"What happened to justice?" Dora cried.
"The law is one thing," Wenden said with a strained smile, "and justice is another. Unless you believe in divine retribution. And if you do, there's a bridge in Brooklyn you may be interested in buying."
"I hate it!" Dora burst out. "Just hate it!"
"The guilty not being punished?" John said. "I have to live with it. Every day."
They had finished their sandwiches and now sat back, gripping empty beer glasses, looking at each other.
"I suppose this just about winds it up for you," John said.
Dora nodded. "I have things to do tomorrow. Then I'll probably take off early Friday morning."
"Back to Hartford?"
"Uh-huh. I think I'll drive home. I can turn in the Escort up there."
"Can we have dinner tomorrow night?"
"Sure," she said. "I'd like that."
"When I called you from Lexington Avenue this afternoon I spotted an Italian restaurant. There was a menu in the window, and it looked okay. The place is called Vito's. Want to try it?"
"I'm game for anything," Dora said.
"I hope so," Wenden said.
Chapter 44
Attorney Arthur Rushkin came from his inner office to greet her with a beamy smile, looking spiffy in hounds-tooth jacket and suede waistcoat, a butterfly bow tie flaring under his suety chin.
"Mrs. Conti!" he boomed, shaking her hand. "How nice to see you again. I was hoping you'd stop by."
"I'm leaving tomorrow morning," she told him, "and felt I owed you a report."
He took her anorak and hung it away. Then he ushered her into his private office and got her settled in the armchair alongside his antique partners' desk. He lowered his bulk into the leather swivel chair.
"Mr. Rushkin," Dora said, "I assume you're aware of what's been going on the last few days."
He nodded. "Sadly, I am. Starrett Fine Jewelry and all its branches have been closed. Temporarily, I hope. After that dreadful business in Murray Hill-aren't the tabloids having a field day?-Felicia is receiving medical treatment. The last I heard is that she will survive, but recovery will be a long and arduous process. And expensive, I might add."
"And Clayton?"
The attorney twisted his face into a wry grimace. "My godson? He has not yet been charged, but it's only a matter of time. At the moment he is being questioned by representatives of the U.S. Attorney's office. I can't represent Clayton-there would be a potential conflict of interest there-but I've been able to obtain for him the services of an extremely capable criminal defense attorney. On his advice, Clayton is answering all questions completely and honestly. He can't do much less; the authorities have already seized Starrett's business records, including those dealing with the fraudulent gold trading."
"Do you think Clayton will go to prison, Mr. Rushkin?"
The lawyer linked fingers across his thick midsection and sighed deeply. "I'm afraid so. But if he continues to cooperate, his punishment may be more lenient than you might think. The authorities are not interested in Clayton Star-rett so much as they are in Ramon Schnabl, the drug dealer. If Clay helps them put Schnabl behind bars, I think they'll be inclined to settle for a light sentence and a heavy fine. I do believe a deal will be made."
"I intend to see Mrs. Olivia Starrett before I leave. How is she taking all this? Have you spoken to her?"
"I have indeed, and the woman's resilience is amazing. She'll be all right. Mrs. Conti, I have a fairly complete understanding of how the gold trading was jiggered, but I have less knowledge of the homicides it spawned. Can you enlighten me?"
Dora repeated the explanation of the four killings she had given Wenden. The lawyer listened intently, and when she finished he sighed again and shook his great head so sharply that his jowls wobbled.
"Of course a lot of that is supposition," Dora pointed out. "Some of it can never be proved."
"But I suspect you're right," Rushkin said. "It's a depressing example of chronic greed. That's the disease; violence is a symptom."
"What makes me furious," Dora said, "is that Detective John Wenden doesn't think there's much chance of Helene Pierce going to jail for what she did."
"Policemen have a tendency to be gloomy," the attorney said with a wintry smile. "Quite understandable." Then he leaned across the desk toward Dora. "Let me tell you something, Mrs. Conti. The law is like the Lord: It giveth and it taketh away. In re Helene Pierce, I think it quite likely that the prosecutors may feel she had guilty knowledge. In other words, she was fully cognizant of the gold trading fraud-indeed she profited from it-but did not inform the proper authorities as required. I believe Clayton will testify as to her involvement."
"Are you sure?" Dora asked anxiously.
Rushkin laughed. "Congreve wrote of the fury of a woman scorned. I assure you, Mrs. Conti, a scorned woman's virulence can be matched by the bitterness of a middle-aged man who realizes he has been played for a fool, a patsy, by a piece of fluff half his age. Oh yes, I think Clayton will be more than willing to testify against Helene Pierce. And if the guilty-knowledge ploy doesn't hold up in court, the government has another arrow in its quiver. I'm sure the IRS will be interested in learning if Helene declared all those gifts of money and diamonds that Clayton gave her. In addition, the idiot bought her co-op and was paying the maintenance by check. That left a paper trail the IRS will be happy to follow. No, I don't believe Helene Pierce will cha-cha her way to freedom."
"That makes me feel better," Dora said. She rose and slung her shoulder bag. "I hope you no longer feel guilty about Solomon Guthrie. You gave me his computer printout, and eventually that led to the solution."
The attorney was suddenly somber, his meaty features sagging. "I am not entirely free from regret, but at my age I can't expect to be. Mrs. Conti, thank you for all your efforts on my behalf and on behalf of Starrett Fine Jewelry. I intend to write to your employer expressing my deep appreciation of your excellent work as strongly as I can."
Dora smiled shyly. "You don't have to do that, Mr. Rush-kin."
"I know I don't have to," he said, "but I want to. If you ever tire of your job and decide to relocate to New York, please let me know. I can promise you that your investigative talents will be well rewarded here."
"Thank you, sir," she said. "I'll keep it in mind."
Out on Fifth Avenue, in a frigid drizzle, she wondered why she was grinning and walking with a bouncy step. Then she realized it was because her professional performance had been praised and she had been offered a job. That did wonders for the old ego and supplied confidence for the meeting with Mike Trevalyan in Hartford the following day. That tete-a-tete, she knew, would be a brannigan.
Just for the hell of it, she walked over to Park Avenue. As Rushkin had said, the flagship store of Starrett Fine Jewelry was shuttered. The display windows were stripped of gems, and a sign proclaimed: CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. But Dora was amused to note it didn't deter a mink-swathed matron who was shading her eyes to peer within and furiously rattling the knob of the locked door.
She bused up Madison Avenue, then walked over to the Starrett apartment on Fifth. Charles, looking as funereal as ever, let her enter and left her standing in the foyer while he shuffled away to announce her arrival.