Murder without Icing: An Emma Lathen Best Seller

Cast

Regulars

John Putnam Thatcher, SVP of the Sloan, the Third Largest Bank in the World.

Charlie Trinkam, Thatcher’s Second in Command in the Trust Department.

Everett Gabler, the informal VP of No, who identifies the weaknesses in every situation.

Walter Bowman, the informal VP of Yes, who advocates new investment opportunities as the Head of the Sloan Research Department.

Ken Nicolls, the budding young banker who operates as an assistant for Thatcher, Trinkam, or Gabler, depending on the circumstance.

Miss Rose Corsa, Thatcher’s secretary, efficient, and generally unflappable.

Tom Robichaux, Investment Banker/promoter, much married, a bon vivant, with conservative proper Quaker Devane as his partner, in the Robichaux & Devane multigeneration boutique investment bank. Thatcher’s Harvard College Roommate back in the day.

Hugh Waymark, Waymark-Sims Brokerage Principal.

George Charles Lancer, Stately Chairman of the Sloan Board of Directors.

Lucy Lancer, the perceptive witty wife of George.

Brad Withers, World Traveler, Sloan President, outside Ambassador, and the nominal boss of John Putnam Thatcher. Husband of Carrie Withers, perceptive upright Yankee lady.

Stanton Carruthers, staid trust and estates lawyer, wise in the way of the world and the financial business in particular.

Elizabeth (Becky) Thatcher, John Putnam Thatcher’s second daughter, stunning, smart, and much like his abolitionist grandmother. VP of IT & VC investments.

Occasional Characters

Paul Jackson, Wall Street lawyer who represents corporations and white collar criminals. Smart, savvy, and likes the action.

Innes, Head of the Sloan international division, the division John Putnam Thatcher worries the most about, preferring investments in the USA for their lack of as much complexity.

Characters only in Murder Without Icing

Dexter Younghusband, Head of Sloan PR Department.

Huskies Players, Billy Siragusa, Star & Center; Pete Levoisier, Veteran & Owner of local skating clubs: Eileen his wife who runs their two skating clubs. Pete Imrie, trouble maker and designated fighter on the ice, and often off the rink as well.

Neil Gruen, Billy Sigagusa’s Club Owner friend.

Milt Forsburg, Husky Coach and GM.

A. Winthrop (Win) Holland, of the First Family of Pittsburgh based on owning Holland Steel, with Archibald Holland, his father, the Senior Member of the Family at the moment. Also partial owner of the Huskies NHL Team as well as a former Princeton hockey player himself.

Franklin T. Moore, Prospective buyer of Winthrop Holland’s share of the Huskies NHL team, a big real estate owner in Nashville, and a rich man.

Victor Jowdy, a lawyer representing of Win Holland’s creditors as a principal in Jowdy & Rosenzweig.

Mrs. Clemmie Post, majority owner of the Huskies who pushed the trade for Billy Siragusa.

Captain Kallen, New York Police Detective.

Dr. Anton Dietrich, Win Holland’s associate at Holwin Enterprises.

Jeremiah V. Drake, former announcer of the Symphony on TV for the Sloan now segwayed into the same role for the Huskies, with astonishing success and new found fame among the general population of New York City’s TV market.

Emma Lathen Political Mysteries

As R. B. Dominic

31. Murder Sunny Side Up 1968. Agriculture.

32. Murder in High Place 1969. Overseas Travelers.

33. There is No Justice 1971. Supreme Court.

34. Epitaph for a Lobbyist 1974. Lobbyists.

35. Murder Out of Commission 1976. Nuke Plants.

36. The Attending Physician 1980. Health Care.

37. Unexpected Developments 1983. Military.

Tom Walker Mysteries

Patricia Highsmith Style

Deaver Brown, Author

01. 18. Football & Superbowl.

02. Abduct. Sexual Misconduct.

03. Body. Planned Eliminations for Money.

04. Comfortable. Avoiding Consequences.

05. Death. Wrong Place at the Wrong Time.

06. Enthusiast. Opportunity Murder.

07. Fraud. Taking Your Chances.

08. Greed. Heirs Who Know Better.

09. Heat. Heir Arrogance.

A similarly popular Simply Media mystery series.

Financial & Other Facts

Emma Lathen is all about the money not the emotion. In that light:

1. To provide financial incentives for collectors, Simply Media and others savings on groups of 6 eBooks, and the SuperSku (learning from the Star Wars franchise) all in collections.

2. Trust that we have all enjoyed this. But as Willie Nelson, Oscar Wilde, and others have said, we aren’t above the money. Stay well. And thanks from all of us on the Emma Lathen team.

Deaver Brown, Publisher & Editor.

www.simplymedia.com

Chapter 1

Oh, Say Can You See

WALL STREET, the financial center of the world, exports people as well as capital. Lawyers, bankers, and accountants commute regularly to Oslo, Beirut and Lima, while more rarefied specialists wander even farther. The person trudging through cocoa fields in Ghana probably has a desk somewhere along Pearl Street. Wall Street dispatches jute marketers to Lahore, oil-traffic engineers to Kuwait, and econometricians to Dar es Salaam. Nepal and Lapland are as much part of its province as Kansas and Nebraska.

To a person, such returning itinerants compare New York unfavorably with these Camelots. This does not in any way distinguish them from the general population. No true Wall Streeter requires a passport in order to complain.

Very frequently such complaint involves the elements.

But this first week in December had been exceptionally mild. As John Putnam Thatcher, senior vice president of the Sloan Guaranty Trust, strolled to work, he decided that attacks on New York’s execrable winter would have to wait. It remained to be seen what would take their place.

High-level rent gouging, he soon discovered. At the corner of Broad Street he was hailed by Hugh Waymark, senior partner at Waymark-Sims.

Siebrack is offering us a new lease, of course, he said, impersonating a hapless tenant. A 32% increase in the rent! They’re just trying to see what the market will bear!

Unhappily, Waymark-Sims brokerage fees were fixed by law.

But Waymark’s heart was not in the landlord problem. Oh, well, I guess we’ll just have to lump it.

Business, Thatcher suggested, must be good.

Not bad, Waymark admitted. By the way, John, I’ve been wanting to tell you. The Sloan has picked a real winner. It’s high time somebody did something to give the city a lift instead of taking what they can get—like Siebrack Brothers.

Thatcher tried, and failed, to think of any recent demonstrations of virtue by the Sloan.

Waymark was continuing: Shows that Wall Street keeps up with the times. Well, good to see you.

Thatcher watched him bustle off to his centrally located, well-maintained office, then resumed his own leisurely progress, idly pondering Waymark’s comments. He understood where Siebrack Brothers stood; the Sloan’s posture eluded him.

Billings, the elevator operator at Exchange Place, had another metropolitan problem at the ready. I see they’re thinking of raising the subway fare again, he said, before the pneumatic doors slid shut.

When Thatcher showed no inclination to discuss the city budget, he, too, moved on to a more optimistic frame of reference.

That’s the way it is. Still, New York’s got a good chance, don’t you think, Mr. Thatcher?

Thatcher, who always encouraged positive thinking, agreed.

It kind of makes you proud of the Sloan, said Billings. Here we are.

Thatcher strode along the sixth-floor corridor, nodding to subordinates, until he reached his own corner suite.

Good morning, Miss Corsa, he said.

His admirable secretary was, as always, awaiting him. She did not reply with animadversions on the city of her birth. But neither did she produce any mystifying tribute to the Sloan. Instead, she said, Mr. Withers just called. Involuntarily, she glanced at the clock. It was unusual for the president of the Sloan to be in his tower suite so early; but then, it was unusual for him to be there at all at this time of year. Bradford Withers customarily sought sunnier climes long before the first snowfall. He said that he would like to see you as soon as possible.

Damn, said Thatcher. He thought a moment. I’ll go right up.

Miss Corsa, he was glad to note, approved, although Withers’ presence boded ill for a constructive morning. The financial side of banking rarely engaged his volatile attention. Whether it was the staff Christmas party or hospitality for a visiting dignitary, Brad could chew up a good deal of expensive time. Thatcher hoped a prompt visit might be an economy in the long run. So he returned to the elevator and was soon being wafted upward.

This time it was remodeling the Paris branch of the Sloan. But Withers was soon deflected. Like Billings and Hugh Waymark before him, he had some complaints about city life. They were peculiarly his own.

I’ve got two dinners this week, he said, making them sound like a real hardship. Then, there’s the Corinthian Club Banquet. And Carrie has us down for a couple of benefits.

This could be interpreted as an indictment of the hectic pace of New York life. Thatcher himself would put it another way.

. . . still, that’s what makes New York a great city, Withers said. And I’m glad the Sloan is making a contribution. I’ve always said, John, what’s good for New York is good for the Sloan.

Yes indeed, said Thatcher. Whether Withers knew it or not, the Sloan had 48 branches scattered over the 5 boroughs operating on this premise. But now, if ever, was a chance to clarify these allusions. And Withers had more time to spare than either Hugh Waymark or Billings.

Exactly how, Thatcher inquired, was the Sloan contributing to metropolitan life? Surely Brad could not mean the Sloan’s holdings of Port Authority bonds?

Indignation darkened Withers’ pale blue eyes. I’m talking about the Huskies, he said. Aren’t you following them? Everybody else is. He might have been talking about dereliction from duty.

The Huskies, said Thatcher as light dawned. He should have guessed. If weather provided the first topic of conversation for New Yorkers, organized sports came a close second. In summer Thatcher expected the Mets or the Yankees. During the football season, he was more remiss. But this was inexcusable.

The New York Huskies were an ice hockey team. And this season the Sloan Guaranty Trust was sponsoring all Husky games, at home and away.

You know, said Thatcher frankly, the Huskies slipped my mind. There were extenuating circumstances. He was neither a hockey nor a television fan. He did not share Withers’ consuming interest in how the Sloan shaped its public image. I gather the programs are everything that you, and PR, hoped for.

More, said Withers. Sponsoring the Huskies is the best move the Sloan has made in years. It’s a wonderful fighting team and they’re getting the Sloan message across to a whole new audience. The Huskies appeal to young people.

And older people, too, said Thatcher, recalling Waymark and Billings.

What you really should do, said Withers, for once animated by something connected with the Sloan, is come down to one of the games.

Did Withers himself attend hockey games?

Damned exciting, said the Sloan’s president. I wouldn’t miss one.

If hockey was keeping Bradford Withers in Manhattan at this time of year, it must be damned exciting indeed.

Now, about these renovations in Paris, said Brad, getting down to serious matters most commendably. During the subsequent half hour, while he weighed the merits of Empire overmantels versus spiral ramps, Thatcher was free to pursue his own thoughts. They were, on the whole, rather chastening.

While he and a large staff were laboring over such abstruse matters as revalued currencies and investment credits, the outside world, which included Bradford Withers, was identifying the Sloan with the destinies of an ice hockey team.

He was not altogether sure that he approved.

Lunch at the Hilton, however, turned his thoughts back to banking. The Municipal Bond Dealers were not even interested in New York. Their attention was focused farther south.

Down there in Memphis, they’re running real bucket shops, said Thatcher’s companion. At the dais, the speaker was saying much the same thing in more statesmanlike language.

How do they get away with it? Thatcher asked.

Pardee was blunt. They lie a lot.

But Thatcher knew it takes more than that to peddle fraudulent securities successfully. Gullible buyers are as necessary as unscrupulous sellers. In Memphis, several small firms were developing new wrinkles in an old game.

They concentrate on small banks, Pardee said. Would you believe that some banks don’t even check up on what they’re buying?

Deplorable, Thatcher agreed. It was an exchange he was going to remember in the very near future. The occasion arose on the journey back to Wall Street. Thatcher found himself sharing a taxi with a distinguished out-of-towner.

Traffic gets worse all the time, doesn’t it? said Archibald Holland, peering out at the crush.

And the city gets dirtier all the time.

How are things in Pittsburgh? asked Thatcher pointedly.

Natives may recite imperfections; visitors, particularly those from Pittsburgh, should show more self-restraint.

Fine, said Holland, with untroubled assurance.

He should know, Thatcher admitted. The Hollands were Pittsburgh’s first family; Holland Steel, one of its industrial giants. And Archibald Holland himself, spare, middle-aged and serious, was one of its foremost citizens interested in last night’s score. I want someone at the Sloan who can give me some information about them.

Mr. Younghusband, she said. I’ll call him for you.

Chapter 2

Center Ice

BUT DEXTER YOUNGHUSBAND, as so often these days, was not at his desk in the Sloan’s PR department. He was at rinkside.

On the ice, the New York Huskies were having a workout. Stick smashed against stick, pucks caromed wildly, players plunged into the boards. Most of the bystanders were riveted by the action. But two groups had other concerns. Dexter Younghusband was studying a sheaf of photographs. They were proofs for the cover of the next issue of This Week in New York.

Superb! he breathed reverently, halting at a picture of the Husky goaltender making a well-nigh impossible save.

Look at the one of Siragusa scoring, his companion urged.

Younghusband bent to his task. If, instead, he had been listening to the conversation 15 feet away, he would have learned that the association between Winthrop Holland and the Sloan, presently exercising John Thatcher, might not be very long-lived.

I’d have to think about that, Holland was saying thoughtfully. I’ve had a piece of the Huskies for a long time now.

Naturally you want to think it over. But it’s a good offer for you. The large man spoke with gentle persistence. It would give us both what we want. I’m holding notes of yours that are way past due. You’re in a cash bind and it’s not convenient to retire them.

It sure isn’t. Holland grinned ruefully. You know the picture, Frank. I’ve got the chance of a lifetime, and I’m investing in a big way. Cash is a little tight now, but I could pay you off with a short extension.

Sure you could, Frank agreed. But why bother? You’re onto something hot and you want to concentrate on that. As for me, I’d like a sports investment. The way the Huskies are going, I figure your interest is worth twice what you paid. Three or four of us would get together and pick it up from you. That way, your notes would be wiped out and you’d end up with a cash surplus.

Holland had jammed his hands into the pockets of his overcoat and rocked back on his heels during this summary. Now he nodded. I won’t say I don’t like the sound of it. But it’s still pretty general. Tell you what, Frank. Why don’t you get it all down on paper? Your partners, the figures, all that. Then we’ll take another look at it.

Frank clapped him on the shoulder. I’ll have it for you in a couple of days. You’ll like what you see. And now let’s watch this superstar of yours. After all, that’s what I came down here for this morning.

Together they strolled toward the far cage where Billy Siragusa, the Huskies’ new center, was practicing slap shots. While several rink attendants smoothed a roughened section of ice,

Winthrop Holland remembered he was a host.

Frank, come and meet Dexter Younghusband from the Sloan. Dexter, this is Franklin Moore.

Younghusband turned to greet the newcomers. They were both big men, but with a difference. Holland was tall, rangy and boyish. He was wearing a turtleneck shirt and chukka boots. Sideburns and a neck-length crop suited his thick, dark hair. Moore was large, portly and balding. Younghusband’s eyes lingered briefly over his handmade shoes and expensive tailoring.

Like many American men, Holland felt impelled to amplify his introductions. Frank is visiting from Nashville. He’s in real estate back home.

Privately Younghusband decided that Moore was in real estate in a big way.

You know the Sloan is sponsoring the Huskies this season, Frank, Winthrop Holland continued. And Dexter is the man in charge.

Frank Moore slid into conversation with Southern ease. It sure looks as if the Sloan is getting its money’s worth, he remarked.

There were enthusiastic cries of agreement from all sides.

Of course, October was nothing to write home about, Younghusband admitted, trying for detachment, but since then the Huskies have been great. You didn’t catch the game last night, by any chance?

I sure did. And it was a sweet win. Moore smiled broadly. That makes it five out of the last seven games, doesn’t it?

Younghusband warmed to this discerning visitor.

It’s Siragusa who’s made all the difference.

That was a smart move, trading for him, Moore agreed. And he wasn’t going anywhere—

We thought Mrs. Post was crazy when she insisted on paying so much for him. But it couldn’t have worked out better—

Holland tried to break in on the conversation. Speaking of Clemmie, is she around anywhere?

She went to the office a while back, Mr. Holland, somebody volunteered.

Neither of the principals had paid the slightest attention to the question. They were pelting each other with hockey lore. They finished each other’s sentences, supplied missing names, jumped the gun on the punch lines of anecdotes.

Winthrop Holland did not join in. Basically he was not the stuff of which rabid sports fans are made. He was a strong tennis player, an experienced sailor, a veteran skier. But he had invested in the Huskies largely because he had played hockey at Princeton. Although he enjoyed watching a game, he lacked the passion for statistical data. He did not care who had been the League’s high scorer in 1966.

He was amused to notice that Moore very quickly took Younghusband out of his depth. The Sloan’s PR man was a recent convert. He could cite chapter and verse with great accuracy but he could not sustain a contest about great moments on ice. He was forced back to the present.

Of course, it’s still early in the season, but there’s no telling how far the Huskies will go. They’re just beginning to play as a team.

Moore nodded sagely. You upset the balance when you made your trades. It takes time to adjust. But now they’re developing a strategy built around Siragusa’s style. I’d be surprised if they don’t get into the play-offs.

And they’re making New York City hockey-conscious. You should see the letters we get at the Sloan. For a moment the PR man in Younghusband displaced the team rooter.

The whole damned country is getting hockey-conscious, Moore corrected him, gesturing with an unlit cigar.

And why not? Younghusband challenged. It’s fast, it’s exciting, it’s beautiful!

Before Moore could top this, Holland grabbed his elbow for attention. Look, Frank, I can see you two are going to be at this for a while. And I’ve got to be running along. The boys here will take care of you if there’s anything you want to know.

That’s fine, Win. Thanks for bringing me. Moore turned for a last word. I’ll be sending over those papers in a couple of days. Think about it in the meantime, huh?

Holland grinned. Sure. But if the Huskies do as well as you think, the price is going to go up. It might be a lot cheaper for you to wait a couple of months and just take cash.

No, I’m not hanging around for them to win the Stanley Cup. Moore laughed outright. But I’d sure like owning them if they do. And what difference does it make to you?

There’s a lot of sentiment involved, Frank.

Moore was incredulous. Come off it. You’ve seen less hockey games than my wife.

Oh, not for me, Holland hastened to explain.