Farino was quiet for a moment. The mynah bird deep in the green fronds chattered away to itself. Finally the older don said, "Yes, I think perhaps a call to the Dane would be in order."
Miles blinked. He was pleasantly surprised. This would save him $30,000 with Malcolm and Cutter. Miles had no intention of demanding the advance money back. "I'll contact the Dane" he began.
Farino shook his head. "No, no, I'll take care of it, Leonard. You go make out the check for Carl's family and make sure that it's delivered. Oh, and Miles what was the rest of Mr. Kurtz's message last night?"
"Just where we could find Carl. Kurtz had the gallI mean, he said that it hadn't been personaland then he said that he wouldn't be starting his $400-a-day retainer until today. That he would be interviewing Buell Richardson's wife this morning."
"Thank you, Leonard." Farino dismissed the lawyer. When Miles was gone, Farino turned to his daughter. As was true of his older daughter, he saw much of their late mother there: the full lips, the olive complexion, the mass of black hair curling around her oval face, the long, sensuous fingers, and the lush body. But he had to admit that Sophia's eyes showed more intelligence and depth than his wife's ever had.
Farino sat lost in thought for a long minute. The mynah stirred in its cage but respected the silence. Eventually Farino said, "Do you feel comfortable taking care of this, Sophia?"
"Of course, Papa."
"Dealing with the Dane can be disturbing," said her father.
Sophia smiled. "I was the one who wanted to be involved in the family business, Papa," she said. "All of the family business."
Farino nodded unhappily. "But with the Dane be very, very careful, my dear. Even on the secure telephone line, be very professional."
"Of course, Papa."
Out on the lawn of the mansion, Leonard Miles had to work to keep from smiling. The Dane . But the more he thought about it, the more sense it made that this mess be cleaned up before the Dane became involved. And Miles certainly did not want to do anything that would irritate Malcolm and his partner. Even the thought of the Dane, Malcolm,
and Cutter crossing paths made Miles a bit dizzy. And although Mrs . Richardson knew nothing, Miles realized now that she might be considered a loose end.
You keep tying up all of these loose ends , scolded the parsimonious part of Miles's mind, and you'll end up in the poorhouse .
Miles paused to think about that. Finally he shook his head. He was caviling about a few thousand more dollars when millionsmillions were involved. He flipped open his phone and called Malcolm Kibunte's number. Malcolm never answered the phone in person.
"Our K package will be arriving at the accountant's wife's home sometime this morning," he said to the answering machine. "It would be a good place to pick up that package." He hesitated only a second. "And her package should probably be picked up at the same time. I'll pay for delivery of both items when we meet again. Please bring along the receipts."
Miles flipped the phone shut and walked down to his Cadillac to write the check for Carl's mother. Miles was not worried about using the cell phone because he would throw the phone into the river on the drive back into town. He owned many such phones, none of them traceable to Counselor Leonard Miles.
Driving toward the main gate, he decided that he would break the news to Carl's roommate himself.
CHAPTER 9
Cutter made a soft noise from the passenger seat.
"In a minute, C, my man," said Malcolm. "In a minute."
Kurtz had not known many accountants over the yearshe'd had a couple as divorce-case clients and had seen a few more adventurous types serving time in Attica for whatever white-collar crimes accountants commitbut Mrs. Richardson hardly seemed like an accountant's wife to him. She seemed more like one of the expensive call girls who plied their trade near the fancier Niagara Falls resort hotels. Kurtz had seen pictures of Buell Richardson and heard descriptions from Little Skag. The accountant had been short, bald, in his fifties, peering out at the world through thick glasses like a myopic, arrogant chipmunk. His wife was in her late twenties, very blond, very built, andit seemed to Kurtzvery chipper for a probable widow.
"Please sit down, Mr. Kurtz. Just don't move that chair out of its place, please. The furniture placement is part of the general ambience."
"Sure," said Kurtz, having not the slightest clue as to what she was talking about. Buell Richardson had been rich enough to own a Frank Lloyd Wright home near Delaware Park. "Not the Frank Lloyd Wright house near Delaware Park," Arlene had said after making the interview appointment for him. "Not the Dewey D. Martin house. The other one."
"Right," Kurtz had said. Kurtz didn't know the Dewey D. Martin house from a housing project, but he had found the address easily enough. Thought the home was nice enough looking if you liked all that brick and the overhanging eaves, but the straight-backed chairs near the fireplace were a literal pain in the butt. He had no idea if Frank Lloyd Wright had designed the chairs and he certainly did not care, but he was certain that the chair had not been built with any regard for the human body. The chair back was as stiff and upright as an ironing board and the seat was too small for a midget's ass. If they had designed an electric chair this way, Kurtz thought, the condemned man would bitch about it in his last seconds before they threw the switch.