The False-Hearted Teddy Page 20

  “Hey, you don’t talk that way to me.” Wintle raised a warning finger and pointed it at Fielding’s nose.

  “Yeah, how dare she suggest that you have some obligation to behave like a decent human being?” I sniped.

  The CEO shot me a venomous look, but before he could retort, Fielding said, “You don’t like what I have to say? Fine. So, fire me. No, better yet, I quit.”

  “Carolyn, you’re overwrought.” Coburn reached out to grab her right forearm, but she snapped it backwards and made as if to slap the lawyer.

  “Don’t touch me unless you want your little ass kicked, munchkin.” Fielding turned to me. “I’ll bet I can tell you exactly who you think killed Jennifer. It was Todd Litten, right?”

  I nodded. “Yep.”

  “And you know why?”

  “Tony told us part of the story. He basically said that he, Jennifer, and you guys all decided to screw Todd out of any share of the licensing contract. Whose idea was it originally?” I asked.

  Fielding grimaced and swiped at some strands of hair that had fallen into her line of sight. “Jennifer’s. She told us that Litten had forced his way into their original partnership and that he had nothing coming.”

  “Carol, let’s go.” This time Wintle reached to take Fielding’s arm.

  Delcambre swiftly moved between the CEO and Fielding, saying, “Ma’am, do you want any of these guys to touch you?”

  “No.”

  “And you do want to tell us what happened, right?” Delcambre asked.

  “Very much.”

  “Then we’ve got a new set of rules here, gentlemen.” Delcambre put his hands on his hips and gave defiant stares to Wintle and then Coburn. “From now on, if anybody does anything to try and stop Ms. Fielding here from giving us a witness statement about this homicide, I’m going to arrest him for being an accessory after the fact to murder. Touch her and I’ll add a count of battery. Do we understand each other?”

  “You’d never get a conviction,” said Coburn.

  “Maybe. You might beat the rap, but you won’t beat the ride, counselor…the ride being in the backseat of a cop car to the police station in handcuffs. Right, Lieutenant?” asked Delcambre.

  “There’s nothing I’d like more.” Mulvaney waved dismissively at Wintle, Coburn, and Kinney. “You three are free to go, if you want.”

  “We’ll stay for now,” Wintle grumbled.

  “Fine, but no more interruptions. Brad, go on with your questioning.”

  “Thanks LT.” I turned to Fielding. “When did Todd find out that the Swifts were in negotiations with Wintle?”

  “Not until yesterday. Jennifer insisted that everything be kept a secret from Todd until after the contract was signed.”

  “How did he finally hear about the deal in progress?”

  “He learned it from me.” Although Fielding was speaking to me, her eyes were on Coburn and her lower jaw jutted out. “I went to the Maritime Inn yesterday morning, because I’m a fan of the books—which we were about to lawfully steal—and I wanted to meet the author.” Fielding looked back at me. “It turned out that Todd had driven down from Pennsylvania the night before. He was sitting there in the exhibit hall, waiting like some dumb, loyal, patient dog in the empty spot where the Cheery Cherub Bears booth was going to be.”

  “And you liked him,” I said.

  “He was a refreshingly decent change from the people I work with.”

  “I’ll bet you could tell he was in love with Jennifer.”

  “Of course.” Her voice was bittersweet.

  “And that upset you, didn’t it?”

  “Yes, it bothered me. The poor guy was about to not only be swindled out of his share of something he’d helped create, but also have his heart broken.”

  “So, what did you do?”

  “What I thought was the right thing…at the time. I told him about the licensing agreement we were about to sign. But maybe if I hadn’t said anything…”

  “Jennifer would still be alive? I can understand why you feel that way, but don’t. It’s a waste of emotion and energy. Todd killed Jennifer, not you.”

  “I suppose.” Fielding ran her fingers comblike through her hair.

  “So, during this first meeting, how much did you tell Todd?”

  “Initially, only that the contract was about to be signed and that he needed to talk to the Swifts.”

  “How’d he react?”

  “Surprised over the contract, but mostly like an idiot in love. He told me that he trusted Jen implicitly and was certain she would never do anything to hurt him.”

  “Unless it was convenient.”

  “I hate to speak ill of the dead, but you knew her. Both she and Tony were sneaky crooks.” Fielding glanced at the trio of Wintle execs. “And water always finds its own level.”

  “But Todd obviously came to a different conclusion later on. I saw you talking to him at the reception last night. What did he say?”

  Fielding shook her head and said sadly, “He was distressed and didn’t know what to think. He said that he’d asked about the licensing deal and that Jennifer had told him she’d simply ‘forgotten’ to mention the contract negotiations, but not to worry because she’d taken care of him.”

  “Which was the truth, although not the way she meant it to sound. What happened next?” I asked.

  “I couldn’t stand it. The contracts had been signed earlier that afternoon and somebody had to break the news to the poor sucker. I told him that the Swifts had completely leveraged him out of the deal. He looked like he was going to faint and said that Tony must have forced Jennifer into signing.”

  “And you told him the truth.”

  “Yes, I did. I explained to him that I’d negotiated the contract and that Jennifer had made it very clear to me that she’d never wanted Todd involved with the bears in the first place and insisted on having him written out. He looked as if a ton of bricks had fallen on him.”

  “Did he say anything else?”

  Fielding thought for a moment. “Just something I didn’t quite understand. He mumbled that everything would be all right or good again—I can’t be certain of the exact words—once he proved himself to Jen. Then he left and that was the last I saw of him.”

  “And he murdered Jennifer Swift about fourteen hours later.”

  “We never went back to the Maritime Inn, so we didn’t know anything about that.”

  “This wasn’t about money, was it?”

  “No, he loved her very much and therefore did something extremely stupid.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Trusted another human being.” Fielding rubbed the back of her neck and then grabbed her jacket from the table. “Is that all you need to know?”

  “I think so. Thanks for your honesty.”

  “Before you go, can I please have your address and phone number?” said Mulvaney.

  Fielding pulled a leather business card holder and pen from the inside pocket of her wheat-colored blazer. She wrote something on the back of the card and handed it to Mulvaney. “That’s my personal cell number. I’ll probably be moving, so call me next week and I’ll give you all the information you need.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And now I’m going to get a ticket for a flight home on some other airline.” Starting for the door, she paused to give Wintle a weary grin. “I’ll be in on Monday to tender my formal letter of resignation and clean out my office.”

  “What are you smiling about? Is something funny?” he asked.

  “No. It’s just nice to have my conscience back.”

  Once Fielding was gone, Coburn said in a wooden voice, “We broke no laws. The books weren’t copyrighted and, in any event, Mr. Litten had signed them over to Mrs. Swift. Everything we did was completely legal.”

  “Oh, I’m certain it was legal,” I said with a humorless laugh. “However, I can’t help but notice that you didn’t use ‘ethical’ to describe the deal.”

 
Wintle made a contemptuous puffing sound and folded his arms across his chest. “Hey, who died and made you the judge of what’s ethical or not? As far as I’m concerned, the deal was ethical as hell. The Swifts owned all rights to the bears and the books and I dealt with them. If Litten was too friggin’ stupid to not look after his business interests, is that my fault?”

  Although I hated to admit it, he had a point. I said, “No, I guess not, but it occurs to me that you have a major problem.”

  “Not from where I stand.”

  “Believe me, you do. You see, I’ll bet there’s something in that licensing contract that says Jennifer and Tony promised the bears were their original work.”

  “And?”

  “Unfortunately for you, one of the things we’ve uncovered during this investigation is that the Cheery Cherub Bears concept and the designs were stolen from another artisan about two years ago. Which means the Swifts had no legal right to sell them to you.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “Tony Swift told us.”

  Coburn snickered. “Yeah, as if he’ll repeat that under oath in court.”

  “He won’t have to.” I gave the Wintle execs a wolfish smile. “Because we’ve got him on videotape confessing to the theft in detail. The contract you signed with the Swifts is null and void.”

  Twenty

  Kinney shuffled his feet nervously while Wintle gave Coburn a swift calculating glance.

  I said, “Uh-uh. I know what you’re thinking: can you still ramrod the deal through, claiming you were acting in good faith, because you didn’t know? The problem is, there were two upstanding and completely disinterested witnesses present when you were told the truth about who really designed those bears.”

  Mulvaney said, “And if we were subpoenaed, we’d have no choice but to testify to that under oath.”

  “And provide a copy of the interview videotape to the real designer’s attorney,” Delcambre added.

  “Two witnesses? I count three. How about you?” Coburn asked.

  “I’m not disinterested. In fact, I’d probably come across as so spiteful toward Wintle Toys on the witness stand that a smart lawyer like you could easily paint my testimony as self-serving. You and I both know that all you’d have to do is imply that I wasn’t outraged, but merely envious that you hadn’t offered a licensing deal to my wife and me.”

  Wintle began, “Well, uh—”

  “Which, by the way, wasn’t a tacit suggestion that I was open to being bribed.” I continued in an affable voice, “So, why put yourself and your company through that sort of aggravation and bad publicity? Besides, why would you want to do business with a wife-beater who forced Jennifer to steal the original Cheery Cherub Bears from a dead kid’s bedroom days after his funeral?”

  “Are you friggin’ kidding me?” Wintle slapped his forehead.

  “Nope. The original designer is a lady named Donna Jordan. You may remember her name from the teddy bear show. She was an exhibitor. Anyway, she made the bears for her young son, who was dying. Enter Donna’s best friend, Jennifer.”

  “You’re making this up.”

  “I tend to think the worst about people, but I’m relieved to know that even I couldn’t dream up a story this ugly. And it gets better. Ready for the rest?”

  Wintle shrugged helplessly.

  “Tony gave Jennifer the choice of either stealing the bears or finding out what it felt like to be a slow runner at Pamplona during the running of the bulls. So, she decided to rip off a bunch of angel bears that were supposed to be donated to the children’s ward of a local hospital. They sold some of the bears at craft shows and Jen used the others as prototypes for her pirated version.”

  “And you can prove all this?”

  “If some enterprising attorney plays that videotape of Tony telling his tale to a jury, your claim to legal ownership will be as dead in the water as the Exxon Valdez and look twice as filthy. But don’t just worry about the lawsuit.”

  Wintle understood what I was hinting at. “The media.”

  “Yep. It’s precisely the sort of repulsive story that would grab and keep the public’s attention,” I said, making no effort to conceal my relish.

  “And you’re exactly the sort of SOB to tip them off.”

  “I consider that high praise coming from someone like you.” I pulled out a chair and lowered myself into it, because my leg was really beginning to throb from standing so long.

  Wintle turned to his attorney. “Steve, what do we do?”

  “We call Swift right now and tell him the deal’s off, because he violated the terms of the contract. Then we follow up with a hard copy of the voided contract notification document via registered mail on Monday.” Coburn was already pulling the wireless phone from its leather case on his belt.

  “You think he’ll sue us?”

  “Probably. Better to deal with that scenario than his, though.” Coburn nodded in my direction as he clicked down the list of names in his digital phone book.

  “He’s in jail, so you’re going to get his voice mail,” I said. “And I wouldn’t worry too much about him filing suit, because he can’t show he’s been damaged. Even the most predatory personal injury attorney will realize that since Tony and Jennifer never owned the rights to the bears, they had no legal standing to sell them.”

  The attorney looked up from the phone’s tiny screen. “Go on.”

  “It’d be like a burglar trying to sue a pawn shop because the honest merchant backed away from buying property when they learned it was stolen,” I explained. “The worst you’ll have to deal with is a nuisance suit and that’ll vanish faster than Vanilla Ice’s career when you counter-sue, asking for the immense damages your company incurred as a direct result of Tony and Jen deliberately falsifying a legal document.”

  “Did you ever consider a career in law?” There was grudging respect in Coburn’s voice.

  “It was a childhood dream, but imagine how disappointed I was when I found out I couldn’t be an attorney because I knew who my father was.”

  “Really? The way you act, nobody would think so.” Coburn pressed a button on the phone and raised it to his ear.

  As the attorney focused on the phone call, Wintle said to Kinney, “Production was going to begin when?”

  Kinney’s accent marked him as being originally from somewhere in the South and his voice was surprisingly rich and sonorous. “The thirteenth of next month. The only thing we were waiting on was the final go-ahead on the box artwork from Dumollard.”

  “Thanks for reminding me that the animation deal has just gone straight to hell, too. How much are we going to eat in unrecoverable losses?”

  “That’s hard to say,” Kinney hedged. The panicky look in his eyes told me it was a lot of money and he didn’t want to be the one to break the bad news to his boss.

  I said, “Before you scuttle the entire project, why don’t you consider contacting Donna Jordan and offering her the licensing agreement?”

  Wintle turned to me. “Do you think she’d deal with us?”

  “I don’t know. The only ax she had to grind was with the Swifts, so it can’t hurt to ask.”

  “Interesting. Do you know how to get in contact with her?” Wintle was trying to appear nonchalant, but there was an unmistakable trace of eagerness in his voice.

  “No, but I’ll probably be seeing her sometime later tonight. However, our next stop is back to the Maritime Inn. Give me your business card. I’ll explain to her what’s happened and that you’re interested, but I’m not promising anything. It will be completely up to Donna as to whether she calls you or not.”

  Wintle gave me the card and a shrewd look. “And what do you expect, a finder’s fee?”

  “No.” I tucked the card into my wallet.

  “A percentage of the action?”

  “Nope.”

  “Not buying it, Lyon. Nobody does something for nothing. What’s your payoff?”

  “It allows me to ret
ain my immature view of life.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s childish, but even after twenty-five years as a cop, I still think that life should be fair,” I explained. “So the payoff is seeing a hooligan like Tony screwed and Donna at least given the opportunity to decide whether or not she wants to sell the rights to her teddy bears. It’s fun to pretend that things sometimes actually turn out the way they should.”

  Coburn disconnected after leaving a terse message on Tony’s voice mail. “So, what’s the plan?”

  Wintle said, “Cancel our tickets. We’re staying for now. There’s a chance we can broker a new deal with the actual artist. Pete.”

  “Yes, sir.” Kinney all but snapped to attention.

  “Call Carolyn on her cell. Tell her I’m sorry for being such a jerk and that I refuse to accept her resignation. Then tell her I need her to be ready to negotiate a licensing contract with the artist that actually designed the angel bears.”

  “And that she’ll be allowed to offer a fair and beneficial agreement for both parties,” I interjected. “Because, I’ll bet if I read the fine print in the old contract and did the math, it’d reveal that the Swifts weren’t going to get anything more than chump change. Right?”

  Wintle gritted his teeth. “And tell her that, too, but not the last part.”

  “I understand, sir.” Kinney fumbled with his phone and a few seconds later said, “It rolled right over to voice mail.”

  “Then go find her.”

  “The airport is pretty crowded, sir.”

  “She can’t have gone far. Have her paged over the public address system. Go.”

  “Whoa!” said Delcambre, holding up his notepad. “Before anyone goes anywhere, I’m going to need your contact information for our report.”

  “And while you do that, I’m going to call my wife and let her know that I’m still alive,” I said.

  Pushing myself to my feet, I limped from the roll call room and sat down at an empty clerical cubicle that was decorated with Dilbert cartoons, a picture of a leering Johnny Depp from The Pirates of the Caribbean, and a hanging calendar featuring a weird color photo of a Skye Terrier with a computer-generated mushroom-shaped head and bulging eyes. I pressed the numbers for our wireless and braced myself.