The Final Detail
Page 26
desk with his fingers. For him, this was major agitation. Hard to believe, but for the first time Win actually appeared a touch unnerved. "I have three law firms and two publicity firms working on the matter," he continued.
"Working on it how?"
"The usual," Win said. "Calling in political favors, preparing a lawsuit against the Bergen County DA's office for libel and slander, planting positive spins in the media, seeing what judges will be running for reelection."
"In other words," Myron said, "who can you pay off."
Win shrugged. "You say tomato, I say tomahto."
"The files haven't been subpoenaed yet?"
"No. I plan on quashing the possibility before any judge even thinks of issuing them."
"So maybe we should take the offensive."
Win resteepled. His big mahogany desk was polished to the point where his reflection was near-mirror clear, like something out of an old dish detergent commercial where a housewife gets waaaaay too excited about seeing herself in a dinner plate. "I'm listening."
He recounted his conversation with Bonnie Haid. The red phone on Win's credenza-his Batphone, so enamored with the old Adam West vehicle that he actually kept it under what looked like a glass cake cover-interrupted him several times. Win had to take the calls. They were mostly from attorneys. Myron could hear the lawyerly panic travel through the earpiece and all the way across the desk. Understandable. Windsor Home Lockwood?? was not the kind of guy you wanted to disappoint.
Win remained calm. His end of the conversation could basically be broken down into two words: How. And much.
When Myron finished, Win said, "Let's make a list." He didn't reach for a pen. Neither did Myron. "One, we need Clu's phone records."
"He was staying at an apartment in Fort Lee," Myron said.
"The murder scene."
"Right. Clu and Bonnie rented the apartment when he first got traded in May." To the Yankees. A huge deal that gave Clu, an aging veteran, one last chance to squander. "They moved into the house in Tenafly in July, but the apartment's lease ran for another six months. So when Bonnie threw him out, that's where he ended up."
"You have the address?" Win asked.
"Yep."
"Fine then."
"Send the records down to Big Cyndi. I'll have her check through it."
Getting a phone record was frighteningly easy. Don't believe it? Open your local yellow pages. Choose a private investigator at random. Offer to pay him or her two grand for anyone's monthly phone bill. Some will simply say yes, but most will try to up you to three thousand, half the fee going to whatever phone company minion they bribe.
Myron said, "We also need to check out Clu's credit cards, his checkbook, ATM, whatever, see what he's been up to lately."
Win nodded. In Clu's case, this would be doubly easy. His entire financial portfolio was held by Loek-Horne Securities. Win had set up a separate management account for Clu so that he could manage his finances easier. It included a Visa debit card, electronic payments of monthly bills, and a checkbook.
"We also need to find this mystery girlfriend," Myron said.
"Shouldn't be too difficult," Win said.
"No."
"And as you suggested earlier, our old fraternity brother Billy Lee Palms might know something."
"We can track him down," Myron said.
Win raised a finger, "One thing."
"I'm listening."
"You will have to do the majority of the legwork on your own."
"Why's that?"
"I have a business to run."
"So do I," Myron said.
"You lose your business, you hurt two people."
"Three," Myron corrected. "You forgot Big Cyndi."
"No. I am speaking of Big Cyndi and Esperanza. I left you out for all the obvious reasons. Again if you require the prerequisite cliche, please choose one of the following: You made your bed, now lie in it-"
"I get the point," Myron interrupted. "But I still have a business to protect. For their sakes, if not my own."
"No question." Win motioned toward the trenches. "But at the risk of sounding melodramatic, I am responsible for those people out there. For their jobs and financial security. They have families and mortgages and tuition payments." He pierced Myron with the ice blues. "That's not something I take lightly."
"I know."
Win leaned back. "Fll stay involved, of course. And again if my particular talents are needed-"
"Let's hope they aren't," Myron interrupted.
Win shrugged again. Then he said, "Funny, isn't it?"
"What?"
"We haven't even mentioned Esperanza in all this. Why do you think that is?"
"I don't know."
"Perhaps," Win said, "we have some doubt about her innocence."
"No."
Win arched the eyebrow but said nothing.
"I'm not just being emotional," Myron said. "I've been thinking about it."
"And?"
"And it makes
"Working on it how?"
"The usual," Win said. "Calling in political favors, preparing a lawsuit against the Bergen County DA's office for libel and slander, planting positive spins in the media, seeing what judges will be running for reelection."
"In other words," Myron said, "who can you pay off."
Win shrugged. "You say tomato, I say tomahto."
"The files haven't been subpoenaed yet?"
"No. I plan on quashing the possibility before any judge even thinks of issuing them."
"So maybe we should take the offensive."
Win resteepled. His big mahogany desk was polished to the point where his reflection was near-mirror clear, like something out of an old dish detergent commercial where a housewife gets waaaaay too excited about seeing herself in a dinner plate. "I'm listening."
He recounted his conversation with Bonnie Haid. The red phone on Win's credenza-his Batphone, so enamored with the old Adam West vehicle that he actually kept it under what looked like a glass cake cover-interrupted him several times. Win had to take the calls. They were mostly from attorneys. Myron could hear the lawyerly panic travel through the earpiece and all the way across the desk. Understandable. Windsor Home Lockwood?? was not the kind of guy you wanted to disappoint.
Win remained calm. His end of the conversation could basically be broken down into two words: How. And much.
When Myron finished, Win said, "Let's make a list." He didn't reach for a pen. Neither did Myron. "One, we need Clu's phone records."
"He was staying at an apartment in Fort Lee," Myron said.
"The murder scene."
"Right. Clu and Bonnie rented the apartment when he first got traded in May." To the Yankees. A huge deal that gave Clu, an aging veteran, one last chance to squander. "They moved into the house in Tenafly in July, but the apartment's lease ran for another six months. So when Bonnie threw him out, that's where he ended up."
"You have the address?" Win asked.
"Yep."
"Fine then."
"Send the records down to Big Cyndi. I'll have her check through it."
Getting a phone record was frighteningly easy. Don't believe it? Open your local yellow pages. Choose a private investigator at random. Offer to pay him or her two grand for anyone's monthly phone bill. Some will simply say yes, but most will try to up you to three thousand, half the fee going to whatever phone company minion they bribe.
Myron said, "We also need to check out Clu's credit cards, his checkbook, ATM, whatever, see what he's been up to lately."
Win nodded. In Clu's case, this would be doubly easy. His entire financial portfolio was held by Loek-Horne Securities. Win had set up a separate management account for Clu so that he could manage his finances easier. It included a Visa debit card, electronic payments of monthly bills, and a checkbook.
"We also need to find this mystery girlfriend," Myron said.
"Shouldn't be too difficult," Win said.
"No."
"And as you suggested earlier, our old fraternity brother Billy Lee Palms might know something."
"We can track him down," Myron said.
Win raised a finger, "One thing."
"I'm listening."
"You will have to do the majority of the legwork on your own."
"Why's that?"
"I have a business to run."
"So do I," Myron said.
"You lose your business, you hurt two people."
"Three," Myron corrected. "You forgot Big Cyndi."
"No. I am speaking of Big Cyndi and Esperanza. I left you out for all the obvious reasons. Again if you require the prerequisite cliche, please choose one of the following: You made your bed, now lie in it-"
"I get the point," Myron interrupted. "But I still have a business to protect. For their sakes, if not my own."
"No question." Win motioned toward the trenches. "But at the risk of sounding melodramatic, I am responsible for those people out there. For their jobs and financial security. They have families and mortgages and tuition payments." He pierced Myron with the ice blues. "That's not something I take lightly."
"I know."
Win leaned back. "Fll stay involved, of course. And again if my particular talents are needed-"
"Let's hope they aren't," Myron interrupted.
Win shrugged again. Then he said, "Funny, isn't it?"
"What?"
"We haven't even mentioned Esperanza in all this. Why do you think that is?"
"I don't know."
"Perhaps," Win said, "we have some doubt about her innocence."
"No."
Win arched the eyebrow but said nothing.
"I'm not just being emotional," Myron said. "I've been thinking about it."
"And?"
"And it makes
