Desperate Measures

33

Herb was let into a room containing two steel chairs and a table, all bolted to the floor. He sat down and tried to check his phone for messages, but there was no signal.

Five minutes later a guard opened the door, and a tall, slim young man with thinning dark hair and glasses entered the room. His handcuffs were removed and he shook Herb’s hand firmly. “I’m Michael Adams,” he said, then sat down.

“I’m Herb Fisher. Your grandfather has retained me to represent you.”

“He spoke to you directly?” Adams asked, sounding surprised.

“No, through your previous attorney, Ted Faber.”

“I’m glad he found you. Faber didn’t impress me.”

Herb was surprised at how calm and confident Adams seemed. In these circumstances, his clients were usually shaken and worried. “I’ve been told by Ted Faber that you’re willing to answer all the DA’s questions, in exchange for immunity from all charges.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Adams asked.

Herb smiled. “Of course, but I’m going to need to hear your story before I attempt to make that deal.”

“Okay, ask me whatever the DA will. This can be a rehearsal.”

“Let’s avoid that term and just call it a client interview.”

“Sure.”

“All right, Mike, give me your sixty-second biography, right up to this minute.”

“Born New York City twenty-nine years ago, educated at Buckley, had a shot at Yale, but didn’t make it there. Got my degree at Fordham.”

“Is your grandfather Catholic?”

“You guessed it.”

“And after Fordham?”

“I got into law school but left after a year.”

“What did you do for work?”

“My father got me a job at his commercial real estate firm, but it didn’t suit me. Neither did a couple of other things, but old Dad got me the night clerk gig at the hotel, which his firm owns. It suits me well. I can read and watch a lot of TV and, sometimes, work on my novel.”

“When did you begin?”

“A year and a half ago.”

“Any problems at work? You get along with your boss?”

“No problems. Everybody there works for my father’s firm, and my boss works days, so we don’t see each other that often.”

“When did you meet your two coworkers?”

“Sid Francis, the janitor, and Larry Cleary, the elevator operator?”

“Right.” Herb made a note of the names.

“They were already working there when I arrived. Nominally, I’m their boss; they’re night workers, too.”

“And who do you report to?”

“The assistant manager, Harmon Wheeler, Jr., who reports to the manager, Harmon Wheeler, Sr., who reports to my father’s firm.”

“And what were your first impressions of Sid, the janitor, and Larry, the elevator operator?”

“Slackers. They worked slowly, and they paid a lot of attention to the airline girls who stayed with us.”

“Flight attendants?”

“And pilots. They worked for a couple of charter airlines that had a deal with the hotel. Until recently.”

“What happened recently?”

“My dad’s firm decided to gut the hotel and remake it as something that would appeal more to business travelers, so the airline people looked for beds elsewhere.”

“How recently?”

“A few weeks ago. There’s very little business now because as their contracts expire, they aren’t renewed.”

“So Sid and Larry liked the girls.”

“They did and do. Their problem was the girls didn’t like them much. Their approaches tended to get rebuffed, so I guess they looked elsewhere.”

“With what result?”

“I noticed that Sid and Larry tended to disappear for an hour or two late at night — rarely together — one at a time. Sid would cover the elevator when Larry was gone.”

“Did you know where they went?”

“I assumed they were taking naps or watching porn in one of the vacant bedrooms. I found some videos in a room on the second floor once, when I was making my rounds.”

“How often did you make rounds?”

“When I felt like it, which was not often, but I got curious about where Sid and Larry were going, and I couldn’t catch them actually in a room. Then, last week, I noticed the door.”

“What door?”

“On the top floor. It’s a pull-down door to what I assumed was the attic.”

“Did you have a look up there?”

“Once. I found that you could get into the attic in the building next door from there.”

“Did you explore that further?”

“I intended to, but then, suddenly, the lobby was full of cops, and there were a lot of sirens outside. This was the night they found the girl in the dumpster.”

“How did you hear about that?”

“They arrested me, and the subject came up.”

“Did you withhold any information?”

“No. I told them about the attic door, and according to my attorney, that led them to the room the girl jumped from.”

“Did you refuse to answer any questions?”

“Not until I got the feeling they thought I was implicated, then I shut up and demanded an attorney. A firm, Littlejohn & Brown, that represents some of my grandfather’s interests, sent me Ted Faber. The only advice he gave me was to shut up, which I was already doing. Then he brought me an offer, five years, if I’d testify against Sid and Larry. I told him I wanted to walk on all charges, and then I’d talk to the DA.”

“Well, you sound like an ideal client, Mike. I understand you’re saying you’re innocent of all charges, is that right?”

“That’s right. I had absolutely nothing to do with harming those girls. I’m not put together that way.”

“All right, tell me what you’re going to tell the DA that will want her to make the deal.”

“I keep a journal, every day. I have lots of time every night.”

“And where is this journal?”

“In a safe place.”

“How long would it take for you to produce it?”

“As long as it takes for you to go get it from the safe place.”

“And how does the journal relate to the murders?”

“I noted the times when Sid and Larry disappeared. I expect that if you compare them to the dates the girls were murdered, you’ll get some matches.”

“That’s good, but I think we need a little more than that. Are you aware that a murder almost identical to the ones in New York occurred in Los Angeles almost simultaneously?”

“I was not aware of that, but Sid was in Los Angeles for a few days during that time. He took some vacation time to visit his mother, he said.”

“The name of the girl who jumped from the building is Faith Barnacle. Did you know her?”

“Sure, she was a pilot with a charter airline; she stayed there at least a dozen times, maybe more.”

“Did Sid or Larry pay any attention to her?”

“Yeah, it’s the old story: Sid tried to chat her up, but what girl wants to be chatted up by a guy who’s mopping the floor?”

“And you saw this happen?”

“I did, and Sid was plenty pissed off about it. I heard him call her a ‘fucking bitch,’ after she walked out of earshot.”

“How about Larry?”

“He was always pretty quiet. Sid did the talking to the girls.”

“Anything else, Mike?”

“Have you spoken to my grandfather?”

“No, he preferred to deal through Ted Faber.”

Adams snorted. “Yeah, he would. He’d want to keep his hands clean.”

“Mike,” Herb said, “let me give you some advice. Be grateful to your grandfather. He’s the one who’s ultimately going to get you this deal.”

“Okay, I understand. When will I get out?”

“Not for a while, but I think we can improve your circumstances. If they go for the deal, they’ll move you to a hotel, and you’ll probably be there until you testify.”

“Why?”

“Maybe Sid and Larry have other friends, who might take exception to you testifying.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.”

“One more thing, Mike. Where’s the diary?”

“It’s in my office, behind the front desk, in a small safe under the floorboards.”

“Haven’t the police already searched it?”

“Maybe, but they can be pretty perfunctory.”

“What’s the combination to the safe?”

Adams gave it to him.

“How do I locate the floorboards?”

“They’re under the document shredder.”

Herb gave Adams his card. “Call me if you need anything.”

“How soon will we know about the deal?”

“Soon,” Herb said. He shook Adams’s hand, then banged on the door and was let out.