Scandalous Behavior

42

Stone was having lunch the following day when Dino called.

“How was your flight?”

“A piece of cake. I slept most of the way. Hey, listen, I got a call from the New York State cops this morning. They went into Dr. Don’s apartment with a search warrant yesterday and tore it up pretty good. They found the deeds to over eight hundred houses and apartments and eight hundred grand in cash in his safe, plus two handguns in the basement storage unit.”

“Wonderful,” Stone said.

“Not so wonderful. A slick lawyer named Theodore J. Saxon showed up, cited the Supreme Court ruling on guns, and they left empty-handed.”

“I’m sorry to hear it. One of Arthur Steele’s insurance companies insures all those residences, and Arthur sent the info to the director of the FBI yesterday. You might give the director a call and give him the location of the deeds.”

“Yeah, I can do that. What’s the deal with the deeds, anyway?”

“They apparently belong to Calhoun’s followers. It’s got to be some kind of scam.”

“No doubt. I’ll call the director right now.”

Agents June Craven and Donna Madison were holding a meeting in a conference room at FBI headquarters.

“The director got word this morning that Dr. Don has the deeds to all those houses in a safe in his New York apartment.”

An agent held up a document. “I got one of the owners to fax me his contract,” he said. “What Dr. Don did is pretty smart: he refinanced all those houses and paid off the old mortgages. Since most of these people are in their fifties and sixties, they have a lot of equity, and if any of them leave the Chosen Few or displease Dr. Don, he can foreclose and they forfeit their equity.”

“That can’t be legal,” Craven said.

“Don’t be so sure. There’s no evidence of duress, the property owners did it because they hold Dr. Don in high esteem.”

“I’ve talked to a couple of dozen of these people, and I’ve found six who are disenchanted but are afraid to leave the cult, for fear of the wrath of Dr. Don.”

“Sounds like the basis for a class-action suit,” Madison said.

“Yeah, but we’re not in that business.”

“I’ll bet we know a lawyer who’d be glad to take the case.”

“You have somebody in mind?” Craven asked.

“There’s this New York attorney called Stone Barrington, who’s with Woodman & Weld. His son, Peter Barrington, is the director of Hell’s Bells. How about I put a flea in his ear?”

“I can’t think of anything wrong with that,” Craven said.

“I’ve got his cell number,” Madison replied.

Stone hung up his phone and called Herbie Fisher at Woodman & Weld, in New York.

“Hey, Stone, you still in England?”

“I may never come back. I’ve got some business for the firm, though, and I think you’re just the guy to handle it.” He took Herbie through the saga of Dr. Don.

“Yeah, I saw the movie — loved it.”

“I’ll tell Peter. I’ve got a list of six disaffected members of the Chosen Few who want their houses back.” Stone read him the list. “Call them and see if they’d like to sign on to a class-action suit, and if all of them don’t want to do it, Arthur Steele has a list of all of them, and you’ll have to start cold-calling them.”

“I’m on it,” Herbie said.

“You and I will co-represent,” Stone said. “I want my name on the suit, so Dr. Don will know I’m not through with him.”

“No problem. Call me for lunch when you get back, if you ever do. I’m buying.” Herbie hung up.

Stone called Dino and told him what was afoot.

“Oh, yeah, I like the sound of that,” Dino said, chuckling.

“See if you can think of a few other ways to rattle Dr. Don’s cage.”

“I’ll plumb the depths of my devious mind.”

“It would be interesting to know if Dr. Don has an automobile in New York City.”

“I’ll bet he does.”

“Maybe he has a few unpaid parking tickets?”

“Could be.”

“Then you could introduce Dr. Don to the intricacies of recovering a towed vehicle from the city pound.”

“I’ll bet that would take up a day or two of his time.”

“Let’s find out.”

Back at Dr. Don’s apartment, he and his wife were cleaning up after the cops when he found a fistful of paper. “What the hell are these?” he demanded, showing them to Cheree.

“Oh,” she said, “those are just parking tickets. They’re years behind on collecting — don’t worry about it.”