Special Circumstances (44 page)

“What do you want me to tell her if she asks me what the emergencyis?”
“Just tell her something came up.”
At nine o’clock that night I’m on the phone.
“Roosevelt,” I say, “I need your help.”
“I’m not supposed to be talking to you, Mike.” He chuckles.
“So, what do you need?”
“Got any plans for the weekend?”
“The usual.”
“How would you feel about an all-expense-paid trip to the Bahamas?”
“Sounds pretty good to me.”
CHAPTER 51
TECHNICALLY, YOU’RE DEAD
“With long beaches, friendly people and perfect weather, the Bahamashave been a tourist mecca for over two hundred years.”
—bahamas TRAVEL BROCHURE Fourteen hours later, at two o’clock in theafternoon Bahamas time, Roosevelt and I get out of a cab in front ofthe Graycliff, the dignified three-story Georgian colonial mansionacross the street from the Government House in Nassau. No matter whereI go, it seems to be raining. Our connecting flights through Chicagoand Miami were late, and we flew through a hailstorm to reach themodern airport in Nassau. Air travel has never really agreed with me.And I’m getting too old for all-nighters. I’m beat. Roosevelt isholding up better.
His stamina is remarkable. It comes with the territory if you’re a copand you’re interested in living long enough to collect your pension.
The Graycliff was built as a private residence about two hundred yearsago. For the last hundred years or so, it’s been the finest hotel inNassau. With only nine guest rooms in the main house and four suitesby the pool, it’s a slice of nirvana in the middle of town. Althoughit’s been a long time since the Beatles stayed here, it’s still verypopular among rock stars, businessmen and politicians.
When we walk into the lobby, our disheveled appearance immediatelyattracts the attention of the concierge. He stands and says with aclipped British accent, “May I help you, gentlemen?” He sounds likeSir John Gielgud and bears a striking resemblance to John Cleese.
“Yes, please,” I say.
“We’re here for an important meeting with Mr. Rus—Mr.
Kramer. I believe he’s in Yellow Bird.”
He eyes us suspiciously.
“We’ve been instructed not to disturb Mr. Kramer and hiscolleagues.”
“He’s expecting us. If you’ll explain to his assistant that Mr. Daleyand Mr.
Johnson from the San Francisco office have arrived, I’m sure they’llhave you show us to his suite.”
“One moment, please.” He picks up the antique phone. He nods severaltimes. I hope he’s talking to Wendy or Pete and not to the localpolice.
“Right this way, please,” he says politely.
As we walk through the garden, I decide to speak the locallanguage—money.
“I
trust you have access to a local banker,” I say.
“It may be necessary to set up an account here so we can wire somemoney to various locations around the world.”
Roosevelt gives me the eye. I’m laying it on pretty thick.
The concierge keeps looking straight ahead.
“It can be arranged, sir.” He pronounces the word “sir” as “suh.”
“Do you have a fax machine we can use? And I trust we’ll be able toplug in our computers?”
“Of course, sir. The rooms have modems, sir. We can make specialarrangements, sir.”
I love people in this part of the world. They understand theirexistence depends on tourists and maintaining their status as a taxhaven.
“Excellent.
What did you say your name is?”
“Burton, sir. Duncan Burton.”
Perfect.
“Thank you for your assistance, Duncan.”
“Of course, sir.”
The Yellow Bird cottage is next to the pool where Winston Churchillused to swim. I can see that the drapes are drawn as Duncan leads usto the door.
“Will you be staying with us tonight, sir?”
“I’m afraid not. Our business should be completed by the end of theday. We’ll be taking the red-eye back to the mainland.”
“Very good, sir.”
I love this guy.
“Duncan,” I say, “we’ll be in high-level negotiations all day.
Would you please tell the hotel staff that we’re not to bedisturbed?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Thank you, Duncan.” I shake his hand and slip him three crisphundred-dollar bills. The universal language. Good help is hard tofind.
“Remember, Duncan. We mustn’t be disturbed.”
He almost smiles.
“Please let me know if there is anything we can do to assist you,sir.”
As he leaves, I glance around the garden and knock on the door. Peteopens it immediately.
“Come in,” he whispers. He darts a quick look around the pool areabefore he shuts the door and fastens the bolt.
“Anybody follow you?” He’s still whispering.
Roosevelt shakes his head.
“No, Pete. This isn’t a James Bond movie.”
He grins sheepishly.
“I’m out of my element.”
You could have fooled me.
The sitting room in the Yellow Bird is furnished with period piecesfrom the early Georgian era. An elegant blue sofa sits next to acomfortable tall chair with a paisley pattern. A ceiling fancirculates warm air. The window air conditioner detracts only slightlyfrom the ambiance. A small TV and a fax machine in the corner are theonly signs of the twentieth century. Trays containing the remains ofdinner and breakfast sit by the door. An empty champagne bottle restson the antique side table.
Wendy walks in from what I presume is the bedroom and smiles at us.
“What took you so long?”
“We ran into a small hurricane. Where’s our guest of honor?”
“Watching TV. He didn’t want to miss his cartoons.”
“Is he pissed off?”
“You could say that.”
“How did you find him?”
“We got lucky. We saw him coming out of First Bank. We followed himhere.”
“How did you get in?”
Pete grins.
“You don’t want to know.”
I glance at Roosevelt.
“Has he said much?”
“Nothing you would repeat to Grace. He said he’s going to kick ourasses and sue us for everything we’re worth. Fortunately, that isn’t awhole lot.”
Roosevelt turns serious.
“You know, you guys could be arrested for kidnapping.”
“I don’t think he’s going to complain,” Pete says.
“We offered to let him use the phone. He refused. He’s gone to a lotof trouble to convince everybody he’s dead. He’d have to call the copsto bring charges.” Pete sounds pleased with himself.
“It seems a couple of his investors are looking for him.
They aren’t as friendly as we are.” He lowers his voice.
“In all seriousness, a couple of his investors from the Middle East areunhappy about some money they lost on one of his deals. He thinks hislife may be in danger.”
Roosevelt is silent.
“You didn’t hurt him, did you?” I ask.
“Not really,” Pete replies.
“He tried to grab Wendy, so we got into a little shoving match. I justpushed him. Wendy was the one who kneed him in the balls.
Lilted him all the way off the floor. He was doubled over for a coupleof minutes.”
“The asshole grabbed me,” Wendy says.
“He tried to put his hand over my mouth.
I drilled him.”
“Let’s go see our little friend,” I say.
We walk into the bedroom. The TV is tuned to CNN. The unshaven Russois dressed in khaki pants and a maroon polo shirt. He’s sitting at asmall table eating a muffin and drinking coffee. I notice he’s usingonly his right hand. Then I see his left hand is handcuffed to thetable.
“Mr. Russo,” I say, “my name is Michael Daley. I’m Joel Friedman’sattorney.
This is Inspector Roosevelt Johnson of the San Francisco PoliceDepartment.
He’s the lead investigator in the case involving the deaths of RobertHolmes and Diana Kennedy.”
He doesn’t look up.
“Are you the one who sent this goon to kidnap me, Mr.
Daley?” he barks.
“That goon is a licensed private investigator. He’s also my brother.You’re lucky that he found you before somebody else did. You’re apopular guy. A bunch of bankers are looking for you. So are a few ofyour investors and a couple of bounty hunters.” Probably a fewex-wives, for good measure.
“Assholes.” He pushes the muffin away.
“I have nothing to say.” He strains to fold his arms before herealizes that he can’t.
I hand him a short legal document.
“This is a subpoena that requires you to appear at Mr. Friedman’strial.” Roosevelt and I got Judge Chen to issue a subpoena on our wayto the airport. It’s a bluff. A California subpoena isn’t binding inthe Bahamas.
“I may have to get some dispensation from the judge to get you totestify, however.”
“Why the hell is that?”
“Technically, you’re dead. But I think I can persuade the judge tothe contrary.”
“And if I don’t cooperate?”
Pete hands him a card with English writing on one side and Arabicwriting on the other.
“This gentleman is looking for you,” he says.
“We saw him last night. He’s asked us to call if we find you.”
He stares at both sides of the card.
“Read my lips. Fuck you.”
“Mr. Russo,” Roosevelt says, “I’ve come here to ask you to voluntarilyreturn to San Francisco so that we can sort out this matter.”
“Why the hell would I do that?”
“If you have nothing to hide, you shouldn’t have any problem returningwith us.”
He eyes him closely.
“We’d be happy to buy you a ticket. You don’t have anything to hide,do you, Mr. Russo?”
“Of course not.”
“Good. Now, we can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hardway. The easy way means you’ll get on a plane with us and we’ll goback to San Francisco together.”
“And the hard way?”
“I’ll call the local police. They’ll want to know why a dead manchecked into this lovely hotel under an assumed name. I’ll ask them todetain you. We’ll begin extradition proceedings. You’ll be spending afairly long time in jail here in Nassau. I’ll swear out a complaintthat you’re a flight risk. They’ll keep you in jail until yourextradition is resolved.”
“Are you charging me with something?”
“Not yet. But you’re a suspect. Which reminds me,” he adds, “thiswould be a good time to read you your rights.” He clears his throatand recites the Miranda warnings.
“Mr. Russo,” he says, “we’re prepared to call your lawyer right now.He can meet us at the airport.”
Russo looks at the TV.
“I didn’t do anything,” he says.
“It isn’t a crime to go on a vacation.”
“All the more reason for you to cooperate,” Roosevelt says.
“I want to talk to my lawyer.”
Wendy takes out her cellular phone.
“Who do you want me to call?”
“Arthur Patton.”
“Who the hell do you guys think you are?” Art Patton bellows at methrough Wendy’s cellular phone.
“You can’t detain him. It’s kidnapping.”
“He’s here voluntarily,” I reply.
“I can call the local cops.”
Silence.
“Let me talk to Johnson.”
I hand the phone to Roosevelt. He listens for a moment. He says “Uh-huh” a few times. Then he says, emphatically, “No deal. Look, ifyou’re going to be an ass about this, we’ll call the local cops. I’msure they’d be delighted to make up a bed for Mr. Russo for the nextsix months while you argue about his extradition.” He winks at me.
“By the way, we’re going to make sure all his assets down here arefrozen. I think all his assets up your way are already frozen, so youmay be doing his legal work pro bono.” He listens for a minute.
“Uh-huh. Okay.” He has Pete unshackle Russo. He hands the phone toRusso and turns to me.
“I think reason is about to prevail,” he says.
I call the concierge.
“Duncan,” I say, “it’s Mr. Daley. I need you to make some travelarrangements for us. Mr. Kramer, Mr. Johnson and I need to get toSan Francisco as soon as possible. Yes, first class is fine. Justbill it to Mr.
Kramer’s credit card.”
The line goes silent for a few moments. Then Duncan comes back.
“We’ll have all the arrangements ready within the hour, sir,” hesays.
“Thank you, Duncan.” I wink at Pete.
“Mr. Kramer’s colleagues will need a place to stay for the next fewnights. They have banking business on Monday. Would you makearrangements for them to keep Mr. Kramer’s cottage?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Thank you, Duncan. You may want to send a housekeeper up here. Andsome cold drinks.”
“Very well, sir.”
Our plane leaves Nassau at six o’clock Friday night. We connectthrough Chicago. When we get off the plane at O’Hare, we’re met bythree cops. At first, I think they’re going to arrest Russo. Or me.Then I realize Roosevelt has called in a favor from a friend in theChicago Police Department. He doesn’t want to let Russo make a breakthrough the mobs at O’Hare. With the help of Chicago’s finest, wenegotiate the United terminal. Naturally, our flight to San Franciscois delayed two hours.
Art Patton and three San Francisco police officers meet us at the gateat S F O. Art isn’t taking any chances. He’s brought Rita Roberts withhim. As soon as we’re off the plane, he turns to Rita’s camera anddemands that we release Russo.
Roosevelt looks at him.
“Mr. Russo accompanied us voluntarily from the Bahamas.”
“Then he’s free to go?”
“After he’s answered some questions.”
Patton scowls.
“I’m instructing him not to answer any questions until I’ve spoken tohim.”
“Fine,” Roosevelt says.
“You can accompany us to the Hall, where you can talk in the comfort ofone of our consultation rooms.”
I haven’t ridden in a paddy wagon in years. My head is throbbing asRoosevelt, Russo, Patton and I sit in silence in the back of a van,with two other officers. Patton looks at Roosevelt.
“You know,” he says with a sneer, “he doesn’t have to talk to youguys.”
Roosevelt yawns.
“I know. I’m sure he has nothing to hide.”
“You got that right,” Russo snaps.
Patton holds up his hands.
“Vince, we’ll talk about this when we get there. I don’t want you tosay anything right now, understood?”
Russo pouts.
“Understood.”
“Are you going to charge him?” I ask Skipper as we sit in aconsultation room down the corridor from where Patton has been meetingwith Russo for the last hour. Roosevelt drinks coffee. Marcus Banksis there too, sitting quietly and drinking a Sprite. Bill McNultystudies the sports section in the Chronicle.
“With what?” Skipper asks.
“It isn’t a crime to park your car at the Golden Gate Bridge. Lasttime I looked, it isn’t a crime not to show up for a closing.
It’s still legal to travel to the Bahamas.”
“How about murder?”
Roosevelt looks up.
“How about murder, Skipper?” he repeats.
“On what basis?
There’s no evidence pointing toward Russo.”
“Yes, there is,” I reply.
“He was at the scene. He faked his own suicide. He fled the country.He was traveling under an alias. What else do you want?”
“Where’s the motive?” Skipper asks.
“He didn’t want the deal to close. He had to create a diversion to getout of the country.”
Skipper is skeptical.
“If he didn’t want the deal to close, he could have just said so. Hedidn’t have to kill two people. Besides, there isn’t a single shred ofevidence he pulled the trigger. We can put him at the scene, but wecan’t tie him to the murder weapon.”