He produced a cold smile. “You are not the first Chicago detective to be curious about our clients’ affairs.”
“I expect not,” I said. “From what Ms. Geraldine Graham’s been telling me, your clients could have kept an entire bureau of detectives busy.” Larry Yosano sucked in his breath and looked from me to Arnoff in dismay, but the senior lawyer said, “If Mrs. Graham has been confiding in you, then Yosano here can hardly add anything to what you know” “She’s told me fragments, not anything like a whole, coherent story. She’s told me about her battles with her mother, and that her mother …
persuaded her to marry MacKenzie Graham. She’s told me that Olin Taverner was a homosexual. I know that Calvin Bayard suffers from Alzheimer’s and that Renee Bayard is at great pains to keep the world from knowing he’s ill. But a lot of the connecting details are missing.”
“And you hope we’ll tell you what we wouldn’t tell the detectives and reporters who sniffed around here fifty years ago?” His tone was supercilious.
“My concern isn’t with New Solway’s fifty-year-old riff on Peyton Place, but with a couple of contemporary murders. I’m investigating Marcus Whitby’s death: he’s the man who died-“
“I know all about the man who died at Larchmont. Even though the Grahams sold Larchmont Hall, we continue to be involved with the property. I know that Rick Salvi believes the man committed suicide, and that you are out to force us into a murder investigation.”
“When murder has been committed, an investigation is usually a good idea,” I said mildly.
“Not always, young woman, not always,” he snapped.
“I’ve been wondering about that myself.” I assumed a thoughtful expression. “I discovered evidence at Olin Taverner’s apartment yesterday that makes me suspect he may also have been murdered. And yet, I have to ask whether that needs to be investigated. Does it matter that someone hustled an old man off the planet a few months before his time? Do I waste my energy on the death of a man who himself ruined many people’s lives?”
“Olin Taverner began his legal training in Theodore Lebold’s office,” Arnoff said. “He went on to more important matters before I joined the firm, but we have always held him in esteem here.”
“So you think his murder deserves investigation. But that Marc Whitby’s doesn’t.”
“Don’t twist my words, young woman.” Arnoff turned his hooded gaze to Yosano. “What do we know about Mr. Taverner’s death, Larry?” Yosano sat up straight. “Only that Ms. Warshawski found something unusual in his apartment, sir. She was going to explain the situation to me in our meeting this afternoon.”
“And that situation is-?” Arnoff turned back to me.
I leaned back in my chair, legs crossed, trying to establish that I wasn’t a surbordinate. “Someone was in Taverner’s apartment the night he died. That person took pains to cover up his, or maybe her, presence, but nonetheless left telltale traces. I know firsthand that someone broke into the place yesterday-I interrupted him. Unfortunately, he knocked me over and got away. I know Marcus Whitby consulted Taverner last Thursdaya week ago yesterday. And I know Taverner let him see some documents that he kept in a locked drawer. Those documents have been stolen from the apartment. I’m hoping you know what was in them.”
Arnoff slowly shook his head. “Our clients don’t always confide in us. We are the executors, of course, of the Taverner estate.”
“Who are the heirs, since he didn’t leave a family?” I asked. “Several foundations whose work he valued.”
“Including the Spadona Foundation? I wonder how Renee Bayard will feel, seeing her son use money from his father’s old enemy to set a policy agenda she and Calvin oppose.”
Arnoff smiled primly. “If Calvin Bayard had kept better track of his own documents, Edwards Bayard might not be in such opposition to him today.” “Meaning?”
“Meaning all these great families have something they don’t want anyone else to know. I’m sorry I can’t help you with Olin’s papers. I doubt I ever saw those.”
I asked what Arnoff knew about Kylie Ballantine’s connection to Taverner.
He gave his thin, supercilious smile again. “The African dancer? I don’t think it was Olin who had a connection to her.”
“Calvin Bayard, then?” I asked.
“Calvin supported a number of artists. I believe Ballantine was his protegee for a time. Before he married Renee, of course.”
The brief pause he gave before the word “protegee” was supposed to let me know they had been lovers. Everything in this office-in New Solway-was done by innuendo. I wondered how long it would be before young Yosano picked up the same skin-crawling habit.
“Renee Bayard was telling me this morning that Taverner had a bee in his bonnet about the Committee for Social Thought and Justice. There’s a rumor that Calvin Bayard gave them money.” A rumor I myself was just