The Manhattan Deception

by Simon Leighton-Porter

  ‘So now what do we do?’ asked James.

  ‘We get it to the lab and then we go pay Arnie Hillman a visit.’

  ‘Won’t they suspect something?’

  ‘Nope, DNA testing’s a huge growth area and most of it’s coming from doubtful paternity cases. There’s a lab I found just outside DC. I called them, spun them the “who’s your daddy?” yarn, told them the samples would be staggered in time and they said it’s no problem – they’ve got this new technique called Accelerated Short Tandem Repeat Analysis, whatever that is, which means we should get the results in days rather than weeks. They’ll even keep Eric on ice for us. Nice thought, huh?’

  Within the hour, they were back at the house, with the precious cargo safely delivered to the lab.

  ***

  Vince Novak’s voice rose to a scream and the cheap furniture in the employment agency’s office rattled in sympathy. ‘Do you mean to say you hire staff who are going to be within touching distance of the next President of the United States and half his damn cabinet without security checking them?’

  The owner of the agency, a wiry Hispanic man in his late forties, squirmed in his fake leather seat. ‘It’s not that we don’t security check them, Mr Novak, we don’t hire anybody who doesn’t have a social security number and a valid address.’

  ‘And do you check those details?’

  ‘I wasn’t on duty that day, sir, but when it comes to security; criminal records checking, that kind of stuff, my staff have clear instructions – ’

  ‘So if they follow your instructions,’ said Novak, glaring at him. ‘How come they didn’t find out our friend Ludis fucking Ozols gave them an address belonging to a foreclosed convenience store and a disconnected phone number? And why didn’t they validate the social security number? Take a look on-line. There’s a dozen-and-one free validation sites out there.’

  ‘I’ll ask them, sir, and get back to you.’

  ‘Save the effort,’ said Novak, leaning over the desk into the man’s face. ‘You’ve got three days to find this sonofabitch or I will have the City, State and Federal authorities all over this place so fast it’ll make your goddam eyes water. Then you will go to jail. Got that?’ Without waiting for a reply, he stormed out of the office and half ran, half walked back up the road, hoping his car was where he’d left it and still in one piece, this far north and east into the badlands of DC.

  ‘I still think you’re over-reacting,’ said Pauli when Novak returned to the office suite in the Russell Senate building. ‘So they hire illegals, so does every one else in the catering trade. It’s no big deal. I’ll pretend to care when I’m President.’

  ‘But he could have killed you.’

  Pauli offered up a nonchalant shrug. ‘But he didn’t, and anyway that’s what I have a Secret Service detail for.’

  ‘Great help they were.’

  Pauli stood up from behind his desk. ‘Look, Vince, we’ve got more important things to worry about; like Denver tomorrow, for example. If I’m fit and well and someone’s running away from me, the Secret Service know they’ve got nothing to worry about. It’s when someone’s running towards me that they start worrying. Now tell me again what the fuck I’m supposed to be doing in Denver.’

  Dave Newman was already at his desk when Cathy came in to the office the following morning. At the sight of her his face shone and she treated him to a conspiratorial wink. By ten o’clock, she could see he was practically bursting with impatience so she invited him to come outside to grab a coffee. Neither of them spoke until they were clear of the building. ‘Dave, you are a star,’ she said at last. ‘I got a text on my way in from the lab confirming that they’ve got a good, strong sample and there’s no cross contamination from anyone else’s DNA. So where do you want to go?’

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘Dinner. You just name the venue. I owe you one,’ she said with a smile. ‘Things are coming together.’

  It would not have been her first choice. Les Ecluses had once been universally acknowledged as the finest restaurant in Washington but now it was living off its reputation, only surviving from the patronage of wealthy tourists and those keen to impress. Newman was already seated at the bar when Cathy walked in, and as always happened when she wore that particular little black dress, her arrival turned heads. He almost burst with pride at the envious looks that were cast his way when he rose to greet her. Neatly dodging his attempt to kiss her on the mouth, she gave him a quick peck on each cheek and took a seat next to him, instantly detecting the unmistakeable chemical odour of hopeful male: a heady cocktail of excess breath-freshener and aftershave.

  The maître d’hôtel showed them to a table with a view over the Potomac and the city beyond. I wish James was here, she thought: still, mustn’t be uncharitable, he’s put himself out for me so it’s the least I can do to be nice.

  ‘You not drinking tonight, Dave?’ she asked him, sipping her glass of Kir.

  ‘Maybe I’ll have a glass or two later,’ he said. ‘I’ve got the car here.’

  ‘Thought you’d have taken the Metro or a taxi?’

  ‘Nah, didn’t feel like it.’ The conversation moved on and the mood lightened. If nothing, Dave Newman was a great raconteur and soon had Cathy laughing over the exploits of the deranged Latvian waiter, Ludis Ozols. ‘You should’ve seen Pauli’s face,’ he said. ‘It was a picture.’

  She smiled and patted his outstretched hand. ‘You did a great job, Dave, I can’t thank you enough. All I’ve got to do now is get DNA from the other family member and we’re home and dry. This is going to be big when it breaks and what you’ve done goes way beyond an assist. I am just so grateful.’ Cathy rambled on, vaguely aware that he’d barely touched the excellent Corbières that he’d chosen, whereas her glass was topped up the moment she took so much as a sip from it. What the hell, she thought. I’ve every right to celebrate: we’re going to nail that two-faced bastard – say goodbye to the White House, Eric.

  She had to admit it, the food that night was excellent – maybe Les Ecluses was on the comeback trail – so, buoyed up by success and light-headed from the wine, she accepted his suggestion of a glass of Armagnac for a digéstif. Cathy felt fine. Even when the bill arrived, she barely flinched and by the time they left, she’d moved beyond fine and felt great. However, as they left the restaurant, spirits high, Newman with Cathy on his arm, the fresh air hit and she cannoned into him, legs buckling. Had he not caught her she would have collapsed in a heap. ‘I’m terribly sorry,’ she said, slurring her words as he helped her back to her feet. ‘Think I must’ve caught a heel.’

  He laughed off her apologies and Cathy was in no position to refuse when he insisted on driving her home. ‘Can’t have you going on the Metro on your own at this hour,’ he said.

  She tried to argue. ‘But it’s in completely the wrong direction for you. I’ll get a taxi, I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Absolutely not, I won’t hear of it.’ At that time of night there was very little traffic and it only took twenty minutes to reach Cathy’s house in Cleveland Park.

  ‘Here’s absolutely fine thanks,’ she said. ‘That’s the road just there on the left. Drop me at the end and I’ll walk.’

  ‘Not a bit of it. I’ll see you to you door. The least I can do.’ And so without further protest, Cathy pointed out the house and Newman stopped the car right outside, springing out of the driver’s seat to open the door for her. She tottered slightly as she fumbled in her handbag for her keys and he reached out to steady her. They stopped at the door.

  ‘Thank you so much for driving me home, Dave, that was really sweet of you.’

  ‘And thank you for a wonderful evening, Cathy, it was truly memorable.’ He leant forward to kiss her and she offered a cheek, but suddenly he put his hands both side of her face and kissed her full on the mouth, his tongue probing wildly for hers. Angrily, she pushed him away and staggered back, wiping her arm across her mouth. ‘Dave, what the hell do you think you’re do
ing? We’ve had a lovely evening, now don’t spoil it.’ He lunged for her again, pulling her to him, his right hand squeezing her left breast painfully hard. ‘For Christ’s sake, get away from me,’ she shouted.

  ‘C’mon, Cathy,’ he said, advancing on her once more. ‘Let’s go inside, I’m sure a little coffee won’t hurt. Know what I mean?’

  Cathy scrabbled frantically, trying to locate the key in the lock. ‘Leave me alone,’ she yelled and flung her arm out, inadvertently catching him across the mouth.

  He recoiled from her, clutching his face. ‘You little bitch. You cock-teasing little slut. You lead me on all evening and then won’t put out. Who the fuck do you think –’

  The front door swung open. ‘What’s going on?’ It was James. Cathy threw herself into his arms.

  ‘Tell him to go, tell him to get away from me,’ she sobbed.

  Cathy retreated up the hall leaving Newman standing immobile on the path, illuminated by the porch light and standing face to face with James. ‘Leave,’ he said. ‘Or I’ll break your worthless fucking neck. Now go!’ He took a pace forward.

  Newman scuttled back down the path to his car then turned back towards the house. ‘You’ll regret this, you filthy little whore,’ he shouted as he left. James took a pace towards him and Newman fled. In moments, the car was lost to sight as it sped off round the corner towards Connecticut Avenue.

  Cathy kicked off her heels and slumped back on the new sofa. James came to join her and she rested her head on his shoulder. ‘I take it the evening didn’t go too well,’ he said.

  ‘It was going just fine right until he dropped me off,’ she replied. ‘We had a great time, he told me all about how he got the glass – that was real funny – but at no time did I lead him on. Sure I drank more than I should’ve done but I never said or did anything to make him think –’

  ‘Cathy, stop,’ he said quietly. ‘You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I know you.’

  ‘Thanks. I appreciate that,’ she said, her hand brushing his thigh. ‘It’s just that it was so unexpected. He drove me home, walked me to the door, and then the next thing I know he’s got his tongue down my throat and he’s pawing at my boobs. I didn’t lead him on, James, honest I didn’t.’

  ‘Shhh, I know you didn’t, silly. Now come here.’ He kissed her tenderly and she pressed herself against him, savouring the security she felt in his arms.

  ***

  ‘Oh, Vince, there you are,’ said Pauli’s secretary as he came through the door. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Just had the weirdest guy on the line demanding to talk to Eric in person.’

  Novak shrugged. ‘If that’s the first crazy you’ve had to deal with, then you’re lucky.’

  ‘No it’s not that. It’s what he said that was weird. He kept on about some glass at a dinner here in DC and a waiter running away. He said Eric would understand. Does any of that make sense to you?’

  Novak was at her side in a flash, eyes narrowed, peering over her shoulder. ‘Yes it does. Did you get a number?’

  She gave him a sideways look and held up a sticky note. ‘Yeah, sure I did. What is this, some kind of boy-scout code or something?’

  He snatched the piece of paper from her hand and without another word, disappeared into his office, slamming the door behind him. ‘Yeah, pleasure, Vince. Don’t mention it. Anytime, buddy. You’re most welcome,’ she said aloud to the empty office.

  Minutes later, he appeared looking flustered and heading for the door. ‘Going out. Eric’s due back from Denver in half an hour. If I’m not back by then, tell him something came up,’ he said over his shoulder. The secretary cupped her hand to her ear as though straining to catch something he’d said.

  ‘Missing word, Vince, missing word… starts with a “p”….’ She was talking to herself again.

  Novak hurried out of the building’s south-west entrance, crossed Constitution Avenue and headed down 1st Street. As instructed, he crossed the road to the Supreme Court building and went up the steps to the northern fountain where he took out his mobile and dialled. No sooner had he done so than a dark-haired man wearing chinos and an open-necked shirt strolled over to him. ‘Vince Novak?’ he said.

  Novak thought he detected an accent that was more Brooklyn than Beltway. He nodded. ‘Ludis Ozols?’ he asked.

  ‘Sometimes,’ said his acquaintance. ‘But you can call me Dave. Let’s walk.’

  Chapter Thirty-four

  A. is dead. Couldn’t wake him yesterday morning. Panic. Doctor came, then ambulance. Mrs Higgs took Erich for me. Understood very little of what was said other than they couldn’t revive him. They wrote the word down and I looked it up later: stroke. Numb. Cannot believe it. Still look for him everywhere. What am I to do?

  *

  Cathy phoned James on her mobile from outside the office. ‘How’s the head?’ he asked.

  ‘Hurting, but I’ll live. Dave’s not come into work today. I hope he hasn’t done anything stupid.’

  ‘Topped himself you mean? Could you be that lucky?’

  ‘James, that isn’t funny. The poor guy was in a terrible state last night. I know I didn’t give him any encouragement to behave like he did, but I just feel sort of, you know, responsible somehow. Maybe I should’ve just sent him a case of wine or something. Dinner was a bad idea.’

  ‘Look, it’s done now. More importantly, did you get hold of Hillman?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s why I called. I was on the phone to him for over an hour.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He’s agreed to meet me again but there are strings – same ones as last time more or less. There’s to be no mention of his family, nothing about the documentary and he wants editorial control.’

  ‘What did your editor say?’

  ‘He wasn’t happy, but he says if it’s as big as I say it is, then he’ll trust me.’

  ‘When are you meeting him?’

  ‘Day after tomorrow. You can come along for the ride if you like.’

  ‘Love to,’ said James. ‘Any more thoughts about how you’re going to get a sample?’

  ‘Nope. You?’

  ‘Not a clue but I’m working on it.’

  ***

  Hot, tired and sticky, Eric Pauli wheeled his case into the outer office. ‘Hi, Eric, how was Denver?’ his secretary asked.

  ‘A blur. The whole damn thing’s becoming a blur, you know that? I’m getting too old for this shit… ’

  ‘Now don’t start that,’ she chided gently.

  ‘Any disasters while I was away?’

  ‘Not that I recall. Vince ran out the building with his hair on fire about forty-five minutes ago, but he said he’ll be back so it can’t be that bad. Oh, and Tony said he wants to see you as soon as you get in.’

  Tony Mason was the campaign’s finance director. ‘Don’t tell me,’ Pauli said with a tired smile. ‘We’ve run out of money and I have to stay home with Janet until after the election.’

  The secretary smiled. ‘In your dreams, baby,’ she said. ‘Shall I fix you a drink?’

  ‘Iced tea would be perfect, thanks.’ said Pauli. ‘Please ask Tony to give me ten minutes and then to head on up.’

  After what seemed to him like thirty seconds, Pauli’s concentration was broken by a discreet tap at the half-open door and a familiar face appeared around it. ‘Come in, Tony, and take a seat.’ Tony Mason was fifty years old: a tall African American, and another of the team who’d followed Pauli from Pinewood Investments where he’d also served as finance director. He and Pauli shared a close friendship and the senator could see at once the concern in Mason’s face.

  ‘I think we’ve got a problem, Eric,’ he said. Pauli raised his eyebrows in question and Mason continued. ‘I hate to say this, but I think someone’s had their sticky little fingers in the cookie jar.’

  ‘Shit. You’re kidding me?’ Pauli sat bolt upright, his tiredness gone in an instant. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘I’m not sure. The pattern’
s hard to follow but it’s there all right. Most of the payments have been signed off by Vince –’

  ‘Well that’s a relief,’ said Pauli, slouching back in his chair. ‘If Vince has signed them off then I’m sure there’s a perfectly valid explanation.’

  Mason shook his head and looked intently at Pauli over the top of his half-moon glasses. ‘Well if there is, I can’t see it. There are regular payments, large ones too, going out to a political consultancy called Tag-Value Incorporated, based in Road Town: trouble is, there are no invoices and no receipts.’

  ‘Where the hell’s Road Town for chrissakes?’

  ‘Tortola, British Virgin Islands.’

  Pauli frowned in consternation. ‘And why the hell would we use a political consultancy that wasn’t based here in DC, let alone the BVI?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Eric. You’ll have to ask Vince.’

  ‘But what I don’t understand,’ said Pauli, getting to his feet and pacing around the office in the way that Mason had seen him do countless times before. ‘Is why no one saw it earlier. Don’t your people do simple bank reconciliations any more?’

  Mason smiled. ‘Course they do or you’d have fired my ass long ago. One of my guys got lucky: he transposed a couple of figures on his spreadsheet and that kept throwing the reconciliation out of line so he followed the audit trail right the way back – there were book swings, movements to suspense accounts, contra entries, you name it, the works. There was even money coming back in from these guys which almost made them look like a contributor, but the more we dug, the more it didn’t smell right. Hate to say it, Eric, but someone’s been screwing us over big time – it’s near the three million mark.’