The Blackmail Club (26 page)

“Thank you for that, sir, but we don’t have cars and drivers to pick people up. You’ll have to get here on your own.”

“I don’t drive myself and I won’t ride in a common taxi. My chauffeur has my limo in for servicing. It’s urgent that we talk.”

Max signaled that he would go.

“I’ll send Max Logan,” Jack said. “Mr. Logan is a detective in our firm. He is not a chauffeur, so don’t expect him to kowtow.”

“I will even open the door to his automobile myself, Mr. McCall. I’ll be ready in two hours. I gave my address to your receptionist. Is that agreeable?”

“Mr. Logan will ask for your identification after you get in his car, before he begins to drive.” Jack looked up at Max and grinned. “Mr. Logan will be there in two hours.”

“Trowbridge is here, boss,” Max said. “I put him in the small conference room up front. I ain’t never seen a man more full of himself than this jerk-off. Like you suggested, I let him open the car door himself. He pushed it open with the side of his hand, as though doing so would somehow soil him. On the way here he ran his mouth about why he’s a blue-blooded American.”

“Describe him.”

“Had a face lift—too few wrinkles and no eye bags, white hair, trimmed eyebrows, brown eyes, and Clark Kent glasses. I’d put him at six feet with a drinker’s gut, and tiny everywhere else. Hands are heavily arthritic. He’s wearing a black custom-made suit, and a white shirt with black accessories. And he’s as nervous as a blind cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”

“Socks?”

“Now, you’re testing me, boss. They was gray. He holds ‘em up with them little garter belts for men. When we got here, I surprised him by opening his door. He flashed ‘em when he stepped out.”

Jack grinned and motioned for Max to take a seat. “I think his daughter’s been blackmailed over IOUs to Luke Tittle. Were you familiar with Luke’s Place?”

“As a cop and a time or two as a customer, they poured my favorite Irish.”

“Give me an overview of his joint.”

“Weren’t no joint.”

Eric Dunn had made that same point.

“Luke’s Place was one of the Beltway’s fanciest. He also ran a small, classy backroom casino offering roulette, craps, and blackjack every night. Tuesdays and Fridays featured high-stakes poker. No slots. Only serious, well-heeled gamblers walked the red carpet into Tittle’s backroom.”

“The police give him trouble?”

“Nope. Luke’s had a reputation for being safe for the wealthy with the weakness. The fix was in. We never raided the place until after Harry Mandrake became chief.”

Jack put his hand on Max’s shoulder. “Come in with me. I’d like your read on this guy’s story.”

“And yank his chain by having the driver sit in.”

Jack laughed. “That too. This guy’s used to having his own way, so let’s keep him a little off balance. We need to establish that he’s not in charge.”

“Like you done on the phone.”

Jack nodded as they walked out of his office.

Mr. Trowbridge was holding his hat when Jack and Max entered, an unlit cigarette moving in the corner of his mouth like a fishing bobber in a choppy lake. He gave Jack the up-and-down look as if he were about to recommend a new haberdasher.

“Are you Jack McCall?”

“Yes. How do you do, Mr. Trowbridge.”

“Your man here wouldn’t let me smoke in his car. You mind?” He jutted out his jaw that held the white cylinder between his bleached teeth.

“Our office is nonsmoking.”

Trowbridge jerked the cigarette from his lips and stuffed it into a silver case he took from his inside pocket.

Jack made a dismissive hand gesture. “I apologize for all this ID stuff. I had to be certain before discussing your daughter.”

Trowbridge glared at Jack and cleared his throat. “May we speak in private?”

“This is as private as it gets. I need a witness as to who said what. Mr. Logan stays.”

With that Max stepped over and offered to take Trowbridge’s coat. The older man unbuttoned the front and turned with the familiar grace of one accustomed to having others remove his coat. “Please be careful,” he said, “the coat’s imported cashmere. I bought it last spring in London.”

“I’ll hang it on this here coat tree.” Max pointed the hanger. “Would that be all right, sir?”

“Yes. Thank you, my good man.”

Trowbridge made himself comfortable in a swivel chair, turning it just far enough to angle his back toward Max. He rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and intertwined his gnarly fingers.

“As much as it pains me to admit it, Mr. McCall, you were right. You had no way of knowing that I was
the
Dean Trowbridge.” He cleared his throat and firmly pushed his glasses tight against his face. “I will not permit you to tape this conversation. I’m here to demand you cease harassing my daughter.”

Jack sat still for a moment before saying, “Our meeting is not being taped. Mr. Trowbridge, you’re a successful man. I respect your accomplishments, but knock off the demanding. That style doesn’t work here.”

The two men stared at one another until the old man looked down. Jack took on a presumptive air to cover what was in large part a guess. “We know you paid off when Allison was blackmailed for her activities in Luke Tittle’s place a few years back. It is not our intent to disclose any of that to anyone. We need you to tell us what you know about the blackmailer and how it went down.”

“Mr. McCall, do I have your assurance this will remain confidential?”

“Yes, unless I need to tell the authorities to prevent others from being blackmailed, or to catch and convict the blackmailer.”

Trowbridge took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes and put the glasses back on. “All right,” he said. “On the conditions you stated. In the event you release what I am about to tell you without it being necessary, I will sue you, sir. As for Mr. Logan here, he’s of no consequence. I can have a dozen people, all with better pedigrees, swear I was somewhere else at whatever time you claim I was here. My driver is right this moment parked outside a building where I am having that meeting with that dozen people; and he will so swear. Do we understand each other, Mr. McCall?” Trowbridge took on the look of a coyote secreted near a rabbit hole.

Jack decided to let Trowbridge have his little king-of-hill feeling. The man might be more open feeling that he had gained some measure of protection over what he was about to say.

“You are a businessman of considerable success,” Jack began. “You’ve sat in on a lifetime of important meetings and negotiations where you had to hear what was said by voice and body language, even nuances. I want you to draw on those skills when recalling your talks with the blackmailer. Tell me what he said and what you heard without him saying it. Okay?”

“All right.”

Trowbridge spread his fingers before laying the flats of his hands on the conference table and looking into Jack’s eyes. “As you’ve implied, Allison gambled in Tittle’s backroom. She drank heavily and lost heavily. She didn’t know how to do either, but, well, young people often rebel through such behavior, don’t they?”

“Some. What’s relevant is that Allison did.”

Trowbridge frowned. “The blackmailer called on my private line in the study of my home, a number I had given to only a few in my inner circle. He said he held Allison’s markers totaling a quarter of a million. He demanded payment or he would turn them over to the press.” Trowbridge coughed up something, and then swallowed. “I paid. He returned the IOUs.”

“Come now, Mr. Trowbridge. We both know Tittle would not publicly acknowledge his illegal activities, but, even if he did, the press would have written it as the gangster Tittle taking advantage of an impetuous young woman. You’re a wealthy and savvy man. From what you’ve told me, you would not have paid the blackmailer.”

The lines in Trowbridge’s face leaked sweat. He swiped at a bead running down his cheek and again pushed his black-rimmed glasses tight against his face.

“There were also some pictures of Allison … being compromised by Tittle and some of his cronies. I paid to get back her IOUs and those damnable pictures.” He pulled off his glasses, tossed them onto the table, and irritably swiped his damp eyes.

“Did you get them?”

“Yes. I thank the blackmailer for being a man of his word and for his respectful manner. I’d also like to thank whoever killed that bastard Luke Tittle.”

“Tell me what your daughter told you about that night. As precisely as you remember.”

“She said. ‘I got wasted.’ She kept losing at the table and they kept bringing her drinks. After she had lost more than she realized, Tittle told her if she didn’t do what he demanded, he’d come to me. She didn’t know what to do; she did what Tittle told her. After she told me that, she got up, ran for her bedroom, and slammed the door. A few minutes later I heard her regurgitate into the water closet.”

“You mean throw up in the toilet?” Max asked.

“Yes, Mr. Logan, if you insist on being tawdry.” Trowbridge shifted in his chair, recrossed his legs and then ran the flat of his hand down the front of his shirt.

“Okay,” Jack said, “let’s get back to what happened. Tell me about his voice.”

“He spoke with a lisp the first time. But he used proper grammar and was well mannered.”

“The first time? You heard from him again?”

“Yes and I immediately presumed he was calling for more money.”

“Wasn’t he?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

“To tell me I could pick up the IOUs and those execrable pictures in the same place I had left what he referred to as ‘your contribution.’ It was no such thing; I assure you. It was an illegal exaction. Then the scoundrel laughed and said, ‘You don’t think I’m honorable enough to keep my word? As I promised, you will never hear from me again.’”

“And you haven’t?”

“Not a word.”

“Tell me more about his voice? He had a lisp, and—”

“He did not have a lisp. He spoke as if he did during the first call. During his second call he dropped the fake lisp. Instead he held one of those units against his throat that allows people with damaged voice boxes to speak through the aid of vibrations. The only common element during the two calls was that he remained well mannered.”

“Put a timeline on these events?”

“The blackmailer’s initial call was a year and a half ago. That’s when I first learned of Allison’s, shall we say, unladylike behavior. About nine months ago the cur called the second time for the purpose I explained a moment ago. That long wait was excruciating, but we had no alternative but to sit tight. To his credit, the blackmailer kept his word.”

“Any other contact?”

“None.”

“Do you still have the pictures so we can identify the men?”

“I burned those horrid pictures in my fireplace, then I scooped up the ashes and, as Mr. Logan would describe the activity, flushed them down the toilet.” He touched his mouth and ran his tongue across his lips.

“What about the IOUs?”

“I disposed of them in the same manner.”

“Mr. Trowbridge,” Max said, “did you pay before or after Allison started her sessions with Dr. Andujar?”

“Before.”

“Are you certain of that sequence?” Jack asked.

“Yes. For quite some time Allison insisted she could deal with it alone, but she became a recluse. A week after we recovered the pictures, I convinced her to see Dr. Andujar.”

Jack looked at Max, who nodded slightly. Tittle’s records had somehow gotten into the hands of the blackmailer. And the blackmailer had not learned about Allison through her sessions with Chris Andujar.

“How did you select Dr. Andujar?” Max asked.

“I got his name from a friend.”

“Who?” Max asked.

“Dorothy Wingate. She had gone to Andujar for years. Swore by him.”

Jack came back into the conversation. “Is there anything else we should know?”

“I’ve told you everything, Mr. McCall. I should be going now.”

“Mr. Logan will drive you back to where he picked you up.”

Max held up Mr. Trowbridge’s imported cashmere coat.

Nora dashed into Jack’s office. “I’ve been waiting for you to get free.”

“Wassup?”

“I’ve found the forger,” she exclaimed, bouncing up and down on her toes.

Jack watched her bounce a moment longer before asking, “How long are you going to keep me in suspense?”

“Herman Flood, he’s one of the portrait painters on Harkin’s list. He lives and paints in New York City, in Manhattan. I told him I was the wife of the unnamed man who bought his paintings of Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley, and Kennedy. He freely confirmed painting them.”

“What else?” Jack asked while watching her shift her legs to a sort of parade rest stance, tightening her skirt across her thighs.

“Nothing else. At that point I quit talking. I didn’t want to risk saying something that wouldn’t match up. I said we were the Millers, and we needed portraits of our directors to hang in the boardroom. We have an appointment for tomorrow morning at eight in his studio. I made our reservations at the Novatel Hotel in Manhattan. I figured we’d drive; it’s about four-hours. I also made dinner reservations at Gallagher’s Steak House, next door to the hotel.”

Nora sauntered over, sat on the edge of Jack’s desk and put a hand on her exposed knee. Then she gave what Jack assumed was a glimpse of the persona she had used during her meeting with Dr. Karros.

“Ms. Candy Robson from Jackson Hole would like you to take her to dinner in the Big Apple.”

Chapter 39

On the way up in the elevator at the hotel in Manhattan, Jack again asked Nora if Drummy’s camera outside her place had taken a picture of anyone coming to retrieve the recorder.

“No. I’m as anxious as you are, but so far, nothing. If the guy only knew about my salacious behavior, he’d have been there already.” She rolled her eyes and smiled. “I’ll check again as soon as we get back.”

“If there’s still nothing,” Jack replied, “I’ll have Drummy check the remote and the camera to be sure they’re working.”

When the elevator doors opened Nora turned to face Jack. “Candy will need a few minutes to get ready for dinner. She’ll buzz you.”