Partners In Crime (23 page)

"Can't you see it?" Hale shouted at T.S. "He
was embezzling money and Cheswick and Boswell found out. I never
liked that man, Hubbert.'' He shook his head angrily. "Never
trusted him. Too slippery. Too eager to please."

Sure. It was T.S.'s experience that people
were only too eager to bend over when others offered to kiss their
behinds for them. "What are you going to do about it?" T.S.
asked.

"I have every single employee in the
auditing department poring over his records. And I'm going to help
them personally. I don't give a good goddamn about confidentiality.
I don't care who knows what stocks I bought or when. I want to know
what that weasel was stealing from me." He slammed a palm down on
the desk and T.S. jumped. "I've told Abromowitz everything. They've
got people in with us. This is going to ruin us. The scandal. No
one has ever embezzled money from Sterling & Sterling."

"No one?" T.S. asked faintly.

"Not since 1887!" the Managing Partner
roared back. "Okay? When $567 was taken by a bank clerk. Clean
enough record for you?"

"Yes, yes of course. I wasn't being
facetious." T.S. sought to calm the man but he was clearly in a
frenzy.

"Stanley Sinclair will live to wish he'd
never seen the doors of Sterling & Sterling opening before him.
I'll tell you that much." Hale sat abruptly down again. "I'm going
to nail that bastard," he finished quietly.

Long after he had left, T.S. sat at his desk
remembering the fury in the old man's face and the strength that
anger had lent him. Hale had been strong. He had been determined.
He had, indeed, been convincingly murderous.

Shortly after Hale stormed out the door and
slammed it—leaving a flying maelstrom of loose papers and curse
words behind him—Auntie Lil called, lending a calm voice among the
mayhem.

"Theodore, dear? It's Auntie Lil. Did you
speak to Mr. Sinclair?"

"No, he seems to have disappeared." There
was silence on the other end.

"Edgar Hale himself came to tell me. A most
pleasant experience." He picked up loose sheets of newsprint with
his free hand as he spoke.

"That's odd," she said in a small voice.

"I'll say it's odd. Kind of suspicious, too,
wouldn't you say?"

"It's very bad news."

"Bad news for Sterling & Sterling. And
us. It looks like Abromowitz was right about money being the
motive."

"No, Theodore, that's not what I mean."
There was a silence again while she thought things through.

He waited impatiently. "What? What? Come on,
Auntie Lil, I've just had Edgar Hale throw a temper tantrum of
mammoth proportions and the police are hot after Stanley Sinclair
and, to top it off, Lilah Cheswick is somewhat less pristine than
I've been dreaming of all these years. Are you saying the police
are wrong? Is that what you're telling me?"

"This is a dangerous situation," Auntie Lil
said. "Mr. Sinclair is in danger."

"I'll say. Edgar Hale is going to dismember
him."

"No." Her voice was polite but firm. "I
don't believe he stole any money. I do believe he's guessed who the
killer is. Something fell into place for him. Something between
your meeting yesterday and this morning."

T.S. was silent. He wanted to believe her.
It would be better for Sterling & Sterling if she were right.
Anything would be better than having your treasurer steal the
coffers out from under your nose and then knock off two
partners.

"Are you there, Theodore?" she asked
crisply.

"I'm here."

"Before the news of Boswell's death came,
how did Mr. Sinclair act?"

"Like his usual annoying paranoid self."

"Exactly. Like his usual self. The same way
he acted on the previous occasions when he believed the IRS was
trying to infiltrate Sterling & Sterling."

"So?" T.S. said doubtfully.

"It was Boswell's death that changed him. He
didn't know about the death."

"He may just have been surprised the body
was found so quickly."

"No," Auntie Lil said quickly. "The
newspapers are trumpeting a floating love nest."

"That's just hype."

"No, Theodore. Why would John Boswell go out
on a boat with Stanley Sinclair if he knew he was stealing? It
would be the height of folly. Why would a bed be used and drinks
laid out?"

T.S. was silent. She had a point.

"It was Boswell's death that shed new light
onto the killings. Sinclair has connected the two deaths and he's
frightened. Probably with good reason."

"So you think he's gone into hiding?" T.S.
asked.

"Yes. Because he's in danger, too. Something
connects the three of them. If we can find out what, we'll have
found out why. Where would he hide?"

"I have no idea," T.S. admitted. "He's not
really that smart a man. Sneaky, but not smart."

"Is he brave?"

T.S. thought of Stanley Sinclair. "Good
heavens, no. He's a coward."

"Then he must have told someone where he was
going. Someone he could trust. His wife perhaps. Is he
married?"

"Yes. Just recently. How she can stand him,
I don't know."

"He probably thinks the same thing in his
heart of hearts. 'How can she stand me?' He sounds like a man who
hates himself."

"Of course he does. He always goes along
with the crowd."

"Whatever. But that's why he'll trust her.
Because he knows that, for some reason he can't understand, she
loves him. If we can talk to her, she may help."

"I'm sure the police have thought of
that."

"It's the police she's prepared for," Auntie
Lil said confidently. "She won't be prepared for me."

They waited outside the Long Island home of
Stanley Sinclair for half an hour because Auntie Lil insisted that
an innocuous blue sedan parked in the driveway was really an
unmarked police car. T.S. humored her and passed the time by
relating Lilah Cheswick's indiscretion to Auntie Lil. For once, she
had little to say and merely patted his hand in an understanding
way, shaking her head at his disappointment. Finally, two men who
were clearly detectives emerged from the modest house and drove
away in the car.

"You were right," T.S. admitted before she
rubbed it in.

"Not very big, is it?" Auntie Lil remarked,
looking at the two-story house and neatly trimmed lawn. "Don't they
pay him much?"

"You'd be surprised at how much that house
costs," T.S. pointed out. "All those years of rent control have
spoiled you. You've lost track of real estate values."

"Yes, I imagine so." She got out of the car
and he followed. They stood in front of the house on the sidewalk,
looking at the front door.

"How shall we do this?" he asked.

"Leave it to me," she said, charging up the
path.

Her idea was direct and to the point. The
moment the door was opened by an almost attractive woman, younger
than T.S. had expected, Auntie Lil grasped the woman's hands
between her own and said quietly, "We've come to help."

The woman stared at Auntie Lil but did not
draw away. She had been weeping and her eyes were puffy.

"My name is Lillian Hubbert," Auntie Lil
said in the same quiet and earnest voice. "This is my nephew,
Theodore Hubbert." She nodded toward T.S. "He's a friend of your
husband's from Sterling & Sterling. Perhaps Stanley spoke of
him."

"Stan never talked about work," the woman
said quietly.

"We know he's in danger," Auntie Lil
continued. "Terrible danger. And we know that he didn't steal a
penny from Sterling & Sterling. He is simply too devoted to the
firm." Auntie Lil spoke in near evangelical tones, emphasizing
certain words in a cadence that enthralled the listening woman.

"Stan told you?" she asked.

"Some of it," said Auntie Lil. "May we come
in?" She looked behind her shoulder out at the street. "We waited
until the police left. We want to keep this private."

The woman stood aside and they entered a
drab but comfortable middle-class home. It was a narrowly built
house and steps ascended steeply upstairs as soon as one stepped
inside. Mrs. Sinclair led the way into a small living room,
furnished in green and brown. T.S. suppressed a shudder and studied
Sinclair's wife instead. She was thin and plain, but not homely.
Her looks might easily have been redeemed by a beautiful smile or
winning gesture, if only she had possessed one. Certainly she
neither gestured nor smiled now, just sat woodenly on the sofa next
to Auntie Lil, who had practically leapt to make herself
comfortable and was patting the cushions beside her in a friendly
fashion.

"Theodore," Auntie Lil commanded. "Perhaps
Mrs. Sinclair would like a cup of tea?" Mrs. Sinclair nodded and
started to rise.

"No, dear. You stay. You've been through a
lot. Theodore will handle it. The kitchen must be that way." She
pointed through a rear door and the woman nodded.

"What is your name, dear?" Auntie Lil asked,
taking the woman's hand again.

"Muriel," she said.

"May I call you Muriel?"

T.S. left the room as she was nodding. He
hurried to find the kitchen and tea. Stan? She had called her
husband "Stan." It was odd to think of anyone calling Stanley
Sinclair "Stan." It was odd, in fact, to think of him as having a
wife and a home and a personal life. T.S. was suddenly ashamed of
his animosity toward the treasurer and felt a vague sense of
foreboding.

Auntie Lil sat in silence and watched Muriel
Sinclair dissolve into a fresh round of tears. "Here, dear," Auntie
Lil said, handing over a handkerchief.

The woman took it and sniffed something
resembling a "thank you" through her sobs.

"The police were very hard on you, weren't
they?" Auntie Lil asked sympathetically.

"Yes." More sobs followed and Auntie Lil
patted the distraught woman's hair.

“
They think your husband
stole money from the bank and killed the partners?"

The sobbing figure nodded and Auntie Lil's
voice grew strong with indignation.

"Rubbish!" she cried. "Such a dedicated man
as your husband would never steal!"

Muriel Sinclair stopped crying and sat up
straight, staring at Auntie Lil.

Auntie Lil continued passionately. "I know
your husband would never kill anyone. I know your husband would
never steal a penny. I'm right, aren't I?"

"Yes," Muriel Sinclair whispered. "Stan
would never kill anyone. And he is honest. He isn't very charming
and doesn't have much of a sense of humor, but he is honest."

"He's in danger, isn't he?" Auntie Lil said
this matter-of-factly, one eye on Muriel Sinclair.

"Yes. He said he was afraid for his
life."

"And that no one must know where he is?"

"Yes," she nodded tearfully. "He says if
he's found and brought back, that whoever killed Mr. Cheswick and
Mr. Boswell will kill him, too."

"Did he tell you who he thought it was?"

"No, he said it was better that I not know."
She bent over the handkerchief again as a fresh round of sniffles
threatened to escalate into full sobs. "He said he would handle it.
That Mr. Hale would know what to do."

"Hale? Did he speak to Edgar Hale?"

The tearful woman shook her head. "Stan
tried to call him last night right after he got home from work but
had to leave a message. Later that night, someone called him back.
He seemed much relieved by the time he hung up. That's when he said
that Mr. Hale would know what to do."

"Did you answer the phone when Mr. Hale
called back? How did he sound?"

"No," the woman's tears grew louder. "It
wasn't Mr. Hale that called back. It was some lady. But I think she
knew what was going on. I couldn't really hear. Stan turned his
back to me and whispered." She seemed to consider her husband's
secretiveness as a personal affront and looked ready for a fresh
round of tears.

"We have information that may help him,''
Auntie Lil said quickly, before she lost her audience to hysteria.
"I must find him to talk to him. We can help him."

T.S. returned with a cup of tea. He looked
around for a table and, finding none, sat it at Muriel Sinclair's
feet.

Auntie Lil looked at him expectantly.
"Where's my cup, Theodore?"

"I didn't know you wanted one."

"For heaven's sake." She was clearly
annoyed.

"You can have mine," Muriel Sinclair said in
a tiny voice as she nudged the saucer with a foot. "I don't want
it."

"Nonsense," Auntie Lil said. "You need it
and you'll drink it." She picked up the tea and held it out to the
woman. Muriel Sinclair took it obediently and balanced the cup and
saucer on her knees.

"Listen to me, Muriel." Auntie Lil looked
the woman right in the eye and leaned toward her as she spoke. Her
voice was gentle but firm. "Tell us where Stanley is hiding out. I
know that he loves you very much and would tell you where he was
going. I understand that you cannot tell anyone else because his
life is in danger. But we can help him if we can only talk to
him."

"I can't tell you," she began
hesitantly.

"Can you call him? And let me speak to him?"
Auntie Lil asked.

T.S. tried to think of the reaction if he
were to ring up Stanley Sinclair at that moment and announce,
"Stanley, my man, it's Hubbert. Your archenemy from Sterling &
Sterling. I understand someone's been trying to bump you off."

"There's no phone there," Muriel Sinclair
answered. "There's no service except in the summer."

"He's gone to that lovely summer home of
yours he spoke so much about?" Auntie Lil guessed. "Please, I
wouldn't have told you to call him if we weren't sincere."

The woman hesitated and T.S. spoke up. "It's
okay, Muriel, we really do want to help. I could find out the
address easily, but we must move quickly. Please tell us."