Partners In Crime (17 page)

Miss Fullbright made another quick notation
on her list, rose in a businesslike fashion, pushed her glasses up
on her nose and nodded good-bye to T.S.

"Let me know if I can assist you in any
way," she offered curtly.

"I will. Good day." He hesitated a moment,
revenge percolating irresistibly in the depths of his mind. "Miss
Fullbright—I have a meeting to attend at 11:00.1 think it might be
a good idea if you accompanied me. Let you test the waters." It was
the perfect way to get even with her for her shoddy treatment of
him. Let her see what she would be up against for the rest of her
life.

She shrugged as he followed her to the door.
T.S. resisted the urge to bolt it behind her. Instead, he quickly
shut it and leaned against it for a moment to catch his breath. She
had said something important and he couldn't put his finger on it.
Something to do with Mr. Wong.

So much for secluded office space. With all
the interruptions, he had not been able to complete a single task
he had planned. He and Auntie Lil had agreed that quietly
interviewing certain employees might yield information they would
otherwise be reluctant to reveal to the police, but a systematic
approach to interviewing employees was rapidly proving impossible.
Now the afternoon would have to be used for the interviews. He
hoped the emergency conference would not take too long.

He sat down and made his interview list.
First was Mr. Dorfen, the partner who sat directly behind Robert
Cheswick. T.S. hoped that Mr. Dorfen was taking it easy on the
hidden Scotch and would be in a condition to talk intelligently.
Auntie Lil had also requested he talk to the biggest gossips at
Sterling & Sterling. Without any doubt, she'd meant Effie
Abacrombie, head switchboard operator, and Francine Crisp, head
teller. The two women saw and talked to numerous employees each day
and were key stops on the employee grapevine.

He was spared the task of calling Effie
Abacrombie when she buzzed him just as he was about to leave for
his meeting.

"Mr. Hubbert, thank god you're there."

Everyone seemed to be thanking god for T.S.
Hubbert this morning, except, perhaps, T.S. Hubbert.

"The main line has been going crazy all
morning with reporters and such," Effie said in her firm voice.
"What am I supposed to do with them? They want to speak to Mr. Hale
but Mrs. Quincy says she'll kill me if I put one more through.
She's got her hands full already. It seems Mr. Boswell took off on
a business trip without warning anyone and she's having to help his
secretary field calls from clients. She says she's sick and tired
of taking messages."

The thought that Mrs. Quincy might be having
a bad day cheered him immensely. He then had a vision of Miss
Fullbright popping in and out of his office all day with petty
problems and clumsy attempts to pump him for information. He made a
fast decision. "Put all calls from the press through to Miss
Fullbright here in Personnel," T.S. said. "She's been designated
official spokesperson and will know all details."

That would keep her out of his hair.

"Thanks, Mr. Hubbert," the operator said.
"Roger. Will do." She was a war movie buff and used military jargon
whenever possible.

"And, Effie—is Anne Marie in today?"

"Yes sir. Came in claiming she couldn't let
Sterling & Sterling down no matter what she was going through.
Overreacting a bit, if you ask me. You should see her dress. Black
silk. Some people never seem to run out of…"

"I'm sure she looks stunning," T.S.
interrupted. "But could you ask her to help out Mrs. Quincy in any
way she can? Maybe she could lend a hand with Mr. Boswell's calls
or something."

"That's a ten-four, Mr. Hubbert. What
else?"

"That's all for right now, Effie. And
thanks. But if you have a moment sometime today, could you come up
and see me? I'd like to talk about some things with you."

"Have I done anything wrong, Mr. Hubbert?"
As a longtime employee, Effie was well schooled in the art of being
intimidated.

"No, no. Not at all," he soothed. "I simply
need to hear your point of view on some things."

"On the murder?" she said cheerfully. "I
heard you were investigating."

"What? Where did you hear that?"

"Oh, I hear a lot of things. And I'm betting
on you, Mr. Hubbert, sir. I'm betting you get him before the police
do."

"Thanks, Effie. But don't bet too much." He
hung up and sat for a moment, trying to decide if he was pleased
about this vote of confidence or chagrined at being a topic of
grapevine conversation.

At 11:00 A.M. precisely, T.S. found himself
jammed in a small conference room designed for no more than four
people. Unfortunately, seven now occupied the space, including
T.S., Edgar Hale, plus three out of the four partners on the
Management Committee, a smug Stanley Sinclair, and a baffled Miss
Fullbright. Only John Boswell was missing. Edgar Hale gave his
empty chair a dirty look and announced that the meeting would
begin.

"We can't wait for Boswell any longer.
Damned irresponsible of him to take off at a time like this." He
glared at the assembled crowd as if they had abetted Boswell in his
flight. "Look here, Hubbert," he continued. "Quincy is being driven
mad by all these press calls and now she's hounding me. Get that
damn Anne Marie to help out, won't you? No use paying her to sit
around moping."

What a sentimental, understanding fellow
Edgar Hale was. "Actually, Edgar," T.S. replied happily, "I've
already assigned Anne Marie to help out your secretary and arranged
to have all press calls switched over to Miss Fullbright here.''
T.S. loved telling him he'd already done what he wanted. It
irritated the old grump immensely and he was forced to sniff around
for a new victim.

Edgar Hale stared at Miss Fullbright as if
he'd never seen her before, apparently forgetting he had once
informed T.S. that he thought Miss Fullbright would look a hell of
a lot better in a black negligee than those silly red suits she
wore.

"For those of you who have not yet had the
pleasure, I'd like to introduce Felicia Fullbright," T.S. said in
response to Hale's blank stare. "Since she is taking over as
Personnel Manager, I felt it appropriate she be involved.
Particularly since this is an emergency. "

The men stared at Miss Fullbright and she
shrank back in her seat.

Edgar Hale resumed his thunderous expression
and reclaimed control of the table. Behind him, a gleaming silver
coffee service was laid out on an oak sideboard. No one had dared
moved to take advantage of the refreshments, with the exception of
the youngest partner present, Preston Freeman.

Freeman was out of the Corporate Finance
area, was described as a genius and never seemed to pay attention
to a thing except his mergers and acquisitions. Even now, he sat
with a full folder open in front of him and was busily making notes
in the margins of legal documents. He took no notice of the events
swirling around him. He had a cup of coffee at his elbow and
absently sipped from it every now and then. He brought in millions
to the company each year and could have publicly pissed on the
Managing Partner without fear of censure. T.S. envied him his
nonchalance.

Stanley Sinclair sat stiffly to the right of
Hale, guarding a stack of files conspicuously stamped'
'Confidential'' in bright red ink. Anyone looking for juicy details
would know immediately that the files represented pay dirt. The
treasurer was an extremely thin man, given to exaggerated, almost
foppish gestures. He wore his hair slicked back in a currently
popular and pompous manner, a style that highlighted his receding
hairline and caused his rodent-like face to appear even more
pinched at the top. He was impeccably dressed in a suit nearly
identical in cut and color to those of the four assembled partners,
but there the similarity ended.

Stanley Sinclair would never be a Sterling
& Sterling partner and it seemed that he was the only one who
did not realize it. He had taken the route of extreme toadyism to
reach his relatively powerful position but, while his subservient
attitude may have gotten him raises in pay and rank, it had cost
him the respect of most of the partners. As a result, he would
never attain the loftiest of positions.

T.S. had seated himself as far away as
possible from Sinclair and anchored the other end of the table.
Miss Fullbright sat meekly beside him. The remaining partners
filled in the sides. The chair to the left of Edgar Hale remained
empty, in case John Boswell showed up late.

"Gentlemen, we have a problem," Stanley
Sinclair said abruptly in a manner he thought masterful. T.S.
noticed, however, that Sinclair's voice had squeaked on the word
"we" and this gave him the courage to smile. Sinclair stared
sternly back at T.S. "And I think the time to stem the flow of
trouble is now," he ended pompously.

T.S. felt a yawn coming on and was powerless
to stop it. He found himself the center of attention, hand clamped
over his gaping yaw. "Excuse me," he murmured.

"I'll handle this, Sinclair," Edgar Hale
thundered and slapped the table with a palm. He held a thoroughly
chewed cigar in the other hand and waved it about as he spoke,
sending little flecks of tobacco flying about the conference room.
T.S. rooted for one to land on Sinclair's smirking face.

"T.S., Stanley here says that the lieutenant
has asked for all of the firm's financial records."

"That's correct," T.S. said calmly. "The
police feel strongly that financial considerations are a possible
motive and they wish to cross-check recent personal transactions of
all partners and senior executives with those of Robert Cheswick.
They are also checking all significant money transfers and any
recent or unusual transactions involving clients with whom Cheswick
was familiar."

"But that's impossible!" Hale sputtered.

"Not at all." T.S. smiled. "I'm sure Mr.
Sinclair here has kept impeccable records. He's an excellent
administrator."

“
That's the point,
Hubbert,'' Sinclair whined. “I was able to stall that detective by
giving him the firm's trading accounts first, but he'll want the
private records next. If he hadn't been called away by his office
this morning, he'd be paging through them at this very moment." He
patted the stack of records. "No thanks to you."

Edgar Hale butted in before T.S. could
reply. "Sinclair here says he believes this investigation is merely
a cover for the IRS. That they're trying to double-check our
financial transactions without giving us the benefit of knowing it.
Trying to sneak in unofficial audits without warning, you might
say. That's a serious allegation."

T.S. fingered his dragon tie and considered
his words carefully. Not that he was planning on being prudent. He
was no longer concerned with such mundane niceties. He smiled in
reply to Sinclair's glare and winked at Miss Fullbright, who
nervously coughed behind her hands.

"This business about the IRS is horseshit,"
T.S. said. Preston Freeman put down his pen and looked up.
"Sinclair sees IRS conspiracies everywhere. He ought to work for
one of those cheesy television shows that investigate
assassinations."

"See here, Hubbert. I resent that! This is a
serious matter." Sinclair clutched both sides of his stacked files.
Edgar Hale stopped in mid-bite and his cigar dangled carelessly
from between his lips as he watched the two men joust.

"It certainly is a serious matter," T.S.
agreed. "Robert Cheswick has been stabbed. I think that's the real
emergency. What exactly are you suggesting? That the CIA or FBI
murdered Cheswick so that the NYPD could act as undercover agents
for the IRS and get at financial transactions that are open to them
anyway? That sounds nuts to me."

Miss Fullbright blinked at this and Preston
Freeman suppressed a smile. Sinclair looked momentarily stunned but
quickly rose to the bait.

"I'm suggesting no such thing! You have no
right to twist my words. Robert Cheswick was obviously murdered by
some common intruder looking for cash. It's unlikely to happen
again at Sterling & Sterling for another two hundred years.
That danger is past. What I'm pointing out is a very real present
danger. The IRS, on hearing about the murder, convinced the local
police to cooperate in a little investigation of their own. It's
the perfect cover for them. Believe me, the real danger in this
situation lies far beyond the murder of Robert Cheswick."

By the end of his speech, Sinclair's
features had taken on a fiery glow and his collar appeared to have
tightened considerably around his neck. His Adam's apple bulged
desperately above the rim, as if trapped in place with nowhere to
go.

"You see IRS conspiracies everywhere,
Sinclair," T.S. pointed out. "You blew up this smoke screen when
they wanted to film that movie in the Partners' Room. You thought
the same thing when that magazine wanted to take a photo of the
outside of the building, for god's sake." The room had grown even
more silent and Edgar Hale was listening carefully to T.S. "Now I
suggest that you are about to cause a great many more problems for
Sterling & Sterling than you've ever dreamed of," T.S.
concluded.

Edgar Hale looked carefully at both men.
"Like what?" he barked.

"Like dragging this out in the press even
further. Think of the publicity. We refuse to hand over records
that may lead to the solving of the murder of our esteemed
colleague. What are we hiding? What are we afraid of? The police
are convinced it's insider trading. Rumors like that could kill our
Corporate Finance business.in a week. For what? Those records could
be subpoenaed in an instant, believe me. Lieutenant Abromowitz is
not easily amused. They have nothing else to go on. I'm told that
no useful physical evidence was found at the scene. And that
Cheswick was thoroughly potted when he was stabbed. Now that would
look good in the press if it ever got out. 'Sterling Partner Dead
Drunk. Literally.' And something tells me Abromowitz would be more
than happy to hold that over our heads if we failed to cooperate in
any way."