Death Of A Dream Maker (21 page)

Agent O'Conner was too enraptured to notice the
rebuke. He pushed a button almost fearfully and held the small
device up to his ear. He broke out in a smile as he heard, “Don't
you threaten me,” in a muffled but audible voice that was clearly
Auntie Lil's. Galvano's voice followed: the volume was faint, but
he was on the tape.

O'Conner's eyes widened. “It's here,” he said in an
awestruck whisper. He handed the recorder to Bobby. “See what you
can do with it. I need it by tonight.” He motioned for the driver
to start moving. “We can drop you off wherever you want,” he
offered. “I'll get back to you in a couple of days.”

“You'll what?” T.S. asked.

“Get back to you.” O'Conner was absently stroking his
beard, calculating the legal ramifications of Auntie Lil's hidden
tape recorder in his mind.

“No, you won't,” T.S. declared firmly. The van bumped
over a pothole, sending them jostling violently in the air. The
recorder flew from Bobby's hands and landed near Auntie Lil's left
foot. She snatched it up and exchanged a glance with her
nephew.

“You are not going to place my aunt's life in danger
and then simply discard her,” T.S. told the agent.

“That is correct,” Herbert added. Everyone turned to
stare. He had been so silent that his presence had been forgotten.
“If you do not discuss the implications of what has just happened
with us immediately, I will not testify.”

“Testify?” O'Conner asked slowly.

“Yes. Testify. I heard every word that was said,”
Herbert announced. “Unlike you, I was present at the proper
restaurant. I have total recall, let me assure you.” He coughed
modestly. “I even have a few photographs.” He held the camera out
of reach of the eager agent. “Not so fast, Mr. Agent O'Conner. I
agree with my friends. It is unseemly for you to dismiss us
abruptly. After all, we did do your work for you today.”

The agent looked at them one by one and sighed in
defeat at their determined expressions. “What's the deal?” he
asked.

“Information. Right now,” Auntie Lil demanded.

“Information about what?” he asked. “I can't reveal
anything that could compromise the investigation.”

“We won't ask you to,” Auntie Lil promised.

After Agent O'Conner reluctantly agreed, as she had
known he’d have to, Auntie Lil began to repeat parts of her
conversation with Galvano with occasional assistance from Herbert.
“Do you believe Galvano when he says he had nothing to do with the
murders?” she asked the agent when she was done.

O'Conner thought about it. “It's possible he's
telling the truth. If you want to take him literally. It's out of
character for him to blow up someone in such a public place and the
murder of the nephew was amateurish. But I would guess that he
knows more than he's saying about who may be responsible.”

Auntie Lil then explained about the arrangement
Galvano claimed to have struck with Davy Rosenbloom. “Could this be
tied in with V.J. Productions?” she asked the agent.

“Possibly,” he admitted. “Galvano would never advance
money unless he knew he was getting it back. V.J. could be that
mechanism. Davy was likely siphoning funds out of Max Rose Fashions
through a dummy vendor, with the proceeds going to pay back
Galvano. Though the one point one million dollars in payments to
V.J. is a hell of a lot more than the hundred thousand he claims to
have lent. My conclusion: We're missing a piece of the puzzle.
Probably a big one. Max Rose Fashions was not in good financial
shape at the time of the deaths. There's a motive for murder there
somewhere.”

“Galvano claimed not to know Max's widow,” Herbert
pointed out. “Have you any evidence to suggest otherwise?”

The agent looked away. “I can't discuss evidence with
you. But it is possible that he did not know the widow
personally.”

T.S. blew a gust of breath from his mouth in disgust.
More legal gobbledygook.

“Okay,” O'Conner said defensively. “We don't have any
photographs or phone calls linking the two.” He eyed the tape
recorder hungrily. Auntie Lil tucked it out of sight in her
pocketbook.

She returned to the scheme about possibly taking Max
Rose Fashions public. “Did you know about that?” she asked.

The agent shook his head. “No. But I'd like to hear
more about it if Galvano is involved. I'll get him any way I can,
including securities fraud.”

She explained about Davy's plan to engage an
investment bank to run actual numbers as an enticement to convince
Max.

“It's got to be Sterling and Sterling,” T.S.
interrupted. “I got the distinct impression that there was
something going on in the corporate finance area involving Max Rose
Fashions when I was there.” He shook his head in warning. “Davy
went to Sterling because he knew that Max trusted their opinion. He
probably came to them as a representative of Max Rose Fashions.
They never thought to question his authority.”

“We'll check on it for you this week,” the agent
promised in a much too friendly voice. “Could I have that tape
now?”

“Not until I know what you're going to do about Joyce
Carruthers,” Auntie Lil said. “She's been ratting to Galvano about
Max's business for who knows how long.”

Agent O'Conner sighed. “We have no reason to arrest
her. Yet. Besides, if we moved in on her right away, who do you
think Galvano would suspect of telling us?” He stared at Auntie
Lil. “For your own protection, I suggest you just sit tight on
Carruthers, okay? In fact, sit tight on the whole thing and leave
it to us.” He held out a hand and tried the firm approach. “Give me
that tape,” he demanded.

His plea was blithely ignored by Auntie Lil.

“Oh, give him the damn thing, Aunt Lil,” T.S.
muttered. “My head hurts from worrying about you. I want to go
home.”

“But what about Galvano threatening me?” Auntie Lil
asked Agent O’Conner indignantly. “Can't you arrest him for that?
Isn't that a criminal act? You can't just go around saying you're
going to kill people, can you? He mashed a piece of toast to bits
right in front of me. He was letting me know my life was in
danger.”

“It depends on what he actually said,” Agent O'Conner
explained. “Word for word. And it would be up to a jury to decide
if he was really threatening you with murder or just mouthing off.
It would help if he had said specifically why he might want to get
rid of you.”

“I don't think he did,” she admitted. “There's one
way to find out.” She retrieved the recorder from the depths of her
purse and pressed the fast forward button. “It was just before he
left,” she said. “I was worried about running out of tape.” When
she pressed the play button, the monumentally obtrusive noise of
munching could be heard. It sounded like giant termites were
invading the van.

“What's that?” O'Conner asked.

Auntie Lil had the decency to look embarassed. “The
fried calamari was delicious,” she explained. “Very crispy. And the
garlic bread was quite crunchy as well.”

“We can drop that out,” Bobby assured them. He was
changing his mind about this bunch of civilians, especially the old
broad. There weren't many people who could sit across the table
from Joseph Galvano and keep their appetites. The old lady had
spunk.

“It's a little further along than I thought,” Auntie
Lil apologized, playing with the buttons. “I hope I got it on
tape.”

“If you didn't, I heard every word,” Herbert assured
her. He mimicked Galvano's voice: “ 'I don't bury people. I crush
them. I crush them like the junk they are. Now you see them. Now
you don't.’” Herbert looked solemnly at the others. “There was a
short silence at that point,” he explained precisely. “Then Galvano
says, 'Easy come. Easy go.' Right after that, one of his men came
up with the telephone and told him that a Mr. Fat Eddie was on the
line.”

“That's right,” Auntie Lil agreed eagerly. “And
Galvano said, ‘Speak of the devil.’”

“He said what?” Agent O' Conner asked. He stared at
Bobby. The two of them looked as if they had just been given a
particularly hard question on a quiz and knew they knew the answer
but could not quite bring it to mind.

“Fat Eddie?” O'Conner repeated. “That's from...” His
voice trailed off as he tried to remember.

“Yeah. The September tapes,” Bobby agreed. “You
remember. He was talking to... you know, the one who...” He stopped
and swallowed, searching for suitably discreet words. “There was
that guy that disappeared? About the time of...”

“Yeah. And Fat Eddie is...” Agent O'Conner stopped
and gazed at the tape recorder as if it were the Holy Grail.
“Crushes people like...” he repeated thoughtfully. Suddenly he
locked eyes with Bobby and broke into an enormous grin, then pumped
a fist in the air. “That's it!” he shouted. “I can smell it. It's
there, it's got to be there.” He planted a huge kiss right on
Auntie Lil's nose, then whooped and thrust both hands in the air.
He looked as if he had just scored the winning touchdown in the
Super Bowl. “The man is going down,” he crowed. “Way downtown.”

“Did you understand a single word that Agent O'Conner
said?” T.S. asked Auntie Lil and Herbert. They were sitting in
T.S.'s living room, cups of coffee before them.

Auntie Lil shook her head. “No. Frankly, I thought
he'd gone lulu on us. He pounced on that tape recording like
Galvano had confessed to some horrible crime. But it seemed sort of
vague to me when I heard it again.” She looked to Herbert for his
opinion.

“The significance escaped me,” Herbert admitted. “But
I do not think it has anything to do with Max's death. The
September tapes, they said. That's before the murder. I suspect we
will get nothing more from Agent O'Conner unless he needs us
again.”

Auntie Lil nodded. “We were just a tiny part of
something much bigger. He has no use for us anymore.”

T.S. sighed. “Let's hope Joseph Galvano feels the
same way. That lie about you being followed by the cops can't last
forever. Once Galvano thinks he can get at you unseen, he may be
back.”

A rather vigorous pounding at the door interrupted
the silence that greeted this ominous remark.

“Casey,” T.S. murmured. “Right on time. I wonder what
her objection is to being announced.”

Casey was toting a bag of White Castle hamburgers.
“White Castle is the one good thing about Long Island,” she
explained, popping an entire burger into her mouth and chewing
lustily. She offered the bag around but her generosity was
unanimously declined. She was wearing yet another
early-sixties-style sheath and it clung to her ample figure like
Saran Wrap. The dress was bright orange and had small yellow balls
of yarn dangling from the hem like the trim on an overstuffed sofa.
If Brenda and Eddie caught a glimpse of those yarn balls, T.S. knew
his cats would never let Casey go.

“Did you find out anything important?” Casey asked
them. “Like if Agent O'Conner has a girlfriend?” She plopped down
on the sofa and put her feet on T.S.'s glass coffee table. He
winced but held his tongue.

“We neglected to ascertain Agent O'Conner's romantic
status,” Herbert admitted. “Though we found out plenty else.”

“He's kind of cute, don't you think? In a shy
way?”

T.S. had to disagree. Agent O'Conner had fled the
room after three minutes in Casey's presence. But it wasn't shyness
motivating him. It was self-preservation.

“He seems involved in his work to the exclusion of
all else,” Auntie Lil pointed out. “Men who are fixated on their
work sometimes find they have little time for the other things in
life. Max was that way at times.”

They were silent, his name serving as a reminder of
why they had gathered.

Casey broke the mood by wadding up an oily hamburger
wrapper and tossing it into a trashcan. “You're right. Let's get
down to it. I found out some things that may be useful.”

“Such as?” T.S. asked.

“Such as you are now officially a millionaire.” She
smiled broadly at T.S.

“Maybe,” he corrected her. “The terms of the trust
state that I only inherit if Davy died within forty-eight hours of
Max.”

“Then you're a certain millionaire,” Casey explained.
“The coroner estimates Davy's time of death at approximately four
to ten hours after Max was killed by the bomb. You inherit.
Congratulations.”

T.S. ran a finger under his collar. It suddenly felt
very tight.

Auntie Lil was silent, staring out the window.

“What is it, Lillian?” Herbert asked.

She shook her head and smiled bravely. “It's nothing,
Herbert. Casey—does Max's family know?”

“Oh, yeah. If I were T.S., I'd be looking over my
shoulder right about now.”

“What else did the medical report say?” Auntie Lil
asked.

“Plenty,” she said proudly. “Want to know how I got
the info?”

In truth, no one did. She offered an explanation
anyway: “The investigation of Davy's death has turned into a
jurisdictional nightmare. The Babylon cops say it's theirs because
that's where the body was found. Manhattan South says no way, it's
connected to Max. And, of course, the feds are poking around, too.
So this gives
moi
an idea. In the middle of all this
squabbling, I waltz in and bat my eyes at the clerk who's being
kicked around by everyone in the state who has a badge, except
maybe the school crossing guard. He's a lonely guy, never married,
a little overweight, likes steak and—”

“Spare us the gruesome details,” T.S. suggested, his
mind still reeling at the thought of thirty-three million dollars.
His half of the trust's assets. That meant he was as rich as Lilah.
Maybe richer. The thought of instant entrée into her monied world
was an aspect of his new wealth that he had not considered
before.

“It's nothing sordid,” Casey promised, interrupting
his thoughts. “Just a couple of margaritas and a dinner at Ralph's
Steakhouse. He let me see the report. Hell, I saw the entire file.
And there's nothing in it of any use at all. They have zippo. The
only real information comes from the coroner's report. What's most
important is the time of death. Even if the coroner is way off,
he's got a lot of room for mistakes before you go over the
forty-eight hour threshold. Important point number two: Davy was
shot in the back of the head by three bullets. Exact make of gun
unknown, but the smart money’s on a Smith and Wesson Magnum. One
bullet would have been enough, but whoever shot him was pretty
serious. He died within seconds.” She bit into another
silver-dollar-sized burger and chewed thoughtfully.