Kane & Abel (1979) (42 page)

‘I’m afraid it was,’ said Abel.

‘Why do you say that?’ asked the lieutenant.

‘I sacked Pacey for embezzling. He said he’d get even with me if it was the last thing he did. I didn’t pay any attention - I’ve faced too many threats in my life, Lieutenant, to take any of them seriously, especially from a creep like Pacey.’

‘Well, I have to tell you we’ve taken him seriously, and so have the insurance people, because they won’t be paying out one cent until it’s proved there was no collusion between you and Pacey.’

‘That’s all I need at the moment,’ said Abel. ‘But how can you be so sure it was Pacey?’

‘He showed up at the casualty ward of the nearest hospital, the same day as the fire, with severe burns on his hands and chest. He came clean pretty quick, but I couldn’t be sure what his motive was until now. So that just about wraps the case up, Mr Rosnovski.’

The lieutenant sucked on his straw until a loud gurgle convinced him he had drained the last drop.

‘Another shake?’ asked Abel.

‘No, I’d better not. I promised my wife I’d cut down.’ He stood up. ‘Good luck, Mr Rosnovski. If you can prove to the insurance boys that you had no involvement with Pacey, you’ll get your money. I’ll do everything I can to help if the case ever gets to court. Keep in touch.’

Abel watched the detective disappear through the door. He gave the waitress a dollar. Once he was back on the sidewalk, Abel stood and stared into space, a space where the Richmond Hotel had been less than a month ago. He turned and walked back to the Stevens.

There was another message from Henry Osborne, still giving no clue as to who he was. There was only one way to find out. Abel called the number, and was put through to the claims inspector of the Great Western Casualty Insurance Company. He made an appointment to see Osborne at noon. He then called William Kane in Boston and gave him a report on all the hotels in the group.

‘And may I say again, Mr Kane, that I could turn those hotels’ losses into profits if your bank would just give me the chance. What I did in Chicago, I know I can do for the rest of the group.’

‘Possibly you could, Mr Rosnovski, but I’m afraid it won’t be with Kane and Cabot’s money. May I remind you that you have only a few days left in which to find a backer? Good day, sir.’

‘Ivy League snob,’ said Abel after the line had gone dead. ‘I’m not classy enough for your money, am I? Some day, you bastard …’

The next item on Abel’s agenda was the insurance man.

Henry Osborne turned out to be tall and good-looking, with dark eyes and a mop of dark hair turning grey around the temples, and an easy, congenial manner. He had little to add to what Lieutenant O’Malley had told Abel. The Great Western Casualty Insurance Company had no intention of paying any part of the claim while the police were pressing for a charge of arson against Desmond Pacey, and until it was proved that Abel himself was in no way involved. Despite the blunt statement, Osborne seemed to be very understanding about the whole problem.

‘Has the Richmond Group enough money to rebuild the hotel?’ he asked.

‘Not a red cent,’ said Abel. ‘The rest of the group is mortgaged up to the hilt, and the bank is pressing me to sell.’

‘Why you?’ said Osborne.

Abel explained how he had come to own the group’s shares without actually owning the hotels.

‘Surely the bank can see for themselves how well you ran this hotel? Every businessman in Chicago knows that you were the first manager ever to make a profit for Davis Leroy. I realize the banks are going through hard times, but even they ought to know when to make an exception, especially when it’s in their own interest.’

‘Not this bank.’

‘Continental Trust?’ said Osborne. ‘I’ve always found old Curtis Fenton a bit starchy, but amenable enough.’

‘It’s not Continental any more. The hotels are now owned by a Boston outfit called Kane and Cabot.’

Henry Osborne went white and sank back in his chair.

‘Are you okay?’ asked Abel.

‘Yes, I’m fine.’

‘Have you had dealings with Kane and Cabot in the past?’

‘Off the record?’ said Henry Osborne.

‘Sure.’

‘Yes, my company came up against them once before, and we ended up losing every penny.’

‘How come?’

‘I can’t reveal the details. A messy business - let’s just say one of the directors took advantage of a carefully worded contract.’

‘Which one?’ asked Abel.

‘Which one have you been dealing with?’

‘William Kane.’

Osborne didn’t regain his colour. ‘Be careful,’ he said. ‘He’s the world’s meanest son of a bitch. I could give you the lowdown on him, but it would have to be in the strictest confidence because he’s not a man to cross.’

‘I intend to cross him,’ said Abel, ‘so I may well be in touch. I have a score to settle with Mr Kane.’

‘Well, you can count on me to help in any way I can if William Kane is involved,’ said Osborne, rising from behind his desk, ‘but that must be strictly between us. And if the court finds that Desmond Pacey set fire to the Richmond and no one else was involved, the company will pay your claim in full the same day.’ He opened the door for Abel. ‘Then perhaps we can do some additional business with your other hotels.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Abel.

Abel walked back to the Stevens, to find another message awaiting him. A Mr David Maxton wondered if he was free to join him for lunch at one.

‘David Maxton,’ he said out loud, and the receptionist looked up. ‘Why do I know that name?’

‘He owns this hotel, Mr Rosnovski.’

‘Ah, yes, of course. Please let Mr Maxton know that I shall be delighted to have lunch with him.’ Abel glanced at his watch. ‘And would you tell him that I may be a few minutes late?’

‘Certainly, sir,’ said the receptionist.

Abel went up to his room and changed into a new white shirt, wondering what David Maxton could possibly want.

The dining room was already packed when he walked in. The headwaiter showed him to a private table in an alcove where the owner of the Stevens was sitting alone. He rose to greet his guest.

‘Abel Rosnovski, sir.’

‘Yes, I know you,’ said Maxton. ‘Or, to be more accurate, I know you by reputation. Do sit down, and let’s eat.’

Abel was compelled to admire the Stevens. The food and the service were every bit as good as the Plaza. If he was to run the best hotel in Chicago, this would be the one he’d be measured against.

The headwaiter reappeared with menus. Abel studied his carefully, politely declined a first course and selected the beef, the quickest way to tell if a restaurant is dealing with the right butcher. David Maxton did not look at his menu, but simply ordered the salmon.

‘You must be wondering why I invited you to join me for lunch, Mr Rosnovski,’ said Maxton.

‘I assumed,’ said Abel, laughing, ‘you were going to ask me to take over the Stevens.’

‘You’re absolutely right, Mr Rosnovski.’

Abel was speechless. It was Maxton’s turn to laugh. Even the arrival of the waiter wheeling a trolley of the finest beef did not help. The carver sharpened his knife. Maxton squeezed a slice of lemon over his salmon and continued.

‘My manager is due to retire in five months, after twenty-two years of loyal service, and the assistant manager will also be leaving soon afterwards, so I’m looking for a new broom.’

‘Place looks pretty clean to me,’ said Abel.

‘That doesn’t mean it can’t be improved, Mr Rosnovski. Never be satisfied with standing still,’ added Maxton. ‘I’ve been watching your activities carefully for the past two years. It wasn’t until you took the Richmond over that it could even be classified as a hotel. It was a huge motel before that. In another two or three years it would have been a rival to the Stevens if some idiot hadn’t burned the place down.’

‘Potatoes, sir?’

Abel looked up at an attractive junior waitress. She smiled at him.

‘No, thank you. Well, I’m very flattered, Mr Maxton, both by your comments and by the offer.’

‘I think you’d be happy here, Mr Rosnovski. The Stevens is a well-run hotel, and I would be willing to start you off at fifty dollars a week and two per cent of the profits. And you could begin as soon as it suited you.’

‘I’ll need a few days to think it over, Mr Maxton,’ said Abel, ‘although I confess I’m tempted. But I still have a few problems to deal with at the Richmond.’

‘Peas or cabbage, sir?’ The same waitress, the same smile.

The face looked familiar. Abel felt sure he had seen her somewhere before. Perhaps she had once worked at the Richmond.

‘Cabbage, please.’

He watched her walk away. There was definitely something familiar about her.

‘Why don’t you stay on at the hotel as my guest for a few days,’ Maxton said, ‘and see how we run the place? It may help you come to a decision.’

‘That won’t be necessary, Mr Maxton. After only one day as a guest I knew how well the hotel is run. My problem is that I own the Richmond Group.’

David Maxton’s face registered surprise. ‘I had no idea,’ he said. ‘I assumed old Davis Leroy’s daughter would have inherited his stock.’

‘It’s a long story,’ said Abel, and he spent the next twenty minutes explaining to Maxton how he had come into the ownership of the group’s stock, and the position in which he now found himself. ‘What I really want to do is raise the two million dollars myself and build the group up into something worthwhile, so I could give the Stevens a good run for its money.’

‘I see,’ said Maxton as a waiter removed his empty plate.

A waitress arrived with their coffee. The same waitress. The same familiar look. It was beginning to bother Abel.

‘And you say Curtis Fenton of Continental Trust is looking for a buyer on your behalf?’

‘He has been for almost a month,’ said Abel. ‘In fact, I’ll know later this afternoon if they’ve had any success, but I’m not optimistic.’

‘Well, that’s all most interesting. I had no idea the Richmond Group was looking for a buyer. Will you please keep me informed either way?’

‘Certainly,’ said Abel.

‘How much time is the bank giving you to find the two million?’

‘Only a few more days, so it shouldn’t be long before I can let you know my decision.’

‘Thank you,’ said Maxton, rising from his place. ‘It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Mr Rosnovski. I’m sure I’d enjoy working with you.’ He shook Abel’s hand warmly.

The waitress smiled at Abel again as he passed her on his way out of the dining room. When he reached the headwaiter, he stopped and asked what her name was.

‘I’m sorry, sir, we’re not allowed to give the names of any of the staff to our customers - it’s strictly against company policy. If you have a complaint, perhaps you’d be kind enough to make it to me, sir.’

‘No complaint,’ said Abel. ‘On the contrary, an excellent lunch.’

With a job offer under his belt, Abel felt more confident about facing Curtis Fenton. He was certain the banker would not have found a buyer, but nonetheless he strolled over to the Continental Trust with a spring in his heels. He liked the idea of being the manager of the best hotel in Chicago. Perhaps he could turn it into the best hotel in America. As soon as he arrived at the bank he was ushered into Curtis Fenton’s office. The tall, thin banker - did he wear the same suit every day or did he have three identical ones? - offered Abel a seat, a large smile appearing across his usually solemn face.

‘Mr Rosnovski, how good to see you again. If you’d come this morning, I would have had no news for you, but only a few moments ago I received a call from an interested party.’

Abel’s heart leaped with surprise and pleasure. ‘Can you tell me who it is?’

‘I’m afraid not. The party concerned has given me strict instructions that he must remain anonymous, as the transaction would be a private investment which would be in potential conflict with his own business.’

‘David Maxton,’ Abel murmured. ‘God bless him.’

‘As I said, Mr Rosnovski, I’m not in a position—’

‘Quite, quite,’ mimicked Abel. ‘How long do you think it will be before you’re in a position to let me know the gentleman’s decision one way or the other?’