Coffee (18 page)

“Bryce
Applegate, FBI.” Bryce rose and shook Warren’s muscular
hand. Warren stood taller and wider than Bryce.

“Warren
Sherman. Knut was a close friend.”

“I
know. Don’t sit down, Warren, it’s getting on and I
haven’t eaten since breakfast. You want to join me for
dinner?”

Warren
slumped his shoulders. “Two of my best friends are dead, I
wait out there in the hall for two hours, and now you want to eat?
I’m not hungry, I just want to know what’s going on.”

“I
have a better idea then. How about a drink.” Bryce walked
out the office door, pulling his coat off a hook on the way. Warren
followed, shaking his head. Bryce called back, “You know any
good bars?”

He
answered sarcastically. “Yea, both of them.”

“Big
selection, ey?”

Bryce’s
nonchalant attitude annoyed Warren. “Let’s get going.
I’ll drive if you want.”

“Fine
with me. I’ll leave my rental in the parking lot.”

Warren
crossed the bridge into Vermont to the Norwich Inn where they could
have a quiet table. The old New England tavern with its wide
floorboards and cozy seating offered privacy and comfort. Warren
ordered a pint of the Inn’s private label micro-brew, and
Bryce the same along with a turkey club.

Warren
started in as soon as the conversation allowed. “So why are
you here. Do you think Knut was murdered?”

“I
never said that. I’m just researching a call he made before
he died.”

“Does
it relate to this Etty phone call I keep hearing about? Do you
think she’s alive?”

“Have
some beer. I’m just here to talk - find out what I can about
what Harriet and Knut had been doing for the last few weeks,
anything you can remember.”

“You
mean you’re just going to ask questions?” He shook his
head. “That’s not acceptable. The FBI doesn’t get
involved with car accidents and death due to pneumonia. I may have
caused all this and I have a right to know!”

“We
haven’t established anything yet. Yes, Knut received a call
from someone who sounded a lot like Harriet Bishop, and then he
called us. I’ll play the tape for you tomorrow and see what
you think. But the woman only said two words, it could have easily
been someone else. For now though, why don’t you tell me
everything that’s happened that might help me paint a better
picture. As for you causing anything, I’m not concerned with
what her friends did, I’m looking for information that might
lead me to people with less honorable intentions, if they exist.”

“So
you are suspicious. Knut thought it was she, and he knew her better
than anyone. He wouldn’t have called the FBI if he wasn’t
sure.”

“I’ve
told you everything I know. Now, please, let’s talk about
what’s been happening. Why don’t you start and tell me
about this options trade.”

Warren
finally submitted, taking him high speed through the events back to
Etty’s initial visit to his office. Bryce started taking
notes, but gave up to listen so he wouldn’t miss any of the
interesting story. Warren concluded, “With all this new
evidence, it sounds to me like the trade pissed some people off in
high places. I should never have done it.” He rubbed his
hair.

“Was
the trade illegal?”

“No,
I had it reviewed. Sure, I questioned it too, so I contacted the
Securities and Exchange Commission last Monday. Their analysts
found nothing out of the realm of normal market behavior, and gave
me the green light. They obviously weren’t as good as Knut.”

“You
told the SEC you thought there was market manipulation?”

“Well,
no, but I gave them all the information and let them come to their
own conclusions. I did tell them I was betting it would happen
again. I have their written authorization if you want to see it.”

“No,
not necessary. But you think Global Growers was up to something
illegal?”

“Knut
proved it. Or, he said the chances were one in a million or
something. Yes, I’m convinced these guys were creating a mini
‘corner’ on the market for their own gain.”

“That’s
good in a way, we can use that to get inside if we have to.”

They
ordered another pint. Warm yellow light flickered from a blazing
hearth in the center of the room. Warren breathed deeply, feeling
calmer. As frustrating as it was to have uncertainty added to the
mix of emotions from the death of his two friends, he was at least
part of the investigation. He took some pride to be at the table,
drinking beer socially with the FBI. “I really want to help
with this. I’ll get off work, hell I’ll even quit.
There’s no doubt I’m an accessory. If I hadn’t
made the trade...”

“Don’t
blame yourself. You made a trade that any sane person who
understood it would have made.”

“Eighteen
million in profit is hard to pass up.”

Bryce
blinked hard. “That’s the gain on the trade?”

“Yea,
in less than two hours. Etty had these guys pegged.”

Bryce
contained his surprise. This upped the ante, offering a plausible
motive.

“Knut
was suspicious right away about Etty. When he called me at home, he
was all in a tizzy about her trip. I wasn’t much help. After
watching Etty at work in my office a few days earlier, the fact that
a company wanted to interview her on short notice seemed reasonable
- I expected something like this. But Knut was concerned.”

“Why?”

“He
thought Etty was hiding something, that she might not even know
herself what she was getting into.”

“What
did he think she was getting into?”

“Nothing
like what happened, I’m sure. But he didn’t think she
knew World Investment was part of Global. He couldn’t believe
she didn’t mention it.”

Bryce
wrote in his notebook. “Maybe she didn’t.”

Warren
continued. “Whatever the case. I want to help. This started
with the markets, I know the markets. Global’s a major
player. I know Etty. I know this area. I don’t care if I
carry your bag and make photo copies.”

“I
could use a little help around here tomorrow. I have to be back in
Washington in the afternoon. I want to see the accident site, her
apartment, talk to the morgue, go back to the school. You could be
my designated driver.”

“Done.”
Warren sat back and sipped more of his beer. Eventually, he
ordered dinner. They talked of the accident, clues, and plans for
the next day. They touched on every conceivable angle. But in time
the conversation moved to a personal level. Bryce reminisced on
starting with the Marines at 19, how he flew transport helicopters
and eventually trained on the high-tech Cobra attack helicopters.
His nemesis was his own boredom. He gave up advancement opportunity
and took a lower position to start over on a jet training track. He
eventually earned pilot status for the Harrier class jets, the gems
of ocean based attack fleets. But even that wasn’t enough,
and he described leaving the Marines all together a year ago to join
the FBI.

“A
year ago? Are you still a rookie?”

“Hey,
there’s a lot to learn, believe me. Investigation technique,
evidence management, legal protocol - it takes time.” Bryce
contained a slight embarrassment.

“All
the more reason you need help - Warren Sherman, FBI sub-rookie at
your service.” He shifted in his seat and leaned back against
the wall of the quaint livingroom-like lounge. “I had a few
big changes in my career too. Lots of false starts. I used to run
a big portfolio on Wall Street. All the right stuff. Huge salary
and commission, fancy uptown apartment, rubbed shoulders with the
really big guys - a respected member of the financial elite. Coming
from wealthy Boston family, I was living up to even my parent’s
expectations. But I wasn’t happy. Even after all that. It
drove me nuts, the constant churning of the mill. No peace, no
depth. Those who call themselves friends would turn in a second for
political gain.”

He
downed another large sip, and by the casual way he wiped his upper
lip, and the sparkle in his engaging blue eyes, Bryce could see the
alcohol was producing a more honest picture of his new acquaintance.
“I have a BS and Masters from Brown, a great school, one of
the best. But for some silly reason, I wanted to go to Dartmouth.
They rejected me. They said I was naive on my application because I
lacked focus. I wasn’t clear what I wanted to do after I
graduated - I said it depended on opportunities. They were the
naive ones. Anyway, I was accepted at Brown, probably since my Dad
went there, then did the pilgrimage to Wall Street. But a few
years later, one particularly steamy summer day in my lofty New York
office, I saw a job wanted advertisement for the Dartmouth
Treasurer. They included a picture of the Connecticut River winding
through bushy woods, with shots of the charming white buildings
around the main quad. That was it. I jumped. Call it a search for
something more satisfying than the high finance New York scene, call
it revenge for rejecting me, whatever. Here I am.”

The
waitress brought more of the fresh dark beer, brewed on premises.
Warren paid the tab and continued. “Ah, the best laid plans.
Although I’ve been quite content up here, once again,
something lacked. College bureaucracy can be even worse than in the
business world. Too many people with power - actually made me miss
the dictatorships of Wall Street. I’ve been here almost two
years.”

He
shifted again. “One of the few bright spots had been my
friendship with Knut. A sardonic wit, a mind like a computer, and a
soft heart. I loved that guy. But a week ago, my whole life
changed.” He shook his head. “Harriet Bishop. She
plopped herself down in my office, and in minutes, she’d laid
out the biggest single speculation trade I have ever completed.
There she sat, such a small woman with that creamy face peering
through all that thick hair. I tried my usual big-shot intimidation
routine and poured on the handsome charm, but nothing fazed her.
She owned the meeting - I was just there to execute.”

Bryce
watched with fascination. This is why he joined the FBI, he
thought. Real people, real life. The closest the Marines came to
intimate contact with outside people were road maps. He didn’t
interrupt.

“By
the end of last week, I had a whole new outlook. Etty reminded me
of the power of pure intuition and confidence. She had no idea
you’re supposed to earn respect first, bow to authority, work
your way up, before you can operate at that level. She just did it.
She saw an opportunity, and took it. She never lost her head, she
just made her irrefutable arguments like she was recommending the
best recipe for a martini. She’s damn good.”

Bryce
felt a twinge of awkwardness as a tear brimmed in Warren’s
eye.

“Anyway,
everything was different after that trade. Prospects of getting to
know her better, as a friend, working on more ideas, having someone
to talk to who could appreciate what I do every day. I had myself
convinced that this college Treasury job was okay.” He stopped
to sip again. “I really didn’t know her that well, the
most you can expect from a few exciting days. But I liked her. It
wasn’t a romantic thing, well, not that I wouldn’t want
it to be.” Feeling suddenly self conscious with Bryce hanging
on every word, he ended his rambling commentary. “And now all
this. If she’s alive, I’ll do anything to help get her
back.“

Bryce
fiddled with the beer coaster before responding. “You have to
realize, we have almost nothing. We’re dealing with hunches on
top of maybes. On the one hand, we have the mother positively
identifying the body. We have a car and identification. We have a
cast of people, including yourself, who place her on that road at
that time. On the other hand we have two words on a tape and a
frantic call by a man literally hours away from death from an
incredibly virile case of pneumonia. The odds are pretty good that
we’ll close this case up in a day as an unfortunate accident
coupled with a serious disease.”

Warren
ignored Bryce’s recap, unable to dismiss denial. “And
Knut. He knew Etty better than I. And being blind, his acute sense
of hearing would unlikely misjudge the phone call. I don’t
get why he wouldn’t call me too, unless that call to the FBI
took his last breath.”

“He
sounded very sick.”

“Did
you check for poison? Whatever it was, it had to hit hard and fast.
Is it possible someone drugged him?”

“They
checked. His symptoms matched a powerful bacterial pneumonia, and
the forensics corroborated. The coroners report also said Knut was a
diabetic, did you know that?”

“Yea,
it relates to his blindness.”

“Look
it up, diabetics are more susceptible to some diseases. And the way
the guy drank vodka, I suspect didn’t help. The coroner noted
a sizable alcohol content in his blood, and mentioned that diabetics
can destabilize their chemistry pretty quickly doing that.”

“Come
on though! You want to talk probabilities? Trade on Tuesday. On
Friday, Etty’s called by the very people we foiled, then she
dies that night? Mysterious call on Saturday sounding like her?
Knut dies on the following Tuesday? What are the chances?”

Bryce
didn’t want to move too quickly. He shared in many of
Warren’s doubts, but he had an obligation to contain any wild
supposition. If the worst case scenario was true, he also wanted to
protect Warren, the third piece of this deadly puzzle.

Warren
finally summarized. “Sorry, I’ve been carrying on.
These are high test brews.” He pushed himself away from the
table to stand up. “I want to help, and if driving you around
Hanover tomorrow is important to you, I’m there.”

“Just
don’t get your hopes up. We’re not likely to find a
smoking gun in the snow.”