Long Knives (39 page)

CHAPTER 87

Q
uinto had been silent through the entire exchange between Oscar and Dr. Wing. As Oscar finished, he rose from his chair and said, “I haven’t lied about anything. My brother is dead, and this whole proceeding is a joke. I’m leaving.”

“I think you said your next witness would be Julie Gattner,” Oscar said. “I’m ready for her right now.”

I had to admire the approach. Oscar had decided simply to ignore Quinto’s departure and let everyone think about it as he moved on to the next witness, as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired.

Trolder went to the door, went out, found Julie in the hallway and brought her in. As soon as Julie came in, I sent a text from my cell phone that I had already keyed in. Then I keyed in a second text but held off sending it.

Dr. Wing went through the usual, after which Greta started in on her first question.

“Ms. Gattner,” she asked, “can you tell us your relationship to Primo Giordano?”

Before Julie could answer, Oscar interrupted and addressed Dr. Wing. “Dr. Wing, I know it’s out of the ordinary, but since this is so informal, I wondered if I might ask Julie a question of my own before she answers Professor Broontz’s question. I think it will clear up her relationship with Primo and save us all a lot of time.”

“Any objection, Greta?” Dr. Wing asked.

“I guess not,” she said.

“Good,” Oscar said. “My question is this: Ms. Gattner, isn’t it the case that you poisoned Primo and did it because he had dumped you a few days earlier?”

Julie looked stunned. For a moment she seemed unable to answer. “I didn’t kill anyone,” she said.

“Well,” Oscar said, “let me point out a few things to the panel. Informally, of course.”

There was a knock on the door.

“Professor Trolder,” I said, “that’s a defense witness who’s a bit early. May I go and let her in and tell her to come back a bit later?”

“Sure,” he said.

I got up, walked around to the other side of the table and opened the door. In the background Oscar was trying to get Julie to answer another question, and she was responding with outrage. When I opened the door, Sylvia Menendez was standing there. “Come in,” I said, “and I’ll explain.”

“I thought,” she said, looking around at all the people, “that this was a job interview.”

“It will be in a moment. There’s a delay while we finish a meeting.” I said it really loudly, and everyone in the room stopped talking and looked at us.

“Grab a seat in that chair over there, Sylvia.” I pointed to the other side of the table. As Sylvia began to walk toward the chair I had pointed to, I swiveled my hand and pointed to Julie. “Ms. Menendez, is that the woman who bought the sodium azide from you?”

Sylvia stopped, turned her head and looked at Julie. “No, she’s not. What is this about?” She looked around the room, seeking to make some sense of it. “You tricked me, and I think I should go.” She turned around and started to head back toward the door. Then she stopped in her tracks and pointed at Greta Broontz. “That’s the woman who bought the chemical from me.”

I pushed send on the text I had preprepared.

“Excuse me,” Dr. Wing said, “how can you be so sure?”

“The woman who bought the chemical from me had one brown eye and one blue one, just like she does. And a, uh, craggy face.”

“That is absolutely not true,” Greta said. “This is an outrage.”

“You see,” Julie said, “it wasn’t me!”

Sylvia looked again at Julie. “You were in the store, too, but you were hanging back. I saw the two of you come in and leave together.”

The door to the room opened, and Detective Drady walked in, accompanied by four other UCLA police officers, all in uniform. Two were men, two were women.

“Detective,” I said, “this woman is an employee of the chemical company from which the sodium azide was bought. She has just identified the woman who bought it as Professor Broontz, and the woman who was her accomplice as Julie Gattner.”

Drady looked at Sylvia. “Is that true, ma’am?”

“I don’t know their names, but yes. That one, there, bought it.” She pointed at Greta. “And that one, there, was with her.” She pointed at Julie.

“I’m placing you both under arrest for the murder of Primo Giordano,” Drady said. He nodded at the two female police officers, who proceeded to pat down Greta and Julie and, aided by the two male officers, handcuff them. They were reading them their rights as they were led out of the room.

Julie said nothing, but Greta was screaming at the top of her lungs that the whole thing was an outrage, and she was going to sue everyone, especially me.

Dr. Wing looked at me and said, “I guess this proceeding is over, with a finding of nonresponsibility on your part, Professor James. And I suppose it’s none of our business, really, but what was Professor Broontz’s motive?”

I thought to myself that I could respond by telling him I didn’t know, or I could tell him what I had pieced together since Tess had told me that Greta was the person secretly trying to buy my apartment. I opted to tell him what appeared to be the truth, so far as I could understand it.

“Dr. Wing, it’s hard for me to wrap my head around it all, but it seems Greta wanted my condo, in order to create a two-story condo with a fabulous view. And whether I was framed for killing Primo or just failed to get tenure and had to leave town, either way, she figured I’d sell.”

“Is that all there was to it?” Dr. Wing asked.

“No. On top of that she hated me, and somehow the mixture of hatred and real-estate envy—my condo is the penthouse—made her snap. I don’t know, maybe this kind of thing can only happen in Los Angeles.”

“It could easily happen in New York, too,” Professor Healey said.

“What about Ms. Gattner?” Dr. Wing asked.

“She just wanted Primo dead. For dumping her.”

Professor Healey asked the last question. “Just as a matter of understanding relationships on this campus, how did the two of them figure out they had a compatible mutual interest?”

“Oh,” I said, “Julie was taking an independent study from Greta. I assume they managed to achieve what graduate faculties are always trying to bring about: true bonding between faculty and students.

“Dr. Wing,” I said, “there’s one more thing. This young woman, Sylvia Menendez, who’s been so helpful to us, is actually here for a job interview. She wants to apply for the opening in your lab for a trainee med tech.”

“Job opening?”

“Yes, you know the one I’m referring to.”

A broad smile broke out on his face. “Oh, of course. Ms. Menendez, please come with me to my office, and we’ll get you set up for the interview. I think you’ll like working here.”

Oscar leaned over to me. “Which plan of yours was that, Jenna?”

“Plan D.”

“Did you know it was both of them?”

“No.”

“Which one did you think it was when you thought it was only one of them?”

“I’m not saying.”

I wasn’t saying because, in truth, I was so elated that the whole thing was finally over that I couldn’t in the instant really remember who I’d most suspected. I looked down at my hands and saw they were shaking again. But this time, at least, they were shaking from the adrenaline generated by relief instead of fear.

“Let’s,” Robert said, “go to the Bel-Air and celebrate. Tess will be waiting for us. Jenna, will Aldous be joining us?”

“No, but I think there’s someone else I’d like to invite.”

EPILOGUE

T
he ensuing months have been busy ones for me. Early in the New Year, I testified in Greta Broontz’s sanity hearing. According to the psychologist’s report, which I read with great interest, Julie and Greta did in fact hatch the whole thing in the independent study Julie took from Greta in the fall semester. Exactly how and why they decided to act together isn’t yet fully known.

To my disappointment, Greta was ruled unfit to stand trial for murder and is now committed to a state mental facility. It seems she had been off her meds for months (although no one at the law school other than the dean had seemed aware she was even on them). Her motives, so far as anyone could make them out, were exactly as I had described them to Dr. Wing. She simply hated my guts and became fixated on getting my condo so she could have a two-story place with great views. Since I have some fixations of my own, I can kind of understand.

Julie, according to the indictment, wanted to kill Primo simply because he had dumped her, apparently in a not-so-nice way. She’s awaiting trial for first-degree murder. The Twitterverse commentary about her, which is extensive, suggests she’s planning to present a defense based on allegations that she was abused as a child and by Primo, too. I hope to avoid testifying in that trial because it will waste a lot of my time. On the other hand, if that’s what I need to do to keep her off the street, I will. Oh, and believe it or not, she somehow got her hands on a copy of the final exam for my Law of Sunken Treasure seminar and mailed in her answers from jail. I didn’t bother to read them.

One of the things I’ve wondered about is how the attack on Primo came about when he was sitting in my office drinking my coffee. As near as I can figure out from the extensive testimony at the sanity hearing, the attempt on me and Primo simultaneously was pure serendipity. Greta and Julie had been planning to get both of us separately some time later that week, but when Julie found Primo alone in my office while I was on the phone across the hall, she managed to dump the poison in his coffee without his seeing her do it. Then, when Primo fell quickly into a semiconscious state, she dumped some of it in the coffeepot, too, hoping I’d drink it later.

Had I done so, Greta would have expected to buy my condo from my estate. Because I didn’t drink it and didn’t die, she later figured she could force me out by framing me for Primo’s murder and buying the condo when I went to jail. Barring that, she figured I’d at least have to look for a new job in another city—if I could find a job at all.

Oh, and I think I figured out how the receipt for the chemical got in my jacket pocket. Julie must have dropped it in right after she poisoned Primo. The jacket—one of four I have that are identical—was hanging on the back of my office door. Later on I took it home and hung it in my closet, where the police found it when they did their search.

I’ve tried to patch things up with Tommy, but he hasn’t returned any of my phone calls or responded to my e-mails or texts. And he’s never cashed the check I left for him at the Chemistry Department to reimburse him for the dead-bolt lock. But he hasn’t blocked my e-mails or texts, so perhaps there’s still hope there. So far as I know, he had nothing to do with the crimes. He did, however, tell the police about my having gotten my hands waxed, and the police apparently told Greta. I’ve forgiven Tommy for that, though. He was just being a good citizen. Maybe he’ll forgive me one day.

The dean, in his own way, has tried to make amends. A few days after the arrests, he took me to lunch at the Faculty Center instead of Oroco’s and assured me that my tenure application was back on track. When, not long after, I got tenure, he threw a big party for me at his house. Even better, he tells me he has located an alum, the wife of a wealthy shipping magnate, who wants to endow a chair in admiralty law and fund an admiralty studies center. Frankly, I think the school is being so nice because they’re worried I’m going to sue them.

One thing that continues to bother me is the library episode. The official engineering report says there was a minor earthquake at the time the shelves fell on me, and they fell because the bolts were missing and the earthquake tipped them over. Supposedly the bolts on all the shelves had been replaced the week before in a seismic upgrade, but they’d missed replacing them on that one shelving section. A mistake, nothing more. The two things came together in, as the report put it, “a most unfortunate way.” Do I believe it? Not really, but with Greta out of the way, I’m no longer worried about it.

Robert has gone back to France with Tess, although he claims he’s not planning to stay there forever. He’s also promised to pay up on the bet he lost and take me and Oscar to dinner at At.mosphere at the top of the Burj Khalifa in Dubai. I told Tess she was welcome to join us, but that Robert had to pay for the trip himself.

Oscar has gone back to New York to be with Pandy. I do hope to meet that woman someday.

Aldous gave the law school notice in early December that he was departing in January for “a great opportunity” in Buffalo. We’ve exchanged a few e-mails, but I assume they will peter out, and he’ll soon become someone I used to know.

You probably wonder about the map. It’s never been found. Neither has the red mailing tube. My own theory is that Julie took it and ditched it somewhere after she poisoned Primo. I heard the police did extensive searches of Julie’s apartment, locker and storage unit, so maybe they have it and will use it as evidence in her trial. If so, they’re not telling.

You probably also wonder what happened to Quinto. He transferred to USC and is pursuing new investors there. I suggested to the DA that Quinto be investigated for fraud, plus perjury in his deposition. But, so far as I know, no investigation is underway.

As for me on a personal level, I’ve put my condo on the market. As soon as it sells, I’m planning to get a cool place at the beach. There have already been three offers, and it’s only been on the market for a week. And I’m dating Dr. N. It seems to be going well. So well that we’re planning to go to France together for a month in the summer. Maybe we’ll even drop in on Robert and Tess while we’re there. Mainly I’m looking forward to spending lots of time with Bill, eating good bread and great cheese, drinking fine wine and doing not much at all. I deserve it.

THE END

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I
am indebted to my agent, Erica Silverman, for encouraging me to write a sequel to
Death on a High Floor
, to my editor at Thomas & Mercer, Alan Turkus, for taking the chance that I could actually write one, and to the rest of the crew at Thomas & Mercer, especially Jacque Ben-Zekry and Anh Schluep, for making the publishing experience such a pleasure. I must also express my deep appreciation to my developmental editor, Charlotte Herscher, who wields an edit pen that is somehow both gentle and, at the same time, razor sharp and wonderfully effective, and to my copyeditor, Randy Ladenheim-Gil, who did such a splendid job, not only of sharpening and smoothing the writing, but of managing to identify even the smallest error, from a minor biblical misquotation to the misspelling of an obscure type of purified water, to the incorrect name of a UCLA academic document. They both improved the manuscript immensely. And, last but very much not least, to my excellent proofreader, Rebecca Jaynes, who found not only the many little things, but one big thing, too.

Special thanks are due Deanna Wilcox—one of the best lawyers I know—for the suggestion that in her new job as a professor Jenna become an expert on the law of marine salvage and sunken treasure.

I also want to acknowledge the many friends who provided encouragement, who read the manuscript in its various stages and drafts and then gave me such helpful, candid notes, as well as those friends, old and new, who were kind enough to share their expertise. The entire list is long, but it includes especially Roger and Susan Chittum, Linda and John Brown, Melanie and Doug Chancellor, Roger Rosen, Amy Huggins, Marty Beech, Brinton Rowdybush, Joyce Mendlin, Julie Rutiz, Michael Haines, Krista Perry, Dan Wershow, Becky Novelli, Alison Anderson, Paul Bergman, Joanna Schwartz, Cameron Furey, Maxine Nunes, Julie Serquinia, Maureen Gustafson, Doreen Weisenhaus, Rodney King, Prucia Buscell, Diana Wright, Susan Nero, Lauren Gwin, Nona Dhawan, Dick Birnbaum, Christine Ong, Brad Hansen, Yoko Miyamoto, Joyce Mendlin, Deborah Coonts, Tom and Juanita Ringer, Harriet Young, Dale Franklin, Patty Nolan, Maria Elena Frances-Benitez and Ruben Benitez, Harold Kwalwasser, Melissa Lee, Holly D’Lane Miller, Lu Ann Homza, and Carlos Galvez-Pena.

And with thanks to my son, Joe, for his perceptive comments on voice, pacing and story arc in the early drafts, and, as always, to my wife, Sally Anne, for her patient and perceptive comments as the chapters emerged, one by one, into the initial drafts, as well as her encouragement when words sometimes failed me.