The Heir Hunter (8 page)

“I don’t normally let strangers in my house, but you say you’re here about Gerald. That makes you . . . interesting to me.”

Gerald
, thought Alex, folding her hands in her lap. The fact that she was on a first-name basis with him was a very promising sign.

“I appreciate this.”

Bonnie lit a cigarette and held it back over her shoulder. A striped tabby leapt into her lap and curled into a ball. “What did you say your name was?”

“Alex Moreno. I know that—”

“Are you Mexican?”

“Uh, no. Spanish and American Indian.”

“American Indian, eh? The IRS has been terrible to you people. They think they can make it all better by giving you those casinos to run. Well, thanks for nothing. They’re making more money off those places than you are. I learned all about it on
60 Minutes. . .
.”

Alex nodded and folded her hands on her lap. It was clear the IRS was the enemy. Bonnie had provided her with a way to bond. “The IRS hasn’t been fair to my people at all.”

“They’re never fair,” commented Bonnie through her smoke. “Gerald had a hell of a time with them.”

“What can you tell me about Gerald, Bonnie?”

The old woman took a deep breath on her cigarette and eyed her. Her free hand scratched the lazy feline’s chin. “I have a question for you first. You said you were doing research into Gerald’s family. For who and why?”

Alex was surprised by her bluntness. She had underestimated her. Apparently Bonnie wasn’t going to give any information until she screened her guest. She was ready with her response. “I’m here on behalf of a life insurance
company. It seems Mr. Jacobs had a sizable policy that’s payable to his family. The authorities and I are having difficulty locating them.”

“That’s no surprise,” replied Bonnie, with a laugh. “I think someone else in your company already called.”

Alex felt her heart pound. She knew who that someone was, and it was the last person in the world she wanted Bonnie speaking with. “Did they?”

Bonnie nodded. She got to her feet and pressed a button on an answering machine in the hallway. Alex heard the voice clearly.
“Barry Lake, General Inquiry . . . Important matter to discuss . . . give me a call . . .”

“I was at the supermarket this morning,” said Bonnie. “Someone you know?”

Alex smiled to herself. You needed a little luck in the game sometimes. She was doing pretty well all of a sudden. “Yes, I know who Barry is. He’s calling about the same business I’m here for. You don’t need to bother with him.”

“Is that right?” the old woman replied sharply. “You’re sure about that?”

Alex tried to appear disinterested as she turned back to the living room. “Barry just wants to talk to you about what we’re already discussing. You can call him, but I don’t think you’ll enjoy repeating yourself.”

Bonnie’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. Alex held her breath momentarily, then relaxed as she heard the old woman press the reset button. Frowning, Bonnie returned to join her at the couch.

“As I was saying, Miss Schliegel, we’d like to see the money from this policy go to Gerald’s family, not the State of New York. His heirs need to know about this so they can collect.”

“I don’t think I know anything that can help you.”

“Were you friends with Gerald?”

“Friends—that’s a good word.”

“How long did you know him?”

“For about two years. I met him at the Sunday concerts
in the park. We both loved classical composers. Gerald loved to play Mozart on his piano. He was an excellent pianist before he got his tic.”

“I’m sorry—his tic?”

“Yes, his hands shook and he couldn’t play like he once did. It bothered him.”

Alex nodded respectfully. The tape recorder continued to run silently in her jacket pocket. “Did he ever mention his family?”

“Not really. About a year ago, I took Gerald out for a meal, and afterward we spent some time at his home. I was playing the piano for him and we were listening to the phonograph—just having a grand time. Now, Gerald must have had a good amount of wine, because he started speaking of a sister he had, but when I asked him about her, he put an end to it. This was the only time I remember him speaking of family. He was a very private person.”

“So he never told you this sister’s name?”

“No.”

“He never told you any names or cities where the sister lived?”

“Never.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me that might be helpful?”

“Let me think for a moment.”

Alex felt her frustration growing. Hopes were riding on the old woman, but she seemed to know very little. Where was this sister?

“I think Gerald had an eye for me, actually,” continued Bonnie. “He was a sweet old man and a good friend for two years. I enjoyed his company. He was so sweet, yet strange.”

“What was strange about him?”

“He was very secretive about his life. But I think he was lonely too. I felt so awful when he died that I made the funeral arrangements. It’s a terrible thing to die alone, you know.”

Alex thought of her mother for some reason but
quickly dismissed the thought. She nodded at Bonnie to continue.

“Something else odd: he said he was from England, and he did have a thick accent, but it wasn’t British. It was German. Now, how can a person be raised in England and have a thick German accent?”

“That is strange,” Alex agreed. “Did you ask him about that?”

“Yes. He said his father had lived in Austria.”

“You’ve been in his house, Bonnie. Did you ever see any family pictures or anything?”

“I never took much notice of his house, although I can tell you that it was decorated beautifully. You would be amazed at the inside of that little house. Such beautiful paintings, a grand piano, exotic rugs. He must have had money to burn.”

“Did he ever mention other friends or past employment? What did he do for a living?”

“He didn’t talk about it. He was an old man when I met him, well into his eighties and long retired. And I never saw him with anyone or heard him mention any other friends.”

Alex rubbed the back of her neck as the cold realization set in. Bonnie knew nothing. Jacobs loved classical music, had no friends, and spoke with a German accent. But it didn’t add up to a thing. She sat and thought as the little mutt barked himself hoarse from the other room.

“Were you ever in any room of his house other than his living room?”

Bonnie looked aghast. “Certainly not.”

“I didn’t mean it that way. I’m sorry if I offended you.”

Bonnie nodded grudgingly as she stroked the cat. Alex reached down and touched one of the purring animals. The old woman had been harping on the IRS earlier. It was worth a shot.

“Did Gerald work with the government, Bonnie?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You mentioned the IRS earlier. I was just wondering.”

“No, he didn’t,” she snapped, her expression suddenly guarded again. “Why are you so concerned with this insurance policy, anyway?”

“I’ve been hired to take care of it.”

“Well, I don’t know that there’s anything more for us to discuss,” she said, grouchy now. “I’ve told you what I know. Gerald didn’t have family or friends. Enemies maybe, but no friends. Maybe you should look for
them.
They might be easier to find.”

Alex stared at her hard. Bonnie frowned and shifted uncomfortably in her chair. The words had slipped.

“Can you tell me about Gerald’s enemies, Bonnie?”

“He was going to take care of them. He had a plan and he was going to get them good. He . . .” She stopped herself and made an exasperated sound. “I know what you’re up to, and it’s not going to work. I promised I wouldn’t tell and I won’t go back on my word.”

“Don’t you think Gerald would want you to tell me if he knew it would help his family?”

“No, I don’t think that at all. His family never bothered to visit with him. What kind of family is that?”

“Did Gerald—”

“Stop picking at it,” she snapped. “Just because he’s dead doesn’t mean I can go blabbing things around.” She tossed the cat from her lap and stood. “I don’t have anything else to say to you. I want you to go now.”

“Bonnie—”

“Do I have to call the police?”

Alex felt a spark of anger, almost lost it. She took a deep breath. Bonnie looked shaken, even a bit frightened. Getting her more worked up might not be the wisest decision. She got to her feet and reluctantly made for the front door. She waited for Bonnie to open it for her before stepping into the morning sunlight outside. The door closed quickly behind her, and chains were rattling again. She stood momentarily before turning down the path and back to the car.

On the road, Alex tried to form some sort of picture. An immigrant glassworker from England who talked like a German. Twenty-two million dollars. A hatred for the IRS—nothing rare there. It was colorful stuff lacking significance, murkier than sludgy water. Alex would have been more concerned about her lack of headway if she hadn’t noticed the car in her rearview mirror.

She first spotted it in Albany, just a few miles from her home. She confirmed her suspicions with a series of turns. Four lefts, three rights—the gray car maintained its position two blocks behind, no closer, no farther. It looked like a single occupant.

She considered her options. She could try and lose him or she could force an encounter. She knew the smarter choice was probably the former, but after sitting through the Bonnie interview she felt more than ready for a face-off. Especially with some General Inquiry jerks.

She slowed her speed for several blocks and reduced the distance between herself and her pursuer by half a block. She continued a slow deceleration as she drove randomly through residential Albany. After several blocks of a twenty-five-mile-per-hour pace, the car abruptly took a left and disappeared down a side street.

Alex pulled over on Colonial and sat for several minutes, watching her rearview mirror. She felt mildly disappointed—a confrontation with the competitors would have been a welcome release of tensions. She put the car into gear again and continued home without incident.

Edmund Arminger leaned forward on his desk and studied his field agent carefully. Derek Hanson was an experienced agent, the recipient of several internal commendations over the past five years. Out of a pool of nearly one hundred agents operating out of Manhattan, he had been selected
to retrieve the Jacobs file. It was a simple task that had suddenly gotten complicated.

Arthur Gordon wasn’t surprised. He sat to Arminger’s side and remained silent during the discussion, deferring to his deputy. The conversation he was quietly witnessing was only adding to an already splitting headache.

“What did you say this attorney’s name was?” asked Arminger.

“Lloyd Koenig.”

“Start from the beginning. You approached Koenig and . . .”

“When I showed him the warrant and asked for the file, Koenig was clearly uncomfortable. After stalling for a minute or so, he broke down and admitted he didn’t have it. By then he was practically shaking.”

“Where did he say the file was?”

Agent Hanson looked to a small notepad. “He said he loaned the file to a private investigator from Albany named Alex Moreno, who was there on behalf of a San Francisco company called Merchant and Associates. He said he also passed on a copy to a PI firm in Los Angeles called General Inquiry. He claims these were the only two firms he had spoken with.”

“Did you get a contact at General Inquiry?”

Hanson handed over the notepad. “The name’s circled, sir.”

Arminger read it as Gordon finally spoke.

“Agent Hanson, did Koenig say why he was giving this file to these investigators?”

“He said they were interested in looking into the estate for the purpose of finding heirs.”

Gordon nodded.

Arminger thought for a moment, then rose to his feet. “That’ll do for now.”

Agent Hanson nodded and left.

Gordon waited for the door to shut before he leaned back in his chair and exhaled loudly. Now his head was
hurting too. “Why are private investigators interested in Jacobs?”

“What do they know that we don’t?” asked Arminger, not hiding his frustration. He looked to the pad again. “Alex Moreno, Lawrence Castleton. Merchant and Associates and General Inquiry.”

“Have you ever heard of these outfits?” asked Gordon.

“I don’t care who they are—I want to know why they’re getting involved.” He hit his intercom. “Carol, I need background checks on two individuals. Alex Moreno, out of Albany, New York, and Lawrence Castleton out of Los Angeles. The names are spelled just like they sound. I want full bios on their companies as well.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The names are General Inquiry and Merchant and Associates. They’re in Los Angeles and San Francisco, respectively.”

“Yes, sir.”

He clicked the intercom and nodded at his chief. “This Jacobs business is getting interesting.”

“Not for me,” replied Gordon, looking steadily at him. “You’re getting too wrapped up in this. I don’t want you going beyond these background checks until we get more answers.”