Fletch

6

“Fletcher, this is Jack Carradine. I tried to call you earlier, but apparently you were out to lunch.”

“I just ran upstairs to get bitten.”

“What?”

“I was in the cafeteria getting chewed out.”

“I have some information for you regarding Alan Stanwyk, but before I give it to you I’d like to know what you want it for. The financial department of this newspaper can’t be totally irresponsible.”

“Of course. I understand.” Fletch switched the telephone to his left ear and picked up a pen. “The truth is,” he lied, “we’re thinking we might do a feature story on who the most highly, I should say heavily, insured people are in this area and why they are so heavily insured.”

“Is Alan Stanwyk heavily insured?”

“Yes. Very heavily.”

“It stands to reason. He has a lot riding on his nose. Who is the beneficiary?”

“Wife and daughter, I believe.”

“I shouldn’t think they’d need the money. But since they hold a lot of stock in Collins Aviation, which he runs almost single-handedly, I suppose they would suffer at least a temporary loss upon his passing.”

“Right,” Fletcher drawled. “What have you got?”

“Well, as I just told you, he runs Collins Aviation. He’s the executive vice president—has been since he married his wife. His father-in-law is president and chairman of the board, but he really leaves the running of the company to Stanwyk. It is expected that within two or three years, once he gets a little age on him, he will be made president of Collins. His father-in-law is only in his late fifties but would rather sail his yacht and run tennis tournaments. He seems to trust Stanwyk completely.”

“How is the company doing?”

“Beautifully. The stock, what there is of it available, is high and solid. Never been higher, in fact. They declared a stock dividend last year. They’re considered a little weak in management, but that doesn’t matter so much when you have a man as young and as competent as Stanwyk running the show. And he does, absolutely. He’s a hard-working fellow. It is presumed that as his father-in-law’s executive team begins to retire in the next few years, Stanwyk will bring in his own fresh young team. It won’t be hard for him to do so, because he has made a point of knowing almost everybody in the industry.”

“Mind a stupid question?”

“I’m used to them.”

“What does Collins Aviation do?”

“They design and manufacture subsidiary parts for airplanes. In other words, they don’t make airplanes, but they might make the seats, or engine parts, or control panels, what have you. Without meaning to make a pun, they also have a satellite division that does the same thing for spacecraft. This latter division has grown terrifically under Stanwyk. Apparently he is an attractive, amiable, personable man who always seems to be able to get the right contract for his company at the right time. Someone said, ‘He’s firm, but he never presses.’ ”

“How much is a company like that worth?”

“To whom?”

“I mean, what is its net worth?”

“Well, Fletch, you don’t really know what you mean. Companies aren’t houses that have an approximate aggregate value. Companies are worth precisely what their stock is worth on the market at that moment. It has a considerable gross income, a nifty net return to the stockholders, a big payroll…”

“Gimme a figure.”

“If it were a house? If it were a house, Collins Aviation might be worth a half a billion.”

“Half a billion dollars?”

“Can you count that high?”

“Not even with my shoes off. Who owns it?”

“The Collins family—John, his wife and daughter—continue to own fifty-one per cent of the company.”

“Wow.”

“They are very rich. Of course, the stock is actually held in foundations and trusts and what-have-you, but it’s all John Collins when it comes time to vote. I must add that the Collins family, so you won’t think they’re complete dopes, have an amount equal to or greater than their investment in Collins Aviation invested through investment houses in Boston.”

“Phew. Why Boston?”

“You don’t know much, do you, Fletcher?”

“Not about money. I’ve seen so little of it.”

“Boston is the Switzerland of this hemisphere. It is chock-a-block full of quiet, conservative investment bankers.”

“I thought it was full of beans.”

“It is. Other people’s.”

“How do people get as rich as Collins?”

“If I knew, do you think I’d be sitting here? Collins is a Harvard graduate who started designing and making airplane equipment with his own hands in a rented garage on Fairbanks Avenue in the early 1930s. Patents led to capital. It’s easy. Go do it. Everybody says he’s a nice man, quiet, humble. He’s good to his friends. Most of the rest of Collins Aviation stock is held by friends of the family. They’re all as rich as lords. He’s made heavy contributions to Harvard College, the Cancer Fund, muscular dystrophy…”

“The Cancer Fund?”

“He’s given them something like a total of ten million dollars.”

“Recently?”

“Yes. Continuously.”

“I see.”

“Stanwyk is the perfect man to be Collins’s son-in-law, considering Collins doesn’t have a son of his own. Stanwyk is from a modest family in Pennsylvania. His father is in the hardware business.”

“Still alive?”

“I believe so. Why do you ask?”

“His parents didn’t come out to his wedding.”

“Probably couldn’t afford it. That would have been an expensive trip for them.”

“Stanwyk could have paid.”

“There could have been lots of reasons why his parents didn’t come to his wedding—ill health, business, cost—how do I know?”

“Go on.”

“A brilliant student all the way through, and apparently a nice kid. True blue. A Boy Scout; a Golden Gloves champion for the state of Pennsylvania who did not go on to the nationals for some reason; summa cum laude at Colgate, where he did not box but began to play racquet sports; an Air Force flier who flew lots of missions, currently a major in the Air Force Reserves; graduated third in his class from Wharton Business School, which, because you probably don’t know, is one of the best; came out here; worked in the sales department of Collins Aviation, where sales immediately jumped; became a vice president at twenty-six or twenty-seven; and married the boss’s daughter. Apparently just a magnificent young man in all ways.”

“He sounds machine-made.”

“Too good to be true, huh? There are people like that. Unquestionably the guy is ambitious, but there is nothing immoral in that. He’s done well and he’s well liked.”

“By the way, Jack, who is your source for all this?”

“I thought you’d never ask. The Collins family has a local stockbroker, an investment man out here who does just little things for them, you know, regarding Collins Aviation stock—little things that run into the millions—name of Bill Carmichael. We play golf together. Needless to say, Carmichael is the son of an old buddy of John Collins. His father died, and Carmichael fell heir to the account. He and Stanwyk have become close friends. Stanwyk has taken him flying. They play squash and tennis together. He genuinely likes Stanwyk. And, incidentally, he says Stanwyk genuinely likes his wife, Joan Collins, which ain’t always the case.”

“There is no hanky-panky going on?”

“Not as far as Carmichael knows. Between you and me, Stanwyk would have to be out of his mind to be playing around on the side under these circumstances. God knows what Papa would say if Stanwyk got thrown out of bed.”

“Does Stanwyk have any money of his own?”

“No, not to speak of. He has savings from his salary invested with Carmichael, but it doesn’t amount to much over a hundred thousand dollars.”

“Poor fellow.”

“He did not buy the house on Berman Street. She did, but it’s in both their names. Carmichael says it’s worth maybe a million dollars. However, Stanwyk maintains the house and staff, and supposedly all other family expenses, out of salary. Male chauvinist pride, I guess. Which is why he probably doesn’t have more savings out of salary. That’s an expensive family to keep up with. Incidentally, the house on Berman Street backs onto the Collins estate on, would you believe it, Collins Avenue?”

“Old John Collins has spyglasses.”

“I gather there is a lot of back and forth.”

“Doesn’t he own a second house anywhere?”

“No. His father-in-law has a house in Palm Springs, one in Aspen, and one in Antibes. The kids use these houses whenever they like.”

“Does he own his own airplane?”

“No. Collins Aviation has three Lear jets, with pilots, but Stanwyk flies them when he likes. He also has to do some flying to keep up his Air Force Reserve rank. And he flies experimental planes all over the country, supposedly to test Collins equipment. Carmichael suspects he just gets a kick out of it.

“Stanwyk is also the holder of some stock options in Collins Aviation. So I guess if you put everything together, he is probably a millionaire in his own right at this point, but it’s on paper. He couldn’t raise a million in cash without upsetting an awful lot of people.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, Fletcher. Stanwyk and his wife have just converted about three million dollars of her personal stock.”

“Converted?”

“Into cash. Carmichael says they intend to buy a cattle ranch in Nevada. He thinks it’s an effort to get out from under the heel of Daddy Collins—go do their own thing.”

“Is this Stanwyk’s idea?”

“Carmichael has the impression it’s her idea. At least, she’s the one who likes horses. One can have enough of tennis and yachting, you know.”

“I didn’t know. Why cash?”

“The ranch costs something like fifteen million dollars.”

“I can’t get used to these figures.”

“Inflation, my boy.”

“How can a farm be worth fifteen million dollars?”

“Farms can be worth a lot more than that.”

“Has Carmichael said anything to you about Stanwyk’s health?”

“No. Except that he’s a hell of a squash player. You have to be in pretty good shape to play that game. I tried it once. Twelve minutes and I was wiped out. Golf for me. Is there anything wrong with Stanwyk’s health?”

“Would it matter if there were?”

“It would matter a lot. I have already mentioned to you that there is a kind of middle-management crisis at Collins Aviation. The whole thing now rests on the shoulders of one Alan Stanwyk. Old John Collins could go back to work, I suppose, but he never was as good a businessman as Stanwyk. He was an inventor who had some luck. Collins now has to be run by a real pro—which Daddy John ain’t.”

“Would the stock market fall if word got around that Stanwyk was terminally ill?”

“Collins stock sure would. That sort of thing would be very upsetting to that company. Executive personnel would start jockeying for position. Some would leave outright. Things would have to be in a state of confusion for about as long as Stanwyk has been running the place.”

“I see. So if he were ill, I mean terminally ill, it would have to be kept a deep, dark secret.”

“Absolutely. Is he ill?”

“How would I know?”

“Oh, I forgot. You’re working on the insurance angle. Well, young Fletcher, I’ve told you everything I know about Alan Stanwyk. You see, we are not very close yet to the moneyless state you write about. There is still plenty of it around.”

“I guess so.”

“Stanwyk seems to be a competent, decent man who happened to marry the boss’s daughter. Okay? Mind if I go back and do my own work now?”

“I appreciate your help very much.”

“I’m just trying to prevent your writing one of your usual shitty pieces. Anything I could do would be worth that.”