Julius Katz Mysteries Page 3

  Norma stood frozen watching this, her own face showing dread. Helen moved quickly to her mother and took hold of her. Emma turned to her, confused, and asked in a whisper, “Norma?”

  “No, Ma, I’m Helen. Norma is standing over there. The man next to her is a friend. His name is Julius Katz. He’s here to ask you some questions.”

  Emma Brewer continued to stare at Julius and Norma. Then it was as if all the life bled out of her face and there was nothing there. At that point she let Helen take her back to her chair. Helen tried to ask her if she wanted to lie in bed instead, but Emma didn’t answer her. Instead she took hold of her coffee cup again and stared blindly straight ahead.

  Norma came back to life then. Her eyes glaring, she asked Julius if it was really necessary for him to question her mother. Julius reluctantly shook his head, realizing he had no choice but to do some work on this case. “Is she always like this?” he asked.

  “No, not always. Some days she’s almost functional. But as I told you before, she’s having a bad day.”

  “Has your brother seen her like this?”

  “Yes.”

  Julius’s facial muscles hardened as he once again studied the mother. “Your brother must be a fool if he thinks he can get away with this,” he said.

  “My brother is desperate.” Norma peered from the corner of her eyes at her sister and mother. Lowering her voice, she suggested that they continue the conversation outside the house. “I don’t want my mother hearing what I’m about to say. It would upset her if she were able to make sense of it.”

  Julius agreed. Norma told her sister that they were going outside and asked if she’d join them. Helen declined, telling her that she was going to keep their mother company. Norma stood silently for a moment before leaving the room. Julius followed her. As they walked past the framed family photos lining the hallway wall, Julius stopped in front of one of Helen’s wedding pictures and asked Norma about the man in it.

  “That was Helen’s husband, Thomas Arden.”

  “From comments you made yesterday, I take it that he’s no longer married to your sister?”

  For a while Norma stared hard at the photo, her mouth moving as if she were chewing gum. It seemed a struggle for her to pull away and face Julius.

  “Technically, they could very well still be married,” she said in a low, hushed voice. “Twelve years ago he abandoned his family, running off to God knows where and leaving Helen alone to take care of three young children. I don’t believe Helen has ever heard from him. I have no idea whether she ever divorced him in absentia—it’s a sore subject, but I don’t believe she has ever taken that step, so in all likelihood, my sister is probably still married to him.”

  “I see. And how about you, Miss Brewer, have you ever married?”

  “I don’t see the importance of you knowing that.”

  Julius’s smile tightened. “It’s important for me to form a clear picture of the family dynamics. I have no idea how I am going to tackle your brother, but the more I know about all of you the better chance I have of something coming to me.”

  That was complete rubbish. I had already given Julius a report on Norma Brewer which included the fact that she had never been married. It occurred to me then that Julius didn’t trust my competency on the matter. The client shook her head and gave Julius the same information that I had given him earlier—that no, she had never been married. I felt a tinge of excess heat for a few milliseconds, and realized that that was the sensation of resentment, and yet another new experience for me.

  “Please, Mr. Katz, let’s continue this outside. I don’t want to risk upsetting my mother.”

  Julius agreed and followed her out the door. Standing there in the late morning sunlight, Norma Brewer’s skin again took on a parchment quality, and I could make out a crisscross of blue veins along her temples. She clasped her hands as she tried to meet Julius’s stare.

  “I spoke with my brother over the phone last night,” she said in a hushed tone. “I thought maybe I could talk sense into him.”

  “You weren’t able to.”

  She shook her head. “He’s only willing to allow Mother to be put in a facility if Helen and I agree to let the house be sold to him for well under the market price. I can’t do that, Mr. Katz—the house would need to be sold to pay for her care. She only has enough money in Treasuries to cover two year’s worth of expenses, and the facility I found in Vermont won’t accept her unless I can show enough assets in escrow to cover her first five years there.”

  “And your mother’s health?”

  “Outside of the Alzheimer’s she has nothing medically wrong with her. She has lost a lot of weight because she forgets to eat, but she could easily live another ten years.”

  Julius’s facial muscles hardened as he gazed at Norma Brewer. “Your brother gave you a dollar figure for his acquiescence,” he said at last.

  Norma Brewer nodded. “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” she said. She looked away from Julius, her hands clasping tighter together. “I have a feeling he promised that money to someone.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “I believe I mentioned yesterday that Lawrence is an attorney. One of his clients is a known hoodlum, Mr. Katz.”

  “Yes, I know. Willie Andrews.”

  That surprised his client, and it also surprised me. While I was turned off, Julius actually researched the brother himself. Will wonders ever cease? I decided it had to be the disappointing meal. He needed something to work off his dissatisfaction, and obviously didn’t encounter a suitable woman for that—probably leaving the restaurant in too much of a huff to notice any. I searched the online newspaper archives for one Willie Andrews, and built a thick file on him. He was a known mob affiliate and had been arrested over the years on an assortment of charges, including loan sharking and extortion, but never convicted.

  “Miss Brewer, I saw your brother yesterday before our appointment,” Julius added. “It was by chance only. He was at the dog track, and I am guessing from his demeanor that he has a gambling addiction. I’ve seen it enough to be able to spot the telltale signs.”

  That was yet another surprise. I record all the images that I “see” and transfer them to a hard drive in Julius’s office that he maintains for me, and they’re kept for one week before Julius backs them onto permanent storage. I scanned all my visual images from when we were at the dog track the other day and, sure enough, Lawrence Brewer was there. I analyzed the images I had of him, and determined easily enough that he was losing from the way he ripped his betting tickets. I told Julius this even though I knew he must’ve noticed exactly the same thing. That’s the thing with Julius, he’s like a computer in his own right, noticing and storing away everything he sees.

  Norma Brewer looked flabbergasted by that bit of news. “Did you follow my brother to the track?

  “No, Miss Brewer, as I mentioned, it was purely serendipitous.”

  Julius had signaled me several minutes before to arrange for a taxi to pick us up, and one was pulling up to the house. Julius had that look in his eyes he always has when he’s anxious to get away from a client, and he told her he’d be in touch, then made his escape. Norma Brewer appeared taken aback by Julius’s quick and unexpected departure. She stood at a loss for words for a long moment before heading back inside the house. Julius settled into the back of the cab and gave the driver his townhouse address.

  “Quite a morning,” I told him. “One woman finding me absolutely charming, another terrified merely at the sight of you.”

  “I never heard her use the adverb absolutely in describing your charm,” Julius muttered somewhat peevishly. He had taken out his cell phone so that the driver wouldn’t think that he was muttering to himself. The cell phone was merely a prop. Whenever Julius needed to make a call, I’d make it for him and patch him in through his ear piece.

  “It was implied,” I said. “Would you like me to brief you on the reports I generated for Lawrence Brewer and Willie And
rews?”

  “That’s not necessary.” A thin smile crept over his lips. “I researched both of them myself last night while you were unavailable.”

  “Yeah, but I bet you don’t have Lawrence Brewer’s last seven years’ worth of tax returns, unless you were able to hack into the IRS’s mainframe and, given the level of encryption they use, that’s not very likely. I also bet you don’t have Willie Andrews’s court documents.”

  “No, I don’t, but I don’t need them now. Sometimes, Archie, too much information is worse than too little. It distracts from what’s important.”

  That made no sense. The only way you can analyze data is if all the data were available—or if you are able to extrapolate what was missing. I ignored the comment, and instead asked him if he wanted me to arrange for appointments with either the brother or Andrews.

  “Willie Andrews is not the type of man you make an appointment with. As far as Lawrence Brewer goes, now is not the appropriate time.”

  “So that’s it, then?”

  “For now, yes.”

  I expected that. As far as Julius was concerned, he had already worked hard enough for one day. I knew there was little chance that nagging him would change that. Still, I tried.

  “I can see your point,” I said. “After all, you have just put in an arduous twenty-seven minutes of work, more than enough to justify the twenty-thousand dollar fee you extorted from your client.”

  “An hour and seventeen minutes once you factor in the cab rides.”

  “Wow. An hour and seventeen minutes, then. I’m exhausted just thinking about it.”

  “Archie, now is not the time. I’m not about to tackle the brother until I’ve given the matter more thought. So please, some quiet so I can think.”

  Yeah, it was pointless. The only thing he was going to be thinking about was lunch at one of his favorite local restaurants, along with the bottle of Gewurztraminer I had reserved for him. With nothing else to do I spun some cycles figuring out why I hadn’t made the connection between the photos I dug up earlier for Lawrence Brewer and the visual images I recorded at the dog track, and then worked on readjusting my neuron network so I would recognize patterns like that in the future. I have to admit I was impressed with Julius’s ability to recall seeing Lawrence Brewer at the dog track and told him so. Julius grunted out that it was simply luck.

  “The only reason he made an impression was because he was so obviously losing badly that I considered for a moment inviting him to one of my poker games. Now please, Archie, I’d like quiet the rest of the trip.”

  Julius put his cell phone back in his inside jacket pocket. I spent the rest of the cab ride constructing simulations involving Julius interviewing Lawrence Brewer, but none of them led to a reasonable probability of success.

  Julius surprised me. On our return home he had me cancel his luncheon reservation and he spent the rest of the day either reading or puttering around the townhouse. All I could figure was he was trying to bluff me that he was onto something and that he planned to stay holed up until he had the case solved—that way he could loaf for days without me nagging him. A couple of times he put me away in his desk drawer while he got on the computer. He wouldn’t tell me what he was doing, only that I had as much information as he did at that point. He seemed genuinely distracted during that first day, at times becoming as still as a marble statue while his facial muscles hardened and his eyes stared off into the distance. Of course, it could’ve been an act. When I tried asking him about what he was considering, he mostly ignored me, only once telling me that whatever it was, it was still percolating. That night he had me cancel his dinner reservations. Instead of going out he spent the evening making fresh gnocchi and then pounding veal until it was nearly paper thin before sautéing it with shallots and mushrooms in a white wine sauce. He picked a Montepulciano d’Abruzzo from his wine cellar to accompany his dinner.

  The next day he appeared more his normal self as he performed his morning rituals, then spent the rest of the morning reading wine reviews. My attempts to pester him into action went nowhere. He mostly ignored me, and when I tried briefing him on the dossier I had compiled on Willie Andrews, he stopped me, telling me that he was otherwise occupied.

  “My mistake,” I said. “I thought you depositing our client’s check actually obligated you to earn the fee you were paid.”

  “Archie, I am earning it.”

  “By sitting around reading wine reviews?”

  “Precisely. Sometimes the best action is waiting. Patience, Archie, patience.”

  So there you had it. Maybe he was waiting on something, but more likely he had fallen into one of his lazy funks and was only trying to bluff me, and as part of the bluff he was going to stay holed up inside his townhouse. The thing with Julius was he had no “tell”—no visible indication of when he was bluffing, at least none that I had yet been able to detect. When he played poker, I could identify the other players’ “tells” pretty quickly, not that Julius needed my help in that area. He was astute at reading other players and detecting the slight behavior changes that indicated as brightly as a flashing neon light when they were bluffing or holding what they thought were winning cards. Sometimes it would be the way their facial muscles contorted or their breathing patterns changed or maybe they’d scratch themselves or shift slightly in their chairs. The list was endless, but it was simple pattern recognition on my part to identify these “tells” by comparing recorded video of when they were bluffing and when they weren’t. I’d spent countless hours trying to identify Julius’s “tell” and so far had come up with nothing.

  The rest of the day Julius spent mostly reading, cooking, and drinking wine. I was beginning to think if it were a bluff he would try to play it out for weeks if he thought he could get away with it. I tried several times to nag him into action, but failed miserably, with him smugly insisting that he was waiting for the right time before taking any direct action. That day his client called several times to find out when Julius was planning to talk to her brother. Julius had me answer those calls and directed me to tell Norma Brewer that he was in the midst of investigating certain issues regarding the case, and once he was done he would be interviewing her brother. It was utter hogwash, but I didn’t tell her that.

  The third day it was more of the same, with Julius not venturing outside the townhouse, the only difference being that he seemed more distracted than usual. Also, the client didn’t call. At six o’clock he turned on the evening news, which was unusual for him. He rarely watched TV. During the broadcast it was reported that a local woman named Norma Brewer had been found murdered in her Cambridge home.

  “Is that what you were waiting for?” I asked.

  Julius didn’t answer me. He just sat grim-faced, his lips compressing into two thin, bloodless lines.

  “So I guess that’s it. Your client’s dead and her money is in your bank account. Now you don’t have to do anything to earn it. Bravo.”

  “No, Archie, that’s not what it means,” he said, his jaw clenching in a resolute fashion. “I’m going to be earning every penny of what she paid me.”

  “Did you know she was going to be murdered?”

  “I didn’t know anything with certainty.”

  “How?”

  “Not now, Archie. We’re going to be very busy over the next few days. For now, please call the sister, Helen, and find out what you can about the murder. In the meantime, make the earliest dinner reservations you can for me at Le Che Cru. The next few days I expect to be roughing it. If the police call, I’m out for the evening and you have no idea where I have gone. If Helen Arden asks to speak to me, the same story. You have no idea where I am.”

  I did as Julius asked, first making him reservations at Le Che Cru for eight-thirty, then calling Helen Arden. She sounded dazed, as if she barely understood what I was saying. I had to repeat myself several times, and after my words finally sunk in, she told me that the police had contacted her about Norma’s murder,
and she was now trying to reach her brother and figure out how they were going to take care of their mother and at the same time make the arrangements for Norma’s funeral. She wasn’t even sure when the police were going to release the body.

  “What if it were weeks before they let us have Norma?” she asked. “How are we supposed to bury my sister?”

  Her voice had no strength to it. It was as if she were lost and had completely given up any hope of being found. I told her it wouldn’t be more than a few days—however long it took for the coroner to perform an autopsy. I gave her the phone number for a good criminal lawyer that Julius recommended to clients who had dealt with this type of problem in the past. I tried asking her whether the police had given any details about the murder, but she seemed to have a hard time comprehending what I was saying. After I tried asking her several more times, she finally murmured that they told her nothing other than that her sister was dead.

  I had been searching the Internet, and so far no details had been reported on any of the Boston newspapers’ Web sites, and neither was there anything of interest on the police radio frequencies that I was scanning. I told her Julius would be in touch sometime the next day and hung up. I filled Julius in quickly. He was in the process of changing into one of his dining suits. After slipping on a pair of Italian calfskin loafers, he hurried down the stairs and to the front door. He asked me whether I was able to detect any police car radios broadcasting in the area, and I told him there weren’t any and that nothing was showing on the outdoor webcam feed. Still, he opened the front door only enough so he could peer out of it. Satisfied that the police weren’t lying in wait for him, he stepped outside and hurried down the street, his pace nearly a run. Once he was two blocks away from his townhouse, he slowed.