says he didn’t kill Quade.”

“He would lie about that, of course, assuming he’s the murderer. But why would he lie about the number of shots?”

“Have you asked him?” Using a gold pen, he signed the check.

“Once,” I answered. “I’ll ask him again.”

“Do that. Either way, it doesn’t seem critical.” He pushed back his chair. “Is there anything else, Lieutenant?”

“One thing—” I pushed back my own chair, but didn’t rise. I saw his eyes narrow slightly.

“What’s that?”

“I have to talk with John.”

Instantly, his face hardened. On the white damask tablecloth, the fingers of one hand tightened. “You’ve already done that, Lieutenant.”

“I only talked to him for a few minutes. I didn’t mention the crime. The D.A. wants an interrogation. A complete interrogation.”