Montaro Caine A Novel

10





TRAFFIC WAS HEAVY ON MANHATTAN’S EAST SIDE, SO MONTARO Caine handed a twenty-dollar bill to his taxi driver and told him that he would cover the rest of the distance to the Mozelle Women’s Health Center on foot. Anna Hilburn had left Howard Mozelle’s name, address, and a simple message with Caine’s secretary: “Tell Mr. Caine that we are ready to discuss the matter he expressed an interest in.” Caine had already scheduled a Fitzer board meeting as well as a phone conference with his lawyer Gordon Whitcombe for the morning to discuss his daughter’s situation at Mt. Herman. But when he received the message from Anna Hilburn, he told Nancy MacDonald that she would have to reschedule everything again.

Caine moved east along 67th Street with a quick stride that every now and then exploded into a jog. He was overanxious and he knew it; he reminded himself to calm down before arriving at Mozelle’s office. It seemed strange—for twenty-six years, he had imagined the owner of the coin to be a wealthy collector of rare objects who lived somewhere in the Boston area not far from M.I.T., when in fact the coin’s owner was apparently right here in Manhattan, just ten minutes away from Fitzer.

When Caine entered the office of Howard Mozelle and introduced himself to the doctor, his wife, and Anna Hilburn, who were already seated, awaiting his arrival, he sensed a pronounced uneasiness among his hosts. Perhaps it was just the clinical office setting that made Montaro feel that he was about to undergo some sort of invasive exam. Handshakes were loose and smiles seemed forced. Dr. Mozelle stared at Caine for several awkward moments, studying his features.

“I’ve seen your name in the newspapers and on the society and financial pages, but your face is unfamiliar. I don’t think we’ve ever met. Have we?”

“No, we haven’t, I’m afraid,” said Caine with a smile. He was not surprised that Mozelle did not recognize him; his managerial style had always been to stay out of public view as much as possible in favor of focusing on the business of his company. Even after the recent mining accident, he preferred to let his spokespeople talk to the press.

“Through no fault of yours, as I recall,” Dr. Mozelle said by way of an apology for his refusal twenty-six years earlier to let Montaro and Richard Walmeyer reexamine the coin. “Yes, well, that was a long time ago,” he added. “Anyway, I recall that your interest in the coin was primarily in the composition of various elements, some of which were intriguing to you and my good friend Dr. Chasman.”

“Yes,” said Caine. “We were fascinated and wanted very much to do a follow-up analysis. Some of those elements were strikingly unusual. I’d never seen anything like them before or since—until this week, that is.”

Dr. Mozelle’s face turned serious. “How sure are you about what you saw? I mean, twenty-six years is a long time. Could what you saw possibly have been the same object you saw at M.I.T.?”

“No, they’re different,” said Montaro. “They’re alike in many ways, but they are different objects. Absolutely.”

“How can you be so sure of that?”

“Chemicals and metals are my profession, Doctor.”

“You were interested in commercial exploitation back then. Would it be fair to say that this is still true?”

“I am interested in its potential value, yes,” said Caine. “But over and above that, I must admit to a healthy curiosity about the object itself.”

Dr. Mozelle liked Caine’s forthright and accommodating manner of speaking. He had been expecting a much more aggressive man. Mozelle’s eyes shifted to his wife and his elderly secretary; then he gestured for Caine to have a seat.

As Caine sat in the armchair in front of Mozelle’s desk, the doctor spoke. “We wanted to talk with Dr. Chasman before we saw you, but, as you have no doubt found out yourself, his secretary hasn’t been able to reach him. Have you kept in touch with him throughout the years?”

“Three or four times in the last five years, I would say.”

“Well,” said Dr. Mozelle, “since he isn’t here, and since time is of the essence, I’m going to tell you a story, one I very much wish he was here to listen to. Have you ever heard the name Hattie Sinclair?”

Montaro shook his head. “I haven’t,” he said.

Dr. Mozelle’s eyes seemed to glaze over and to focus on something beyond Caine. He rose slowly to his feet, took a deep breath, and then began pacing the floor as he went on to tell a story that, to Montaro, seemed almost as strange and wondrous as the coins themselves. For him, the story that Howard Mozelle related brought to mind not only the experience of encountering the coin when he was a young man at M.I.T., but also the lesson that he had learned as a child—that there is a great deal more to this world than we can perceive with our eyes. When Montaro began listening to Mozelle’s story, he had never heard the name Hattie Sinclair; when Mozelle was through, he knew that he would never forget it.