Loitering with Intent sb-16

by Woods, Stuart

  “Warren Keating is a chemist; his brother died under mysterious circumstances; Warren stood to gain from his death.”

  “Don’t you think the police have already figured out that much? In addition, they’ve probably searched Warren’s house, garage and toolshed for ant poison, or whatever the hell is poisonous these days, and they surely took fluid and tissue samples from the corpse.”

  “Then why haven’t they arrested Warren?”

  “Maybe because toxicology screens seem to take one hell of a long time to come back, especially in small towns like— Where is it Warren and Harry live?”

  “Torrington, Connecticut.”

  “Like Torrington, Connecticut.”

  “Yeah,” Eggers said, “and did I mention that Harry’s body was cremated?”

  “Before or after they took samples?”

  “I’m not sure. Can a crime lab get toxicology reports from ashes, or whatever’s left after a cremation?”

  “Maybe, in the case of heavy metals, like arsenic, but if Warren is a chemist I should think he’d use something more sophisticated than arsenic.”

  “Like ant poison?”

  “Some of those insecticides have cyanide in them—at least I think that’s the case; I’m not an expert on poisoning. Somebody once told me that there are two common household fluids that, when mixed, form a poison that can’t be analyzed.”

  “I didn’t know there was anything that can’t be analyzed.”

  “I’m not a chemist, Bill. Did Harry have any family other than Warren, Eli and Evan?”

  “No, he was a lifelong bachelor, didn’t even have a girlfriend,” Eggers said.

  “Then has it occurred to you that Evan’s share of the proceeds of the sale would be even larger with Harry’s death?”

  “I suppose so. Warren’s, too.”

  “And Bill, has it occurred to you that the remaining split would be larger still if Eli kicked off?”

  “You mean . . .”

  “That maybe dutiful son Warren, when visiting his father, might bring along a treat like a box of chocolates or a bottle of Scotch?”

  “Oh, my God.” Eggers groaned.

  “Maybe you ought to have a chat with the Torrington police after all,” Stone said.

  “I’m Warren’s lawyer, Stone, and so are you.”

  “You have a point.”

  “And don’t go getting Dino to call the cops, either; that would be like telling them yourself.”

  “Yeah. What are you going to do?”

  “Think about it,” Eggers said. “And I have to call Warren and tell him what Evan said.”

  “You’d better tell him to do the right thing, Bill.”

  But Eggers had already hung up.

  Stone looked at Dino, whose eyes had narrowed and who appeared to be in deep thought.

  “What?” Stone said.

  “I’m just thinking about your problem,” Dino said. “We could probably get somebody else to approach the Torrington cops in a roundabout way.”

  “Somebody like Wally Millard?” Stone asked.

  “Maybe, but he’s connected with Eggers, who hired him to fi nd Evan Keating. That might be too close.”

  “Manny White?”

  “Still too close.”

  “If I’m going to do something about this, I’d better do it fast,” Stone said.

  “I know a detective on the Connecticut State Police,” Dino said.

  “Yeah, but you’re too close to this to talk to him.”

  “Maybe, but I know somebody who has every right to express his concern to Connecticut law enforcement.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Evan Keating.”

  Stone smote his forehead. “Why didn’t I tell him at lunch to do that?”

  “Because you’re so fucking dumb,” Dino said. Stone dialed the Gardens. Evan’s room didn’t answer, so he left a message.

  “And we still don’t know what the contract price is,” Dino pointed out.

  “It’s not as though we really need to know that, is it?” Stone said.

  “Still,” Dino replied, “a big number is motive.”

  “It’s going to be a very big motive,” Stone said.

  24

  STONE AND DINO left their hotel to play tennis, and Stone kept his cell phone in his pocket, but it never rang.

  “I’m worried,” Stone said as they were taking a break between sets.

  “I suppose you’ve got visions of Warren visiting Eli and stuffi ng something down his throat?”

  “Something like that.” Stone called the Gardens again and still got Evan’s voice mail.

  “You’re doing all you can do,” Dino said.

  “I keep thinking there’s something else.”

  “You could call the nursing home, pretend to be the cops and tell them not to let Warren anywhere near Eli.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea, Dino. What’s the name of the nursing home?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “Oh. Let’s play another set.”

  They played another set.

  “Come on,” Stone said, “let’s go to the Gardens. Maybe he’s just not answering his phone.”

  “Okay,” Dino said, “but I was winning.”

  “The hell you were.”

  They drove to the Gardens and went inside.

  “May I help you?” a young woman at the desk asked.

  “Yes, I’d like to see Evan Keating,” Stone said.

  “I’m afraid Mr. Keating just checked out,” she replied. “Not more than fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Did he leave a forwarding address?” Stone asked. She checked her records. “Miami, Florida,” she said.

  “What hotel?”

  “No hotel, just Miami.”

  “Do you have a cell phone number for him?”

  She checked again. “Yes, we do.” She gave him the number. Stone was about to dial it when Dino spoke up.

  “That’s his old cell number, the one that went overboard.”

  “Shit,” Stone said in disgust.

  “What do you want to do now?”

  “You want me to call my guy on the Connecticut State Police?”

  Stone thought about that. Somebody’s life was at stake. “Yes,” he said, “call him.”

  “What do you want me to tell him?”

  “You know what to tell him, but tell him not to tell anybody the call came from you.”

  They got into their car, and Dino went through his address book and found the number. “You’re sure you want me to call?”

  “Yes, dammit!”

  Dino dialed the number and put the phone on speaker.

  “Robbery Homicide, Lieutenant Hotchkiss.”

  “Dan, it’s Dino Bacchetti, NYPD, remember me?”

  “How could I forget?” Dan replied. “I bet you want me to solve another homicide for you.”

  “I don’t need your help in solving homicides, Dan, but . . .”

  “I know a perp who would still be a free man if . . .”

  “I need help in preventing a homicide.”

  “Anybody I know?”

  “I doubt it; it’s an old man from Torrington named Eli Keating.”

  “Elijah Keating’s Sons? That Keating?”

  “That Keating.”

  “Harry Keating’s father?”

  “The late Harry Keating’s father.”

  “Harry Keating is dead?”

  “You hadn’t heard? I hear the Torrington police are looking into the cause of death.”

  “What do they suspect?”

  “I don’t know how smart the Torrington cops are, so I can’t tell you. Suffice it to say that Harry’s brother, Warren, and his son inherit the business, along with old Eli, and Warren is a chemist.”

  “You mean . . .”

  “I don’t mean anything; you’re going to have to draw your own conclusions, and you can’t tell anybody I gave you any hints.”
/>   “Okay, hang on while I draw some conclusions: You think Warren poisoned his brother?”

  “I don’t think anything; you’re drawing your own conclusions.”

  “And that he might be going to poison his father as well, to get a bigger chunk of the business?”

  “That’s an interesting conclusion, Dan; why don’t you follow up on it?”

  “I need more.”

  “Old Eli is in a nursing home, ostensibly with Alzheimer’s, though somebody who talked with him at Harry’s funeral says he seemed just fi ne.”

  “So you think that Warren locked the old man up to get him out of the way?”

  “I don’t think anything, but it’s interesting that you have drawn that conclusion.”

  “I still need more.”

  “Then why don’t you conclude that you ought to call the Torrington cops and see what they know about all this? Maybe they would like to get the credit for solving one homicide and preventing another.”

  “Dino, you think there’s really something to all this?”

  “Dan, when you answered the phone, you spoke the words, ‘Robbery and . . .’ What was that other word? Try and remember it.”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll make some calls.”

  “I think you should conclude that you’d better hurry; it might be visiting day at the nursing home.”

  “Okay, Dino.”

  “I don’t know who that is, but call me at this number and let me know what you find out.” Dino gave him his cell phone number.

  “You’re in New York?”

  “I’m in Key West.”

  “What are you doing in Key West?”

  “Loitering.”

  “That’s what I would do if I were in Key West,” Dan said.

  “It’s one of the things I do best,” Dino said, then he hung up. He turned back to Stone. “Let’s see if that gets him to move his ass.”

  “It ought to,” Stone said.

  “Now, where the hell do you think Evan has gone?”

  “I don’t know, back to his boat?”

  “And what’s the name of that boat?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You didn’t ask him? You had lunch with the guy, and you didn’t ask him?” Dino slapped Stone on the back of the head.

  “I needed that,” Stone said.

  25

  BILL EGGERS DROVE across the Harlem River Bridge and headed north, toward Connecticut. He was going there against his better judgment, but his conscience had been bothering him. Stone had been making a lot of sense, and as far as he could tell, he was the only person who could do anything about this. Harry Keating was dead and Evan Keating had dropped out of sight again, so who else was left?

  Two hours later Eggers arrived in Torrington, and he consulted the map his secretary had printed out from the Internet. It took him another fifteen minutes to find the nursing home, out on the east side of town, toward Hartford.

  The Happy Hills Care Center was perched, true to its name, on a low hilltop. There were big oak trees on the front lawn and the building, with its colonial columns, was freshly painted. The reception area was newly decorated, with comfortable chairs. All of this was encouraging. He began to feel better. He approached the front desk, where a well-coifed middle-aged woman gave him a warm smile.

  “Good morning,” she said. “May I help you?”

  “Good morning. My name is William Eggers, and I’d like to visit with Mr. Eli Keating.”

  The woman turned to her computer and tapped a few keys. “I’m sorry, Mr. Eggers, but your name isn’t on the authorized visitors list. Are you a family member?”

  “No,” Eggers said, producing his business card, “I am Mr. Keating’s attorney.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, still smiling sweetly, “I cannot allow anyone who is not on the authorized visitors list to see a patient without a written order from Mr. Keating’s guardian.”

  “Guardian? And who might that be?”

  She consulted her computer screen. “Mr. Warren Keating.”

  “Who is the director of this institution?” Eggers inquired.

  “The medical director or the administrative director?”

  “Who’s in charge?”

  “One moment, please.” She picked up the phone and tapped in an extension. “Mr. Parker? There’s a gentleman at the front desk who insists on speaking with someone in authority. Could you come out here right away, please? Thank you so much.” She hung up. “Mr. Parker will be right with you,” she said.

  “And what is Mr. Parker’s position here?”

  “Mr. Parker is the administrative director.”

  “And who is the medical director?”

  “That would be Dr. Parker.”

  “Would Mr. Parker be the son of Dr. Parker?”

  “That would be correct.”

  “Ah, a family business.” Eggers was too agitated to sit down, so he paced. After a few minutes a skinny young man in an ill-fi tting blue suit appeared.

  “I’m Mr. Parker,” he said. “How can I help you?”

  “Mr. Parker, I am the attorney for Mr. Eli Keating, who is an inmate of your institution.”

  “A patient,” Parker said.

  “We’ll see. I wish to see Mr. Keating at once.”

  “He’s not on Mr. Keating’s visitors list,” the receptionist said.

  “Then I’m afraid it will not be possible for you to see Mr. Keating,” young Parker said.

  “Mr. Parker, you’d better get your daddy out here right now,”

  Eggers said in a low voice, “and I mean right now.”

  The young man’s eyes widened slightly, and he turned to the receptionist. “Call Dr. Parker, code three.”

  The receptionist called another extension and repeated the message. Half a minute later, a gray-haired, gray-skinned man in a starched white lab coat presented himself at the front desk.

  “This man wants to see Mr. Keating,” young Parker said to his father. “I’ve explained that that is not possible, since he is not on the visitors list.”

  “Who are you?” Dr. Parker asked.

  “I am Mr. Keating’s attorney,” Eggers said, digging out another card, “and I have a pretyped court order in my pocket that I can have Judge Carter’s signature on in ten minutes, so my advice to you would be to present Mr. Keating now. ”

  Dr. Parker regarded him for a slow count of about fi ve, then picked up a phone and tapped in an extension. “This is Dr. Parker. Give Mr. Keating his medication and bring him to the dayroom immediately.”

  “If you medicate that man, I’m calling the police as well as the judge,” Eggers said.

  “Never mind the medication,” Parker said into the phone, then he hung up. “The dayroom is right over there,” he said, pointing to a double door. “You may have five minutes with Mr. Keating, no more.”

  “I’ll take as long as I like,” Eggers said, then he turned and strode toward the doors. The dayroom was as pleasant as the rest of the place, and Eggers took a seat. Ten minutes passed, and he was about to go looking for Dr. Parker when a door swung open and a beefy orderly pushed a wheelchair into the room.

  Eli Keating looked thinner than when Eggers had seen him at the funeral, and his stare was vacant. Eggers stood up. “Eli, it’s Bill Eggers. How are you?”

  “All right,” Keating said sleepily. “I think.”

  Eggers turned to the orderly. “We won’t be needing you.”

  “I got my instructions,” the orderly said.

  Eggers drew himself to his full six feet, four inches and took a step toward the orderly. “Get out.”

  The man blinked a couple of times, then retreated the way he had come, and began staring through a glass panel in the door. Eggers sat down. “Eli, why are you here?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know,” Keating said in a manner more himself. “You’d have to ask my son.”

  “Listen carefully to me. What is my name?”

  “Bill Eggers.�
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  “Who am I?”

  “You’re my lawyer, or at least you were. Where the hell have you been?”

  “When did you hire me?”

  “When you joined Woodman and Weld. I knew your daddy.”

  “How old are you?”

  “ Eighty-two next week.”

  “What are your sons’ names?”

  “Harry and Warren. I’ve got a grandson, too, Evan. Harry’s dead, and I don’t know where the hell Evan is. I wish he’d come and get me out of here.”

  “Would you like to leave this place now?”

  “You’re goddamned right I would. I want to go back to my house and see my own doctor.”

  Eggers pulled out his cell phone and pressed the speed-dial button for his secretary. “It’s Eggers,” he said. “Plan B now.” He hung up. “You just sit tight, Eli, and I’ll have you out of here in less than an hour. My secretary is making a call to a lawyer in Torrington, who is ready to have a court order signed. Do you need an ambulance, or would you rather ride with me in my car?”

  “Bill,” Eli said, “if you can stop them from giving me another one of those injections, I’ll drive you. ”

  26

  LATE IN THE afternoon, Stone and Dino were back in a rented Boston Whaler, patrolling the marinas, looking for Evan Keating’s boat, whatever its name might be.

  “There’s a period piece over there,” Dino said, pointing at a motor yacht.

  “Too big,” Stone replied. “Evan’s boat is a thirty-two-footer, and that one is at least forty feet long.”

  “Oh,” Dino said, settling himself on the front bench under the canvas top and sipping a cold beer from a cooler. “You want a beer?”

  “I’ll wait awhile,” Stone said, gazing at row after row of motorboats. Stone’s cell phone vibrated on his belt, and he answered it.

  “It’s Eggers.”

  “Hey, Bill. Listen, we’re looking for Evan Keating’s boat right now. He checked out of his hotel, and we think we’ll find him aboard.”

  “You can forget about Evan Keating,” Eggers said.

  “What, you got the signed papers?”

  “I did not, and I do not expect to,” Eggers replied.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’ve got a lot to tell you,” Eggers said, “so relax and enjoy.”