The Confessors' Club

TWENTY-FIVE

The cell number Wendell had given me no longer worked. It must have been a disposable, discarded like me.

I mulled, but not for long. I owed Amanda an explanation for last night, and a warning about the cop who was likely to complicate her father’s life.

I called her cell phone six times in three hours and left no messages. She answered the seventh, angrily.

‘You dumped me,’ she said.

‘Your father had me thrown out.’

‘He said you stormed off.’

‘He accused me of calling the cops. One was just here.’

‘Why would you call the cops?’

‘I didn’t. You know I’d never rat out a client…’ I paused, a hypocrite, about to do just that. ‘It must have been someone else in the heavy cream who called-’

‘The heavy cream?’ she interrupted, almost shouting with impatience.

‘They’re the people who have risen to the very top, people like your father, who run Chicago. One of them must have gotten scared and called the Chicago police. Delray Delmar, a pup but earnest, caught the case, and came round to ask what I knew.’

‘Scared by what?’

‘Your father told you nothing last night?’

‘Only that you blew up and left. I tried to press him. He mumbled something about talking later and walked away. For the next hour, he kept himself surrounded by others. Obviously he was avoiding me, so I got one of the guards to drive me home.’ She paused for a moment, then said, ‘You could have waited out on the street, you know.’

‘I called you from outside, but your phone was switched off. Then I realized I’d been followed. It was safest to leave you with your father’s guards.’

‘You’re scaring me. Who was following you?’

‘Benno Barberi’s widow put a tail on me. She knows I’m chasing the case and doesn’t want to wait for information. I put a stop to it.’

‘Is Mrs Barberi frightened like my father? Benno died last year from a heart attack.’

‘Did you know Jim Whitman, or Grant Carson?’

‘Benno Barberi died of a heart attack, right?’

‘All signs point to that.’

‘And Mr Whitman and Mr Carson…?’ She stopped, understanding. ‘This is why my father hired bodyguards? He sees something sinister in their deaths?’

‘Yes.’

‘But Mr Whitman technically died of natural causes, though he may have swallowed too many pain killers. Mr Carson was hit by a car.’

‘There are wrinkles surrounding each death.’

‘I ask now for the third time: is my father in danger?’

‘He’ll be in less danger if he tells the cops what he knows. Do you know Arthur Lamm?’

‘Don’t change the subject.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Arthur is my father’s closest friend,’ she said. ‘He handles our corporate insurance, and my father has invested in a couple of Arthur’s real-estate ventures. Is Arthur in danger, too?’

‘He’s dropped from sight. He might have gone camping, or he might be evading the IRS.’

‘I heard a rumor about the IRS investigation, but Arthur wouldn’t run from that. He’s got lawyers and accountants to take care of such things. If he’s not around, it’s because he’s gone camping… Right, Dek?’

‘I’d like to be sure he’s gone camping.’

‘You believe my father’s not delusional, that someone’s out to kill the men in the… whatever.’

‘Heavy cream,’ I said, supplying the words. ‘Wendell won’t tell me what he knows. Young officer Delmar has better resources than mine, and he’ll find out what that is.’

‘This can’t be real,’ she said, but she said she’d talk to her father.

On the stoop, outside his bungalow, Leo went straight for a vein. ‘You, pass for a rich guy?’ He laughed.

‘Just for a night, maybe two. I’ll breeze up to Lamm’s fishing camp and see if I can sniff out his whereabouts.’

‘Because you think that’s something Lamm’s friends, family, Wendell’s previous investigator, the IRS, and most especially your new young cop friend haven’t been sharp enough to consider doing themselves?’

‘Because I don’t know what to think.’

‘Your cop is OK with you pursuing this on your own?’

‘I promised I’d report anything I find out.’

‘Meaning you’ll report anything that doesn’t incriminate Wendell.’

‘I’m sure he understands.’

A sly grin lit Leo’s face. ‘Merely driving my car won’t pass you as rich enough to be a friend of Lamm’s,’ he said. ‘You’ve got to have the threads, too.’ He touched the hem of his tropical shirt like he was caressing imperial silk. ‘Red parrots and yellow flowers on blue rayon are the true signs of affluence. They make you look wealthy enough to not give a damn.’

‘I want to look like I own the Porsche, not like I stole it.’

He sighed and handed over the keys.