Good Faith (41 page)

“Joe and I are going out to the farm. Gottfried has run into some problem.”

“Can I go?” said Mike. “I’d like to see how it’s coming.”

“No,” I said. “Gottfried will be much less receptive if there’re too many people around.”

We closed the door behind us before he could reply.

But when we got down to the gold traders’ offices, George was out. Then he came back and Marcus sat down in front of the screen and said, “I don’t like it today.”

“I haven’t traded a thing today,” said George. “Market’s way up. You never can tell what it’s going to be like at the end of the year.”

“That’s true,” said Marcus. We sat around the office, idly checking the numbers for a while, but then Marcus said, “Well, some of us have to actually do some work,” and he got up. I followed him out of the office. In the hallway, he said to me, “George is right. The end of the year can be a bad time. We’ll wait and see. And, of course, people who have profited over the year often take their offsetting losses. When we should have done this was around the tenth–twelfth of the month.” He shrugged. “But, you know, when we do do it, it will be fun.”

I nodded. He said, “You got that check?”

“Yeah.” I patted my wallet.

“A personal check is going to take some time to clear. If we want to do this this week, you have to go to the bank and get a bank draft made out to me, like this one. I’ll put it into an account at George’s office. I have an account in my own name, with nothing in it. But I’ll change that into both of our names. Here.” He handed me a card. “Put your social security number on there.”

I wrote my number on the back of one of his business cards.

He said, “We’ll see how it goes over the next couple of days.”

“I still think that was a helluva day Monday.”

“Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah. Say, do you want to really go out to the farm?”

“I was out there yesterday. Gottfried is doing fine, but you know, he hasn’t been paid.”

“I’ll go up and get Jane on it right now.”

“All right. I’ll go to the bank.” At the end of the day, I handed him the bank draft. He looked at it and put it into his wallet.

Thursday was no better, according to both George and Marcus, and when I looked at the screen myself, I could see that they were right—prices declined over the course of the day. Marcus left to do an errand. George said to me, “You don’t have to stay in for just a few hours. You can go more long-term than that.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“But the price is high, compared to what it’s been over the year. I just put everything away myself, all in cash for the time being. But I hate having things in cash. Cash loses value so fast when you’ve got this kind of inflation. I had this funny dream this year. I’ll never forget it. I had this wad of cash in my pocket, in a money clip, the way my grandfather used to carry his money, and I took it out and laid it out in my hand, and you could barely see the printing, and even as I watched, the green just faded to white. I was terrified! I woke up and said to my wife, ‘I’ve just had this dream about inflation!’ Oh, we laughed!”

Friday was December 30. We went down to the gold traders’ office early, before nine. When the market opened, the price was still up, though not quite as high as it had been the afternoon before. Marcus seemed depressed and George seemed distracted. I said, “We aren’t very psyched for the game, guys.”

“Oh, Linda and I had another go-round this morning, and I guess you’ve seen Jane.”

“I didn’t notice anything with Jane.”

“That’s because you have dollar signs in your eyes. Do you ever feel surrounded by women?”

“No.”

But George nodded.

“Jane. Linda. Amanda. All cut from the same cloth.”

“Which cloth is that?”

“Well, the female cloth. ‘I’m mad.’ ‘What about?’ ‘You don’t know?’ ‘No, I don’t.’ ‘Think about it.’ And then you’re sitting there inventorying your possible sins, and you know there are plenty of them. The only question is, which ones does she know about and which ones doesn’t she? So you decide that the problem is you were lying in bed last night right next to her and, very quietly, you beat off, and she must have been awake rather than asleep, so
that’s
the one. But it’s very important to be cautious, so you say, ‘Really, I can’t think of anything. I want to know, I really want to know,’ and she says, ‘You really don’t remember yesterday when I was bringing all those groceries in from the car, and you just sat there in front of the TV even though I asked you twice to help me?’ Oh, yeah! That! Don’t remember a thing about it. So, I said, ‘Oh, I am sorry, dear, I guess I was preoccupied and didn’t hear you’ and she says, ‘You were? You were
that
preoccupied? What about         .         .         .         ? Is something wrong I should know about?’ That sort of thing. And then Amanda comes in and says, ‘Justin is picking his nose and eating it! Aren’t you going to stop him?’”

“Glad I got boys,” said George.

Marcus said, “At least Jane is going to go to our sister’s house without me this year. Linda and the kids and I are going to her family. They live near a ski area, so I’m going to spend the whole time on the slopes.”

“When will you be back?”

“Monday evening. Monday afternoon if the weather looks bad. Believe me, I want to be right here first thing Tuesday morning.”

We watched the screen. It was as if the numbers didn’t know how to change. After about half an hour, Marcus said to me, “Let’s do this Monday. First trading day of the New Year. I bet things will be quite up and down and we can turn it over a little.”

Actually, I was relieved to put it off. We went up to the office. Jane seemed fine to me. She was wearing an especially attractive outfit, a sort of rose-colored suit, but not too bright, very flattering to her skin tone, which I told her. She laughed and said in a friendly, pleased way, “Well, I just bought this at an after-Christmas sale. Maybe I’ll wear it every day. I love it.” And she reached up and tweaked me affectionately on the cheek. I said, “Marcus says you’re going away for the weekend.”

She glanced at Marcus, then nodded. “How about you?”

“I’ll be right here.”

“You should go somewhere.”

“I’m waiting for that billion, I guess.”

She laughed.

Marcus came out of his office about five minutes later. It was maybe ten-thirty. He said, “I’m off then.”

I said, “Have fun skiing.” Jane’s eyebrows rose, then she composed her face again. Marcus nodded and went out, letting the door slam behind him. I said, “Don’t Linda’s folks live near a ski area?”

“Oh, yeah. But Marcus is a terrible skier. I’m surprised that’s what he’s planning to do all weekend. I hope he gets back here in one piece. Say, Joe, you aren’t getting into any deal with him, are you?”

“I’m already in a deal with him, as you know.”

“But other than that?”

I definitely didn’t want a third party in on this. I said, “No, of course not.”

She said, “Well, good. Have a Happy New Year.”

Her tone seemed unusually warm, which I found a little embarrassing, so I just thanked her and went into my office. A few minutes later, I heard the outer door open and close, and I was alone in the office. Our business for the year was done, and, I thought, it hadn’t been easy, had it?

CHAPTER

30

S
USAN AND I WENT OUT
for New Year’s Eve with some of her friends. They were younger than I was by about ten years. We went to a couple of clubs and danced, then back to her place. We went quietly and affectionately to bed. It was cold, and she wore a light blue flannel nightgown and socks. When I was unable to fall asleep, I thought because of the food we’d eaten late, she said, “Let me do this,” and she stroked my forehead. I thought of Marcus as I fell asleep with my arms around her. I was planning to tell him that his first instinct about her had been right, and we didn’t need to worry about the other stuff after all. I suppose it took me until about noon to wake up and get moving. Susan and I lolled in bed, a lazy Sunday in front of us. We ate some muffins she had baked, with dried cranberries and orange peel in them, another something I had never tasted that tasted good. And her coffee wasn’t Maxwell House, either, but ground fresh beans she’d ordered from New York.

It was a bright, sunny, cold day, and I got into my car at Susan’s and I drove through the brilliant countryside. I was ruminating pleasantly on how rich I was going to be. Later in the afternoon, I dropped by my parents’ house and cleaned their furnace filters and changed the element on their electric hot-water heater. I swept their walk. We hadn’t had any snow in over a week.

For dinner, I made myself a ham sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup. When the phone rang, I looked at the clock. It was seven forty-two. I picked it up. On the other end of the line was Betty, whom I was not expecting. She said, “Joey.”

“Yes. Hi, Betty.”

“Joey. Have you seen Felicity?”

“No. I mean, I saw her Christmas Eve day, but I haven’t seen her since.”

“How did she seem?”

“Fine. I actually thought how fine she seemed.”

“Well, no one has seen her since Friday morning. She didn’t come home last night or call. Hank is worried. I’m a little worried myself.”

“Felicity seems like she can take care of herself.”

She said, “I think it’s over with Hank.”

“Well, Betty, when I talked to her last, she said that not only didn’t she understand why she was married to Hank, she didn’t understand why anyone was married at all.”

“She said that to me too.”

“What did you say?”

“Well, I think I said something very unhelpful and obtuse, like, ‘Oh, Felicity, for goodness’ sake.’”

“What does Leslie say?”

“She hasn’t heard from her either.”

“Where’s her car?”

“Gordon says we should call the state police and have them look for her car.”

“What about Hank?”

“Hank knows she’s left him, but he isn’t willing to admit it yet.”

“I’m sure she’ll get in touch by morning, Betty. I don’t feel like anything has happened to her.” That was right, wasn’t it?

“Oh, of course,” said Betty. “But it makes me nervous, because we went through this with Sally. We didn’t hear anything for two days, and then we heard from the police. Felicity knows that. She would surely avoid worrying us if she could.”

That was a thought I could not get past, so I just said, “I don’t know, Betty. Keep me informed.”

Patience was the only option. I went to a movie by myself. There was something about this Felicity thing I couldn’t discuss with Susan. She was too cool. She would point out some detail in a way that would be both insightful and irrefutable. I was sorry Marcus wasn’t around, because I knew he would have plenty to say.

By the time I went to bed that night, I had more or less reassured myself, but I lay awake anyway. I thought two things. One was that she was too smart to get into trouble and the other was just an image of her face, ready and accepting, the sort of face that might tempt someone to give her trouble.

Monday night, Betty called me again. She said, “You’ll never guess. They found her car parked at JFK.”

“JFK airport?”

“Yes. The parking ticket was in it. Stuck behind the visor.”

“So she went somewhere?”

“Somewhere. The car is fine. It was locked. Maybe she just wanted to get away. Gordon says she’ll come back. The police don’t really want to pursue the matter any further, and Hank doesn’t either. I guess he doesn’t want to hound her into saying that she’s leaving him until she makes up her mind, if that’s what’s going on.”

“I think that
is
what’s going on, Betty. I really do. She went somewhere to make up her mind. We should just be patient.”

“I keep feeling that if she had married you, she wouldn’t be doing this.”

“There’s no way to know that, Betty.”

“I knew you were seeing each other last year.”

“Was it that obvious?”

“Not to anyone else. But, yes, to me.”

“She was afraid of what you might say.”

“Then maybe she underestimated me.” She sighed. Then she said, “Okay. Well, okay. I won’t worry.”

“I’m sure when Marcus gets home, he’ll have some idea about what to do, or a connection somewhere that will lead right to her.”

“Where is he?”

“They all went skiing.”

“I hope so. I mean, obviously what’s needed is patience more than anything else, but that’s the hard part.”

“I know she’s fine, Betty.”

At 2
A.M.
Tuesday morning, my phone started ringing and ringing. I thought of Felicity and woke right up. But it wasn’t Felicity, or Betty either. It was Linda Burns. She said, “Joey. Joe. Where is Marcus?”

“I have no idea. I haven’t seen him since you guys got back.”

“Back from where?”

“Back from your trip. Didn’t you go to see your folks?”

“Yes. But Marcus didn’t come along. He stayed here to do work.”

“He did?” Maybe I was still asleep, I thought, because I sounded very dumb. I said, evenly, “He told me all of you were going and would be back tonight.”

Her voice got more penetrating. “His clothes are gone. About half his clothes from the closet in our room. And there’s just a note that says
I’ll call you and call Joe
.”

“Did you call Jane?”

“Yes. There’s no answer at her place. The kids and I went over. It’s dark there and the dog is gone.”

“Wouldn’t she take the dog to her sister’s?”

“Jane didn’t go to Mary Rose’s house or to Katie’s. I saw both of them this weekend. I drove down with the kids. That was part of my agenda, so they could see the kids. I was fit to be tied with Marcus because I was supposed to do all this relatives stuff on my own.” Now, she sounded conversational, matter-of-fact, almost cool.

“Jane told me she was going to see her sister.”

“She did?”

I tried to remember more clearly. Then I said, “Well, I suppose it was Marcus who told me that.”

“Joe.”

“Yeah?”

“Joe, I’m going to say this while I’m still kind of sane.”

“What’s that?”

“I think they’ve left. I think they’ve walked out and left and Marcus knew if I talked to you, you would tell me. Did they leave? Marcus and Jane? Did they go off together? You can tell me.”

“I can’t tell you. I don’t know.”

“You told me that Marcus told you that he was going with me, and Jane was going to Mary Rose’s. Why would he tell you that? You’re sure he told you that?”

“I’m sure.”

She hung up.

By eight o’clock I was in the office, looking through all the drawers in both Marcus’s desk and Jane’s and through the file cabinets too. I kept looking at my watch. At 8:05, I began calling downstairs to the gold trading company and asking for George. George called me back at 8:36, casual and relaxed from a ski weekend. I said, “Say, George, did Marcus deposit a check with you, in a gold trading account, in both of our names, his and mine, last Thursday?”

“What would that be, the twenty-ninth? Let’s see. How much would it have been for?”

“Sixty grand.”

“Oh, goodness, no. Marcus owed me about three thousand at that point, so I would have noticed that for sure. Is he around? The market is jumping today already.”

“Marcus is not around.”

“When do you expect him?”

“You know, I’m not sure of the details of what’s going on, but I feel certain it’s some simple thing and we’ll all look back on this and laugh.”

“Laugh at what?”

“Oh, laugh at how worried we were.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll call you back.”

I called Betty. Gordon answered. I said, “Hey. Any word from Felicity?”

“No,” he said. “It’s been four days now. I hired a guy.”

“What sort of guy?”

“The sort of guy who looks into things. Nathan knows him.”

“How’s everyone over there?”

“Not sleeping. I don’t know, Joey. I don’t know. It’s a bad deal that Marcus Burns is—”

“Do we feel like Marcus Burns is—”

“Is gone? Yes. I think Marcus Burns is gone. Betty doesn’t agree with me. Linda Burns was over here.”

“I’m sure there’s some explanation, Gordon.”

“What would a good explanation be, Joe? I mean, an explanation that we would like?”

“Did she take any money with her?”

“Hank says about ten grand.”

“That’s a good sign.”

“It’s a good sign if you’re worried she’s dead.”

“Well, yes.”

“So, it’s a good sign.”

He hung up.

What was missing from Marcus’s desk were the financial records of our partnership. That, I thought, was a bad sign. Just as I thought that thought, the phone rang and it was Bart from the savings and loan. He said, “Is this Joe?”

“Yeah.”

“Joe, I took your name off the loan.”

“Which loan?”

“The last loan, the loan on the farms in the Midwest. Where was that, Kansas? Nebraska.”

“My name wasn’t on that loan.”

“That’s why I took your name off it.”

“Excuse me?”

“I have to make this quick. There’s a lot going on.”

“Yes, there is. But I never even saw the paperwork on that loan.”

“Well, after thinking about it I decided probably that was the case, so however your signature got on that loan, and your condo—well, I removed them.”

“Marcus and Jane forged my signature on that loan?”

“That’s what it looked like to me after I thought about it for a while, yes. I thought that rather than going down that road, since there are going to be plenty of other roads to go down, we would just—you know. Less said the better.”

“We’ve been waiting for that money for months.”

“It did take awhile. Lot of money, in some ways. But I’m sorry to say that it was paid out ten days ago, and we understand from Mr. Nuelle, to whom I spoke this morning, that none of it has been paid to him, and none of it has been paid to the engineers, and so, I have to say, that’s a loan that is going to be scrutinized very closely in the near future.”

“Ten days ago?”

“Let’s see, yes, more than that now. Paid out on December seventeenth. I’ll call you back.” And he hung up.

That’s the exact moment I realized that Marcus and Jane and Felicity had taken at least eight hundred thousand dollars, plus my sixty, which would make it eight hundred and sixty thousand dollars, which was a lot of money in 1984, and left the country.

In the newspapers, the reports and the investigations centered on Jim Crosbie, and for a long time the collapse of Portsmouth Savings and Loan, which became official on the fifteenth of January, was considered to be an example of malfeasance on the part of Crosbie and only Crosbie. It was Bart, it turned out, who alerted the FSLIC and supplied the government with notes he had been keeping since Crosbie’s arrival. Apparently, Portsmouth Savings had been hiding losses since the late seventies, and hiding their diminishing net worth from the regulators by inflating loan appraisals and cooking the books. Crosbie’s job had been to make risky investments and apply the proceeds to Portsmouth’s net worth, and he had risked millions of dollars in deposits on T-bill futures and junk bonds. When the regulators had a look in November, just by chance, there had been plenty of money in the coffers, but three big losses after New Year’s had wrecked that—and when Crosbie had to cover margin calls with almost all the deposits, Bart had phoned the regulators. The government sent in eleven accountants, and it took them months to figure out all the details. In fact, that chaos was part of Crosbie’s defense—what with the slow transition to computers, the unfamiliarity of the staff with the new system, and the huge new variety of transactions the S and L had been engaged in, he more or less didn’t know what was going on. The
Portsmouth Herald
supported Crosbie at first, if you consider calling him
an incompetent boob
support. He lost a good deal of credibility, or maybe it was sympathy, though, when he happened to shrug on the local news and say, “All the deposits are insured, aren’t they?” There was a considerable outcry about how he didn’t seem to care, and, in fact, he didn’t. When the
Portsmouth Herald
did a story about all the falsified loan documents found in the files, with appraisals from guys named
Joe Blow
and
Roger Roe,
things got more serious, and eventually Crosbie was sent to federal prison for fraud. After a while, the FSLIC sucked up all our firm’s collateral—Gordon’s properties and farms, Salt Key Farm, Bobby’s little house that he had bought with Fernie, and Marcus’s house—and everything was sold for what it might bring. For a long time, until the Resolution Trust period, the $800,000 that Marcus and Jane took with them to the Bahamas was listed as an asset. Then the debt was sold off, Marcus and Jane were indicted in absentia, and I didn’t have the heart to follow the money, wherever it had gone. Bobby Baldwin said it was in Switzerland somewhere. Perhaps that was true. Marcus also took our books, so we never figured out how much of our original stake he had with him, but what with all the bills left unpaid, my guess was about $200,000.

Susan Webster was very cool when she ended our friendship. It was maybe ten or twelve days after my conversation with Bart. We were sitting on her bed, and I was looking at the picture of the glossy oranges across the room and saying, “I think I would be satisfied in some way if I just knew when he made up his mind. I mean, was it all the way from the beginning? Was it some kind of panic deal at the end? Did he, or all of them for that matter, just look at that money and say—”