Nice Place for a Murder (21 page)

“All right.” He sighed as he sat on the cot. “You think you know Ingo Julian, but you don’t.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Because — because the man is dead. Been dead for six years.”

“Are you going to tell me that the person running the company today is his brother Felix? That it was Ingo who was burned up in that plane crash in the mountains, and Felix who survived? I’ve heard that before. It’s nonsense, a story somebody dreamed up.”

“The story is true,” Giannone said. “I overheard the whole plot. I’m the — the only one who knows what really happened. Beside Ingo — Felix Julian, that is — and Arthur Brody.”

“Brody? How Brody?”

Giannone leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. He was still sweating heavily, and his shirt had already begun to soak through.  “This is what I know, what I heard. I’m — I was — a resident at the hospital. They brought a man in by helicopter. They said it was Felix Julian. They said there was another man on the plane, his brother Ingo, who burned up in the fire. That’s what — what I was told when I went on shift at six in the evening. Twelve hour shift. Twelve on, twelve off.

“The man they’d flown in had second degree burns over a third of his body, multiple fractures on one leg, fractured arm, fractured ribs, severe thoracic trauma. The medic on the helicopter had cut most of his clothes — burned clothes— cut them off. He was nearly naked when they brought him in, they said. He was on the operating table for — for a long time, and it looked as though he might not survive. When they finally got him into the intensive care unit, he was covered with bandages.”

Giannone sat absolutely still, his eyes staring straight ahead, as if observing a scene from the past that only he could see. He was in a sort of reverie.

“I was on shift when Brody arrived from New York in the middle of that night. He asked me about Felix’s condition, and I told him the man had a decent chance to survive, but that he was facing more surgeries to repair the damage to his face and his body. His burns and other injuries were so — so extensive, he’d never be the same man again. Brody was so concerned, and he was completely — he was desperate to see the man. I told him he could. The ICU was nearly dark at that hour, and Brody stood by the bed. Felix had his eyes shut. Never moved. I saw Brody leaning close. He was very intense. That’s when I went off shift.”

Brody, intense? The same serene executive who had handed me an envelope stuffed with money and calmly suggested I do away with Sosenko? “What do you mean, intense?” I asked Giannone.

Annoyed at the question, he broke away from his reverie. “I mean anxious, very apprehensive about Felix. Look, you want to hear this, or not?”

“Go on.”  

“When I came back the next night, I checked the ICU and saw that Brody was still there, all that time, sitting in a chair by the bed. Felix was still unconscious. Later, Felix — he opened his eyes for a while, but he didn’t move at all. He was heavily medicated, of course. For — for the pain. Finally Brody left. Said he’d get a room at a hotel. But he was back again in a few hours, just sitting there, watching the man in the bed. It wasn’t until the next night that Felix finally — finally was able to turn his head a little. I saw Brody talking to him, but Felix couldn’t answer. He just — just stared up through the bandages. He might have heard Brody. I don’t know.

“Later that night, coming back to check, I was outside the curtain at Felix’s bed. Brody didn’t see me. I couldn’t hear everything, just — just pieces — bits of what Brody was telling Felix. But I did hear him say, ‘Now we don’t have to sell the company. You’ll be a better Ingo than your brother ever was. I’ll show you how to make the smart moves.’”

Giannone seemed to be running out of breath. “I never thought about it then. Meant nothing to me. Company politics — I don’t live in that world. Beside, I had my own troubles at the hospital. But years later I read something about Ingo Julian, chairman of Julian Communications. And I laughed because I knew Ingo was dead. I knew it had to be Felix playing the part of his brother.”

“Did you ever ask yourself why Felix would do that? Why should he bother?”

“Were you listening to me?” he said, with the same sudden anger I’d seen in him at the railroad station, when the ferrets were nipping at him. “Without Ingo, they’d have had to sell the company. That’s what Brody said. Pay attention, Seidenberg. Brody was — he had this scheme. He used Felix, to hold onto the company.”

“And you got all that from what you heard Brody say?”

“Yes! The patient in the bed was Felix!” Now he was shouting at me.

“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe the guy in the bed was Ingo all the time.”

“Ingo was dead in the crash.” 

“I don’t believe it,” I said. “It sounds like a bad movie.”

“It’s what happened. I was there.”

“Didn’t anybody check? Didn’t anybody question all this?”

“Why?” he said. “Nobody said — nobody was disputing it.”

I sat there shaking my head. I didn’t believe anybody could pull off such an outrageous con, and make it stick, year after year. So many people knew Ingo. Nobody could fool them all. “I have to ask you something,” I said. “I know why you had to leave the hospital, all that. Were you on drugs six years ago, when Brody was there?”

“You think this whole thing was a hallucination?” he snapped.

“You do see ferrets,” I said.

“I know what’s real. I can tell the difference.”

“All right, it was real,” I said. “Just one more thing. You knew about this from the beginning. How come it took you six years to say something?”

He stood and walked unsteadily into the bathroom. I heard the water run in the sink. He came out wiping his face and neck with a towel. “What did I care?” he said. “It was none of my business.” Then, heavy with sarcasm, ”And beside, doctors aren’t supposed to talk about patients.”

“And now?” I asked.

“Now Julian Communications is all over the news. Now Felix and Brody are going to make  — what is it, hundreds of millions — with their scam. And now I need the money. Anyway, I’m not a doctor any more, now am I?”

CHAPTER XXIII

By the time I liberated my car from the garage, crossed town to the east side and made my way through the Midtown Tunnel, it was past four in the afternoon. The sluggish procession of homeward-bound commuters had already begun, and there was no choice but to join the endless line of cars on the Long Island Expressway. 

With the crawl of traffic testing my patience, I had more time than I needed to ponder Giannone’s story. I was satisfied that he was who he said he was, a doctor, now defrocked, who’d been at Utica General Hospital when a badly injured Felix — or somebody — was brought in. But had Giannone actually heard Brody propose a grand scheme to the patient in the bed, or was the whole episode just an imagined fantasy that seemed real to a rogue doctor tripping on drugs? Maybe he’d simply misinterpreted what he’d heard. Or maybe it was something Giannone’s addled mind misconstrued now, years after the fact. After all, this was a guy subject to spells of irrational anger, a pathetic addict who saw little animals where there were none.

For all of that, should I still believe him?  He’d been lucid today, and almost reasonable. And why should he lie? He’d have no hope of a payoff from Julian Communications if he were making it up. He couldn’t bamboozle Brody and Ingo. They’d both been there six years ago. They knew the truth.

If Giannone was right, how did it involve what was playing out at Julian Communications? What if the man I knew as Ingo was really Felix, and Brody was the brains behind all his moves? It would pay them to stick together, a winning combination, especially now, with Wall Street waiting for the Julian stock offering. Not only that, if word got out about Felix impersonating a dead brother, the whole stock deal could collapse. So why the falling out? Smart guys would know better. Maybe that’s why Ingo — or whoever — wanted to kiss and make up with Brody.

The ringing of the cell phone in my jacket pocket put my thoughts on hold while I fumbled to answer it. Wally’s lazy drawl sounded good to me, familiar and comfortable after my labored talk with Giannone. “Where are you at, amigo?”

“Driving east on the LIE, talking on my cell phone, which is against the law. I’m in the traffic with the worker bees. Just passed exit 36,” I told him. “What’s up?”

“Thought you might have a casual interest in this,” he said. “Our buddy Sosenko is nosing around out here again. Cops are after him, but he’s staying ahead of them. I saw his boat pulling away from the gas pumps over at Tyson’s marina. Still had that piece of white plywood nailed on the stern, but I could tell that was the boat.”

“Which way was he heading?”

“East, when I saw him. But he could have gone anywhere once he made it around the east end of Shelter.”

“You don’t suppose Ingo Julian and Lisa Harper are still on Shelter, do you?”

“I do suppose,” Wally said. “They’re in residence.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw them through my binoculars. I think it was them. Swimming in front of the Julian place. Back and forth. Swimming in October, for chrissakes. Got to be loco, no?”

“Through your binoculars? What are you, some kind of secret agent?”

“I take this stuff seriously, compadre. I’m just trying to ace this assignment so you’ll make me a private eye. You know, with a badge and all.”

“Too much stress for you,” I said. “Make you old before your time.”

“Look what it did to you,” he said.

I wasn’t going to win this exchange. “But Sosenko didn’t put in on Shelter, did he, at Dering Harbor?” I said.

“Why is it so hard to understand me when I talk? Try and watch my lips over the phone. I told you no. He went right past Dering Harbor. But Dering isn’t the only landing on the island. Or he could just wait for dark and then come back,” Wally said. “You want me to go over there, look around? ”

“Not necessary right now. Teague’s got two strongarm types guarding the Julian place,” I told him. “Anyway, I’m going there myself. Time I had another talk with Ingo.”

“I’m here to serve,” Wally said. “Call any time, day or night.” I could hear him waiting for me to end it, so I did, the best way I knew how.

“Goodbye.”

The Empire night-man at the front gate of Ingo’s place had blue eyes, close-cut blond hair, a chest the size of a bale of hay, and might have been a Nazi storm trooper, somehow misplaced in time. I had some hesitation telling him my name was Seidenberg, but evidently Teague had blessed me, because herr guard did everything but snap to attention and click his heels when I showed him my ID and asked to go inside.

Lisa was in the great room, intent on a laptop computer balanced, appropriately enough, on her lap. Clad in jeans, a sweatshirt and tennis shoes, she sat cross-legged on a couch, transcribing data from the computer screen onto a pad lying beside her. Seeing her again, it occurred to me that she always looked athletic, even in repose. There was a certain coiled-spring aspect about her. I was convinced she might suddenly leap up and run around the room, just for the exercise.

“Surprised you’re still here,” I said. “Thought you and Ingo would be back in New York, guiding the destinies of Julian Communications.”

“We’re guiding them from here,” she said. “Your Mr. Teague persuaded Ingo to stay out here a day or two longer. Said security for us was less complicated here. Promised he’d have the problem solved by then.”

Yeah, solved, I thought. “Where’s Ingo?”

“I’m not certain. He was on the phone most of the day, and then he seemed to be getting antsy. I think he sneaked out for a run before the sun sets completely.”

“A run? Without a guard with him? Why would he try to defeat the security?” I said. “That’s dumb.”

She set the computer down and turned it off. “You’re probably right, Seidenberg. I think you should tell him. Tell Ingo he’s dumb.”

“I wouldn’t presume to tell Ingo anything. But I do have something to ask him,” I said.

“Oh? Why don’t you ask me? I know what Ingo knows.”

I sat on the couch beside her. “I’m sure you do. All right, I’m going to tell you a story I heard, and I want you to tell me if it’s true.” I never mentioned Giannone’s name, but I went carefully through the scenario he’d revealed to me.

Lisa never took her eyes off of me, but said nothing. Finally, “Are you telling me you buy this fairy tale? Do you actually think Ingo is Felix?”

“It might explain a lot,” I said. “Brody pulling the strings, making all the key decisions for the company. The power behind the throne. After years of it, Felix coming to resent him. An argument. A falling out. I can see that happening.”

“Except that it never did happen. Anyone who ever knew Felix will tell you he couldn’t possibly be the man who’s chief executive officer of the company today.”

“You knew Felix.”

“Well. Very well.”

“And Ingo?”

“I know Ingo. Very well, also. Better than anyone.”

“Tell me exactly why you’re so sure he isn’t Felix,” I said. “What was Felix like? You two were together, weren’t you?”

“Oh come now, Seidenberg. I was with Felix. Now I’m with Ingo.” She undid her cross-legged position and planted her feet on the floor with a thump, punctuating what she said. “Do you really think I can’t tell the difference?”

“What are we talking about here? Pants on or pants off? Style? Technique?”

“You are tactless,” she said.

“We’re way past tact,” I told her. “What do you know about Felix?”

“I told you that story. You know about his business — the mail-order flower thing down in Orlando. How it failed, so he came back to work in the company with Ingo.”

“You told me what had happened, but you didn’t tell me much about Felix,” I said.

“All right. Listen, then, and tell me if I’m describing the man you call Ingo.” She stood, thrust her hands deep into the pockets of her jeans, and began pacing about the perimeter of the room. “Felix was younger, always in awe of his big brother. Ingo was the bold one, the aggressive one, the one who took a few thousand dollars and built a huge business. He offered Felix a piece of the company, but Felix wouldn’t take it. He felt he had to prove himself, do something on his own, just like his brother. Well, he tried, and you know what happened. He did everything wrong, let everybody take advantage of him — employees, suppliers, everybody. He was too nice, too easy, to be a boss. He trusted everybody. Even that woman in Orlando who roped him in, got him to marry her.”

“What was her name?” I asked.

“What does it matter? Lisa said.

“Could you let me decide what matters?” I said. “I’m getting more than a little tired of people holding back on me. Just for one minute, I’d like to have a look at the whole picture.”

“Now you’re making me feel guilty,” she said, in a way that told me she didn’t, at all. “All right. Let me think. It was Mary Jean. You know these southern girls. They all have two names — Betty Jo, Sally Mae. Anyway, she was a Mary Jean. Mary Jean Christensen. They were only married seven months, and she took him for four hundred thousand. Ingo paid it.

“Anyway, the point is that Ingo and Felix couldn’t have been more different. Ingo’s a smart, shrewd, forceful man who knows what he wants and where he’s going. He was always that way, and he became even more determined after the accident. He drives  tough deals, and sure, he’s made his share of enemies. He is not universally loved. Show me a successful leader at his level who is.

“Felix was a decent guy. But in the game he tried to play, you don’t get any points for that. He was soft.”

“Soft and decent. Is that why you loved him?” I said.

“I suppose it was.”

“If that’s the kind of guy who appeals to you, isn’t it strange that you’re with Ingo now? Being that the two brothers were so different.”

Lisa stopped her pacing and faced me, her fists now on her hips. “You know what, Seidenberg? I’ve had enough of being forthright and open. My choices are my choices, and I don’t have to explain them. You think I care what you believe? I really don’t. You’re not the first one to think I traded my ass for a vice presidency.

“Now let me tell you what I think. I think it’s time for you to go home. If you came in here believing Ingo is really Felix, you’ve been set straight by someone who knows the truth. I can’t think why your source would want you to believe such a preposterous thing. He — or is it a she? — has some agenda I can’t begin to understand. Ingo is Felix? It’s simply not possible. And goodnight.”

Ingo had heard what she said. He’d evidently been standing just outside the archway leading into the room, and now he strode in with that peculiar rolling gait of his. Though there was a slight October chill in the evening air outside, his face glistened with perspiration. From his run, I assumed. “You think I am Felix?” he said to me. “That’s almost blasphemy. My brother died six years ago, yes?”

“I think that point’s been made,” I said, nodding toward Lisa.

“Still,” he said, “you have no cause to investigate my brother. I find it distressing, because his memory is sacred to me. I must tell you, Seidenberg, that your speculations are not strengthening Empire Security’s relationship with me. Am I being clear?”

I don’t respond to pointless questions, so I let it slide by. I said, “I’m here to tell you that the man who shot Hector has been seen out here today. The Empire people can’t protect you if you insist on giving them the slip.”

“Point taken,” Ingo said. “Is there anything else?”

“We’re trying to keep you alive.”

“I know that. Don’t think I’m not grateful,” he said. “But understand that I resent absurd stories about Felix. In any case, this situation today is not about my brother. Not in any way. Goodnight, Seidenberg.”

I nodded at him and forced a smile, pointedly insincere. I looked to Lisa, but she was already back on the couch, playing with her computer again and refusing to meet my eyes.

No sense telling them about Giannone’s payoff request. They’d already dismissed his story as a lie

I walked back to the ferry, sharply aware that the truth was still being twisted. But I was getting close. All I had to do was hear Ingo say ‘blasphemy’ and ‘sacred’ in the same breath as his brother’s name, and I knew I’d struck a nerve. As the boat moved out into the bay toward the lights of Greenport on the other side, I suspected Ingo’s brother was key to this puzzle. And I had a good idea who might have the answers I wanted.

CHAPTER XXIV

There was an early morning plane to Orlando out of MacArthur Airport, an easy hour’s ride by car along the eastern half of the Long Island Expressway. By eight-thirty I was on my way to Florida, up above the clouds, drinking airline coffee from a plastic cup, and eating a Danish which was scandalously small and far too sweet. But what the hell. I always thought it was something of a minor miracle, anyway, that you were able to sit and eat as you flew through the air.

As I looked down on the white billows below, I wondered just how much of a bimbo Mary Jean Christensen really was. To hear Lisa Harper tell it, she was a cornpone femme fatale who snagged Felix the innocent, chewed him up and then took him for a mound of his brother’s money. My conversation with the southern lady in question on the phone last night, however, didn’t reveal that degree of wickedness. Ms. Christensen, in fact, sounded like the very soul of consideration one expects of women in polite company, especially below the Mason-Dixon line. Given the unhappy way in which she’d parted company with the Julian family, I was surprised that she agreed so quickly to talk to me. I told her I was trying to clear up questions about Felix’s death, and she seemed eager to help, though she reminded me she’d been divorced from Felix for a two years before he died, so there probably wasn’t much she could contribute. But all nice, very nice. I’ve known some bimbos in my day, and none of them ever sounded like Mary Jean Christensen.