“Right. That identifies the borrower. Kessell. For our type of non-audit bookkeeping it gives us all the dope we need. Better than a D and B rating.”
“Simple and ingenious. Proceed, Sol.”
“I forgot to say we use a black pencil on that. Now we take a green pencil and use it the same way on the street addresses under the K listings. This way we establish transaction dates. With the Kessell brothers, they borrowed a hundred big ones on April two of nineteen seventy-one. I remember this date because it just missed April Fools Day.”
“Apt,” Woolstock said.
Sol turned his attention back on the directory in his lap. “Our shorthand for that date was Ap sec sev one. The first address listed is Windroof Hill Rd. Won’t do. Next is American Row, so we make a green dot under the A. Then we drop down to the next address — no go — and the next — no — and, yes, Phelps Dr. We dot the P and S, giving us so far Ap and s. Next we drop down to—”
“We understand,” Woolstock said patiently. “Go to the next step, Sol.”
“The amounts of money. Okay. For this we use a red pencil.” He again consulted the directory in his lap. “And the phone numbers of course.”
“Of course,” Woolstock said, speaking directly to Esmond and O’Hara. “Let’s get a search warrant immediately, Jim. We know what we’re looking for now.”
Esmond said to O’Hara, “Go over and see Judge Rodner.”
As O’Hara hurried from the office, Woolstock’s gaze returned to Sol’s. “Many of the questions we’re about to ask you are already answered in our files, Sol. Much of this material, however, is inadmissible as evidence on its own merits for one legal reason or another.”
“Sure. I know. Wiretaps. Bugs.”
“Not just wiretaps, Sol. Peter Kessell spilled a lot of beans. But his brother Paul refuses to say a word. He’s afraid.”
“Don’t blame him much.”
“We need a reliable witness to back up Peter’s testimony. You follow me?”
“I seem to be following you straight to hell, counselor.”
“It’s not going to be as bad as that, I assure you. Let’s begin with the vigorish, Sol. What’s the vig on a Ventura loan?”
“It varies. Small loans come high and very short term. Big ones not quite so high, with longer terms.”
“Let’s focus on Kessell Construction.”
“Five per cent.”
“Weekly?”
“What else? Ventura is not your friendly banker.”
Woolstock looked across at Esmond. “In case you’ve never stopped to figure this out, Jim, and in order that Marie may take it down for the record, the Kessells borrow a hundred thousand dollars from Public Opportunities Corporation, an alleged real-estate appraisal outfit, whose executive officer is One-eye Pace, a muscle man pure and simple, who wouldn’t know a title deed from a cornerstone. He’s just a front for Ventura. But on the face of all public records, Ventura has no connection with Public Opportunities. He’s in another business altogether, namely wholesale produce, which he is operating legitimately by the way but at a margin of profit that is microscopic.
“Ventura’s legitimate company is heavily mortgaged to the Shippers Bank and Trust Company, which holds a legal charter from the State Banking Commission and whose president is one Harvey L. Davenport.
“Now who is Harvey L. Davenport? He’s a well-educated business man who happens to be married to Guido Scarpino’s oldest daughter. Which means Davenport is a front for Scarpino, even as Ventura is an apparent front for Davenport. But you can be sure that Scarpino is not on the board of directors of Shippers Bank. Still he is well enough represented to control it. I won’t go into the complex relationships right now.
“Let me get back to the Kessell loan.”
“First, John,” Esmond said, “fill me in on how the Kessells found Public Opportunities — one hell of a sardonic name, isn’t it? — or how Public Opportunities found the Kessells.”
“All right.” Woolstock winked kindly at Sol Steinbach, “As I bumble along, will you be good enough to correct any misstatements I make at once.”
“You can count on it,” Steinbach said.
“A few months before the Kessell Construction Company negotiated the shylock loan with Public Opportunities Corporation, it was in sound financial shape. It was operated as a partnership by Peter and Paul Kessell. They were building homes for the so-called lower middle class on suburban tracts, the look-alike commuter domicile. They were having no trouble in obtaining financing through normal banking channels.
“Then, one fine day, they were offered an opportunity to build a good-sized condominium, something that would finish off at just under two million, yielding the Kessells not only a fair profit but a lot of prestige in the local construction field. There was just one hitch. The condominium developer required that they deposit in escrow one hundred thousand dollars as engagement to satisfactory performance of the contract.
“At this stage, though, Kessell Construction had more homes in the process of building than usual, and their regular credit sources were for the moment tapped out. They hated to lose the condominium contract for lack of a hundred grand, particularly in face of the fact that one tract of homes would be on the market within six weeks, with plenty of liquid assets consequently available. But they needed to make their condominium commitment within a week or lose it.
“They put out feelers. A few days later, a member of the golf club the Kessells belonger to approached Paul Kessell at the bar and said that he’d heard about the big deal cooking and if there was an investment possibility he knew of an interested party. Paul Kessell told this amiable cigar-smoking club member that he and his brother worked solely as partners and never permitted a third party to enter a deal. Then he added — somewhat ruefully, I suspect — that the big deal might be no deal at all unless they could wangle some fast financing, short term, outside their regular banking connections.
“The cigar smoker mused a moment over his martini. Then he said there was a bank he often used himself. Its policies were not quite so stodgy as some of the old liners. Was Paul Kessell interested? Paul Kessell definitely was. Then try the Shippers Bank and Trust, the cigar smoker said. Mention my name if you wish. Here’s my business card. It was Herman Ventura speaking. Am I right so far. Sol?”
“That’s the M. O., counselor.” Steinbach said.
“Next morning, both the Kessells presented themselves at the Shippers Bank.” Woolstock continued. “They introduced themselves and handed Ventura’s card to Davenport’s secretary. But they did not see the president himself. They were routed instead to the vice president in charge of shortterm loans, a prematurely graying man whose name is Mark Martin. Now Martin happens to be a caporegima or lieutenant in the Scarpino organization. Martin does not report to Davenport, he deals directly with old Guido Scarpino himself.
“Anyway, the smooth Mister Martin accepts the Kessell loan application and promises, at their insistence, to give them a decision before the close of the banking day. That afternoon he informs them by phone that, regrettably, Shippers is unable to make the loan. You see, Jim, Shippers is ostensibly an honest bank, abiding by the statutes under which it maintains its charter, but it is beautifully situated to act as a clearing house for its invisible affiliates, such as Truck Garden Distribution, Public Opportunities Corporation and dozens of other enterprises from vending machines to hotels.
“Now before Peter Kessell could be lucky enough to hang up, Martin adds confidentially that there still might be a source of money in another channel. He cautioned Peter that he was talking strictly ex curia, as it were, and preferred that his name was never mentioned in the matter. Kessell foolishly asked for the name of this new potential. Martin gave it to him: Public Opportunities. That was April Fools Day, wasn’t it, Sol?”