by David Linzee
“I guess he didn’t want anything that reminded him of those days.”
“But having his favorite things around meant so much to Don. There were things in his house he’d brought from London. From our old family flat.”
“There’s that,” he said, pointing. “It looks British.”
She walked over to the front door and looked down at a stout mahogany barrel embellished with strange copper lozenges and medallions. “Yes. Isn’t it hideous? This stood in our foyer. A Radleigh heirloom. It’s an umbrella stand. I didn’t recognize it with no umbrellas.”
“We don’t have much use for umbrellas in St. Louis.”
“It doesn’t rain?”
“We don’t walk.”
Renata looked around unhappily. “Where do we start? Shall I slit open sofa cushions or something?”
“I don’t think this room is very promising. Let’s look for an office.”
They found a bedroom that had been converted to an office. Peter looked around. “Nice and neat. No clutter.”
“Yes, Don’s always been good at keeping up with his paperwork ….”
Peter glanced at her curiously. “You were going to add …?”
“Nothing.”
“No, go ahead.”
“I was going to add, it’s an exception to his general haplessness. But if Hannah were here she would say that’s another of my cheap shots.”
“Cheap people deserve cheap shots.” He went over to the desk. “Landline hooked up to an answering machine. Kind of old-fashioned.”
“Probably for the tenants. He doesn’t want them ringing his mobile with maintenance requests.”
Peter sat down at the desk. “I’ll try to get into his computer. What kind of passwords does he like?”
“Kings of England, with no space and an Arabic numeral. His favorite is George4. I’ll check the bedroom.”
It had occurred to her to search his night table for his address book. Don was proud of his wide circle of acquaintances. He had an old, leather-covered, gilt-edged address book, stuffed with business cards and scraps of paper bearing telephone numbers. It would have been a helpful find, but she had no luck. Peter was playing back phone messages, and at one point she heard her own voice, sounding very British and very nasty, ordering him to ring her back “immejitly.” Then there was silence, and a moment later Peter appeared in the bedroom doorway.
“Did George4 work?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I went through the entire Hanoverian dynasty. The answering machine was more useful. The last message he’d listened to came in at eleven thirty-three. Then there was one he hadn’t picked up at eleven fifty-seven. That was yours, by the way.”
“Who were the others?”
“Just tenants with problem toilets. But now we know when he was here.”
“He didn’t stay very long, it sounds like.”
“Possibly he came home just to meet with someone.”
“I’ve an idea who might know. As someone who lives in a basement flat.”
“Check with the downstairs neighbor?”
“Yes.”
She headed for the back door, but in the living room the umbrella stand caught her eye and she stopped. “Peter? I’ve just remembered something.”
“Go on.”
“We had to take that thing in for repair once. It was lined in copper that wore through. And the man in the shop got quite excited. He’d found a secret compartment.”
“Who would put a secret compartment in an umbrella stand?”
“The Victorians loved to hide things.” She knelt and ran her hands over its surface until she found the catch and pressed. A panel slid open. Inside was only one object, a blue-backed U.S. passport.
Renata was disappointed. “All that fuss for his passport?”
Peter picked it up and riffled through it. “Not his, exactly. This is the passport of Warren Hughes. Who bears a remarkable resemblance to Don.”
“Oh Lord. I suppose I should have known. A fake passport does rather go with offshore bank accounts and shell corporations, doesn’t it?”
“No stamps. He hasn’t traveled on it. Maybe he uses it for identification when he’s in the Cayman Islands or Ruritania or wherever.” He held it up to the light. “I’m no expert, but it looks like an awfully good job.”
“I’m sure his employer in London can afford top-flight forgers.”
“I hate to say it, Renata, but just having one of these in your possession is a federal crime.”
She took the passport from him and rubbed it against her shirt.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting your fingerprints off it. This thing gives me the willies. I mean Don having it. He would have thought it was rather a lark. Secret agent Don.” Holding it carefully by the edges she dropped it in the compartment and pushed the panel shut. She felt relieved that she couldn’t even see the seams.
Once they were out of the apartment with the door locked behind them, she felt a little calmer. They descended the fire escape and she knocked at the door of the apartment under Don’s.
It was answered by an African American man with a graying moustache framed by parenthesis-shaped grooves and glasses held together by a safety pin through one hinge. “Sorry to bother you,” Renata said. She could see sandwich makings on the counter behind him. “We’re trying to find Don. I’m his sister.”
The man nodded. “You talk like him.”
“Yes. You can tell when he’s upstairs, can’t you?”
“Oh yeah. That is, unless I have the TV on. Don’s got heavy feet.”
“Did you hear him last night? Just before midnight?”
“Yep. I was watching Colbert, but they were louder than the TV.”
“They?”
“Don and some guy were shouting at each other. I was getting ready to call the police when it stopped.”
“Stopped? You mean they quit yelling and went back to talking normally?”
“No. The other guy just left.”
Peter asked, “Did you see him?”
“Well, yeah. Once I was thinking of calling the cops, I got kind of interested. I was looking out the window instead of watching the TV. I saw him go out and get in his car. It was a black guy. He had one of those hairdos like the football players have—you know, that sticks out from under their helmets?”
“Dreadlocks,” Peter said.
“That’s it.”
“But it wasn’t anybody you’ve seen around the neighborhood.”
“He wasn’t from the neighborhood.”
“How do you know?”
“He was wearing a suit and tie. Like Colbert.”
“And Don?”
“I didn’t see him, but he must’ve left soon after. It got real quiet.”
They thanked him and continued down the stairs. Renata said, “You have an idea who that man was.”
“Imani Baraku. A professor at the Adams School of Public Health. He’s an activist, well-known around the campus. He’s taken the side of the Parkdale residents Adams is going to kick out so they can move in their students and employees.”
“Oh! So that’s what he and Don were arguing about.”
“Must have been. He told me he was going to try and derail the deal. I should have taken him more seriously.”
“Let’s go talk to him.”
Peter glanced at his watch. “We better head for the medical center. It’s almost time for the signing ceremony.”
“Oh, God, let’s hope Don’s there,” Renata murmured.
Chapter Twenty-Four
As they drove back to the Central West End in Peter’s WeCar, Renata asked, “Do you know this Baraku fellow personally?”
“Yes. He’s the kind of faculty member who makes a lot of trouble for a PR department.”
“What’s he like? I mean, do you think it’s possible he would … harm Don in some way?”
“No. He’s fully committed to his causes, but he doesn’t take thin
gs personally. I’m surprised he even got into a shouting match with Don. Of course, Don can be pretty high-handed with black people.”
“That’s not fair, Peter. Don is high-handed with white people, too.”
“True.”
The medical center was one of the few places in St. Louis where the traffic was as thick as in London. Peter picked his way through the tangle while Renata kept glancing at her watch. Finally he pulled over to the curb and switched off the engine. A sign caught her eye as she got out.
“It says Adams U Police will tow.”
“That’s okay. It’s Adams’ car.”
She followed him through a revolving door and along a corridor. Double doors stood open to a big room with glossy paneled walls and a green and gray carpet into which the Adams seal was woven. A group consisting mostly of men in suits were helping themselves to an ample buffet. They seemed jovial enough. Renata looked around for Don but didn’t see him. Instead she spotted the white-fringed bald head of Joel Rubinstein. He wasn’t wearing a suit, but he had put on a shirt with a collar. Seeing them, he started across the room. At their questioning expressions, he frowned and shook his head.
“Don’s not here,” Renata said gloomily.
“Never showed up. His lawyer is in a confab with the university bigwigs now.”
“Otherwise the deal is done?”
“All that’s left is the signing and the grip and grin with Chancellor Reeve.”
“Everything went smoothly, except for Don?”
“No, I wouldn’t say that. About an hour ago, that guy—your boss—came in.”
“Roger Merck?”
“Yeah. He said Professor Baraku was outside, with a delegation from the neighborhood, demanding to address us. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, Roger said. It was let him in or call the riot police. So in they came.”
“And?”
“They pooped our party. I recognized a couple of my tenants. We all did. Baraku kept his speech short and to the point. Said we should leave Adams’ money on the table and go back to managing our buildings. We ‘owed it to social justice.’ ”
“Anybody say anything in reply?”
Joel shrugged. “I thought of saying, I’m sixty-seven years old and want to play with my grandchildren. But it didn’t seem adequate.”
“What happened next?”
“Oh, the professor kept his word. They all filed out of the room while we looked at our feet. Then we got back to business.”
A voice boomed out, “Pete!”
It was a large black man with a round face and white hair. Peter introduced Renata to Vice-Chancellor Merck.
He asked her, “Have you heard from Don?”
“No.”
Roger lifted both hands and let them fall. “I give up. He’s not going to make it to the ceremony. The chancellor will be here in a moment. In fact, do you mind walking with me? I’ve got to go out to meet him.”
They nodded to Joel and set off down the corridor.
“You can’t wrap up the deal without him?” Peter asked.
“That’s taken care of.”
“How?”
“His lawyer sent a photo of the signature page to his cellphone. He signed it, photographed it, and sent it back. Our lawyers agreed that makes it legal. But I have to tell you, I’m very disappointed. He’s the largest landowner in Parkdale. He should be here to shake the chancellor’s hand.”
“I should like to speak to this lawyer,” said Renata.
“He’s left. But I’ll give you his card.” Roger reached into his pocket for a stack of business cards, which he sorted through as he walked.
“He didn’t say anything about where Don was?” she asked. “Why he couldn’t be here?”
“Oh, he was most apologetic. But he didn’t know anything.”
They came out on the street. Roger found the card and handed it to her. She thanked him and he headed for the curb, where a small honor guard of assistant provosts, vice-chancellors, and uniformed security men was waiting to welcome Reeve to the medical campus.
A man was standing a short distance away, leaning unobtrusively against the side of the building. Peter looked at him twice and said, “Imani.”
So this was Professor Baraku. She hadn’t expected the activist to be so pleasant-looking. He shook Peter’s hand and smiled as he was introduced to her. “You’re Don’s sister? You don’t look at all like him.”
“So they tell me.”
“What happened to your delegation, Imani?” Peter asked.
“They got discouraged and went home. I don’t blame them.”
“But you’re lingering here. Hoping for a word with the chancellor?”
“He’s my last resort.”
“You talked to Don late last night,” said Renata.
He gazed over her head while he considered. “I don’t know how you would know that, but I see no reason to deny it.”
“In fact you had an argument.”
“Of course. The neighbors.” He was nodding to himself. “It did get loud for a while. Starting when I said to Don that for him, saving the neighborhood seemed to mean driving out all the people who lived there like so many cockroaches. Negotiations went downhill from there.”
“Imani, here’s the thing,” Peter said. “We can’t find Don. As far as we can work out, you’re the last person to have seen him.”
“I see. If you’re accusing me of something, Peter, I’ll have to ask you to be more specific.”
The polite wariness of his tone made Renata feel bad. She stepped forward and put her hand on his arm and looked him in the eye. “We’re not accusing you, Professor. We just want information. I came all the way from London, and it’s terribly important that I see my brother.”
“I noticed he wasn’t with the other landlords at the meeting. It’s possible he’s decided to make himself scarce because of something he said to me last night.”
“What?” Peter asked.
“Well, we’d been shouting at each other for a while. Don had made it clear that he wasn’t being moved by my arguments. But I still wouldn’t leave. So he told me I was wasting my time and should quiet down. That’s what ‘put a sock in it’ means, right?”
She nodded.
“I said that if his fellow landlords were as unyielding as he was, I would turn to Chancellor Reeve. Don laughed. He said Reeve would never back out of the deal. That I had no idea what I was up against. That something much bigger than Parkdale was at stake.”
Renata and Peter looked at each other.
“He knew the moment the words were out of his mouth that he shouldn’t have said them. All the hot air just whooshed out of him. Left him limp as a popped balloon. Of course I tried to get more out of him, but he was through talking.”
“Is that why you’re here now, Imani?” Peter asked.
“Well, yes. If I can get a moment with Reeve, I’ll ask him what’s really at stake. Not that I expect an answer. But maybe it’ll make him hesitate to sign the contract. Buy me and the folks in Parkdale some time.”
A large sedan was pulling up at the curb. Roger, smiling, opened the back door. A lean man in a dark suit got out. Its empty right sleeve was neatly pinned to his coattail. She caught only a glimpse of him before the assistant provosts and vice-chancellors closed in.
“Chancellor!” Baraku called out in a stentorian tone. “A word, please.”
Reeve looked vaguely in his direction, smiled and waved, and headed toward the building, flanked by administrators and guards. Baraku went toward him. One uniformed man turned to face him.
“I just want a word with Mr. Reeve.”
“Sorry, the chancellor can’t spare a moment right now.”
“It’s urgent that I talk to him now.”
He tried to sidestep, but the guard, a young man with short blond hair, moved with him, raising his arms. “That won’t be possible, sir, but you have other options.”
Reeve was stepping into the revolving door. Bara
ku tried again to get by.
Again the guard blocked him. “You can reach the chancellor by email or phone. Or make an appointment to see him.”
“I’m on the faculty. I’m an associate professor—”
“Then you’ll have no problem getting an appointment.”
“I must see Reeve now. Who is your superior?”
“Please step back.”
“I demand to see your superior. Really, you don’t want the responsibility. This can’t be resolved at your level.”
The young man’s eyes hardened. “Hey, my level is just fine for dealing with guys like you.”
He pushed Baraku back with both hands. Baraku stumbled and sat down hard. The security guard had already turned his back and was stepping into the revolving door. Peter helped Baraku up. The professor straightened his glasses and glanced at a scrape on the palm of his left hand.
“I’m sorry,” Renata said.
He gave her a quick half-smile. “No harm done. At least not yet.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
As Peter drove westward, Renata sat beside him with her mobile in one hand and the lawyer’s business card in the other. She wasn’t doing anything with them. Peter glanced over.
“Are you tired?”
“Discouraged.”
“Don’t be. We haven’t even called Don’s tradesmen yet.”
“His who?”
“Isn’t that what you Brits call them? The folks who support the elegant Don lifestyle. Tailor, hair stylist, manicurist, tanning salon, dry cleaner, golf pro ….”
“There’s no point. I’ve realized that we’re not going to find Don. Because he’s hiding from me.”
“But how could he even know you’re here?”
“I’m not sure. Still, I have the feeling he’s avoiding me. It’s a feeling I’ve had before.”
In heavy silence, they drove the last few blocks to Peter’s building. A police car was parked in front of it. As they pulled over to the curb, a tall black cop got out, putting on his cap. He approached Renata’s window.
“Ms. Radleigh?”
“That’s right.”
“I’d like you to come with me, please. Or you can follow in your own vehicle if you prefer.”
“What’s this about?”