by Gorman, Ed
“Wha? Wha’s that you say?” The cab driver had turned around. He had a thick Russian or Slavic accent. I tried to match the inflections in his voice with samples I found over the Internet, and felt confident that I had his birthplace pinned down to Kiev. The man looked disheveled and had obviously gone several days without shaving or washing his hair. Julius told the man that he was talking to himself, and not to mind him. The cab driver turned back around to face the traffic. He muttered to himself in Russian about the loony Americans he had to drive around all day. I translated this for Julius, who barely cracked a smile from it.
“After turning me off last night, did you try the new French restaurant on Charles Street that you’ve had your heart set on?”
Julius made a face as if he had sipped wine that had turned to vinegar.
“I’m afraid so,” he said. “Les Cuisses de Grenouilles Provençale were dry and nearly inedible, and they were out of ‘98 Château Latour.”
I remembered his excitement on seeing that vintage on their wine list. “That’s a shame,” I said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t available to console you.”
Julius cocked an eyebrow. “Sarcasm, Archie? Another new development for you, although I’m not sure I like it.”
The cab driver was shaking his head. I could see him in the rearview mirror frowning severely. He muttered again in Russian about the crazies he got stuck with. I translated his comments to Julius. He didn’t bother to respond.
The cab driver pulled up to Emma Brewer’s address. Julius paid him and exited the cab. He stood silently on the sidewalk, his eyes narrowing as he examined the house. It didn’t look like something that would be worth close to a million dollars. According to the town records — at least what was in their database — the house was a threebedroom Colonial built on a nine thousand square foot lot. The brown exterior paint had long since faded and was peeling away from the shutters. Aside from a new paint job, there was other obvious maintenance work that needed to be done and the small front yard was in disarray, mostly crabgrass and weeds. Julius waited until I told him it was precisely eleven o’clock before he started towards the house. A BMW parked in front of the house was registered to Norma Brewer, so it was no surprise when she and her sister Helen greeted us at the door. Norma stood stiffly, as if she had back problems, and her sister looked as lifeless as she had the day before. Norma spoke first, thanking Julius for coming, and then holding out her hand to him. Julius stated that it was nothing personal but he never shook hands. I had mentioned that to her when she first booked the appointment, but I guess it had slipped her mind. Ostensibly, Julius’s reason for it was that he saw no reason to expose himself unnecessarily to viral diseases, although I think it was more that he didn’t like physical contact with strangers who weren’t exceptionally beautiful young women, since he had no problem shaking hands and doing far more with women of that nature — at least from what I could tell before he invariably placed me in his sock drawer. Norma awkwardly withdrew her hand and told Julius that her mother was in the kitchen.
“She’s not having a good day,” she said flatly, a fragility aging her face and making her look even more gaunt. She looked past Julius. “Your assistant, Archie, he’s not here again today? That’s a shame. I was so looking forward to meeting him. He sounded charming over the phone.”
If I’d had lips I would’ve kissed her. I made a list of how I would use that later to torment Julius.
Julius smiled thinly at her. “I’m sorry, but Archie has been detained — court-ordered community service, so unfortunately he can only be here with us in spirit.”
“Community service? What did the man do?”
“Sordid business, I’d rather not go into it. Please lead the way to your mother.”
“Thanks for sullying my reputation,” I said to him. Julius winked so that only I could see it.
One of the hallway walls was lined with framed family photos, mostly chronicling Norma and her two siblings from childhood to their young-adult years; a few included the parents. I had previously located photos of all of them, Norma’s father from the newspaper obituary and the others from driver’s license photos that were on record at the Department of Motor Vehicles. I was able to identify them in their family photos using different physical characteristics, such as the shape of their faces, moles, and other distinguishing marks. There were half a dozen photos of Helen in her twenties with a man I didn’t recognize. Several were wedding pictures, so I assumed he was Helen’s husband. He appeared to be in his early twenties also and, like Julius, had dark hair and similar features to current male Hollywood movie stars frequently described in magazines as heartthrobs. Also like Julius, he had an athletic build and was roughly the same height and weight as Julius. Julius noted the photos from the corner of his eye without once breaking stride.
Norma led Julius to a small kitchen with Formica countertops and yellow-painted pine cabinets that looked like it had last been remodeled forty years ago. I matched the cabinets to a catalog and noted that they were manufactured in 1964. Sitting alone at a table was our client’s mother, Emma Brewer. She was fifty-seven in the last photo I found of her, now she was eighty-three, and she looked as if she had lost half her body weight. She couldn’t have weighed much more than eighty pounds. Her hair in the photo was turning gray, now it was white. She looked like some gnarled piece of papier-mâché. Her hands were mostly blue veins and bone and were wrapped tightly around a cup of coffee as she stared blindly at the wall in front of her. She became aware that we had entered the room and, as she turned and caught sight of Julius, her face crumbled. She got out of her chair and nearly fell over as she backed away, her hands coming up to her face. She looked as if she was trying to scream, but no noise came out. I matched her expression to one of an actress in a photo I had found from a horror-movie database, and realized her expression was one of fear.
Norma stood frozen watching this, her own face showing dread. Helen moved quickly to her mother and took hold of her. Emma turned to her, confused, and asked in a whisper, “Norma?”
“No, Ma, I’m Helen. Norma is standing over there. The man next to her is a friend. His name is Julius Katz. He’s here to ask you some questions.”
Emma Brewer continued to stare at Julius and Norma. Then it was as if all the life bled out of her face and there was nothing there. At that point she let Helen take her back to her chair. Helen tried to ask her if she wanted to lie in bed instead, but Emma didn’t answer her. Instead she took hold of her coffee cup again and stared blindly straight ahead.
Norma came back to life then. Her eyes glaring, she asked Julius if it was really necessary for him to question her mother. Julius reluctantly shook his head, realizing he had no choice but to do some work on this case. “Is she always like this?” he asked.
“No, not always. Some days she’s almost functional. But as I told you before, she’s having a bad day.”
“Has your brother seen her like this?”
“Yes.”
Julius’s facial muscles hardened as he once again studied the mother. “Your brother must be a fool if he thinks he can get away with this,” he said.
“My brother is desperate.” Norma peered from the corner of her eyes at her sister and mother. Lowering her voice, she suggested that they continue the conversation outside the house. “I don’t want my mother hearing what I’m about to say. It would upset her if she were able to make sense of it.”
Julius agreed. Norma told her sister that they were going outside and asked if she’d join them. Helen declined, telling her that she was going to keep their mother company. Norma stood silent for a moment before leaving the room. Julius followed her. As they walked past the framed family photos lining the hallway wall, Julius stopped in front of one of Helen’s wedding pictures and asked Norma about the man in it.
“That was Helen’s husband, Thomas Arden.”
“From comments you made yesterday, I take it that he’s no longer married to your sister.”
For a while Norma stared hard at the photo, her mouth moving as if she were chewing gum. It seemed a struggle for her to pull away and face Julius.
“Technically, they could very well still be married,” she said in a low, hushed voice. “Twelve years ago he abandoned his family, running off to God knows where and leaving Helen alone to take care of three young children. I don’t believe Helen has ever heard from him. I have no idea whether she ever divorced him in absentia — it’s a sore subject, but I don’t believe she has ever taken that step, so in all likelihood, my sister is still married to him.”
“I see. And how about you, Miss Brewer, have you ever married?”
“I don’t see the importance of you knowing that.”
Julius’s smile tightened. “It’s important for me to form a clear picture of the family dynamics. I have no idea how I am going to tackle your brother, but the more I know about all of you the better chance I have of something coming to me.”
That was complete rubbish. I had already given Julius a report on Norma Brewer that included the fact that she had never been married. It occurred to me then that Julius didn’t trust my competence in the matter. The client shook her head and gave Julius the same information that I had given him earlier — that no, she had never been married. I felt a tinge of excess heat for a few milliseconds, and realized that that was the sensation of resentment, yet another new experience for me.
“Please, Mr. Katz, let’s continue this outside. I don’t want to risk upsetting my mother.”
Julius agreed and followed her out the door. Standing there in the late morning sunlight, Norma Brewer’s skin again took on a parchment quality, and I could make out a crisscross of blue veins along her temples. She clasped her hands as she tried to meet Julius’s stare.
“I spoke with my brother over the phone last night,” she said in a hushed tone. “I thought maybe I could talk sense into him.”
“You weren’t able to.”
She shook her head. “He’s only willing to allow Mother to be put in a facility if Helen and I agree to let the house be sold to him for well under the market price. I can’t do that, Mr. Katz — the house would need to be sold to pay for her care. She only has enough money in Treasuries to cover two years’ worth of expenses, and the facility I found in Vermont won’t accept her unless I can show enough assets in escrow to cover her first five years there.”
“And your mother’s health?”
“Outside of the Alzheimer’s she has nothing medically wrong with her. She has lost a lot of weight because she forgets to eat, but she could easily live another ten years.”
Julius’s facial muscles hardened as he gazed at Norma Brewer. “Your brother gave you a dollar figure for his acquiescence?” he said at last.
Norma Brewer nodded. “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” she said. She looked away from Julius, her hands clasping tighter together. “I have a feeling he promised that money to someone.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “I believe I mentioned yesterday that Lawrence is an attorney. One of his clients is a known hoodlum, Mr. Katz.”
“Yes, I know. Willie Andrews.”
That surprised his client, and it also surprised me. While I was turned off, Julius had actually researched the brother himself. Will wonders ever cease? I decided it had to be the disappointing meal. He needed something to work off his dissatisfaction, and obviously didn’t encounter a suitable woman for that — probably leaving the restaurant in too much of a huff to notice any. I searched the online newspaper archives for one Willie Andrews, and built a thick file on him. He was a known mob affiliate and had been arrested over the years on an assortment of charges, including loan-sharking and extortion, but never convicted.
“Miss Brewer, I saw your brother yesterday before our appointment,” Julius added. “It was by chance only. He was at the dog track, and I am guessing from his demeanor that he has a gambling addiction. I’ve seen it enough to be able to spot the telltale signs.”
That was yet another surprise. I record all the images that I “see” and transfer them to a hard drive in Julius’s office that he maintains for me, and they’re kept for one week before Julius backs them onto permanent storage. I scanned all my visual images from when we were at the dog track the other day and, sure enough, Lawrence Brewer was there. I analyzed the images I had of him, and determined easily enough that he was losing from the way he ripped his betting tickets. I told Julius this even though I knew he must have noticed exactly the same thing. That’s the thing with Julius, he’s like a computer in his own right, noticing and storing away everything he sees.
Norma Brewer looked flabbergasted by that bit of news. “Did you follow my brother to the track?”
“No, Miss Brewer, as I mentioned, it was purely serendipitous.”
Julius had signaled me several minutes before to arrange for a taxi to pick us up, and one was pulling up to the house. Julius had that look in his eyes he always has when he’s anxious to get away from a client, and he told her he’d be in touch, then made his escape. Norma Brewer appeared taken aback by Julius’s quick and unexpected departure. She stood at a loss for words for a long moment before heading back inside the house. Julius settled into the back of the cab and gave the driver his townhouse address.
“Quite a morning,” I told him. “One woman finding me absolutely charming, another terrified merely at the sight of you.”
“I never heard her use the adverb absolutely in describing your charm,” Julius muttered somewhat peevishly. He had taken out his cell phone so that the driver wouldn’t think that he was muttering to himself. The cell phone was merely a prop. Whenever Julius needed to make a call, I’d make it for him and patch him in through his earpiece.
“It was implied,” I said. “Would you like me to brief you on the reports I generated for Lawrence Brewer and Willie Andrews?”
“That’s not necessary.” A thin smile crept over his lips. “I researched both of them myself last night while you were unavailable.”
“Yeah, but I bet you don’t have Lawrence Brewer’s last seven years’ worth of tax returns, unless you were able to hack into the IRS’s mainframe and, given the level of encryption they use, that’s not very likely. I also bet you don’t have Willie Andrews’s court documents.”
“No, I don’t, but I don’t need them now. Sometimes, Archie, too much information is worse than too little. It distracts from what’s important.”
That made no sense. The only way you can analyze data is if all the data is available — or if you are able to extrapolate what’s missing. I ignored the comment, and instead asked him if he wanted me to arrange for appointments with either the brother or Andrews.
“Willie Andrews is not the type of man you make an appointment with. As far as Lawrence Brewer goes, now is not the appropriate time.”
“So that’s it, then?”
“For now, yes.”
I expected that. As far as Julius was concerned, he had already worked hard enough for one day. I knew there was little chance that nagging him would change that. Still, I tried.
“I can see your point,” I said. “After all, you have just put in an arduous twenty-seven minutes of work, more than enough to justify the twenty-thousand-dollar fee you extorted from your client.”
“An hour and seventeen minutes once you factor in the cab rides.”
“Wow. An hour and seventeen minutes, then. I’m exhausted just thinking about it.”
“Archie, now is not the time. I’m not about to tackle the brother until I’ve given the matter more thought. So please, some quiet so I can think.”
It was pointless. The only thing he was going to be thinking about was lunch at one of his favorite local restaurants, along with the bottle of Gewürztraminer I had reserved for him. With nothing else to do I spun some cycles figuring out why I hadn’t made the connection between the photos I dug up earlier for Lawrence Brewer and the visual images I recorded at the dog track, and then
worked on readjusting my neuron network so I would recognize patterns like that in the future. I have to admit I was impressed with Julius’s ability to recall seeing Lawrence Brewer at the dog track and told him so. Julius grunted that it was simply luck.
“The only reason he made an impression was because he was so obviously losing badly that I considered for a moment inviting him to one of my poker games. Now please, Archie, I’d like quiet the rest of the trip.”
Julius put his cell phone back in his inside jacket pocket. I spent the rest of the cab ride constructing simulations involving Julius interviewing Lawrence Brewer, but none of them led to a reasonable probability of success.
• • •
Julius surprised me. On our return home he had me cancel his luncheon reservation and he spent the rest of the day either reading or puttering around the townhouse. All I could figure was that he was trying to bluff me that he was onto something and that he planned to stay holed up until he had the case solved — that way he could loaf for days without me nagging him. A couple of times he put me away in his desk drawer while he got on the computer. He wouldn’t tell me what he was doing, only that I had as much information as he did at that point. He seemed genuinely distracted during that first day, at times becoming as still as a marble statue while his facial muscles hardened and his eyes stared off into the distance. Of course, it could’ve been an act. When I tried asking him about what he was considering, he mostly ignored me, only once telling me that whatever it was, it was still percolating. That night he had me cancel his dinner reservations. Instead of going out he spent the evening making fresh gnocchi and then pounding veal until it was nearly paper thin before sautéing it with shallots and mushrooms in a white wine sauce. He picked a Montepulciano d’Abruzzo from his wine cellar to accompany his dinner.
The next day he appeared more his normal self as he performed his morning rituals, then spent the rest of the morning reading wine reviews. My attempts to pester him into action went nowhere. He mostly ignored me, and when I tried briefing him on the dossier I had compiled on Willie Andrews, he stopped me, telling me that he was otherwise occupied.