“Convenient.”
“But righteous, Doc. I checked hotel and airline records, Lino was definitely there. Maybe he paid for the trip with money Korvutz gave him for being on the board.”
“Korvutz bribed the members to serve.”
“Can’t prove it, but why else would they want to bother?”
“And my second problem is Sonia Glusevitch is Korvutz’s distant cousin, why should she cooperate.”
He held up his palms.
I said, “Just in case, any idea where she is?”
“Let’s see if we can find out.” He pulled out his cell, dialed information, asked for listings for Sonia Glusevitch, came up empty, tried “initial S.”
One hand flashed a Victory V. “Three forty-five East Ninety-third. You wanna try Sonia first, be my guest, but I think it would be a mistake. Better to use the element of surprise with Korvutz, don’t risk Sonia alerting him.”
“I agree. What was Sonia like?”
“Young, good-looking, had a thick accent,” said Polito. “Bottle blonde but nice.” Shaping generous, imaginary breasts.
Monique, the waitress, observed his pantomime and frowned.
Polito waved her over. “Delicious, the salmon. He’ll take the check.”
She glanced at me, left.
“I was you, Doc,” said Polito, “I’d leave Monique a real generous tip. I come here from time to time.”
CHAPTER 22
When Polito left at two forty-five, the restaurant had emptied.
Monique drank coffee at the bar. I paid the check and left a 30 percent tip. She thanked me with wide eyes and pretty teeth.
“Mind if I sit here for a few minutes?”
“I will bring you more wine.”
I had over three hours before Roland Korvutz unfurled his napkin at La Bella. Killed some of it drinking a better Bordeaux than had come with lunch, and thinking about my conversation with the old detective.
Polito was troubled by the possibility that he might’ve had his prime suspect right in front of him and missed something crucial. But Dale’s slipping under the radar was no discredit of Polito’s skills; if Bright was a high-functioning psychopath, he’d have come across super-normal.
Shape-shifter.
If Bright’s corpse wasn’t embedded in the foundation of some Manhattan high-rise, he was probably living under a new name and identity in L.A., toying with the boundaries of gender identity, getting off on the art of deception and worse.
I phoned in for messages, had three: Robin, Milo, and a lawyer chronically lax about paying his bills, and deluded that I’d want to talk to him.
Robin said, “I miss you but the big separation anxiety is Blanche. Not a single smile and she keeps sniffing around your office. Then she insists on going down to the pond, has to sit on the bench exactly where you do. When that doesn’t work, she hops down and stares at the fish until I feed them. If I don’t toss in enough, she lets out that girly little bark. I keep telling her Daddy’s coming back soon, but the way she looks at me, she ain’t buying it.”
“Tell her I’ll bring back a souvenir.”
“She’s no material girl, but sure. How’s it going?”
“Nothing much so far.”
“I checked the weather online. Sounds pretty.”
“Gorgeous,” I said. “One day we should go.”
“Definitely. Got a nice hotel?”
I described the Midtown Executive.
She said, “One advantage, we’d be bumping into each other.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow, plenty of bump opportunities. How’s work?”
“Picked up a couple of new jobs – easy repairs.” Brief pause. “He called this morning, wanting to make sure I’ll be in town when he’s here. He sounded different.”
“How so?”
“Distant – not brimming over with enthusiasm like he usually is. He claims he’s really into the project but the tone didn’t match the words.”
“Buyer’s remorse?” I said.
“Maybe he realized it’s an awful lot of money when you can’t play a note.”
“Worse comes to worst, you sell them to someone else.”
“I’m just wondering if he caught on that any amorous intentions are not going to be reciprocated. I have been avoiding small talk.”
“If he had ulterior motives and drops out, you’re lucky.”
“For sure,” she said.
Her tone didn’t match her words.
I said, “You’ve put a lot of work into this and now it’s complicated.”
“Maybe just in my own mind.”
“You’ve got good instincts, Rob.”
“Not always… guess I’d better clear my head before turning on the band saw. See you tomorrow, love.”
I told Milo about my meeting with Polito.
He said, “Deputy commissioner’s brother-in-law, huh? And this particular D.C. also happens to be His Holiness’s former driver.”
“Takes a village to catch crooks,” I said.
“And to breed ’em. So Bright didn’t come across gay to Polito?”
“Combine that with dramatic changes in appearance, pretending to be a vegan, the Jekyll-Hyde pattern his sister described, and we can’t be sure of anything about him.”
“All the world’s a stage.”
“Bloody stage. Let’s see what Roland Korvutz has to say about him.”
“You’re going to approach Korvutz directly?”
“Wasn’t that the point of giving me his home address and his favorite haunts?”
“Yeah, but I woke up this morning with second thoughts. Why would Korvutz even talk to you?”
“If I can keep the emphasis on Dale Bright and off him, maybe he’ll fancy himself a performer and let something interesting slip.”
“If he paid Bright to do the Safrans, he’ll give you the boot or worse.”
“Why settle for pessimism when you can have fatalism?”
“You’ve been reading my diary. This guy could be big trouble, amigo, and I don’t see any payoff in getting him nervous. Go back to your hotel, put quarters in the massage bed, get a good night’s sleep.”
“Aw, thanks. Mom.”
“I’m serious.”
“How’re things on the home front?”
“Changing the subject doesn’t alter reality.”
“I’ll watch my back. Anything new?”
“The home front is nada,” he said. “Why settle for fatalism when I can have futility? Where were you planning to meet Korvutz?”
“Still am. La Bella.”
“The Italian place.”
“Upper East Side, we’re not talking hefty guys drinking espresso in some social club.”
“At best you’re spinning your wheels, Alex. Why would Korvutz blink at you?”
“At one time or another, doesn’t everyone want to be a star?” My neck tightened. “Just thought of something. If Dale’s a wannabe Olivier, maybe that’s what brought him to New York in the first place.”
“Roar of the greasepaint,” he said.
“The Safrans were headed for the theater the night they disappeared. Off-off-Broadway production downtown. What if Bright snared the Safrans by offering an olive branch? ‘I’m doing a show, have your name on the comp list, would be honored if you’d come watch me chew the scenery. Afterward, we go out for drinks, bury the hatchet on the condo thing.’”
“And he brings a literal hatchet… that would be cold. Problem is we already ran every search we could think of on Bright and his name doesn’t pop up in any productions. Or anywhere else.”
“The show could’ve been too short-lived or obscure,” I said. “Or he used a stage name. On my way over from Midtown I passed the main library. Maybe that was karma. I’ve got time before I try Korvutz. Let’s see what the newspaper files have to offer.”
“Good idea. You find something, forget Mr. Korvutz and come home.”
“Now you’re obsessing,” I said.
“Pot and kettle.”
I hurried back to Fifth, made my way through the afternoon crush, ran up the stairs to the library.