“I believe I know that name, yes,” replied Castleton, innocent as could be.
“I believe you do as well. We’re aware, Mr. Castleton, of the . . . relationship you’ve enjoyed with Mr. Koenig. I can tell you I’m not very pleased with this special arrangement. As chance has it, I’m not calling you to discuss any illegal activity you may have been a part of—I’m calling about the latest file you’ve received from Koenig. The Gerald Jacobs probate file. Is this name familiar to you?”
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
“You’re currently trying to find beneficiaries to Mr. Jacobs’s estate, correct?”
“Yes, we are,” said Castleton, his voice growing softer by the moment now.
“Gerald Jacobs had a very close relationship with the Bureau while he was alive. It’s not in anyone’s best interest—certainly not yours—for the details of this relationship to suddenly become public.”
“That’s definitely not my company’s intention.”
“I’m sure it isn’t, but I’ll still insist on your cooperation. We need your company to drop any investigation into Jacobs immediately. I fully expect this as of this conversation, Mr. Castleton. Do you agree?”
“Drop it?” asked Castleton, his voice catching.
“Drop it and dispose of all memos related to it. Completely erase its existence from your files.”
“And may I ask why?”
“You may, and I’ll tell you only this: bringing Mr. Jacobs’s name and past into probate court will only raise issues better left untouched. You understand, of course, why I can’t give you more information.”
“I see.”
“We can count on your full cooperation, then?”
Castleton’s reply came after an uncomfortable pause. “I’ve always had respect for the FBI, Director Arminger. I’m slightly confused, though. My company’s been in operation for over forty years now, and something like this has never happened before.”
“I understand the request is unusual, but I wouldn’t be making it unless this was a matter of FBI security.”
“Well,” said Castleton, after another pause, “I’ll bring this up to my associates for immediate discussion—”
Gordon held the headset and shook his head slowly at Arminger.
“Perhaps I’m not being clear enough with you,” said Arminger. “I’m telling you to drop this matter. If you comply, I personally guarantee that the FBI will not pursue an investigation into any alleged bribery of county employees in New York State. Nor will the IRS be on your back for the next twenty years. Am I making myself clear now?”
“Quite,” responded Castleton, his voice like ice.
“Very good. If that’s all, then, I’ll—”
“Before we end our friendly discussion, Director Arminger, I feel obligated to let you know that we aren’t the only ones aware of Mr. Jacobs. There’s a certain party working out of San Francisco who is also trying to find Mr. Jacobs’s beneficiaries.”
“We’re aware of Merchant and Associates—”
“That’s good,” interrupted Castleton. “If we’re expected to leave the Jacobs investigation alone, I’d expect that Nicholas Merchant would be told the same thing.”
“He’ll be given the same instructions. You don’t need to be concerned about him.”
“It just so happens I’m very concerned. I have some of Merchant’s particulars in front of me right now if you’re interested in conducting your background checks.”
“What kind of particulars?”
“The basics. Nicholas William Merchant: born in San Francisco, Social Security number 569—”
“I won’t be needing any of that. But thank you for your cooperation. Have a pleasant day.”
Arminger hung up the phone and looked over at Gordon. “Firm enough?”
“I’m impressed. The part about the IRS was a good touch. Let’s give Merchant and Associates a call and lay this to rest.”
Arminger found the San Francisco number and reached for the phone again.
Lawrence Castleton buried his face in his hands and groaned. He felt as if he had just been shaken awake midway through the most wonderful dream of his life. He suddenly had the overwhelming urge to take the rest of the day off. The week, for that matter. He pressed the intercom to Richard Borg’s office. Borg was in front of him twenty seconds later.
“Did the market just crash?”
“Imagine the worst news we could possibly get,” said Castleton, ignoring the joke. He stared at Borg with glassy, defeated eyes.
“Merchant found heirs!” said Borg, going white.
“Almost as bad. We’ve just been ordered off the Jacobs case.”
“Ordered off? By who?”
“I just received a call from Deputy Director Arminger with the FBI.”
Borg studied his face to confirm that his boss was completely serious. “The FBI?”
“It seems that our man Mr. Jacobs was, somehow or another, affiliated with the Bureau. They don’t want us touching it, Richard.”
“What? Why the hell not?”
“He wouldn’t give me a reason. Just told me point-blank to forget about Jacobs.” He shook his head in disgust.
“What was his tone like?” asked Borg. “Did he threaten you?”
“He said we shouldn’t expect any problems with bribery charges or the IRS if we comply. If we don’t play along, well—I’m sure you get the picture.”
“Are you certain this was legitimate? Could it be a—”
“I traced the call to FBI headquarters in Manhattan. It’s legitimate.”
Borg clenched his fists. “This is bullshit! They can’t tell us not to do our work!”
“Unfortunately they just did.”
“What about Merchant? Did you tell them about him?”
“He said they know about him and would be contacting him to pass on the same message. I threw out his name just to reinforce it in his head. If for some odd reason Merchant is allowed to solve Jacobs, we’ll of course sue the hell out of the Bureau.”
“I can’t believe this!” blurted Borg. “Twenty-two million sitting there and we can’t work it? Why the hell—”
Borg held his tongue at the expression of his friend. General Inquiry’s founder had folded his burly arms over his chest, and the edges of his mouth curled upward into a half scowl, half smile. “I never said we were dropping it, Richard.”
Borg looked at him. “Are you thinking of—”
“You’re damn right I am. Hell with the FBI and their bully tactics. The feds aren’t going to stand in our way on this one. This is our livelihood, dammit. This is America! Who are they to order us not to make our living? We’re not doing anything illegal. We’re supposed to just forget about this because it inconveniences them? Well, it inconveniences me to be cut off from legally pursuing my business.”
“So you’re saying . . .?”
“I’m saying the hell with the FBI—we’re working it. I’m not passing up the case of the goddamn century.”
Borg nodded. “What kind of problems can they cause for us?”
“We’ll be fine. We’ll have someone anonymously represent us in probate court. They’ll never know we’re behind it. After we win the court battle, we’ll stick the money overseas.” He nodded in smug satisfaction. “I’m not afraid of the feds, and as for the IRS, I’m not paying those accountants top dollar for their goddamn penmanship. We’ve been expecting them to target us for years anyway. They want to audit us, let them. Even if we lose two or three million in penalties, we’ll still rake in close to ten from Jacobs. That’s a trade-off I’ll take any day of the week.”
“Another thing to consider,” said Borg. “Merchant probably won’t drop it.”
“Why would he?” asked Castleton. “The Bureau’s got no leverage on him. Hell, they probably won’t even be able to find him.”
“Keep going then?”
The president leaned back, nodding his head savagely. “Let’s find these goddamn he
irs.”
Richard Borg smiled widely. General Inquiry’s president wasn’t the type to bow to intimidation. They had waited their entire professional lives for something this enormous. Even the Federal Bureau of Investigation wasn’t about to stand in their way.
CHAPTER
8
IT WAS A casual Wednesday afternoon drive through Hudson. Alex was watching the restaurants and antique shops of Warren Street stream by as Nick kept his attention on the road. He was looking for a place where they could talk, a locale more conducive to planning. At the end of Warren, he made a left on North Front, then a right over the bridge spanning the railroad tracks. He parked in the boat launch facility, then slipped through a hole in the gate, jogging down the embankment to the edge of the Hudson River.
Alex followed him through the fence, first taking a look around to see if anyone was watching them. Frowning, she walked halfway down the incline, then took a seat on a log, her arms crossed on her chest.
Only a few feet from the water, Nick stooped and picked up a rock. It was smooth and flat, perfectly suited for its purpose. He took two quick steps toward the water and sent it skimming. He counted five skips before it collapsed into a series of compact splashes and sank. He was convinced that rock skipping, like heir finding, was in the genes. His father had been a master of both.
Alex sat on the embankment above and waited impatiently. The rock-throwing exhibition wasn’t impressing her, and she focused her sight on the shoreline homes a half mile across the river in Greene County. Why Nick had dragged her down here was a mystery to her. She certainly didn’t see any answers to Gerald Jacobs floating by in the cold waters of the Hudson.
“May I ask what we’re doing here?”
Nick threw another stone across the gray-green water. This one curved crazily at the end of its journey after hopping at least six times. He reached for another. “Thinking. Fresh air’s good when you’re stuck on a case. Know what I did a couple of Saturdays ago? Caught the ferry out to Alcatraz and just walked around. Thought a lot. A day later I found the last Johnston heir.”
“You went to Alcatraz by yourself? Time to get a girlfriend, Nick. Oh, I forgot—you’re no good at the relationship thing.”
The joke drew a look from Nick. Alex’s arms were folded, her lips a tight smirk.
“I wasn’t that bad, was I?” he asked.
She gave him a noncommittal shrug. Nick frowned and approached her.
“It just so happens, my little smart-ass, I do some of my best thinking when I’m alone. I’m thinking right now about our friend Mr. Jacobs. The plan’s coming together.” He extended his hand to her. “Get down here. I want to see you throw one.”
“No thanks.”
“Just do it. I’ll tell you my plan if you do.”
She gave a disgusted sigh and took his hand. At the shore, he found a suitable rock and placed it in her palm.
“This one’s perfect,” he said. “I want to see at least five skips.”
She threw it in an arc that ended with one clumsy splash.
“You need to get lower than that,” said Nick, putting his hand on her waist. “Bounce on your knees a little bit. Take a couple steps, kind of sideways. Come on, you should be a natural. Remember back in Texas how you used to launch bottle caps with that little wrist snap of yours?” He raised his hand to his shoulder and snapped his fingers.
“That was a long time ago.”
“Fifteen years ago, not fifty.” He threw a rock violently over the surface of the water. “Hey, this reminds me—remember that weekend we went down to the Rio Grande?”
“Yeah. It rained all weekend and I nearly caught pneumonia. Fond memories.”
She walked back up the embankment and retook her place on the log. He joined her.
“Lighten up, grumpy,” he said, brushing off his hands. “We’re not giving up yet.”
Alex cupped her chin in her hands. “This case is going nowhere.”
“You haven’t heard my idea yet. Ready?”
“No, I want to watch you throw rocks for another half hour.”
“It’s a simple enough plan. A little risky, though.”
“Would you please spit it out?”
“We get inside his house.”
Alex looked at the gravel at her feet and laughed slightly. “Just like that, huh? I didn’t know you had the key.”
“I don’t.”
She turned and studied his profile. The thought had crossed her mind as well, but not as a viable option. “And here I thought you were an ex-cop, not an ex-con.”
“Just listen for a second, Alex. When I was visiting the neighbors this morning, I took a look around Jacobs’s house, gave the front door a little shake. Felt pretty flimsy to me. I’ve been through my share of doors. The only problem would be noise. It’s a quiet little neighborhood. But that’s where you’d come in.”
“Who says I want to come in?”
“You’d be the lookout,” continued Nick, ignoring her now. “We’d have you parked somewhere nearby to keep an eye out for windows lighting up or cops driving by. You wouldn’t be at risk of getting caught.”
“Thank you for worrying about little me,” said Alex. “I’m not afraid to go in, Nick.”
“I know you’re not, but we need to have someone outside. All those years of being a cop taught me a little about getting through doors. You still have those little two-way radios we used to play around with?”
“Somewhere in the garage, I think. I don’t know if they even work anymore.”
“We’ll buy new ones if they don’t. Any sign of trouble, we’ll need instant communication. I think one in the morning might be a good time to arrive. I’d need a good chunk of time in there to be thorough. Friday night isn’t the best night to do it, but it’s risky to wait.”
“Isn’t there any other way in besides the front door?” asked Alex, feeling reluctantly swept up in his enthusiasm. “Seems a little conspicuous.”
“We can’t break windows, and I’m not about to shuffle down the chimney. The front door’s actually fairly concealed. There are these overgrown bushes surrounding the front steps. Once I get to the porch, I’m pretty well covered.” He studied her. “What do you think? Are we crazy?”
“You are,” she said. “Bribing somebody’s one thing, but breaking and entering?”
“You talk like we’re burglarizing the place. We’re not stealing anything. We aren’t hurting anyone. We’re just . . . taking a little look around.”
“Just like walking through a museum, huh, Nick? No different at all.”
“Alex, please. Is this really so bad?”
“Bad enough to land you behind bars.”
“Only if I get caught. We’d probably get off on a trespassing charge. I’m not sticking around to get caught, though. If I run into problems at the door, I’ll just bail out of there.” He fell to a knee in front of her. “I say we do it, Alex. Something like Jacobs will never come around again. We have to give it a shot.”
Alex wouldn’t look up. He brought a finger to her face and used it to gently raise her chin. They stared at each other for a moment, and she fought back a smile. Nick burst into a grin and knew the battle was won.
“That’s my partner,” he said.
“The sensible one of the two,” she replied.
He rose and turned to the water. He was talking about it so matter-of-factly, as if it were no more difficult than going to the supermarket. But if something went wrong, there would be consequences. Laws varied from state to state, county to county. It could get a lot uglier than six months in the county jail. He rubbed his face. He felt confident now but wondered how his knees would feel walking up those porch steps.
“I can’t believe it’s coming to this,” Alex finally said.
“It’s the only way.”
Both sat in silence momentarily, Nick biting at a hangnail, Alex staring across the river. Nick reached down and sent a final rock into the silent waters.
CHAPTER
9
AT 1 A.M., the rented midnight blue van pulled quietly from the driveway and down the street. They drove silently to their destination. Everything had been discussed, every scenario played out, and they were as comfortable with the plan as they could possibly be.
Nick sat in the passenger seat and felt perspiration bead up on the back of his neck. In eight years with SFPD, he had never seen much to make him sweat. He had seen mangled bodies, dead children, and shotgun suicides, and he had never shrunk from any of it. You become immune after the first year, Bill Merchant had told him. You get an iron stomach. His father had been right. He wondered how long it took criminals to develop iron stomachs. His was in knots.
The early hours of the morning were coal black, no moon in the sky to throw a spotlight on them. Upon arrival they made a pass down Michael Drive, scanning the street for any signs of life. Nick was encouraged to see that the streetlamp directly in front of Jacobs’s home was burned out. The first break had gone their way.
Alex pulled the van to the curb around the corner and cut the engine. Nick glanced over his shoulder down the block and strained his eyes toward Jacobs’s house, the fourth one from the corner.
“Conditions are about as good as they could be,” he said, sounding more confident than he felt. “I doubt we’d have a better night to try this.”
Alex nodded. “Houses are dark except for that one across the street.”
Nick looked himself over yet again. He was wearing a heavy army jacket over a pullover. Inside the jacket was a crowbar; over his shoulder, a backpack. His hands were fitted with black leather gloves, and his radio was secured in his front jacket pocket. They had tested the clarity in Alex’s backyard and been satisfied. Nick had remembered to remove the van’s license plates before they had set off for Hudson.
“You look like Rambo,” said Alex with a nervous little laugh.
The Heir Hunter Page 8