“Did he ever mention leaving GUINEVERE?”
“A few times. I don’t think he was serious.”
“Did he say they were trying to drop him?”
“No, it was him thinking of leaving them.”
“We’ve only been able to find a few of his things here in Chicago,” Fenwick said.
“He was like a gypsy vagabond. He always said he didn’t want to be tied down, and he traveled pretty light.”
“Where was he staying in Chicago?”
“At the suite in the Archange that GUINEVERE rents out.”
Turner shook his head.
“He wasn’t?” Goucher asked.
“Where else would he have stayed?”
“I know he has old friends in Chicago. Perhaps there. He really wasn’t at the Archange?”
Turner said, “I’m sorry, no.”
“Where did all his money go?” Fenwick asked.
“I don’t know. He didn’t live an extravagant life, really. Many of his trips were for business and paid for by the companies he was working for, GUINEVERE usually. I think mostly he saved and invested his money.”
“Where were you Tuesday?”
“With fifteen other construction workers doing emergency repairs on a stretch of road fifteen miles from Paris.”
“How did you meet Furyk?” Turner asked.
“When I was a kid, I was the male lead’s second best friend on a sitcom. The last year I was on the show, when I was sixteen, Cullom was in Los Angeles. He had sex with the ditzy but witty father and all the males on the set as well as several of the writers. He and I had a three-way with the other male secondary character.”
“Where’s that actor now?”
“Dead from a drug overdose. It happened the day after the final taping of the show.”
“Did that have anything to do with Cullom?”
“The death was months after we had sex. I never heard him talk about Cullom. The three of us just had a good time. It wasn’t anything serious. The show ended, and a year later I graduated from high school. I was sick of California and the lifestyle there. Cullom invited me to Paris. We became lovers a few years later.”
He knew nothing more. After a few more questions, he left.
“Are all the people Furyk dealt with that naive?” Fenwick asked. “Not a discerning one in the bunch.”
“Maybe that’s who Furyk chose to hang around with,” Turner said. “Maybe he didn’t have relationships with discerning people.”
“Sure seems to be an epidemic of naivete. This is not making sense to me.”
They found no one else at the wake to interrogate. In the car they called Area Ten. “Turner’s got a call from a guy named Egremont,” the watch commander said. “He called about half an hour ago. Said it was urgent.” He gave them the number.
Turner used his cell phone to call. The voice that answered was nearly inaudible. The background noise at the other end sounded like a wind tunnel.
“Daniel, where are you?” Turner asked.
Faint whisper. “At the Archange.”
Turner put his hand over the receiver. “We need to be at the Archange Hotel. Quickly.” Fenwick needed no further prodding. He jammed the accelerator to the floor. The people lining up outside the funeral home stared in their direction as they roared off.
“Daniel, what’s going on?” Turner asked.
“Help me.”
“We’re on our way. What’s wrong?”
All he heard was silence on the line for several moments, then a crackling sound and then nothing.
“What?” Fenwick asked.
“The phone went dead. All he said was that he was at the Archange and that he needed help.”
Turner called to have a sector car hurry to the hotel.
TWENTY-TWO
Ten minutes later they arrived at the Archange. Turner half expected another bloody scene in the street. On the sidewalk in front of the east tower a woman and her child were standing with a beat cop. As they neared the group, Turner saw black shards at their feet.
“What’s up?” Fenwick asked. He held out his identification.
Turner bent to inspect the debris on the pavement.
The woman said, “Something fell from that building and almost hit my daughter. She could have been hurt, killed.”
Fenwick looked at the cop.
“My partner’s inside checking it out.”
Turner stood up. “It’s the remnants of a portable phone.”
They raced into the lobby.
“He’s gotta be in the penthouse,” Fenwick said.
As they entered the lobby a uniformed officer and Weeland, the manager, hurried toward them.
“Has anybody used the elevator to the penthouse?” Turner asked.
“The people from GUINEVERE still have the suite rented,” the manager told him. “I don’t know which of them have keys. Any one of them could have come in.”
“We need to get up there,” Turner said. “Something fell from the hotel.”
“Are you sure it was from the penthouse?” Weeland asked.
“That’s the logical place to start,” Fenwick said.
They hurried to the bank of elevators. Weeland activated one for them.
The penthouse was dark as they got off the elevator. “West side first,” Turner said. “That’s where the phone fell from.” They rushed forward. The parapet was empty.
They glanced over the side. There was no crowd gathering. The wind roared fiercely over the top of the wall and into their faces. They dashed to each of the balconies in turn. The doors leading to most of the bedrooms were locked. The rooms that they could see into were empty.
Turner and Fenwick stood at the intersection of the main halls in the middle of the penthouse. “He could be behind any of those locked doors,” Fenwick said. “We better get Weeland up here to open them.”
“We need to check the towers,” Turner said. They quickly ascended the stairs and pushed open the door to the top of the west tower.
Lying against the wall twelve feet away was Daniel Egremont. As Turner and Fenwick rushed out the door, he leaped to his feet.
“Stay back!” Egremont shouted. He held out his hand in a halt motion. “Don’t come near me!”
Turner and Fenwick stopped.
Egremont sat in one of the machicolations of the wall then swung his torso around and draped his left leg over the side. Because the opening wasn’t quite large enough, the movement was awkward and took more than a few seconds.
Turner and Fenwick surged forward.
“Stop!” Egremont screamed. He put a hand on the wall and one out toward them. “If you don’t stop, I’ll jump!”
The two detectives halted instantly.
“Daniel,” Turner said, “how can I help?”
Turner tried dredging up facts from the half-day lecture at the training academy that they’d had in handling attempted suicides. He couldn’t remember a word.
Egremont stared out into space. “I’m afraid of heights, you know. They make me giddy and dizzy.” He swayed back and forth then side to side. When the swaying eased a little, Turner could see he was crying. “I think I might be sick.” Egremont was very pale. The wind whipped his disheveled hair. He sniffled then blinked his red-rimmed eyes.
“I’d like to come closer,” Turner said.
“No. Don’t. I will jump.”
“Okay. I’m staying right here. We can talk at least, can’t we?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s wrong?” Turner asked.
“Everything.”
“Why did you call?”
“I need help.”
“Does this have something to do with Cullom Furyk’s death?”
“Yes.”
“Did you kill him?” Turner asked.
“No.”
“Do you know who did?”
“My boss.”
“Did you see him push Cullom?”
“No.”
“How do you know Munsen killed him?”
“I’m a good accountant.”
“I’m sure you are.”
“I never make mistakes. I’m honest. I’m too damned honest for my own good.”
Turner was determined to keep Egremont talking. He vaguely remembered that as a good thing to do, and it made logical sense to him.
“Munsen tried to have me killed last night,” Egremont said, “that attack was meant for me.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want to be accused of murder. The business is failing. I was supposed to lie to you. I have been lying to you. I can’t do that anymore.”
“What were you supposed to lie about?” Turner asked.
“Everything.”
“What’s happened to the business?”
“Poor management, poor decisions. We did make record revenues last year. We are one of the biggest fashion companies in the world. Unfortunately, we had record expenses. Millions more than we took in. Then, in the past month, one of the biggest chain stores that carried our lines went bankrupt. We may never see the money they owed us. After that happened there was no way we could be profitable for the next year.”
“There’s no need to kill yourself because the company is going broke,” Turner said. “It isn’t your money.”
Egremont continued talking as if Turner hadn’t said a word. “And he made stupid design decisions. The whole Egyptian cotton underwear line was a joke.”
“Why?”
“Egyptian cotton is very delicate. When it is worn, it rips to shreds unless it is mixed with some other fabric. He was determined to have the most sheer and revealing underwear line for men and women. He tried blending it with a variety of fabrics, but none of them worked to his satisfaction. No one could wear it for more than a few minutes before it shredded into complete tatters. He kept pouring money into a disaster, but it was more than just that. He was losing top-of-the-line clients. None of the ‘right people’ were wearing his designs. Not one of the royals in Europe, either pretenders to thrones or reigning royalty, had called in a year.”
Egremont’s swaying had lessened further. The tears continued intermittently.
“I’ve had to lie for the past year to everyone. I’ve made false reports. He made me lie. Then when the murder happened, things went crazy. He’s always been an abusive boss, but it was as if he didn’t have a shred of human decency. He talked about publicity from the murder causing sales to soar. He sounded as if he was glad Cullom died. I couldn’t confide that kind of thing in you.”
Egremont snuffled deeply. He placed his hands on either side of the wall in front of him and gripped it tightly. He continued. “The murder was a catalyst. I’ve been worried for myself since then. I’ve been trying to get reports and new accountings to make what I did not seem so bad. He found out what I was trying to do. He said he’d make it look like the company was failing because of me. That my lies would get me sent to prison. I lied to him about what I was doing, but I don’t think he believed me. I’ve stuck by him loyally, and now he’s trying to kill me.”
“Because you knew about the company failing?”
“Because I know he fought with Cullom Furyk that last day.”
“What did they fight about?”
“Cullom going to Heyling and Veleshki. Munsen hated the idea of Cullom leaving. They had argued about it for months. Several weeks ago, Munsen even offered him a great deal more money. I knew this was foolish.”
“Why?”
“The last few ad campaigns with Cullom as spokesperson were bombs. He was losing his appeal.”
“Did Heyling and Veleshki know Cullom’s last campaigns failed?”
“Munsen threatened to tell them if Cullom persisted. After they talked that day, Cullom told me everything was fine.”
“Did he go into details?”
“No, but I ran into Munsen a few minutes later and he was furious. He told me he was going to drop Furyk as spokesperson. He said that the ‘faggot prick’ wasn’t going to make any more money off of him. He was going to reveal the losses the company had taken in Cullom’s last campaigns. I advised against it because it would reveal our precarious finances. Munsen didn’t care. I told him to wait and think it over.”
“Why did Furyk stay for brunch if they’d just had a fight?”
“Aren’t you listening? Cullom thought everything was fine. Munsen smiled to his face and was going to double-cross him. That was typical of his style.” Egremont looked down at the ground far below. His body shuddered, and he turned even paler. He resumed, “The pressure was getting to me. After your visit to the plant, Munsen and I had a fight. I told him I was going to see a lawyer to protect myself. Munsen told me if he went down, I was going down with him.”
“How could he have had the time to hire somebody to attack you last night? How did he know you’d be out on the pier?”
“We had another big fight backstage in the middle of the show. I was trying to reason with him. I know that was a stupid time, but I was desperate. I’m petrified about going to jail. There was that lull when they had that East Chicago ballet company modeling and dancing at the same time in those androgynous male-female suits.”
“Did anyone else hear you fight?”
“I don’t know. We were in a small dressing room to the left of the staging area. Dinah McBride is always lurking nearby, but I didn’t see her or anybody else hanging around. He must have followed me outside.”
Turner said, “Because you know he was involved in bad business decisions does not mean either of you is going to jail.”
“We’ve lied to the stockholders. That’s fraud. They will prosecute. I never planned to cheat anybody. It just began creeping up on me. I believed Munsen. I trusted him.”
The door behind them swung slowly open. A beat cop stuck his head out. “What’s going on?”
The three of them looked at the cop. Fenwick said, “We’ve got a situation out here. Keep everyone out. Call HBT. They’ll know what to do.” HBT stood for the Hostage, Barricade, and Terrorist Incident Division. Whether it was a standoff with mad bombers or a lone jumper from a building, they were the ones who were called in these situations.
The uniform ducked his head back in.
When the door was shut, Egremont began leaning his torso far out to the left. Turner began to step forward. Egremont’s head quickly swiveled toward him.
“Stop!” He put his right foot up on the ledge.
Turner halted in midstride. The tableau stayed put for several moments.
“Wait,” Turner said. “Please wait.”
“Why?” Egremont seemed to be gazing off into space, but Turner knew he was still in the man’s peripheral vision.
“I’m a working detective, not a psychologist,” Turner said. “I wish I knew what words it took to get you to move back toward me and come down off there. I’m worried for you, about you. Will you look at me?”
Their eyes met for only a second.
“I’m just a guy,” Paul said. “We’ve all had problems and doubts.”
“You ever been faced with going to jail?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know what I’m feeling?”
“I admit your problems are bigger than mine, okay? You win the I’m-worse-off-than-you-are contest.”
The side of Egremont’s lip that Turner could see twitched. Turner figured this was as close as he was going to get to a smile.
Turner said, “If you jump, he will have succeeded.”
“Maybe,” Egremont conceded.
“We’re not here to arrest you for fraud,” Turner said. “That’s up to some prosecutor. You’ve still got a chance to get to a lawyer and take some action now. We’re only interested in who killed Cullom.”
“Munsen’s clever. He’ll destroy me. He’s already killed Cullom.”
“He’s a crook and his business is going under, but that doesn’t make him a killer,” Fenwick said.
“If
Cullom was deserting him, it might.”
“Hold it,” Turner said. “I thought you said Cullom’s last campaigns were disasters, and he was planning to dump him. Why would that make him kill Cullom?”
“But Munsen hated Heyling and Veleshki. Hated them worse than if they’d been involved in a centuries-old vendetta. They’ve been at war so long, he would do anything to harm them. Cullom may have been a loser for Munsen, but he didn’t want to risk him being a winner for them.”
“Why don’t you let us worry about the murder investigation?” Turner said. He wanted to talk to Munsen again as soon as possible. “Daniel,” Turner said. “Please don’t jump. I care that you don’t.”
For the first time in a while Egremont turned full face to him. “I wish I had killed Cullom. He was so shallow and so hurtful. Last week he called me. He didn’t want to stay in Munsen’s suite here. I let him stay at my place for two nights. He wanted me to help him plot against Munsen. I offered to help. I should have left it at that, but I told him I loved him, begged and pleaded that we become lovers. I hated it when he rejected me. He’s had millions of lovers in half the cities on the planet, but I’m not good enough for anything beyond a one-night stand. I went out on that balcony and watched him dance on the parapet. Like a fool I pleaded with him again. He barely listened to me. I dream about shoving him off the parapet and watching his body break to pieces as he hits the ground. He deserved to die.”
“You don’t,” Turner said.
“You don’t even know me.”
“The first time you talked to us, why did you want us to believe it was an accident?”
“I was afraid I’d be a suspect. Now, I don’t care.”
Turner held out his hand. “Daniel, I’m here to help you any way I can.”
Egremont began to sob. The swaying back and forth resumed more violently than ever. Turner had maybe six feet to go to catch him. When Egremont raised his right sleeve to rub his eyes, Turner lunged for him. Egremont saw him and swung his right leg over to join his left. The machicolation was just small enough that this became an awkward movement. The extra seconds gave Turner time to grab him around the waist. Turner felt more than saw Fenwick’s bulk next to him. For an instant Egremont began slipping outward. Turner jammed his legs against the wall. Fenwick’s heft paid off as their combined weight brought Egremont back to the terrace floor. The accountant clutched Turner, buried his head in the detective’s shoulder and wept.
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