“Vocabulary, dear,” Eloise interjected.
Brooks loved Eloise dearly, but he was on a roll. When he was, he didn’t have time for any dissenting views.
“And where did the name Terrence Hawke get you?” Lotello asked.
“The short answer is nowhere,” Brooks said. “I had no idea. But remember I was still thinking disguises. The killer disguised room 357. What else might he be disguising? With the assistance of Mr. Ramirez, I got my hands on an alphabetized copy of the Thriller Jubilee registration list. Long story short, after a lot of getting nowhere, there it was. It jumped right out at me. Robin Donnelly.”
“I still don’t get it. What jumped right out at you?” Lotello asked.
“The names, Detective, the names. It was right there.”
“What was right there?”
“Robin Donnelly. Terrence Hawke. Here, let me help you.” Brooks grabbed a pen and pad off the table and wrote the names in reverse order, saying them out loud as he did: “Terrence Hawke. Robin Donnelly.” He then wrote it out once more, this time omitting the “e” on “Hawke” and not bothering to repeat “Terrence” or “Donnelly.” The result: “Hawk. Robin.” He circled “Hawk” and “Robin.” And for good measure, he said: “Birds of a feather and all of that good stuff.”
Lotello smiled and said, as he picked up the copies of the settlement agreement and headed out the door, “On my way, tally-ho!”
Wonder if Eloise caught Frank’s “tally-ho.” I’m not the only one who talks that way. Unless Frank is picking on my language quirks too. Geez. Or might I say mashed potatoes, like my Aunt Gertrude used to say?
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
Day Five, 4:30 p.m.
LOTELLO RETURNED TO THE Brooks-Lotello suite and handed Brooks several copies of the agreement bearing the signatures of both Grey and Connor. “It was all very anti-climactic. All he said was, ‘You’re late. Hope you’re generally more trustworthy.’ He skimmed through the agreement, signed the several copies, kept one, handed the others back to me, and walked away without saying another word.”
“Walked away? Where did he go?” Brooks asked.
“Out. Down the hall. He just left me standing there. Maybe he thought he had a point to make, but I missed it. Of course, I didn’t get Hawke-Robin without some help either.”
“Connor wanted to have the last word, odd as it was,” Brooks said. “What did you do?”
“I closed the door and left.”
“Hmm,” Brooks laughed, “do you think Connor had his key with him? Otherwise, you locked him out of his room. You really are giving him a bad time. No matter, his problem.” Brooks put the several counterpart copies of the fully-signed agreement on the table, more than they might ever need, and then turned toward the door. “Good result, Detective. But come, a meeting awaits us.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY
Day Five, 4:45 p.m.
BROOKS AND LOTELLO FOUND Hart and Lewis awaiting their arrival in the Thriller Jubilee administrative offices. Lewis seemed anxious. Hart just smiled and stood there looking at Brooks, who thought to himself that Hart might well understand the rule that he who goes first loses.
“I know you have an awards banquet to run shortly,” Brooks said. “We’ll be brief.” He ran them through the entire Donnelly saga. “She confessed to all four murders: Lasko, Llewellyn, Simpson, and Enright. Their bodies are at the bottom of the bay, probably never to be recovered. Donnelly was actually bragging. We couldn’t shut her up.
“She had several objectives. One was to get even with Lasko, Llewellyn, and Simpson for rejecting her. She also blamed TITO and wanted to take it down as well. She predicted TITO would fail to be transparent like all of the other morally bankrupt corporate enterprises in the headlines these days, and that such lack of transparency would lead to its downfall.
“Another objective was a novel she wanted to set up that she had written under the pen name Terrence Hawke about a less than honorable writers’ organization. I hurriedly glanced through it as Frank was off running a chore. Ironically, in my humble opinion, it wasn’t half-bad. It was very creative. Too bad Donnelly is so seriously demented, unable to bypass her own demons and be a bit more patient until some agent might take a fancy to the manuscript.”
“What about Connor?” Hart asked. “I actually thought for a moment that he might be the killer.”
“So did I,” said Lotello. “But not so, as it turned out.”
“Suffice it to say,” Brooks cut in, “that Connor will probably be resigning from the TITO board in the immediate future. I don’t expect you’ll be seeing him around much, if at all, after this week.”
“That sounds mysterious,” Hart added. “Why are you being so circumspect? It doesn’t become you.”
“Alas, I know,” Brooks said sheepishly. “Would that we could say more, but we cannot. We represented Wynonna Grey in reaching a settlement agreement with Mr. Connor. A confidential settlement agreement. As her representatives, we are bound by her obligation not to say more. ‘Alas, I know. Would that we could say more, but we cannot’. I hope Frank will not report back to Eloise on my choice of words. Besides, what’s wrong with them? I like the way I talk. And write. I think my future readers will like my words too. I’m … different. That’s a good thing, isn’t it? Didn’t hurt William Shakespeare any.
“I have a question, Judge,” Lewis remarked. “What about Enright? What did Donnelly have against Enright? Enough so to kill him.”
“You have a registrant here this week by the name of Eileen Lonergan,” Brooks answered. “She’s a technology buff. Knows things I certainly can’t begin to fathom. One of the ways she makes a living is to develop websites for her clients, many of whom are authors. I met Ms. Lonergan because I am thinking of having her build a website for me. You know, in case I decide to become a novelist, although my wife, Eloise, may recommend that I choose a less dangerous profession than writing and promoting novels.” Have to remember to discuss with Eloise how we came to attend this Thriller Jubilee.
“It turns out that Ms. Lonergan previously built websites for Ms. Donnelly and for Mr. Enright,” Brooks continued. “I met Mr. Enright here at Thriller Jubilee. He was on our infamous list of five authors previously rejected by Ms. Lasko, Mr. Llewellyn, and Ms. Simpson, as was Ms. Donnelly. In the course of our investigation of Mr. Enright, I had occasion to ask Ms. Lonergan some questions about Mr. Enright.
“Using smartphone spyware, I believe Ms. Donnelly overheard a discussion I had with Ms. Lonergan in which we discussed Mr. Enright. In referring to Mr. Enright, who was on the short list of five suspects that also included Ms. Donnelly, I think she feared we might be closing in on her. Also in the market for one or more TITO outsider participants to kill in order to heighten TITO’s lack of transparency vulnerability, Ms. Donnelly decided to kill both Mr. Enright and Ms. Lonergan and tie up both of those loose ends. She succeeded in murdering Mr. Enright. Fortunately, Ms. Lonergan proved more resilient and survived Ms. Donnelly’s attempt on her life.”
“That brings me to another issue, Judge,” Hart said. “What about TITO’s exposure for its lack of transparency?”
“Good question, Mr. Hart. In addition to the prospect of a soiled reputation, I think TITO and its board of directors, have four sets of monetary exposure. First and foremost, to Mr. Enright’s estate. Second, to Ms. Lonergan. Third to Ms. Jackson’s invasion of privacy and slander claims. And, fourth, to the possibility of a class action brought on behalf of the two thousand or so outsider participants at Thriller Jubilee.”
“How do you advise that we deal with all of this?” Hart inquired.
“In reverse order, I think your exposure to the class action is nothing more than nuisance value. No harm, no foul. As for Mr. Enright’s estate and Ms. Lonergan, I generally advise that he who goes first loses, but in these cases, I might make an exception. Your board might want to consider reaching out to Mr. Enright’s heirs and to Ms. Lonergan and offering some kind of settlements. H
owever, before doing so, TITO needs to candidly and fully report all of this to its insurers. Please remember to be fully transparent and forthcoming in doing so. It will serve TITO and its directors and officers well. Hopefully, TITO’s insurers will take care of any payments to be paid. That’s why TITO pays its insurers the premiums it does.”
“And Jackson, did you forget her?” Hart asked.
“Hardly,” Brooks answered, painfully aware of his and Lotello’s contribution to that problem. “While Detective Lotello and I feel most embarrassed about the position Ms. Jackson is asserting, I think this must also be approached through your insurance carriers as a nuisance value issue.”
“Judge,” Hart said, “ordinarily I might be inclined to hold you and Detective Lotello accountable for Jackson’s demands, but that would be kind of cheesy given that you were only acting in TITO’s best interests. I may have come up with a way to dispose of Jackson.”
“Excuse me?” Brooks said. “Dispose of Jackson, did you say? Are you joining the ranks of Ms. Donnelly?”
“Every good author has to be a good editor, Your Honor,” Hart said. “Allow me to rephrase: to dispose of Jackson’s claims.”
“Please share.”
“Not yet. But you’ll be the second to know.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
Day Five, 8:00 p.m.
COCKTAILS BEHIND THEM, DINNER served, Cyrus and Eloise Brooks and their eight guests were seated at the Brooks table and were looking forward to a gala evening. Settled in together were Cyrus and Eloise Brooks, Frank Lotello and Leah Klein Lotello, the three saucy ladies—Petra Pappas, Allison Rutledge, and Eileen Lonergan—Wynonna Grey, and Mr. and Mrs. Diego Ramirez.
Brooks raised his glass. “To new friends and old and a sumptuous week of food and drink.”
“Hear, hear,” all at the table responded.
“I’m not sure I’ll be able to partake of another meal,” Brooks added.
“Somehow, I think you’ll rise to the occasion, dear,” Eloise said, “but we’ll keep working on it.” Others at the adjacent tables turned to the Brooks table to see what had caused the outburst of laughter. Brooks’s face reddened, but he offered up his best “What me?” look.
According to the evening’s program, the dessert dishes now cleared away, they were about to be favored with a bevy of entertainment. Moments before, Hart had come over to Brooks and handed him two single sheets of paper. “Just for your information. I’m not at all happy about this, but it works. One less battle to fight. It’s for a good cause, but I feel like such a whore.” He turned and headed for the dais and reclaimed his seat.
Brooks looked at the two pages, smiled, and handed them to Lotello.
“What’s this?” Lotello asked.
“Your redemption,” Brooks said. “The first sheet is a release, quote for consideration received, of any and all claims Jackson might have against TITO and any of its officers, directors, or agents. The reference to agents includes you and me. The second sheet is the consideration, a testimonial from Hart for Jackson and her pending novel. Emphasize pending. A testimonial from Hart, otherwise known in the industry as a ‘blurb,’ as I’ve learned this week, will sell oodles of Jackson’s new book.”
“But he didn’t know her until her name popped up on our list of suspects this week,” Lotello countered. “He couldn’t possibly have read the book, even if she gave him a draft of it here. How could he give her a blurb for something he hasn’t read? What if it isn’t any good? What if he doesn’t like it?
“That’s apparently how it works. You scratch my back, or your publisher’s back, and I’ll scratch yours. In this case, he has no need for a blurb from her, but the release she provided is another thing. I bet your back isn’t still itching.”
“Maybe not, but I’m not so sure about my conscience.”
“You’ll manage,” Brooks said. “So will I.”
Following the entertainment, which actually turned out to be surprisingly good, were of course the obligatory awards, toasts, and speeches. When it was Connor’s turn to announce the debut novelists of the year, he briefly commented on each of those who had been selected by the debut committee, which he had chaired.
When Connor came to the end of the list, he removed a sheet of notes from his suit pocket and asked everyone in the banquet room to stand. He said he wanted to address one more new author that the committee had not considered, Wynonna Grey. Connor’s remarks about all of the debut authors had been well received, but perhaps none more so than what he read from his notes about Grey, who managed to briefly rise up from her wheelchair to acknowledge the applause bestowed on her.
“In concluding,” Connor said, “I hope you will all allow me one bittersweet personal note before I surrender the microphone. It has been my pleasure to serve TITO and our writing community for many years. However, this will be my last TJ soirée. I have decided the time has come for me to devote more time to my family and to certain other opportunities I have neglected for all too long. All good things must come to an end. I bid you all adieu.” Connor sat down.
Hart quickly stood, took the microphone, and raised his glass. “May I ask everyone to please stand again and join with me in thanking Jonathan for his many years of service. We wish him all the best in his new endeavors, and hope he will favor us with his presence at future TJ events as his other commitments permit.”
Connor acknowledged Hart’s remarks with a wave of his hand.
Lotello leaned over and asked Brooks why he had stood and toasted Connor.
“First, because he honored his commitment. Second, because the man knew how to milk the room and the moment. Third, because I didn’t want to look conspicuous. And, fourth, because I figured I could use a little exercise to burn off our high calorie dessert.”
Lewis then took the microphone on the dais and went through the list of remaining annual TITO prizes and awards. The last award went to the author of the thriller novel of the year. The recipient of the award concluded her remarks with an obligatory if not gracious acknowledgment of TITO: “In accepting this singular award that I will forever remember, I especially want to thank and salute TITO for what it brings to the world of art and literature. And to raising the bar of honor and morality in this age as it does, when we so desperately need more in the way of such fine examples.” The room filled with applause. Sitting at the dais, the board joined in the applause but ever so faintly.
Brooks whispered to Lotello: “I bet that most of those in the room will mistake that lackluster reaction of the board for humility. Little do they know.”
Lotello nodded in affirmation.
Customarily the last to speak and adjourn the festivities for another year, much as the president of the IOC did from one Olympic Games to the next, President Hart chose his words carefully. “There is one more person to whom we owe a debt of gratitude and should not forget. I would like to ask Eileen Lonergan to please stand, and I would like to ask all of you to join me in raising your glasses to toast Eileen along with the others we have toasted this evening. Eileen is a very special person who made an incredible impact on Thriller Jubilee this year that few of you will ever know. Because Eileen would not have it any other way.” Hart was accepted at his word and glasses were raised throughout the ballroom.
“And now, let us stand adjourned,” Hart concluded, “until next year at Punta Maya. But, for those of you who are still thirsty, please join me at the bar.”
Eloise leaned over and gave Cyrus a kiss on the cheek and whispered in his ear, “After this week, I believe you have the making of a great novel you should be able to write.”
“I’m not sure who would believe it, but it doesn’t matter—I think it’s already been done.” As always, as it turned out, Cyrus Brooks was the one who had the last word.
EPILOGUE
One Week After
I’LL BE DAMNED. DIDN’T see this coming. Not at all. Hats off to Brooksie. Next time, I’ll just have to be a little more careful. May
be a lot more careful. But for this time around, guess I am going to be. Damned that is. For not being more careful. This time.
Well, not really all that damned. Even this time. I think Brooksie might have done me a favor, set me up to write my memoirs. Had already been thinking about doing that. I’ll probably have the time now. It’ll be an absolute bestseller. Can’t miss. Will finally attain all that fame I deserve. That’s so overdue.
Maybe I can even get Lasko to represent me. Oh, wait a minute. That’s right.
And all that practice with the syringes on the orange and watermelon. Maybe I should have thrown in some lemons. Haha! You know how that saying goes, turning lemons into lemonade. Even if that is a no-no cliché. See, I do know all that craft stuff.
Hmm, wonder if I can get a refund on the unused syringes and insulin?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
RON BARAK, Olympic athlete, law school honors graduate, experienced courtroom lawyer, is uniquely qualified to write this suspenseful novel that will appeal to all political and legal thriller aficionados. Ron and his wife, Barbie, and the four-legged members of their family reside in Pacific Palisades, California.
To learn about preorder availability, new book launches, and limited-time discounts, please connect with and follow Ron by visiting:
Brooks-Lotello Collection Page 96