We’re suspicious Sparacino’s method is to represent the writer, then go behind the scenes and offer the ‘victim’ or ‘victims’ money under the table to raise hell. It’s all staged, works like a charm.”
“Makes you wonder what to believe.”
In fact, I wondered that most of the time.
The prime rib arrived. When the waiter was gone I asked, “How in the world did Beryl Madison ever get hooked up with him?”
“Through Gary Harper,” Mark said. “That’s the irony. Sparacino represented Harper for a number of years. When Beryl was coming along, Harper sent her to him. Sparacino has been shepherding her since the beginning, a combination agent, lawyer and godfather. I think Beryl was very vulnerable to older powerful men, and her career was pretty bland until she decided to do this autobiographical work. My guess is Sparacino originally suggested it. Whatever the case, Harper hasn’t published anything since his Great American Novel. He’s history, only valuable to someone like Sparacino if there’s a possibility for exploitation.”
I considered. “Is it possible Sparacino was playing his game with them? In other words, Beryl decides to break her silence–and break her contract with Harper–and Sparacino plays both sides.
Goes behind the scenes and goads Harper into causing a problem.”
He refilled our glasses and answered, “Yes, I think he was staging a dogfight and neither Beryl nor Harper was aware of it. As I’ve said, it’s Sparacino’s style.”
We ate in silence for a moment. Gallagher’s was living up to its reputation. You could cut the prime rib with a fork.
Mark finally said, “What’s so awful, at least for me, Kay”–he looked up at me, his face hard–“that day we had lunch at the Algonquin, when Beryl mentioned she was being threatened, that someone was threatening to kill her…”
He hesitated. “To tell you the truth, knowing what I did about Sparacino …”
“You didn’t believe her.” I finished the sentence for him.
“No,” he confessed. “I didn’t. Frankly, it struck me as another publicity stunt. I was suspicious Sparacino put her up to it, had her stage the whole thing to help sell her book. Not only does she have this battle with Harper, but now someone’s threatening to kill her. I didn’t give what she said much credence.”
He paused. “And I was wrong.”
“Sparacino wouldn’t go that far,” I dared to suggest. “You’re not implying …”
“I really think it’s more likely he might have agitated Harper to the point he freaked, got so enraged maybe he came to see her and lost it. Or Harper hired someone else to do it.”
“If that’s the case,” I said quietly, “he must have a lot to hide about what went on when Beryl lived with him.”
“He might,” Mark said, returning his attention to his meal. “Even if he doesn’t, he knows Sparacino, knows how he operates. Truth or fiction, it doesn’t matter. When Sparacino wants to raise a stink, he does, and nobody remembers the outcome, only the accusations.”
“And now he’s after me?” I asked dubiously. “I don’t understand. How do I fit in?”
“Simple. Sparacino wants Beryl’s manuscript, Kay. Now more than ever the book’s a hot property because of what happened to the author.”
He looked up at me. “He believes the manuscript was turned in to your office as evidence. Now it’s missing.”
I reached for the sour cream and was very calm when I asked, “What makes you think it’s missing?”
“Sparacino somehow managed to get his hands on the police report,” Mark said. “You’ve seen it, I assume?”
“It was fairly routine,” I answered.
He jogged my memory. “On the back sheet’s an itemized list of evidence collected–including papers found on her bedroom floor and a manuscript from her dresser.”
Oh, God, I thought. Marino had found a manuscript. It was simply that he had found the wrong one.
“He talked to the investigator this morning,” Mark said. “A lieutenant named Marino. He told Sparacino the cops don’t have it, said all evidence was turned into the labs in your building. He suggested Sparacino call the medical examiner–you, in other words.”
“It’s pro forma,” I said. “The cops send everyone to me and I send everyone back to them.”