Madman's Thirst (28 page)

CHAPTER 33 – DRESSED TO KILL

Scarne spent the next day in his
office working on the files from Bimm’s computer. It was Saturday and Evelyn
was off.

He downloaded the flash drive to
his laptop and started going through the documents. The legal and real estate
mumbo jumbo was just as mind-numbing in the light of day as it had been the
night before. But because even the most innocent-looking jargon might, in the
right prosecutorial hands, become proof of an illegal conspiracy, he didn’t
delete anything. He knew, of course, that there was a problem with the
material’s provenance. Judges tended to look askance at information obtained in
the course of a burglary. But he was less interested in proof that would hold
up in court than in putting together a roadmap that an enterprising journalist
or rule-bending cop could use to piece together a story or case. He would let
others worry about getting convictions. He would just give them some
ammunition.

Of course, he might not need anything
if Dudley Mack was able to persuade Bimm to spill his guts and implicate
Arachne. Dudley’s powers of persuasion were legendary. Scarne had a momentary
vision of the blubbering Bimm strapped to one of the Mack-Sambuca embalming
tables as Dudley and Bobo filled syringes or whatever went on one of the family
mortuary rooms. He smiled, knowing that it wouldn’t quite be that way. But
since whatever Bimm said under duress also probably had procedural
ramifications, Scarne was determined to piece together a workable narrative. And
he knew just who would get the first draft.

The work was excruciating, and even
with the help of the Internet and several legal databases to which he
subscribed, Scarne was having trouble crafting a coherent presentation. He finally
broke for lunch, treating himself to a bacon cheeseburger in Bill’s Bar and
Burger in Rockefeller Center. Much as he wanted a beer, he settled on black
coffee, believing that combining alcohol and his reading matter might cause
fatal somnolence. He brought another coffee back to his office and called Donald
Tierney. The high-profile Wall Street lawyer had been involved in several of
Scarne’s previous cases. His referral in the most recent had almost gotten
Scarne killed, a fact Scarne reminded him of frequently.

“Don’t you know it’s Saturday,”
Tierney said when he answered his cell phone.

“How soon they forget,” Scarne
said. “Where are you, on the golf course?”

“Have you looked outside? It’s
freakin’ forty degrees. Barbara has me cleaning out the garage. What do you
need?”

“I’m wading through some files
that have words in them that should be banned by the Geneva Convention. Do you
mind if I run a few by you? And maybe read some of the documents to you?”

“Sure, why not. It can’t be worse
than what I’m doing. Hold on, let me get a beer.” Scarne heard a refrigerator
door open and shut and then Tierney was back. “Might as well clean out the
fridge while I’m at it. Go ahead, shoot.”

Scarne began by reading from a
list of legal terms he’d written down. As Tierney translated, he took notes.
When he finished, he said, “Human beings actually talk like this?”

“Who said anything about humans?”

Scarne then read a sampling of the
various property deals. Three beers later, Tierney said, “I was wrong about it
not being worse than cleaning out the garage. I made the right decision not
going into real estate law.”

“Thanks, Don. I think I can take
it from here. It’s like the Rosetta Stone. Once you understand a few words the
others fall into place.”

 “I assume whoever is behind those
deals doesn’t want anyone noticing he’s behind them. Are we talking illegality
here?”

“On the real estate deals? I don’t
know. They may be legit. But they are also a motive for a murder and I’m trying
to piece together a scenario. It will have more impact if it’s in English.”

“Why don’t you just turn over all
the documents to the authorities and have them figure it all out?”

“Gee, Don, why didn’t I think of
that.”

Tierney caught on almost
immediately.

“Forget I said that. In fact,
forget we had this entire conversation.”

***

It was almost 7 PM when Scarne
finally finished the 12-page WORD document that combined all the intelligible
material he had gleaned from Bimm’s files. Absolutely none of it could be
proven without corroboration, but any reporter or cop who read it would
salivate. If he had to, he’d leak it to the tabloids, which would have a field
day: a young girl’s murder, the mob, an assassin dressed as a priest, NASCAR,
hidden real estate deals, tunnels under New York Harbor, a billionaire
mastermind. But it wouldn’t come to that. Emma Shields would know what to do
with the information.  

Scarne printed out two copies of
the report. He put one in an envelope with the flash drive and left it on
Evelyn’s desk with a note for her to save everything on her computer. The other
he took with him when he left. He wanted a shower, followed by a steak and
martini dinner at Knickerbocker’s.

On the cab ride downtown Scarne
wondered how Emma would take it. She was fond of Arachne. Then the thought
occurred to him that Arachne probably had ulterior motives for his relationship
with her. He also wondered how far that relationship had progressed. Did having
the code to a man’s elevator indicate that she was sleeping with him. Suddenly
what had previously only nettled Scarne became more ominous. The sooner she
knew the better.

He dialed Emma’s cell number. Got
her voicemail. It was Saturday night. A busy time in the Shields world. Perhaps
she was on the yacht hosting one of the company parties. Or at some charity or
art function.

Or perhaps she was with Arachne.

He dialed her apartment. The
babysitter answered. Ms. Shields had just left. A car picked her up. No, I
don’t know where she was going. You could try her cell phone. Yes, I’ll have
her call you when she checks in on Becky.

Back in his own apartment Scarne
called the corporate offices of Shields Inc. Got a recording. He managed to
track down the number of the Shields compound in Connecticut. Some sort of
houseman answered. Emma wasn’t there and Randolph Shields was traveling. Would
he or her brothers know where Emma was? The man didn’t know and while he would
not give out any cell phone numbers, he would call them and tell them to call
Scarne. Would that be sufficient? Scarne said yes and then tried Emma’s cell
again. This time he left a more urgent message.

“Emma. Call me as soon as you get
this. And stay away from Arachne. He lied about knowing Bimm and I have
information tying him to Elizabeth Pearsall’s murder.”

Scarne then took a quick shower. Wearing
only a towel, he was mixing himself a drink when his phone buzzed. He saw the
name. It was Emma.

“Emma, I know this is a shock
about Arachne, but we’d better meet.”

Only it wasn’t Emma.

“I couldn’t agree more, Jake.”

Arachne. Son of a bitch.

“Where’s Emma?”

“I’m afraid she is indisposed. But
not as much as she will be if you don’t come to my apartment, immediately and
alone.”

“What have you done to her?”

“Nothing yet. I gave her something
to make her more compliant. It was just taking effect when she got your
message. The drug made her incautious. Acted like a truth serum, I guess.
Anyway, she told me what you said. Then conveniently passed out. So, here we
are.”

“If you hurt her Arachne, I’ll
kill you.”

“I’m sure you will try. But let’s
not lose our heads, Jake. Perhaps we can work something out. I told you what to
do. No police. Come alone. I’ll expect you within the hour.”

Arachne ended the call. Scarne
called Dudley Mack.

“Fuck,” Mack said. “What are you
going to do?”

“Go to his apartment. He sounded
unhinged.” He gave Mack the address. “What about Bimm?”

“We’re at JFK now. Got his flight
info from his secretary. Told her we were the livery service but lost the info.
But his plane landed a half hour ago. He wasn’t on it. I don’t like it. But
there’s another one due in any minute. Maybe the fat bastard missed the earlier
one.”

“Wait for it. If he’s not on it.
Head to Arachne’s.”

“No cops?”

“That’s what he said. I’ll get her
clear then we can call the damn Marines for all I care.”

“OK. And, Jake. Remember,
eyewitnesses and innocent bystanders can fuck up the best alibi.”

Scarne got dressed. Grey slacks,
white shirt, blue Brooks Brothers sports jacket, the Heckler-Koch automatic. Dressed
to kill, he thought. The weapon was barely broken in. He’d only fired a hundred
or so rounds at the range. But the last time a German-engineered pistol jammed
Bismarck was chancellor.

CHAPTER 34 – GRAVITY NEVER
SLEEPS

On the way down in the elevator,
Scarne tried a few draws from the Safariland “Quick Gun” shoulder holster that
Mack had given him as a birthday present. (The card read: “It allows you to
replace your gun with one hand, so you won’t spill your drink.”)

The cab made good time, although
to Scarne the ride was interminable. Although he was now expected, recalling
Mack’s dictum about witnesses he had the driver drop him at the garage
entrance. He walked to the private elevator like he belonged there. He passed a
Bentley saloon whose driver, a tough looking Asian, stared at him. Now, if only
Arachne hadn’t changed the code. Probably should have told Dudley about the
elevator, Scarne thought. Hell, it won’t matter in an hour anyway. He punched
in the date and immediately heard a whine coming from the shaft. Damn! The
elevator was on the top floor. He wondered if that would alert Arachne. The digital
readout for the high speed lift quickly counted down the floors until the door
opened. Scarne had his hand on his gun but the empty car yawned at him. He got
in and pressed the button for the penthouse.

Scarne stood to the side with his
weapon out when the elevator door opened again. He peaked out and stared down
an empty hallway. He walked through the apartment and headed toward the living
room. He recognized the music coming from the apartment’s sound system: Broadway
show tunes, apparently from the same collection that played the night of
Arachne’s party. A real Johnny One Note, Scarne thought. As
Maria
from
West
Side Story
wafted in the background, he made a mental decision to shoot out
a speaker if anything from
South Pacific
came on.

In the living area, Arachne was
standing by a sideboard pouring a brandy into a snifter. Ignoring Scarne’s gun,
he motioned the decanter toward Scarne.

“Want one?”

Scarne noted that there was
already a tray on the sideboard with two empty cocktail glasses. They looked
like margaritas. One of Emma’s favorites. 

“Jake, I’m actually glad you are
here,” Arachne said. He took a long pull on his brandy. “This solves many
problems.”

“They are just starting for you,
Arachne.”

Scarne heard a low moan coming
from the terrace. As he quickly moved past Arachne he noticed there were
scratches on his face and the beginnings of a black eye. Emma Shields was lying
on a lounger in a corner of the terrace, eyes closed, motionless. He went to
her. Emma’s blouse was open, her braless breasts exposed.

“Don’t worry,” Arachne said,
walking out and leaning against the rail. “She’s merely unconscious. It will be
a blessing in the long run. Or, I should say, the short run.”

Scarne put away his gun, buttoned her
blouse and wheeled on Arachne.

“You were going to rape her?”

“That wasn’t my original plan. I
thought she’d fuck willingly. But it turns out my initial advances might have
been a bit primal. I’m afraid I don’t take rejection very well. But I played
the perfect gentleman. Apologized. Offered her another drink, to which I added
a little something to make things go smoother. And it did. When she woke up she
would have a little bruising and a wonderful memory. I would be solicitous,
tell her how much I loved her and ask her to marry me. Off we’d go into the
sunset.” Arachne took a sip of his brandy. “ But then you called. So, I gave
her some more chloral hydrate to keep her quiet while I thought of Plan B. And,
so, here we are.”

Scarne moved in front of Arachne.

“You miserable son of a bitch. I’m
going to let the cops have you for Elizabeth Pearsall. But I want a piece of
you for myself first.”

Arachne merely smiled, then looked
past Scarne and said, “You took your damn time.”

Scarne didn’t turn. It was the
oldest trick in the book. Except it wasn’t.

“Please don’t move. Put your hands
behind your neck.”

 The voice came from behind
Scarne. It sounded vaguely familiar. He did as he was told.  Arachne’s smile
grew broader.

“Jake, allow me to introduce Mr.
Roddenberry.”

Scarne turned slowly. A man he
recognized immediately was standing a few feet away, holding a silenced
automatic.

“Hello, Father.”

“Hello, my son.”

Arachne looked confused, then
said, “Oh. I forgot you two have met.”

“Twice,” Sobok said.

Scarne looked at him.

“The race track?”

“Well, we didn’t actually meet,
but I watched from the stands. You are a difficult man to kill, Mr. Scarne.”

“You are 0 for 2.”

“The first time doesn’t count. I
didn’t intend to do you serious damage. But your point is well taken. I’ve
never even been 0 for 1, as you say. Now, please turn around and face Mr.
Arachne.”

When Scarne did, Sobok pressed the
gun under his chin and quickly and efficiently relieved him of his weapon,
which he pocketed.

Scarne said, “Roddenberry?”

“Private joke,” Sobok murmured in
his ear. “He doesn’t get it.”

Arachne looked past Sobok, as if
expecting someone.

“Where is Cong Bao? I told you to
bring him.”

“With the car,” Sobok said. “I
thought it would go smoother without him. Too many gooks spoil the pot and all
that.”

“You’re sure you can handle this
one by yourself.”

“Quite.”

“I hate it when people talk about
you like you’re not even here,” Scarne said. “How about filling me in.”

“It’s simple,” Arachne said. “You
and Emma are lovers. She threw you over for me. You came here to confront us,
overpowered me and in a jealous rage pushed her to her death. Then, wracked
with guilt and grief, you killed yourself.” He looked over the railing.  “It
put you over the edge, literally.”

“You just came up with all this?”

“Yes. It’s not elegant. But I
think it will do. Killing two women you love would be too much for any man to
take. I can see from the look on your face that I have hit a nerve. Yes, I know
about what happened down in the Keys in the Ballantrae matter. Don’t worry,
Emma didn’t betray any confidence. But when you appeared on the scene I started
asking questions and fortunately I have friends in high places who like to
gossip. You are quite the tragic hero in some select circles. I actually met
Ballantrae once. We hit it off, as you might imagine. After your upcoming suicide
I will make sure that your part in that affair reaches a wider audience. The
unwashed masses will eat it up. But tell me, how does it feel to kill a lover?”

“You son of a bitch.”

Scarne took a step toward Arachne.
Behind him the gunman said, “Don’t even think about it.”

Scarne stopped.  

“I’m supposed to just jump?”

“I’m sure you will take some
persuading. But I think Mr. Roddenberry doesn’t want to go 0 for 3. If I have
to, I will help out. Any bruises I suffer will just augment the injuries that
Emma conveniently has already supplied and add verisimilitude to my heroic
battle when you overpowered me. As for any injuries you suffer, Jake, I’m
afraid they will be obliterated by your impact on the sidewalk below.”

“You can’t seriously think you can
get away with this?”

“A murder-suicide involving one of
the world’s most beautiful and powerful women and her deranged lover? A tragedy
that I courageously tried to prevent. It will play out for months. No one will
look too deeply.”

“Others know what I know.”

“Then why aren’t the police here?”

Because I wanted to be a fucking
cowboy and didn’t tell them, Scarne thought bitterly. He knew Mack would see
through Arachne’s story. But he couldn’t tell this madman that. He might simply
have “Roddenberry” wait in ambush for Dudley before he had a chance to act. Dudley
was tough, and there was Bobo, but this man was a pro; it could go either way. The
only way Arachne could be dealt with for sure would be for Scarne to remain
silent. But that would doom Emma as well.

 “The sympathy and publicity that this
soap opera engenders will be invaluable,” Arachne continued. “I can picture an
entire spate of reality shows. Nobody will remember who Trump is.”

“You’re pitiful, Arachne. Next
thing, you’ll be going to the Donald’s hairstylist.”

Arachne flushed and edged toward
Scarne, raising his hand. It was what Scarne had hoped. But before he could do
anything Arachne smiled and stepped back.

“Very good, Jake. But let’s get
this over with.”

Scarne played his last, desperate
card.

“Bimm won’t keep his mouth shut
forever. He’s too greedy.”

Arachne laughed.

“Finally, we agree on something. He
was indeed a liability. I’ll spare you the details, but as Lacuna would have put
it, Bimm is sleeping with the fishes. From what I understand he became
something of a tourist attraction. But look on the bright side, Jake. In a few
weeks we’d be in my new apartment on Spruce Street and your fall would be 76
floors. Here it’s only 34. You may even be able to have an open casket. ”

“You would do this to Emma?”

“I would do it to anyone who gets
in my way. Console yourself. She is asleep. Unfortunately for the both of you,
gravity never sleeps, as they say.”

Arachne looked at Sobok and
nodded.

Scarne whirled around but was too
late.

CHAPTER 35 – PATRIOT’S GAME

The scream, more like a screech,
woke up residents on the 15
^th
, 11
^th
and 7
^th
floors as he passed by their windows. It was New York, so they all went back to
sleep. From his vantage point Sobok followed the plummet all the way to the
ground. Even at his height he could hear the
crump
.

“I would have expected a splat,”
Sobok said, picking up a nearby vase. He pulled out the flowers and poured the
water over Scarne, who sputtered awake. “Come on, we have to get you and the
woman out of here.”

It took a moment for Scarne to get
himself together. When he did, Sobok was pointing the silenced pistol at him.

“Just a precaution Mr. Scarne.
Believe it or not, we are on the same side now. Will you behave?”

“Where is Arachne?”

 “Making a puddle down on the
sidewalk.”

Scarne staggered over to the rail
and looked down. A woman was screaming. He could see other people converging on
the scene as the building’s doorman nonsensically blew his whistle. Arachne
didn’t need a cab, he needed a morgue wagon. He turned to Sobok. 

“You killed him.”

“Apparent suicide. At least that’s
how it will hopefully read.”

“He might have landed on someone.”

“I looked before he leaped.”  

The first sirens began warbling.
Sobok unscrewed the silencer and put it and the gun away. He motioned to
Scarne.

“Try to rouse Miss Shields. We can
take the rear elevator. Now, quickly. I want to clean up the drinks he spiked.”

He walked away. Emma was still out
like a light, but stirring. Scarne raised one of her eyelids and she tried to
swat his hand. He pinched her ear, hard.

“Owwww!

Sobok was back.

“Arachne left nothing to chance.
They had margaritas, which would have masked the chloral hydrate’s salty taste.
He undoubtedly had long experience doing this.”

 They pulled Emma off the lounge
and dragged her toward the front door. One of her high-heel shoes fell off and
Sobok picked it up. He also took off the other one.

“I’ll never understand how can
they wear these damn things,” he said.

Scarne was almost all the way back.

“What about fingerprints, DNA?
Security cameras?”

“You and the woman have been here
recently, along with half the political bigwigs in the city, not to mention the
household help.” Sobok smiled. “And I’m not worried about my fingerprints or
DNA, even if they eliminated the other thousand people. I’m not on file
anywhere. There are no cameras in the garage proper and none in Arachne’s
private elevator. I presume he didn’t want a record of his trysts, especially
if he planned rape. Did anyone see you come in?”

“Just a chauffeur. He probably saw
Emma, as well.”

“Perhaps. But if asked, she will
claim she left hours ago, after she told him they were through. News that must
have pushed him over the edge, to use his phrase.”

Sobok didn’t seem particularly
worried about the chauffeur, Scarne noted as they had reached the rear elevator
bank. Emma was starting to come to. Sobok entered the code and the doors slid
open.

“How do you know she will say
that?”

“She is not a stupid woman. And
you will explain the situation to her.”

They walked Emma into the elevator
and Sobok pushed a button. The elevator began descending, fast.

“High speed,” Sobok commented.
“But I think Arachne would have preferred it.”

 “Where am I?”

It was Emma. She lurched and Sobok
caught her just as the elevator reached the ground floor. When the door opened,
he transferred her to Scarne, handing him her shoes.

“Follow behind. I’ll see if the
coast is clear.”

The strange little procession is
sure to alarm Arachne’s driver, Scarne realized. He was about to warn the other
man when he noticed that the chauffeur was still staring out the window. And
hadn’t moved an inch. On closer observation he spotted the strange bend in the
driver’s neck.

Sobok was returning. Emma watched
the tall man approach and then screwed up her eyes to focus on Scarne

“Jake, what .…”

“Be quiet, honey. I’ll explain
later.”

“There’s nobody around,” Sobok
said. “I’ve flagged a cab. Here, let me help you with the lady.”

“I presume that’s the late Cong
Bao in the Rolls over there.”

“Yes. A pity. I rather liked him.”

“You never planned to go along
with killing us,” Scarne said as the walked through the garage, Emma between
them.