His scowl returned. “And?”
“And forget that Lucas was homeless.”
“That’s quite an attack of amnesia you’re asking for.”
“Stay with me for a minute. Ben Watterson, Allan Moffett, and a handful of other civic leaders were very heavily involved in redevelopment in the 1970s, right?”
“This group more than others. Think of how easy it would be for a group of investors to make money with the kind of inside information Allan Moffett could supply.”
“Give me your version.”
“A group of investors learns-very early on-that a certain area is going to be declared a redevelopment zone. They buy run-down buildings for a very low price. They pick up one seedy property after another. Just to stick with round numbers, let’s suppose we have two general partners who put in five thousand dollars each. They pick up a hotel for ten thousand.”
I saw him jot the numbers down on the back of a memo from Wrigley, more in the way of absent doodling than any serious preparation to do math. “Okay,” he said. “Go on.”
“Studies are done, and lo and behold, the city decides the hotel is within a redevelopment zone. The city might have reasonably decided this old hotel should be rehabilitated into low-cost housing, but the investors believe more money is to be made from office buildings. Another study is done, one that influences the Land Use Element, and somehow it reflects a need for office buildings.”
“And the tenants are evicted.”
“Maybe even beforehand. That might help to convince the city that this isn’t residential property. Now the investors get other benefits-low-cost loans, courtesy of the taxpayer; expedited permits and special construction variances; and so on. But for now, let’s just go back to our ten thousand. Their next move is to present a fancy brochure and prospectus to sell limited partnerships. Let’s say they sell one hundred shares at ten thousand dollars a share.”
“They’ve raised a million dollars,” he said. “Probably from people looking for tax shelters, maybe a group of doctors who don’t have any real estate experience.”
“Right about the real estate know-how, but these things attract teachers, firefighters, retirees-anyone with a nest egg. The general partners get ‘highest and best use’ studies and market surveys and all sorts of statistics together and dazzle the hell out of the investors. California real estate was booming then. Our general partners would work to convince everyone that the boom is permanent, that the downtown area will revive and that every lousy square foot of land in Las Piernas will be worth a fortune.”
“The downtown area
“Some of it. Certainly not all. You know what the office vacancy rate is. And not all of the construction was first-rate. But let’s go back to our general partners. They pay themselves administrative fees. Let’s say they charge each limited partner a five percent fee.”
“That’s five hundred each. Fifty thousand all together.”
I shook my head. “Fifty thousand
“Or sell their shares.”
“Which may be worthless,” I said. “The limited partners are at the mercy of the general partners.”
“Which is what the greedy little limited partners get for trying to avoid taxes.”
“I disagree, but we’ll argue that another time. Besides, what I just presented is probably a worst-case scenario. Let’s suppose the general partners just sell their own shares in the hotel building for a big profit and get out. Or maybe they don’t even bother with the limited partnerships-they sell the building for a more modest profit. No matter what happens, they’ve probably made money-and made it because they had inside information.”
“Your point being?” he said, but he was leaning forward in his chair now.
“Redevelopment was one of three things that Allan Moffett and Ben Watterson had in common. They were part of a group of men who often worked together on these projects, even if some of them-like Allan-supposedly weren’t personally profiting from it.”
“And?”
“Second, they were longtime, active civic leaders who seemed unwilling-until very recently-to step aside from their roles. No one would have predicted that Ben would commit suicide or that Allan Moffett would resign. And yet they did so within a day of each other. What are the odds of that happening, John?”
“Go on.”
“The third thing they have in common is Lucas Monroe. At least twice in each of their lives.”
“Twice?”
“Remember those studies? The earliest statistics Allan needed to set the wheels in motion-to declare an area of the city a redevelopment zone-came from a study Lucas Monroe worked on in the 1970s.”
“And Monroe saw each of them recently.”
“Contacted them anyway.” I told him about the photocopy.
“Hmm. Too bad he’s dead.” It was said in an offhand manner, a newsman’s regret for the loss of a source. But seeing my face he added, “Aw, Kelly, for Godsakes-”
“Forget it. I’ve given up getting so much as an obit for him. I just want you to realize that trying to find out what he was up to is not just a personal project.” Thou doth protest too much, a little voice said. I ignored it. “I’ll know more about Moffett’s resignation if I can learn why Lucas went to see these people.”
“You think he was blackmailing them?”
I quelled an impulse to immediately deny it. “Maybe.”
After a long silence, he said, “Suppose you’re wrong. What if your friend wasn’t doing anything more than trying to find a job?”
“Then I’m still talking to Allan’s nearest and dearest pals.” I shrugged. “I’m still trying to pry things out of Allan’s former coworkers. It would take a vast conspiracy or blackmail scheme of his own to keep that many people silent. I don’t think he could manage it, frankly. I suspect they really don’t know why he left. Even his former secretary-who would love to have her revenge on him-couldn’t offer me anything more than word of Lucas’s visit, tales of a night Allan spent shredding papers, and the story of his hastily arranged dinner party. I’m planning to try to talk to her again.”
“Anyone else?”
“The other people who were at the meeting. I may even try to track down Allan’s first wife.”
“If I allow you to keep following this angle, you suppose you could devote more of your time to this story?”
“John, as far as I’m concerned, I worked on this story over the weekend-on my days off.”
“Admit it, Kelly, that was a personal matter that happened to dovetail with this story.”
“Okay, fine. Have it your way.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. Maybe I’m not the most insolent, insubordinate-what else did you call me, John?”
“That’s as far as I got. And no one else around here comes close to being as much trouble as you are.”
“Thanks. Do I get to find out what you had planned for me this morning?”
“And like I said, follow up with the Lucas Monroe angle, too.”
“I intend to. Now what was going on?”
Finally realizing I didn’t intend to be sidetracked, he said, “A pager.”
“A pager?” I shook my head. “I hate those things.”
“I know, I know.”
“Electronic leashes. You start out thinking it will help people get in touch with you, but nine times out of ten it’s some nuisance message.”
“I know how you feel about them, Kelly.”
“It’s just that once I was talking to this city hall source-took me three days of phone calls to finally get this secretary to meet with me, and four or five hours of hanging out together before she started to drop her guard a little. Just as I think she’s about to confirm a rumor for me, on the verge of coming across with everything I need
