“What about this little technicality?” Lovett asked, pulling the fax of the Machikin acceleration notice, calling the loan, from the inside pocket of his coat and handing it to Hanford. “Or is this another fake?”
Hanford read the short document carefully, with McLeery reading over his shoulder. While they did so, Frost looked disdainfully at the dinner jacket Hanford had donned for the Books and Bonnets Ball. He was normally not a patronizing man—he enjoyed life much too much to dwell on the surface faults of others—but Hanford’s discourse had infuriated him so greatly that he gleefully noted that the man’s tuxedo had a shawl collar, more befitting a callow young fraternity brother from the sticks than the man-about-town who fancied himself a financial and social paragon.
“I don’t know, Brendan, this strikes me as a cute tactic to make sure they’ve got somebody’s attention,” Hanford said to his lawyer. “Ignore it. Everything with Machikin will be straightened out. Just trust me on that.”
“That’s fine for you to say, Mr. Hanford,” Lovett said. “But I don’t see what there is to stop them from coming in and suing my company for thirty million dollars.”
“That won’t happen—”
“Don’t forget ‘our Japanese friends sometimes have rules of their own,’” Lovett said, bitterly.
Hanford smiled. “Believe me, I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Bill, Brian, you have any comments?” Parkes asked Richardson and Heyworth. They both quietly said no; it was time for straight-talking from their head of state. Parkes instinctively realized this. “Tom, let me say something, if I may,” he began. “You’ve told us that Mr. Rawson decided to delay asking Machikin for a consent and that this was bad judgment on his part. I’m afraid that from our perspective it looks like something more than bad judgment. To put it bluntly, it looks like good old-fashioned fraud. My colleagues and their client were served up with what purported to be a consent from Machikin. It wasn’t. It was completely bogus. Machikin had never seen it. And Rawson had to ring in one of his colleagues in Tokyo to send out the fake. Now, doesn’t all that add up to more than bad judgment?”
“Oh, I understand there was some kind of mix-up and a piece of paper got passed around. And Wesray, one of our men in Tokyo and Rawson’s friend from his Tokyo days, didn’t show very good judgment, either. I’m sorry about what happened and so is Rawson, and I’m sure Peter Wesray is, too. But fraud? I think that’s much too strong a word. There was a screwup, no question, but it was all part of the bad call on this one.”
“Brendan, what do you think? Am I being unreasonable?” Parkes asked, trying to put Hanford’s lawyer on the spot.
“Charlie, you must understand I’m a late player in this game. I’d never heard about any of this until this afternoon, and I don’t really feel I know enough about the facts to make a judgment,” McLeery said, copping out.
“Gentlemen, I don’t think we’re going to advance the cause much by sitting around speculating about who struck John,” Hanford said. “We’re ready to go to work on Machikin any time you are. What’s done is done. Now what we have to worry about is what to do next. I’ve made my proposal. And now I’ve really got to go.”
Before he could leave, Frost spoke up. “Tom, quite irrespective of what happens with the Japanese, we’re arranging a meeting at our place tomorrow morning of all those who took part in the On-Line closing. The question of whether there’s a connection between Juliana Merriman’s death and the events that led up to that closing is very much on our minds, and the hope is we can reconstruct what happened last Thursday and Friday. I trust your Messrs. Rawson and Lewis will attend.”
“What time?”
“Eleven o’clock.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Hanford said, as he stood up.
Lovett spoke out before Hanford reached the door. “You know, Mr. Hanford—”
“Tom.”
“I prefer Mister. I only call my friends by their first names. You know, Mr. Hanford, I may be a naive California raisin, and maybe we do things differently out there. But I’ve been sitting here not believing what I’ve been hearing, which is one goddam big dose of spin control. I’ve been defrauded by a forged document prepared by an employee of your company. And all I’ve heard you say is that your man made a mistake in judgment—almost as if the mistake was getting caught.”
“Now, wait a minute. Are you saying that Harvey Rawson defrauded you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Look, when you fellows are ready to stop throwing the word ‘fraud’ around, you know my proposed solution. Until then, there’s no reason to continue the discussion. So I’ll say good day, gentlemen.”
“And, under all the circumstances, I don’t think anything would be gained by having Rawson and Lewis attend your meeting tomorrow,” McLeery added, as he prepared to follow Hanford.
“I think that’s a mistake, Brendan,” Frost said quickly. “Don’t forget it’s not just Chase & Ward and our client that are involved. The police will certainly be interested if you’re not cooperating, and the press will have a certain amount of fun, too. Which won’t look good for Rawson or Lewis, or Schoonmaker either.”
“Don’t get excited, Mr. Frost,” Hanford said. “I’m going to talk to my lawyer and we’ll decide what to do.”
“Fine,” Frost replied. “Just remember what I said.”
Hanford and McLeery left without any more shots being fired.
“I’m glad that fellow’s got everybody’s interests at heart,” Crutcher said, once they had gone.
“And that he’s willing to straighten everything out without charging a fee,” Heyworth added. The group laughed heartily, if uneasily, relieved to have the confrontation over, however unsatisfactory it had been.
“I’ve never seen such an unbelievable performance in my life,” Parkes said. “His ‘bad judgment’ gambit was bad enough, but his indifference to Julie’s killing was truly incredible.”
“He’s a son of a bitch, no question,” Crutcher said. “I think we need to get our position in writing sooner rather than later. At least Brendan McLeery may change his tune when he sees it in black and white. But meanwhile, I think your idea of replaying the closing is a good one, Reuben. Let’s us talk when you’ve done that. Then we can work with Mr. Lovett to get up a response to these bloodless wonders.”
“I’m sorry you characterize them that way, Ron,” Frost said. “As far as I could see, Tommy Teflon’s a perfectly charming man. He just has one small flaw.”
“What’s that?” Crutcher asked.
“He can’t tell right from wrong,” Frost replied.
CHAPTER
15
Recollections: I
“Excuse me, dear, I have to do a phone-a-thon,” Frost told his wife when he got home.
“For your favorite charity?” Cynthia asked.
“Sort of. It’s for the future good of Chase & Ward.”
“Not exactly my idea of a charity case.”
“Never mind. Then I’m going to have a drink and tell you about a truly astounding session I just had with Tom Hanford.”
“You mean that dear, sweet southern boy?”
“No comment. Let me make these calls and then I’ll fill you in.”
Frost retrieved the On-Line working party list from the pile of papers on his library desk. He had instructed Ms. Locke earlier in the day to forewarn the participants of a meeting Thursday morning. He now began calling them at home.
How times have changed, he thought. In his active days, a working party list showed a person’s home telephone number and a switchboard number for that person’s office. Now there was a long catalog: direct dial and fax numbers for the office, fax and regular numbers at home—plus, in most instances, reflecting Wall Street’s recent prosperity, the number for a weekend house in the country. And, in the case of Harvey Rawson, listings for a car telephone and a country fax. There was no longer any place to hide, Frost decided. And why had he
not invested in telephone company stock?
He had good luck reaching the parties, fixing the meeting for eleven the next morning. He did ignore the listings for Rawson and Lewis; Hanford and McLeery could give them their marching orders.
Frost’s businesslike, almost somber approach convinced those he talked to that the meeting was of vital importance. Vague protests of the short notice gave way to his tone of urgency. He could not reach Ed Sharett from First Fiduciary, but his colleague, Jeanne Horan, said she knew where he was and would try to get hold of him later in the evening. Frost noted with satisfaction that a full set of players should be available. If, of course, Brendan McLeery heeded his advice and permitted Rawson and Lewis to show up.
Reuben’s final call was to Luis Bautista. He had decided it would be useful to have him present to help sort out the cast of characters. Bautista reported a couple of developments. Bill Richardson’s statement that he had left Chase & Ward promptly at five-thirty on Thursday had been corroborated. An elderly Chase & Ward messenger, retread at Fort Bliss as a receptionist, had been on duty at the ground-floor desk and remembered that Richardson had not only left, but stopped to shake his hand and wish him a happy New Year. In the best noblesse oblige tradition expected of senior partners, Frost thought. And the records of the garage beneath Clinton Plaza showed that Richardson had taken out his car shortly before six and an attendant recalled that Richardson had inquired about traffic conditions on the Long Island Expressway.
As for Genakis, Bautista had checked his story, that he had been at his restaurant on Thursday after eight o’clock, with three more employees, and they had all confirmed it.
“I learned one thing this afternoon that may be of interest,” Frost said. “Genakis was apparently known as Ted, rather than Marshall, in his California days. Could that make a difference?”
“Sure could,” Bautista said. “What Petito was told is that Marshall Genakis has no record out there. But I know how these checks are done, especially when they come from out of state. Ask a question, you get a literal answer. Ask about Willie Sutton, you get a response about Willie Sutton with an i-e. Even if he’s on the Most Wanted list, you’ll get nothing about Willy with a y, or Will or William. Let me feed this one to Petito.”
Bautista’s other report was the result of a check made by the police on Merriman’s home telephone. There were no outgoing calls on the number on Thursday, except one to a direct line at Chase & Ward at 6:50 P.M. The number turned out to be that of Beth Locke, who had confirmed that Merriman had called to make double-sure that the conference hook-up to Tokyo had been arranged.
“So she was in her apartment,” Frost said. “Which makes it bloody unlikely that she was passing through the turnstile at Chase & Ward at six-fifteen.”
“So it seems.”
“Any new thoughts on that one?”
“Not yet, but I’m thinking about it.”
“Good. Keep on thinking, and I’ll see you tomorrow. Come early, so we can be ready to play the good host at eleven.”
Thursday morning, Frost himself arrived at Chase & Ward at nine thirty-five. He had arranged to take Alan Lovett and Beth Locke through a retracing of Thursday’s and Friday’s events before the eleven o’clock reunion. He decided to talk with Lovett first and ushered him into his temporary office, where Bautista was already waiting. A drooping Harold Lane, the Applications’ house lawyer, who had once again flown overnight from Los Angeles, was with him.
After minimal pleasantries—it was too early for small talk—Frost asked Lovett to tell him, and Bautista, everything he knew about the bogus Machikin consent.
Lovett explained how Merriman had persuaded him to go off at lunchtime on Thursday—“I don’t blame her, she seemed to have a thousand things to do”—and, when he returned, had taken him aside to warn that the original Japanese consent might not be available the next day.
“I frankly thought a fax was good enough,” he said. “Who the hell would ever think it was a fake? But Julie said she’d feel more comfortable if she pressed to get the original.”
“Did she say why?” Frost asked.
“Only that she’d worked with Rawson before and he was a sleazeball.”
“There must have been more to it than that,” Frost said.
“I don’t know anything more definite than Alan,” Harold Lane interrupted. “But I could understand why she was on her guard. Every time she brought up the consent—and this had gone on for days—Rawson had fobbed her off, told her not to worry. He tried to make her seem like—like, well, frankly, an emotional female. She didn’t care for that, and I don’t blame her.”
“I see,” Frost said. “Why don’t you go on, Mr. Lovett?”
“After she explained the problem to me, I told her to go for it—to insist on the original piece of paper. She did that once Rawson joined us, and all hell broke loose. Rawson was so abusive I was going to intervene. But then he calmed down, and it was agreed we’d call Tokyo together at eight o’clock.”
“I left when we broke up around five,” Lane said. “Julie said there was no reason for me to stay around. I was relieved, since I had a ticket to Phantom of the Opera.”
“That’s where you were Thursday night?”
“Yes. I had a couple of drinks with Alan, went to the show and had supper at the Algonquin. I was in bed at the Park Lane by midnight.”
“And you, Mr. Lovett?” Frost said. “What did you do from five-thirty until eight?”
“As Hal said, we went out for a couple of pops. A place called B. Smith’s down the street. I came back here just before eight for the conference call.”
“So you were basically out of the office after you quit in the afternoon until eight?” Frost asked.
“Yes.”
“So neither of you was in a position to know where Juliana was during that time?”
“Only from what she’d said. That she was going home to eat.”
“With Genakis?”
“Now that you ask me, I’m not sure she said that. I guess I assumed she would eat with him.”
“Tell us about the conference call,” Frost said.
“Okay. Julie, Glenn Wylie, Rawson, Lewis, Frank Martin and I on this end. On the speakerphone in Conference Room B. In Japan we had Ames and Wesray, each one at his office. The call was fairly short, about twenty, twenty-five minutes, once we got connected. It was agreed that Wesray would get in touch with Mr. Hiseo right away and get the signed document, which he would then bring back to Schoonmaker’s and turn over to Ames.”
“Wouldn’t it have been easier for Wesray and Ames to go to Machikin together?” Frost asked.
“They talked about that. But Wesray felt it might confuse Hiseo to introduce a new face.”
“What liars,” Frost observed. “Meanwhile, the infamous fax had arrived, hadn’t it?”
“Yes,” Lovett said. “Maybe I should tell you an unpleasant little incident about that. Those of us on the conference call reassembled a little before eight. Everybody was milling around when your communications room, or whatever it is, called to say there was a fax from Tokyo. Julie said she’d go and pick it up herself. When she came back, Rawson and Lewis were talking together off in one corner. Rawson had his back turned and didn’t see her come in. I could half-hear that he was still complaining about Julie’s demand, and in the course of this he said to Lewis that he supposed they had ‘to keep the harelipped bitch happy.’ I heard that and Julie could have, too. I was ready to punch Rawson straight in the mouth, but then realized that wouldn’t advance the cause much. I could deal with Rawson later.”
“You think Merriman overheard what Rawson said?”
“I can’t be sure. She certainly could have, though she didn’t lose her cool. When we finished the call, Rawson behaved like a real jerk once again. He was mocking Julie, asking her if she was worried about anything else, was she sure there wasn’t something more she wanted, like that. I was really glad when she got mad and told him off. ‘H
arvey, do you realize what a lousy impression you’ve been making on everyone?’ she said. ‘If this deal gets done, I hope your client’s aware that it was in spite of you, not because of you.’ When she said that, he and Lewis got up and left.”
“The building?”
“I can’t say for sure. But they both grabbed up their coats and left the conference room.”
“How about you? What did you do?”
“I stayed around to soothe Juliana for a little bit. So did Glenn Wylie, who was embarrassed by Rawson’s behavior. I asked her if I could buy her a drink, but she refused. Said she had to check the closing papers once more and then was going home to bed. So I left. That was the last time I ever saw her.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I couldn’t decide where to go for dinner—I don’t like to eat in restaurants alone—so I went back to the Park Lane and had room service.”
“What did you think had happened when Juliana didn’t show up Friday morning?” Frost asked.
“I figured she’d been up most of the night and probably had overslept. Then, when nobody could find her, I didn’t know what to think.”
“And how did you react when you got the message from Ames about the missing consent?”
“I was disgusted that Rawson and his pal in Tokyo had mixed things up. But I wasn’t that upset. As I told you, my inclination had been to go with the fax when Julie brought the problem up on Thursday, even though I’d deferred to her judgment then. Mr. Richardson suggested on the phone that we get Schoonmaker to guarantee the authenticity of the fax, but when Mr. Heyworth brought that up we just got another horror show from Rawson. So we ended up taking what we had. I was going to have a little fun with Rawson, keep him on the hook and tell him we wouldn’t close without a signed document, but the deal was too good for me to cause trouble. And we were running out of time.”
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