A Delicate Touch Read online

  “Well, let’s see,” Sol replied. He hooked the stethoscope around his neck and approached the safe. It was a good six feet tall. He ran his hands along the top of the safe’s frame. “Can I have that?” he asked, pointing at a rolling library ladder.

  Stone pushed it over to where Sol wanted it and held it steady while Sol climbed a couple of steps, then produced a penlight from a pocket, along with a pair of glasses. He put on the glasses, directed the light at the top frame of the safe, and inspected it carefully. “Number 1001,” he said, then climbed down from the ladder, while Bob stood by to catch him if he fell. “This was the last safe that Mr. Epstein built,” Sol said. “For a Mr. Bianchi, in New York. The day after he shipped it, he was arrested. The following day a friend drove me into France in the boot of his car, under a lot of stuff, then to Paris. I got a train to Lisbon and flew to New York on the Pan Am Clipper a week later, with my pockets full of dollars and Swiss francs that Mr. Epstein gave me. He knew they would come for him, but he wouldn’t leave.” He brushed away a tear.

  Mary Ann started to speak again, then thought better of it.

  Bob patted him on the back. “You want to give it a try, Sol?”

  Sol approached the safe and reached for the dial. He turned it to zero, then, surprisingly, to zero again. “With Mr. Epstein’s safes, you had to go to zero twice. That was to confound the schmucks.” He plugged the stethoscope’s eartips into his ears and placed its diaphragm just above the top of the dial, then he began to turn the dial very slowly.

  “You need two clicks, not one,” Bob said, “as I remember.”

  Sol nodded and kept turning the dial. He stopped at ten, then reversed directions.

  Stone, Mary Ann, and Bob stood, transfixed, as he did his work.

  “Almost there,” Bob said under his breath.

  Sol stopped and mopped his brow with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry, I’m feeling a little faint,” he said. “May I sit down?”

  They directed him to a comfortable chair, while Mary Ann poured a glass of ice water from a nearby pitcher, then handed it to him.

  Sol took a sip of the water and stopped. “Do you think I could have a little whiskey?” he asked. “Any kind. Always brings me around.”

  Mary Ann went to the bar and came back with an old-fashioned glass and a bottle of a single malt scotch and poured him a finger.

  “Little more,” Sol said, making upward motions with a hand.

  She poured more.

  “Little more.”

  Mary Ann stopped at two fingers and handed him the glass.

  Sol took a sip, savored the whiskey, then emptied the glass and swallowed. “Ahhhhh,” he said finally. “It’s been a long time. They don’t give you single malt in the home—or anything else worth drinking.”

  “How are you feeling, Sol?” Bob asked.

  “Much better, thank you.”

  “Want to finish up?”

  Sol got to his feet without help, went to the safe, and without using the stethoscope, turned the knob right to ten again. “That should do it,” he said. “Miss, you want to do the honors?”

  Mary Ann approached and reached for the brass wheel. “This?”

  Sol nodded.

  She turned the wheel, and the door opened.

  “Let me show you something,” Sol said, beckoning her to follow. He went to the big desk, sat down, and opened the center drawer. He got out his flashlight, directed it at the bottom of the drawer, then, with a fingernail, dislodged a piece of cellophane tape with a slip of paper attached to it and handed it to Mary Ann. “For next time,” he said.

  “This is the combination?” she asked. “I looked everywhere but there.”

  “It’s where it was when I serviced the safe all those years ago,” Sol replied.

  3

  Everyone turned their attention to the contents of the safe. It was filled, shelf after shelf, with documents and files, except the top shelf. That was filled with banknotes. Mary Ann took a stack from the shelf and riffled through it. “All hundreds,” she said.

  Stone took another stack further along the shelf and did his own riffling. “All hundreds,” he said. “There must be more than a million dollars here. A rainy-day fund, perhaps?”

  “Wait a minute,” Mary Ann said. She went to a drawer under the bookcase, came back with an electronic cash counter. She fed a stack of the bills, a couple of inches at a time, into the counter until the total appeared above, then counted the number of stacks. “Closer to three million,” Mary Ann said.

  “This would seem to be a good time to collect my fee,” Sol said.

  “What do we owe you, Sol?” she asked.

  “Ten thousand will do,” he replied.

  Mary Ann laughed, let the cash counter do its work, then she found a rubber band in a desk drawer, secured the notes, and handed the money to Sol. “Thank you very much, Sol,” she said.

  “You got a shopping bag handy?”

  “Pietro!” Mary Ann said to the butler loudly enough for him to hear, “Find me a shopping bag.” Pietro crept from the room.

  “Mary Ann,” Stone said, “do you have any mover’s boxes handy? It’s going to take longer than we have to go through all this stuff.”

  Mary Ann picked up the phone on the desk, pressed a button, and spoke to someone. “Please put together a dozen of those cardboard boxes in the kitchen and bring them to the study with some packing tape.” She hung up and spoke to Stone. “You’re still the executor. What do you want done with all of it?”

  “I think we should move it to my office and go through it there. You should be present, of course.”

  “What about the cash?”

  “We’ll do a complete count, then put it in my safe until I can distribute it as per the will.”

  “All right, that’s good.”

  “We’re going to need a vehicle to move all the boxes,” Stone said.

  Mary Ann called the movers and asked for a large van to be brought to the house. Then she issued more orders to the staff.

  Shortly, cardboard boxes began to appear; Mary Ann put the cash into one of them and sealed and marked it, then she instructed a servant to begin packing the other contents of the safe. Then she beckoned Stone. “Come with me for a moment,” she said, leading the way into another room, which turned out to be Eduardo’s secretary’s office. It was filled with pictures, books, and objects.

  “What’s all this?” Stone asked.

  “These are things that weren’t distributed specifically in the will and that neither the museum nor I wanted. Why don’t you look around and see if you want to take anything home? I think Papa would want that.”

  Stone looked around. “These things don’t look like junk,” he said. “Are you sure you don’t want any of them?”

  “I’m sure, but make a list as you go, and I’ll sign whatever you choose over to you.”

  “Tell you what, have your people pack them all, and I’ll take them home and go through them at my leisure.”

  “As you wish.” She called for more boxes and Bubble Wrap for the pictures, then listed each item as it was packed and signed it all over to Stone.

  “What are you going to do with the safe?” Stone asked.

  “Leave it, I guess.”

  “May I take it off your hands?”

  “Sure, the movers can haul it away.”

  Stone went back to the study and asked Bob Cantor to remove the lug bolts that secured the safe to the floor.

  * * *

  • • •

  SOME HOURS LATER, as they were nearing Sol Fink’s dinner hour, the moving van awaited, packed with boxes and the safe, and they were ready to go. Stone decided to let the cash ride in the trunk of his car.

  “I don’t think we can get much more done today,” Mary Ann said. “How about if I come to yo
ur house tomorrow morning, and we’ll make a start?”

  “That’s good for me,” Stone said, getting into the Bentley.

  They drove away with the van following.

  Bob and Sol began speaking what sounded to Stone like German, and to his surprise, Fred joined in their conversation.

  When they went quiet, Stone said to Fred, “I didn’t know you spoke German.”

  “It’s not German,” Fred said. “It’s Yiddish.”

  “I had no idea you were Jewish.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Not in the least. You’re full of surprises, Fred. How did you pick up Yiddish?”

  “My grandmother, who lived with us, never learned English, so we spoke Yiddish at home.”

  Stone turned and looked at Sol, who seemed to be enjoying the ride. “How are you doing back there, Sol?”

  “I’m very well, thank you. Not looking forward to dinner, though. It’s meat loaf night, and I’ve never liked their meat loaf.”

  “Then why don’t you come to my house and have dinner there? Assuming Bob can get you permission.”

  “I would enjoy that,” Sol said, “and I don’t need anybody’s permission. I rule that joint. I’m the only resident who writes his own check every month to pay my way, and while I’m able, they’ll take their instructions from me.”

  “I’ll let them know,” Bob said, getting out his phone.

  “I was impressed with the way you opened that safe,” Stone said. “You have a delicate touch.”

  “Thank you,” Sol replied. “You’re quite right.”

  “But since you already knew where to find the combination, why did you crack the safe? I mean, if you’d made a mistake, we might not have got it open.”

  “It was more fun that way,” Sol replied. “Besides, Mr. Epstein taught me how to open an Excelsior that had locked itself. Now I’m the only person in the world who can do that.”

  “Would you mind teaching Bob how to do it? If I’m going to use the safe, somebody will have to know how it’s done.”

  “Before I fall off the perch, you mean?”

  They all laughed.

  “I’d be glad to.”

  Back at the house they drove the Bentley and the van into the garage, and Stone instructed the movers to put the boxes from the safe on his office conference table and to put the old safe and the things from Eduardo’s secretary’s office in the storage room next door.

  When the movers had gone, Stone ordered dinner from Helene and specified no meat loaf. While they were waiting for dinner, Bob and Sol spent the time with the old safe. When they emerged for dinner, Sol said, “Bob has a complete grasp of the safe. He’s a quick learner.”

  * * *

  • • •

  AFTER DINNER and a cognac, which Solomon Fink particularly enjoyed, Bob Cantor drove him back to the home in Brooklyn. Sol climbed the steps slowly, but steadily, without assistance, and he waved away the nurse who waited at the top of the stairs.

  4

  The following morning Mary Ann arrived shortly after nine o’clock, and they went into the conference room to address the unpacking of the boxes.

  They were marked in sequence, by shelf. “Shall we start at the top?” Stone asked.

  “Let’s do that,” she replied.

  Stone removed the contents of the first box and spread them on the table. The first item was a manila envelope, closed with a clasp, but not sealed. He shook out the contents—two passports: one Italian, one Swiss.

  “Did you know about these?” he asked Mary Ann.

  “I did not,” she replied. She picked up the Italian passport and opened it. “It’s a Vatican passport,” she said, “and it’s in his own name.” The photograph was recent, Stone thought, within the last year of Eduardo’s life.

  Stone opened the Swiss passport and leafed through it. The name, signature, and photograph were the same. “Seems Eduardo went to Switzerland two or three times a year, nearly always from Italy. Do you know what business interests he had there?”

  “None that I know of.” She flipped through the Italian passport. “Two or three times a year,” she said, then compared it to the Swiss document. “Often coinciding with the trips to Switzerland. Papa had business interests in Italy: wine, olive oil, and other food products he distributed in the United States through a company based in Little Italy. A very profitable company, he sold it a few weeks before his death.”

  “Perhaps he had banking arrangements in Switzerland,” Stone said. “His last trip there was also a few weeks before his death.”

  “He never mentioned it.”

  “Perhaps he had a Swiss bank account.”

  “But those are of no further use these days,” Mary Ann pointed out. “The Swiss banks have told all to the IRS, so you can’t hide tax-free money there anymore.”

  “Those are the big, international banks. I understand there are still smaller, private banks that operate in the old way, taking foreign deposits and investing them.”

  Mary Ann went through the other files and envelopes on the table and came up with an index card bearing neat handwriting. “A website,” she said, “along with a user name and a password.”

  Stone went to a laptop at the end of the table, got online, and typed in the information. “Aha,” he said. “The Berg Bank.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “Neither have I.” He tapped more keys. “Here we are. He had a cash account and an investment account.” He opened the bank account and scrolled down from the top. “Starting in the 1970s, when he opened the account, he made deposits at fairly regular intervals, which will probably coincide with the dates of entry in his Swiss passport. Would you like to hear the total?”

  “Please,” she said.

  “Exactly 240,000,000 Swiss francs.” He found a currency app on his iPhone and entered the figures. “About $238,000,000.”

  Mary Ann put a hand to her breast. “That’s breathtaking.”

  Stone tapped more keys. “The investment account was liquidated at the time of his last visit, and the proceeds transferred to the cash account. Since that account was opened no withdrawals or transfers were made. In fact, no withdrawals were ever made from the cash account. Why do you think Eduardo would be hoarding cash?”

  “The Great Depression had a lasting effect on him,” she said. “His family was devastated, and it was up to him from an early age to pull them out of it. I can’t think of any other reason.”

  “Let’s see if there are any other foreign accounts,” Stone said. An examination of the files revealed an account in Rome, with a balance of a little more than 1,000,000 euros. “That’s it, as far as I can tell.”

  “What are we going to do with all that cash?” Mary Ann asked.

  “The proper thing to do would be for me, as executor, to contact the Internal Revenue Service and come to an arrangement with them, then import the funds into the estate’s account in New York.”

  “So we’re going to have to pay a bundle in taxes and penalties?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “There must be some alternative,” she said.

  “I have to advise you that there is no legal alternative,” Stone said, “and I’m obligated under the law to report these funds.”

  Mary Ann sighed. “Oh, well,” she said. “I suppose so.”

  “Think of it this way,” Stone said, “after the taxes and penalties are paid, the estate is going to have many more millions than you expected as recently as yesterday. And you and your son are the beneficiaries, according to his will.”

  “I feel better already,” she said.

  Stone picked up another envelope and discovered it was addressed to him. He opened it. “Here’s something new,” he said, reading the document. “It’s a codicil to his will, properly signed and witnessed some wee
ks after the date of his will. ‘There being certain of my funds deposited in the Berg Bank, of Zurich, Switzerland, my executor is ordered to repatriate these funds, paying whatever is due to the Internal Revenue Service, and the remaining funds are to be divided between my grandson, Benito Bacchetti, and his father, my former son-in-law, Dino Bacchetti: eighty percent to Benito and twenty percent to Dino. Any other property or funds not specified in my will are to be distributed and divided to Benito and Dino in the same manner.’”

  “Dino gets twenty percent? And I get nothing?” Mary Ann shouted.

  “I’m afraid that’s so, Mary Ann, but you have already received a very large inheritance from your father, and you were very pleased with it. Please remember that.”

  Mary Ann stood up and grabbed her purse. “I want nothing further to do with all this,” she said, waving a hand at the table full of documents. “When you’re done with it, write me a letter as executor, explaining anything financial, then as far as I’m concerned, you can dump everything else into your furnace.”

  She stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

  “Mary Ann,” Stone said to the door. “There hasn’t been a furnace in the house for years.”

  Stone went back to work on the pile of files and documents, sending for a sandwich at lunchtime. By late afternoon he was down to a dozen files or so, and most of what he had discovered was fuel for his shredder. He began opening the other files and was surprised to find, in each folder, the criminal history of a man, neatly typed out and accompanied by affidavits swearing to their authenticity, signed by Eduardo Bianchi.

  Stone went to his laptop and began googling the names. Each of them was a high-level mob boss, but some had established themselves as upright citizens. “Perfect fodder for blackmail,” Stone said aloud to himself, “or perhaps, more likely, to protect Eduardo from being blackmailed by them.”

  All of the men were dead, except one. Stone blanched when he read that name, and he read the file. Twice.

  5