That Flesh Is Heir To: The Strange Death of Carlton Boyce Barlton

By Joseph F. Hanna

The financial crash of 2008 has left many in its wake. When investors accustomed to lavish lifestyles and champagne dreams learn that their beloved ICON Funds have collapsed and are empty shells in what has turned out to be nothing more than a giant Ponzi scheme, everyone is angrybut someone is goaded to act.

After ICON CEO Jake Barlton is killed in a massive explosion aboard his mega yacht in Palm Beach, Max Kellys ex-girlfriend is arrested for the murder. The police have all the evidence they need to put Carrie Strudel away for the rest of her lifeunless consultant Lawton Close can poke a hole in their case. Yet just as he becomes completely immersed in the complicated investigation, others begin dying and the unthinkable is revealed as the new reality. This time, it is personal for Max.

Lawton is facing a difficult undertaking; nothing is as it seems in an empire of lies created by the master conman. But just as he thinks he has heard it all, Lawton learns there is a secret stash of gold and now must determine whether Jake Barlton died at the hands of a killer driven by greedor revenge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 11, 2010
• ISBN: 9781450269582

Joseph F. Hanna

Joseph Hanna received his bachelor of arts degree in English from Regis College in Denver, Colorado. His diverse career includes writing an award-winning humor column for the Sag Harbor Express, penning a weekly cartoon, and showing his paintings in several art galleries in the Hamptons. He currently lives on an island with his wife and their dog.

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Prologue

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I was in Manhattan at the shop, as he calls it. He was out in the Hamptons with Teddy overseeing construction on his new summer house. I was glad I was not with him because I can’t stand his bellyaching about what things cost. The Crash of 2008 had put a big dent in his savings. We were on the grimmest austerity of all the grim austerities. It was bad. Dickie and I were asked to take a pay cut. Dickie said yes. I said, Hell no! The pay, like ripened hay, was cut.

Consequently, all of the Lawton Close associates were in a mood. Dickie was downright petulant. I don’t use words like petulant as a general rule, but it was an extraordinary time that called for extraordinary words. Petulant he was. I couldn’t stand being around him. He said the same thing about me, but I had an excuse for my bad mood, and it was him.

LT was so touchy that I hoped he stayed out in East Hampton and kept his skinny little girlfriend with him. Even Teddy (nice eyes and legs but not much in between) had been snarling. She’s a trust fund baby, and the market made trust into rust while surgically removing the fun from fund. All that was left was rust-d.

No, it wasn’t a happy time.

It was about to get worse.

I became aware of Dickie’s socked feet scuffing across the ancient parquet flooring. Someday he’s going to get a splinter. I’m getting tired of waiting for it. Dickie, if you haven’t met him, is a ruined trust fund baby himself. He blew his pile on riotous living, a seedy nightclub in Florida, and various substances more abusing than abused. To save his sorry ass, he has taken up monthly new age fads. Then he rots out what’s left of his mind with celebrity gossip.

Mr. Kelly! said his voice from the doorway. I wasn’t about to look at him. It only encourages him.

Yes, Mr. Douglas?

There was no response from the doorway. After a two beat I looked. His face was contorted with some strong emotion. He has them now and then, in spite of his new age meditations; crystals; dream catchers; chanting; panting; and aroma, chroma, and Pomona therapies.

What’s the matter?

Mr. Barlton’s boat exploded.

"What?"

It’s on the Internet. I get updates on my iPhone.

What do you mean it blew up?

It was just tied to the dock, and it blew up.

Was anyone aboard?

I don’t know. They think it might be a fueling accident or something.

Where’s Carrie?

I don’t know. They didn’t say anything about Carrie.

Dickie!

Yes?

Expose the wide-screen! I yelled as I reached for the phone. I punched in Carrie’s cell phone number so fast that I missed a number and had to repunch. Dickie pushed the secret button, and a section of the law bookcase popped forward on hinges. Dickie pushed the book shelving aside, grabbed a remote from within, and furiously pressed its buttons while waving it around like a magic wand.

Hey! Harry Potter! You don’t have to wave it. It confuses the electric eye, I said as I heard Carrie’s phone ringing. There was no answer. When her voice told me to leave a message, I told her voice to call me.

The big screen began to glow, and there it was, the Bateau d’Or in the middle of the screen at some distance from the camera. She was sitting at a crazy angle with her stern partially underwater. Gray smoke poured from her side. A white stream from some unseen source scoured the side of the boat with high-pressure water. The word LIVE was imposed on the grainy, shaky scene. A voice was saying something about not knowing any details yet. What was known was that the megayacht owned by Carlton Boyce Barlton, who was being investigated for irregularities in the recent collapse of ICON Funds and Carlton House Universal Monetary Planning, had exploded while tied to the dock at an exclusive Palm Beach marina. They didn’t know if the boat was being fueled at the time, but the camera cut away to an expert in fueling boats, who said that boats have a powered vent system to prevent explosive vapors from building up below decks while fueling is under way. He began to speculate that if the powered vent was not properly …

Dickie! Turn to another news channel! He waved his wand. Channels began to flash past. Everyone seemed to be getting the same live feed from the marina, except one channel had a helicopter view of the scene, and you could see that emergency vehicles were parked all over the dockside.

I had dialed Carrie’s apartment number, and I was waiting for someone or something to pick up. I got the machine. Where the hell is she? I said. It was just something that came out from anxiety. Dickie turned to me with the saddest look on his face.

I dialed LT in the country. Teddy answered. Max! she said. We recently got caller ID in the country. LT kept canceling it when we were on grim austerity. It was worse than that; it had become Great Recession Austerity, a once in a lifetime belt-tightening where the belt buckle met the spine. Teddy overrode the master’s edict. Great Recession or no, the caller ID was reinstated. I wish I knew how Teddy does it. No. That came out badly. I wish I knew how to control LT’s irrational edicts. You have to do something about Lawton. He tried to serve hot dogs to Jennifer and Dantz at a poolside luncheon.

I can’t do anything with him. He’s your boyfriend.

He looks up to you. It must be a man thing.

He cut my salary in spite of my protestations. Where is he?

Sulking by the pool. Why?

Do you have a television on?

Don’t be silly.

Jake Barlton’s boat has blown up. There is no word on survivors. Carrie usually works on Thursdays. I called her cell phone and her apartment, and she didn’t answer.

Good Lord! Do you need something to calm you down?

No! And if I did, you’re a hundred miles away.

I keep a little emergency supply in my night table drawer.

Of what?

Calming potions.

Could you get LT?

"I have to put you on hold because, as you know, he doesn’t allow wireless phones in the house. I’m going into the library." Then I was on hold.

The talking head on the screen was saying, We have word of at least one survivor, but no identity at this time. There have been reports that someone was escorted from the stricken craft wearing one of the emergency responder’s yellow coats. We don’t know at this time if the person was male or female. Our correspondent in Miami has had some experience with large motor yachts. Gerald? Does this sort of thing happen often?

Max! said Lawton Close, my boss. His voice came out of the earpiece with surprising power. What’s going on?

There was an explosion aboard the Bateau d’Or. Do you have video yet?

Yes. It seems to have settled to the bottom. That can’t be more than twelve feet deep there. Gordon and Celia Towepath keep their boat at that marina. The front of the boat seems okay.

Yes. All the damage appears to be at the stern, about where the salon would be.

Teddy says that you can’t get in touch with Carrie.

Nothing.

The chattering faces are saying it may be a fueling incident, said LT.

It’s diesel electric. Venting problems are more common with gasoline. They are just trying to keep the news cycle alive with no facts. That’s what they do.

What do you think? asked LT.

Looks like a bomb to me, I said. Look how the steel is peeled back. Whatever it was, it was localized and powerful, not like a cloud of vapor suddenly igniting.

Barlton was about to be arrested, said LT.

How do you know that? Carrie hadn’t heard anything.

I have a friend downtown. I was sworn to secrecy, but it doesn’t seem to matter now.

What if someone tried to take him out?

A possibility; he had as many enemies as the people he ruined. My friend downtown told me that ICON Funds and Carlton House Universal Monetary Planning were empty shells in what was nothing more than a giant Ponzi scheme.

Just like that other guy?

"Yes, but bigger. I’m told that when the size of this loss is made public, people will faint. The stock market has been down three days in a row on the speculation about what is soon to be revealed. When the market crashed in September, it was similar to draining a swamp. A lot of rotting things on the bottom were revealed. I read in the Times that the SEC has finally taken a serious interest in ICON Funds and Carlton House Universal Monetary Planning. Part of the problem seems to be that financial houses have been able to offer financial products and services to themselves hidden away from the scrutiny of the market so that the true value of assets may be hidden. My informant said that overstatement in this case is barely possible. I have been meaning to suggest to you that you get Carrie out of that environment. She went through the whole Rodd Rock mess, and she had a rather bad time with all of the attention."

She hated it. I wish you had said something to me, but I don’t know what I would have been able to do. It’s not like we are still dating.

You never know with a woman that finds herself in unhappy circumstances. She might need someone to help her make up her mind to get out. You don’t know that she isn’t thinking about you and wishing you were there to …

To what?

I was going to say something foolish in this sadly practical age.

Did it involve shining armor and charging stallions?

Something along those lines.

You know I hate horses.

These exist only in metaphor, and as such they would never kick you into the fence when you turn your back on them.

Did they ever turn Teddy’s horse into glue? Cause I’d buy a squeeze bottle, just for old times’ sake.

That is a distinct possibility. She felt she had to sell him as a cost-saving measure after the crash.

Why did she ever buy that crazy old thing anyway? No one could ride it. It kicked anyone who turned away from it.

The reasons are, as I have been able to reconstruct them that she felt sorry for him because he was on his way to the knackers, he had good bloodlines (he had once placed second at Belmont) and she feels that she looks good in riding habiliments.

I’m no judge of that. I want to know what happened to Carrie and why she isn’t answering her phone.

I know you do. Let me make some calls. You stay by the phone.

I punched the cradle button and broke the connection. Then I called Carrie’s mother in Michigan, but someone answered for her and told me that Mrs. Strudel was not taking calls. They hadn’t had any news from Florida, and they were both most anxious for word from her daughter. I told her to mention my name to Mrs. Strudel and to tell her I would let them know if I heard anything. Then I hung up the phone and turned my attention to the TV screen. The voices were making words, and the words were arranged into opinions and guesses, but I couldn’t concentrate enough to make sense of them. I was waiting to hear a name or something that made sense.

I don’t know who LT calls, but he has a way of finding out things that stick around after all the gaudy but false rumors have been tossed away like empty candy wrappers. Twelve minutes later he called to tell me that Carrie was unhurt. She was being interviewed by various officials. That was all he could find out, but he would keep at it and let me know what else he could find out. He also said that she would probably need representation, someone tough and savvy.

Why? I asked him. My voice was pitched higher than I intended.

"She was the only other person on the boat. …You know how the police can be.

If she needs representation, what about you? I asked him.

I can’t practice law in Florida, and you know I am not the grandstanding type.

Since when?

I much prefer to work in the background, unhindered by the glare of public scrutiny.

That’s funny. I always thought of you as a lighting director who used the glare of publicity to illuminate the stage, but only those parts that you think need to be lit up, while you keep your associates in the dark and yourself in the shadows.

A fair point, well made. Our business is one of exposure and concealment. The play of light and shadow is everything.

Do you have someone in mind? Someone in Florida?

I am toying with three names at present. I have opened negotiations.

You are not going to tell me the names, are you?

They shall remain in the shadows for the present; however, as soon as one of them has agreed to a few rather basic requirements of mine, he or she shall step forward to center stage, and the onlookers will gape with astonishment.

I know from long experience that when you are in a poetical mood, the wheels within wheels are spinning.

They are.

Anything could happen.

And probably will.

Is Carrie in serious trouble? Has your informant indicated anything about her chances?

I will leave you with one of my favorite quotes by Metternich.

Who is that?

An Austrian statesman who died in 1857. He is alleged to have said, ‘The situation in Italy is always critical, but never serious.’ I was reminded of that quote while drawing up an outline of what we know right now about the situation in Florida. The police are interested in Carrie as a suspect for two reasons. The first is that she has been clumsily framed by whoever was responsible for the detonation of what has been described to me as a sophisticated explosive device. The second is that the Palm Beach police lack imagination.

So do I. Why don’t you tell me what you think we already know?

It would be premature to share my intuited notions at this time.

You are not going to tell me that either, are you?

You know I am not.

But this is Carrie.

All the more reason to reserve my speculations until we are able to prop them up with some facts. I don’t think it would be helpful to have an emotional overlay at this stage. I will, however, need someone on the scene very soon. As I said, the situation is more critical than serious. Time matters.

You will let me go to Florida?

I will require you to go to Florida.

I can fly, not drive?

This one time. The need for speed is paramount. Teddy is already finding you a ticket online.

I called Carrie’s mother’s number and told the unnamed woman I had previously spoken with that I had gotten word that Carrie was okay. She thanked me. She would not let me speak to Carrie’s mother.

It was later that afternoon that the news services began to report that preliminary investigation indicated the explosion was caused by a powerful bomb. Terrorism had not been ruled out. There had been at least one fatality, and a crew member had been taken off the boat and was talking to investigators. There had been a series of threats made against the life of C. B. Barlton, who was being investigated for fraud in the dramatic failure of ICON Funds.

There would be a news conference at three.

The news conference was one of those good news/bad news deals. On the one hand, Carrie Strudel had survived the explosion with no injuries, as she had been in her cabin at the bow of the boat. On the other hand, she was being held for the murder of Carlton Boyce (Jake) Barlton, who had been identified by his remains as the victim. Positive ID was made from an intact finger. The rest of the mess had been sent to the lab for DNA analysis, but that was expected to take a while. After the news channel cut away from the police chief and reporters, who had taken to asking the same dumb questions over and over, seemingly not satisfied with We just don’t know the answer to that at the present time, a picture of Carrie in a bikini was displayed while the chattering faces blathered about a love gone tragically wrong. The picture was poorly focused. She was relaxing on the bow of the Bateau d’Or in some exotic locale (it might have been the trip to Nice), and she obviously thought she was enjoying privacy. For the record, she looks very nice in a bikini. She tends more toward solid than wispy, but everything is in classic proportions. Nothing sticks out more than it should, but everything is there.

I called LT. Why are they insinuating that Carrie had something going on with Jake Barlton?

There was an unusual silence at the other end.

LT?

It appears, there is a letter. I have been on the phone with someone I know in Palm Beach.

What kind of a letter?

I’m afraid it is a plea from Mr. Barlton to end an intimate relationship with Carrie.

Bullshit!

There was more silence on the other end.

LT?

Max. We have to take this one step at a time. You don’t merely jump to conclusions; you dash pell-mell into them. In our business we certainly see the fruits of human frailty. We do know something of the power of various temptations. Carrie and Mr. Barlton were on that boat together for extended periods of time …

She made fun of him, I said.

She may have been of two minds. You know how women can be.

How’s that, sweetie? said Teddy quite forcibly in the background.

They are creatures of mood, said LT bravely.

Keep talking, said Teddy. I could hear the menace in her tone through a hundred miles of copper wire, and I’ll show you a mood swing that will take your breath away.

I have to hang up now, said LT. Stay by the phone.

Chapter 1

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It was around four thirty when the phone next rang. I didn’t recognize the number or even the area code. The display just said official.

Lawton Close and Associates. This is the head associate. With whom am I speaking?

Max?

Carrie! Are you all right?

Where’s Mr. Close? I have to talk to him. It’s urgent.

He’s in the country. You know the number. Are you okay?

I only get one phone call, she said. Then she caught her breath strangely.

Where are you?

Palm Beach Police station at Gold Coast Highway and Hawaii Avenue.

Don’t hang up. Stay right there. I’ll call him in East Hampton on the other line.

I have to stay right here; I’m in a freaking holding cell!

Yeah. He’ll be right there for you. Don’t worry about anything.

They think I killed him!

They are just trying out suspects at this stage. It just happened, and you were on the boat. It doesn’t mean anything.

I don’t know! It’s all crazy. They say they’ve got evidence! What kind of evidence could they have? I didn’t do anything!

Slow down! Take a breath.

They said I could go to prison for the rest of my life!

Yeah, they do that to try to scare you into cooperating. Don’t say anything. Tell them they can talk to your lawyer.

But I didn’t do anything. If I refuse to talk to them, they’ll think I have something to hide!

Listen to me! Don’t tell them another thing. It doesn’t work that way. I’m sure they read you your Miranda rights. Anything you say—remember that part? Anything can be used against you. Don’t say another word until you have representation. This is really important. The less you say, the less LT and your lawyer will have to untangle.

I don’t have a lawyer.

LT is working on that. Who else was on the boat when the bomb went off?

There were just two of us, me and Mr. Barlton.

Where was the captain?

I don’t know. I was in my cabin. He hasn’t been around for two days.

Where is your father?

In Arizona on a camping trip. Someone is trying to get word to him. Max, I have to talk to LT!

Calm down. LT is arranging for me to fly down there. Don’t hang up. I’m going to call him on the other line, and if he answers we’ll do this as a conference call. Hold on.

LT picked up at the first ring. He was obviously hovering by one of the phones in the country house, probably in the library.

Carrie? he said.

I’m here.

This is Lawton. It is my understanding that they have detained you as a material witness.

Something like that. I was in shock when they brought me here. I didn’t know what was going on. I didn’t even know what happened to Mr. Barlton. They told me he was killed by a bomb that was delivered to the boat by Groundway Express. They made it clear that they think I did it, and they want me to tell them about it, or it will be much worse for me.

That’s boilerplate intimidation. Ignore it, said LT sternly.

That’s easy for you to say. I’m the one they are threatening.

They are trying to break you down. That is their job, and it isn’t an easy job. They have to assume that everyone they deal with is lying, and the assumption is usually valid.

I’m not lying. And I’m scared. Her voice sounded more angry than frightened, but I know her moods better than LT. He never saw her at the wheel of a five hundred horsepower Mustang when she brought every single horse out to play. LT romanticizes women. He thinks Teddy needs his old-school gallantry. Ha! When the chips are all down and the last hole card is crisply turned, it won’t be his elegant hands reaching for the pot.

I understand the fear, but try to minimize it. You have people on your side with imagination, intelligence, and resolve. You also have the truth on your side.

I was beginning to wonder. This is so disorienting, I almost wanted to confess just to stop them from treating me like I am a mad bomber.

Carrie, I have been talking with some people I know in Palm Beach. They tell me that someone wanted to create the impression that you were involved with the death of your employer. The reason the authorities have singled you out for their attention is because, in their opinion, there is probable cause that you were involved in the murder.

But I swear to you that I had nothing whatsoever to do with any part of it! I’m getting tired of saying that. And I don’t have any idea who might have done something like this. I would hate to think it was anyone I know or have ever met.

Then prepare yourself, because the logic of the facts, as known at this moment, points to someone who must know you well enough to know where you live.

Why? What facts? Why would someone want to do something like that?

We don’t know anything about motivations yet. I would prefer not to speculate. I do want to assure you that I can already see some rather difficult problems for the authorities if they continue to treat you as a prime suspect.

Anything you would care to share with us? I asked.

Not yet, he said firmly.

I didn’t think so. LT is selfish with facts. He was never taught to share when he was a little brat in Mrs. Megger’s extremely private prep school. It’s possible they teach hoarding. It would explain a lot.

Carrie, Teddy has booked Max on a flight out of LaGuardia tomorrow early. I have already spoken to three of the best lawyers in Palm Beach on your behalf. Two of them have assured me that you are only in danger of being temporarily inconvenienced. The third individual is going to get back to me later this evening about deciding to represent you. He has to see if he can clear his desk first. He has agreed to meet Max tomorrow at the facility where you are being held. I am hoping that you will be free by this time tomorrow. Max will be bringing a change of clothes. Teddy is out shopping and, as you remember, she knows your sizes and your taste.

Teddy likes to shop, and if practice makes perfect, she is ready for Carnegie Hall. She would get a standing ovation. The broken economy had pinched back her flare for extravagance, as LT put it, so an excuse to get back out there and tickle the Amex … well …

Do you think they will really let me go? asked Carrie; I thought I could hear little hope in her voice.

I am cautiously optimistic. You may well be required to remain on hand in the area, at least until they are able to establish the investigation along alternative lines. I have spoken to a bail bondsman and the Department of Public Safety Justice Services Administration. I think we have taken care of everything.

Bail bondsman? I don’t have any money, not enough for bail, said Carrie.

That is not important at the moment. We will have to take this one step at a time, said LT. Bail bondsmen? Teddy out shopping? Grim austerity was getting slapped around by an even grimmer necessity.

What kind of money are we talking about? she asked him.

That’s not important at this moment, said LT gruffly. He hates talking about money. He hates even using the word. He usually has to wash his mouth out with scotch afterwards—oh, and he swallows.

Tens of thousands? she asked.

"A bit more than that, but nothing unthinkable; we pay a small percentage of the total to the bail bondsman, and he puts up the bond. He gets the bond back after the issue is settled by either a trial or more likely in your case, a hearing in which sanity is affirmed and the whole business is tossed out for lack of credible evidence. The only hazard would be if for any reason you fled the jurisdiction, and I