The most striking feature, of course, was the impact on Kalinsky. This guy had, for the past eleven years or so, occupied the catbird seat from which old JQ, in his final hours, had sought to eject him.
Forget for the moment about bequests, large or small, and just consider that the executor of an estate can reasonably expect to collect two to three percent of the total assets for his services. The executor of an estate with the value and complexity of this one may even be deemed by the probate court to be worthy of a larger slice, but take just three percent of the Highland assets and we are talking a chunk of money.
The term billion has no real correspondence in the mind, the value so indicated being such a high number as to place outside normal human usage. In the United States, it means a thousand millions. Think of that Three percent of just one billion produces a figure of thirty million, and we are talking U.S. dollars. We are also talking the root of all evil; as some would have us believe, and I was looking at roots entangled and running everywhere.
Even the Internal Revenue Service was having trouble trying to determine just how many billions old Joe was worth.
It was all too murky for my quick assimilation, and I was staggering about in the dark, anyway, since I really had no idea whatever as to the actual legal status of the estate. I had been given casual generalities and a very limited understanding of the relative positions of all the players in this drama.
Karen, herself, had been vague and apparently disinterested in everything except her immediate problem, or what she perceived as her problem.
Kalinsky had actually told me nothing whatever but had simply conducted himself in a manner that would lead to the natural presumption that he was in charge and running things.
The interview with Marcia had produced more tangible information than I had gained anywhere else, and even that was suspect.
My tap on the federal computers had given me the understanding that the estate was still in probate, yet everyone at Highlandville seemed to be preparing for the big turnover on Karen's twenty-fifth birthday, one short week away. So maybe the federal data banks were running a bit behind; if that were true, it would then be an indication that the estate had been settled in very recent times. I cannot believe that the IRS would stand by and allow that transfer unless they already knew the dimensions of their own share; likewise the State of California and various other agencies with fingers in the pie.
So I had to martial the facts and attempt to draw my own picture since circumstances simply did not allow me the luxury of a liberal education in the matter.
Before I do that here, though, I want to give you JQ's last words to his "Dearly Beloved Karen:"
You are too young and I too old and limited in time to fully explain the peculiar exigencies which have moved my hand this night toward your continued protection under my love. Just be aware and one day when you are older try to understand that my motivation in this action is solely toward your ultimate benefit and to shield you from a very real danger that I, in my physically diminished state, am otherwise powerless to oppose.
I wish also to request of you a particular favor, as a testament of our love for each other, that you remove from my soul a most grievous burden that I simply cannot carry to my grave: love your mother, Elena, as I have loved you, and do your best to give back to her that which I took from her without just cause, understanding in your heart of hearts that all her supposed sins are instead my sins and all her failures my failures and all her weaknesses my weakness.
Give back to her, Dear Karen, all that which you alone now have the power to give. Good-bye, My Darling. We shall meet again, one beautiful day, beyond the stars.
Powerful stuff, eh. It was even more powerful in the original script. And I was beginning to love this old man, this reclusive, eccentric billionaire who'd had the power to install kingdoms and reshape the economics of earth—to feel a particular kind of pity for him, also.
With all that power, and all that apparent wisdom, and all that love, he had nevertheless managed to totally screw up his own family.
And, yeah, I knew why that book had been ejected from its resting place of eleven years. But why me, Joe? Shit. Why me?
Chapter Seventeen: A Fix for Karen
My pool buddy, the bartender, was lurking about outside my door when I returned to my room. He was agitated, very apprehensive, and lost no time on pleasantries.
"Need to talk to you, Mr. Ford," he almost whispered.
I opened the door and ushered him inside, wondering what the hell.
Turns out his name is Paul Ramirez. He has worked at the Highland estate for the past couple of years, more or less. Guy of about twenty-eight, good looking, a Latino male in his prime and showing it, well set up, intelligent, still lives at home with his parents though occasionally "stays over" at Highlandville when an occasion demands. He was supposed to be staying over this weekend, but had decided that he could not do that.
"There's a bunch of cops downstairs," he explained. "They're interviewing all the help and I can't handle that right now. Don't get me wrong, I don't have any kind of criminal problem, I mean nothing serious. But there are some bench warrants out on me, traffic tickets I never took care of, and they're gonna put my ass in jail if they catch it before I have the money to settle the tickets."
I knew there was something more than traffic tickets behind his encampment at my door, but I played along. "How much do you need?" I asked him.
"Oh no, please, don't think I came here to hit you up. That's going to take three or four hundred bucks, with all the penalties and interest. 'Course, I could use a few bucks to hit the beach for a while, let this thing cool. I noticed awhile ago all the questions you were asking, then when the cops came—and I've heard the talk around here tonight so I get the idea you're trying to help Miss Highland. Listen, she's an okay lady, she gets my vote, I don't think she could have done something like that. Point is, I have some information that could be very important to her and I thought, since I can't go to the cops, not right now ..."
"You need a few bucks to hit the beach for a while."
He showed me a nervous smile. "Yes sir."
I had a couple of fifties and small change in my wallet. I gave him the fifties, then wrote him a check for five hundred dollars, pushed it at him, said, "Go down first thing Monday and clear up that traffic problem. Write down my telephone number before you cash the check. Start calling me Monday afternoon every hour on the hour until you get me. Miss Highland is going to need all the help she can get. Think of the five hundred as a very small down payment on her gratitude if you can help her out of this mess. Understand me?"
He replied, "You bet, sir, I sure understand you."
I said, "Okay, right now we are probably on very limited time. What do you have for me?"
He came right back with: "Bad blood between Doctor Powell and Mr. Kalinsky."
I said, "Do tell."
"Yes sir. They had a hell of a beef just about a week ago—in fact, yeah, just last Saturday. I was inside stocking the bar and I heard them in the hallway just outside the lounge. I ducked down behind the bar just because I was embarrassed, not because I was trying to spy on anybody. I just..."
I said, "Sure. Anyway..."
"Anyway, nothing was said about Mrs. Kalinsky, but I think that's what the beef was about. I mean, it's no great secret around here that Doctor Powell and Mrs. Kalinsky had this thing going."
"This thing ...?"
"Yes sir, you know, they've been playing around together."
I said, "Everybody knew that, huh?"
"All the service force, I guess, yes sir. What you don't see as a bartender or waiter, Mr. Ford, I mean—we're right there buried in all that stuff, but everybody thinks we're blind and deaf or something, except to wait on them. Hell, we see it all. We hear it all."
"Exactly what did you hear during this beef between Powell and Kalinsky?"
"Well, let's see, the doctor is the one that is so burned.
Mr. Kalinsky was just very cold and hard. I only heard about half of what he said. The doc I could hear loud and clear, he was really shouting. He said something like, 'You can threaten me all you like but you can't pull my strings any longer.' Strings, like a puppet, see. He says,'... outrageous ...' but I don't know what was outrageous, and then, 'I'll be out of here in two weeks and that's final! Do your damnedest!'"
I asked, "And what did Kalinsky say to that?"
"He says, 'You'll go out alone and naked, then. And maybe feet first.' "
"He said that?—maybe feet first?"
"Yes, sir, and the doctor got that meaning. He said that he had enough on Mr. Kalinsky to send him up for life, that he had all the evidence hidden away somewhere and that it would all come out if he died, that Mr. Kalinsky had better take great pains to see that he never died—I mean that Doctor Powell never died."
"What did Kalinsky say to that?"
"He laughed, Mr. Ford. He laughed. Then he said, 'Take her to hell with you, then.' I think he meant Mrs. Kalinsky. But did you see the way he carried on with her down by the pool tonight? When he thought she was dead?"
I said, "Yeah, I noticed that. You didn't hear Miss Highland's name mentioned during that argument?"
"No sir. I think they were talking about Mrs. Kalinsky."
"Is that all you recall about the argument?"
"That's about it, yes sir. But if something else should come to me ..."
I walked Ramirez to the door and told him, "Get cool somewhere. Don't mention any of this to anyone else until you've checked back with me. But get straight with the cops on that traffic thing. We may need to lay this on them."
"I understand, Mr. Ford."
At the door, I inquired, "Why did you come to me instead of going to Kalinsky with this?"
He chuckled nervously. "Kidding? That guy is cold as ice. My car would have lost its brakes or something on the way home."
I said, "You really feel that way?"
He shivered as he replied, "Bet your ass I do. I knew you were an okay guy, though. You learn to spot them quick, in my business. Especially the assholes. They turn up quick."
I smiled and said, "I guess that means that mine did not turn up."
"You are absolutely right, Mr. Ford, it did not," he assured me.
I hit him with what I thought would be one last question before turning him loose into the night. "How do you really feel about Miss Highland?—straight shit, now."
"Straight shit, sir," he replied, "she's almost too good to be true—I mean, for a rich person. To tell the truth, I've been in love with her for two years. Sort of a hopeless fantasy—you know? But I'll bet I could get rid of those spells for her."
"How would you go about doing that, Paul?"
"I'd love her in the morning and I'd love her in the night, maybe all night long."
"You think that would fix her, huh?"
"Yes sir, I think it would."
If only, I was thinking, that could be true.
Chapter Eighteen: Upgrading
It was a little past two o'clock. Karen had been returned home and put to bed. A security man called Gallo was in occupation of her sitting room. He assured me that he was a "quite competent" paramedic and that she was "okay" but was not to be disturbed. I accepted that, for the moment, and went in search of Kalinsky.
I found him in the lounge, having coffee with two very relaxed and friendly plainclothes cops. I had not noticed either of these at the death scene. I shook hands with them under Kalinsky's introductions and joined the table for coffee.
I was introduced by name only, but the cops apparently already had me related. One of them said something sympathetic with regard to the "hell of a night."
The four of us small-talked for another minute or so, Kalinsky all sad charm and quiet grace, then the cops made pleasant farewells and departed.
That left just Kalinsky and me in the lounge, except for a houseman hovering inconspicuously in the background. Kalinsky's demeanor underwent a marked alteration the instant the cops walked away, moving in a twinkle from charm and grace to nasty hard.
"Let's get an understanding right up front here," he growled at me. "You don't do diddly-squat around here unless you check it out with me first, especially anything involving outside authorities."
It was a time for hardball and I was entirely ready for that game. "Get screwed," I growled back. "I have not signed your dumb-ass contract and I do not intend to. So let's upgrade this understanding. You back off and come at me like a regular guy and maybe I will hang around long enough to straighten out this mess you've got here."
"Oh pardon me," he said, the sarcasm dripping, "I forgot myself. You're the miracle man, aren't you— creeping Jesus himself, and you're going to forgive all our sins."
I replied, "The hell I am," and got to my feet. "I'll just catch up with the cops for a safe escort out of this nuthouse."
He grabbed my arm and held on. Our eyes locked briefly while I was deciding whether or not to break his arm off at the elbow and take it with me, then he flashed me a twinkle and said, chuckling, "You're right, I'm being an ass. Sit down, let's talk like adults."
He removed his hand. I sat down. We each lit a cigarette. He blew smoke straight up and said, in a musing tone, "You've met me at my worst, Ash. Sorry. Everything has just been too crazy. I was upset because you called the cops before you called me. If you had routed it through me, see—well, we have channels, friends. We would have had the right people on the response and we could have avoided that circus out there."
I replied, in about the same tone, "I understand. But you need to understand my problem too. You are not my client. Karen is. And I am not that sure that your friends are also Karen's friends. So you should understand my desire to have a neutral response."
"I understand that now," he said softly. "I did not understand it a moment ago. Again, I apologize. I thought you had simply lost your head and called the cops without thinking through the consequences. I was hoping to impress upon you the importance of working through channels."
I said, "Well, now that we have that all straightened out..."
"Yes," he replied in a soft voice, "but it is not completely straightened out. You see, you are working a false hypothesis. Karen is not your client. In fact, Ash, you have no client here, as such. You serve entirely at my pleasure. Karen does not have the power to engage you or anyone else in her direct service. You work for me or you do not work here."
I knew about where he was coming from, but I wanted him to say it, flat out. I told him, "Karen has all the power she chooses to exercise. She can run your ass out of here any time she wishes to do so. I have been considering advising her to do just that."
He was still smiling, but a hard edge was developing at the eyes. "Why are you acting this way? You must know that Karen would be in a cell right now if I had not intervened."
I shrugged and said, "One cell is much like another. And it occurs to me, Kalinsky, that this whole thing has come to a head at a highly convenient time for you. The Highland estate obviously cannot pass into the control of a mental incompetent, can it? In fact, your cup of convenience seems to be fairly running over. In one fell swoop, here tonight, you've perpetuated your grip on the Highland billions while also ridding yourself forever of a troublesome teammate who also happened to be a competitor for your wife's affections. So surely you can understand why I am acting this way. Would Karen be in a cell right now but for your intervention? I wonder. I have to wonder, Kalinsky, if it was your intervention that put her in the shadow of that cell in the first place."
I don't know what sort of reaction I had expected from the guy. I only know that I was a bit surprised at the one I got. He seemed to relax, sink a bit lower in his chair, smiling inwardly. After a brief silence he laughed softly and gave me a wink.
"Well," he said quietly, "we seem to be getting all the cards onto the table. Incidentally, I just remember that I did not express my gratitude to you for saving M
arcia's life. That was a hell of an heroic thing. I salute you. But don't think for a minute it gives you room to tweak my nose. I won't stand still for that. Are you really psychic?"
It seemed that we were moving back into a game of verbal tennis. I told him, "I have my moments. As for Marcia, it was not heroic, just human, and you expressed your gratitude in the only way that counts by your actions at poolside. You're really in love with the lady, aren't you?"
He looked at his hands as he replied. " 'Course I'm in love with her. She's the only thing that made these past twenty years bearable. Think it's been a picnic here, submerging my entire life in someone else's business? You said a cell is a cell. Look at mine, Ash. My whole life is a cell. Just how good a psychic are you?"
I said, "I found Karen. How good was that?"
"Damned good," he came right back. "I meant to ask you how you did that."
"It did me," I told him. "And quick enough to spoil the timing on the play. No way would Karen or Doc Powell either one get that far away on foot in the time allowed. How long have you had that conservancy tucked away for such convenient use?"
"Who said they got there on foot?"
"I didn't notice wings on either of them."
Kalinsky gave me a sly grin. "Wings would be nice. But a car is faster. The police found Carl's BMW in the bushes just a few hundred feet beyond that canyon. As for Karen, she had plenty of time to wander that far. I spent more than ten minutes searching for her on premises before I alerted you and Carl. Maybe that canyon is one of Karen's favorite getaways and maybe Carl knew that. Maybe you knew it, too, which also disposes of the psychic bullshit. Who says I've had anything tucked away?"
I said, "Your telephone conversation with a certain judge says it, the one you made before you came out to the scene."
His eyes narrowed. He crushed out his cigarette and immediately lit another, toyed with his coffee cup, finally said to me, "You're a pretty good fisherman but a lousy psychic."
Ashes To Ashes Page 10