Sanguine displayed no outward emotion. “Catherine?”
“Yeah, we’ve found that disgusting little hovel at the Malador where you’ve been keeping her. She’s in pretty pathetic shape. She’s scared to death—afraid to go out, even afraid to talk. You did a fabulous job on her.” Ben took a deep breath. He had gone too far to stop. “It won’t last, though. We’re going to trace the rental payments on the apartment back to you, if we have to subpoena every check you’ve ever written. We’re going to work with Catherine, too. She’ll recover—I know she will. And when she does, she’ll start to talk.” Ben pushed himself forward in his chair. “Then where will you be, Mr. Sanguine?”
Sanguine went through the motion of stifling a yawn. “Tidwell,” he said, drowsily, “get me the file on rental properties maintained by the corporation.”
“Certainly.” Tidwell scurried out of the office.
Sanguine returned his attention to Ben. “Do you have any idea how much real estate this company owns?” He paused. “Well, you should. Your firm secured most of it for us. And a lot of that property is rental property. We use some of it for storage, some for branch office space, some for staff support and low-cost staff residences. I employ over three thousand people in Tulsa alone, Mr. Kincaid. Maybe we do rent some space at the … what is it? … Malador Apartments. Frankly, I haven’t the slightest idea. Do you really suppose that I know who’s living at every single property?”
“I think you know who’s living in this one,” Ben said quietly.
Sanguine stretched out his arms and propped up his feet. “You really should have become in-house counsel here, Kincaid. It would have yanked you out of this caped-crusader mindset and given you a strong dose of reality, something you sorely need.”
“I think this is getting away from the point,” Mike said. “Mr. Sanguine, two of your employees have been murdered in a two-week span. Surely you can understand our concern. One man was slain just as he was about to provide documentary evidence to the police—”
“Is Kincaid here with the police now?”
Mike hesitated. “He’s … working as a special investigator. Doesn’t the coincidence strike you as the least bit suspicious, Mr. Sanguine? Two of your employees in one month? Victims of very similar murders?”
Sanguine shrugged his shoulders. “As I said, Lieutenant Morelli, I employ over three thousand persons. I’m sorry two of them have died, but I hardly think it’s evidence of a gigantic conspiracy. And I don’t see how you became convinced the trail leads back to me. I barely even knew this last man, this …” He searched his memory for the name unsuccessfully. “… the accountant. And I can’t help it if Jonathan Adams liked to hang out in chain-and-leather biker bars.”
Ben felt his blood beginning to boil. “Someone lured Adams to the Red Parrot,” he said evenly. “Someone set up a meeting there. Someone with dark hair.”
Sanguine laughed heartily. “Oh well,” he said, wiping his eyes. “That proves it was me.”
“Mr. Sanguine,” Mike said coolly, “I suggest you take this matter seriously.”
“Why should I take this seriously? You barge in here in the middle of the working day, making the most outrageous accusations with a straight face, and you haven’t got the slightest shred of evidence. And no witnesses. You haven’t got anything but one snot-nosed kid who’s supposed to be on my payroll who doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about!”
He pointed angrily toward Mike. “I’ll tell you what, Lieutenant. I’ll give you what you want. I will take this seriously, and deal with it like I would any other threat to my business. I’m calling my lawyers in now, and they’ll spin you and your gang of civil servants around so fast you won’t know what hit you. A lawsuit for harassment, just for starters, with maybe some civil rights claims thrown in for good measure. Your department will wish you’d never been born.”
He jerked his finger in Ben’s direction. “And you! I’m going to file a bar complaint against you, Kincaid. You’ve been acting as my lawyer and trusted counselor and at the same time using my privileged confidences to nail me to the wall. I’d call that a serious conflict of interest and I think the committee will, too. You’ll never practice law again, kid.”
He returned the threatening finger to Mike. “Which reminds me, Lieutenant. I’m registering a formal complaint against you with your superior officer. That would be Chief Blackwell, right? Guess what? The chief and I are old fishing buddies. We play golf together at Southern Hills several times a year. You may be on permanent traffic duty real soon, pal. Or walking the beat with the street cops. And I have friends on the streets. They’ll be watching for you.” He reached into the humidor on his desk for a cigar. “This might be an advantageous time for you to consider another line of work. Maybe you could get into law school, Lieutenant.” A quick look at Ben. “They’re evidently not too particular these days.”
Ben closed his eyes. How in the name of God did this happen? They came in here from a position of strength to force Sanguine to talk, but it was clear that Sanguine had the upper hand. He was twisting them around like Silly Putty.
A beeping noise emerged from the telephone on Sanguine’s desk. Still washed with fury, Sanguine punched a button on the phone and turned up the volume on the intercom. “What the hell is it?” he shouted.
A female voice emerged from the speaker box. “Uh … I have the report on the Phoenix franchise you requested, sir.”
Ben sat upright in his chair. A sudden chill shot through his body.
“My God, we’ve got to get out of here,” Ben said, rising to his feet and grabbing his coat.
“What are you talking about?” Mike asked. “We can’t leave now. Don’t be such a—”
“I can’t wait,” Ben said, already halfway out of the office. “It may be too late already.”
40
IN HIS MAD DASH from the office, Ben neglected to have his parking ticket validated by the receptionist. As a result, he wasted nearly ten minutes before the parking guard would let him out of the Sanguine parking lot. He drove crosstown like a lunatic. Heavy lunch-hour traffic was just beginning to clog the main streets. Every light seemed to turn the wrong color at the wrong time and sometimes Ben even stopped for them. He raced through the intersection of Sixty-first Street and Riverside Drive and sped north onto Riverside. He heard an angry cacophony of horns and squealing tires behind him. He didn’t look back.
He drove his Honda beside the parking garage of the Malador Apartments and swerved sideways, blocking the only exit from the garage. He leapt out of the car, hopped over the brick wall, and ran toward the elevator shaft. How long had he and Mike been at Sanguine’s office? Almost an hour now. Damn. He pushed the UP button and waited, barely able to hold still. Come on! He would have shouted if he’d thought it would help.
A bell sounded, and the elevator doors swung open.
Tidwell was in the elevator, in front of a large, middle-aged woman with a beehive hairdo and an enormous purse. Tidwell saw Ben and froze. Ben stepped into the elevator. The woman standing behind Tidwell did not understand. Finally, when Tidwell didn’t move out of the way, she tried to move around him.
Tidwell stretched his left arm across the elevator, blocking her path.
“Let her off,” Ben said evenly.
Tidwell dropped his arm, and the woman stepped around him. Suddenly, Tidwell grabbed the woman by her right arm and, placing his foot at the base of her spine, kicked her toward Ben. Ben fell backward but braced himself by stretching his arm across the opening of the elevator. Tidwell tried to rush out under his right arm, but Ben grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him back into the elevator. Tidwell’s head banged against the wall, and his body fell. The elevator bell rang again, and the doors closed, trapping the three of them together.