Deadly secrets, p.20
Deadly Secrets, page 20
When I got to Bridgehampton, I had to wait at the light. I abruptly remembered the knife attack in the alley in Paris. I realized how lucky I was to be back home, on my bike, on the way to the ocean.
When I finally made it to the beach, I looked at the waves and listened to the sound of them crashing onto the shore. I inhaled the air, which smelled of the sea. As always, there were others doing the same thing. I thought of how many times Rosalind and I had walked on the East End beaches, how we’d held hands, and often stopped to kiss.
I don’t know how long I stayed where I was without moving. All I knew was that I felt better for being there.
When I got back from the ride, I filled a tall glass with water and drank it in one gulp. The urge to drink anything stronger had left me. In my sweaty clothes, I went back into the library, sat in the recliner and thought about what I’d promised to do. I was supposed to get in touch with Sienna Nolan and verify that what Morty heard in regard to Sarajane was valid. In other words, that she could return to The Hamptons with complete impunity. I was skeptical about promises from authorities. They could lie, couldn’t they? On the other hand, Jeremiah Longwood, Morty’s lawyer, had already spoken with them. He’d assured Morty it was okay. So why was I worried? Habit, I supposed. Or was it that I was nervous about seeing Sienna again?
It was undeniable that when I thought of her, I got excited enough to feel a tremor in the loins. I put my hand on the front of my pants and felt myself harden. This was absurd. How could it happen when at almost at the same time I was still mourning Rosalind? I’d loved Rosalind more than anyone in the world. And now, as difficult as it was to comprehend, I had to reckon with it. It seemed more than likely that I was falling for that red haired detective.
CHAPTER 44
Sienna worked in the Detective division of the Suffolk County Police Department, or SCPD. It was located in the John L. Barry Police Headquarters building in Yaphank, more than an hour’s drive from Sag Harbor. I had her office number on a card in my wallet. I called and got a male voice asking me how to direct my call. I told him and waited to see who would answer. In the past, on previous cases in which we’d both been involved, she’d rarely been available. I could feel the tension in my body as I waited.
“Hello?” It was actually Sienna.
“Hi.” I let out my breath. “It’s Jake Wanderman. How are you?”
“So you’re back. How was your trip?”
“Very interesting. There’s a lot I’d like to talk to you about.”
“I’d like to talk to you, too, but I’m very busy. I’m working three cases. Two guys are out, one on vacation, one sick, so I have to help pick up the load.”
“I understand. I can come there, if I have to. I don’t expect you to drive all the way out here just to talk to me.”
I heard a grunt. “Since when are you so accommodating?”
“Since always. You know I’m a pushover, don’t you?”
“Uh oh,” she said. “I smell a rat. What’s this all about?”
“Too complicated to say on the phone. When do you have time for me?”
“I’ll tell you what. I’m going to be very good to you. How about today? And I’ll even save you part of your ride. I’ll meet you for lunch at the diner in Bellport. 1 p.m. Lunch is on you.”
“Deal,” I said, then remembered her amazing appetite. “I’ll bring two credit cards, just in case.”
“I’ll do my best to make you need them.”
I was happy that she’d agreed to meet me so quickly. I hoped it was because she wanted to see me as much as I wanted to see her. Maybe she hadn’t forgotten that enchanting and lengthy kiss at the duck pond, way back before the girls had fled East Hampton for London.
The parking lot at the diner was almost full. I looked for her red Mitsubishi Eclipse but didn’t see it so I guessed I’d gotten there first. I was wrong. She was already there, standing just inside the entrance. As always, she was smartly dressed. She wore a light beige pantsuit, navy blouse, low-heeled shoes, earrings but no other jewelry. Also, as always, she was drop-dead gorgeous.
She didn’t offer her hand, or her cheek, but she gave me a warm smile. “Hi.”
I already felt myself melting. “Hi, yourself. I looked for your car but didn’t see it.”
“I traded it in for a Miata convertible.”
“Red, of course.”
“What else?”
We were taken to a booth and handed the usual diner menu, as thick as a phone book and slip-covered in plastic. Not quite the same ambiance or the same quality food as the little bistros I’d enjoyed in Paris. She read through several pages before deciding on a surprisingly light Caesar salad with grilled chicken. I’d expected her to go for a steak, at the very least. I opted for a BLT. We both ordered coffee that came immediately. Coffee was always served right away in diners, sometimes before you’d even looked at the menu.
“It’s good to see you again,” I said. “You look great.”
“Could we skip the pleasantries and get to the chase? As I told you I’ve got a lot on my plate.”
Whew! That quickly dissolved the warm glow of contentment I’d been basking in. I tried not to let it show by sipping a little coffee before answering. “Sure. I want to hear from you about the deal you offered Mr. Adler in regard to his daughter and her friend.”
“No problem. I’ve been through everything we have on the case with the DA. He says there’s not enough for an indictment. They’re ready to drop the warrant for their arrest if they’ll come in and talk to us.”
“What about? You already have statements from them.”
“The truth is we’ve come up with a blank. We haven’t got a damn thing. I’m hoping if I go over everything with them again, maybe something’ll show that I haven’t thought of. It’s a long shot, I know. But frankly, I’m desperate.”
“Is your deal guaranteed?”
“For the outstanding charge? Yes. As for anything that may come up in our interviews or discoveries, no. Of course not. You have to know that.”
“Then why should they come back?”
“Only if they want the ability to enter the United States again. If that isn’t important, then they don’t have to bother.”
“You’ll definitely drop the warrant if they agree to come back? It’ll have to be dropped before they go through customs, otherwise they’ll be arrested by immigration.”
“Don’t worry. If you tell me they agree to talk to us, I’ll make sure they come into the country without a problem. In fact, we’ll even meet them at the airport.”
“In other words, you’re going to grill them the minute they set foot on U.S. soil?”
Our order arrived. We held off speaking until the plates were set down in front of us and the coffee was refilled.
“Good,” Sienna said, not answering me. “I’m starved.” She began attacking her salad.
“I repeat my question. Is that what you’re planning to do?”
She chewed for a while and nodded. “This is a good salad. Lots of flavor. What do you think? We’re going to give up the warrant and then have them disappear on us again? Uh uh. We’ve got to protect our interests.”
“I don’t like it,” I said. “They’ll think they’re being arrested.”
“It’s not like that at all. You can be there. Their lawyer can be there. Everything’ll be on the up and up.”
I began eating my BLT. “That might work.”
While chomping on my sandwich I decided now was the time to tell her some of what I’d discovered in London and Paris. I had to be very careful to avoid any mention of drugs. I also had to be sure not to mention anything about SJ’s involvement with the victim. If Sienna heard that, it’d be all over. What I emphasized was the story of Madeline Vincent’s rape and suicide and how I’d found flowers on the grave. And then I summed it up. “I think it’s more than possible that this girl’s death may be connected to Oakhurst’s murder.”
She listened without saying a word. Her plate had only a speck of salad left on it. All the bread she’d been given was gone, as well. She drained her coffee and looked at me.
“Well?” I said.
“It’s an interesting theory. But so what? You don’t have any names. You don’t even know if the person who left the flowers is a man or a woman. You have a ghost for a suspect. What is it you expect me to do with that theory? How would I investigate it?”
I shrugged. “That’s your job, isn’t it?”
“There might be information in Paris to substantiate your theory. But I have no resources there. There’s nothing I can do.”
“What about the people at the opening? Couldn’t you check their backgrounds for ties to Paris?”
“We’ve already interviewed over one hundred and fifty people. That includes the guests and the workers.”
“And you found nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“But you weren’t looking for this kind of information, were you?”
“No. But if you think I can get my boss to go down this road, you’re living in dreamland.” She gave me a dazzling smile. “How about dessert?”
CHAPTER 45
In the parking lot she held out her hand. I had no choice but to shake it. What I wanted was to hold on to it, squeeze it, pull her close, but of course, I did nothing of the kind.
“I hope you’ll persuade Dr. Adler’s daughter and her partner to come back,” she said. “It’ll clear their names, and hopefully, they can tell me something that will help with this case.”
“I’ll do my best.”
I watched her climb into her Miata convertible and drive away with a wave.
I was more than frustrated. She hadn’t given my theory any consideration. On a more personal level, she hadn’t given any hint that she remembered our kiss at the duck pond, or that she might be the least bit interested in a repetition.
I got into my car and began to back out of the space when I realized something was wrong. It felt like a flat tire. I got out to take a look. A tire was flat, all right. But it wasn’t an ordinary flat. The tire had been attacked with a sharp pointed tool of some kind. There were punctures all around the sidewall.
I immediately went to see about the other cars near me. Their tires were okay. Then I went to another part of the lot and checked the tires of the cars over there. They were all untouched. Only mine had been singled out. Fuck!
Who the hell did this? Obviously it wasn’t random. So the next question was why? Was it to send me a message? To stop doing what I was doing? And what was that? All I’d done since I’d come home was to see Sienna Nolan.
Maybe that was enough.
I was about to change the tire myself then decided the hell with it. I called Triple A and got the usual response. It would be forty-five minutes to an hour until they could get to me. I thought about reporting this to the cops, but I knew the result would be only red tape and a waste of time. Calling Sienna might be the smarter thing to do but I decided against it. What would or could she do about it, anyway?
Nobody knew I was going to the diner except Morty. I couldn’t think of anyone Morty might have told other than Sherri, his wife, and Longwood, his lawyer. Longwood was certainly not going to talk about it. Maybe Sherri, but who? I couldn’t think of anybody. This meant that someone followed me, or else my phone was tapped. I hadn’t given any thought to being tailed. Probably dumb, after what happened in Paris, but I was back home and had felt safe. As for the phone being tapped, I’d never considered it but maybe now I’d better.
After a wait of about an hour the Triple A guy arrived, made a few snarling remarks about how the world was going to the dogs and changed my tire. On the way back to Sag Harbor I kept checking my rearview mirror. I didn’t see a tail but that didn’t make me any less uncomfortable.
I stopped at the Southampton tire store and bought a new tire. On my way home I remembered that I’d wished I’d had a tape recorder when I was in Paris so I stopped at Radio Shack in Bridgehampton and bought one. The salesman told me I was better off getting a digital one. That way there would be no worry about using up the tape. I didn’t have any specific plan for it but felt it might come in handy some time. It was late afternoon by the time I got home. I wasn’t in any mood to talk to Morty about Sienna or the tire incident. So I changed into workout clothes and went down to the basement where I punched the bag viciously for fifteen minutes. After a shower it was getting close to five o’clock, the hour a friend of Rosalind’s used to call “drinky-poo time.” Okay, I thought, that special hour was fast approaching. But one drink only. After that, I’d give some thought to what I’d feel like having for dinner.
As I was heading toward the little bar I’d made out of an old cabinet, the phone rang. I wasn’t going to answer it but then I reluctantly picked it up.
“Mr.Wanderman?”
The voice was vaguely familiar but not one I immediately recognized.
“Who is this?”
“Chantal Badeau. Do you remember? We spoke at my apartment in Paris not long ago.”
Of course, I remembered. She was rich, attractive, and had not been of much help. “Yes. This is a surprise. How did you get my number?”
There was a moment’s silence. “I believe you gave me your card, did you not?”
I’d given out a lot of cards, so that made sense. “Of course.”
“I was in New York City. I was told I must go to see the famous Hamptons. Voilà!”
“You’re here? In The Hamptons?”
“Exactement.”
“Are you here with your husband?”
“Alas, no. He had to remain in Paris. Business, you know. I am toute seule, quite alone.”
What was this all about? “What can I do for you?”
“J’espère, I hope, you might wish to spend some time with a lonely visitor.”
Come on lady, I thought. “What did you have in mind?”
“Perhaps you would take me to a tour of the local attractions. Would that be good?”
Local attractions. Was I one of them? “I could do that. Sure. It would be a pleasure. When would you like to get together?”
“Whenever it is a convenience to you. I am utterly available.”
“How about tomorrow morning? I could pick you up at ten o’clock. Is that okay?”
“Mais oui. I’m staying at the Huntting Inn. I look forward to seeing you again. And many thanks.”
I poured my usual Luksusowa vodka over ice. There was no doubt in my mind that Chantal Badeau’s visit to The Hamptons was not what she’d suggested it was. A tour of local attractions? Get outta here. What did she really want?
I remembered that I still had to eat. I decided to take some shrimp from the freezer and make a scampi with a lot of garlic. Umm. My mouth began to water just thinking of it.
CHAPTER 46
Early next morning Morty called. “Did you talk to that lady cop?”
“Yeah.” I told him what Sienna had said. I didn’t mention Chantal Badeau.
“Then it’s okay? Everything’ll work out?”
“That’s what she said, unless something turns up that implicates them.”
“Great. I’ll call and give them the good news.”
“I’d tell them to act as quickly as possible before anything happens that might change their minds.”
“Will do,” Morty said.
The Huntting Inn was familiar territory. Aside from the numerous times I’d eaten at the Palm, a world class steak house located inside, it was where Sarajane and Margo had been staying at the time of Tony Oakhurst’s murder. I parked in the lot and headed toward the entrance wondering if someone already knew about my coming here to meet Chantal Badeau. I was sure I hadn’t been followed because I was now checking my rearview mirror almost constantly. If anyone knew, it would have to be because my phone was tapped. I realized I should have called Sienna and asked her how I could find out about that.
Chantal was seated in the lobby turning the pages of Elle. When she saw me come through the door, she put the magazine down and I got a good look at her. It came back to me that she had this theatrical presence, the kind of thing that makes you watch one particular actor when she’s on stage or screen. She was not traditionally beautiful--it was more than that--everything about her was perfection, from the smoothness of her skin, to her makeup, her dress, her bearing. She was tall, slim, with dark eyes outlined in black, and an oval shaped face that belonged on a cameo. I vaguely remembered the outfit she’d worn in Paris, some kind of silky top with matching pants. Today she wore a light gray cashmere sweater with darker gray linen pants. The rubies she’d worn in Paris were nowhere in sight but I did notice a rather large sparkling rock on the ring finger of her left hand where there should have been a wedding ring. What might that mean?
I led her out to my car.
“I am delighted that you are doing this for me, Monsieur Wanderman. I am so looking forward to spending this time with you.”
“My pleasure.” I was determined to play the tour guide until she showed her hand.
I drove her around East Hampton village, pointing out some of the glamorous stores that had come into the town in recent years. I didn’t bother to tell her they’d driven out the mom and pop stores that had been there for generations. Then I took her past the mansions where the people lived who supported those stores. Most of those mansions had driveways barred by gates, and were surrounded by hedges so high you couldn’t see over them, but that was the point, wasn’t it?
I took her to Main Beach where she could see the beauty of our white sand. I wasn’t mean enough to point out the difference between our beach and the stony gray crud found on the Riviera. Then I drove her out to have a look at Montauk. All this time not a word was said about what she wanted from me. On the way back, I stopped for lunch at one of the clam shacks on the Napeague strip. We were the only ones there. It was warm enough to sit at an outside table.
