City of Vice, page 7
White looked at the list for about two seconds before he started nodding. “That’s exactly what this is. Looks like some of his more high-profile clients. In fact, this man right here, Stanley Umbridge, lost his entire life savings during the crash. He moved his family down to Virginia last week. Came in yelling and screaming but by the time the whole ordeal was over, he was crying into Alfred’s arms.”
“By any chance, would you be able to point me to some of the documents concerning these clients? I don’t know if you’re aware or not, but his office is sort of—”
“A mess, right?” White interrupted. “But damn if he didn’t know where everything was. No matter what you asked him for, he would get it for you in under a minute. But as for these men…you should find everything you need in a binder that’s inside his desk—a drawer right there at the bottom. It’s a thick, black one. He showed it to me several times while we were discussing numbers as we smelled the crash coming along.”
“Thanks so much,” Ava said. She left the office and returned to the office further down the hall. Now that she knew what to look for, she ignored the stuffed mess of Perkins’s bookshelf. She opened up the bottom drawer of his desk and found it in much better shape than the bookshelf. There were several folders and binders in the drawer, filed and organized neatly.
There were several black folders, but only one that fit the thick description White had given her. She removed it and found out at once that she had the right folder. Inside were several pages of documents attached to one another, the first page labeled with each client’s name. Much of the work on the pages were hand-written, only a few here and there having been typed up. Just like the majority of papers on his desk, it was mostly numbers and terms that Ava wasn’t familiar with.
She set it to the side, wondering how hard it would be to take the binder with her. Would White let her take it? Would Miller get upset that she’d made such a decision on her own? She still thought there might be some answers hiding in the numbers somewhere and hated to leave the binder behind.
She was about to shut the drawer when she saw a single sheet of paper, all by itself. It was sitting where the binder had been, making her assume it had fallen out. She reached in and took it, a plain sheet of white paper. It was slightly crumpled but the contents were still easy to read.
It was a letter, dated four months ago, from a man named George Albrecht. She read over it and managed to get the basic idea even though it was littered with industry jargon that went over her head. And when she thought she did understand what the letter was saying, she read it again just to be sure—because if she was reading it correctly, the implications could be enormous. One passage in particular caught her eye and, she thought, might be something of a smoking gun. That passage read:
As you know, investors change their minds on investments all of the time, often as frequently as every day or so. I do not believe anyone would so much as blink an eye if a few investors in your arena brought their money and attention over to a newer and more exciting investment like the construction of the Chrysler Building. Naturally, no one would have to know of your involvement. Even your employers would not be privy to any matters you and I discuss. Any money you stand to lose in sending investors to my team would be recouped once their business was firmly in place on my end.
From what she could tell, Albrecht was one of the developers at the Chrysler Building. Several times throughout the letter, he referred to “my team” as he went into detail about how he, Albrecht, wanted to work with Alfred Perkins to pull investors away from work and interest at the 40 Wall Street building and point them and their money over to the Chrysler Building. A closing note also suggested that this letter was not the first Albrecht had sent to Perkins.
She felt certain that taking the note, or the binder for that matter, would be crossing lines. Still, the letter was particularly damning, so she folded it and placed it into the inner pocket of her jacket. It showed a direct connection between competitors, and one that Perkins had clearly been trying to hide. Because the binder wouldn’t be so easy to conceal, she placed it back into the drawer and left the office.
On her way out, she stopped by White’s office one more time. This time when he responded to her knock she could see aggravation in his face. She didn’t blame him, really. This was, after all, the third time she’d interrupted him today.
“I’m sorry,” she said, not even bothering to walk in through the doorway. “I was just wondering what you know about a man named George Albrecht?”
“I don’t know the man all that well, but I do know he’s one of the primary developers over at the Chrysler Building. There’s maybe a dozen or so men pushing the money around on that building and from what I hear, Albrecht is probably the most relatable. He’s wealthy, but not in that way that makes him think he’s better than anyone. Know what I mean? From what I hear, he’s one of the few developers that actually shows up on-site to see how things are going.”
“Have you ever worked with him at all?”
White chuckled and shook his head. “No, not me.”
“And do you know if Mr. Perkins had any ties with him?”
White thought about it for a moment but shook his head at this, too. “If he did, I wasn’t aware of it. And I honestly can’t think of why Alfred would have had any reason to associate with him.” He shrugged sadly and added: “Of course, it could be a friend-of-a-friend sort of situation. Do you mind if I ask why?”
She didn’t want him to know that she’d taken the letter so she decided not to even mention it—especially considering the content of it. But she also didn’t see the point of flat out lying. “I saw the name in some of his notes and thought it sounded familiar. I was just wondering. And with that, I’ll leave you alone. Thanks again for all of your help.”
She got back into the elevator and headed down to the main lobby. On her way out, she paused by the large front desk as a thought popped into her head. She approached the woman she’d spoken with earlier and tried on her very best smile.
“I need to make a call,” she said. “Does this building still use party lines?”
“No, Detective,” the woman said, sounding quite proud. “We’ve had access to direct-calling for about five months now. And of course, the people we call will also need to have direct calling for it to work. It still has its bugs here and there, but it seems to work fine most of the time. Can I make a call for you?”
She took the letter out of her pocket and looked at the letterhead it had been written on. Fulton and Donner Enterprises.
“Do you have Fulton and Donner Enterprises in your directory?”
“I believe we do,” the receptionist said, pulling over a large journal-type book with several hand-written contact numbers. She scanned the pages for about thirty seconds and tapped it in delight. “Right here. I can make that call for you if you like.”
“Yes, I’d appreciate that.”
The receptionist used their new rotary phone to make the call. As Ava watched the wheel turn, the phone clicking the numbers home, she was astounded at just how quickly such an accomplishment had come to the city. Just five years ago, such a thing was incredibly rare. Now it seemed that there were direct-call rotary phones in most areas of the city.
Once the number was in, the receptionist leaned across the counter and handed Ava the phone. Within a few moments, she heard the surprisingly clear voice of another woman in her ear.
“You’ve reached Fulton and Donner Enterprises How may I help you?”
“My name is Ava Gold, a detective with the NYPD, Seventeenth Precinct. I was hoping to speak with Mr. George Albrecht.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am, but Mr. Albrecht and several others are in a meeting right now. From what I gather, it’s very important.”
“I see. Any idea when he’ll be out of it?”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know. I’d be happy to take a message and make sure he gets it.”
Ava took a moment to consider her options. She wondered how much this woman might know about Albrecht and the so-called Race to the Sky. “You know, I think that’s okay,” Ava said. “I wonder, though…the questions I have are very basic. I wonder if you might be able to assist me. Do you work closely with Mr. Albrecht?”
“Not very closely, but I know enough about him, I suppose. I can try to answer any questions you have.”
“Well, I understand that he’s working very closely with some of the contractors over at the Chrysler Building. We’re trying to get a read on what builders he’s working with.” She felt a lie coming on and was a bit ashamed of the ease at which it arrived. She was even more ashamed when she used it without much thought: “Bear in mind now, this isn’t in pursuit of Mr. Albrecht himself. We’re looking into some unscrupulous details and reports about one of the builders.”
“Oh, I see,” the woman said in a hushed tone. “Well, I’m afraid I don’t know much about the contractors he’s working with. Besides that, the details of all of their investments are kept pretty private.”
“Oh, I’m sure. But I wonder if you might know the last time Mr. Albrecht visited the site?”
“I believe he’s been over there at least once every day for the past week or so. Just last night…no, wait…two nights ago…he met with a few men over there after he left work. They treated him to a private tour of the building, seeing as how it’s so close to being done.”
“Two nights ago, you said?”
“Yes.”
Two nights ago, she thought. The night Alfred Perkins was killed. Suddenly, the clandestine letter she’d found between Albrecht and Perkins seemed a bit more than just a thinly veiled attempt at funneling money and investors.
Just to keep up appearances and to make the lie seem more authentic, Ava added: “I don’t suppose you know who arranged that tour, do you?”
“Sorry, I don’t. Are you sure you don’t want to leave a message?”
She considered it for a moment before declining and ending the call. She had the letter linking Albrecht and Perkins, and now knew that Albrecht had been in the building on the same night Perkins had killed himself.
No, she did not want to leave a message. She didn’t want George Albrecht to know she had called. She didn’t want him to know she was coming.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ava grabbed lunch on her way over to the address she had for Fulton and Donner. It wasn’t located in one of the three buildings that were part of the Race to the Sky, but it was still an impressive place. It was only three blocks away from 40 Wall Street, a smaller three-story building made of steel and glass. Just looking at it gave the impression that whoever worked inside had to be of some importance.
She ate her deli sandwich and drank her pop on a bench across the street, formulating a plan. She was well aware that Step One of the plan should probably be to go back to the precinct to fill in Pawlowski but she felt that would be a waste of time; there was traveling over to the station, trying to convince an uninterested party, and then traveling back. She figured this way, she was saving at least an hour and a half and sparing the aggravation of a new partner that was already getting on her nerves.
The busy thrum of Wall Street was unlike any other part of the city. Even in the midst of the market crash, it still seemed to possess a vitality that other areas in the growing city just couldn’t match. Businessmen hurried along the streets, as if trying to escape the sad reality of the current financial situation. Vendors were still trying to peddle their wares here and there along the street corners. And above it all the buildings loomed high above them like sentinels.
Ava took it all in as she finished up her lunch. She honestly didn’t have much of a plan when she crossed the street. If Albrecht was still in his meeting, she may have to pull her badge and get forceful, insisting that she speak with him. Also, she had the letter in her jacket pocket if she really needed to press the issue.
When she entered, she found the front lobby eerily similar to the one back at 40 Wall Street. It was a bit smaller and compact, but still spoke of power and influence, backing up the feeling the building gave from the outside. There was only one woman sitting at the desk up front, probably the same woman she’d spoken to on the phone. Ava approached her with a friendly smile, surprised at the bit of freedom she felt without a partner at her side.
“Hey, there,” Ava said to the woman. “You may very well be the lady I spoke to on the phone about forty minutes ago. I’m Detective Ava Gold. I’d called with some questions about Mr. Albrecht.”
“Yes, of course,” the woman said, returning her smile. “And no more than ten minutes after you called, their meeting came to an end. As far as I know, Mr. Albrecht should be in his office.”
“Oh, thank you so much. Where is that located?”
“Second floor, Room 28. But I should warn you…whatever was discussed in that meeting left most of the men that came out in sour moods.” She sighed and leaned forward, as if about divulge a secret. “It’s been this way pretty much every single day since the market crashed.”
“I can’t imagine how stressful this line of work must be during a time like this,” Ava said. She gave a polite nod, gave her thanks, and then headed for the elevators. When she saw the group of men, bickering and arguing as they also waited, Ava opted for the stairway. She found the door to the stairs on the left side of the lobby and walked to the second floor.
Here, she found a stark difference between the Fulton and Donner offices and the offices at 40 Wall Street. Every door was closed and even without knocking on a single one, there was a tension she could feel in the air. It almost made her rethink her plan of just knocking on Albrecht’s door to see what he’d be willing to openly offer her in the way of testimony. But she forged on, finding Room 28 and knocking on the door.
The verbal response she got was almost like a barking dog. She clearly heard the “Yeah?” from the other side but there was so much anger and irritation to it that it almost sounded like growling.
With her nerves on edge and ready for anything, she opened the door. She found a man smoking a pipe and furiously looking over a series of papers. He looked angry and tired, his graying hair in disarray. He barely even looked at Ava before responding.
“I said yeah,” he said. “I did not say come on in.”
Ava nearly apologized for her intrusion; that’s how unexpectedly hostile Albrecht was. Instead, she stepped inside and took out her badge. “I’m Detective Ava Gold with the NYPD,” she said. “I’d like to ask you some questions.”
“Not now,” he barked. “As you can see, I’m busy as hell and I don’t have time for questions.”
“With all due respect, I’m not asking.”
This got his attention quickly. He stopped looking at the papers on his desk and glared up at her, his eyes dark and menacing through the pipe smoke. He looked hard at the badge and then chuckled.
“Why’d they send a woman?”
She knew he was simply trying to get under her skin. So she let the comment slide right off of her back rather than exchanging verbal blows with him.
“You can just be cooperative,” she said, “and this won’t take much time at all. But if you’d rather a man come to question you, I can see to it. Only then, a lot more attention is going to be drawn to the situation and—”
“And what situation is that, exactly?” Albrecht asked. He placed both hands on his desk and leaned forward. Ava was certain he was going to spring to his feet at any moment and start shouting.
“I’ve been tasked with looking into the death of Alfred Perkins,” she said. “And I’ve recently come into some information that links you to him.” She waited for any sort of reaction from Albrecht, but there was none. “Did you know about his death?”
“Yes. I was told yesterday. Committed suicide or so it seems. Apparently, he jumped right off the top of the Chrysler Building.”
“That’s exactly right. And I learned today that you are one of the primary investors for the building. Is that correct?”
“It is,” he said. “But if that’s the only link you have, then you’re wasting your time, little lady.”
“Well, I do also happen to know that you were there, at the building, on the night of his death.”
Albrecht did stand up this time. He stared her down, taking his pipe from his mouth and tossing it into an ashtray on his desk. “As were at least ten other people. Detective Gold, I suggest you get to your point quickly or I will indeed ask you to leave and I will make this as hard as possible on you. I have a very high-stress job and there are many people relying on me to ensure that they can keep their jobs. So please…get to the point.”
Ava took the letter out of her pocket and slowly unfolded it. She turned it toward him so that the content was facing him. “Here’s my point. Do you recall writing this letter, Mr. Albrecht?”
A flicker of worry passed across his stonelike face. “And how did you get that?”
“It was in Mr. Perkins’s office. It was stashed away in a desk drawer, sort of hidden. Which makes me think he never worked with you on trying to get those investors pointed your way. Is that right?”
He shook his head, his eyes glued to the letter. “I won’t discuss such matters without my lawyer present.”
“Have it your way. But I have this letter, and it does plenty of talking without you there. I should also say that your refusal to answer my questions about your time at the Chrysler Building two nights ago is only going to make things look worse for y—”
Albrecht’s right hand came up off of his desk, arcing through the air toward her face. She was so shocked by the action that the blow nearly landed. But Albrecht was not a fast man; apparently sitting at a desk all day did little for the physique.
Instead, Ava caught his arm, twisted it, and came around the side of the desk. She did it all in one fluid motion, and when she was standing by the side of the desk she wrenched his arm down. Albrecht cried out as she planted his hand on the desk. When he tried to pivot around her, she twisted again, applying pressure to his wrist and shoulder. He yelled out this time, in both frustration and pain.
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