“How much money are we talking about?” Brookstone said.
“Almost eight million over two years,” I said.
“Whoa!” Kalijero said. “At ten percent? Somebody skimmed eight hundred grand?”
Lucille said, “Mr. Landau is ignoring the possibility that Henry was utilizing his knowledge of financial loopholes or other arrangements to save the shelter from hidden fees and such. Henry’s most likely putting money aside to cover future accounting costs or payroll taxes, or for the rainy-day fund.”
“Well, then,” I said, “when the attorney general’s office gets their warrant to examine the comings and goings of the donations from DeWeldt’s account, they’ll see there’s nothing illegal going on.”
“That’s right,” Lucille said. “But in the meantime, we will have insulted our most important benefactor and lost our biggest source of funding, thanks to your nonsense.”
I took another page out of the accordion file. “Lucille, did you know that DeWeldt tried to get you a raise before you even started working here?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Lucille said.
“Make your point!” Kalijero said.
“At a board meeting about three years ago,” I said. “DeWeldt motioned that the incoming development director’s compensation include a six percent commission on donations. When put to a vote, however, the motion failed. Maybe DeWeldt’s original plan was to skim your six percent after you deposited donations into his account. But then he thought, ‘Hey, if the board won’t let me steal six percent, they might as well not let me steal ten percent.’ ”
Brookstone stood. “This is an embezzlement issue.”
“Money motive, Detective Brookstone,” I said. “Money motive makes a murder issue.” Brookstone looked at his watch, sat back down, folded his arms.
“Maybe DeWeldt’s not as greedy as I thought,” I said. “Maybe he kept, like, four percent, and transferred six percent to someone else’s account.” I looked at Lucille. “Do you still consult privately on estate planning?”
“On occasion,” Lucille said.
“In fact, didn’t you help Jackie Whitney set up a charitable trust to benefit Furry BFF?”
“I did.”
“Did you do any consulting for DeWeldt’s law firm?” Lucille didn’t respond, just stared a hole through me. I said, “I wonder if DeWeldt paid you consulting fees with money he skimmed off donations.”
“I don’t believe that. Henry will explain everything, I have no doubt.”
I walked to the side of Lucille’s desk. “Lucille,” I said. “Was there anything you didn’t think was important enough to tell Detective Brookstone?”
“Of course not,” Lucille said.
“Did you tell Detective Brookstone that you and Jackie were close gal-pals and that Jackie’s boyfriend was Henry DeWeldt?”
“No, you didn’t,” Brookstone said.
I said, “Imagine Jackie’s anger after discovering Henry and Lucille’s affair.”
Once again the two detectives looked at Lucille. “The situation wasn’t nearly as dramatic as Mr. Landau is portraying,” Lucille said.
“According to DeWeldt,” I said, “just a couple of meaningless encounters. But that didn’t diminish Jackie’s anger or her urge to lash out. Like all good mobsters, DeWeldt kept a record of transactions to maintain the corruption equilibrium should one of his judges or aldermen betray him. Electronic surveillance being what it is today, DeWeldt probably handwrote the incriminating activity in a spiral notebook.”
“Oh, my God, what nonsense!” Lucille said. “Jackie stole the notebook, therefore Henry had her killed. Absolutely absurd.”
“The notebook included records of DeWeldt’s scam with Lucille’s donation deposits. Jackie was a very important donor. Because of her charitable trust, Furry BFF bestowed on Jackie the title patron saint. Isn’t that right, Lucille?”
“You know it is,” Lucille said. “So what?”
“Now imagine Jackie’s anger upon discovering that ten percent of her quarterly trust distribution was split between Henry DeWeldt and someone owed a ‘consulting fee.’ ”
“There you go again with the consulting fee,” Lucille shouted. “You’re making an assumption. You have absolutely no proof!”
“It was bad enough DeWeldt had an affair with Jackie’s gal-pal, but to steal from Jackie’s charitable trust as well? Would anyone blame Jackie for wanting to strike back by changing the trust to exclude Furry BFF?”
Chapter 35
“Manny,” I said. “Anything else you thought wasn’t important enough to tell Detective Brookstone?”
Kalijero said, “Just make your—”
“Point,” I said. “Okay, let’s talk about Manny’s wife.”
Manny looked up. “My wife?”
“What’s your wife’s name?”
“What does she have to do with anything?”
“Lenny said your wife visited Jackie a few hours after Jackie returned from Palm Springs.”
Manny gave me a bizarre look. “What? That’s impossible. Lenny’s mistaken. He doesn’t know her.”
“Wouldn’t he recognize her?”
“No. He’s never met her.”
His sincerity sounded authentic. “My bad,” I said. “I shouldn’t assume people know what they’re talking about. But a woman who Lenny thought was your wife did visit Jackie.”
“I wouldn’t know about that,” Manny said. “Check the guest sign-in book.”
“Well, if Lenny thought this woman was your wife, I’m sure he would’ve waved her through.”
“You didn’t check the guest sign-in?” Brookstone said.
“Did you, Detective Brookstone? Did you, the policeman, check the guest sign-in?”
“Okay! Forget it!” Kalijero said.
“Manny,” I said, “you say Lenny has never seen your wife.”
“He hasn’t. He’s never met her.”
“Is it possible the woman Lenny thinks is your wife is really your girlfriend?”
Manny ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Is it possible you don’t have a wife—or children? Could your girlfriend and the woman Lenny called your wife be the same person?”
“Stop it!” Lucille shouted. “Stop with your wild accusations! Manny doesn’t deserve to be treated this way.”
Brookstone stood up. “Is it true, Alvarez? Because if it is, I need to know who she is and why she was visiting Jackie Whitney.”
“Lucille,” I said, “you and Manny only know each other in passing. That’s what you told me. Yet here you stay, at his side, apparently very invested in what he has to say.”
“You’re a son of a bitch, Mr. Landau,” Lucille said. “You make your accusations without giving a damn how they affect people’s lives.”
“Okay, okay,” I said. “Enough with the accusations. I’ll try some rumors instead. Lucille has a boyfriend who likes to go dancing. Anyone we know?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Kalijero,” Brookstone said, “I’m losing my fucking mind with your boy.”
I looked at Manny. “Manny, you silly boy! Are you the one wearing white or black shirts with mesh panels and tuxedo ruffles?”
The two detectives looked back and forth between Manny and Lucille.
“Landau!” Kalijero said. “Whatever the hell you’re saying, just say—”
“I’m going to talk about you for a while, Lucille,” I said. “You too, Manny. Feel free to interject if you don’t like my accusations. Or you can leave if you’re not interested.”
Lucille pretended to think about it. I knew neither of them were going anywhere. “Just let him talk, Manny,” Lucille said. “Telling a story and proving anything are completely different.”
“Saturday, May sixteenth,” I said. “At precisely 7:42 P.M., Lucille Mackenzie enters the lobby of Jackie Whitney’s building. Whether Jackie call
ed Lucille or Lucille called Jackie, we won’t know until the cellphone records are checked. But what I’m fairly certain of is that Lucille wants to talk about the charitable trust Jackie had set up. The trust Jackie planned on changing to exclude Furry BFF.”
“DeWeldt told her about Jackie changing the trust?” Kalijero said.
Lucille laughed.
“Exactly,” I said. “Furry BFF losing the trust money along with the possible consequences should Jackie inform the board that ten percent of donations are missing must’ve caused Lucille much anxiety. How could she explain the checks deposited in DeWeldt’s account and then six percent transferring to another account in Lucille’s name? Maybe Lucille could reason with her old friend and they could reach some kind of agreement.”
“What about DeWeldt?” Kalijero said. “Does he know what Lucille’s up to?”
I looked at Lucille. “I don’t think so,” I said. “The evening started off nice enough. Jackie opened the first bottle of wine and the two friends chatted about how nice it was in Palm Springs and how great things were going at the shelter. Jackie knew their discourse was all an act and probably felt empowered watching Lucille tiptoe around the giant squid sprawled out in the living room. But she was content to follow Lucille’s lead all the way through the second bottle of wine, when Lucille decided to bring up the trust.”
“What about McCall?” Brookstone said.
“Lucille,” I said. “What kind of drunk are you? A silly drunk? A sleepy drunk? An angry drunk?”
Lucille had no comment.
“Jackie’s blood alcohol level was 0.139 percent. And since there were only two of you at this party, I’m thinking Lucille was also pretty drunk after the second bottle. When the subject turns to the trust, it’s not hard to imagine the conversation might’ve become heated. Jackie may have cut loose on Lucille, letting her pent-up anger spill out. Having an affair with her boyfriend? What kind of friend does that? Then she starts talking about the notebook she stole and how it revealed what a crook DeWeldt is, and, by default, what a crook Lucille is too.”
Manny looked up. “DeWeldt is the evil one,” he said. “He used Lucille for his own gain.”
“Pay no attention, Manny,” Lucille said. “Let Mr. Landau have his fun playing the sleuth. Who are you, Hercule Poirot? Or maybe Miss Marple?”
I couldn’t deny I was enjoying myself. Knowing how a puzzle fit together was tremendously empowering.
“Did Jackie make you beg her not to change the trust?” I said. “Did she make you get down on your hands and knees? Maybe that was it. You gladly humiliated your drunken self, thinking if you just let Jackie have her way that night, she’d get the anger out of her system and let the problem be solved without changing trusts or instigating inquiries into financial misconduct. But you were wrong. And when you realized Jackie was enjoying every moment of your humiliation, you hit your breaking point. A hammer lying on the end table caught your eye. The same hammer Kate McCall had used many times to help Jackie hang pictures. In a flash, you grabbed it then brought it down on the crown of Jackie’s head. The anger behind the blow rendered Jackie unconscious and forever unaware that her life was about to end with two more strikes that would follow.”
“You’re a very good storyteller, Mr. Landau,” Lucille said. “Even the two detectives seem taken in.”
“Manny,” Brookstone said. “You got anything to say?”
“Lucille’s a good person,” Manny practically whispered. “DeWeldt’s the evil one.”
“After Lucille realizes what she has done,” I said, “she calls her boyfriend, the person she knew wouldn’t allow her to deal with this mess alone. A check of Lucille’s phone records will tell us she called Manny between nine-thirty and ten-thirty. A check of Manny’s phone records will indicate he called the agency during that same time period. You can have those records checked, can’t you, Detective Brookstone?”
Brookstone said nothing, just stared at me. “Yes,” Kalijero said. “Keep talking.”
“The CCTV was turned off at eleven-fifteen, about the time Manny showed up to cover the graveyard shift. Sometime before two the next morning, Manny meets Lucille in Jackie’s apartment. Lucille is frantic. She swears she didn’t mean to kill Jackie, and also tells him about a notebook full of information that will ruin her. Manny sends her home. His thinking is nearsighted. Hide the body. Move it somewhere else. He puts Jackie in a garment bag. He fetches a luggage cart from the lobby and brings it up to the apartment. He uses the cart to move the body to Jackie’s closet. He’s strong enough to maneuver Jackie over his shoulder. Then he carries her up the ladder to the top shelf, where she’ll remain until Manny figures out a way to take the body out of the building.”
“More fiction,” Lucille said.
Kalijero said, “When Linda Napier sees Manny exiting the elevator, he had just put the body in the closet.”
“Yes,” I said. “Kessler shows up shortly after Linda. Since Kessler has a key, Manny can’t risk him sneaking up on his own and possibly seeing the bloody mess on the couch or peeking into Jackie Whitney’s bedroom. So he escorts them. The excursion works out nicely since Kessler wants only to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible and Manny knows he doesn’t have to worry about Jackie waking up.”
“You’re looking at accessory after the fact, Manny,” Brookstone said.
“In the late afternoon of Monday, May eighteenth,” I said, “Kate McCall stops by to check on her friend Jackie Whitney. Manny is on duty because he switched with Lenny in order to work the swing and graveyard shifts back-to-back. Manny calls up to the apartment, no answer. McCall says she’s worried and wants to see if Jackie’s okay. At first, Manny doesn’t want to let her up, but he realizes McCall will be setting herself up as a suspect, so off she goes.”
“How about it, Manny?” Brookstone said. “Accessory after the fact to murder doesn’t bother you?”
“Not a word, Manny,” Lucille said. “From now on, his lawyer will speak for him.”
“McCall notices the odor of death,” I said. “She gets the hell out of there but doesn’t know what to do. She comes back in the wee hours the next morning, sees Manny again, and tells him about the smell. McCall finding Jackie’s body will ruin Manny’s special plans for his graveyard shift. But he’s smart enough to know that if McCall tells the police he wouldn’t let her up, despite the ‘odor of death,’ it wouldn’t look good. So Manny lets McCall go back up, she sniffs out the body, calls 911.”
“Manny was going to move the body,” Kalijero said. “That’s why he took the graveyard shift.”
“You got proof he was going to move the body, Landau?” Brookstone said.
From the accordion file I took out the valet’s daily planner, opened it up to May 18, then held it in front of the two detectives.
I said, “You’ll notice that one of the valets had written, ‘Econoline #586, Manny,’ and then drew an arrow from Monday evening through Tuesday morning. Manny reserved a van.”
“Manny,” Lucille said, “you’ll also notice they’ve got nothing to prove you were even in Jackie’s apartment other than Dr. Kessler’s claim.”
I took a small strip of masking tape from my pocket. “After you walked in, Manny, I put my hand lightly on your backside. I directed you to the seat you’re sitting in while sliding my hand down your jacket. In my hand was this piece of tape. If you look closely, you can see some strands of what looks like fur. If it is fur, it can’t be Louie’s fur, because Gloria’s dog doesn’t shed. But could it be cat fur?”
“Don’t let him scare you,” Lucille said.
I said, “If I had this fur analyzed, is it possible I might find the same DNA that was found at the two crime scenes?”
“Manny,” Brookstone said, “I’ll be getting a court order to test the fur. And look for more fur at your house.”
“Dr. Kessler or Linda Napier or Kate McCall could’ve easily killed Jackie,” Lucille said.
“Or you,” I
said.
“Oh?” Lucille said. “I’m still waiting for something besides your storytelling imagination that suggests I killed somebody—or actually puts me in the building at the time you say.”
“The CCTV hadn’t been turned off yet when Manny’s girlfriend-wife arrived,” I said.
“And?” Lucille said. “That video alone isn’t proof of anything.”
“Then there’s the guest sign-in book the police neglected to examine,” I said. “Early in my investigation I looked for Dr. Kessler’s name. A couple of days ago I spoke to Lenny over the phone. He told me the page for the evening of May sixteenth had been torn out. This was disappointing news, but then Lenny surprised me. It seems the book is two-part carbonless paper and the second page was still intact.” I took a folded piece of paper from my pocket. “Not great quality, but I think the signature is identifiable.” I handed the page to Brookstone. He stared at it then handed it to Kalijero.
“Accessory after the fact, Manny,” Brookstone said. “Class X felony. You could get six years or thirty years. Or you could get probation. A clean record helps. So would cooperation.”
“He’s trying to turn you against me, Manny,” Lucille said. “These gentlemen think a killer is dumb enough to sign their name while a camera watched.”
“No, Lucille,” I said. “Manny’s girlfriend-wife signed in because she never intended to kill Jackie.” I took a few steps toward Brookstone. “Which is why the charge will be second-degree murder, don’t you think, Detective Brookstone?”
The room stayed silent until Brookstone said, “Anything you want to say, Manny?”
“By the way, Manny,” I said. “Shortly before Linda Napier was found murdered, she was talking to you in Jackie’s lobby. As soon as she walked away, you called someone. Once that court order is approved, Detective Brookstone will be able to find out.” I looked at Lucille. “That would probably be a first-degree murder charge.”
Kalijero stared at Lucille. Her eyes fixed on an unknown point, her lower lip quivered slightly. “Anything, Lucille?” Kalijero said.
“Phone calls, hearsay, alleged video and signature,” Lucille said. “I’m not impressed.”
Doubt in the 2nd Degree Page 23