away from the estate. Junior and Eddie were already there when Charlie arrived. They were in Junior’s private office, and to Charlie’s surprise both men were in remarkably good spirits. He had expected them to be in foul moods and to somehow manage to blame at least part of the Mama fiasco on him.
On the drive there from Little Neck he had been preparing his defense: “I suggested you make the donation for the wing, give the party, and present the portrait. The satellite hookup was your idea.”
But, of course, Charlie knew that was the last thing he could say. Any hint that Mama’s appearance had been less than a delight would be unforgivable. By now the brothers would have figured out another reason why the party had been a colossal flop.
The entertainment, Charlie thought. They’ll decide that Nor Kelly and Billy Campbell didn’t cut the mustard. They’ll blame Jewel for suggesting them and me for hiring them. As he turned into the reserved parking area, he suddenly remembered how upset Kelly and Campbell had been when they came out of Junior’s office yesterday.
The brothers must have found fault with the way they sang “Happy Birthday” in Wallonian, Charlie decided. Reluctantly he turned off the ignition, got out of the car, and pressed the “lock” symbol on his key ring. Dragging his feet, he walked to the building and took the elevator to the fourth floor, which was entirely dedicated to the Badgett brothers’ quasi-legitimate enterprises.
The reason for the early meeting was that Junior was interested in purchasing a new car dealership in Syosset that was beginning to cut into the profits of his own operation. Junior’s secretary was not yet in. As Charlie murmured a greeting to a receptionist and waited to be announced, he wondered how long it would be before the deal closed, before the new dealer got the message that he didn’t have a choice not to sell to the Badgetts.
“Tell him to come on in,” Junior’s genial voice boomed on the intercom.
The office had been done by the same decorator who had lavished his excesses on the mansion. An ornately carved partner desk with a shiny finish, gold-striped wallpaper, a dark brown carpet emblazoned with the brothers’ initials in gold, heavy brown satin draperies, and a glass-enclosed miniature village with a plaque inscribed OUR BOYHOOD HOME were only some of the points of interest.
To the left of the door, a couch and chairs upholstered in a zebra pattern were grouped around a forty-inch television screen hung on the wall.
The brothers were drinking coffee and watching the local station. Junior waved Charlie in, pointing to a chair. “The news is coming on, I wanna see it.”
“After six hours, the warehouse fire in Syosset is still burning fiercely,” the reporter at the news desk began. “Two firemen have been treated for smoke inhalation. The owner of the warehouse, Hans Kramer, suffered a heart attack at the site, and has been removed to St. Francis hospital, where he is now in intensive care…”
Vivid images of the blazing building appeared. On a split screen, a tape was rerun of a fireman administering CPR to Hans Kramer, who was stretched on the ground, an oxygen mask clamped over his face.
“That’s enough, Eddie. Turn it off.” Junior got up. “Still burning, huh? Must be some heck of a fire.”
“Faulty wiring, I bet.” Eddie shook his head. “Happens, huh, Junior?”
Hans Kramer. Charlie knew that name. He’d been to see Junior at the mansion. He was one of the people who received “private loans” from the brothers. They did this to him. He didn’t pay on time, Charlie thought with absolute certainty, so they burned down his business.
This scenario had been played out before. If the cops can prove Junior and Eddie had anything to do with this fire, they’ll be facing another arson charge, Charlie thought, quickly assessing the situation. If Kramer dies, they could be facing a murder rap.
But of course, none of this would ever be traced back to the Badgetts. They were too careful. The loan Kramer signed with them probably had a normal interest rate on the face of the note. No one would know that the fifty percent interest rate had already been built into the principal. And of course the guy who actually set the fire would not be one of the thugs on their payroll. For that they would have contracted a free- lancer.
But if anything comes up to tie this fire to Junior and Eddie, I get the job of helping people to forget what they know or think they know, Charlie thought despairingly.
“Hey, Charlie, why so glum?” Junior asked. “It’s a beautiful morning.”
“Yeah, a really great morning,” Eddie echoed, as he got up.
“And, like Jewel said, Mama was cute as a button on the satellite,” Junior added. “She always loved her grappa. Like Jewel said, after Eddie and I went into the office yesterday, everyone kept saying that Mama was adorable.”
“Yeah,” Eddie agreed, his smile becoming nostalgic.
“And those entertainers were something else. Good. I mean really good.”
Charlie had not seen Junior bubbling over with such fervent good humor in months. Jewel isn’t the airhead I thought she was, he decided. If she managed to convince those two that everybody loved Mama, she ought to be made ambassador to Wallonia.
“I’m glad you liked Nor Kelly and Billy Campbell,” he said. “They looked so upset when they came out of your office that I thought maybe you’d told them you weren’t satisfied with their music.”
Charlie was immediately aware of a drastic change in the atmosphere. Junior looked at him, his eyes cold slits, his cheekbones flushed, the muscles in his neck suddenly prominent. “What did you say?” he asked, his voice chips of ice.
Nervously, Charlie glanced at Eddie, whose bovine cheeks were now rigid. The sweet sentiment evoked by Mama’s name had vanished from his eyes. His lips had become a thin, grayish-red gash across his face.
“I simply said that…” his voice trailed off… “that Nor Kelly and Billy Campbell seemed a little upset when they came out of your office after your mother’s satellite visit.”
“Why didn’t you tell us they were there?”
“Junior, there was no reason. Why would I have told you? I thought you knew.”
“Eddie, the door was open from the reception room, wasn’t it?” Junior asked.
“Yeah.”
“All right, Charlie. You should have told us they followed us in. You should have known it would be important for us to know. Now you’re going to have to make a few calls to the songbirds.” He paused deliberately. “I think you know what I’m talking about.”
I guess that’s the end of the questions and the depositions, Sterling thought as he watched the FBI personnel shaking hands with Nor, Billy, Dennis, and Sean. It was now eleven o’clock. For the past two hours, the FBI had been taking sworn statements from the four. They even had Nor and Billy draw a floor plan to show where they were standing when they heard Hans Kramer’s voice on the answering machine and Junior’s order to burn the warehouse.
“Ms. Kelly, you’re sure the Badgetts didn’t suspect that you were in the room right outside their office?” Rich Meyers, the head investigator, asked again as he picked up his briefcase. “As I explained, if they knew you overheard them, you’d need to be protected immediately.”
“I don’t think they knew. From what I understand about the brothers, if they had seen us they probably would have called off their plans for the fire.” Nor readjusted the comb that was holding her hair in place. “There’s an old expression, ‘I feel like something the cat dragged in.’…
My mother used to say that, Sterling thought.
“…and that’s exactly the way I feel now. If you’re done with me, I’m going to go home, climb in the Jacuzzi, and then get a couple of hours’ sleep.”
“A very good idea,” Meyers said sympathetically. “All right. We’ll be in touch with you. In the meantime go about your business as usual.”
Sounds easy, Sterling thought. Unfortunately it’s not going to work like that.
Sean O’Brien lingered only a minute after the federal officers left. “I’ll keep you posted,” he promised.
