Noble Chase: A Novel Page 6

  “How was the OEM course?” he asked her.

  “I learned some new defib techniques for that defibrillator we should have on board.”

  “I know you want one. How much is it?”

  “A couple of thousand, but we’ll get a discount on our liability insurance to help cover the cost.”

  “Let’s wait until we start getting in some charter deposits.”

  “That’s what I figured, but I did buy us a new suture kit to replace the old one. We needed some fresh injectables anyhow.”

  “You’re the medic.”

  “Oh, and I’m supposed to practice my technique this week. They lent me a hypodermic syringe. I can use your arm or buy a few oranges.”

  “My choice or yours?”

  “Let’s order lunch….”

  There was no menu, only a chalkboard to indicate what the owner, a buxom West Indian who called herself “Sister Margaret,” was in the mood to prepare that day. It was the off-season, and she greeted them like long-lost relatives. Maggie took their lunch orders and then went back to the kitchen area, separated from the dining terrace only by a counter. The smells of her cooking merged over the grill and crossed from the kitchen onto the terrace, permeating air already hot and humid from the midday sun.

  Max opened up the Tortola newspaper to see if the reward notice for Sindicator was still there. It was.

  “Andi,” he said, “did I ever tell you that Len Sloane owned a sailboat down in Guadeloupe?”

  “Maybe. I don’t remember. Why?”

  “Take a look at this ad in the paper. I sent the same ad to Beth last week.” He took off his glasses as he passed the newspaper across the table.

  Andi took the newspaper out of his hands. Looking at the ad did nothing to refresh her recollection. “It still doesn’t bring anything to mind. What makes you think he had a boat by that name?”

  “When I met him at the Christmas party last year, he was trying to impress me, so he told me about this big sailboat he had bought down in the Caribbean.”

  “So what’s that got to do with anything else?”

  “Well, what I remember most is liking the name he mentioned to me. He had named the boat Sindicator. You know the good memory I have for boat names.”

  “So what about it?”

  “Beth wrote me about it on Sunday. She’s a little curious that a boat with that name was stolen at about the same time that Len and Erica drowned.”

  “One thing has nothing to do with the other.”

  “It may. It may not. Suppose the stolen boat was Len’s?”

  “And suppose it wasn’t?”

  “Look, I know you don’t like to talk about it, but just suppose it was his boat. That would be some coincidence, wouldn’t it?”

  “You shouldn’t have sent the ad to Beth in the first place. Boats get stolen down in the Caribbean all the time, usually by smugglers who sink them after one run.”

  “Right, and there must be a number of boats around with the name Sindicator, but suppose this particular one was Sloane’s?”

  “What are you getting at?” Andi didn’t enjoy thinking about the Paramount matter.

  “Nothing.” Max totally changed pace. “I just think Beth is right. It is interesting. Right, Maggie?” He addressed that question to Sister Margaret, who had started unloading a tray of food at their table. She obviously had no idea what they were talking about, but that had never bothered her.

  “Whatever you say, Mr. Swahn, I’m sure is right.” Maggie finished unloading and left the two of them to eat.

  Max anointed his hamburger and fries with ketchup and proceeded to eat. Andi started on her salad. There was the usual amount of picking and sharing between them.

  “The silence is deafening,” she said. “What’s going on in that mind of yours?”

  “Want some more of my french fries?”

  “I’m not talking about your french fries.”

  “Want another bite of my hamburger?” He passed it over to her, but she shook her head in refusal.

  “I’m talking about Sloane.”

  “Beth asked me to call Gold Coast. I’m going to call them after we finish with lunch.”

  “Why?” She was losing her appetite rapidly.

  “Because Beth and I want to know if it’s the same boat.”

  “Sloane’s dead. The matter’s dead….Please, Max.”

  “What’s one little phone call? It’ll take me a second.”

  “You know, Max, I love you, but sometimes you’re a pain in the butt.”

  “Yes, dear. Got a couple of quarters?” He got up from his chair as Andi opened her pocketbook.

  “I really wish you wouldn’t do this.” She was already resigned, however.

  Max took a final mouthful of his drink and went over to the pay phone by the counter. After three attempts at calling Guadeloupe, he was connected with Gold Coast Charter. The agent at the other end answered with a heavy island accent.

  As soon as Max explained to him that he was interested in the reward advertisement, the agent was eager to tell all that he knew. He said they had been running the ad for about a month. After a few minutes of conversation, Max thanked him and hung up the phone. He felt Andi’s eyes boring into his back, so he turned around quickly and returned to the table.

  “So?” she asked as he sat down across from her.

  “This is going to knock your socks off.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “The stolen boat wasn’t owned by Sloane.”

  “See, I told you so,” she said, feeling relieved.

  “The boat was owned by Paramount Equities,” he said triumphantly.

  “No way.” The feeling of relief quickly passed.

  “Way!”

  “Holy shit!”

  “You know what I think?” he asked.

  “No, but you’re about to tell me, right?”

  “Right. If the weather’s nice tomorrow, let’s sail over to Puerto Rico. We can spend a few days there. Do some shopping. See a movie.”

  “Why?” Her antennae were up.

  “Beth asked me to talk to the guy who chartered the fishing boat to Len and Erica. She also wants me to talk to the Coast Guard. Come on, it’ll give us something to do.”

  “We have plenty to do. Our own charter season is almost here.”

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you one other thing….”

  “How would you like me to stick a hypodermic needle up your north forty?”

  “Wait until I tell Beth this one. It seems that a couple of Chinese were on Guadeloupe to see the guy from Gold Coast Charter last week. They were asking about the same boat.”

  “You think it was Leung?”

  “Had to be.”

  “What’s the matter, Max? Things too dull around here?”

  Women of all sizes were in a feeding frenzy as they hunted voraciously through the racks in Bloomie’s lingerie department. Beth walked over to the nightgowns and started checking the racks, a mindless exercise that allowed her to concentrate on Sloane’s son. She had discovered Bob Talcourt’s existence Sunday when she accessed a database containing Sloane’s insurance records and found him named as a beneficiary on a life insurance policy. Tracking him down to the small radio station outside of Providence where he worked as an engineer hadn’t been too much of a problem. Now, she wanted to meet him. She was absorbed in thought and didn’t notice Amy come over.

  “Jesus, where the hell are you?” Amy asked. “You look like you’re a million miles away from here. Do you know you have a size eighteen flannel nightie in your hands? It’d fit you and me together.”

  “I was thinking about that Paramount case.”

  “I thought the bad guys drowned.”

  “That’s what I thought, but I got an email from my dad this afternoon. Len Sloane may still be alive.”

  “Oh, great! What makes him think he’s still alive?”

  “Something he found out in Puerto Rico yesterday. If Sloane is alive
, I want to personally cut his balls off. I owe him.”

  “I know the hell he’s put you through,” Amy said sympathetically, “but what can you really do? He drowned.”

  “I found out he had a son. Uses his mother’s maiden name. The guy dropped out of MIT, of all places, to join the Peace Corps, and now works for some radio station in Rhode Island.”

  “He sounds interesting.”

  “I know, doesn’t he? Now the problem is the best way to approach the guy. Got any brilliant ideas?”

  “No, but I’ll tell you what. When we get over to your place, we’ll nuke a few frozen dinners and discuss strategy over a bottle of Beaujolais.”

  “You’re on. Did you pay for the bras already?”

  “Yeah, while you were daydreaming here among the nightgowns. I’m all set.”

  “Let’s go, then.”

  It was only a short walk over to Beth’s apartment on Sixty-third Street. Once inside the apartment, they took off their coats, opened a bottle of wine, and sat down to enjoy a glass while waiting for their dinners to cook. “This new couch is so beautiful,” Amy said. “And the mirrors make the room look huge.”

  “Thanks. I love the way it’s shaping up.” Beth had moved in after breaking up with Brian and spending weeks trooping around Manhattan, looking for a one-bedroom apartment she liked and could afford. This one came complete with high ceilings and wainscoting plus views of the East River.

  “The place looks like a home at last.”

  “And not like a dorm, you mean.”

  “Well, it did, you know.”

  “I owe it all to winning that Paramount case.” She kicked her sneakers off and stretched herself out on the oversize club chair.

  “So anyhow, what are you going to do about meeting that guy?” Amy asked, turning on the television set.

  “I don’t know. I’ll think of something.”

  “How about the direct approach?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Follow him after work. Find out where he goes at night. Meet him there and get him to pick you up. Men are suckers for that.”

  “Oh, great idea. Really great. Talk about looking for Mr. Goodbar.”

  The bell on the microwave went off, interrupting the conversation, and Beth went into the kitchen to take out the two meals. She put them on plates and carried them into the living room, where she handed one to Amy sitting on the chair and sat on the couch with the other.

  “Where does he live?” Amy asked.

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Why not try telephone information for the area?”

  “Don’t you think I tried that first?”

  “How about calling the personnel office at the radio station where he works and giving them some bullshit story like you’re calling from a doctor’s office about some major medical benefits. They must get calls like that all the time.”

  “It’s too small an outfit. They don’t have a personnel office.”

  “Then why don’t you take a trip out there. Go to the station. Tell him you’re there about his father’s life insurance. That’ll get his attention.”

  “You’re not suggesting I tell him the truth, are you?”

  “No, of course not. That’s ridiculous.”

  “So what do I do?” Beth asked.

  “I’m all thought out and the wine is finished. Come on, I’ll help you clean up and then I’m going home.” Amy got out of her chair and collected the few dishes. Beth picked up the glasses and followed her to the dishwasher.

  “You know what?” Beth said.

  “What?”

  “I’m making this whole thing too complicated. I could never pull off one of these phony approaches. It’s just not my style.”

  “Got a better idea?”

  “Yes. Keep it as close to the truth as possible. I’m going to go pay a condolence call. What could be more natural and plausible? His father’s lawyer coming to pay her respects.”

  “And traveling all the way to Providence, Rhode Island, just because a client died?”

  “I’ll tell him I had a deposition to take in town….As a matter of fact, I really could set one up,” Beth said.

  “How come?”

  “We do have a lawsuit up in Providence. Instead of dragging a witness to New York, I’ll go there. It’s easy!”

  “What then?” Amy asked.

  “If Talcourt doesn’t know anything and believes his father is dead, nothing. I made a trip out to Rhode Island for nothing. Big deal.”

  “Do you think he’s going to tell you if he does know something? Break down in tears and confess to it all?”

  “Of course not. But you know what? If I get the feeling that he does know something about his father being alive, I’ll find a way to get it out of him. This means too much to me.”

  “Wait a minute. You’re talking funny.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Beth, we’ve been friends since junior high. This isn’t some loss at a softball game you want to avenge. You’re scaring me.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about. All I want to do is meet the son. How can I get into trouble with that?”

  “Let me count the ways….”

  “You sound just like my mother and my boss.”

  “Two people I’ve always admired.”

  Beth opened up the attaché case and put the Henshaw folder inside. Max had bought her the brown leather case when she passed the New York State bar exam three years ago. She carried it around like a badge of honor and treasured each new scratch as a scar earned in battle.

  Just when Carmen buzzed to let her know that the car for LaGuardia would be downstairs in fifteen minutes, Clifford’s secretary stuck her head into the office. “Beth,” she said, “Mr. Giles would like to see y’all before y’all leave.”

  “Sure, Constance,” she replied. “Tell him I’ll be right there.”

  As Beth entered Clifford’s office, she saw him sitting behind his desk, puffing away on a cold pipe, head buried in concentration among piles of papers. “You wanted to see me?” Beth asked.

  Giles picked up his head at the question. He coughed several times and then cleared his throat. “Yes, just for a second. I was looking at the office calendar. Why are you going to Providence today?”

  “We have a deposition scheduled there for two this afternoon in the Henshaw case.” She stood in front of his desk, not bothering to sit down for what she hoped would be a brief conversation.

  “I can see that, but why? It’s a small trademark infringement case and the client doesn’t like to pay for this kind of travel. Aren’t we entitled to depose the witness here at our office?”

  “Yes, but the attorney for the witness told me his client was too sick to travel here and I didn’t want to postpone the deposition for another month. Discovery in this case has to be completed very soon and I don’t want to ask Judge Van Platten for an extension of time. You know how sticky he can get.”

  “But you had a valid excuse here,” Clifford said, suddenly experiencing another spell of coughing, this time needing to use his handkerchief.

  “I’m sorry, but I thought it was the best way to handle it.” She tried to end the discussion quickly by making it her judgment call, but could see that he was far from satisfied with her answer. She probably wouldn’t have been satisfied either if she were sitting on his side of the desk.

  “Well, it’s too late to do anything about it now. Why did you set it up for two p.m.? What are you going to do if you can’t finish today?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll finish. The lawyer said his client is more alert in the afternoon and he promised he’d let me continue today until I finished.”

  “Better take a toothbrush. You know what those kinds of promises are worth. Call me if you’re going to stay over.”

  “Right. I’d better run. My car’s probably downstairs already.” Beth turned to leave the office.

  “Good luck.”

  “Thanks. I’ll s
peak to you later.” She turned to leave. “Do you want me to leave you some cough drops? They’re right here in my bag.”

  “No thanks. I’ll be fine.” Clifford had already returned his attention to the file on his desk as Beth left the room. He made a note on his diary to bring up the matter of unnecessary travel at the next firm meeting.

  Beth walked out of Clifford’s office and into her own. She put on her camel-hair coat, grabbed her attaché case and the shoulder bag containing her clean underwear and extra makeup. She stopped by Carmen’s desk on her way out to the elevator.

  “I’m going. See you tomorrow.”

  “Okay, Beth. Have a good trip.”

  “Try to finish the Leipzig brief before you go home tonight.”

  “I’ll give it a shot.”

  “Thanks.”

  Her car was waiting out front when she got downstairs. The plane to Providence boarded early and took off on time with less than half of its seats occupied. Beth used the hour flight time to review the Henshaw case for the deposition. It didn’t take long. Clifford was right. It wasn’t a complicated matter.

  She felt guilty for scheduling the deposition in Providence instead of New York and guilty for having lied about it to Clifford. She was, however, finally on the way to her confrontation with Sloane’s son. The anticipation dominated her thoughts. The Henshaw deposition was only the rationalization and the excuse.

  She put her file away and let her thoughts drift back again to Talcourt. In her mind, she went over the questions she would ask him. She mentally anticipated his answers and went on to new questions.

  She had thought about calling him first but had discarded the idea, afraid that any advance notice would give him time to think up excuses for not seeing her. She did, however, call the radio station anonymously to make sure he’d be there. They said he finished his shift every evening at six p.m. Fine, she thought, that would give her plenty of time to finish the Henshaw deposition and get over to the station.

  The plane landed on schedule at T. F. Green Airport and Beth went to the Avis desk to pick up the car Carmen had reserved for her. She drove out of the airport onto I-95 and was downtown in Larry Coopersmith’s office on South Main Street by one forty-five p.m.