In Beverly Hills.' She gave it to me, then I hung up, showered, dressed, and charged off to deepest, darkest Beverly Hills. Portrait of the detective in search of mystery, adventure, and a couple of measly clues.
The Law Offices of Harold Bellis were on the third floor of a newly refurbished three-story office building a half block off Rodeo Drive and about a million light-years from South Central Los Angeles. I found a parking space between a Rolls-Royce Corniche and an eighty-thousand-dollar Mercedes two-seater in front of a store that sold men's belts starting at three hundred dollars. Business was brisk.
I went into a little glass lobby with a white marble floor and a lot of gold fixtures and took the elevator to the third floor. Harold Bellis had the front half of the building and it looked like he did very well. There was a lot of etched glass and glossy furniture and carpet about as deep as the North Atlantic. I waded up to a receptionist seated behind a semicircular granite desk and gave her my card. She was wearing one of those pencil-thin headphones so she could answer the phone and speak without having to lift anything. 'Elvis Cole to see Mr. Bellis. I don't have an appointment.'
She touched a button and spoke to someone, then listened and smiled at me. There was no humor in the smile, nor any friendliness. She said, 'We're sorry, but Mr. Bellis's calendar is full. If you'd like an appointment, we can schedule a time next week.'
I said, 'Tell him it's about the Premier Pawn Company. Tell him I have a question about the Lester Corporation.'
She said it into the microphone, and a couple of minutes later a rapier-thin woman with prominent cheeks and severely white skin came out and led me through a long common office where secretaries and aides and other people sat in little cubicles, and then into her office, and then into his. Her office held a bank of designer file cabinets and fresh-cut tulips and the entrance to his office. You want to see him, you've got to get past her, and she wouldn't be easy to beat. She'd probably even like the fight.
Harold Bellis had the corner office and it was big. She said, 'This is Mr. Cole.'
Harold Bellis stood up and came around his desk, smiling and offering his hand. He was short and soft with pudgy hands and a fleshy face and thinning gray hair that looked as soft as mouse fur. Sort of like the Beverly Hills version of Howdy Doody. 'Thanks, Martha. Harold Bellis, Mr. Cole. Martha tells me you're interested in the Premier Pawn Shop. Would you like to buy it?' He sort of laughed when he said it, like it was an obvious joke and we both knew it. Ha ha.
'Not today, Mr. Bellis, thanks.'
Martha looked down her nose at me and left.
Harold Bellis's handshake was limp and his voice was sort of squeaky, but maybe that was just confidence. An original David Hockney watercolor and two Jesus Leuus oils hung on the walls. You don't get the Hockney and the Leuus by being sissy in the clinches. 'I'm working on something that brought me across the Premier and I learned that you're an officer in the company that owns it.'
'That's correct.' Bellis offered me a seat and took the chair across from me. The decor was Sante Fe, and the seating was padded benches. Bellis's chair looked comfortable, but the benches weren't. He said, 'I have a meeting with a client now, but she's sorting through records in the conference room, so we can squeeze in a few minutes.'
'Great.'
'Does this involve Mr. Washington's death?'
'In part.'
Bellis gave me sad and shook his head. 'That young man's death was a tragedy. He had everything in the world going for himself.'
'The police say he was fencing stolen goods. His family suspects that, too.'
'Well, that was never established in a court of law, was it?'
'Are you saying he wasn't?'
'If he was, it was unknown to the co-owners of the shop.' Bellis's smile grew tighter and he didn't look so much like Howdy Doody now.
I smiled at him. 'Who are the co-owners, Mr. Bellis?'
Harold Bellis looked at my card as if, in the looking, something had been confirmed. 'Perhaps if you told me your interest in all of this.'
'Mr. Washington's family implied that he was the sole owner of the Premier, but upon checking, I found that something called the Lester Corporation arranged the financing and carried the paper.'
'That's right.'
'Since Mr. Washington had no credit history, and was working at a minimum-wage job at the time, I was wondering why someone would co-sign a loan with him for such a substantial sum of money.'
Harold Bellis said, 'The Lester Corporation provides venture capital for minority businessmen. Lewis Washington made a proposal, and we agreed to enter into partnership. That's all there is to it.'
'To the tune of eighty-five thousand dollars.'
'Yes.'
You co-signed a loan for a man with no formal education, a criminal record, and no business experience, because you like to help underprivileged entrepreneurs?'
'Someone has to, don't you think?' He leaned forward out of the Sante Fe chair and the Howdy Doody eyes were as hard as a smart bomb's heart. Nope, he wouldn't be sissy in the clinches.
I said, 'Does Akeem D'Muere own the Lester Corporation?'
Bellis didn't move for a long moment and the eyes stayed with me. The smart bomb acquiring its target. 'I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss the Lester Corporation or any other client, Mr. Cole. You understand that, don't you?'
