Part 64 (1/2)

He paused for a minute and said, ”Right.”

”Who proposed the banking arrangements?” I asked.

”What do you mean?”

”This is what I know, Mr. Seaborn. I know that Tagliani did his banking with you. I know that Lou Cohen was the bagman for the operation and made all the cash deposits directly to you. I also know that a lot of that cash came from pimping, gambling, and narcotics, and that cla.s.sifies it as ill-gotten gains, which is dirty money, and that means we can confiscate it, and any other money made through the use of it, by anybody connected to them. ”

”I don't know where his money came from,” Seaborn said.

”Cohen made enormous cash deposits to you almost every day. You didn't find that odd?”

”It's not my business to question my customers,” he said.

”It's your business to report all deposits over ten thousand dollars to the IRS, isn't it?”

That stumped him. He looked out the window again. I followed his gaze. I could see Stick down on the pier, talking to Whippet.

”I a.s.sure you,” he said, after a long pause, ”that there was nothing illegal in his banking transactions. It would be a violation of confidence to discuss it any further.”

”At least three of the accounts are Panamanian mirror accounts,” I said.

”Still none of my business and perfectly legal,” he said, too quickly.

He was feeling stronger and putting up a pretty good fight. I had only two cards left to play.

”What about the Rio Company?” I said.

”What about it?” he said. ”It's one of their corporations. They have dozens. I really don't know for what purpose. I was not Cohen's confidant, I was simply his banker.”

He seemed sincere enough. So I played my last ace.

”How about the pyramid accounts?” I asked.

This time he jumped as if a flea had bitten his a.s.s.

”I told you, I don't know anything about their business,” he said, almost in a whisper.

I reached into my pocket and took out the tape recorder, punched the play b.u.t.ton, and sat it on the edge of the desk. The heart monitor was beeping a monotonous background to Harry Raines' strained breathing. He was muttering, then a pause, then he cried out, ”Doe!”

Seaborn's eyes bulged. His Adam's apple was doing a little dance.

I turned the player off.

”He said a lot before he died,” I lied.

Seaborn's tough sh.e.l.l began to peel away. He stared at the recorder as if it were a black widow spider crawling across the desk toward him.

”We were talking about what I know,” I said. ”I know you called Sam Donleavy at Babs Thomas' party a little after seven. I know you were in the bank because your lights were seen by two witnesses. I know that when Harry Raines was shot, he was either walking from his office in the warehouse toward here, or from here toward his office. It's illogical to think he was meeting somebody in the park, it was too foggy. Whoever shot him was either waiting for him or caught up with him.”

His fingers started playing on the desk again.

I said, ”He came here and braced you about Tagliani. You broke down, and before it was over, you'd told him the whole story. He threatened to expose you, and when he left, you went out the back door of the bank, followed him, and shot him.”

His face turned purple. ”You're insane!” he screamed. ”I don't even own a gun. And I didn't have time to run after him. I was still sitting right here when-”

He stopped babbling and fell back in his chair.

”When you heard the shot,” I said.

He sat dead still for a full minute; then his face went to pieces and he nodded.

”I swear to G.o.d I don't know who shot Harry,” he said, almost whimpering. ”I've done nothing illegal. There was nothing illegal in the way Cohen's money was handled.”

”It's a subterfuge,” I said.

”You're guessing,” he said. ”Besides, that's not what Harry was so angry about.”

”He was angry because you'd gotten into bed with the wrong people, right?” I said.

”That's as good a way of putting it as any,” he said.

”What did you tell Sam Donleavy on the phone?”

”I told him . . . I told him Harry knew everything. I couldn't help it. Harry came here and he was insane with anger. Abusive. He could always intimidate me with that cold stare of his, anyway. I don't know why he suddenly got so upset. He went crazy. I told him everything. I tried to make him understand how it happened, that we didn't know who Turner really was until it was too late. He was screaming about trust and loyalty.”

”What did Donleavy say?” I asked.

”He talked to Harry.”

”Raines was here when you called the Thomas woman's apartment?” I said with surprise.

”Yes.”

”And . . . ?”

”Sam had to go out to his place and wait for a phone call. He said he'd call us when he got there. About forty minutes later he called back.”

”Did you talk to him?”

Seaborn nodded. ”Yes. He told me he had to talk to Dutch Morehead at eight o'clock and that he would ask Harry to come out to his place and they'd have it out. He said he felt Harry would be reasonable, that we'd done nothing really wrong, nothing illegal. Then he talked to Harry.”

”Did Raines say anything?”

”He just listened for a minute and then said, 'All right, I'll see you there.' Then he hung up and left. He didn't say anything else to me, just turned around and stalked out of here. That's the way Harry Raines was. He couldn't forgive anything. Mister Perfect. All he ever cared about was his career, his G.o.dd.a.m.n career. He wouldn't have been anything if he hadn't married Findley's money.”

”And you were sitting here all by yourself when he was shot,” I said.