Keep Quiet (27 page)

“Interrupt his meeting?”

“Yes, Marie, I wouldn’t ask you if it weren’t an emergency.”

“May I help you instead?”

Jake hesitated. “Did Harold discuss anything with you about one of my accounts yesterday or this morning?”

“No, but if you update me, I’m sure I can help—”

“Then no, thanks. I need you to call Harold, get a note in front of him, and tell him to call me immediately. Have them write on the note that he should
not
do what we discussed. You understand?”

“I suppose I could do that,” Marie said uncertainly. “That he should
not
do what you discussed.”

“Yes, exactly.” Jake glanced at the clock, feeling time slipping away. The police would be here soon. “Call me right back after you’ve made the phone call.”

“Of course. I’ll attend to it right now.”

“Thanks, good-bye.” Jake pressed
END
on the phone and checked the clock—10:06. The police were on their way. Phone in hand, he hurried to his office door, flung it open, and hustled to Amy’s desk. “Hey, we had some terrible news this morning.”

“What’s going on?” Amy focused her warm brown eyes on his face, her concern immediate. She had on a funky multicolored scarf and dangling silver earrings with bright red stones.

“Amy, do you remember that prospective who dropped in yesterday morning? Lewis Deaner?” Jake leaned over, lowering his voice, even though the closest desk wasn’t within earshot. “I just got a call from the police, and he was found murdered in his apartment.”

“Oh my God.” Amy’s hand flew to her mouth. “That’s terrible.”

“I know, and the police are going to be here in about twenty minutes.”

“Here? Why?”

“I assume they want to investigate and ask what we met about yesterday.” Jake tried to remain composed. Over Amy’s shoulder, he spotted Ramon heading his way.

“How did they know that you met with him? Is that who you were on the phone with?”

“Yes.” Jake saw Ramon, trying to flag him down. “I called Deaner at home to follow up with him, and the police were there. They’re on the way over now.”

“So what do we do?”

“Will you make sure the big conference room is available? Obviously, we’ll keep this between us.”

“Sure thing.” Amy nodded quickly, so her curls bounced and her earrings swung. “Ramon has the Janoviches coming in this morning, but I’ll move them into the small conference room.”

“Good, thanks. Also please meet the police in reception when they come in and take them into the conference room. I don’t want them identifying themselves at the desk, in front of the clients.”

“I’ll be smooth.” Amy smiled, but Jake couldn’t.

“I’m expecting an important call from Harold at Pennsylvania National.” Jake glanced at her desk clock, a comical plastic cat—10:08. “I’m hoping he’ll call on my cell before they get here, but if he doesn’t, I want you to put him through to me immediately, even if I’m in with the police. Okay?”

“Gotcha.”

“Jake!” Ramon called out, reaching the desk. “Can we sit down and go over the Brady trust—”

“No, sorry,” Jake interrupted him. “I don’t have time right now.”

“But I can’t set up this trust without your approval and I can’t meet with them without the trust being set up. I sent the documents to you Friday, remember? I followed up on Sunday, when I didn’t hear from you.”

“Ramon, I’m busy,” Jake snapped, tense.

“But they’re coming in this afternoon to review the documents and sign the papers.”

“Then put them off.”

Amy pursed her lips, looking from Jake to Ramon like a child in a custody battle.

“I can’t do that.” Ramon shook his head, bewildered. “Brady is impossible to get a meeting with. He’s a surgeon, and you know how they are with schedules. If I don’t have the papers ready, he’ll be pissed.”

“Then he’ll be pissed!” Jake exploded. “I’m busy, how many times do I have to say it? I’m busy! Don’t you get it?”

Ramon’s dark eyes flared, and Jake stalled momentarily, taking in Amy’s tight expression, and the other assistants, frowning in surprise. They’d never seen conduct like it from Jake, and he edged away. He realized that what he was seeing in their faces wasn’t even a fraction of their reaction if they knew what he had done. That the police could arrest him for a hit-and-run, maybe even for murder. They could take him away in handcuffs this very morning.

Jake felt himself edge backwards. Gardenia would have to close. Some of his employees had been with him since the beginning. He would do to them what his old company had done to him. They would lose their jobs, this very morning. Their lives would turn on a dime, and so would the lives of their spouses, their kids, and the people who depended on them.

Jake turned on his heel and fled down the hall to the conference room, checking his watch on the fly. He’d prayed Harold or Marie called before the cops got here. He couldn’t take the call in front of them. That would take nerves of steel, which he was fresh out of at the moment. His cell phone waited in his breast pocket like a bomb ready to explode.

Jake hustled through the reception area and into the conference room, hiding from everyone.

Even himself.

Chapter Thirty-four

Jake turned to see the conference-room door opening and Amy ushering in two men, one middle-aged and the other in his early thirties, both dressed in dark suit jackets and slacks.

“Jake,” Amy said, calmly. If she was upset with Jake from his outburst, she was too professional to let it show. “This is Detectives Zwerling and Woo, from Shakertown.”

“Thanks. Welcome, gentlemen. I’m Jake Buckman.” Jake approached them with a false smile and an outstretched hand. He couldn’t tell from their impassive expressions whether they had seen the photos and videos, much less suspected him of Voloshin’s murder.

Amy returned to the door, then paused. “Jake, they didn’t want coffee or anything, so I’ll go.”

“Thanks.” Jake nodded, and Amy slipped out, closing the door behind her.

“I’m Bill Zwerling,” said the middle-aged detective, who had a raspy voice and smelled vaguely of cigarette smoke. He was a chubby five foot seven, with wavy gray hair, slack jaws, and a bulbous nose. His paunch popped through his unbuttoned jacket as he gestured to the younger detective. “This is my partner, Rich Woo. We showed our ID to your secretary, I mean, assistant. But if you want to see—”

“No, that’s okay. Hello, Detective Woo.” Jake extended his hand to Detective Woo, who was tall and lanky, and his grayish suit fit him perfectly at the waist, as if he worked out.

“Good to meet you.” Detective Woo flicked back his glossy black bangs, which flopped longish over his forehead and ears. “My father always says I should see a financial planner. Invest what I’ve saved.”

“Your father’s right. Detectives, please sit down.” Jake gestured them into chairs, giving them the view facing the window. “I’d be happy to advise you, Detective Woo. It’s never too early to start saving for retirement.”

“Problem is, you have no idea what my pay grade is. There’s not a lot left over, if you follow.”

“I hear that, but you have to start somewhere. You’re young, and I wish I knew then what I know now.” Jake met Detective Woo’s gaze, but still couldn’t tell what the police knew or if they suspected him of Voloshin’s murder. He sat down at the head of the conference table, which he hoped would reinforce his credibility.

“How much money do I have to have to use your services, Mr. Buckman? Do you have a minimum?”

“Please call me Jake, and no, not at all. We’d be happy to put you in our Gardenia mutual fund, which contains the same blue-chip stocks that we put high-net-worth individuals in.” Jake checked the walnut clock on the credenza against the far wall. It read 10:28. That transfer had to be stopped or he was dead meat.

“What’s the cutoff, money-wise, between me and high-net worth?”

“Those with assets over $500,000. I’d be happy to meet with you, anytime.”

Detective Zwerling cleared his throat, as he pulled a slim spiral notepad from inside his breast pocket and flipped open its cardboard cover. “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we? We have a busy day ahead of us.”

“Fine.” Jake forced himself to stop checking the clock so often. He didn’t want to show his hand to the cops, like he had Guinevere LeMenile. “I’m very sorry to hear about Mr. Voloshin’s murder. That came as a shock. We don’t have many of those in Concord Chase.”

“He lived in Shakertown, the north end. Trust me, it happens.” Detective Zwerling shifted in the chair, his belly lipping the table.

“How was he killed?” Jake wanted to make sure he asked any questions that seemed appropriate.

“He was stabbed to death. Another tenant found him in his apartment, because he left his laundry in the washer.”

“Ugh, that’s terrible.” Jake didn’t have to feign repugnance. “Do you have any suspects or is it too soon?”

“
Way
too soon. It’s not like TV, where the body hits the floor and they already cleared the case.” Detective Zwerling curled his lip in a way that suggested he’d given the lecture before. “Me, I’m a big
Dexter
fan. They get at least a few episodes to solve the crime.”

“I wonder why somebody would kill him. He seemed like a nice, harmless guy.”

“The details of our investigation are confidential, but his valuables appear to be missing. Wallet, laptop, phone, like that.”

“How sad.” Jake clucked unhappily, though relief surged through him. If Voloshin’s laptop and phone had been stolen, the police probably didn’t know about the video and photos incriminating him and Ryan. Still he couldn’t be certain, and if the wire transfer wasn’t stopped, it could blow everything. He checked the credenza clock as discreetly as possible—10:34.

“Mr. Buckman, Jake, you don’t mind if we tape this, do you?” Detective Woo slid a handheld tape recorder from inside his pocket, pressed a button on the side, and set it down on the table between them.

“No, I don’t mind at all. So how can I help you?” Jake hadn’t anticipated the meeting would be recorded, but his answer appeared to be moot anyway.

“We have a few questions.” Detective Zwerling clicked the back of his pen with a chubby thumb. “Jake, just tell us something about yourself. Family? Residence?”

“I’m married, and we have one son, in high school.” Jake didn’t supply any names, to keep them out of it. “I live in Concord Chase.”

“For how long?”

“Twenty years, and I’ve had the business the past five.”

“You own it?”

“Yes.”

“Good enough.” Detective Zwerling took notes. “Tell me how you came to meet with Mr. Voloshin.”

“I was at my son’s basketball game at North Mayfield, last Sunday afternoon. He sat next to me.”

“You’re a big guy, Jake. Did you play hoops in high school?”

“No.”

“College?”

“No. I worked.”

“Okay.” Detective Zwerling took notes. “Why was Voloshin at the game, do you know?”

“Yes. He was with North Mayfield and was watching his kid, a sophomore.” Jake decided to stick with the story Voloshin told him, because it was too risky to improvise. He didn’t want the detectives to know that he knew Voloshin had lied about his name, family, job or anything else. He doubted the police had asked Amy any questions, because she knew Voloshin as Deaner, and he doubted the police would go find the tiara moms.

“Did Voloshin tell you what he did for a living, at the game?”

“He was a freelance writer.”

“How long did you speak with him?”

“About five minutes.”

“That’s all?”

“You know how these games are. You end up sitting with people, trying to make conversation or drum up business. Network. I told him I was a financial planner, I gave him a business card, and he said he’d come see me.” Jake heard himself volunteering too much, out of nervousness. “To make a long story short, he came by my office Monday morning and we met.”

“Where, here?” Detective Zwerling took more notes on his pad.

“Yes, but not in the conference room. In my office.”

“For how long did you meet?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“So, short?” Detective Zwerling took another note.

“Yes.”

“Is that typical?”

“No.”

“Why did it end so soon?”

“He seemed like he’d heard enough.” Jake swallowed hard. “He ended it.”

“Did you make notes during the meeting?”

“No.”

“Do you, usually?”

“No.” Jake sneaked a look at the credenza clock—10:40. He could hear it ticking in his brain.

“What did you talk about?”

“I told him about the company and our investment philosophy, like I do with any new client.”

“You were hoping to get his business?”

“Yes, I was hoping to sign him.” Jake kept his answers short. He wasn’t about to take any chances, in case the detectives had somehow seen the photos or video.

“What do you mean, sign him?”

“We have an agreement that new clients sign, called an Investment Advisory Agreement.”

“Did he sign it?”

“No, I didn’t offer it to him. We didn’t get that far.” Jake remembered that he ought to mention his phone call to Voloshin, to preempt any suspicion when the police found Voloshin’s phone records. “By the way, I called him on Monday night, to see if he had any questions or if I could help him further, but he said no.”

Detective Zwerling made a note. “What time did you call him?”

“About nine o’clock or so.”

“After business hours?”

“Yes.” Jake tried not to look at the clock and to keep his focus on Detective Zwerling, in a natural way.

“Is that typical for you to call a client, a prospective client, outside of business hours?”

“Sure, especially if I want his business.” Jake wasn’t lying. “I’m self-employed, so I work all the time.”

“But he turned you down, so why did you call him?”

“To follow up, to make sure.”

“What did he say?”

“That he was thinking it over.”

“I see.” Detective Zwerling made another note. “So then why were you calling him at home, this morning?”