Brad Meltzer - Dead Even

“What happened in the booth?” Sara asked.

“Yeah,” Conrad added.

“No offense to either of you – since I hold you close to my heart – but are you really that blind?”

“Me?” Sara asked. “I wasn’t-”

“Forget about how he got there; focus on the result,” Conrad interrupted. He stepped out of the booth and approached Guff. “So if the motive is lust, where does that leave us?”

“I have no idea,” Guff said. “It’s only been a minute. That’s as far as I’ve gotten.”

“Maybe Arnold was sick and she killed him to put him out of his misery,” Conrad suggested. “That’s a killing out of love.”

“No way,” Sara said. “She’s not that nice.”

“Maybe she was in love with someone else, and she killed her husband so she could be with her true love,” Guff suggested.

“Too romantic,” Conrad said. “Besides, even New Yorkers are civilized enough to file for divorce.”

“Not when there’s something to be gained by the death,” Sara countered.

“What do you mean?” Conrad asked.

“What if the person Claire loves is one of the people who takes in the will?”

“I see where you’re going,” Guff said. “So both of them hired Kozlow to kill her husband. She grants them easy access to the house, her lover foots the bill.”

“There’s only one problem,” Conrad said. “According to the will, all the assets go to charities and other organizations.”

“Except for one item,” Sara said. “Echo Enterprises. That goes to the company’s other partners.”

“So you think one of Arnold’s partners was sleeping with Claire, and when they realized that his death would not only allow them to be together but would also make them both rich, they hired Kozlow and bumped him off?” Conrad asked.

“It works for me,” Guff said.

“Me, too,” Sara added. “Although I want you both to know there was nothing going on in the booth.”

“Oh, c’mon now,” Guff said. “Does the sun set in the east? Do New Yorkers love to wear black? Was Elvis buried in a white suit, powder-blue shirt, and cashmere tie? Yes, yes, and yes. We’re all simple creatures. So do I know flirting when I see it? Absolutely.”

“The sun doesn’t set in the east,” Conrad pointed out “It sets in the west.”

Guff looked over at Sara, then back at Conrad. “That doesn’t change the facts!” Guff shouted over Sara’s laughter. “Flirting went on in that booth!”

SITTING BEHIND HIS ANTIQUE DESK IN HIS OFFICE AT Echo Enterprises, Rafferty wasn’t happy. His breakfast with Claire had been stressful, his business lunch at CBS had been an ordeal, and as he stared across his desk, he realized the worst part of the day was right in front of him – Kozlow was in his office. “You better speak to Elliott. We have some serious problems.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Kozlow said, sitting in one of the two chairs opposite Rafferty’s desk. “You’re the one who’s-” The ringing of Rafferty’s intercom interrupted his thought.

“What is it, Beverley?” Rafferty asked.

“Sir, I have someone named Sara Tate out here who says she wants to see you,” his secretary said.

“She’s out there right now?” Rafferty asked, his fist tightening around the receiver.

“Yes, sir. Says she’s from the district attorney’s office and asked if she can take a minute of your time.”

Rafferty paused and thought about the situation. Finally, he said, “Beverley, I want you to listen very carefully to what I’m about to say. No matter what Ms. Tate says, don’t let her know who’s with me in my office. If she asks, you have no idea who Tony Kozlow is, and you’ve never heard of him. I want you to give us five minutes, then I’ll buzz you and you can show her in.”

The moment Rafferty put down the phone, Kozlow said, “Sara Tate called here?”

“Worse than that. Sara Tate is here. Right outside as we speak.”

Kozlow jumped out of his chair. “Now? She’s here?”

“Calm down,” Rafferty said. “Let’s get you hidden, and then we’ll deal with her.” He walked to the corner of his office, pulled open a swinging panel, and revealed the entrance to his private bathroom. “Get in,” Rafferty said.

“In the bathroom?” Kozlow asked. “Don’t you have another entrance or something?”

“Get in!” Rafferty barked. “She’ll be here in a minute.”

Kozlow stepped inside. “See you soon,” Kozlow added as Rafferty closed the paneling.

Two minutes later, Sara, Guff, and Conrad walked into Rafferty’s office and found him sitting behind his desk, signing letters.

“Hi, Mr. Rafferty, I’m Sara Tate,” Sara said, extending her hand. “These are my colleagues, Conrad Moore and Alexander Guff.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Tate,” Rafferty said as he shook her hand. “Please, take a seat.” As Sara and Conrad sat down, Guff pulled up a chair from the far corner of the room. “Now what can I do for you?”

“Well, sir, we’re following up on the murder of Arnold Doniger, and-”

“What?” Rafferty interrupted. “You think he was murdered? I can’t believe it.”

“That’s the theory we’re investigating,” Sara said. “We actually came by to subpoena some of Echo’s corporate records, but we thought it might be helpful to talk to some of the firm’s partners.”

“No, of course,” Rafferty said. “Anything I can do to help, just let me know.”

“Can you tell us a little bit about Echo?”

“Absolutely,” Rafferty said. “Of course. Yes.” Forcing a stutter, he explained, “Echo is an ownership company that deals in intellectual property. In layperson’s terms, we own and are responsible for the copyrights for various theatrical properties.”

“Anything we’ve heard of?” Sara asked, trying to gauge the value of the business.

Rafferty’s answer was quick. “ A Chorus Line, Inherit the Wind, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, A Streetcar Named Desire – there are a few others. If someone wants to produce the play, be it a high school or a fifty-million-dollar production company, they come to us first. In exchange for our approval, we usually work out some sort of percentage agreement.”

“So you get a percent of the take,” Conrad said. “I imagine that’s quite a cash cow.”

“It pays the bills,” Rafferty said.

“It may do more than that,” Conrad said accusingly.

“I’m sorry, are you insinuating something?” Rafferty asked, trying to keep the conversation friendly.

“Not at all,” Sara said as she glared at Conrad. “We’re just trying to determine if there’s anything we’ve overlooked. Now, let me ask you: How many other partners are there in the business?”

“There are over forty employees, but the only two partners are Arnold and myself.”

“Really?” Sara asked. “Then does that mean you have full ownership of the business now that Mr. Doniger is dead?”

“That depends on Arnie’s will. When we first set up Echo, we decided that specific bequests would take precedence over our partnership agreement. So if Arnie gave his share to someone else, I’m now a partner with them. To be honest, though, knowing Arnie, I’m pretty sure he donated his share to charity. He was a true philanthropist.”

“Actually, he left his share of the business to the partners of Echo,” Sara explained. “Which I guess means you.”

“What?” Rafferty asked, sounding shocked. “That can’t be. There must be some sort of mistake.”

“There isn’t,” Conrad said suspiciously. “Mr. Rafferty, how close are you to Claire Doniger?”

“I’ve known Claire since she and Arnie first met – at the Decorator Show House a few years ago. She’s a wonderful designer.”