Melancholy Baby

54

Corsetti and I went like hell down to Hudson Street, the next afternoon, to meet with Harvey Delk in his lawyer’s office, on the third floor of a big office building near Canal Street. We sat in a conference room opposite Delk and his wife, with a dandy view of the Holland Tunnel entrance. There was fresh fruit on a platter, and cookies, and a selection of sparkling waters.

Delk’s lawyer was a smallish red-haired woman with bold eyes. Her name was Doris Katz.

“Coffee?” she said.

“You bet,” Corsetti said. “Got to get my heart started.”

He smiled at her. She smiled back automatically. I could almost see her mind form the word “jerk.” The rest of us all wanted coffee, too. Doris went to a side table, picked up the phone, spoke a few words, hung up, and sat down again. I admired the black wool suit she was wearing.

“It’ll be in shortly,” she said. “Now, just to be sure we’re all on the same page, you are Detective Eugene Corsetti?”

“NYPD,” Corsetti said.

“May I look at your badge?”

“You bet,” Corsetti said, and produced it.

Doris examined it and handed it back.

“And you are?” she said to me.

“Sunny Randall,” I said. “My real first name is Sonya, but I dislike it.”

“And you’re a detective, too?”

“Private,” I said.

“Ah,” Doris said, “I’m not sure we knew that.”

“Now you do,” I said, and smiled very sweetly.

“Do you have some identification, Ms. Randall?”

I took my license from my purse and gave it to her. She looked at it carefully and handed it back.

“Boston,” she said. “Detective Corsetti, did you lead Ms. Fishbein to believe that Ms. Randall was a police officer.”

“Oh, no, ma’am. That’s unethical.”

“But you didn’t specifically identify her as a private detective.”

“Gee,” Corsetti said, “I don’t think so. We were just talking to Ms. Fishbein. I mean, you know, have you actually told us you’re a lawyer?”

I could see her mind begin to reexamine the word “jerk.” A young man with long, wavy blond hair came in with a tray and passed out cups and spoons and napkins. He put a large coffee carafe on the table and a pitcher of milk and a bowl of sugar and sugar substitute. Doris poured coffee for us all.

When she finished, she said, “We’ll put Ms. Randall’s identity aside, for now, though should circumstance warrant, I can revisit it.”

Corsetti nodded eagerly.

“Sure,” he said.

“Is my client the object of a criminal investigation,” she said.

“Your client being Mr. Delk?” Corsetti said.

Doris looked annoyed.

“Obviously,” she said.

“Not Ms. Fishbein?” Corsetti said.

“Both are my clients,” Doris said. “Are they under investigation.”

“Sure,” Corsetti said.

“Tell me about it,” Doris said.

“A series of wire transfers from a purported charitable organization were authorized with the signature ‘July Fishbein.’ ”

“So?”

“The contributions figure in a murder investigation, and Ms. Fishbein denies any knowledge of the transactions.”

“So?” Doris said. “Why isn’t that sufficient?”

“Well, Ms. Fishbein is on the board of Bright Flower,” Corsetti said.

“I...” July started to speak.

Doris motioned for her to be quiet.

“Which seemed to come as a surprise to her,” Corsetti said. “And which me and Sonya, here, found sorta puzzling, too.”

“How so,” Doris said.

Corsetti looked at me.

“Your turn,” he said.

“If Ms. Fishbein is on the board and did authorize the wire transfers, then why is she lying about them?” I said. “And if she’s not on the board, and didn’t authorize the wire transfers, then how did her name get on the board, and who did authorize the wire transfers?”

“You have support for this?” Doris said.

Corsetti took a manila folder out of his briefcase and slid it across the conference table to her. She studied the contents carefully. I drank some coffee. Corsetti stirred his noisily. I could tell that it irritated Doris Katz. She took a long time, reading everything. When she was through reading, she pushed the folder back across the table to Corsetti.

“Do you have a theory?” she said.

“Well, Sonya and I been thinking about it,” Corsetti said, “and it seems to us likely that her husband used her name on the board of directors, and signed the wire transfers. Husbands and wives often have that kind of common-identity thing.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Harvey said.

“Harvey, please,” Doris said.

She looked thoughtfully at both of us.

“Why would he do that?” she said.

“Because he works for Lolly Drake,” I said. “And every time we go around a corner in this case, there she is.”

“Other than that sort of sequential coincidence,” Doris said, “have you anything concrete to implicate either my clients or Ms. Drake?”

“All the other women on the board of Bright Flower have husbands who work for Lolly Drake,” I said.

Doris paused for a moment. Then she said, “My question stands. Is there anything that proves anything?”

“Not yet,” Corsetti said.

“Then I suggest you leave my clients alone.”

“A handwriting analysis might firm things up a little,” Corsetti said.

Harvey Delk glanced at Doris. Doris ignored him.

“Handwriting analysis is an inexact science,” Doris said.

“Except when it clears your client,” Corsetti said. “We start pulling and tugging at this thing, and nothing good will come out of it for Mr. Delk or Ms. Fishbein or, for that matter, Lolly Drake.”

“My God,” Harvey Delk said. “You can’t...”

Doris cut him off with a hand gesture.

“Do you think either of my clients killed anyone?” Doris said.

“Jesus,” Harvey said.

“I doubt it,” Corsetti said.

“Then perhaps we have some room,” Doris said.

“Tell me,” Corsetti said.

“I’ll discuss it with my clients,” Doris said, “and get back to you.”

“Don’t take too long,” Corsetti said. “I don’t want to have to come in and cuff him on the set.”

“We will be expeditious,” Doris said. “And we won’t be intimidated.”

“You might be,” Corsetti said.