Short Squeeze (16 page)

“Too tired?”

He looked at me, unsure what to say.

“Yes, she was tired. Tired enough to be a little sleepy when they came back through. But, of course, you knew your aunt. How she might be after long hours of complimentary beverages.”

“Sloshed,” Harry whispered in my ear.

“Ah, of course,” I said to Mr. Brice, who smiled with relief when I also said, “I understand.”

Before we could leave, he stopped us.

“There’s just one other thing,” he said. “I think I can tell you this, but please, don’t attribute it to me.”

“Sure. What?” I said.

“I’m ashamed to say, but I was always as glad to see Mrs. Pontecello leave as I was to see her pull up to my table.”

“I know, drunks aren’t a lot of fun.”

“Not that. This drunk was without a doubt the best blackjack player I ever dealt to. After fifteen minutes of play I could hardly beat that woman, and I have the house advantage.”

He slapped the blackjack shoe and made a happy face despite himself.

Recent events must have conditioned me to be less vulnerable to surprise. That would explain my incredible poise when a call from Eunice Wolsonowicz woke me early the next morning.

“It’s a professional matter,” she told me. “You did say you represented my brother-in-law.”

“I met with him, yes,” I said.

“I need to discuss disposition of the remains.”

“The coroner called?”

“He did. There’s also the matter of his and Elizabeth’s belongings. I have them packed and ready to be shipped, but to where and by whom?”

“Hm,” I said professionally. “I may know of someone who could help. You’re sure there are no other family members who’d be interested?”

“None I’m aware of, Miss Swaitkowski, but perhaps that would be something you could determine.”

For the first time since getting the call from Joe Sullivan that he’d found a dead guy with my card in his pocket, I felt my heart soar toward the heavens. A divine gift was about to be bestowed
upon me, one I thought so unlikely I hadn’t even bothered to pray for it.

“Certainly, Mrs. Wolsonowicz. I’ll take care of everything. You simply need to assign me coadministrator as it relates to Sergey and Elizabeth’s estate. Sandy Kalandro can handle the formalities with Surrogate’s Court,” I said briskly, then held my breath.

“Fine. I’ll give him a call. When do you think you might begin?”

“As soon as I can see Mr. Kalandro,” I said.

“Yes, yes, very well. Thank you.”

Then she hung up. No good-bye, but I didn’t care. I was in a near swoon over the implications. I climbed out of bed, did a dumb little dance, then called Harry.

“Goodlander GeoTransit.”

“You’re hired,” I said.

“That was easy.”

“I like your name. Sounds substantial.”

“Substance is our middle name,” he said.

“I’ll need a substantial truck and a substantial guy to help load and unload. And a place to store it all. Big enough to spread out and go through everything.”

“You’re not joking.”

“I never joke about shipping and handling.”

I told him about the call from Eunice Wolsonowicz. I filled him in on the legal implications.

“Excellent.”

“I need to sit in on Sullivan’s interview with the banker lady, then get over to Atkins Connors and Kalandro. Assuming no hitches, how quick can you set me up?”

“It’s already done. Call me when you’re ready.”

I spared him all the dumb jokes about needing hands-on customer service. It was too easy and I didn’t have the time. I was already naked and ready to jump in the shower.

On the way over to police headquarters in Hampton Bays, I called Sandy Kalandro, hoping at least to have a meeting confirmed before the interview with Autumn Antonioni.

“Hello, Miss Swaitkowski. Eunice said you’d be calling,” said a voice both silken and deep. Even sonorous, and a tad resonant.

“It’s Ms., but you can call me Jackie,” I said, lowering my voice a notch, trying to get on equal footing.

“I’ve sent a courier over to get her signature. Though I’m not sure this is the wisest course of action.”

I felt my soaring heart flutter in the wind.

“Interesting,” I said. My favorite word when talking to other lawyers.

“But Eunice feels this would be a distraction for the firm.”

“I’ll be sure not to let that happen,” I said sincerely.

“How long have you been working with Sergey? I was under the impression that Horace Golden was representing.”

“Horace died a while ago,” I said, and didn’t add, “which you’d know if you gave a shit about a fellow attorney,” as I wanted to.

“Yes, of course. I think the most expeditious approach here would be to do as Eunice suggests and make you coadministrator of the Pontecello estate. This keeps it simple.”

Heart and soul both caught the updraft.

“As you wish, counselor. I want to keep it as simple for you as possible.”

“Based on what Eunice has told me, I can’t attest to the estate’s ability to compensate you for your efforts. But I’m sure there’s enough to cover out-of-pocket.”

Hah! I thought. Mystery solved. If old Sandy was on the case, Eunice would be lugging his hourly rate. Let’s get the dumb girl and hook her into a contingency. Case closed, problem solved.

“Like I said, let’s keep it simple,” I said, and didn’t say all the other things racing through my mind that on other less important occasions would be finding voice.

I wanted to get to the Southampton Police HQ early enough to avoid bumping into the personal banker from Harbor Trust. I should have thought that through better, realizing personal bankers would be cautious and deliberate people who would want to get to a strange new place well ahead of schedule. So I managed to bump into her anyway, literally, as we reached the front door at exactly the same time.

“Sorry,” said a tall, big-chested woman in an aquamarine pantsuit carrying an old-fashioned Samsonite briefcase. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Me, neither. Too much on my mind.”

“Me, too,” she said.

I ushered her through the door, then stood back while they let her through to the back office. I decided not to tell Sullivan about the encounter. He wouldn’t like me talking to his witness before he did, no matter how innocently.

Joe was just settling her down at the table when I got to the observation room behind the one-way mirror. He was explaining that he liked to record the conversation as well as take notes so he wouldn’t miss anything. He said he wanted her to feel comfortable. She told him comfortable was the last thing she was feeling, but not to worry about the recording. She just hoped to get a copy.

“So I can prove to my husband this actually happened.”

He told her absolutely, just had to clear it with the boss.

“All we’re going to do is ask you to verify that the bank records you brought us are those we requested in the subpoena. To the best of your knowledge,” said Joe. “Simple.”

Autumn was doing her best to avoid looking at herself in the mirror. I’d watched plenty of interrogations where the subjects couldn’t keep their eyes off themselves, the men worse than the women.

She put the old briefcase on the table and opened it. She took out
several stacks of paper of different sizes and shapes, each held together with a rubber band. Each stack had a cover sheet describing the contents. Joe had her read off all the information, specifying if the reports were printed statements, correspondence, or microfilm copies of canceled checks and statements more than five years old, which was the bank’s limit on holding paper. This took about fifteen minutes, and I have to say it wasn’t the most exhilarating police interview I’d ever witnessed.

“These are all copies, of course,” she said as they wrapped it up. “We have to hold the originals for Surrogate’s Court and the probate process.”

Joe nodded and said, “See, that’s all I wanted to know,” as he flipped through his casebook. “Simple.”

Autumn looked a lot more comfortable, and stayed that way even when Joe said, still looking down at his notes, “Just a couple quick questions to establish evidentiary integrity. You’re the one who put these records together on the instruction of your supervisor?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We have your name already. Your supervisor’s name is?”

“Meryl Johnson.”

“Did anyone else assist in preparing this material?”

“No, sir. They told me I had to do it all on my own.”

“Not very nice of them, was it?” he asked with an avuncular smile.

It was an odd sensation watching Joe Sullivan be kindly and reassuring.

She smiled back. “No, sir.”

“So they’ve been in your possession at all times? No one else held or examined any of these records after they first came into your possession.”

“No, sir.”

“But you, of course, examined them carefully to reassure yourself that you had the right material.”

“Yes, sir.”

Joe looked up from his notes.

“You’re a very careful lady.”

“I work in a bank,” she said. “We’re all very careful.”

“You got that right. So, what was your impression?”

“Sorry?”

“What did you think when you looked over these statements? Was it how you remembered the general flow when you were taking care of the Pontecellos?”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“I’m gonna be going through everything, of course, but it’d be helpful if you could give me the big picture,” he said.

She nodded. “Oh, yes. They had an investment account when I first started at the bank. That was our Harvest Fund, document category Six B, you’ll remember.” She pointed partway down the stack of papers. “But last year they sold the investments and moved the funds into a cash account. This account received periodic wire transfers from their brokers in the City.” She repeated the name of a well-known institution. Joe nodded.

“So, these were regular infusions.”

She shook her head.

“Oh, no. Always different amounts that arrived on no particular schedule. Some quite substantial, others minor. I assumed it was just another investment account like they had at the bank. Very routine for our sort of customers.”

“Okay. So what would happen to the money after it got there? Were the withdrawals on a schedule?”

She smiled a different kind of smile, more one of reminiscence.

“Mrs. Pontecello would always have us redistribute the funds a day or two after they arrived.”

“You’ve mentioned Mrs. Pontecello. Did you also deal with her husband?”

She shook her head. “I never met him. And she never said a word about him. I wouldn’t have known they were married if I hadn’t seen his name on all their accounts.”

Joe cocked his head and, for the first time, allowed a sidelong glance at the one-way mirror.

“Really? How ’bout that. Which document stack are those wire transfers in?” he asked.

Autumn took the top half and turned them over on the table. Then pulled off a few sheets of paper held by a paper clip.

“These are all the outbound wire transfers. Not very complicated, since they all went to the same place.”

This time the stenographer and I got a full look from Joe Sullivan. It was obvious enough to cause Autumn to look over, too, then dart her eyes back to the table. Since all she’d seen was herself in the mirror I could hear her thoughts as well, which were, Oh, God, is that what I really look like? What’s going on with my hair? I’ve got to lose some weight.

“E-Spree Traders?” asked Joe as he studied the records. He stood. “Sorry. I just remembered I had to check in with my boss,” he said to her. “Just be a second.”

He left Autumn to sit alone at the table. I met him out in the hall.

“Since I’m not her sort of customer, maybe you could tell me what sort of bank this is,” he said, handing me the papers.

I didn’t have to look. I had recognized it when he said the name.

“E-Spree is not a bank. It’s an online brokerage. Everything’s done on the Internet.”

“I know what ‘online’ means.”

“It’s for day traders. Big and little, though all you usually hear about are the little guys after they blow through their life savings,” I said as I studied the records. Autumn was right, E-Spree was the only place the money went. Lots of money. I flipped the pages to get to the bottom line: $1,286,000. Lots and lots of money.

“Those nutty Pontecellos, eh?” I said to Joe. “Loved to live on the edge.”

“More like on the brink,” he said, before starting back to the interrogation room. I stopped him by pinching a piece of his shirt.

“Wait a second,” I said. “Is this all the stuff the Pontecellos had at the bank? Sergey said there was a safe-deposit box.”

He nodded, vaguely annoyed at the complication, but he had the smile back on when he rejoined Autumn.

“I checked my records,” he said. “I understand your clients also had a safe-deposit box?”

Autumn put the tips of her fingers to her lips.

“Oh, dear. I forgot to mention that,” she said. “Meryl asked me to tell you we can only open it in the presence of the probate authorities. Since no one has contacted us yet, the box is still sealed.”