“Me?”
“Why not? You’re the right age, and you certainly have the credentials. From what I’ve seen, you’d be perfect.”
Ben put the last bite of roast beef into his mouth and chewed it thoughtfully. The meat was tender and succulent.
“Well,” Cunningham asked, “what do you think?”
“I don’t know,” Ben said. He put his knife and fork down. “Tell you the truth, I’m kind of knocked over. Last thing I expected. What compensation did you have in mind?”
The broker pursed his lips. “Oh, let’s say a hundred-fifty thousand a year, to start. Plus bonuses. Also a car and a personal expense allowance. And a number of other side benefits, such as insurance, paid vacations, and so on.”
“Really? Sounds terrific.”
“We believe in taking very good care of our executives.”
“I guess you do. That’s a hell of a lot more than I’m making now.”
“There’s a big difference,” Cunningham said, “between the private and public sectors. And just between us, Lieutenant, it’d be a shame if you were to waste your peak years on the police force. You could be part of something much more important to your future.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You know, there is another saying in our family. A maxim, actually, that we’ve always lived by. Money begets power; power begets money. A fundamental truth, don’t you think? Something you could learn from, as well.”
“Probably could.”
“Of course. It also tells you why joining us would be a great opportunity for you.”
“Would I be reporting to Montrock?”
“Yes, until he retired.”
“I see. Naturally, I’d like some time to think it over.”
“Of course. I’d expect you to.”
“Meantime, thanks very much for the offer.”
“Not a bit, Lieutenant. I have a feeling this could be an auspicious beginning for both of us. Now how about some coffee?”
“That sounds good, too.”
Ben was intrigued. He’d had people try to pay him off before, but never on this scale. A hundred-fifty grand a year, plus a bunch of sweeteners? For playing bodyguard to people who were so rich they thought they could buy anything?
What was it he’d stumbled across?
36
By the time Tolliver got back from his lunch at the Metropolitan Club, it was midafternoon. As soon as he reached his office, he called Cunningham Ventures. A secretary informed him that Mrs. Kramer was not in. Ben told the woman to get in touch with her and have her call him right away. He left his number and hung up. Ten minutes later, the phone rang and Ingrid Kramer was on the line.
“It’s important that I see you,” he said.
“What about?”
“My investigation into your father’s death.”
“I’m sorry, but that won’t be possible. As far as I’m concerned, that’s all behind us now.”
“I think it would be in your best interest, Mrs. Kramer. I just had lunch with your brother.”
“You talked to Clay?”
“Yes. One of the things we discussed was you, and your relationship to the rest of the family.”
He heard the unmistakable sound of air being drawn in through clenched teeth. Then she said, “I’m at my place in Connecticut. Do you want to come up here?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Right away.”
She gave him directions and hung up.
He drove up the East Side, then across the Willis Avenue Bridge, past Yankee Stadium to the Hutch, then onto the Merritt Parkway. The wind was still brisk, but the sun was out. It was a near-perfect late fall day, with only a few wisps of cirrus in the hard blue sky. He turned off at Darien and went north through New Canaan to the farm.
The place was surrounded by white fencing that stretched along the road for a quarter mile. There were pine trees inside the fence, and peering through them he caught glimpses of green meadows with horses grazing.
The sign beside the gate said FARVIEW FARM. A uniformed guard met him there, squinting at the visitor as the Taurus drew to a stop. The guy had the look of an ex-cop, putting Ben in mind of Evan Montrock. He showed the guard his ID and waited as the man spoke into a field radio and then told him to go up the drive to the main house. An electric motor opened the gate and Tolliver drove on through.
The horses were in plain sight now, a dozen or more sleek animals that paid no attention to him as he followed the winding blacktop. There were stands of trees here and there, largely evergreens but also groves of what probably were maples and oaks; it was hard to tell with most of the leaves gone. At a far-off point on the grounds, a tractor was pulling a cart.
The house stood on a rise, partly hidden from the road by more trees and with a long sweep of lawn. A rambling white Colonial, it was three stories high, with wings at either end. A row of dormers was set into the steep slate roof and massive stone chimneys sprouted from the ridges.
The elevation explained the name; from here, you could see miles of rolling hills stretching into the hazy distance. Ben slowed to a crawl as he approached, taking in the view.
Several cars were standing in the circular drive near the entrance of the house. He parked the Taurus behind a green Aston Martin and got out, walking to the front steps.
A maid met him at the door, an older woman wearing a black uniform. She led him into a wide center hallway furnished with antique Windsor chairs and settees, and with portraits of horses hung on the walls. A sweeping staircase curved upward to a balcony on the second floor. Ben followed her the length of the hall and through a door at the opposite end.
The room they entered was large, with a stone floor and a towering fireplace, hand-hewn beams overhead. The walls were painted white, and there were sofas and chairs upholstered in flowered chintz. Bright-colored vases held sprays of orange and yellow crysanthemums.
Ingrid Cunningham Kramer stepped forward to greet him. Her sandy hair was swept back casually and she was wearing a sweater and jodhpurs, her feet shod in gleaming boots. “Hello, Lieutenant. I gather you had no trouble finding the place.”
“No trouble at all,” Ben said. “It’s a nice day not to be in New York.”
“That’s the way I feel every day. But I have a business to attend to, so I’m usually there during the week.” She waved a hand. “Sit down, won’t you? Like a drink, or coffee?”
“Coffee’d be fine,” he said.
She turned to the maid. “Take care of our guest, will you, Alice, please? Nothing for me.”
Alice departed, and Ingrid said to Ben, “You’ll have to forgive me—I’ve been working with the horses.” She waved her hand again and Tolliver followed the indicated direction. There was a bank of windows at the rear of the room and through them he could see barns some distance from the house.
“Frankly, I was surprised when you called,” she went on. “I thought the investigation was finally over with.”
“There are a number of points that need to be cleared up,” Ben said.
“That may be. I’m also interested in hearing what my dear brother had to say. But first, I want to wash up and change.”
“Sure, go right ahead.”
“I’ll only be a few minutes. Make yourself comfortable. Anything you need, just tell Alice. Oh, and don’t mind Brutus. He’ll keep you company.”
“Who’s Brutus?”
“You’ll see.” She left the room.
A moment later, a yellow Labrador bounded in from the hall, tail wagging furiously, putting his paws on Ben’s midsection and licking his hands.
Tolliver loved dogs. And despised people who kept them in the city, where they shit on the sidewalks despite the poop laws and couldn’t get the exercise they needed. He scratched Brutus’s ears and stroked his back and the animal rubbed against his legs. When Ben sat down in a chair, the dog curled up at his feet.
Alice was back, carrying a butler’s tray with a
coffeepot and a plate of cookies on it. She put the tray down on a table handy to the chair Tolliver was sitting in and asked if anything else was required. Nothing was, and again she bowed out.
Ben looked around. There were more horse pictures in here, most of them oil paintings, but many photographs as well, apparently taken at polo matches. The top surface of a bookcase at one end of the room was crowded with silver trophies. Nearby, a framed bulletin board was festooned with ribbons, predominantly blue, but also a few red and yellow ones.
He poured himself a cup of coffee and gave Brutus one of the cookies. As he sipped the hot black liquid, he glanced out the windows again. Some sort of activity was going on in one of the fields, but from where he sat, he couldn’t make out what it was. Putting his cup down, he stepped to the rear door and looked out. Brutus leapt up and joined him there.
Directly behind the house was a wide bluestone terrace flanked by gardens. A walk led out past a tennis court to where the red-painted barns were. Ben could see a man riding a horse in a field enclosed by a white fence. Curious, he stepped out the door, the dog trotting along beside him, and went down the walk.
As he approached the field, he saw that two men were leaning on the fence, watching the man on the horse. This one was obviously an expert rider. Ben recognized him at once as Ingrid’s husband.
Kurt Kramer was dressed much the same as his wife had been, in riding britches and boots. But despite the chill air, he had only a T-shirt on top. In the bright sunlight, his blond hair appeared almost white. He was swinging a polo mallet in his right hand, whacking a ball with it, and then racing after the ball and hitting it again. His mount was a black stallion, its flanks shiny with sweat.
The horse seemed small compared with the thoroughbreds Ben had seen on his occasional visits to Belmont Park and Aqueduct. But the animal’s ability to change direction with sudden bursts of speed was amazing. He appeared to need little guidance from Kramer, following the ball and putting his rider in position to hit it as if he enjoyed the game.
Kramer looked over and noticed Ben standing near the two men at the fence. He brought the horse to the gate and the men opened it. Dismounting, he gave the mallet and the reins to one of them, and the pair led the horse toward the barns.
Kramer smiled. “Ah, Lieutenant. My wife told me you were coming to see us. You’re still chasing rumors, eh?”
“You might say that. Nice horse you were riding there.”
“Spartan? He’s wonderful. I’m getting him ready for a match in Palm Beach. He’s one of the best.”
“How many do you have?”
“Altogether, about thirty here on the farm. But the string I compete with is usually six to eight ponies. In a match, you have to keep changing to fresh mounts, you see. There are four players on a team, so a team travels with quite a number of ponies. We’ll have teams coming from South America and Europe, as well as from here in the States, of course. Should be fun.”
“How does everybody get their horses to Florida?”
“We fly them, in airplanes specially equipped for the purpose.”
Ben wondered what it would cost to transport the horses and equipment, let alone what the animals and the gear were worth. No wonder polo was the sport of kings, princes, and multimillionaires.
They walked back toward the house, Brutus cavorting beside them.
“Tell me something,” Kramer said. “You must be an experienced policeman, true? To have become a detective lieutenant?”
“Sure. So?”
“So why is it you have trouble seeing this situation clearly? I don’t mean to insult you, but you are totally wasting your time.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Think about it. This is an open-and-shut case. Yet you go on meddling with a very powerful family, poking around with this investigation of yours. There is no possible way for you to get anywhere with it. The Cunninghams simply have too many connections, too much influence. You’re only going to infuriate people who are in a position to make trouble for you personally.”
“I have a job to do,” Ben said, feeling like an asshole for saying it.
Kramer smiled. “That is my point, Lieutenant. If you’re not careful, you might not have any job at all.”
Slickly put, Ben thought. Made to sound like a word of friendly advice, when in fact it was a warning. Steel fist in a velvet glove. It was easy to see how this guy had been a con artist in Europe. Now he’d apparently found even easier pickings.
When they reached the house, they went back into the same room Ben had been in earlier, Brutus following.
“I see you were drinking coffee,” Kramer said. “Like some fresh?”
“No thanks,” Ben said. “I’ve had plenty.”
“I’m going to have a Bloody Mary. Would you join me?”
Ben declined that as well, and Kramer pulled a cord beside the door, summoning the maid. When Alice appeared, Kramer asked her to bring the drink.
“Remember what I told you,” Kramer then said to Ben. “It could be valuable. A word to the wise, right?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Ingrid said.
The men turned when she entered the room. Her hair had been carefully brushed and she had on a blouse of pale silk and a short, tight-fitting skirt.
“All right, Lieutenant,” she said. “Let’s get down to business. You want to ask me some questions and then you’re going to tell me what my brother had to say. Is that correct?”
“Yes. That’s correct.”
Kramer leaned against the wall and folded his arms, a hint of a smile on his face.
37
Ingrid and Ben sat on sofas, facing each other across a coffee table. Kramer continued to stand, drinking the Bloody Mary as he listened to the discussion.
“All right, Lieutenant,” Ingrid said. “What’s on your mind?”
“You knew the writer who was interviewing your father when he died, didn’t you? Jessica Silk?”
“Yes, I knew her.”
“How close would you say the relationship was between them?”
Ingrid exhaled. “Let’s cut out the crap, okay? That’s a waste of time for both of us. What you want to know is what everybody wanted to know, after it happened. So why don’t you come right out and ask me? The question is, was my father screwing Jessica Silk and is that what brought on the heart attack. Right?”
“I’d like to know what you can tell me about it, yes.”
“The answer is, I don’t know. My opinion? Probably he was. In fact, I’d say the odds were about a hundred to one in favor.”
“Did the others think so, too?”
“Ask them.”
“But if he was, that would make Ardis Merritt’s version a lie, wouldn’t it?”
“Look. We’re all very conscious of public opinion, because that’s something that’s been drummed into us all our lives. Whatever went on up there in his office before he died, our attitude was, what difference did it make? At least that was how I felt about it.”
“You don’t seem to have any reservations about admitting that to me now.”
“Why should I? The damage is over and done with. The newspapers and the TV circulated all those dirty stories, told all the rumors, invented angles nobody ever would have thought of. Not just about Jessica, either. There were plenty of sly hints about his playing around with other women, as well. And so what? It’s past. He’s dead, Jessica’s dead, and that’s the end of it.” She glanced at her husband. “Kurt? Tell Alice to make me a Bloody, will you?”
She turned back to Tolliver. “You know what puzzles me?”
“What’s that?”
“What makes you stick with it. You’re like a leech. Is that because you don’t have anything else to do, or are you just fascinated to be part of history?”
“Neither. I’ve been assigned to get all the facts in the case, and I don’t believe I have them.”
Kramer grunted. “That’s not w
hat he’s after.”
Alice came into the room and Kramer gave her his empty glass, telling her to bring two more.
“And what are you going to do,” Ingrid asked Ben, “if you ever get these facts you claim you’re looking for? Which I doubt very much will ever happen, but what if you do?”
“Then I deliver my report to District Attorney Oppenheimer,” Ben replied. “Now tell me what you know about these other friends your father had.”
“Other friends? Other affairs or mistresses, you mean? I don’t know anything about that.”
Not much you don’t, he thought.
Kramer spoke up. “This so-called investigation of yours into the death of Senator Cunningham. That’s not your real purpose, is it? What you really want to know about is the family’s business interests. Isn’t that so?”
Tolliver wondered what Kramer’s reaction would be if he knew Ben had been told to stay the hell away from the subject, to keep his nose to himself. Kramer would probably laugh himself sick.
“I told you why I’m here,” Tolliver said.
Kramer shrugged. “Have it your way, Lieutenant. You may think you’re going to run across some startling revelation, but as I told you earlier, you’re not going to find anything. The district attorney’s office and the federal investigators have been bothering the family for years, and they still have nothing to show for it. It’s all simply a witch-hunt.”
Ingrid was eyeing Tolliver. “You said you had a talk with Clay and he had some things to say about me. What were they?”
“He thinks you’re too ambitious for your own good.”
She threw her head back and laughed. “I’m too ambitious? That’s a riot. And also typical of my dear brother.”
“He doesn’t think too much of your abilities, either. I got the impression he’d like to push you out of the family’s business.”
“Let him try. If there’s any pushing to be done—”
Kurt’s tone was harsh. “Be careful—he’s trying to trap you.”
She waved him off, saying to Tolliver, “Clay is a very selfish man. I knew something like this would happen, now that my father’s dead. You want to hear about relationships? What I could tell you would—”
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