X - Chapter Twenty Three "The Thirty Percent Solution"

 

"The Thirty Percent Solution"

Chapter Twenty Three 

      It was ten-thirty in the morning. Capt. Rafael Jimenez of the NYPD’s Detective Bureau and Special Agent Vince DuBois of the FBI were standing in front of the long metal table in the secured evidence room at the FBI’s New York City headquarters in Tribeca. 

      They were not happy. Despite the mass of evidence they had collected and the interviews they’d already conducted, they felt no closer to determining who killed Theodore Merritt than when they started. 

      Almost two weeks had passed since the murder. Together, they decided to examine the evidence they already possessed, and then develop a more effective plan for their investigation, a plan that depended more on the evidence than on gut instinct. 

      With the approach of summer, the huge space of file cabinets, evidence lockers and shelving of thousands for cartons was starting to feel uncomfortably warm and sticky. 

      “I got an idea,” proposed Jimenez. “It’s gonna be eleven pretty soon. Why not go to a great deli, real close and real good, for an early lunch to build up our energy. And then, we tackle the most important evidence? Our minds will be clear, and we’ll make real progress in no time.”

      “Even though you told me you just had a donut and coffee, I got a better idea,” said DuBois. “Why don’t we have lunch, and then dinner with cocktails, call it a day, and tomorrow morning we’d be geniuses?”

      “Shit, okay, okay, I get it,” Jimenez said. “Sure, I know the times passin’.”

      “And we got another problem,” DuBois said. “You and me, we agreed to split the job, and you’d focus on the murder, and me, I’d concentrate on the conspiracy-for-fraud angle. Well, I’m fearing that at some time, probably at the worst time, the U.S. Attorney’s office or the FBI higher-ups are gonna say: Why we spending time and money on this? Maybe the U.S. Attorney’s office wants to spend its money on other stuff. They could say: The conspiracy guy was Merritt, and he’s dead now. Why not just leave everything to the local cops? Then, I’ll get an order . . . and you know the rest of the story.”

      DuBois was getting excited. “I say, God damn it, we gotta move faster. We gotta get organized, and I mean fast and smart.”

      “I’m with you!” Jimenez pleaded. “We been working like hell. And we’re willing to turn up the dial even more, honest.” 

      “Look, I been coming back here. I been going over more and more of the evidence, like Ted’s dossiers,” DuBois explained. “When you read everything, not just look at the photos, you’re gonna be shocked, really shocked. Sure, Merritt hated Gordon Hope, and there’s all kinds of photos of Gordon Hope with that woman, the one I saw with the young writer, Mike Stein, at the Grand Hyatt. But when you read everything, Jesus! Like Merritt knew that Hope used the firm’s funds for those frat-boy parties with the escorts. It was all documented. Whether Merritt held everything in case he wanted to blackmail Hope, or whatever, I don’t know. ‘Cause Merritt also had photos of other staff members at those parties, too.” 

      DuBois stopped for a few seconds. “So, if we’re looking for motives, Hope sure had ‘em, and more than any other staff member. But I don’t think we can go through the dossiers, and put a value on the number of items Merritt had on each guy, and then say our killer is the one with the highest score.”

      “And, by the way, guess what! Mr. Clean, Bill Voldman, there’s no frat party pictures of him with the babes there. Either he didn’t attend, or Merritt’s photographer couldn’t get them. Or, Voldman was being kept happy by Miss Dorothy.” DuBois stopped again. “And shit! One thing we don’t know: Who’s the photog? I’ll see if the photos have a stamp or some kind of ID on the back. It shouldn’t be too hard to find something, maybe somewhere in the payouts, in the firm’s books.” 

      “Yeah, let’s find that out, I’ll find that out,” said Jimenez. “But I gotta tell you what my boys, actually, Sergeant Barnes, came up with. You know, Merritt was a very snazzy dresser. He always wore three things: A tie, elevator shoes and a blazer or suit jacket, even in the office. So, Barnes says, hey, we know Merritt was beaten, slugged away at on the left side of his body. All the bruises and abrasions and stuff are in the autopsy. So, Barnes says let’s go back to Merritt’s blazer and look for trace DNA, and then see if we can find any matches. Well, we did find skin residue on his blazer, actually a lot of it in the fabric’s fiber. Now it’s at the lab. The problem is, they gotta use all these high-tech tests, and that takes time. But it might end up being an ace in the hole.”

      “But,” DuBois almost shouted, “We still don’t know where Merritt was, where he was on the fatal night. It’s basic; we need a complete chronology. Sure, he was beaten up and shot in his office. But where was he before, and who was with him? I don’t know what kinda canvassing your team’s been doing, but we gotta find out. We gotta go back to good, old-time gum-shoe work, just slogging it out. If you guys want an FBI team to help out, I’ll get it for you.”

      “Thanks, but for the moment we’re fine. We’ll just push it,” Jimenez said. “And now I’m thinkin, we gotta talk to his wife? She oughtta know something. How long does grieving-widow status last?”

      “Yeah, go for it,” said DuBois, “But what else should we be looking for? Where else should we be looking? What about that memo or whatever it was? Remember, we only had the last two pages, forty-nine and fifty? We have to chase that down. That could be important for the fraud angle. And, what about the slugs and the shells, the ones we found at the scene, the one in the wall? Anyway, did your crime scene team trace them?”

      “Dead end,” said Jimenez said. “Crime lab checked that out. No matches.” 

      “What about a list of suspects?” Du Bois asked. “We know the killer was either let in, or is an insider, ‘cause there was no breaking and entering. And Merritt took a pounding, so we know the killer was a very strong guy. How about a hired killer? Jesus, we don’t know. This is a high-stakes game. There’s a whole lotta money in places like Winshire, not in any cash box, but in their bank. Guess what the rent is for a place like this! How many floors they got?”

      “To be fuckin’ frank, for me, I wanna get an idea of what went on in that office,” Jimenez said. “And you? You must be thinkin’ the same thing. There’s stuff we can use to work out some kinda sequence. Right now, all we got is Merritt’s corpse and all its abuse and the penetration of the slugs, some shells on the floor, a crime scene with lots of blood and scattered papers, and I think there were some broken articles. Any indentions on the carpet, or any patterns of blood in the hallways?”

      “Look, Raf,” DuBois’ voice was softening. “I must be sounding like a royal jerk. I just want to finish this case, and I think when we find the killer, we’re gonna find the person behind that fraud case, also. It has to be. It’s all tied together, I’m sure. And I wanna wrap this up before I get pulled off the case and stuck somewhere else.”

      Jimenez became the calming influence now. He said, “Vince, okay, we’re gonna do it. I promise you. Look, why not you do what’s needed, as much as you can this afternoon. Maybe pass some time with some of those files in the evidence boxes. I’ll handle Hope’s interview this afternoon. Then we talk over dinner tonight, my treat. How about Italian? I’ll text you, okay?” 

      “That’s good,” DuBois said. 

      Jimenez didn’t make a move to leave; instead, he leaned against the metal table and looked at his friend. “Vince I want to admit something to you. It’s kinda personal, but I wanna tell you because you been a good friend.” 

      “I’m not that great a guy, but please, go ahead.” 

      Jimenez gathered his courage, and then started speaking slowly. “It was really nice of you to invite me to that family gathering for Kelly’s birthday. I appreciate it. I know I threw out a few lame excuses for not going. But the real reason I couldn’t go is that . . . . I been a terrible father, really, and being there, I would’ve felt like shit. It’s all my fault. You’re succeeding at the oldest story in the world, something that millions of guys succeed at, the whole marriage and kids story. And, me, I’m just not made for it.”

      “Raf, don’t worry about it. I understand,” DuBois said. “I know you tried.” 

      “I should’ve done more, really. The only thing I can say I did was I kept paying the child support, but that’s not much. Emma kept telling me I wasn’t involved, but shit, I got involved in all this police shit. I still do, I get so involved in all this. And when she tells me, I get all excited, do my part of the shouting.”

      DuBois didn’t say anything; he waited until he was sure his friend had finished. 

      “Well, I called. She just wouldn’t let me talk, wouldn’t hear what I had to say. And now, when I think about it, when I think I got a son out there, it hurts, feels like a fuckin’ knife in my gut. His name’s Gabriel, I must’ve told you, thought I’d be calling him Gab, and we’d be doin’ stuff together. Well, not in this life.”

      “Raf, I know there’s a solution. Lemme think about it. I got a friend . . . No names, of course. There’s a solution.”

      Jimenez looked like all the air was pumped out of him. “Vince, I’m sorry. It’s not your problem. Thanks for listening.”

      DuBois raised his right hand. “Raf, wait second! You know, you’re not alone. Law enforcement, our racket takes guys over; I know guys, on the federal side, same thing. I know two guys that used a private therapist. Got them to understand themselves better. Maybe, I’m not sure, but I think she intervened for one guy. Anyway, if you want, I could get her info for you.”

      “Vince, I’m not sure. Maybe, I don’t know.”

      “This kind of thing, you know you’re never sure,” DuBois said. “It might help. Whadda you got to lose? Look, you think about it, and I’ll get you the info. Anyway, see you tonight, right?”

      Jimenez said, “Yeah, that’s right.”   

        

-0- 

      Gordon Hope looked across the table, and he sensed trouble. The man facing him was Rafael Jimenez, the NYPD detective sharing responsibility with the FBI agent Vincent DuBois, for the investigation. Also at the table were Grant Stauffer, Winshire’s chief counsel, and Detective Sgt. Wendell Barnes, also a NYPD detective. DuBois was not present.

      The table was in a large glass enclosure at the NYPD’s 17th Precinct, on 51st Street, not far from Winshire’s offices. The space was not luxurious. The table was good-sized, but it was topped with Formica that showed its long service – scratches, short, inked notes that couldn’t be removed, and lines of markers. Other officers and staff members from the precinct walked past and stared inside out of curiosity. And the larger office’s normal rumble filtered over the glass partition. 

      Yes, Jimenez had allowed Gordy to have counsel present during his questioning, and he even smiled a few times. But Gordy saw a face with sharp features and dark, penetrating eyes that gave the impression that Jimenez trusted no one. From the beginning, Jimenez showed he was in charge.

      “Mr. Hope, I want you to understand that you’re accused of nothing,” Jimenez said. “This interview is simply informational, simply for us to understand more about the context of Winshire and, of course, to find the party responsible for this murder. But we have no preconceptions, and we’ll be fair in dealing with everyone.” Jimenez stopped and looked briefly at Gordy and Stauffer. 

      Jimenez resumed: “First of all, can you explain your position and your duties at Winshire?”

      Gordy spoke slowly and carefully. “I’m the partner in charge of the firm’s Chemicals and Pharmaceuticals Practice. Twenty-two consultants report to me, right now anyway, and they’re mainly on the East Coast, but also spread all over the world. We do studies for our clients and then make recommendations on how they can improve their businesses.”

      “Thank you. And how long have you been with the firm?” 

      “That makes eleven years. I was one of the first eleven members, guys that were with another firm, McKinsey. We marched out of McKinsey, and we established our own company.” 

      Jimenez’ stare became intense. “How was Mr. Merritt selected to be the firm’s first president and CEO?”

      Gordy said, “All of us, all eleven of us spent three days at the Waldorf Astoria. We were closed off from the world, and we decided on the structure of the firm and the responsibilities of the partners.”

      “Is it true that you were the only partner who opposed Mr. Merritt?”

      “Yes, I think that’s true. I submitted my name for the leadership position. I had more experience in the functioning of complex organizations, like a consultancy.” 

      Then, Jimenez spoke very slowly, spacing his word out. “Mr. Hope, how was your relationship with Mr. Merritt?” 

      Gordy hesitated for an instant, and then said, “We were not close friends.”

      Jimenez leaned forward. “Isn’t it true that you were bitter enemies, and you were for the entire existence of your firm?”

      Gordy sounded calm. “Captain, please. ‘Bitter enemies’ is such a charged term. Let’s be realistic. This is New York. It’s a tough, competitive place. You know, you’re a New Yorker yourself. Not everyone is your friend. Sometimes people compete. But we get along. We function. So, in the case of Ted, we had to get along for the success of the firm.” 

      Jimenez leaned toward Gordy, and his eyes took on a glare. “Mr. Hope, where were you on the evening of Wednesday, May 13th?”

      Grant Stauffer stood and leaned on his chair. “Captain Jimenez, please, may I ask you for a little restraint. Not five minutes ago, you told my client that he’s accused of nothing and this interview is informational. If you want to continue, you’ll have to control yourself.”

      “Sure, sure,” Jimenez said, trying to smile. “Please accept my apology. I just want to make sure. The date was May 13th.”

      Reassured, Gordy answered. “I was in my office at Winshire.” 

      “At what time did you leave?”

      “I believe around seven thirty.”

      Jimenez leaned just a bit forward. “Are you sure?”

      “Yes.” 

      “And then you went  . . . ?”

      Stauffer intervened again. “Captain, are you asking a question?” 

      Jimenez said, “Yes, where did you go?”

      “I went home.” 

      “Are you sure?”

      Gordy leaned back in his chair and looked at Jimenez. “What are you getting at?      Are you accusing me of something? Am I a suspect?”

      “Oh, no.” Jimenez looked surprised. “This is just standard . . . ”

      “Captain, we’ve all seen enough cop shows on television,” said Stauffer. “They all say the same thing, and they’re all as duplicitous as you are now.”

      Gordy appeared to gain confidence. “Then let me tell you again. I went home. Captain, all I can do is to tell you the truth, no matter the number of times you ask me the same question.” 

      “Mr. Hope, what did Ted Merritt have on you? Did you know he had a dossier on you? And there were all kinds of photos in it?

      “Captain, you can ask anyone. Ted Merritt was not a nice person. Just to be clear, he built an empire, and he held onto it. You know, you have the proof; one of the ways he increased and then held onto his empire was that he gathered information on people, and then he threatened to expose it.”

      “But Mr. Hope, do you realize that he had all these photos of you? He had photos of you with these women, and these documents. He must’ve had someone working as a photographer, we don’t know.” 

      “Captain, with all due respect, please, why you telling me all that? Let me give you a hint: Not all of Ted’s information’s true. And I’ll bet he didn’t even care if it was true. He only cared that it worked . . . for him. A lot of people knew he had information on them. That’s why it worked. He kept control” 

      Jimenez couldn’t stop himself; he couldn’t let go. “And the parties, there were shots of parties with women, I don’t know, they looked like escorts or something. What about them?”

      Stauffer stood up and started to speak, but Gordy cut him off. “Captain, why’re you talking about this? Those questions don’t even deserve an answer. But lemme tell you something. You used the word escorts. Escorts don’t mean prostitutes.”

      Jimenez realized that he’d lost control. He stopped himself for a few seconds, and then said: “Okay, but let me ask you one more question. Did you ever write a memo for a business plan, or some kind of a proposal, something new for Winshire, to Merritt?”

      Gordy took his time. “Merritt was the head of the firm, and I’m an officer of Winshire. We wrote on all kinds of things. But yes, I did suggest an initiative to Ted.”

      Stauffer started pulling at Gordy’s arm, as though he wanted him to stand, so the two men could leave. Reluctantly, Gordy did stand. 

      “Captain Jimenez, I think we’ve answered all your questions,” Stauffer said. “If you need anything else, please contact me.” 

      With marked formality, Gordy and Stauffer shook Jimenez’s hand, and the two men were escorted out of the 17th Precinct. 

-0-

      It was already after eight in the evening, and there were very few diners at Nocello. The décor was slick and modern, not what one would expect for a traditional Italian restaurant. But it was perfect for Agent DuBois and Captain Jimenez. They were led to a round table with a padded banquette in the rear of the restaurant.

      Both men ordered Scotch, and the maître d’ brought their drinks and a small plate of olives immediately. They clinked their glasses, and the slight sound seemed to echo in the nearly empty dining room. 

      “Here’s to it,” said Jimenez. 

      And both men sipped from their glasses.      

      “How’d it go?” asked DuBois.  There was no doubt about the subject of the question. 

      “Vince, I think we got something,” said Jimenez. And he related the course of the questioning, only pausing when the waiter came to take their order, from the factual questions about Gordy’s role at Winshire, the establishment of the firm, Merritt’s secret memos, and onto Gordy’s presence at the office on the night of the murder and the business proposal Gordy made to Merritt. Jimenez even admitted the few times he felt he might have stepped over the line. 

      During their meal, big dishes of steaming pasta with all the trimmings along with Sangiovese Chianti, their conversation was more general. Basically, they both bellyached about how difficult their jobs were and the complex dance between citizens’ rights and the aggressive investigations needed to close cases. Then, they just barely touched personal subjects, basically what they could do when they would be forced to retire. 

      Once they finished their meal, they decided against dessert. They were full and satisfied, and certainly relaxed after the Scotch and wine.

      “So,” announced DuBois, “what’s your conclusion? What’s next? Of course, from your point of view.” 

      Jimenez paused and then said, “Vince, I like Gordon Hope. I’m gonna arrest him.”

      “Raf, that’s a big decision,” DuBois said with a forced calm voice. “That’s really a big step, and there’s no rush. For me, it doesn’t feel locked up.”   

      “I know what I promised, and I’m living up to what I said,” said Jimenez. “I like Gordon Hope. Just look at everything. It has to be him. You said before, make a list of suspects. Tell me, who else is there? Hope is the only one.”

      “Maybe we just gotta do some more work,” said DuBois. “Maybe there is another bad guy out there, but we just don’t know who he is. It’s the old story: You don’t know what you don’t know.” 

      “I tell you, Vince. That interview convinced me. The moment we started getting into ‘Where were you? At what time?’ and all that, the guy just clammed up. He just wouldn’t answer anything. Jesus, I could read the nervousness in his eyes. If that doesn’t spell guilty, I don’t know what.” 

      Jimenez started talking faster, “And then there’s the memo. He came right out and said it, he made a proposal for a new program for Winshire to Merritt. He admitted it, just like that.” 

      “Raf, I’m tellin’ you. We’d be jumpin’ too fast. We could be causing pain to some innocent people, and we’d be embarrassing ourselves.”

      “I know some elements are lacking,” Jimenez kept talking fast. “I know we have to do more investigation, but I know he’s guilty. The motives scream out at me. It was one of those fights for control, and it got out of hand.” 

      “What we got is still circumstantial, really. I’m tellin’ you. And there are still holes. You gotta admit that.”       

      “I know we can fill in the blanks. We got the video surveillance. We got that woman, that blonde, the foreign hottie.”

      “Raf, just a little more time,” DuBois looked straight at his friend. “Please!” 

      “I been here before,” Jimenez kept speaking rapidly. “I know we’ll be able to fill in the gaps. Believe me.” 

      “Raf, I think you’re going to embarrass yourself, me and the NYPD. I think we gotta give it some more time.” 

      “I believe this very strongly.” 

      DuBois looked at his friend with affection. “Raf, you kept your word. I got my two cents in. It’s your arrest. But I’ll still help you as much as I can.” 

      The two colleagues said little as they polished off the wine. As they parted, they hugged and slapped each other three times on the back.