by David Linzee
“I doubt they will. He’s a man of impressive skills.” Renata shivered. “Let’s move on. The Chicago police find the body. But they can’t identify it and their investigation stalls.”
“Shane was holding the tape, probably because he didn’t trust Bistouri. According to the Chicago cops, Bistouri had a history of petty extortion, which kind of goes along with being a sleazy bugging expert. This was going to be his big score. He and Shane headed for St. Louis to sell the video to Bryson. But somewhere along the line, Bistouri has a more lucrative idea he doesn’t let Shane in on. He makes a deal with somebody at the pharmaceutical giant Newton-Drax. They pay him to blackmail Bryson into stopping development of Helen’s vaccine, which threatens their own highly profitable drug.”
“They must have paid him a lot.”
“Yep. They were protecting a drug that brought in fifty million a year, every year.”
“The splendid thing about it was that it wasn’t all that effective, so people had to keep buying more of it.”
“Right, where Helen’s vaccine actually prevented UTIs, killing the goose that was laying the golden eggs for Newton-Drax. So. Act Two. The scene shifts to St. Louis. Bryson lies to Helen, telling her Csendes accepted the money and she doesn’t have to worry about him anymore. Relieved, Helen goes off to what she expects to be a delightful evening of champagne and accolades at SLO. But Bert is planning to humiliate her and Don.”
“Carmen’s Cornucopia. A night I’ll never forget. Peter, straighten me out on something. When Bert and I went looking for a drink and found Ray Costello talking to Ransome Chase, that was the first time they’d met?”
“Yes. But they’d been exchanging emails for a couple of years. And we know that Chase has intense email relationships.”
“He ranted and raved. He wrote that Helen had prevented him from curing Chagas Disease. Which killed Ray Costello’s daughter.”
“Horribly. Poor Ray.”
Peter raised his eyebrows. “Considering those bruises on your throat, you’re very magnanimous.”
“I can’t help feeling sorry for him. He was a lonely old man. All that anger and nothing to do with it.”
“Until Carmen’s Cornucopia, when he overhears Helen getting up, saying she’s going home and wants to be alone.”
“He waits for Don to leave and goes in and confronts her.” Renata sighed. “You’ll answer their questions about the next part. Please?”
“Of course. I’ll tell them what Ray told me. And that brings us to Bert, being driven home by his gardener and finding the body. The police arrive, and he tells them about Helen’s affair with Don. They go to arrest Don.”
“Enter his sister—barefoot, sleepy, utterly clueless.”
“You got the important thing right away—that he was innocent. So you fought the cops over him.” Peter flashed her a grin. “In the end, you won.”
Part VII
Tuesday, June 18
Epilogue
Every dawn, and not a few noons, of the lovely month of June had found Renata and Peter in bed—naked, sated, and asleep. But today she was going to have to leave, and the dread of it awakened her early. Pulling on a robe, she left him sleeping and went into his book-lined living room.
St. Louisans took for granted apartments that Londoners would unhesitatingly kill for. Peter’s was in a beautiful old building north of Forest Park, and not only was it quiet and spacious, but it had a broad balcony. She opened the French windows and stepped out into the slanting sunlight. It wasn’t hot yet, so she sat on a bench. After a few minutes, Peter came out in T-shirt and shorts. He’d been awakened by her absence from his side. They kissed and he sat beside her. She was thinking how desolate she was going to feel tonight, going to bed alone. He was thinking the same—funny about that, she just knew he was, so there was no need for either of them to say anything. She would have liked to sit with him like this for, oh, the rest of her life, but it was necessary to make an announcement.
“I have to leave in an hour.”
“No way. Your plane isn’t until three thirty.”
“I’m meeting Don for breakfast.”
“Oh. I’m not coming?”
“No. He’ll be pumping me for the names of people I know who might give him a job. I’ll be trying to convince him opera is a small world and he should try some other line of work. It’ll be grisly.”
“He’d show more gratitude, Renata, if you’d let him.”
“So you keep telling me. But as far as I can see, Don is still Don. Impressive, in a way, after all he’s been through. Have you got your tickets yet?”
“Plane ticket to Santa Fe, and ticket to the July tenth performance of Faust. Finally, my first opera.”
“You’ll see that ordinarily they go right through to the final curtain without the scenery falling down or any cast member trying to kill another.”
“Just so I get to see you play a guy.”
“You’ll see me for about ten minutes. Siebel isn’t much of a part. And you’ve already heard my only number. About a thousand times. Sorry.”
“I like listening to you practice. You know, you have a pretty nice voice.”
“Nice it’s not. It’s driven me all my life. Now it’s making me leave you. Can’t you demand that I quit the stage? Say I’ve got to choose between opera and you? Please?”
“Don’t forget, you’re the one of us who has a job.”
She reached over to caress his face. “I can’t believe the Times wouldn’t hire you for that special task force to investigate Newton-Drax and whether they were behind the plot against Bryson. If anyone was qualified—”
“It’s just as well. I’ve heard that the special task force is funded under the table by Bryson.”
“What?”
“It’s also being rumored that they’re making progress. Newton-Drax is offering them a scapegoat. Some hapless vice president who negotiated with Bistouri without telling his superiors.”
She shook her head. “Newton-Drax thinks like Phil Congreve.”
“In fact there’s quite a lot of Bryson money and influence being applied to the media. The counter-offensive is about to begin. He’s the real victim of this whole affair, and so forth. His lawyers are even helping Shane out with his legal problems, in exchange for his testimony that Jeff Csendes was crazy.”
She blew out an exasperated puff of air. “It’ll end up being all his fault that Bryson killed him.”
“Probably. Meantime Ezylon is humming along. Bryson hasn’t pulled his investment and Bert Stromberg-Brand is turning out to be an able bioscience tycoon.”
She raised her hands to the heavens and shook them, as if to praise the Lord, Baptist style. “Good news for the UTI sufferers. I wouldn’t bet against Bryson. But I still think Ray Costello is the real victim.”
“It sounds like his lawyer is doing a good job of putting the blame on Chase. With Chase’s help. The guy still hasn’t learned how to keep his mouth shut.”
Renata stood. It was time to start packing. But her eye was caught by the rows of small basil and tomato plants along the front of the balcony. She had bought them last week and they were making a good start.
“Peter, don’t forget to water these.”
“I won’t.”
“When I get back from Santa Fe they’ll be three feet tall. I’ll use them when I cook for you.”
“You mean my days of eating microwaved tater tots are numbered?”
“We’re going to reintroduce you to your Italian heritage, Peter Lombardo. First, pesto and marinara.”
“Second, Verdi and Puccini.”
“Oh. I was planning to break that to you later.”
“I’m on to your tricks,” Peter said. “Hurry back.”
* * *
David Linzee was born in St. Louis, where he and his wife currently reside. Earlier in life he lived near New York, where he sold several stories and published mystery novels from the ’70s through the ’90s: Final Seconds (as David A
ugust), Housebreaker, Belgravia, Discretion, and Death in Connecticut.
Moving back to St. Louis, Linzee turned to other forms of writing, selling articles to the St. Louis Post-Dispatch and other publications and teaching composition at the University of Missouri-St. Louis.
Retired from teaching, Linzee has continued to write more than ever. He also serves on the boards of various community organizations and has been a supernumerary at the Opera Theatre of Saint Louis.
Linzee is a former marathon runner (two in New York, one in St. Louis). He prefers to cycle rather than drive, and also enjoys scuba diving. Eager travelers, he and his wife have been to Ecuador, India, and Israel, but his favorite destination is London, explaining why English characters keep popping up in his novels.
For more information, go to www.davidlinzee.com.