They were interrupted by the Cardinal and the Police Commissioner, who stopped by their table as they were leaving.
“How are doing, Sheldon,” the Cardinal said. “I was saddened to hear of Adele’s passing. She is in my prayers. As are you.”
“Thank you, your Eminence. That’s very kind.”
The Cardinal looked at Scarne, who stood. Shields made the introduction. The last time Scarne had met a Cardinal was at his confirmation and he’d kissed his ring. He was relieved when this Cardinal stuck out his hand for a manly shake. Condon winked at Scarne as they left.
“Where does Victor Ballantrae figure into all of this?”
The old man's shoulders slumped. He waved to the waiter.
“I will have another brandy.”
The waiter looked at Scarne, who shook his head. Shields took a healthy pull of his drink and then reached across and gripped Scarne’s arm.
“Josh was investigating the Ballantrae Group.” He sagged back in his chair. “And it’s my fault.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know Ballantrae. Hosted him several times on our yacht. That’s one of my responsibilities. One of my few responsibilities. Randolph – I should say we – may need some deep-pocket partners. Our company is not immune to the inroads of the Internet. Ballantrae has offered us a substantial infusion of capital for a minority stake.”
“That would also explain the glowing profiles.”
“Yes.”
“So, what was the problem?”
“Randolph thinks Ballantrae is a hale fellow well met. Blinded by his money. No, that’s not quite fair. They have a lot in common. Bigger than life, buccaneers. Talk women and golf incessantly. You know the sort. But something about him just didn't sit right with me. I can’t put my finger on it. Call it intuition.”
“Surely your brother did his due diligence.”
“If a check clears, that's all the due diligence Randolph needs. Especially now, with other sources of money drying up.”
“Did you tell him about your doubts?”
Shields sighed.
“My brother doesn’t have a high opinion of my financial acumen. Or my intuition. I needed some ammunition. I asked someone in our cable news division to discreetly look into the Ballantrae organization. He wasn’t discreet enough and Alana Loeb got wind of it.”
“Alana Loeb?”
“Ballantrae’s chief of staff. She called Randolph and demanded an explanation. He naturally didn’t know a thing about it and denied any involvement. When he tracked down the reporter and found out it was true, he was justifiably outraged. I’d put him in a bad spot.”
Scarne thought about that. His sympathies were with Randolph. Just what the man needed: a meddlesome, passed-over brother second-guessing efforts to save the family company. Moreover, everything he’d read about Victor Ballantrae was positive, even discounting the public relations hype. He was becoming a national icon for funding rehab facilities for wounded veterans. The Ballantrae Invitational was one of the premier events on the pro golf tour, raising millions for childhood cancer research. Scarne had been lobbying with friends to get an invitation to the tournament’s Pro-Am for months.
“What happened?”
“It was all I could do to save the reporter’s job. And I had to fly down to Miami – that’s where Ballantrae happens to be headquartered – and apologize in person. I was humiliated. And angry. So while I was there I told Josh what happened. I should have known he’d follow up.” Shields took a sip of his brandy. “Maybe I did. Maybe I wanted him to.”
“But you both must have realized Ballantrae would find out.”
“Josh wouldn't trade on his name. He wrote under the byline ‘Joshua Hidless.’” Shields spelled out the last name. “It’s an anagram of Shields. I’m afraid it’s also a dig at my brother, a rather poor pun indicating that now he could write what he wanted.”
“Did he come up with anything?”
“I think so. He called and asked me if any deal with Ballantrae was imminent. I told him that it was some months away. He was relieved. He said he had gathered information about Ballantrae that was too explosive to talk about over the phone, but if it were true there was no way our family should get in bed with him. I pressed him on the details, asked him to send me what he had, but he was reluctant. Given their past battles, Josh knew my brother would question his objectivity. He was probably also trying to protect me. He would have wanted ironclad proof.” Shields finished his brandy. “Josh was a good journalist. He wanted to give the company a chance to respond. He said he was heading down to Antigua to tie up some loose ends.”
“Why Antigua?”
“Ballantrae International Bank is domiciled there.” Shields took out a handkerchief, blew his nose and wiped his eyes. “Sorry. He never made it.”
Scarne gave Shields a moment to compose himself.
“He must have left copies of his story or notes. Did you call his paper?”
“Not right away. When I didn’t hear from Josh, I assumed he was traveling. It was two days…before his body…washed ashore. We were in shock. Flew down to bring him home. Went to his apartment to gather his personal things. It was particularly tough on Adele, seeing the shell collection he’d started as a boy. Magnificent specimens, some quite rare. She insisted on taking most of them home.”
Shields took a long sip from his water glass and stared at Scarne, his eyes clear. When he spoke, his voice had a new determination.
“Losing Josh killed my wife. She didn’t even bother to fight the cancer. These last few months, I just concentrated on helping her. No time for anything else. But after she passed, I decided to see what Josh had found out about Ballantrae. Not only might it help the company, but it could also be a fitting memorial for my son to get his story in print.”
“What had he discovered?”
Shields shook his head and looked exasperated.
“I don’t have a clue! When I called Josh’s editors they said they knew he was working on something about Ballantrae but didn’t know what it was.”
“Isn’t that a bit unusual?”
“They apparently give their reporters a lot of leeway. Besides, Josh probably kept things close to his vest. He wouldn’t want anything leaking out. And their reporters typically wrote their articles on laptops and emailed them. They didn’t have his laptop. Wanted to know if I did.”
“Didn’t you?”
“No. In hindsight, we should have wondered about that. But we were half out of our minds when we went through his apartment. Even if I noticed it missing, I probably would have assumed it was at his office. I called the building manager and asked him to go into Josh’s apartment, which hasn’t been touched except for a monthly cleaning. I haven’t had the heart to sell it, or his car. Anyway, I told him to look for the computer. It wasn’t there.”
“Sometimes cleaning people help themselves,” Scarne interjected. “And maybe it wasn’t the first time the super had been in the apartment. It happens.”
“I thought of that. So I flew down. Looked everywhere. No computer. No flash drives, notebooks or anything like that. A computer is valuable, but scraps of paper? It was as if Josh never existed as a journalist.”
“Did you check his car?”
Shields smiled.
“Almost didn’t. It was Mario who suggested it.”
“Mario?”
“He’s the building concierge. He was fond of Josh and took care of his car. Still does. Solid fellow. Helped me search the apartment and the car. Nothing.”
Scarne had to admit the whole thing smelled a bit off. But still…
“Mr. Shields, respected, hell, even crooked, billionaires hire lawyers, not hit men. What could Ballantrae possibly be involved in that justifies murder?”
“I don’t like the son of a bitch but I can’t imagine what it could be. I obviously don’t have anything I can bring to the authorities. They think I’m a crackpot. Randolph is the only reason the
y humored me as long as they did. But they convinced him it was an accident. When I told the police about the computer and missing notes, they were barely polite. Apparently Miami doesn’t have a shortage of murders that are easier to solve.”
He reached in his pocket and took out a thick envelope, placing it on the table and pushing it to Scarne.
“Bottom line, I’ve got nowhere else to go. Here’s $20,000 to start. I'll pay your expenses, too. Go to Miami, turn over some rocks. Maybe something will slither out. You will find much of what you need to start in that envelope. Josh's address, employer and so on. You can stay in Josh's apartment and use his car. I’ll call Mario. He’ll have everything ready. If you turn up something, we can make further arrangements. But this money is yours to keep for trying.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Why, isn’t it enough?”
“That’s not the point. Mr. Shields, I think you may be grasping at straws. What you have told me is interesting. But this is all pretty thin. I don't want to take your money on false pretenses.”
“Are there any other kind of pretenses, Jake? If you conclude that Josh’s death was indeed an accident, or perhaps a random act of violence, I’ll have to live with it. But if Victor Ballantrae thought Josh was just a no-name, two-bit reporter for a Florida weekly...well, I don’t know. I can’t live with the thought that I may have caused my son’s murder. I have to find out.”
“And what about your brother? I can’t be discreet about this.”
Shields smiled.
“I finally told Randolph what Josh said about Ballantrae. And the missing computer, everything. He said I had no right to do what I did. He said Josh thought everyone was a crook. Was exaggerating, trying to please me. He raised many of the points you and the police have. We had a huge row. Claimed I was jealous of him and wanted to run the company. Victor Ballantrae was a dear friend and I was going to destroy everything. If Emma wasn’t there, I think we might actually have come to blows.”
“Emma?”
“Randolph’s daughter, Emerald. She and Josh grew up together and were always thick as thieves. More like brother and sister than cousins. Hell, Adele and I practically raised her, what with Randolph always scooting around the world, and usually between wives and mistresses. Emma took Josh’s death particularly hard. I’m not sure she agrees with her father.”
“How did you leave it with your brother?”
The old man looked at his brandy glass, twirling it as he spoke.
“I was angry. I didn’t like what he said about Josh, although now I’m sure he didn’t mean it the way it sounded.” He finished his drink. “I told him that I wasn’t going to drop it. I was going to find out what Josh meant.”
“Sounds like you’ve burned your bridges.”
“Randolph and I aren’t speaking. It is what it is. I’ve lost my wife and my son. If Josh was right about Ballantrae, and I can prove it, Randolph will come around. It’s still family, after all.”
“And if you can’t?”
“Then I assume Randolph will put me out to pasture.” Shields smiled. “Or follow through on his most recent threat – and have me committed.” He looked at Scarne. “Will you help me?”
Now Scarne signaled for another brandy. A $20,000 payday doesn’t come along every day, he reflected while the waiter poured. But the potential risks for going up against one of the most powerful media personalities in the world as well as a rising Wall Street star were incalculable. And for what? A wild goose chase to ease a grieving man’s conscience?
“Sure,” Scarne said, without knowing why.
CHAPTER 5 – FIRST CONTACT
Keitel considered his new vantage point on the median on Park Avenue a miserable compromise. The constant stream of traffic made surveillance difficult but he was probably far enough away not to be spotted by the nosy doorman. As an added precaution he put his cheap and garish cloth ski hat, hastily purchased earlier from an inexplicably cheerful Pakistani street vendor, in his pocket. As a result his hair was now plastered against his head and he looked like he was wearing a yellow helmet. Icy rain rivulets trickled down his neck. He was so bedraggled two people dropped coins in his empty coffee cup! Where had this sleet come from? It was April, for Christ sake. Someday he was going to kill a weather idiot on general principles.
What the hell was Shields doing in there? Eating a side of beef? A passing car splashed more slush on his legs. We must have felt this way at Stalingrad. You’d think we’d learn. He decided that his blood had indeed thinned in Florida. No wonder the Dolphins lost most of their games north of the Mason Dixon line. Of course, he reflected, they lost a lot south of the line, too.
***
Henry Mosely held the door as Scarne and Shields walked out of the club together. They quickly retreated back inside.
“Can you rustle us a couple of umbrellas, Henry? We’re good for them.”
“Oh, I know you are, Mr. Sheldon. But this fellow looks pretty shady.”
Mosely disappeared into his cubicle and came out with two Totes from an endless supply of lost or forgotten umbrellas.
“I don’t know as these will be much help. It’s blowing pretty good out there. Why aren’t you gentlemen in Florida?”
“Thanks, Henry,” Shields said. “Believe it or not, we’re working on that.”
The two men walked to the corner together.
“To get to Ballantrae, Jake, you’ll probably have to go through Alana Loeb. Remarkable women. Brilliant mind and truly stunning. Randolph’s tongue hits the deck whenever she’s on the yacht.” Shields shook his head. “I don’t know what she’s doing working for Ballantrae.”
“Maybe it’s not all work.”
“God, I hate to think so. It would be another reason to dislike the bastard.” He put out his hand. “I know you will find out what happened to my boy, Jake. I believe you are a man I can trust.”
Shields turned and started walking downtown. Scarne watched him bend his umbrella into the wind. He was soon lost in the crowd.
***
Keitel spotted them coming out of the club, deep in conversation. He didn’t recognize the younger man but he looked like a hard case. Cop? Keitel knew where Shields was headed. He decided to follow the other man. At least now he could cover his head.
***
Scarne started back to his office, changed his mind, and crossed Park Avenue to St. Christopher’s, one of the oldest Catholic churches in the city. The loss of their only son and his wife in an air crash had not dimmed his grandparent’s faith and as a child Scarne was herded to mass every Sunday. But he was not now particularly religious, despite, or maybe because of, four years at a Catholic college. And in more introspective moments Scarne suspected he was not as forgiving as his grandparents.
An old woman in the church vestibule was robotically feeding quarters into electric votive “candles” that blinked on as the coins registered. Either she had a huge family, Scarne surmised, or thought she was playing a celestial slot machine. He recalled standing in front of a bank of real candles with his grandmother as she showed him how to use the long taper to light the wicks in the small jars. The wax and soot smell of those candles were rooted in his memory. They always said a prayer for his parents although he was quite sure they hadn’t spent even a moment in purgatory on their way to heaven and thus didn’t need any indulgences. But it was a comforting ritual for a little boy and he always picked candles that looked like they would burn the longest. He assumed the modern versions were on timers set to maximize donations. The old woman turned her head toward him, her face a mask of sorrow. Her hand kept moving and the votives kept clicking.
Scarne took a seat in a pew half way down the aisle. At this hour many of the churchgoers were pungent street people seeking temporary shelter and warmth. Although he now rarely saw the inside of any church save for weddings and funerals, St. Christopher’s held a personal significance. It was Kate Ellenson’s favorite church – and where they had planne
d to marry. He looked toward the altar. If it hadn’t been for the war…
He rose abruptly, disgusted at his mawkishness. He spotted a man staring at him, caught unawares. The man quickly bent down to look at some missals in the slots on the back of the pew in front of him. He hadn’t been in the church when Scarne walked in. As Scarne passed him he noted that the man’s ski hat. It was the same color as the one worn by the man he bumped into outside the club. The one Mosely had stared away. He wasn’t sure about the jacket. Blonde hair stuck out under the back of the cap.
Scarne loitered in the vestibule. The old woman was gone. He put a $20 bill in the poor box, hoping it would get to the poor. The Church had enough real estate, not to mention all those pedophile lawsuits to settle. He immediately regretted that facile condemnation, recalling the sturdy Hispanic priests of his youth, who taught him much about life, including how to throw a wicked slider. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the man in the ski hat glance his way before turning around.
Scarne darted through a side door. Once outside, he peeked around the corner of the building, his face hidden by his open Tote. A moment later “ski hat” ran out of the front of the church, looking both ways.
“They are giving a class in Surveillance 101 at the New School,” Scarne said as he walked towards the man. “You might think about it.”
Ski cap was not into witty repartee. He bolted down Park at a respectable clip, considering the traction. Scarne was taken by surprise. He gave chase but the man’s sneakers easily trumped tasseled loafers. Running with an umbrella made Scarne feel ridiculous and he closed it. After half a block he assumed a shooter’s stance, put the umbrella across the crook of his left arm and sighted on the back of the fleeing figure.
“Bang,” he said as the runner turned the corner, where a man who appeared to be studying a map fell over. Momentarily disoriented, Scarne actually thought he had plugged someone with his Tote. Then he realized his quarry had knocked the man off his feet. The downed man started yelling in French.
“Man, you know better than to shoot a loaded umbrella into a crowd.”
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