1 The Reluctant Dick - The Case of the Not-So-Fair Trader (31 page)

“No.”

Norbert follows his partner’s answer with, “You know how long that would take?”

“Just check the flights to bank account islands,” I say. “Bahamas, Aruba, Cayman, wherever; he’s visiting one of ’em.”

“You’re sure Alvin’s money’s there?”

“It’s got to be somewhere.”

“You don’t think he was broke?”

“I know he wasn’t broke.” I don’t want to get into a discussion of how I know, so I quickly say, “I want you to run a history on Christina’s partner, Lizzy.”

“You’re stretching.”

“There is something about her that isn’t Kosher.”

“Sherlock, you’re being homophobic and possibly anti-Semitic.”

“Not I, not I.”

“By the way where is the lovely junior detective?” Norbert asks.

“On assignment.”

“You were right about the kid in the chest,” Steve says.

“Joey Villano, the trader Alvin used.”

“Drunk, bopped on the noggin and stuffed in the trunk. What a way to go.”

“Do you think he was killed in the condo?”

“I don’t,” Steve says. “Norbert does.”

Norbert lifts one finger, as if to cast his vote. “Carpet fibers on his body,” he says
, taking
another bite of barbeque.

“There were too many fibers on his clothing. I think he was dragged in,” Steve says

“Fits with Alvin.” I surprise my colleges with this thought.

“It does?” Steve asks for the two of them.

“I’m next to positive he was killed then dragged to the rock garden.”

“The coroner said a rock did him in.”

“I’m not debating that,” I say.

“You don’t
think
the final blow was part of the avalanche?”

“No. It seems that was more of an exclamation point.”

“Then why bother doing it?”

“Got me.” I pause. “The more I get into this case, the more screwed up I get. I don’t know how Alvin was scamming the Board, or even if he was. Or why the two sons hated their father who was bankrolling each in business. He has a wife he hates, ex-wives that hate him, a daughter he treats as a second class citizen, two accountants who have to know what the hell he was doing, a couple of hookers he refuses to pay, major cash withdrawals the week before his death … and why anyone would wear a linen suit on a Saturday morning in the summer is beyond me.”

Norbert eats my fries during my litany. “You guys going to have dessert?” he asks after I conclude.

Steve ignores Norbert. “Conway Waddy, the lawyer called yesterday.”

“He wants the insurance money released?”

“Immediately.”

“Good luck on that,” I say. “Old man Richmond will hold out until their lawsuits grow mold.”

“Could Joey Villano have killed him?” Steve asks. “Then somebody kills him?”

“Downward spiral theory?” Norbert asks his partner.

“I’m not even sure Joey knew what was going on,” I admit, “and he was in the office with Alvin every day.”

“So were Millie and Heffelfinger,” Steve says. “A lot of good they’ve done us.”

“Just as I thought we were getting somewhere,” I say, “we’re back to floating around in detective netherworld.”

“We’re running out of time,” Steve says.

I’m not sure what he means.

“I got an idea,” Norbert says before scooping his vanilla ice cream. “Let’s shake the tree.”

“How?”

“Announce a break in the case.”

“Do you have one?” I ask.

“No.”

“You got an idea for one?” I ask again.

“Not yet,” Norbert says, “but we’re smart guys; we should be able to come up with something.”

___

“I sat at that desk over eight hours, Mister Sherlock,” Tiffany informs me. “The last thing I want to get out of this case is secretarial spread.”

“What did you find out?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I didn’t find one clue. I checked every property, account, trust, investment, car, house, gold bar, and piggy bank
;
and each and every one was hel
d in the Alvin Augustus Revocable
Trust. And every one was either broke or disappeared in the last six months.”

“That’s good.”

“Didn’t we already know that?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

“I called every hotel, medical clinic, plastic surgeon and boob doctor in Palm Springs and Palm Desert. I checked personal physicians,
dermatologists, personal trainers, even yoga instructors
, and
nobody has ever heard of a Doris Augustus.”

“She’s probably using another name.”

“I didn’t think of that,” Tiffany says.

“How about the boys?”

“I got a slew of paperwork on Clayton
--
numbers, tax stuff, corporate junk. My eyes were going blue going over that crap.”

“And?”

“Clayton’s leveraged.”

I’m impressed at a business acumen that I didn’t believe she possessed. “Please, do tell.”

“Well, you know, leveraged.”

“You know what leveraged means?”

“Not really.”

“You got your dad to help you?”

“I certainly wasn’t going to ask Herman.”

“How leveraged is he?”

“My dad says he’s a house of cards waiting to be blown away.”

“Brewster?”

“Coming from me, this might sound a bit strange, but after talking to a number of Brewster’s schoolmates, so-called friends, enemies, and hangers-on, I’d say Brewster isn’t the sharpest dresser on the runway. And
m
omma chokes him daily with her apron strings.”

“And the sister?”

“The best thing I can say about Christina is that, even for a lesbian, she’s past dull. She likes to read, go antiquing, takes night classes in foreign languages, drives a Chrysler Le Baron and is a member of the Audubon Society. Totally boring.”

“Tiffany,” I say, “you did good.”

“But I didn’t find out anything that could crack the case.”

“And neither have I, so don’t feel bad.”

“What happens next, Mister Sherlock?”

“A witness is going to come forward and blow the case apart.”

“You’re kidding,” Tiffany perks up, “that’s fantastic.”

“Yeah, I’m making him up right now.”

25

Pity there's no school for scoundrels

Norbert leaked the info to a friend of mine at the
Sun Times
in exchange for getting on page three as the lead story.

The story read like a promo for one of those over-plotted, too-many-twists, caper movies that star Julia Roberts or George Clooney. It mentioned a non-identified witness to the murder of Alvin Augustus, the Friday raid at the Board of Trade, missing funds, Clayton, Brewster, Doris, Joan, Joey, sex, drugs, and rock
-
and
-
roll. I
t actually didn’t mention music;
but it would a have a perfect spot for hyping a hip urban soundtrack available for download tomorrow.

No actual name mentioned, but the mystery man who
ca
me forward had valuable information, which could break the case wide open. His statement would be heard by the Grand Jury as soon as his story could be thoroughly investigated by the Chicago PD, Kenilworth detectives and agents from the FBI. Rumor has it, the article said, the witness may be testifying in exchange for immunity from prosecution. The item ended with:
“
Police had been waiting for a break in the case and now may have the information needed to move toward arrests.
”

Any cop or criminal worth his salt would read the article and conclude
“it was
a bunch of crap.
”
But one thing a good detective always keeps in mind is that most criminals are stupid. The vast majority are totally uneducated in the business of wrongdoing. Why? Because colleges don’t offer curriculums in fraud, classes in money-laundering or night school degrees in pimping and prostitution. Unless you’re from a crime family, you pretty much have to learn the business by yourself. And that can be tough. The stuff seen on TV rarely helps, because no crime gets planned, executed, and resolved within one hour
,
with timeouts for commercials. There is quite a bit of
‘
true
crime
”
non-fiction out there to study, but most criminals are either too lazy or just not the
reading
types.

Criminals, for the most part, are either plain stupid or rank amateurs when it comes to malfeasance. Not only do they all believe they can get away with it, but think they are above and beyond all those other run-of-the-mill felons. Operating on this ill-advised thought pattern is not a strong basis for the carrying out of successful illegal endeavors. They make mistakes, plan poorly, don’t synchronize watches, tell lousy lies, vary from their original plan and, more often than not, panic at the first bump in the road.

A good detective will always operate on the basis that the criminal mind is beneath his. Sounds easy, but actually it can be tricky because sometimes it is difficult to think
that
dumb
.

Consider the guy who placed a 911 call, frantically screaming a robbery was taking place in Fifth Avenue liquor store, when in actuality the robbery was happening in a Twenty-second Avenue liquor store
--
a
clever ruse to get the cops three miles away, while his buddies
“did
the deed.
”
Problem was the guy who came up with this plan forgot to disable the
c
aller
i.d.
on his phone when he made the call and the police arrived just as his buddies were returning with six-hundred in cash and three bottles of Chivas Regal. Most would believe that anyone couldn’t be that dumb, but there is no underestimating the idiocy of the common criminal.

To take this all one step further, the difference between a good detective and a great detective is
:
the latter finds ways of unleashing the idiocy of the criminal so that he or she will inevitably do something so dumb that
they will
virtually handcuff
themselves
on
their
way into the slammer.

This was the whole point of releasing bogus information in the
Sun Times
article.

___

“I’m getting good at this, Mister Sherlock,” Tiffany tells me as I climb into her parked Lexus.

“And your reasoning behind this revelation of self-worth?”

“I did exactly what you told me, as soon as Heffelfinger got off the plane, I followed him here.”

We sit in her car, watching the house. A newer bigger sign with Abe’s picture has been added to the front lawn.

“You know where here is?”

“No, do you?”

“
At
Millie’s house.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Remember, you dropped me off here?”

“Oh, yeah,” she says. “Heffelfinger must have gotten really horny on his trip.”

“I have an odd feeling that Heffelfinger’s personal needs are not the primary purpose of his visit.”

We hear a row taking place inside the home
.
Millie is especially vocal.

“Told ya,” Tiffany says
,
“
l
ittle accounting lady is quite the screamer.”

“Sound effects are assumptions, Tiffany.”

“They’re doing it.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Mister Sherlock, I had this boyfriend once, who’d be gone for only three days and become an animal when he got back into town.”

“What happened to that one?”

“First time he came home and wasn’t chomping on the bit, I knew he’d been playing around.”

“Damned if we do, damned if we don’t.”

A cab drives up and parks a few spaces in front of my Toyota, honks its horn, and waits.

The f
ront door of the bungalow opens.
Heffelfinger steps out. He and Millie continue their heated discussion. Tiffany and I watch through the car’s tinted windows.

“See, after
-
sex pillow talk, Mister Sherlock.”

“She’s pissed because he didn’t come back with any of Alvin’s money
;
and he’s pissed because he’s heard of a witness popping up and spilling a lot of beans. At least that’s a good guess.”