Mystery and Suspense:The Tipping Point: A mystery thriller full of intrigue about greed, fraud and murder... (International Mystery: Book 1)

by Walter Danley

  Dallas pulled the baggage employee tighter to him. Wainwright saw fear in his eyes and the sweat beading on his face. Dallas continued backing away from his pursuer; he bumped into the conveyor belt table and abruptly stopped. The jolt to his legs caused him to drop his right hand to catch himself from falling. The gun now pointed at Wainwright, but was loose in his hand.

  Dallas looked behind him, for only a second, to find the obstacle he had bumped into. Perspiration dripped into his eyes and he used the back of his right hand to wipe it away.

  The instincts of a hunter jolted Wainwright into an automatic action response to a change in threat status. He lunged with both hands for the weapon just as the woman dodged to her left and out of her captor’s grip. Wainwright got the gun in his hands and twisted it down and away, possibly breaking the fugitive’s finger locked into the trigger guard…he hoped.

  Wainwright’s forward momentum caused Dallas to fall on the conveyor belt on his back. The belt carried him at a sixty-degree angle toward the upper level. Wainwright jumped onto the luggage belt, straddling Dallas like a Malibu surfer. He pointed the gun at the nose of his quarry, Dallas staring into the muzzle. He didn’t dare move.

  “I didn’t kill them. You have to believe me. It was all Bennie. He was in charge. It was his plan entirely. He made me help. That’s all I did—help my brother.”

  Wainwright held the gun on Dallas as they ascended to baggage claim level. Looking the liar called Dallas in the eye, Wainwright sneered, “I don’t care!”

  Airline passengers are accustomed to long waits in baggage claim. Watching the empty turntable go around and around, hoping to see their luggage emerge from the depths of the unknown is the conventionally accepted entertainment. Today was different. What emerged from the lower level was a sweaty man lying on his back, his hands raised in surrender, another man standing over him pointing a revolver at his face. Now this was a diverse kind of show.

  Dallas hit the luggage turntable and slid down the stainless-steel slope backward. A constable immediately grabbed him, and the fugitive was handcuffed to the cheers of an applauding crowd. Wainwright continued his surfer boy impersonation, bouncing off the turntable and on to the baggage bumper, and then the floor, holding the captured weapon over his head like a matador’s veronica.

  The chief constable took the gun from Wainwright and handed it to one of his deputies. He then appreciatively thanked Wainwright for capturing Larry Rubens, but only after admonishing him for his foolishness. The chief constable turned to Mulholland. “Thank you for your assistance, Supervising Special Agent Mulholland. I’m pleased this all ended well.”

  The fugitive’s arrest and transportation were without incident. As the police processed him, they found an envelope in his jacket pocket. It contained a certified bank check in the sum of twenty-three million dollars. As Dallas was led to a police van, the look on his face told the story he’d lived with his entire life—utter and absolute failure.

  Thirty-three

  “A friendship founded on business is better than a business founded on friendship” ~ John D. Rockefeller

  THURSDAY MORNING—JANUARY | It was a far cry from the recently vacated penthouse, but this motel off the tourist track would do for the time needed to keep her head down and prepare.

  She’d watched the evening news, and the murder at the resort hotel was the lead story. A brazen plan, some might say, but hey, coming from a brazen hussy like me, why not? She was confident the plan she developed would bear fruit and nourish her. She changed into a black business suit, black heeled pumps, and a white blouse that would be way too conservative if she had fastened the top two buttons. She had everything she needed. All her stuff was loaded in the car. She tossed the room key on the dresser and, La dee da … La dee da. BJ was off.

  Barbara Joyce Dreaver Dannenberg drove the rental car to the constabulary station. She parked in a visitor space and walked into the small building. “Good afternoon. You have my client, Gambol Schwartz, in custody. I’m here to interview him about the filed charges. What are they, please?” she asked the young female duty officer.

  BJ remembered the Assassin’s alias read from the his second passport back in the suite where poor Huggy Bear laid with a knife in his chest. She felt sad about Bennie, but only a little, and not for too long. She’d miss his sense of humor, but mostly she’d miss his generosity and ability to make money—lots of money.

  The duty officer spoke to her. “You’re his solicitor?”

  “I am. I want to see the charge sheet and meet with my client right away, please.”

  “Miss, the charges haven’t been entered as yet. The chief constable will do that when he returns.”

  “I see. Please have Mr. Schwartz brought to the interview room. I don’t have much time to do this, what with all my other responsibilities. I’d very much appreciate your cooperation.”

  The two women left the lobby in different directions. BJ guessed the interview room was in the opposite direction from where the duty officer turned into an area marked RESTRICTED. BJ walked down the short corridor and entered the only attorney interview room. It was the only room there. The officer retrieved Schwartz for his constitutionally granted attorney meeting. The duty officer seemed to be alone in the small stationhouse. But then again, how big does a jail need to be on a small island?

  The Assassin’s hands were cuffed behind his back as he was escorted into the interview room. He was still wearing his civilian clothes, having yet to be processed into the system. His arrest was only a few hours old. Everyone had been kept busy chasing Dallas through the airport.

  “Please take those restraints off him,” BJ commanded.

  “No, madam. That rule is for your protection, as well as mine.”

  The officer turned to leave. BJ fluidly stepped around the Assassin as she took something out of her large purse. She hit the duty officer in the temple with all her strength. The officer crumpled to the floor instantly. The impromptu weapon was the heavy glass base of a Lauren by Ralph Lauren perfume bottle. BJ took the officer’s sidearm and found the cuff keys on her duty belt. She unlocked the handcuffs, handing the revolver to the former prisoner.

  Amiti was a stunned spectator as he watched the saga played out by a woman he didn’t recognize. Together, they dragged the jailer fully into the room and closed the door. BJ rifled the officer’s desk drawers and found a large mailing envelope containing Schwartz’ passport and wallet. The wallet still held his cash, his German driver’s license and credit cards matching the passport. Amiti gratefully followed as they walked together out of the stationhouse to the stranger’s rental car.

  BJ slid into the driver’s seat and was quickly on the road to the airport. If they could get a flight to somewhere, anywhere, before the escape was discovered, they would have no problem at airport security. Then the Assassin spoke.

  “Well, thank you, I’m sure. Who the hell…”

  BJ turned from the road and gave Amiti her most captivating smile. It took him a beat, but then he recognized his savior as the screaming woman from the penthouse. The one he’d watched sunning herself on the penthouse deck, the one with the drop-dead body. He considered her background information provided by Dallas. Amiti guessed at what her actions might imply. He swiveled in his seat to face BJ, returned her wonderful smile, and asked,

  “Tell me … how do you feel about cats?”

  Turning her big blue eyes back to the road ahead, she smiled slightly and BJ quietly said, “La dee da… La dee da.”

  Thirty-four

  “If all the people in the world, in which we live, were as selfish as a few of the people in the world, in which we live, there would be no world in which to live.” ~ W.L. Orme

  FRIDAY—TWELFTH NIGHT | The roaring blaze in the oversized fireplace smelled of the pine forest that surrounded Jules and June’s beautiful home high in the Sierra Nevadas. It was to be a reunion of sorts— a gathering of those who had saved the company and solved some murders. The
Castle Master invited those involved in the CapVest investigation to come to his home to celebrate Twelfth Night, the last of the twelve days of Christmas. Jules and June looked forward to welcoming the group to a cheerful, happy, grateful, and festive weekend.

  Wainwright and Lacey flew in from Los Angeles with two young men named Brian and Tim. Still a bit jet-lagged from the trip in from Freeport, Garth was joyful to be with the three people he loved the most.

  They were waiting at the Reno airport for Tommy and Shirley to arrive, giving them an opportunity to visit before the Shaw’s plane landed.

  “I’m so glad we are going to get this little vacation in Tahoe with the boys,” Lacey said to Wainwright.

  “Me too. You know, you have really done a great job of bonding with these guys.” Turning now to his sons, he said, “And guys, I want you both to know Lacey and I love being able to spend time with the two of you. The fact that we seem to be having a real Leave it to Beaver period together makes what I’ve been thinking about much easier to say. What would you think about me leaving CapVest…resigning from the board and not working there anymore? Anybody have some thoughts about that?”

  Tim said, “What is Leave it to Beaver, Dad?”

  Wainwright gave Tim’s knee a paternal patting. “Oh, it was a famous TV family sit-com that left the airways about fifteen years ago, eight years before you came into the world.”

  “Why are you thinking about leaving the company now? You and Tommy are running the company and have a lot of rebuilding to do, don’t you?” asked Lacey.

  Tim voiced his seven-year-old opinion that five-year-old Brian seemed to support. “Yeah, Dad, cool. We could just come live with you and Lacey and play on the beach every day. Boss, man.”

  “Easy guys. First, you live with your mom and Norman. I understand they have disappointed you guys, but everybody’s learned some valuable lessons from all that trouble at the park.”

  “Yeah, you learned how to be a jailbird,” Brian said with a smirk and laugh.

  Lacey put her arms around Brian and pulled him close. “Honey, that is not what your dad means. Besides, didn’t we all go down and get him out of that place the next morning? He means we all make mistakes; he did, your mom did, and so did Norman. But one mistake doesn’t mean you are a bad person, not if you learn from it. Does that make sense to you?”

  “Yeah,” Brian said, hanging his head. Lacey could see him move his thumb up the side of his face, then back down. Poor kid was trying to remember he was too old to suck his thumb anymore.

  Wainwright picked up the thread for the benefit of the boys. “The police wanted me to be away from your mom and Norman so I could cool off and reflect on what happened. That is why they took me to jail for the night. Believe me, I sure don’t want to ever go back to that place.”

  “Your dad and Norman have talked since the park argument. They have agreed to behave differently toward each other from here on out. That is what grown-ups do. They apologize and makeup. They have forgiven each other for the past. Don’t you think you should do the same with your mom and Norman?”

  “Yeah,” Brian drawled, responding as he moved his thumb to the side of his mouth.

  “Okay, then, when we get back to LA, let’s tell your mom and Norman you’ve talked about this situation with us and you want everyone to get along together. Will that work for you?”

  “What’s a sice-e-a-shon?” Brian wanted to know.

  “Okay, guys, going back to me leaving CapVest. It doesn’t mean I’d be home to play all the time—not every day, anyway. We’ll still have our times together, like now, but I will need to work. I’ll just be doing something else if I’m not working with Uncle Tommy at the office.”

  Lacey, concern showing on her furrowed brow, asked, “Have you come up with what it is you want to do?”

  “Yes and no. That actually is the point. I think I want to do something else with my…our life,” he said, placing his arms around both of his sons. “Besides, Tommy has a great group of young enterprising people he will be able to lean on, thank you very much, Arnold Chaplain. I’ve thought about it some, and he doesn’t need an old fire horse to hang around and pull the wagon.”

  “Are you gonna get a horse, Dad? That would be so cool. We’ll help take care—”

  “Hey, slow it way down, Tim. That comment was simply an expression I used. We’re not getting a horse.” Turning back to Lacey, Wainwright rolled his eyes, but with a dad’s proud smile.

  “Okay, but what do you want to do?” she asked.

  “Wouldn’t life be easier if we always knew the answers to that? Oh, look, boys. Their plane is on final approach. Let’s watch the landing.”

  The Boeing 737’s wheels made a kiss-bump touchdown before settling on the Reno runway. When the Shaws deplaned and entered the terminal building, Wainwright, Lacey, and the two boys greeted Tommy and Shirley.

  “Well, would you just look at that, Lacey? Can you imagine the coincidence of running into the Shaws way out here in Reno?”

  Wainwright stepped to Shirley and gave her a hug, then a handshake for Tommy. Lacey took her turn and received air kisses from Shirley and a warm hug from Tommy.

  “It’s been a while, but I think I remember this tall guy is Tim, and the studious-looking young man must be Brian, isn’t that right?” Tommy said, rubbing Brian’s flaxen curls.

  “These guys are better known around West LA as the Wainwright Wranglers,” Lacey said.

  The Shaw’s plane out of John Wayne airport had landed 40 minutes after the Wainwright’s ride from LAX. Wainwright had already claimed their luggage and rented a vehicle for the trip to Incline Village. The first families of CapVest were set for a short holiday in the snow.

  The Shaws were living in both Laguna Beach and Bellevue, as the workload of the CEO dictated. They were happy with his new role and willing to put up with the bi-city travel. On the drive up the mountain to Incline, Tommy and Wainwright caught each other up on company doings in the past few hectic days while Shirley and Lacey chatted about matters of home and hearth.

  Lacey asked Shirley, “Did you know Stacy’s transfer to Sacramento has been approved?”

  “That’s great! So she and Greg Mulholland are together now?”

  “Yep, they’re sharing his downtown condo near the state capitol. She tells me she’s never been happier. I’m so glad for them. They’re a terrific couple, and I can’t wait to see them.”

  The Castle was now full of nine happy people glad to be in Incline for a few days of R&R. Greg Mulholland had been delayed with details of Dallas’ arrest and the Assassin’s subsequent escape. He would join them Saturday.

  The library was a large space, as were all the rooms in the elegant home. As the gathering of dear friends and former corporate combat colleagues convened in the library, Tommy said, “Hey, Jules. I love the floors here. What kind of stone is this?”

  June stepped in to explain. “This is blue slate. They were an afterthought during construction. The contractor ordered more slate for the roof than was required,” she said. “It was actually the roofer’s suggestion the flooring guys use the excess for the library floor. Looks great, huh?”

  “It was the only savings we managed to accomplish in the four-year-long project,” Jules said.

  June continued. “Jules was so happy about the savings he covered most of the slate with expensive Persians!”

  “Well, they are lovely rugs,” Shirley said. “I love the muted colors of red, blue, and yellow. Those colors set off the cherry wood paneling, bookcases, and cabinetry around this beautifully graceful room.”

  “Aah, thank you, Shirley. That’s so nice of you. I’m impressed with your knowledge of interior design.”

  “I picked up what little I know about woods and cabinet making from my grandpa. He was a real craftsman and I learned a lot by helping him in his workshop. I love woods, and these fixtures are exquisite.”

  The library fireplace was centered on an outside wall. Large wind
ows flanked the fireplace looking out on the vista of Lake Tahoe. Beyond that stood the ancient volcanic mountain which created it. The other three walls of the library featured built-in cherry bookcases that reached the open beam cathedral ceiling fifteen feet above the floor. Jules’ leather-bound book collection was more ornamental than literary, Wainwright assumed. Their guests sat in comfortable art deco furniture; some designed and built exclusively for this room, which could effortlessly accommodate a much larger group than the assembled friends.

  “Hey, what can I get you to drink?” Jules asked, verifying his butler was in the room and prepared to serve cocktails.

  “We all have had quite a ride these past few months,” Tommy said as each of the guests gave a drink order to the butler, “and the truly great news is the court ordered the bank to release the fraud money Larry Rubens stole to CapVest.”

  Wainwright picked up the story from there. “After the Five’s agreement was repaid—thank you very much, Lacey and Stacy—the firm is twenty-three million ahead of the game.”

  “And CapVest will be making an exclusive distribution to investors of those funds next week,” Tommy said. “It all worked out.”

  Reflecting on the past year events, Wainwright passively said, “Yup, but way too costly in terms of human life: Arnold, Bennie, Thomas Burke, Billy Clyburn, and Robert; all dead—for what?”

  “Let’s not forget Rubens’ law partner, or that poor girl in Chicago, Cassie. She was just as much a victim as the others, maybe more so, being a pawn of gang hoodlums,” Lacey added. Anniversary Six barked her concurrence from her bed in the corner. “Thank you, Annie. Ladies should always stick together.”

  “Greed and glory, you might say. It was Bennie’s plan to show his partners and wife he was much more than the joker everyone happily labeled him. He murdered his partners for insurance money.”

  “But also to eliminate his competition, don’t you think?” said June. “Then he runs off with BJ to live the good life.”