Killer Look (22 page)

“I'm certain your financial records will back all that up,” Mike said.

“Take a number, Chapman. The IRS and every other agency concerned has had a shot at our records. In due time, why not you?”

“Thanks for this, Mr. Savage,” I said. “I was sort of hoping you'd blame all your problems on a dead man, even if he was a total sleaze when it came to women. It's so much cleaner and easier than admitting that as CFO, you took it on yourself to set up offshore accounts, creating off-the-books records to hide all the WolfWear losses.”

It was just a long shot, but this was the time to take it. Prosecutors had worked through corporate records to take on the Enron scandal, the Tyco disgrace, and the collapse and bankruptcy of Dewey Ballantine—a once distinguished white-shoe law firm.

“Why you—”

“Hold your tongue, Mr. Savage,” Mike said. “All Coop's suggesting is that maybe you cooked the books.”

“Don't you dare—”

“But you just go on ahead with next week's show. We've got plenty of time to look into that theory.”

“That's slanderous, Detective,” Hal Savage said. “You better keep your mouth shut, accusing me of fraud. That's totally slanderous.”

“How long did you think you could hide all that from Wolf?” Mike asked. “How far did you have to go when he realized that his global vision would be dead in the water if you'd been defrauding him for years?”

“Get out!”

“Happy to be leaving, sir. It seems to me Wolf's in the morgue and you're the one sitting in the catbird seat now. We've got to figure out who that's good for. Is it you? Your nephew, Reed? The good folks at Kwan Enterprises? Or do I check the box that says all of the above?” Mike said. “C'mon, Coop, let's see if we can stir us up a hex on mendacity.”

We were back in the reception area of the WolfWear offices, where the flower arrangements were beginning to look as dead as the man they were meant to honor.

The receptionist—not the young woman who had greeted us on our first visit—was ferrying vases back and forth from the restroom to empty them, so we had a quiet place to talk.

“How'd you come up with all that financial fraud stuff, Coop?” Mike asked.

I had never worked in the white-collar crimes division of the DA's Office, but many of my good friends did. The time we spent together brainstorming on trial strategy and sitting in on one another's courtroom arguments kept me conversant with the case issues.

“Don't you remember Enron? I must have paid attention because it broke while I was in law school, so we had lectures about it back then.”

“It was an energy company, wasn't it?” Mercer said.

“Yes. One of the world's largest natural-gas and electricity
businesses. You want to talk global? I guess that's what made me think of Enron. It was huge at the time,” I said, “in building pipelines and power plants and things like that.”

“Then it began to lose money,” he said.

“Yes, its debt was tremendous. Even the sale of major operations—like what Hal Savage wants to do—would not have solved Enron's problems,” I said. “So the chief financial guy set up a very creative accounting fraud—one of the best examples of willful corporate fraud and corruption ever.”

“Here all this time, Wolf gets credit for being the creative brother, when maybe Hal outdid him in original thinking,” Mike said. “How did Enron manage it?”

“I'll have to pull out my law books. I know the financial guru set up offshore entities, and he put all the debts and losses into those accounts. As for assets, he greatly inflated them, and even made some up out of whole cloth.”

“They had fictional business accounts, right?” Mike asked. “They just eliminated unprofitable entities from their books. But nobody got murdered.”

“No, no. But it was a public company, unlike WolfWear, so the top executives began selling off huge amounts of stock when they got wind of the hidden losses,” I said.

“Insider trading.”

“That's it. The stock plummeted from ninety dollars a share to less than a dollar, but not before the insiders and their families had sold off everything they had, knowing what was about to happen. How's twenty-five years in jail?”

“About what the sentence would be for murder. In Hal's case, twenty-five to life would be a death sentence,” Mike said. “You like him for Wolf's murder?”

“I'm just keeping all our balls in the air,” I said as the
receptionist returned with another empty vase and headed back to the bathroom sink with some drooping red roses.

“You're saying Wolf had his eye on the need to expand into other markets, and to the design end of the business,” Mercer said. “That he left the financial health of the business in Hal's hands.”

“That's what it sounds like,” I said. “I'm back to Chapman's Rules of Homicide Investigations. First is that there are no coincidences. We have a father and daughter both dead, and that fact can't be a coincidence. We all agree on that. On to rule two. There are four motives for murder: greed, jealousy, lust, and revenge. I'll throw in a pure hate crime, but that's not what we've got here.”

“Go on.”

“If Tanya Root was an isolated case, I'd start with lust, of course. But we have no evidence of that, and never will. With Wolf's death, I'd eliminate that completely.”

“Jealousy?” Mike said.

“Tanya might have been jealous of the two siblings who didn't seem to know she even existed, but that certainly doesn't explain why she wound up dead first.”

“You like revenge.”

“Whichever way you look at this,” I said, “there's a strong element of greed involved. And maybe a twinge of revenge. Not the voodoo kind, just a straightforward settling of scores.”

“There are so many people we haven't talked to yet,” Mike said.

“George Kwan is one of them,” I said. “What does he know about the WolfWear financials? How does Kwan Enterprises benefit if Hal Savage—or someone else there—is in command of the company?”

“Depends on who you cast your vote for as the weakest link. Hal? Reed? Take your best shot.”

“Let's find George Kwan. Do you know where his offices are?”

“I know they work out of a townhouse on the Upper East Side,” Mercer said. “It's supposed to be loaded with security and harder to penetrate than Kim Jong Un's palace.”

The receptionist was back with another empty vase, heading for some gladioli that were emitting a foul odor from the corner of her desk.

“Excuse me,” I said. “We were supposed to meet with George Kwan, but I didn't put his address in my contacts. Have you got a phone number for him?”

“Not for him personally,” she said. “I can give you his office number.”

“Thanks. And the address, too. It's East Seventy-Fifth Street isn't it?” I asked as she pulled up her phone list on the desktop.

“Seventy-Eighth Street, actually. Mr. Kwan is out of the country for the weekend. I don't think we're going to see him until Monday night. You know, at the Met.”

“Of course,” I said, thanking her for the phone and street numbers as she went back about ditching the flowers.

Kwan Enterprises wouldn't put up the money for the big launch, but it made sense for George and his crew to be there in the front row to promote their planned venture.

“Ah, the inscrutable East,” Mike said. “Where's George when we need him?”

“Stop with the political incorrectness,” I said. “We're the only ones who can hear you, and we're over it.”

“Let's give the townhouse a shot. He can't be the only Kwan in the enterprise.”

“What about lunch?” Mike asked.

We were on our way down in the elevator, to the lobby of 530 Seventh Avenue.

“Let's just grab sandwiches,” Mercer said, “and power on through. It's already after one thirty.”

We reached the sidewalk outside the building. I recognized Reed Savage, approaching us with another man.

“Mr. Savage,” I called out, waving to him, then speaking an aside to the guys. “You'd be smart to talk to him out of his uncle's presence, Mike.”

We waited until the men crossed the street to our side.

“I—uh—I don't know what to say to the three of you,” Reed Savage began. “I'm just sick at the thought of how close my uncle and I came to denying the medical examiner the chance to see if there's any evidence linking my father's death to a suspect.”

Reed was more humbled and apologetic than his uncle had been.

“Have you met David? David Kingsley,” Reed said, introducing each of us to him. “David is Lily's husband.”

“Good to know you,” David said, shaking hands with each of us and lingering a few seconds on me. “Lily told me you grew up together, and how helpful you were in getting the NYPD to pay attention to Wolf's death.”

“Do you have a few minutes?” Mike asked both of them. “Pop into a coffee shop around the corner, to get off the street?”

“Sure,” Reed said, “if that's what you need.”

“I'll run along then,” David said.

“No, no. This is a good opportunity to talk with you both,” Mike said.

Mercer led us to a booth for six in the rear of the deli, which was emptying out after the lunch hour. The five of us were a snug fit.

“What did I interrupt?” Mike asked. “Family reunion?”

“We're getting to know each other a little better,” Reed said. “Making up for lost time.”

“My wife never had much of a family, Detective,” David said. “Reed's been very welcoming.”

“I had enough trouble in grade school trying to keep straight the alliances in the Holy Roman Empire,” Mike said. “You folks give them a good run for their money, excepting for the holy part.”

Reed broke a smile. “David and Lily both have great business acumen. I think we need to find a place for them in the business.”

“I hope George Kwan is on board with that idea,” Mike said. “The way I heard him screaming at your uncle the other day, I'd be ready to duck and cover.”

David looked down at the Formica tabletop. Reed didn't respond.

Mercer flagged down a waiter and asked for menus. All five of us ordered coffee.

“How'd you two take the news about Tanya Root?” Mike asked.

“Poor Lily didn't know what to think. She was sorry to find out she had a sister she'd never known about—and was helpless to help when Tanya must have needed it most—and she was mortified that her father's dirty laundry is hanging out in public,” David said. “For me, well, it's all a matter of being here to support Lily. It's not personal.”

I wanted to separate David from Reed, to question each out of the presence of the other. That was Mike's usual style, but he clearly wanted them to go head to head for some reason not yet obvious to me.

“But it is professional for you,” Mike said.

“You're very premature to say that, Detective.”

Reed was all ears.

“Wolf came to you more frequently for advice these last few months, didn't he?” Mike said.

“Look, I wanted my wife and our children to have a role in his life, and in this amazing business empire he built, too.”

“Will you be at the Met Monday night?”

David stammered a bit as he formed an answer. “We will be, Lily and I. Wolf invited us, and now there'll be a tribute to him of course.”

The waiter placed the coffee cups in front of each of us. Reed's attention was focused on his brother-in-law.

“Who's in charge of the big show, anyway?”

Both men were silent.

“For a couple of million dollars,” Mike said to David, “I'd think you and Lily would want to brag about it.”

Reed didn't have to speak. It was obvious from the look on his face that he hadn't known until this moment who was paying for Monday night's extravaganza.

“Your father never told you?” Mike said to Reed. “When Wolf made plans months ago to stage this launch at the Met, he must have thought that he had the dough to bankroll the show.”

“I'm sure he did,” Reed said, fidgeting with packets of sugar on the table. “Things change, Detective.”

“I guess he left you out of the big money decisions at this point. So did your uncle Hal. And you probably didn't want any spoilers in case the Kwans were planning to keep you on board.”

David was discreet enough not to argue in front of us, but Reed was ready to leave the table. “It's what I was trying to explain at lunch, Reed. I didn't quite get the whole story out, but I fully intended to tell you this afternoon.”

“It can wait, David,” he said, standing up. “I've really got to get back. There's so much to do.”

“Hang on. I'll walk over with you.”

“No thanks, David. I've got a ton of stuff to organize,” Reed said, ready to turn his back on all of us. “I've got the whole damn thing to run on Monday.”

He was attempting to regain some dignity in front of us by telling us how much was on his plate.

“I understand there's someone from the company putting the exhibition together at the Costume Institute,” Mike said, using the information I had given him about Tiziana Bolt without burning me in front of Reed and David. “She used to work for your father, I think. Who does she report to now?”

“There's no one from WolfWear working over there,” Reed said.

“An old friend of your father's. Does that ring a bell?”

“Oh, Tiz. Of course,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Tiziana Bolt, you mean. Yes, yes, an old friend of dad's. She's our liaison to the Met. I guess she'll be taking orders from me from this point on.”

“Good to know,” Mike said.

“Why do you ask?”

“Security at the museum can be pretty sticky. It must have been one of the workers there who told me to talk to Ms. Bolt if we needed anything at the Met.”

Reed tapped two fingers on the table. “You talk to me, Detective. I'm in charge.”

“I hear you,” Mike said.

“About Tanya Root,” I said to Reed. “Did you know about her? Had you ever met her?”

Reed Savage paused, still tapping his fingertips. “I'd heard talk about her. Talk between my father and my uncle. I was aware of some off-the-charts crazy girl who'd made trouble for Wolf, but they never wanted me to mix with her. I never knew she was blood—not to him or to me.”

“Didn't it interest you—on a human level—to find out more?”

“Look, Ms. Cooper. I live in London, so there's a lot of things that went down here that nobody talked to me about—especially my father's personal life—and it isn't my way to go looking for trouble.”

“How about if trouble came looking for you?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“That if Tanya wasn't making any headway with your father, she might have knocked on your door.”

“That's just it, Ms. Cooper. I don't have a door here,” he said. “Security at the front desk in the office building had strict orders not to let her in.”

I thought for a few seconds before I spoke. “Exactly how did they do that if no one among you knew her last name?”

Reed Savage didn't flinch. “She was always Tanya. That's the name she used, every time she showed up in New York. So it was the first trigger for security to stop her, once they entered it in their computer system,” he said. “You'll have to ask my uncle whether they had a photograph, too, or not. Living and working abroad seems to have saved me from being confronted with Tanya's anger and acting out. RIP, dear sister.”

“Will you be around this weekend?” Mike asked.

“I don't mean to sound rude, but you don't seem to get the magnitude of Monday's event. The future of WolfWear is riding on it,” Reed said. “I expect I'll be at the office part of the time. We don't have access to Dendur, for rehearsals, till after the museum closes. That's where I'll be in the evenings.”

“Thanks.”

“Are we done?” Reed asked. “May I get back to work?”

He didn't wait for the answer, but just turned and walked to the front door.

“I guess I let the cat out of the bag,” Mike said to David Kingsley. “It doesn't sound like there's been full disclosure between you and the Savages.”

“It's a business deal, Detective. Sometimes you need to hold things close to the vest till the handshake that seals it,” David said.

“I hear that you got more than a handshake from Wolf,” Mike said.

“Excuse me?”

“I'm not trying to hurt you, Mr. Kingsley,” Mike said, stopping to take a few sips of his coffee. “Otherwise I would have dropped this little bombshell in front of Reed.”

David fidgeted in his seat. His feet accidentally tangled with mine under the table. “There's no bombshell.”

“Did you know we spoke with Lily this morning?” Mike said. “Just over an hour ago?”

From the expression on his face, I'd guess he had no idea.

“You ponied up two mil for Wolf Savage,” Mike said, “and in exchange for that, the man promised to revise his will.”

David pushed his cup away. “That's not exactly how it went.”

“You mean that wasn't the deal—to cut Lily and your kids in for more money? Take some of the share away from Reed? Is that the part I got wrong?” Mike asked. “Or was there something else you were holding close to the vest, like in any good business deal?”

“My plan wasn't to hurt Reed, Detective.”

“Who, then? The charities that will benefit from the estate—if your father-in-law still had any cash left? Or the loyal employees who served him over so many decades?”

“Or the people who'd squeezed Wolf for money all his adult life?” David Kingsley countered. “Maybe some of them needed to get their fingers out of the pie. We're his family, for God's sake.”

“Did Wolf get the new will done?” I asked, softening the tone of the conversation.

David Kingsley glared at me. He was smart enough to know that we were looking not only for connections to Tanya and to Wolf, but for motives as well.

“Answer the lady,” Mike said.

“I'm not certain.”

“Well, that solves that,” Mike said, sarcasm practically dripping into his coffee cup. “You can't be the killer because you wouldn't have offed Wolf if he'd gone ahead and made the fix, if he'd cut your family a larger piece of the pie. You'd have nothing to be unhappy about.”

Mercer stepped in with the flip side. “Unless Wolf reneged on the deal. Maybe he gave you the handshake but then balked when the follow-up came for him to actually execute a new will.”

“Not guilty,” David Kingsley said, smiling at Mike. “I can't believe you're even talking to me this way.”

“I have a lot of issues, Mr. Kingsley. Manners is one of them,” Mike said. “Deal with it.”

“Why?” Mercer asked. “Have you got a copy of the will?”

“I'm quite confident that Wolf did just as he promised me he would. I was just giving Reed and Hal the chance to get through next week. I expect to be able to produce the new will shortly.”

“I'm so impressed with your confidence, Mr. Kingsley,” Mike said. “What's that based on?”

“Wolf Savage actually signed a letter for me,” David said, a bit too smugly for my taste. “A testamentary letter to give to his lawyer—and to his son and brother—in the event anything happened to him before his will was finalized.”

“You must have really leaned on the old man,” Mike said.

“I didn't have to lean at all. He wanted to do the right thing for Lily. I can show you a copy of it, of course.”

I leaned forward and cocked my head. “Are you talking about a precatory letter, Mr. Kingsley? Is that what you mean?”

“I'm a businessman, Ms. Cooper. I'm not a lawyer,” he said. “It's a letter to Hal and to Reed that tells them exactly what he'd like done for Lily and my kids.”

“In the law, Mr. Kingsley, it's called a precatory letter. It's got language that says, ‘I'm writing to provide you some guidance about what to do upon my death.'”

“Just like that. You're right.” He was excited I could acknowledge the formality of the document.

“It probably says something like, ‘It's my sincere hope that you will carry out my wishes about Lily and her children.'”

“That's it, Ms. Cooper.”

“I hate to tell you, Mr. Kingsley. You might have kept this too close to your vest. You should have gotten some advice about this from a lawyer,” I said, sitting back.

“But—but that's the kind of thing they say.”

“Precatory letters are just that. Letters. Wolf Savage might have ‘hoped' for something that will never come to be,” I said, putting air quotes around the word “hoped.” “These letters are not legally binding documents at all.”