Kiss the Girls and Make Them Cry(43)
But it was Carter who had set him off. The two-bit lawyer had called him on one of the stupid phones he insisted on using to say another wire would be necessary. Sherman had cut him off immediately. “Same time and place to look at trains,” he had barked.
Sherman exhaled in a futile attempt to calm himself down. He had the nagging suspicion that Carter was playing him for a fool. How did he know that Carter was reaching settlements with the women? Carter said so. How did he know the victims were getting $2 million each? Carter said so. Now Carter was saying there were more victims, which meant more settlements, which meant he’d have to wire more money to guess who? Carter & Associates. If he thinks he can pull a sting on me, Sherman thought, he doesn’t know who he’s dealing with.
* * *
Michael Carter walked slowly across the parking lot as he approached the black Mercedes. It would be his first face-to-face meeting with Sherman since his session in the back of the car with Carlyle Junior. Frankly, he was tired of getting jerked around. He should have stood his ground with Sherman on the phone. His wife had given him a litany of complaints when he announced he would miss the last soccer game of the season. His son had a different way of showing displeasure. He refused to come out of his room to say goodbye when Carter left the apartment. I’m doing all this work to solve other people’s problems, he thought, and all I’m getting in return is grief.
“Change of plans, Carter. I wired twelve million dollars to you and now you say you need more. What kind of idiot do you think I am? Starting right now I want to know everything. I want copies of the settlement agreements you’ve reached and copies of wire transactions you’ve sent to victims. I want to know who you’re negotiating with and any outside expenses you’re incurring. After I get all that, we can talk about whether it’s necessary for me to get you more money.”
Carter’s first impression was that this conversation was eerily similar to the one in the back of the car with Junior. Why? He thinks I’m stealing the money, that’s why, he told himself. How ironic! he thought. According to Junior, Sherman was in cahoots with Matthews to enrich themselves at REL’s expense, and now Sherman was worried that somebody else was pocketing money that belonged to REL.
Chess match, he reminded himself. Think several moves ahead. He could tell Sherman, Go to hell, but then what? If Sherman fired him and got somebody else to pursue the settlements, he wouldn’t be of any use to Carlyle Junior. And Junior had just started to use him to make payments to confidential sources. That could be a line of work that would last a long time.
“Fair enough,” Carter said. “I’ll get you the documents you want showing how the money was spent. While we’re here, I’ll give you a quick rundown on what I’ve been doing. You know Lauren Pomerantz settled. Pomerantz named Meg Williamson as the one who tipped her off to tape her encounter with Matthews. When Williamson settled, she gave me another name, Cathy Ryan. I’ve exchanged a few messages with her but progress is slow.”
“Will she settle?”
“Eventually, but it’s hard to tell when. When we were with Matthews at the club, he named Paula Stephenson. I went to Ohio right afterward and settled with her. Matthews gave us two other names, Christina Neumann and Mel Carroll. I just located Neumann, who got married and is living in Montana. No trace of Carroll yet, but I’ll find her.
“You asked me why I told you I’m going to need more money.” Carter counted on his fingers for emphasis. “Pomerantz, Williamson, Ryan, Stephenson, Neumann, Carroll. That’s six victims at two million dollars a pop. So the twelve million you sent me and more is already spoken for. And that’s before my compensation and expenses. When I find these women, they’re likely going to name others. Not to mention we know Matthews lied to us. At some point we’ll need to hold his feet to the fire to give us the full list.”
“Is there any chance you can settle with some of them for less than two million?”
“Read the papers or watch the news. Two million is cheap. Frankly, I’m surprised they’re not demanding more.”
“How much more and when will you need it?”
“Another six million dollars within a month. That will be enough for the time being.”
Sherman sighed. “I’ll get it done. We’re finished.”
“No, we’re not,” Carter responded. “If you really want to know everything I’m doing, we need another way to communicate. Use cash to buy yourself a cheap laptop. Get a new email address, obviously not using any part of your name. Use only the new computer to contact me at this email address,” he said, as he finished scribbling on a slip of paper that he handed to Sherman. “When this is over, throw the laptop in the Sound or any river. Water destroys everything electronic. Then cancel the email address and no one will be the wiser.”
This will save me some time, Carter thought to himself. Junior and Sherman both want to know everything I’m doing. I can send the same emails to each of them.
“One last thing,” Carter continued, looking Sherman squarely in the eyes. “The next time we meet it will be at a time that’s convenient for me at a location of my choosing. I don’t want to make you late for your trainer. You’re free to go.”
As Carter stepped out of the car to walk toward the station entrance, Sherman resisted the overwhelming temptation to use his two-ton Teutonic vehicle to crush Carter.