Page 60 of Witness 8

‘Hold on a second,’ said Bale into the phone, then lowered it and addressed Kate and Bloch, who were both now standing in his office.

‘Wait a second, who are you?’

‘Hi, Mr. Bale, we’re here to talk to you on behalf of a resident of West 74thStreet,’ said Kate. Not lying, but not exactly telling the truth either.

‘How did you . . .? Wait one second,’ he said, then returned the phone to his ear and said, ‘Look, I pay Rudy Carp a small goddamn fortune every month. When I call him, I want him to pick up the phone. I’ll call him right back and he’d better answer or I’ll get myself another lawyer.’

Kate knew the name Rudy Carp. He was a celebrity lawyer, one of the richest in New York. Eddie had worked with him once, briefly. A real barracuda.

Bale looked at his phone, began typing a message, said, ‘Just one second . . .’

Kate glanced at his desk, saw a piece of paper sitting there. Letter-sized. Nothing unusual about a letter on a desk, but this was unusual. It was handwritten. Block capitals. In red pen.

Angling her head, Kate read the first line . . .I SAW YOU AT. . .

Bale must’ve seen Kate looking at it, because his hand snaked out at great speed and snatched it off the desk, crumpling it into his fist.

‘Sorry, I hate mess,’ said Bale.

‘No problem,’ said Kate, taking out her phone. ‘Oh dear, I’m sorry. Now, just a second . . . God these cell phones are torture, aren’t they?’ said Kate as she typed something quick on her phone. A text message to Bloch.

CALL ME NOW. DON’T HANG UP.

Bale forced a smile, said, ‘Sorry, I’m confused. Did you speak to my secretary or the office manager before you came up? It’s just I’m really busy. I have to make an urgent call . . .’

‘No, sorry. There was no one at reception. We won’t take up too much of your time . . .’ said Kate, taking her handbag from her shoulder. She placed it in her lap as she sat down on one of the chairs facing Bale’s desk.

Bale’s lips peeled over his teeth, just for a second, and his eyes darkened with a flash of irritation.

Kate felt her phone vibrate. Keeping the screen pointed toward her, she accepted Bloch’s call, put her handbag on the floor and, most importantly, her phone beside the bag.

‘Who did you say you represent?’ asked Bale.

‘A resident of West 74thStreet.’

‘Which one?’

‘John Jackson, he is falsely accused of the murder of Margaret Blakemore. I believe you knew Mrs. Blakemore.’

Bale’s tone, which up to now had been polite, changed.

‘This conversation is over. If you want to talk to me, you need to speak to my lawyers. Now, please leave.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, we’re just looking for some background—’

‘Get out or I’ll call the police,’ said Bale.

Kate picked up her handbag, left her phone and exited the room with Bloch. They walked down the corridor and stood at the top of the stairs. Bale’s door was closed. Bloch raised her phone so they could both listen.

‘Rudy, it’s Brett Bale. I think someone is trying to blackmail me over Margaret Blakemore . . .’

They couldn’t hear Rudy Carp’s side of the conversation.

‘I got a letter. Handwritten. Red ink. Demanding a lot of money or this person is going to tell the police they saw me murder Margaret . . .’

‘I know . . . I know . . . but with the accusations still flying around about Jane . . . Okay, just keep the letter . . . Can I— Look, I just want this to go away . . . No, okay, I won’t pay a dime . . . Well, what do I pay you for? . . . Okay, okay, Rudy, bye . . .’

He hung up, swore and said some unsavory things about Rudy Carp. Jane was Bale’s late wife – the swim champ who’d drowned while on vacation in Florida with Bale.