Elizabeth Scarlatti. “I don’t grant you the stature of an enemy. I think you’re a little man using malicious slander for your own ends.”
“Ordering a man’s murder is not malicious slander!”
“What did you say?”
“It’s the most serious charge we have.… But there are mitigating circumstances if it’s any comfort to you.”
The old woman stared at Benjamin Reynolds in contempt. He ignored the look.
“The man who was murdered—the one whose death your son ordered—was a known killer himself.… A captain of a freighter who worked with the worst elements on the waterfront. He was responsible for a great deal of killing.”
Elizabeth Scarlatti rose from her chair. “I won’t tolerate this,” she said quietly. “You make the most damaging accusation possible and then you retreat behind a wall of implied judgment.”
“These are strange times, Madame Scarlatti. We can’t be everywhere. We don’t want to be, frankly. We don’t lament the gangster wars. Let’s face it. Often they accomplish more than we can.”
“And you put my son in this … this category?”
“I didn’t put him anywhere. He did it himself.”
Elizabeth walked slowly from her desk to a front window overlooking the street. “How many other people in Washington know about this outrageous gossip?”
“Everything I’ve told you?”
“Anything.”
“There were a few rumors at Treasury. Nothing anyone wanted to run down. About the rest, only my immediate subordinate and the man who was the witness.”
“Their names?”
“Oh, no.”
“I can easily find out.”
“It wouldn’t do you any good.”
Elizabeth turned. “I see.”
“I wonder if you do?”
“Whatever you think, I’m not an idiot. I don’t believe a word of this. But I don’t want the name of Scarlatti impugned.… How much, Mr. Reynolds?”
Group Twenty’s director returned Elizabeth’s stare without giving quarter. “Nothing. Not a penny, thank you.… I’ll go further. You tempt me to bring charges against you.”
“You stupid old man!”
“Damn it to hell, cut it out!… All I want is the truth!… No, that’s not all I want. I want it stopped. Before anyone else gets hurt. That much is due a decorated hero. Especially in these crazy times.… And I want to know why!”
“To speculate would be to grant your premise. I refuse to do that!”
“By Jesus! You’re a rough bird.”
“More than you realize!”
“Can’t you understand?… It’s not going any further! It ends here! That is, it will if you can stop any future … activity, as you call it. We figure you can do that … But I’d think
you’d
want to know why. Since we both know your son is rich—why?”
Elizabeth simply stared at him and Reynolds knew she wouldn’t answer. He’d done what he could, said what he had to say. The rest was up to her.
“Good day, Madame Scarlatti.… I should tell you. I’ll be watching the Scarlatti
padrone.
”
“The who?”
“Ask your son.”
Reynolds trudged out of the room. People like Elizabeth Scarlatti tired him out. Probably, he thought, because he didn’t believe they were worth it all. The giants never were.
Elizabeth—still by the window—watched the old man close the door behind him. She waited until she saw himdescend the front steps and walk west toward Fifth Avenue.
The old man looked up at the figure in the window and their eyes met.
Neither acknowledged.
CHAPTER 9
Chancellor Drew Scarlett paced the thick oriental rug of his office at 525 Fifth Avenue. He kept breathing deeply, pushing his stomach out as he inhaled—the proper way—because the masseur at his club told him it was one method of calming down under pressure.
It wasn’t working.
He would change masseurs.
He stopped in front of the mahogany-paneled wall between the two large windows overlooking Fifth Avenue. On the wall were various framed newspaper articles, all of them about the Scarwyck Foundation. Each prominently
“Ordering a man’s murder is not malicious slander!”
“What did you say?”
“It’s the most serious charge we have.… But there are mitigating circumstances if it’s any comfort to you.”
The old woman stared at Benjamin Reynolds in contempt. He ignored the look.
“The man who was murdered—the one whose death your son ordered—was a known killer himself.… A captain of a freighter who worked with the worst elements on the waterfront. He was responsible for a great deal of killing.”
Elizabeth Scarlatti rose from her chair. “I won’t tolerate this,” she said quietly. “You make the most damaging accusation possible and then you retreat behind a wall of implied judgment.”
“These are strange times, Madame Scarlatti. We can’t be everywhere. We don’t want to be, frankly. We don’t lament the gangster wars. Let’s face it. Often they accomplish more than we can.”
“And you put my son in this … this category?”
“I didn’t put him anywhere. He did it himself.”
Elizabeth walked slowly from her desk to a front window overlooking the street. “How many other people in Washington know about this outrageous gossip?”
“Everything I’ve told you?”
“Anything.”
“There were a few rumors at Treasury. Nothing anyone wanted to run down. About the rest, only my immediate subordinate and the man who was the witness.”
“Their names?”
“Oh, no.”
“I can easily find out.”
“It wouldn’t do you any good.”
Elizabeth turned. “I see.”
“I wonder if you do?”
“Whatever you think, I’m not an idiot. I don’t believe a word of this. But I don’t want the name of Scarlatti impugned.… How much, Mr. Reynolds?”
Group Twenty’s director returned Elizabeth’s stare without giving quarter. “Nothing. Not a penny, thank you.… I’ll go further. You tempt me to bring charges against you.”
“You stupid old man!”
“Damn it to hell, cut it out!… All I want is the truth!… No, that’s not all I want. I want it stopped. Before anyone else gets hurt. That much is due a decorated hero. Especially in these crazy times.… And I want to know why!”
“To speculate would be to grant your premise. I refuse to do that!”
“By Jesus! You’re a rough bird.”
“More than you realize!”
“Can’t you understand?… It’s not going any further! It ends here! That is, it will if you can stop any future … activity, as you call it. We figure you can do that … But I’d think
you’d
want to know why. Since we both know your son is rich—why?”
Elizabeth simply stared at him and Reynolds knew she wouldn’t answer. He’d done what he could, said what he had to say. The rest was up to her.
“Good day, Madame Scarlatti.… I should tell you. I’ll be watching the Scarlatti
padrone.
”
“The who?”
“Ask your son.”
Reynolds trudged out of the room. People like Elizabeth Scarlatti tired him out. Probably, he thought, because he didn’t believe they were worth it all. The giants never were.
Elizabeth—still by the window—watched the old man close the door behind him. She waited until she saw himdescend the front steps and walk west toward Fifth Avenue.
The old man looked up at the figure in the window and their eyes met.
Neither acknowledged.
CHAPTER 9
Chancellor Drew Scarlett paced the thick oriental rug of his office at 525 Fifth Avenue. He kept breathing deeply, pushing his stomach out as he inhaled—the proper way—because the masseur at his club told him it was one method of calming down under pressure.
It wasn’t working.
He would change masseurs.
He stopped in front of the mahogany-paneled wall between the two large windows overlooking Fifth Avenue. On the wall were various framed newspaper articles, all of them about the Scarwyck Foundation. Each prominently
Similar Books
