CHAPTER 16
Tuesday dawned gray and cold. The headache was still with me. I couldn’t even remember if I’d joined Richard and Brenda for dinner the night before. The evening was just a blank.
My breakfast consisted of three pink tablets. For a while it seemed to quell the pounding. What kept me going was the thought of seeing Maggie again.
Richard called Ron Myers and begged a favor—an appointment for me at eleven. Since Myers was actively campaigning for Richard to deposit all his money with Bison Bank, he was more than happy to grant me an interview, hoping to solidify a deal.
Meanwhile, Brenda had scheduled an appointment for her and Richard to look at a clinic downtown. She was hot for them to volunteer their time and skills somewhere, but he didn’t seem enthusiastic. I couldn’t tell what was going on with him. What he said he wanted and what he really wanted seemed to be two different things.
I was putting on my shoes when Brenda ducked her head inside my door. “Phone call for you.”
“Female, I hope,” I said, thinking of Maggie.
“No such luck.”
Who the hell could be calling me?
I followed her into the kitchen, picked up the extension. “Hello.”
“What’s going on?” Sam Nielsen’s voice. “Suddenly you and your brother are suspects in the Sumner murder case.”
My mouth went dry. “How did you get this number?”
“Directory Assistance.”
“I’m not listed.”
“Your brother is. I remembered your face five minutes after you left my office yesterday. The geeky photographer on our school yearbook. You still play basketball?”
“Yeah. Tell me why we’re suspects.”
“More your brother. The rumor around Orchard Park PD is that you’re some kind of psychic.”
Holy Christ. Hayden hadn’t promised he wouldn’t talk about me. I’d just assumed . . . .
Nielsen was still speaking. “—that it was you who found Sumner’s body parts out in Holland. Possibly put them there. Do you want to comment?”
“No.”
“How about off the record?”
My hand tightened around the receiver. “Why should I believe you?”
“I protect my sources.”
I didn’t know what to say. I had to warn Richard. We needed to contact his attorney—cover our asses.
“Hayden seems to think you haven’t told him all you know,” Nielsen continued.
Maybe I should’ve told the cop more. Maybe— “What makes you think I’ll tell you?”
“Picture this headline: Psychic Finds Sumner Remains. That’s not the kind of information you want circulated, now is it?”
The pounding in my head increased. I’d been back in Richard’s life a couple of weeks and already I’d ruined it, just when he’d returned to Buffalo, getting ready to resume his career. “What’s this going to cost me?”
“Just information.”
“Like what?”
“You got a suspect for the murder?”
“Nothing concrete.”
“We could help each other.” He sounded sleazier than a Vegas lounge lizard.
“I don’t have enough facts to make an accusation.”
“We could work together to get the evidence. Come on, Jeff—we’re old high school buddies.”
“I remember you, too. You thought I was a geek, and now you want my cooperation?”
“My editor’s on my case. He wants a new angle—now,” Nielsen said.
I swallowed. To placate him, I’d have to throw him a tidbit. “Concentrate on Sumner’s former lovers.”
“You think a woman did that to him?”
“Doing the deed and responsibility for it aren’t necessarily the same thing.”
“Sounds like a long shot to me. Come on, Jeff—give me a name.”
“I can’t. Not yet.”
Nielsen was quiet for a few moments. “All right. I’ll give you a couple of days to think about that headline. How it could change your life. I’ll be in touch.”
The connection was broken.
I hung up the receiver, stared at the wall phone.
Richard ambled into the kitchen. “You about ready to go?”
I turned to face him, feeling shaky, and leaned against the counter for support.
He frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“Hayden told a reporter that we found Sumner’s remains. This guy, Nielsen, wants me to tell him what I suspect or he’ll go public that I’m a . . . that I can sense. . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Jesus,” he muttered.
“If we don’t leave now, we’re going to be late,” Brenda said as she entered the kitchen. She stopped, took in both our faces. “What’s wrong?”
“Maybe we should consult a lawyer.”
Richard nodded.
While he drove, I relayed the story to Brenda. By the time I finished, she looked as grim as I felt.
They dropped me off at the bank at ten fifty-five. Richard said to call him on his cell phone when I was ready to leave. I told him to just meet me outside the bank at one, after I had lunch with Maggie.
Speaking with Nielsen had shaken my confidence. I no longer felt up to talking with Myers, but I had an hour to kill before I was to meet Maggie. I reported in with the receptionist who’d greeted Richard and me the week before. She ushered me into Myers’s office.
I’d arrived right on time, but he was engaged in what turned out to be a lengthy phone call with an important client. He motioned me to sit and I took in his office as I waited. I tried not to think about screaming headlines in seventy-two-point type and studied the objects decorating Myers’s workspace. Several frames sat on his desk, but I couldn’t see the photographs. His office faced east, on the opposite side of the building from Sumner, with a view of more office buildings. Obviously he wasn’t as important as Matt Sumner had been.
Finally Myers hung up. “Sorry about that. How can I help you, Jeff?” His smile and enthusiastic handshake didn’t conceal his true motivation—to get his hands on more of Richard’s millions. He saw me as a means to an end. The feeling was mutual.
“I don’t know if my brother explained the situation, but I’m investigating Matt Sumner’s death.” The muscles along his jaw tightened at the mention of Sumner’s name. I’d definitely touched a nerve.
Myers said nothing.
“I understand the police have already spoken with you. Your name was on his calendar the day he died.”
“I never even saw him that day.” Myers stopped himself, as though afraid to offend me.
“I don’t think you had anything to do with his death,” I assured him. “I hoped you could tell me more about him.”
“Just what are your credentials, Mr. Resnick?”
I met his wary gaze. “I’m an insurance investigator.” And please don’t ask for proof, I mentally amended.
He didn’t, probably figuring a millionaire’s brother had no reason to lie.
Myers sat back in his chair, the strain around his eyes visibly relaxing.
“What do you want to know?”
“I’m getting conflicting pictures of him. He was a saint or a sinner, depending on who you talk to.”
“He was that. A saint and a sinner.”
“How so?”
He eyed me critically. “Look, whatever I tell you is in confidence, right?”
“Absolutely.”
He took a steadying breath. “Matt treated some of the staff like dirt. Particularly the women. He could be a real jerk. He had this way of making you feel like you were shit, and grinning all the while. He really turned on the charm with the clients. His smile, his manner with them was worth a million bucks. In fact, it was worth more than that to the bank.”
“I’m particularly interested in his relationship with the people at Walker Construction.”
“You mean Sharon Walker.” It wasn’t a question.
I nodded, surprised he knew her by name.
“Matt and I worked closely with the lawyers to pound out a settlement. Sharon and the company comptroller visited often during the bankruptcy proceedings.”
“What’s your impression of her?”
“Tough. She wore all the right clothes, but something about her didn’t fit the image she tried to project.”
“Was she overly friendly with Sumner?”
He shrugged. “Matt always had a woman on the side. I suppose she could’ve been one of them. I know he talked his son out of marrying her. If he had a relationship with her, he never said. He didn’t brag about those things, but everyone knew. Sometimes he’d show up with other women at company functions. He’d introduce them as clients. Claudia knew; she didn’t care. She had his money. That’s all that mattered.”
“What was his relationship with his children?”
“Rocky. The youngest was in rehab a couple of months ago. An alcoholic at sixteen.” He shook his head. “To be a success in this business, you have to put in one hundred and ten percent effort. Matt put in more. He sacrificed his family life for the job. But then my wife divorced me last year for the same reason. She took the kids and moved to Ohio. Now I’ve got nothing but this job.” Regret colored his voice.
“What about the charity work Sumner did?”
“Company-directed. I work with a camp for kids with cancer. Matt had United Way and leukemia. Sometimes we’re given three or four charities and we delegate. Those with the most seniority get the high-profile charities. The company looks good and it’s a tax write-off.”
I thought of Sumner’s glowing obituary and frowned; only P.R. after all.
“I understand Sumner went out of his way to help Walker Construction during the bankruptcy,” I said.
“He originally approved those loans. The deal we cut netted half the bank’s outlay, but we still lost millions. No, he didn’t go out of his way to help them.”
That conflicted with what Charlie Novak said, but it had a ring of truth. “Did he ever speak of Jackie?”
Myers shook his head. “Was she another girlfriend?”
“I don’t know.” I remembered something Maggie mentioned to me at the bar. “How about the guy he fired at Christmastime. Don . . . Don—”
“Don Feddar,” he supplied, and shook his head. “It’s too bad what happened to him. I’m not at liberty to discuss it, but you might want to speak to him yourself. He’s in the phone book.”
I nodded. Thanks to the ache in my head, I couldn’t think of anything else to ask. “You’ve been very helpful, Ron.”
“Your brother means a lot to this bank. If we could get our hands on all his money—”
I forced a laugh. “You’re an honest man. I’ll mention it to him, but I can’t guarantee anything.”
“I can’t ask for more.” He offered me his hand. “Let me know if I can do anything else for you.”
“As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t mind having a look at Sumner’s office. Just to get a feel for the man.”
He hesitated—seemed to weigh the value of pleasing me—then shrugged. “No problem.”
He led me down the hall to the office. Except for the furniture, the room was stripped. Maggie had done a good job of removing everything personal.
“I have a lunch meeting in a few minutes. You can just shut the door when you’re done,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“Let me know if I can be of any more help.” Myers shook my hand again before leaving.
I took in the bare walls. Although devoid of his possessions, there was still a lot of Matt Sumner left in the room—much more than there’d been in his own home.
Head pounding, I moved to the leather chair, sat down, and closed my eyes.
I wondered if those pills I’d been taking had lost their effectiveness. I reached into my jacket pocket and took out the prescription bottle. Three tablets remained. I took out two, choking them down without water.
A glance at my watch told me I had ten minutes before I was supposed to meet Maggie. I leaned back in the chair and looked out the window. A typical cloudy day in Buffalo. Years ago, the seemingly perpetual gray skies had depressed me; now they seemed familiar and I realized with some surprise I was starting to feel at home here again. Would I still feel that way if Nielsen made good his threat?
I couldn’t afford to waste the time Myers had given me and, straightening in the chair, I began my search. I opened the desk drawers. Empty. I went through the credenza—nothing there either. Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d missed something.
I checked under the couch cushions, and down the sides of the chairs. Nothing. I was about to give up when I thought to look under the desk. Bingo! Caught between the center drawer and the desk frame was a mangled envelope. With some careful maneuvering, I managed to extricate it. I sat in Sumner’s chair and smoothed the crumpled paper on the desk. The return address on the upper left-hand corner said Roche Biomedical Laboratories. It was empty, and was postmarked two days before the murder.
CHAPTER 17
A secretary gave me directions to Maggie’s office. She greeted me with a sunny smile that almost made me forget how crappy I felt. She had on a navy suit with a powder blue blouse, and the same gold chain around her neck. It made her look like a high-powered executive. Despite my own office attire, I felt like someone you might avoid on the street.