CHAPTER
28
A block up from Sonny Koppel’s corporate headquarters was a coffee shop with a forties-era starship poised for takeoff atop an aqua metal roof. Milo and I sat at the empty counter, sucked in the aroma of eggs crackling in grease, and ordered coffee from a waitress old enough to be our mother.
He cell-phoned DMV. The address on Edward Albert Koppel’s driver’s license was the building we’d just visited. He’d registered four cars: the Buick, a five-year-old Cutlass, a seven-year-old Chevy, and an eleven-year-old Dodge.
“Buys American,” I said.
“You saw him,” he said. “You figure Mary Lou would go for a guy like that?”
“They were married years ago, when he was in law school,” I said. “Maybe he looked different.”
“The Candy Man . . . his secretary sure seemed wholesome.” He gulped down his coffee, drummed his fingers on the counter. “Kindly boss, noble patriot, all-around unpretentious guy . . . if it seems too good to be true, it probably is, right? Ready to go?”
“Where to?”
“You’re going home, and I’m back to the Quicks’ for that toss of Gavin’s room. Did you have a chance to check the psych licensing board on Franco Gull?”
“Clean,” I said.
“That so? Well, maybe Gavin didn’t think so, and look what happened to him.”
*
It was two days before I heard from him again. Ned Biondi hadn’t called, and my thoughts had drifted away from murders.
Robin came by and picked up Spike. Despite the two days of bonding, he reverted to instant disdain for me at the sight of her Ford pickup. Running to Robin as she crouched in the driveway, leaping into her arms, making her laugh.
She thanked me for babysitting and handed me a small blue gift box.
“Not necessary.”
“I appreciate the help, Alex.”
“How was Aspen?”
“Mean-looking men with bubble blond arm candy, lots of dead animal pelts, the most beautiful mountains I’ve ever seen.” She played with an earring. Spike sat obediently at her feet.
“Anyway,” she said.
When she moved in to kiss my cheek, I pretended not to notice, and pivoted in a way that made me unavailable.
I heard the truck door close. Robin was at the wheel, looking puzzled as she started up the engine.
I waved.
She returned the wave, hesitantly. Spike began licking her face, and she drove away.
I opened the blue box. Sterling cuff links, shaped like tiny guitars.
*
When Milo finally called, I was getting out of the shower. “Mr. and Mrs. Quick appear to have taken a vacation. The house is locked up tight. Her van’s there, but his car isn’t, and a neighbor said she saw them loading suitcases.”
“Taking some time off,” I said.
“I need to get into that room. I called the sister—Paxton—but she hasn’t gotten back to me yet. Onward to Mr. Sonny Koppel. He may drive old cars and dress like a slob, but it’s not due to poverty. Guy has title to over two hundred parcels of real estate. Commercial and residential rentals, four counties, just like his girl said.”
“Definitely a tycoon,” I said.
“He’s also got all sorts of holding companies and limited corporations as shields. It’s taken me this long to winnow through the basics. This guy’s big-time, Alex, and from what I can tell he likes to partner with the government.”
“Federal?”
“Federal, state, county. A lot of his holdings seem to be cofinanced by public funds. We’re talking low-cost housing projects, senior citizen residences, landmark buildings, assisted care. And guess what: halfway houses for parolees. Including the one on Sixth Street where Roland Kristof crashes. The state legislature says we have to pay for the board and care of felonious individuals, and Koppel’s cleaning up.”
“Public-spirited,” I said.
“It’s a great arrangement. Find some building or construction project that’s eligible for bond money or a grant, split your costs with John Q, take all the income. In terms of Koppel’s background, all I can find is that he did his undergrad work and law school at the U. But he never practiced, and I can’t locate any record of his taking the bar. Somehow he got bankrolled and built up an empire.”