“Though I know this is going to sound egotistical, it’s a simple truth that if I endorse a product, it skyrockets.”
He was right. It did sound egotistical.
“That makes you a very powerful man, doesn’t it? You can make or break a career.”
Carl shook his head. “I have never tried to destroy anyone. It would be vulgar. If I don’t approve of a product or a person, I keep silent.”
So he only used his power for good? Did he think he was Superman? Dylan suppressed a laugh.
“And what did you have to gain from this?”
“Satisfaction,” he said.
“What about the warehouse? Why didn’t you want Kate to know you owned it?”
“I’m only one of the owners,” he corrected. “But I do have controlling interest.”
“Answer the question.” Dylan was tired of being accommodating. He was about to tell Kate to leave, but Carl surprised him by beating him to the punch.
“Kate, darling, would you please give us a moment alone?”
She didn’t want to leave; she wanted to stay to make sure Dylan didn’t tromp all over Carl’s feelings, but she knew it would be rude to refuse. “Yes, of course.”
Both men stood when she did, and Dylan opened the door for her. She gave him a warning look as she walked past and whispered, “Be patient with him.”
The audio control for the interrogation room was on the wall in front of him. Dylan decided to turn it off.
Carl had resumed his seat and arrogantly gestured for Dylan to do the same.
“If Kate knew what I was about to tell you, she would be embarrassed, and so I would appreciate your discretion. In return I shall be completely frank with you. Now then, I didn’t want her to know that I owned the warehouse because I was going to offer it—through a Realtor, of course—at a substantially reduced price. I was trying to help Kate,” he explained. “She is the dearest lady, and what I have seen happening to her this past year has been heart-wrenching. She was on the fast track, you know, and she had such grand plans. She was going to move her company to Boston. She has so many connections there. Within a year, I guarantee you, her company would have become a giant in the industry. Within five years, her products would have been sold all over the world. She could have accomplished unparalleled success.”
He carefully adjusted the collar of his white shirt before continuing. “She won’t move her company now. She’s responsible, you see. Always responsible. Everyone comes before Kate. She will stay in Silver Springs because that’s the responsible thing to do. For a long while she stayed for her mother, and now she’ll stay for her sister. Isabel is the youngest, but of course you know that, don’t you? Kate will stay here for at least another two, perhaps three, years.
“I would love it if she stayed permanently and expanded her company from here. She could put Silver Springs on the map. It would probably take her longer to achieve international success from here, but with her drive and her determination I have no doubt she’ll get it . . . if that is what she wants. She’ll do magnificent things wherever she is, but this is where Kate belongs.”
“How did the other owners feel about reducing the price of the warehouse?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask them. I have controlling interest,” he explained. “And the others will do whatever I want them to do. Together we own several blocks, and now that the renovation is under way and the rebirth has begun, they know they’ll make a fortune. Silver Springs is a small community, and because it offers people a slower pace and a safer environment, it’s becoming the place to live and play. We want to attract local business, so helping Kate by reducing the price will be seen as goodwill.”
“I’ll need the names of the other owners.”
“Yes, of course.”
“So you reduced the price because it was a smart business move.”
“Yes, but also because I knew Kate was in financial trouble.”
Dylan sat back. “Oh? How did you know that?”
Carl ran his fingers across the smooth surface of the table while he thought about the question. “I’m not sure how I knew,” he admitted. “Someone told me. Yes,” he said, nodding. “Someone must have told me, and now you’ll want to know who that person was, and for the life of me, I can’t remember. There have been so many cocktail parties and dinners, and people tell me things—in the strictest confidence. I hear things, often secondhand, and everyone knows how much I love Kate. I boast about her company all the time so I can get people talking and buzzing about her lovely candles and her body lotions. My Delilah adores them. Her signature perfumes are divine, and there’s a new one coming in December that I believe is the most divine of all. It’s called Sassy.” He bit his lower lip to restrain his emotion.
Dylan had never questioned anyone quite like Carl before. He was prone to digression, but Dylan was determined to keep him on track. “If I were to ask you to write the names of the people who knew you owned that warehouse . . .”
“Impossible,” Carl said. “I’ve been heavily promoting the area. I swear I’ve told half of Charleston and Silver Springs and Savannah—”
“Why Savannah?”
“I have many friends,” he explained. “I spend a great deal of time there.”
“Have you ever met any MacKennas in Savannah?”
“Not that I recall. I believe Kate and her sisters are the only MacKennas I know, but then I do meet so many people and I don’t always catch the names.”
“You still haven’t explained what makes you responsible for the explosions.”
“Consider the circumstances,” he said. “I invited Kate to my estate, and I insisted she bring her products, and boom, she’s nearly killed. And through a Realtor I encourage her to look at my warehouse, and boom, she’s nearly killed again. I own both properties, you see. I am responsible. I just don’t know how or why. I’m hoping you’ll be able to figure that out.”
The only thing Carl might be guilty of was telling everything he knew to anyone who would listen. Someone used him for information.
“What’s your financial situation?” Dylan asked.
“Dismal at the moment. Abysmal. I’ve completely over-extended myself. But it’s temporary,” he assured him. “I’m building a gallery on my property—which will be magnificent when it’s completed—and I’ve sunk the rest of my money into this latest project. But I have no doubt the return will be well worth the risk.”
Dylan was a little surprised by Carl’s candor. He was an unusual character and a complete contradiction. On the one hand he was pretentious and arrogant, and on the other he was straightforward and considerate. One thing was certain, he wore his heart on his sleeve for everyone to see, so there was little pretense when it came to his feelings.
“How did you meet Kate?” Dylan asked. It seemed such a curious friendship to him.
Carl smiled. “I met her at the hospital. It was several years back. She was there with her mother, and I was visiting my sister, Susannah. Kate was in high school, but she was already a beauty. And such a presence. Do you understand what I mean?”
“Oh, yes.” He understood perfectly.
“She could start pulses racing even back then. My sister actually introduced us. Kate was waiting for her mother to come out of X-ray, and my sister was waiting to be taken in, and they began to chat. They became dear friends in no time at all. Susannah was two years younger than Kate,” he thought to add. “Kate told her about the candles she was making with all the strange scents, and she asked Susannah if she would give her opinion of some of them. My sister was thrilled. Kate made her feel very important.
“Susannah was ill for quite some time—in and out of the hospital so often she called it her home away from home.” He paused with a melancholy smile at the memory. “Kate’s mother went into remission, so Kate didn’t need to come to the hospital anymore, but she never forgot Susannah. She visited her often, and even after she started college, Kate would make a point of se
eing her when she came home for vacations. And no matter where she was, every week, she would send a little something to Susannah. A candle, a special lotion, a flower . . . a gift to tell her she was thinking about her. Each time Kate started working on a new product, she would call to get her input. I know Kate didn’t really need Susannah’s opinion, but she asked for it just the same. It gave Susannah something to look forward to, especially in her last days when she was so weak.” Carl’s voice cracked when he said, “We lost Susannah in September. But Kate, my dear, dear Kate, still hasn’t forgotten her. She told me she wanted to do something special in her memory, and so she’s developed a special perfume that will be named after my sister. Susannah was her given name, but we called her Sassy.”
Chapter Thirty-one
Dylan wasn’t about to let Kate walk into the Smith and Wesson building to sign any papers until he was absolutely certain she would be safe. Figuring out all the details and coordinating security measures with Nate and the Charleston PD, the FBI, and the Savannah PD would not only take time but would also be a logistical nightmare, and that meant that the three o’clock meeting this afternoon would definitely have to be rescheduled.
One solution would be for the attorney to bring the papers to Kate. The Silver Springs police station would have been a good location, but anywhere away from the heart of Savannah and the MacKenna brothers would have been acceptable.
Unfortunately, the location for the meeting couldn’t be moved. When Dylan got Anderson on the phone and suggested other arrangements, the attorney was most apologetic as he explained that a change of venue wouldn’t be possible.
“I must follow Compton MacKenna’s instructions. He insisted that the meeting take place at Smith and Wesson. He liked to direct every facet of his affairs. He signed his new will in the conference room on the second floor, and that is where he wanted the transfer of his estate to take place. He even went so far as to assign seating. Kate must first listen to his advisors and his accountants as they explain how Compton accumulated his fortune, and when they are finished, she can sign the papers.”
“Is that a mandatory condition?”
“I’m afraid so, yes.”
“What was his reason for setting it up this way?”
“There were several reasons,” Anderson said. “He expected Kate to follow in his footsteps, and he therefore believed that his advisors would guide her in future decisions that would increase his fortune. It is not a condition of the will, however, that Kate continue to employ them, and as her attorney I will strongly recommend that she fire the lot.”
Before Dylan could ask why, Anderson continued. “I also believe Compton wanted to impress her, to brag, if you will. In his mind Kate was a prodigy, his prodigy.”
“She won’t like hearing that.”
“After having spent a very brief time with her, I have already judged her to be nothing like Compton . . . or his advisors,” he added.
“You’d think someone who was going to hand over that much money to one person would want to get to know her,” Dylan surmised.
“I mentioned that very thing to him a few months ago, but he became indignant at the suggestion. He felt his investigation told him everything he needed to know about Kate and her sisters. He was quite the recluse at times—I suppose one would call him eccentric. He had difficulty establishing any sort of personal relationship. I think, as long as he kept his transactions on a strictly business level, he could control them. I was his attorney for the last seven years and found him to be extraordinarily inflexible. He preferred to work through his financial associates.”
“How many are there?”
“Six in all,” he replied. “Four advisors and two accountants. I’ve already given their names to Detective Hallinger.”
Dylan was walking back and forth in the hall of the police station while he talked to Anderson on his cell phone. The door to the lounge was open. The tiny room was furnished with a synthetic leather sofa and a soda machine. Dylan went in and dipped into his pocket for some change as he continued his conversation. He asked the attorney to e-mail him the names and phone numbers so he could do a little checking on them, too. Just to be on the safe side. Who knew, maybe he’d find out something Nate had missed. Remote possibility . . . but still . . .
“Did Compton also want to control the time for the meeting from his grave, or can that be rescheduled?” he asked and then quickly answered his own question. “It has to be rescheduled. There’s just no way it can take place this afternoon.”
“I understand,” Anderson said. “Compton was more flexible about the time. He realized people do get sick and there are emergencies. I believe the only reason he wanted the meeting scheduled two days after his death was to make certain his advisors and accountants would be in Savannah in time for his funeral. It was his way of making sure someone besides me showed up. What about tomorrow evening at seven? Would that be convenient for Kate?” Anderson asked. “Or the day after that? The others are coming in from out of town. They’ll stay in Savannah for as long as necessary. But, you know, the sooner those papers are signed, the better for everyone’s peace of mind.”
And better for her chances of survival, Dylan thought. “How much notice do you need?”
“Whatever you can give me.”
“What about notifying the MacKennas? You said they had to be invited? Right?”
“When I know the time, I’ll call them, though I doubt any of them will show up.”
“Why did Compton want them there?”
“He didn’t say, but I think it was out of spite. Perhaps he wanted to rub their noses in what they had lost.”
“Let’s try for tomorrow at seven, and if I can’t make it happen, I’ll call you to reschedule.”
Dylan realized he was making decisions without Kate’s input. He would have to run his plans by her and get her approval.
He disconnected the call and then went through the rest of his voice messages. Nate had called four times trying to find him. With each message he became angrier. Dylan understood why. Nate felt responsible for Kate’s well-being, and not knowing where she was would naturally infuriate him. Dylan didn’t particularly care how angry he was. The fewer people who knew her whereabouts, the better.
He knew he couldn’t avoid Nate much longer. He got two sodas out of the machine, popped the tab of one, and took a drink. And then he called Nate.
And got his voice mail. “Okay, I’m calling you back. So call me on my cell phone.”
That ought to piss him off, Dylan thought.
Kate was in the chief’s office. Dylan decided she had had enough time to talk to Drummond about the weasel problem, and went downstairs to join them.
She was stuffing papers into her briefcase when he walked in and handed her the other can of soda. Drummond was making notes on his legal pad.
“I’ll get right on this,” he promised. He looked at Dylan and said, “Kate wants to stay the night at home. I think we could make that happen. Don’t you? I could get some men to sweep the house and get a couple more to patrol the grounds. She lives in a cul-de-sac, and that will make the job easier.”
“Did you put him up to this?” Dylan asked Kate accusingly.
“I might have mentioned that I would like to be able to sleep in my own bed tonight.”
“You did a bit more than mention it to me,” the chief countered. “You out and out begged me to get Dylan to agree.”
She closed her briefcase and placed it on the floor. “I don’t beg,” she said. Turning to Dylan, she asked, “Did you know that Chief Drummond was a detective in Los Angeles? He retired after twenty years of service and moved here because he got tired of all the traffic.”
“I think she’s trying to convince you that I’m qualified for the job.”
“We’ve already talked, Kate,” Dylan answered. “He knows all about my background, and I know a considerable amount about his. I think the chief knows how much I respect his experience.”
/> Kate stood. “Then I can go home now.”
“Sit right back down,” the chief ordered. “You aren’t going anywhere until your house has been swept. And the street,” he thought to add. “Is the attorney going to bring the papers here for Kate to sign?”
Dylan had previously talked to Drummond about the possibility. “No. It was nonnegotiable. If Kate agrees, we’ll try for seven o’clock tomorrow evening. That should give us enough time to get organized.”
“In Savannah?” the chief asked.
“Yes.”
“That’s too bad. You’re going to have everyone but me taking charge then.”
“Everyone?” she asked.
“Savannah’s in another state,” he reminded her. “The FBI isn’t going to be left out. This really should be their case. And then you’ve got Charleston PD wanting to stay in charge. The first explosion did take place in their jurisdiction, and now you also have to include Savannah PD, especially if you think something might happen.”
“The Savannah police? Why would you want to involve them?”
“Because you’ll be in their yard,” the chief said. He looked at Dylan and added, “Think how they’re gonna feel if there’s gunfire or something gets blown up and they’re not consulted.”
Dylan nodded. “We’d never hear the end of it.”
They were joking . . . weren’t they? If all those people showed up, there wouldn’t be enough room inside the Smith and Wesson building.
And then it hit her. If there was gunfire or a bomb—which did seem to be the favored weapon of destruction—some of those people could die.
“No,” she blurted. “I don’t want anyone to go to Savannah with me. I’ll go alone.”
“I’ll let you handle this,” the chief said to Dylan as he pushed his chair back. “I’ve got things to do.”
After Drummond left, Dylan leaned against the desk waiting for Kate to explain.
She was waiting for him to argue with her. When he remained silent, she demanded, “Did you hear what I said?”
“I heard.”
“And?” she was frowning up at him.
Slow Burn Page 21