Courthouse (29 page)

“No, I don't know how long this is going to take. I'd rather you tidy up the boat for tomorrow instead. I'll take a cab home when I'm finished.”

“Better watch this one,” cautioned Franco. “She's like the original snake.”

“I will,” Marc smiled. He got out of the car and walked to the front entrance of the restaurant. Once inside, there was a short stairway leading up, then a turn to the left. The bar was on the left Tables lined the right side. In the back, there was a doorway leading to a dining room. Marc peered into the darkness which was hardly pierced by occasional amber wall lighting. As he waited for his eyes to adjust, he could see only shadows and silhouettes, and hear murmurs of conversation.

“Marc, Marc,” he heard a female voice call.

He looked in the direction of the sound, then saw a shadow waving to him. Toni Wainwright was sitting at a table near the back with an attractive blond woman about thirty-five years old.

“Hello, Mister Lawyer,” said Toni.

“Hello,” said Marc. He gauged from her voice and manner that Mrs. Wainwright was probably only on her second drink; still sane and safe. He resolved to keep her, if he could, that is, from drinking too heavily until he finished with his questions. Either that or talk faster, he thought, kidding himself.

“This is Shani Dunlop,” Toni Wainwright introduced the blonde. “Shani, this is my legal eagle, Marc Conte.”

Shani smiled. She was heavily bosomed, and her face had indications that she had been a beautiful woman. While still quite attractive, her face was beginning to puff up from drinking.

“Sit down, sit down,” Mrs. Wainwright said, smiling widely. Marc sat. She put her arm on his back, patting it “This man is the greatest lawyer in the whole U.S. of A.,” she said to Shani. “Mauro, Mauro,” she called to the waiter. “A drink for the barrister. And another for us.”

Marc ordered a drink, which was shortly delivered along with fresh drinks for Toni Wainwright and Shani.

“Now, what did you have to see me about?” asked Toni Wainwright “Not that I don't want to see you even if you didn't have to talk about the case,” she added. She and Shani laughed girlishly.

“No offense, Shani,” said Marc. “Do you want to talk about it in front of Shani?” he asked Mrs. Wainwright.

“Of course. Shani knows almost as much about me as my mirror.”

“Okay,” said Marc. “I wanted to talk to you about the night your husband was killed. And about Zack Lord.”

“I've told you about the night Bob was killed about five times already. There's nothing new,” Mrs. Wainwright said.

“I know. It may seem useless to you, but I like to keep going over it again and again, listening to anything that I might have missed, something you may have forgotten,” said Marc.

A tall, lumbering man with fair hair, came over to their table, a drink in his hand. From his face, Marc saw that the man had already held several drinks in that hand today.

“Well, if it isn't old thimble belly himself,” Toni Wainwright said to the man.

“Who's your loudmouth friend, Shani?” the man cut sarcastically. “She's got a big mouth for a little broad.”

“She always speaks well of you,” Shani laughed. She finished her drink in one gulp.

“Marc Conte, my lawyer, say hello to Bard Stone,” said Toni Wainwright.

Marc stood and shook hands with Stone. Stone had a large ham hock of a hand, strong and meaty.

“Pleasure, Counselor,” said Stone. “Sit down, sit down, I want to stand. How's the case going?”

“Fine,” said Marc.

The conversation was halted now as Stone stood draining his drink.

“Come on, Brad,” said Shani. “How about you and I have a drink at the bar?” She rose and winked at Toni Wainwright.

“Oh, oh. Confidential stuff, eh? Okay, let's see if we can find ourselves a little trouble,” said Stone.

“See you later,” Shani said to Toni Wainwright and Marc.

“Now what is it you want out of my life?” Toni Wainwright asked Marc as she drained her glass. “Wait, before you tell me let's have another drink.”

“I'd rather if, for a few minutes more, we'd stay off the drinks and concentrate on the facts in this case,” said Marc.

Toni stared at him. “Are you going to order me a drink, or do I have to do it myself? Mauro,” she called, turning to the waiter without waiting for a reply.

“Yes, Mrs. Wainwright?”

“Get me a very, very dry Beefeater martini, straight up.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“I don't like being treated like a little girl,” said Toni Wainwright.

“I wasn't treating you like a little girl. I just want to work without interruption or distraction. If that sounds to you like you're a little girl, I think you're mistaken.”

The waiter brought her drink. She took it directly from the tray and began to sip at it.

“I've got a drink now, no thanks to you,” she said caustically. “Now let's get on to what you want to know so we can be finished with it.”

“Fine,” said Marc. “Tell me about the actual shooting. Tell me what happened.”

“I told you. I saw this shadow come into the room—after it broke my door into a million pieces.”

“Then you said the shadow came at you,” added Marc. “And you moved backwards. You had the pistol. Then you realized it was your husband. Then everything went black, and then there was the tremendous explosion and the flash of light.”

“That's right Why do I have to go over this again and again? You know the whole story already.”

“Because this way I can ask you questions about what happened,” said Marc. “Questions that I can't answer by myself.”

“For instance?”

“For instance, are you sure that the explosion and the flash of light came
after
and not before everything went black?”

Toni Wainwright thought for a moment. “Yes, everything went black, and then the explosion and the flash of light. Now that I think of it, I don't know how. What does that mean?”

“I don't know yet. Did anyone else have a set of keys to your apartment, besides yourself?”

“Zack. He's the only one. Except for the maids.”

“What about Bob Wainwright, your husband?” Marc asked.

“No, he didn't have a key to the new locks. I had them changed after he left.”

“How about the building manager? Does he have a key?”

“Yes, the building has a key, too.”

“Tell me some more about Zack Lord,” said Marc.

She puffed a cigarette impatiently. “Zack is very green if not very blue. That is, he's very wealthy, although not very social. That doesn't mean he isn't nice to be with, by the way,” she said. “It means his name isn't in the social register. What else is there to tell you? He's in mutual funds, and his mutual funds own all kinds of businesses and corporations. That's about all I can tell you, except his empire is about one billion big.”

“You said something the last time we spoke about your husband saying that Zack Lord's empire was going to crumble and fall apart some day.”

“That's right, he did. He was always saying that Zack overextended himself too fast and it would blow up in his face one of these days. But he was only jealous. I also told you that He was lousy at being jealous.”

“Besides being jealous, as you say,” probed Marc, “did your husband ever give a reason why he said these things about Lord's business?”

“Well, first of all,” she said, “Zack got his first real money to expand, go public, whatever the hell he did, from Wainwright and Company.”

“Your husband's company handled the underwriting for Zack Lord's operations?”

“Originally, yes.”

“And then?”

“After that, Zack was making deals all over the place,” she said. “He didn't need any money. He was dealing in swapping stock with other companies.”

“When was this?” asked Marc. “The first underwriting.”

“About two, two and a half years ago.”

“So your husband had more information about Zack Lord's finances than just casual conversation.”

“Absolutely. Bob knew Zack's entire operation. And, as a result of the original underwriting, Wainwright and Company owned a large portion of Zack Lord's operations. Aren't you drinking anything?” she asked as she finished her drink.

“I'm still nursing this one.”

“Well, I'll have another.”

Marc said politely as he could: “Maybe we can finish this conversation quickly, so I don't interfere with the rest of your evening.”

“Oh, you're all right, as long as you don't start your temperance preaching,” she said. “Are you Catholic?”

The liquor was becoming more apparent; and Marc wanted to finish even more quickly now as Mrs. Wainwright opened into one of the drunkard's classic conversations.

“Yes, I am, if that makes any difference,” Marc replied. “Now, did your husband ever give any reason for his opinion about Zack Lord's business?”

“I thought you were Catholic,” she continued. “Very Catholic, aren't you?”

“Mrs. Wainwright, whatever I am, except for being a trial lawyer, is of no significance in this case. You're the one who's indicted, not me.”

“Oh, is that so,” she said. She turned away from Marc. She was petulant now, brooding, silently sipping her drink.

Marc was quiet, too, thinking about what Toni Wainwright said about Zack Lord. Here was Lord's billion-dollar enterprise, which Bob Wainwright had not only helped to put together, but which he had also said was about to fall apart. Supposing it was. Supposing Bob Wainwright knew something about Lord's operation that indicated it was about to blow apart. Suppose, he … Marc had to check himself. He found himself getting carried away with one of his wife's and Franco's fanciful theories. And there was nothing to hold the idea together. He'd check it out, of course, he assured himself. But, not with Toni Wainwright. And not this evening, for sure.

“Mrs. Wainwright, I've got to be going,” Marc announced. “I have an appointment later.”

“Another appointment? I thought we were going to have dinner?” she said, turning back toward Marc.

“Not that I knew about I have to meet some people, strictly business, of course,” Marc made up as he spoke. “Do you want to stay here or would you like me to drop you somewhere?”

“You'll take me home, like any proper young man,” Toni Wainwright said coyly. “You'll take me right to my doorstep.”

“Fine.” Marc paid the check, and he and Toni Wainwright walked out to the street, where Marc signaled a cab. As the cab drove uptown on Park Avenue, Marc watched the people and cars moving through the fading daylight. It was a pleasant evening, warm; there was a mild breeze and not much humidity. Suddenly, Marc felt a movement next to him. He turned. Toni Wainwright's face was directly next to his, and moving closer. Her mouth was upon his in a moment, and her tongue was slithering into his mouth. She slipped her hand behind his head, clutching the back of his head to hold him closer while she kissed him.

Marc pulled himself away, holding Toni Wainwright at arm's length. “What the hell are you doing?” He was angry.

“Afraid of a little girl like me?” she asked.

“Mrs. Wainwright, thank you very much, but no thanks,” said Marc.

“It's because you're Catholic, that's what it is, isn't it? You're Catholic.”

Before Marc could answer the cab stopped. They were at Toni Wainwright's building. The doorman came out and opened the cab door. Marc got out of the cab to say good night.

“Oh no. You don't think you're getting away just like that, do you?” said Toni Wainwright. “You've got to take me to my door and see me safely home like any self-respecting gentleman would.”

“No, I don't think so,” said Marc.

“Oh yes you will,” she demanded in a resounding, loud voice. “You'll take me home, right to my door.”

People walking on the street stopped to look.

The doorman looked at Marc helplessly.

“Well?” she nearly shouted.

“Okay,” said Marc. To avoid what was developing into a scene, he would drop her at her door.

“Here are the keys,” Toni Wainwright said, as they got off the elevator. Marc unlocked the door. Just as he did, a maid appeared.

“Oh, it's you, Mrs.,” said the maid. She spoke with what seemed to be a Scandinavian or German accent.

“Yes, it's me. Who did you expect, anyway?”

“Very well, Mrs.,” said the maid. “I just wanted to be sure you were all right.”

“I'm fine, I'm fine,” Mrs. Wainwright said. “Mary, take care of Mister Conte, fix him a drink, show him where everything is—well, not everything,” she said with a leer. The woman looked at her blankly. “I'll be right out.”

Toni Wainwright walked through a door and disappeared into another part of the apartment.

Relieved, Marc began to make his retreat.

“Right this way, gentleman,” said Mary.

Marc stood still at the door. The maid was looking at him, waiting. Somehow she reminded him of something. “Mary, were you on duty the evening that Mister Wainwright was shot?”

Mary hesitated, uncomfortable, standing in the hallway when Mrs. Wainwright directed her to show Marc to the library.

Marc walked forward with her as she moved to the library.

“Were you on duty that night, Mary?” he asked again.

“I guess it's all right to talk to you,” she said finally. “Mrs. Wainwright told all of us not to talk to people about that night. But I know that you are the lawyer. So I'm sure that Mrs. Wainwright wants us to talk to you. Yes, gentleman, I was on duty.” She opened the bar and showed Marc where the ice was.

“I just want to talk to you,” Marc said, declining a drink. “How many servants are there all together?”