Brooks-Lotello Collection

by Ronald S. Barak

  “Anything I can help you with, Judge?”

  “No. I’m fine, thanks.”

  Lotello did not take the bait. He knew from experience that Brooks would share when he was ready. And not a moment sooner.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  Day Five, 10:40 a.m.

  BROOKS PICKED UP HIS alias smartphone and punched in Ramirez’s extension.

  Ramirez asked, “How may I help you, Judge Brooks?”

  “How did you know it was me, Mr. Ramirez?”

  “I remember the name I assigned as your alias.”

  “Ah, yes, very good. I see nothing gets past you. I have two questions for you, then, if I may.”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Terrence Hawke, the gentleman who booked room 357 before Mr. Connor. How did he pay for his room? And when did he check in?”

  “Please give me a couple of minutes. I’ll call you right back.” Two minutes later, Ramirez called to say Hawke had paid by credit card for the entire week, and that he’d done so three months ago. “The instructions on the reservation were to hold the room regardless of when he arrived, if he arrived at all. Hawke never checked in and never posted any charges to the room. We heard nothing until the reservation was cancelled online two days ago.”

  “I see. That’s a little unusual, isn’t it?”

  “Not really. You’d be surprised how many people make and pay for reservations and then never show up or even bother to ask for a refund. I guess, for some, money is simply no object.”

  “Perhaps not. Can you please do me one more favor?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Do you have a list of the registrants for Thriller Jubilee?”

  “Not from TITO per se, but we provide a special rate for all of the TJ registrants. Because of that, there is a special TJ coding on all of their reservations.”

  “Is it possible for you to print out a list of those registrants, preferably in alphabetical order?”

  “No problem. Do you want it alphabetized by last name or first name?”

  “Last name, please. Hold on a second. If it’s not too much trouble, can you print out two lists, one alphabetized by last name and one alphabetized by first name?”

  “Yes, of course. I will have the two lists delivered to your suite within twenty minutes.”

  THIRTY MINUTES LATER, BROOKS thought he had it sorted out. He knocked on the door to Lotello’s room.

  “You look vaguely familiar,” Lotello said as he answered the door. “Wondered when I might hear from you. Or if. Something I can do for you?”

  Brooks smiled to himself. If you’re going to dish it out, you have to be able to take it. “Come, come, Detective. We have a villain afoot to catch, if not a killer. And little time left in which to do it. I wanted to make sure you were fully rested and ready to joust.”

  No answer was given or needed. It was just a matter of Brooks’s style. He knew Lotello required no prompting.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  Day Five, 11:45 a.m.

  TO ANYONE ELSE, IT might have looked like unintelligible gibberish. To Lonergan, it looked like poetry in motion. Grey’s laptop was hooked up to her own via a five-foot-long cable inserted at each end into USB ports in the respective devices. She opened the text app on her smartphone and tapped. “Recovery software working beautifully! Files being retrieved. May need to do a little cleanup, but so far, so good. One-two more hours to finish. Will text you when done. We’ll see how Connor feels about that. Congrats!” Send.

  Ding. “Wow! Thank you, thank you! Will await further word.” Send.

  Ding. “Emoji happy face.” Send.

  NOT IF I HAVE anything to say about it. And I will. Oh, yes, I will. Plenty. Count on it.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  Day Five, 1:00 p.m.

  LONERGAN SENT ONE MORE text: “All finished! Needs one more hour to clean and save. Going to take overdue nap. Come by about 2:15.” Send.

  Ding. “Yay! CU then. Thanks!” Send.

  Ding.

  THAT’S WHAT YOU GUYS think. One, two, three. One more body. And two laptops for good measure.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  Day Five, 1:30 p.m.

  THE HOODED FIGURE QUIETLY bypassed the electronic passkey, entered Lonergan’s hotel room, and crept toward Lonergan’s sleeping form, arm raised, syringe ready to strike the fatal downward blow. Sleeping beauty. Just like shooting ducks. So to speak.

  “Hold it right there, Terrence Hawke,” Brooks said. “Or dare I say, Robin Donnelly.” Brooks had left the heavy lifting and honors to Lotello and Ramirez, who stepped forward in near unison before Donnelly could react, grabbing each of Donnelly’s arms, forcefully pulling them behind Donnelly’s back, and swiftly employing the handcuffs Ramirez had brought to the party.

  “At the risk of stating the obvious, you’re under arrest.” In all of his years, Brooks had always dreamed of saying those words. It was as exhilarating as he imagined it would be.

  Lonergan stepped out of the bathroom. She had wanted the satisfaction of jumping up out of the bed at the precise moment and hearing herself roar, “You’re under arrest, dirtbag!” She wanted those just dues. Brooks didn’t want Lonergan anywhere near her room. Too dangerous. He already felt guilty about not wrapping her in a security cocoon sooner than he had. Her motion to participate was denied. They did compromise. She was permitted to watch from the bathroom. In the end, it was Brooks who got to yell “You’re under arrest.” He had concluded that “dirtbag” was redundant,” although he could have gone either way.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  Day Five, 2:30 p.m.

  LONERGAN CALLED CONNOR FROM her hotel room, but she only got the droll voicemail greeting. “Hey, Jon, it’s me, Eileen. I’ll be in my room for another thirty minutes. I have a manuscript I think you might like to see. Don’t be late. Otherwise you’ll miss out on what Wynonna and I plan to do with it next.”

  Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at Lonergan’s door. She barely managed to open it before Connor stormed into the room, almost knocking her off her feet.

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” Connor spat. He continued toward her.

  Lotello stepped out from behind the door and quickly filled the space between the two of them. Connor stopped.

  “To answer your rather theatrical question, she thinks she’s my friend, Connor. And I think she’s right. And I think you’re a frigging bully. I also haven’t had my workout yet today, in case you’re interested. Do stay, however. A select few of your friends are gathered here wanting to visit with you.”

  If Lonergan had been Connor, her instinct would have been to immediately turn around and leave. She thought his curiosity must have got the best of him. Lonergan and Lotello accompanied Connor through the hallway into the room where he was met with the glares of Grey, Brooks, and a second gentleman introduced to him as Diego Ramirez, head of hotel security.

  “What the hell is this?” Connor asked.

  “You might call it an intervention, of sorts,” Brooks answered.

  Lotello approached Connor. “As they say, ‘spread ’em.’”

  “What do you think you’re doing? Get your hands off me!”

  “Sorry, Connor,” Lotello responded. “We just need to be sure you’re not ‘packing.’ We can do this the easy way, or Mr. Ramirez and I can check you out the not so easy way. Up to you.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Not kidding. I never get tired of this part,” Lotello said.

  Lonergan looked on with amusement. Her forearm was still throbbing. It had been a long 24 hours since she had felt like smiling. She knew none of this was a joke, but that didn’t stop her from smiling at the sight of Connor trying to maintain his holier-than-thou dignity at the same time as he submitted to Lotello’s search of him for any possible weapons.

  “He’s clean, boss,” Lotello said. Apparently, Lotello was also enjoying the moment.

  “Whenever possible, Mr. Conno
r, I find it always helps to maintain a sense of humor,” Brooks said. “But as I think you know what brings us here is anything but humorous.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Brooks,” Connor said.

  “Well, then, Mr. Connor, one of us must be a potted plant,” Brooks continued. “I, for one, don’t think it’s me. In my many years on the bench, I’ve had occasion to preside over and decide at least fifty cases addressing in one form or another the theft of intellectual property. Thanks to Ms. Lonergan’s technical skills and recovery software, mostly used to recover files lost on computers whose hard drives crash, I’ve been able to examine Ms. Grey’s manuscript files from her first draft forward—computer time stamped over the past four years—and your and her email exchanges which only began a little over one year ago. I’ve—”

  “You had no right to look at any of that material!” Connor shouted.

  “Pshaw, Mr. Connor. I hope you are a better writer than you are a lawyer. With Ms. Grey’s permission, I’ve had every right to look at this material. As I was about to say when you so rudely interrupted, this is probably the most egregious and obvious case of conversion of intellectual property I’ve ever examined. And that’s just for starters. With a little imagination, I think we can expand the list to add trespass, fraud, wire fraud, and maybe even false imprisonment.”

  “That’s bullshit. Who do you think you’re talking to? I’ve been around the block a couple of times myself. Both as a lawyer and a writer. No one’s going to take Grey’s word over mine.”

  “First of all, in my opinion, coupled with the documentary trail we have, this is no ‘he said, she said’ case,” Brooks elaborated. “We will also have a litany of experts at our disposal—writing, fingerprinting, and technology, to name a few.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  “If you wish. As Detective Lotello put it moments ago, it’s up to you. If you want to do this the hard way, that’s just fine. Detective Lotello’s wife and I will be donating our legal services to handle Ms. Grey’s case. Between us, we know several experts who will do likewise for a good cause such as this one. We don’t like bullies. How much will you need to be spending on your lawyers, unless you’re foolishly going to be representing yourself, and the experts you will also require. Alternatively, you can make it a lot easier on yourself.”

  Lonergan could see Connor’s bravado evaporating before her very eyes.

  “What exactly are you suggesting?” Connor asked.

  Brooks had previously explained to Lonergan that whomever goes first loses. It looked like Connor had just gone first.

  “A confidential settlement agreement,” Brooks responded.

  “On what terms?” Connor asked.

  “First, Ms. Grey will forever release and waive any and all known and unknown claims she has or may have against you, including surrendering her right to sue you in court or to bring any claims against you before any attorney licensing authorities in your home state or elsewhere, which should allow you to preserve your license to practice law,” Brooks explained.

  “Second, you will sign over to Ms. Grey every claim of interest you may have in and to her manuscript and will forever release and waive any and all known and unknown claims you have or may have against her. This is an easy concession for you because you have no such claims, except perhaps a quantum meruit claim for the fair value, if any, of any freelance editorial services you may be able to prove you rendered to Ms. Grey in the face of having represented to her that you were helping her gratuitously, on which she strictly relied to her detriment, as her legal counsel will easily demonstrate from the emails I’ve now reviewed.

  “Third, as additional compensation for Ms. Grey waiving her rights against you, you will assign to Ms. Grey 50% of all of your domestic and foreign book, film, and ancillary royalty income for the next five years attributable to any of your as yet unreleased books. As you can see, you may choose to retire from your writing career and this will no doubt make the preservation of your right to continue practicing law extremely important to you.

  “Finally, I notice you are scheduled to speak at the awards banquet tonight on the subject of our brightest and most promising new literary stars. You will prominently feature Ms. Grey in your remarks. Appended to our proposed settlement agreement will be the following testimonial blurb that you will read during your remarks at the awards banquet tonight: ‘In her latest novel, Payback, which I have had the distinct pleasure of reading, Ms. Wynonna Grey demonstrates why she is perhaps one of our fastest rising stars. Payback soars from the first page to the last, with well-developed characters and a story plot that will keep you up reading all night with the lights on.’ You will also take that occasion to announce your own retirement as an officer and director of TITO and to state what an honor it has been to serve, but that you now want to spend more time with your family and on other pursuits.

  “It remains to be seen, Mr. Connor, whether I will ever be able to write a novel. At the risk, however, of a little self-aggrandizement, I believe I can write a respectable settlement agreement. Mr. Lotello will bring you several counterpart copies of the agreement within the hour, all signed by Ms. Grey. If you elect to sign and return all but one of the copies to Mr. Lotello, he will leave with you one copy signed by Ms. Grey for your records. As an experienced lawyer, I’m sure you understand the drill. If you sign, we will look forward to your comments this evening and will leave you be. If you do not, however, I have managed to reserve a few moments on the program this evening to address the audience from the lectern with some choice words of my own. I hope that won’t be necessary because I’m really very shy.

  “I think that about covers it, Mr. Connor. I do want to let you have the last word, but you may want to think about whether you actually care to exercise it.” Brooks locked eyes with Connor, awaiting his response.

  Connor turned and walked out of the room without uttering a word.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  Day Five, 3:15 p.m.

  BROOKS READ THROUGH HIS crafted copy of the pending Grey-Connor settlement agreement. He was confident it would do the job, but he knew, from experience, it never hurt to have an extra pair of eyes read over an important document before it was consummated. It never ceases to amaze me how often people sign an agreement and only then scrutinize it. Once it’s too late. He assembled his unofficial board of editors to review it before he would ask Lotello to see to its execution: Lotello, because Brooks admired his different perspective; Leah, because having seen her defend Cliff Norman in his court and representing the 28th Amendment to the Constitution with him in the U.S. Supreme Court, he respected her keen legal skills; and Eloise, because she was, after all, his number one editor.

  “Come, come, don’t be shy, everyone,” Brooks said. “Speak up. We are short on time. What say you?”

  Leah tweaked a couple of sentences and also spotted a few typographical errors.

  “Gadzooks,” Brooks exclaimed. “How could I ever expect to become a novelist?”

  “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself,” Eloise retorted. “However, your vocabulary could stand a little updating if you are to become a respected novelist. Hmm, even if you are not, I daresay.”

  “I have just one observation,” Lotello said. “Given what Connor tried to do, and what I think he deserves under the circumstances, it seems to me that you are being awfully charitable to him.”

  “I think not,” Brooks responded. “Of course, I could have driven a harder bargain on Ms. Grey’s behalf, but I think that would have been unwise. Aside from the fact that Ms. Grey does not strike me as all that mean-spirited, if we backed Connor too far into the proverbial corner, he would have no choice but to fight. Better to leave him some room to survive and consummate the deal. I’m sure I speak for Leah in saying that, while we love a good fight, we have better ways to spend our time than on unnecessary litigation. Even though we would certainly win. At the end of the day, I think this is a very good
result for Ms. Grey. And Leah and me to boot. Who knows, we may take the time we save and try writing a novel.”

  Brooks printed out several copies of the final agreement on the printer that was included in their fancy suite and handed them to Lotello. Lotello took the hint. “I’ll get Wynonna’s signature on them and head over to Connor. Hopefully, he’ll recognize your generosity and sign as well. Just a question, first. How did you figure out that Robin Donnelly, the registrant in room 375—really room 357—was our killer? I was leaning toward Connor.”

  “Connor was the obvious choice,” Brooks said. “He kind of stuck out like a sore thumb. Connor is a low life—with no moral compass—but I just didn’t figure him for a killer.”

  “For sake of argument, I’ll give you that,” Lotello said. “But where did that get you?”

  “When Ramirez told us there was no room 375,” Brooks continued, “I made the lucky guess that the killer had sought to disguise his identity and throw us off the trail by changing room 357 to room 375.”

  “Lucky guess, or clever, but so what?”

  “Did you not just hear me emphasize the word ‘disguise’?”

  “I did. Sort of. But, again, so what?”

  Brooks wagged his index finger as he made another point. “That started me thinking about disguises. You’ll recall that I asked Ramirez to get us the name of the registrant in room 357 and when the room was booked. What did Ramirez report back?”

  “Connor was the registrant and had booked the room only a couple of days ago,” Lotello answered.

  “Exactly. Way too pat. My intuition told me Connor was being set up. Again, no moral scruples—and a bully—but not a killer, at least not in my opinion. Why did Connor all of a sudden need another room—and under a fictitious name, I might add—if he had theoretically found somewhere else to dispose of the bodies, and since he had already arranged a cost-free spot in the infirmary to park his insulin and syringes? Under a fictitious name, I might add. Given his modus operandi, I couldn’t see him registering room 357 in his own name. And, given that there were no vacancies in the hotel, how would he have known when room 357 suddenly became available? So, I asked Ramirez to find out for me who had booked the room before Connor. The answer was someone by the name of one Terrence Hawke. Who never seemed to check in or to run up any charges. Yoicks, the hunt was on!”