by Deaver Brown
Outside, things were even worse. It was not actually raining, but there was a chilly mist being propelled along the narrow street by a breeze off the water. It was no inconvenience to Vandermeer, clad in a suit topped by a raincoat and waving his arms vigorously at every taxi in sight. Bernice, however, was wearing a thin blouse and debarred from physical exercise.
“There’s a message from police headquarters on my desk,” he said disapprovingly. “Call them back and say I can give their man fifteen minutes at four this afternoon. If that won’t do it, then he’ll have to be here first thing tomorrow so as not to interfere with my briefing on Mohawk Crossing. And nail them down. If it’s tomorrow, I’ll have to bump at least one appointment to the next day.”
She stifled a groan. So much for her hope that this unscheduled stopover would be short and sweet. The man was going to hang around for days.
When he was finally stepping into a cab he turned for the most insulting command of all. There were many causes for resentment against Roger Vandermeer in the pool but none was felt so keenly as his sedulous courtship of other people’s secretaries, at least when the other people were powerful and not readily available.
“I’ve been trying to get some time with the CEO at Bruckner Software. Find out his girl’s name and order flowers for her. Get them to send my usual.”
Like hell I will, Bernice thought mutinously. She would not waste precious time tracking down some elusive them. She’d send what she damn well pleased.
But even as she breathed in the fumes of the departing taxi, she was reminded of more pressing concerns.
“Brrr!” she said.
Chapter 22.
Case Price
Unlike Roger Vandermeer, Iona Perez was greeted at her New York office like a returning hero. There were flowers and balloons, there was a large banner reading: WELCOME BACK, IONA. Nothing was missing except the ticker-tape parade.
“It’s wonderful to be back,” she said, eyeing all these festive preparations. “And everything is so different now.”
“If you’re talking about the last time you were here, I should hope so,” Peggy Roche exclaimed indignantly. “Nobody’s going to attack you.”
Instead of a darkened office with a masked intruder, there was daylight streaming through the windows and a bustling, cheerful staff. As the ultimate sign of normalcy there was even a serviceman trying to bring the balky copier to its senses. But these were not the thoughts absorbing Iona.
“I mean, NOBBY’s future is so much brighter. It was all so discouraging then and I was really worried that the police would find we had some lunatic member.”
While still in the hospital she had confided this fear to Peggy, who had instantly examined the file.
“And you didn’t find anything,” Iona continued happily. “Even Mrs. Gellart’s letter was harmless.”
“What’s more, the audit is over and we’ve come out of it squeaky-clean,” Sean pointed out.
Peggy expanded the list of triumphs. “And now we know we don’t have to worry about any claims except Rugby’s. I was amazed at how much insurance we have.”
“You can thank Sean for that,” Iona said promptly. “He’s the one who managed to sneak the increased coverage past Madeleine.”
“You get a lot of people milling around at a demonstration and there’s always the possibility of an accident,” he explained. “But there was no point trying to reason with Madeleine. She had her own ideas about what she was willing to spend money on.”
Peggy had the grace to be embarrassed. “Jeremy told me what you said about it being the board’s job to control our director, Sean. I want you to know that he realizes now you were perfectly right and I agree with him. We simply didn’t understand how much difficulty her . . . her peculiarities . . . were causing.”
“It made a lot of problems,” Sean said forthrightly.
Iona listened with the air of a polite bystander. In fact, she had been dropping casual reminders, little by little, of the burdens under which she and Sean had labored. From her point of view it was all to the good if the director began her reign while the board struggled with guilty consciences.
Now, ignoring the previous exchange, she said to Sean, “I know the audit was a worry and an embarrassment to you. I’m so sorry you had all that trouble because of a few hasty words by Madeleine.”
“I sure as hell didn’t like it, but the results couldn’t come at a better time. I don’t know what you did to those guys in D.C., but at least now they’re showing a little interest in us. I thought it would take months. You’re a real miracle worker.”
Iona failed to muffle a delighted giggle. “You wouldn’t say that if you’d heard them in Washington. I think my big contribution was getting flattened and sent to the hospital. It made them all curious.”
“It did a lot more than that, Iona,” said Sean earnestly. “Don’t you see? We all knew the police already had that tape. An outsider breaking in to get it means the killer wasn’t someone from NOBBY.”
Peggy Roche sucked in her breath sharply. Safe in her decorating office, she had been insulated from police suspicions. From that distance, even quarrels with the deceased has assumed a pedestrian character. Ready to accept the possibility of embezzlement, she had never pursued that thought to its logical conclusion.
“There was never any question of that,” she said tartly. “Iona probably did a much better job in Washington than she realized, and having some of the other clouds roll away has helped too.”
“I really don’t care why this is happening so long as things start clearing up. And look, we even have Mr. Rugby coming here,” Iona diverted them.
“Now that one’s a real surprise,” Sean enthused. “Yesterday even his banker didn’t know what he had in mind.”
“When he called, Mr. Rugby said he’d come up with a wonderful idea,” Iona chimed in.
Peggy did not share the prevailing euphoria. “That probably means a wonderful way for him to shaft us,” she sniffed. “He thinks he has us over a barrel.”
Deftly Iona refused to join issue. “Are you sure it doesn’t bother you, Peggy, that we can’t have Jeremy Pfizer here?”
“No, of course not. He’s out of town, and anyway, Sean is just as capable of handling the financial end.”
Sean ducked his head in silent acknowledgment. He was well aware that this was recognition of his confirmed probity. Before the audit results, there would have been no question of his participating in this meeting. Instead, he directed his companions’ attention to considerations of turf.
“Whatever he’s come up with, Rugby thinks he’s got a strong hand. He didn’t make any fuss about coming here.”
Elmer Rugby was not only willing to negotiate on NOBBY territory, he did not even object to being outnumbered. When he arrived he was accompanied only by Charlie Trinkam.
“What I’ve got to suggest is really quite simple,” he began. “But first I’d like to make sure that all the underbrush is cleared away. Pfizer said he was going to get a rundown of all the other claims and check out your coverage.”
“He’s done all that,” Peggy reported. “And I want to make it clear that we’re not trying to evade our responsibilities. What we’re worried about is a protracted legal battle caused by unreasonable demands. I’m sure I don’t have to elaborate again on the monumental legal costs we could both sustain.”
“Nobody wants to make a bunch of lawyers rich,” Elmer agreed placidly. “Instead I say we should put the money to better use.”
His proposal was indeed simple. NOBBY would set up a fund to provide Theresa Dominguez with a college education.
Taken off guard, Peggy Roche did too much of her thinking out loud. “We could do that easily enough. She’s already working for you part-time. If she goes on doing that. . .”
Elmer shattered this daydream ruthlessly. “Oh, no, I’m talking about sending her to any college she can get into and meeting her real expenses, not just tuition. That means t
ravel, a proper allowance, provision for summer vacation. Sure, she can work for me anytime she wants, but she’ll be flying a lot higher than that.”
With a seventeen-year-old son and college catalogs flowing endlessly into the Roche home, Peggy knew exactly what he meant.
“You’re talking about a blank check,” she objected.
Expecting a chorus of support from her staff, she was taken aback when Iona, after exchanging one swift glance with Sean, set off in a different direction entirely.
“If we came to any agreement on this, there would have to be a joint announcement by NOBBY and Rugby’s.”
Under shaggy eyebrows Elmer was regarding her approvingly. “If we agree on terms, it’s a possibility. But we have to do this right. Our little girl gets tip-top treatment.”
“That would be the whole idea, wouldn’t it?” she murmured.
To Peggy’s dismay, Cushing came rattling in right behind Iona. “And NOBBY would be cleared of all liability whatsoever?”
Before Rugby could reply, Iona was once again in action. “Not just civil liability,” she said firmly. “Those criminal charges would be dropped too.”
“Now wait just one minute here.” Peggy finally managed to make herself heard. “These details don’t matter. It’s the basic idea we have to consider.”
But, having sown dissension in the ranks of NOBBY, Elmer was far too sagacious to linger. Nodding to Charlie, who had been a fascinated observer, he rose.
“I can see you people will want to discuss this among yourselves. Why don’t you do just that and get back to me?”
Peggy’s indignation exploded the moment the visitors were gone. “What got into the two of you? We’re supposed to be negotiating. You do realize he’s not talking about some subway college. With all the publicity that girl will get, she could go anywhere in the country.”
“Don’t you see? The more publicity, the better from our point of view,” Iona exclaimed jubilantly. “You haven’t been talking to our members, Peggy. They’re not feeling very happy about NOBBY right now.”
“I know that must be the case, it’s inevitable. All we can hope for is that people forget the details of Madeleine’s behavior as time goes on.”
“That’s just what I’m worried about. The details they’ll forget but not the overriding bad taste. This is a golden opportunity to replace that with a good feeling, and it’s cheap at the price.”
In his new confidence Sean also had something to add. “This would erase an enormous contingent liability from our books—which is the first thing any potential donor is going to notice.”
Peggy Roche had been braced for the usual protracted struggle over a settlement. The last thing she had expected was a pitched battle with her allies.
“Rugby’s just doing this so he can get a lot of wonderful publicity while he’s expanding into our area.”
“Who cares?” Iona said grandly. “He’s going to open restaurants in the Northeast no matter what. The point is that we can get on that bandwagon too.”
“And start our own campaign to go national on a real high,” Sean drove the point home.
Feeling beleaguered, Peggy cast around for additional objections. “What about the insurers? They’re not going to get a tidal wave of publicity out of this.”
Iona had the answer for that too. “Why don’t we ask them? Sean has an appointment there in half an hour. Go with him and find out. But if they’ve got a brain in their heads they’ll love this. It beats punitive damages any day.”
Having raised the issue herself, Peggy found it impossible to maintain lengthy resistance. Thirty minutes later, after a silent, thoughtful descent in the elevator, she was in the lobby with Sean Cushing.
“You know,” she said at last, “I’m still shocked at Iona’s attitude. Not so much her position, but the manner in which she pushes it. In some ways she’s even more assertive than Madeleine.”
Politely holding the door open, Sean was expressionless. “That’s not so surprising. You see, Iona really believes in what she’s doing.”
The chill breezes of yesterday had been banished by a warm front moving up the coast. Peggy and Sean emerged onto the street to find the city basking in soaring temperatures. But Congressman Harry Hull was in an airless cave at Rockefeller Center, bathed in the glow of fluorescent lighting. Lunch had been a soft pretzel snatched from a street vendor, followed by instant coffee courtesy of Municipal TV. And his discomforts did not stop there.
“Close your eyes,” directed a small, dark gamine wielding a powder puff.
Hitherto, Hull had taken care of his public image himself, but preparing for cameras in Texas and Washington had toughened him. Within limits, he was willing to be appearance-enhanced. But this young woman did not inspire confidence and he had no intention of appearing, even before a local community-access audience, painted like a clown.
Not that it bothered Leon Rossi, who was now sporting makeup that made his eyes look like raisins in a bowl of dough.
“Just a light dusting,” said Hull firmly.
“The lady knows what to do,” said Rossi, automatically glad-handing anybody resembling a voter.
With a mulish expression, the makeup girl squinted at Hull’s features, while Rossi looked on with bland disregard.
“There!” she said, whipping off the towel and whisking Hull’s shoulders vigorously.
“Thanks!” he said just as briefly.
Rossi beamed at both of them. Then another fresh-faced member of the production team appeared to escort them to the greenroom, where they were to await their call. Either they were today’s lone performers or they were finishing the bill; they were the only occupants.
This Leon-and-Harry act, while hurriedly concocted, was designed along blitzkrieg lines. Breakfast with lay and clerical eminences from Catholic Charities of Manhattan had been followed by a tour of the Riverside Day Care Center. Once they finished with the Municipal Channel, they were booked to give a joint interview to the New York Times. Then, topping off the schedule, they were joining a large and distinguished reception—at Grade Mansion—for a visiting delegation of Swedish parliamentarians and family advocates.
“Why?” Hull had demanded when Rossi sprang this grueling program on him. “I’ve spent too much time up here already. Hell, Leon, when I’m not in Washington, the place for me to press the flesh is back home.”
Rossi removed a discreditable cigar from the corner of his mouth and studied it contemplatively.
“Opening shopping malls doesn’t do much good anywhere,” he pronounced.
Hull winced inwardly. True, according to all initial reports, murder in New York City was not a hot topic back in Texas. Neither were congressional hearings, whether they droned on or halted abruptly. Hull was beginning to believe that he could scrape through a bad patch without lasting damage. But, as Rossi reminded him, opening shopping malls was a feeble way to reestablish control over one’s destiny.
“Okay,” he retorted, “but I don’t see how running around New York with you is such a great improvement.”
“You won’t be running around New York with me,” said Rossi with weary patience. “You’ll be covering up that black eye we took—you, me, the whole damned committee.”
Hull’s thoughts, naturally enough, turned to murder, Madeleine Underwood and Quax. But Rossi was more single-minded.
“They say we don’t care about the welfare of little kids,” he continued. “Well, we turn ourselves into the biggest boosters of low-cost day care this side of the Atlantic. That’ll shut them up. We start here, in the media center of the world, then run with it. When you take a hit, Harry, you don’t just stand there and bleed. You’ve got to turn it to an advantage.”
Harry distrusted many of the nuggets of wisdom that circulated around Washington, but this one had appeal for him. Recapturing the high ground was worth special effort. Unfortunately he was beginning to notice he was no longer a tireless young campaigner. Too much turmoil, too many plans
backfiring were taking their toll. So his compliment to the unflagging Rossi as they awaited their allotted time on camera was sincere.
Rossi mistook his meaning. “You’ve got to keep your eye on the ball,” he said complacently. “Concentration—that’s what it’s all about.”
In all honesty Hull doubted if he would ever rival Rossi’s fearsome capacity to view everything under the sun in terms of votes. Putting politics on a par with life and death was beyond him. This weakness, if it could be so called, was not something he was prepared to discuss. So to avoid more dicta on the subject, he rose and idly inspected the surroundings.
The Municipal Channel was an essentially volunteer operation, with a heavy diet of public-service features padding its own production of council meetings, interviews with candidates and live performances by neighborhood groups. The staff was enthusiastic, if not highly skilled, and had managed somehow to acquire equipment worthy of NBC. Hull had yet to see the state-of-the-art cameras, but here, just outside the waiting area, stood a news service printer spilling white spools onto the floor—unread items from city, state, nation and world.
What the Commissioner of Parks had to say about playground rehabilitation did not rivet Hull. The next piece did.
“. . . executive director Iona Perez announced outside auditors report no discrepancy or improprieties in NOBBY finances. The public, declared Perez, can have confidence that every penny donated to NOBBY has been spent properly. In addition, overhead costs . . .”
“Dammit, why didn’t someone tell me?” muttered Hull.
“Tell you what?” asked Rossi, who had joined him.
The cornucopia of uncorrelated information that flows to editors and news directors had thrust NOBBY closer to the floor, so Hull could deflect this curiosity.
“Just some crazy new USDA ruling about grazing rights,” he said casually.
If Rossi knew what grazing rights were, Hull would be surprised. On the other hand, Rossi’s opinions about NOBBY were all too familiar. A ten-foot pole was not long enough.