Zack Lord came into the room. “What’s the matter, Marc?” he asked.
“Nothing at all,” replied Marc.
Harry Arnold was just behind Zack’s shoulder.
“Can I see you for a minute?” Zack said to Marc, motioning to the side.
“Sure,” said Marc. “We have to be going soon, anyway. We don’t want to interfere with your party.”
“What the hell is your wife pulling off?” Zack demanded of Marc when he thought he was out of earshot.
Maria walked over to them. “If it’s about me, I’ll tell you what it’s about. I think what you’re doing stinks.”
Zack said nothing to Maria. He looked back to Marc.
“She thinks it stinks,” Marc confirmed.
“What are you trying to do, mess up the whole afternoon?” said Zack.
“I’m just telling this girl the real story about the movie, that’s all,” said Maria.
“You came here to talk to me,” Zack said to Marc curtly. “Let’s all of us go into my office.”
Marc nodded. Lord walked through the apartment to the entrance door and opened it. He waited for the three of them to enter the blue corridor leading back to the reception area and the offices. As they entered the reception area, the receptionist stood.
“Sit down, sit down,” Zack said impatiently.
“Yes, Mister Lord.” He watched them go into Zack’s office.
“I didn’t realize you were bringing your wife,” Zack said, turning around to face Marc. “And I don’t think what I do in my own apartment is anyone else’s business. Besides, what the hell? People have a little fun? Who’s it hurting?”
“We didn’t come here to interfere with your party,” said Marc. “None of us did. We’re investigating the Wainwright case and I just wanted to ask you some questions.”
“Okay, fine. But for Christ’s sake, don’t go throwing stones at someone’s glass house if you live in one yourself.”
“What’s that mean?” asked Marc.
“Oh, come now. None of us are so pure as to be able to put down the next guy trying to make a score. If you get me? I mean you’ve been talking to Toni Wainwright, took her out a couple of times,” Lord continued, plunging ahead blindly now. “Have I said anything to you?” He paused. “She had to apologize to you for making a pass at you, naked. Did I say anything to you?”
Maria stared at Marc now, a little unsure.
“I’m not responsible for what other people do,” said Marc. “Only for what I myself do. And I’ve done nothing.”
“So what the hell are you breaking … giving me a hard time here for?” said Zack. He knew he had struck home with Maria. “Some business guys from out of town, some friends come over for a little entertainment. If you don’t dig it, fine, just leave it alone.”
“Fair enough,” said Marc. He felt rotten for Maria now; even though he knew he would easily be able to explain the situation later.
Maria was withdrawn, pensive. She seemed bemused by her fingernails. Franco stood back silently.
“What kind of questions you want to ask me?” Lord said, calming himself. He smiled a slight smile, feeling back in control now. He figured he had Marc where he wanted him: cowed and subservient.
“We’ve been checking out various things about the night Wainwright was killed,” said Marc. “And there are some items which have made me very curious,” Marc was abstracted, his mind on other things as he spoke.
“For instance?” said Lord.
“For instance, your plane didn’t leave La Guardia until two-thirty on the morning Wainwright was killed. You left the party about twelve midnight to go to the airport. Wainwright was killed a little after one.”
Zack stared at Marc. “Do you suspect that I might have had something to do with Wainwright’s death?”
“I’m just chasing down all leads,” said Marc. “It’s an old habit of mine.”
Maria remained silent. She seemed to have lost interest and was just waiting for this to be over.
Zack nodded his head slowly, a smile starting to crease his face. “I was told you were good. But I didn’t realize that you were so good that you’d take this much trouble to investigate a case. You really suspect me?”
“Just chasing down the leads,” Marc repeated.
“That’s fascinating. Absolutely fascinating. And I’m absolutely delighted,” said Lord.
“How come?” asked Marc.
Franco’s eyes were angry. They never left Lord.
“Well, if you’re doing that thorough a job, you’ll give Toni the best kind of representation. And that’s exactly what I want for her.” He sat behind his desk now. “But if I did have something to do with it, why would I have hired the best for her? Wouldn’t I want her to take the blame?”
“Not necessarily,” replied Marc. “This could all be part of a very carefully laid out plan. Commit a crime in such a way that another person is charged. Then have that other person beat the case, and in so doing, beat the case yourself. And in Toni Wainwright’s case, earn the gratitude of one of your biggest stockholders.”
“Fascinating,” said Lord. “You can’t imagine how delighted I am that Toni has all this going for her. I really mean that. I can explain about the plane, if you want.”
“Certainly.”
“Of course, your function is just to defend Toni Wainwright, not be finding the real killer, if there be one,” added Lord. “Nor to go investigating a horrible accident into a murder.”
“Sometimes it’s one and the same,” said Marc. “I just want to be careful and thorough.”
“Great,” said Lord, smiling broadly now. “That’s what I want to.”
A buzzer sounded. Lord picked up his phone. The receptionist said something to him.
“Will you excuse me for a moment,” said Lord. “I have a call from Chicago coming in. It’s rather urgent.”
“Go ahead,” said Marc.
Lord pushed a button on his phone and began to speak about some oil tankers still at sea and how much profit could be made if the entire cargo was sold to a different buyer and the ship rerouted before it even got to port.
Maria leaned very close to Marc. “What’s he saying about Mrs. Wainwright? Tell me before I fall over and die right here,” she whispered. She was close to tears.
“I saw the woman twice—strictly on business. Once Franco was there. Once he wasn’t, but it was in a public bar.”
“What about the naked scene. Is it true?”
“The woman is a drunk,” Marc parried. “Ask Franco. She got so drunk both times, it was hardly possible to get her to make any sense.”
Lord was still talking on the phone.
“You didn’t answer me,” Maria said.
“I dropped her home the second time. She insisted I drop her at her door.”
“And, of course, you, being Sir Galahad, did it.”
“Yes. She caused such a shrieking scene in the street, it was easier,” said Marc.
“Go on.”
“And while I’m questioning the maid—I’ll show you my notes if you want—she gets undressed and lies down on the couch.”
“Naked?” Maria asked.
“Yes.”
“And? What then?”
“I told her I was old, married, and spoken for.”
“I’m sure that made a hell of a lot of difference to her,” Maria said sarcastically.
Lord sounded as if he were ending his conversation.
“No,” said Marc. “So I dragged her to the bathroom and threw her bodily into a cold shower. She screamed so loud, I thought the dead would wake. Then I ran like hell, paid the elevator man ten bucks to get me out of there quick, and here I am. That’s the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”
Lord hung up the phone and swiveled to face them again.
Maria reached for Marc’s hand and held it tightly, warmly.
“Now, is there anything else that makes you think I had something to d
o with Wainwright’s death?” Lord said smiling.
“Well, the plane is the main thing,” said Marc. “The other things are relatively minor.” Marc felt Maria’s hand in his jiggle; she wanted his attention. Marc put his other hand over their intertwined hands, patting her hand assuringly. His attention was on Lord.
“You do quite a job.” Lord nodded his head in admiration. “And I’m quite pleased. Now about the plane that night. I came home to change and was tired, I put my head down for a minute and I fell asleep. My pilot called me about, oh, about one-twenty, one-thirty. I got up, went downstairs, took a car to the airport, and we left at two-thirty. You can check with the pilot, with the doorman downstairs, whoever was on that night. I’m sure you’ll find I’m telling the truth.”
“I’ll check,” Marc assured him.
“Is there anything else?”
“Not right now,” said Marc. “I don’t want to keep you from the festivities inside.”
“That’s okay. Anything to help Toni out. I’m sorry for getting a little steamed before. It’s just that … well, the boys are having a little harmless fun. I mean, who the hell gets hurt?” he said to Maria.
She said nothing, her face was serious and uncompromising.
“Tell me, Mister Lord,” said Marc. “Do you keep tapes on all your telephone calls?”
Everyone looked at Marc with surprise, especially Lord.
“What makes you think I have calls taped?” said Lord.
“I know how carefully you operate. I’m sure of it,” said Marc.
Zack smiled. “You really do fine work,” he admired. “Really fine work. Perhaps my corporation could use an attorney as thorough as yourself.”
“That sounds interesting. How about the tapes?”
“The job pays fifty thousand and expenses,” said Lord.
“The tapes.”
Zack smiled. “Let’s just say I occasionally tape a conversation of my key executives on matters of vital business importance. There’s nothing wrong with taping my own conversations, is there?”
“No, it’s legal,” replied Marc. “How about other people’s conversations with other people. For instance, Toni Wainwright’s phone calls with other people?”
Zack Lord studied Marc. The smile dimmed. “That would be illegal, wouldn’t it, Marc?”
“It would.”
“Well, I never get involved in illegal things. No, I don’t bug anyone else’s phone.”
Marc nodded. “I guess that about covers it, then,” he said.
“Fine,” said Lord. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get back to my guests.”
“Certainly,” said Marc.
Lord rose and led the three of them from his office and rang for the elevator. He turned to the receptionist. “Would you be sure Mister and Mrs. Conte and their friend get on the elevator safely.”
“Yes, Mister Lord.” The young man rose and walked over to the elevator.
“See you,” said Lord. “If you need anything else, please be sure to call me.”
“Okay,” said Marc.
Lord disappeared through the door leading to his living quarters. The elevator arrived.
“How come you didn’t go into any of the other things?” asked Franco as they descended.
Marc nodded toward the elevator operator, and shook his head.
“Did you tell me the truth about this Wainwright woman?” Maria asked as they walked through the lobby.
Marc stopped. “Absolutely. And I love you,” he said, kissing her boldly.
“Stop!” she said playfully, pulling away from his kiss. “You’ll make everyone in the lobby jealous.”
The three of them walked out and stood on the Fifth Avenue sidewalk in front of the hotel. There wasn’t much traffic, and the avenue was quiet. The doorman stood silently near the door, reading a paper on his wall desk. Central Park looked limp.
“What was that about tapes all about?” asked Franco. “Where did you get that?”
“I just figured it out as we were talking,” Marc replied. “I don’t know if either of you agree, but I thought Lord’s reaction to our conversation was somewhat strange.”
“Strange?” asked Franco.
“Well, in the midst of it, for whatever reason, he mentions that he thinks I’ve been playing around with Toni Wainwright, his fiancée. What do you think about that?” Marc looked at the others. “Was there anything strange about it?”
Maria thought. Franco rubbed his chin.
“Strange about it,” said Maria, “is that he never mentioned it before.”
“That’s right,” said Franco. “He thought you were messing around with his girl, but never says nothing until he gets sore when we interrupt his fun and games over here. If it wasn’t for that, he’d maybe never have mentioned the thing at all. Is that strange? Or do rich guys always act like that?”
“It’s very strange,” said Maria. “Except, of course, if he’s just interested in her stock, and couldn’t care less what she does.”
“Which’d fall right in line with our theory,” said Franco. He looked up the façade of the hotel.
“What’s even more fascinating about that,” said Marc, “is the fact that he knew about it at all. How did he find out?”
“She told him?” said Franco.
“Hardly likely,” said Maria.
“One of the servants told him then,” suggested Franco. “He could afford to have them all on his payroll spying for him.”
“He was talking about a phone conversation. She called me at my office and apologized over the phone for being so drunk and all. He even said so. The servants might be able to tell him something they saw. But this was just a phone conversation he was talking about.”
Franco’s eyes narrowed as he thought.
“Another thing,” said Maria. “Lord didn’t even become offended when you mentioned that you might be suspecting him of killing Wainwright. He took it in stride and said it was fascinating. Is that the ordinary reaction to being accused of murder?”
Franco shook his head. “No. That isn’t much reacting. If someone said that to me, I’d probably tell them they were out of their ever loving mind or something not so nice as that.”
“Me too,” said Marc.
“What do you make of it?” Maria asked, looking at Marc.
“I think Lord’s got Toni Wainwright’s phone bugged. That’s how he found out about her apologizing. Now, couple that with the fact that he never said anything about it, and the fact that he took an accusation of murder so calmly, and to me it means that he’s a little more involved in this investigation than just a mere outsider.”
“That’s what we’ve been telling you right along,” said Maria triumphantly.
“I know, I know.” Marc smiled.
“But how come you didn’t go into the other stuff then?” asked Franco. “About the pistol, and the maid hearing the crying out. All that stuff.”
“Because if he’s involved, I don’t want him to cover the tracks we haven’t come across yet,” said Marc. “Right now, he thinks the only thing we know is about the plane leaving late. He figures we’re just dopes, and he can tolerate the information we have about the plane. I don’t want to worry him with the other stuff.”
Maria smiled and took Marc’s arm. “I love you too,” she said.
27
Tuesday, September 12, 2:45 P.M.
Marc sat in the second row of seats in a courtroom this day designated Part 51. Mrs. Maricyk sat next to him. Judge Kahn was on the bench, in the process of sentencing a defendant who was standing with his lawyer before the Court.
Part 51 is a special, floating, sentencing part, the location of which varies each day according to which courtroom of 100 Centre Street is not being used in the afternoon of that day. To understand the reason for this, it must first be known that the judge before whom a defendant pleads guilty or who presides at a trial where the defendant is convicted, is the judge who passes sentence on that defendant.
If that sentencing judge is no longer sitting in criminal term, having returned to the civil division, or is in some fashion engaged elsewhere than at 100 Centre Street, all the sentences the judge must impose are set down for one afternoon in Part 51.
“What’s going to happen today?” asked Mrs. Maricyk.
“The Judge is going to sentence your husband,” Marc replied.
“Is he going to put Joey away?”
“I don’t know,” Marc replied. “The Judge has the Probation Department’s investigation and evaluation report …”
“Yeah, they came over the house asking questions and everything, the Probation people,” she said.
“… And, he relies on that a great deal,” Marc finished.
“What’s it say? You see it?”
“No, the Court doesn’t let us see the report. It’s just for the Judge to use as a guide,” Marc explained.
Mrs. Maricyk looked questioningly at Marc. “Suppose they don’t put the right thing down. How do you know what they say about my husband?”
“Unless the Judge shows it to me, I don’t.”
She began shaking her head. “I never seen any other place that works as screwed up as this one,” she said. “You sure it’s not just you?”
Marc felt a rush of anger. All this work on a not very interesting case and a not very high fee, if any, and now sarcasm, too. Marc looked at Mrs. Maricyk, about to tell her the plain facts of life. But there was that look, that helpless frustration. She was just frightened, he assured himself. “No, it’s not me.”
“Is this Judge going to give Joey time?” she asked again.
“I don’t know. I’ve already explained that. I don’t think he should, but that doesn’t mean he won’t.”
Tears welled up in her confused eyes.
“Don’t get upset now,” said Marc, trying to console her. “You don’t even know what’s going to happen.”
“I’m upset already. I don’t want Joey in jail for no year. Don’t let him go to jail, Mister Conte,” she pleaded. “Oh, God, please don’t let him go to jail, Mister Conte.”
Marc wished there was some way to ease the hurt Mrs. Maricyk felt. He always wished he could ease the emotional torture attendant to a sentence. But there really wasn’t much he could do except try to provide the best legal representation he could muster for the occasion.
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