“What’s up? Everything okay?”

  “No,” she said. “Nothing’s okay.”

  “What is it? What’s going on?”

  “I’ll let Harold tell you all about it. He’s heading this way.”

  Then my father came on. “Hello, sonny. How’s it going, my boy?” He sounded just the way he always did.

  “What did Zeena mean when she said nothing’s okay?”

  “Did she say that?”

  “Yes.”

  “She shouldn’t have. It’s a little disagreement, that’s all. We’re going to work it out. I’m sure of that.”

  “She sounded awfully upset.”

  “Don’t worry about it. You’ve got your own tsuris. You still haven’t gotten over Rosalind. But I know you will, sonny. Deep down, you’re tough.”

  “We’re not going to work it out,” Zeena said. She’d picked up an extension phone. “I’m leaving you and that’s final.” There was a decisive click.

  “Hey!” I said. “This is serious. What the hell happened?”

  “It wasn’t anything. We were at a party. I got smashed and was doing a little flirting, that’s all. Zeena took it the wrong way.”

  “You call what you were doing, flirting?” She was back. “You had one hand on her ass. And the other under her dress.”

  “I was smashed, I told you. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  “Bullshit! And it’s not like it’s the first time.”

  “I never did anything more than that,” my father said. “Never. I never betrayed you in word or deed. Not with anyone. And believe me, I had plenty of opportunities. But we shouldn’t be talking like this with my son on the phone.”

  “He’s my son, too,” she said. Loud, this time. The energy was back in her voice, “I’m glad he’s on the phone. I’m glad he’s hearing this. I want him to know what a shit he has for a father.”

  “That’s cruel,” my father said. “Sonny and I have always had a great relationship. Do you think he’d turn on me now?”

  “I just want him to know you’re not the wonderful human being he thinks you are.”

  “Hey guys. Don’t put me in the middle of this. I love you both and want you to stay together. Zeena, you’re the best thing that’s happened to my dad in a long time. Please reconsider. When he says he was smashed and didn’t know what he was doing, you can believe it.” I was figuratively crossing my fingers behind my back. “I’ve seen him that way many times.”

  “See?” My father said. “See? I don’t know what I’m doing when I drink too much. My base instincts kind of take over. They take control of everything, especially my hands.”

  “This is too much,” Zeena said. “Now the both of you are ganging up on me.”

  I could hear a change in her tone. “Think about it,” I said. “That’s all. Just don’t make any hasty decisions. That’s not so much to ask.”

  “You hear that?” my father said. “Sonny knows what he’s talking about. He’s always been smart. What else do you expect from a professor?”

  “I’ve never been a professor. I was just a teacher.”

  “Don’t get technical on me. You’re smart. You know a lot about what’s in books. You don’t know shit from shinola about making money but that’s another story.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Because of the brouhaha with Zeena I was able to get off the phone without telling my father anything about the previous night. He’d learn about it soon enough. Then, of course, I’d get an earful of How come you didn’t tell me? I had to find out about it from the TV. In addition, because he was the original know-it-all, he would demand to hear all the details from me and that would, in turn, elicit all sorts of editorial advice and comments. But that was in the future and I’d be better able to deal with it.

  I’d no sooner put the phone on its cradle when it rang.

  Morty. “You won’t believe this, Jake. The girls are at the station again. For fingerprints. The cops also came to their hotel room and took the clothes they’d worn yesterday.”

  “When was this?”

  “Not long ago. Maybe in the last hour or two.”

  I looked at my watch. It was 2:45. Their appointment with the lawyer was at 4:00. “I think you better call the lawyer and tell him what’s happening. He’ll know what to do. Then call me back.”

  I hung up and prepared to wait. After less than thirty seconds I knew I couldn’t. I tried Morty but the phone kept ringing which meant he was probably talking and not picking up the waiting call. I was sweaty and dirty and badly needed a shower but there was no time for that. I got in the car and headed for the East Hampton police station. I didn’t know what good I could do there but I wanted to be where the action was.

  The shortest way to get to East Hampton from Sag Harbor was to take Route 114. This was a more or less direct road without many curves but with a distinct “no passing” double yellow line for its entire length. The speed limit had recently been reduced from 55 MPH to 45 MPH. If you got behind a diddler doing 30 MPH, you were stuck. Stuck that is, unless you were a red neck in a pickup or a yuppie in a Range Rover, in which case you made your own rules and passed whenever you felt like it.

  Of course, because I was in a hurry, I found myself behind a driver doing 40 MPH. So I broke the law in my own way and called Morty while driving. This time the call went through.

  “The lawyer’s going over there,” Morty said.

  “What else did he say?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I’m on my way now. I couldn’t wait. You’re coming, too, right?”

  “Check. And Sherri, too, I guess.”

  “Great,” I said, making sure to keep my tone neutral.

  I went to the same police station I’d been to before but when I asked about the girls the cop didn’t know anything about them.

  “They must be over on Pantigo Road,” he said. “East Hampton Town police. This is the Village station.”

  I didn’t know the reason, what’s more, I didn’t care. But I wondered if Morty knew this. Either he knew or he didn’t, and if he didn’t, he would find out.

  The Town police station was behind the East Hampton Town Hall and next to the Justice Court building. When I got there I found the driveway partially blocked. An arrow directed me around a huge construction site. I remembered reading that Adelaide De Menil, one of the old time multi-millionaires had donated a bunch of historic buildings to the town so they could not only be preserved but used for offices. They sat there, above ground, waiting for foundations. In the meantime there was a lot of mud.

  The police station itself was an unpretentious--no, ugly--one-story cinderblock building with a couple of parking spaces in front. There wasn’t much to see at the entrance, just a desk with a cop behind it. I was told by the officer at the desk there was nothing he could do for me. “All I can tell you is their lawyer got here a little while ago. You’ll just have to wait.”

  I had no authority to say or do anything so that’s what I did--nothing. At least it was a good sign that the lawyer had showed up. I went outside and waited for Morty to show. If I were still smoking it would’ve been the perfect time to light up but I’d given up that weed twenty years ago. Not the other weed though. I didn’t use it much but I liked to keep some of it around in case of emergency. When I was really down it added a great boost to the vodka.

  I saw Sherri’s Jaguar come up the driveway and park. Morty and Sherri got out and waved at me. “What’s happening?” Morty said.

  “Nada. The lawyer’s here. That’s all they’d tell me. Maybe, since you’re her father, you can get somewhere.”

  We went inside. Morty told the cop who he was and that he wanted to see his daughter.

  “Sorry,” the cop said. “You’ll have to wait.”

  “What do you mean, we have to wait?” Sherri said. “My husband’s daughter is here. And her lawyer as well. He has every right to see her.”

  Sherri’s voice and attitude hit the cop like a couple of bricks. It didn’t surprise me because I’d seen her angry before, but it sure took the wind out of him. “Take it easy, lady. I’m just doin’ my job.”

  “Well, do it right. Call someone if you have to. But we want to see her right now.”

  He looked down, hiding from her glare, and picked up the phone. Before he could say anything, Sarajane and Margo appeared, followed by an extremely tall, thin man dressed in a dark suit and looking like an undertaker with a mission. This could only be lawyer Longwood. I wondered if Sienna would appear but she didn’t.

  “There you are,” Morty said. He rushed forward and put his arms around Sarajane.

  She responded by burying her face in his chest. I was glad to see this happen. It was the first time I’d seen real emotion from either of them. I knew Morty’d been feeling it but until now, maybe because of it having been a long held secret, it seemed he’d been reluctant to let it show.

  We all introduced ourselves to the lawyer and then went outside. “Let’s go back to my office,” Jeremiah Longwood said. “We can talk leisurely there and I’ll explain everything as much as I’m able.”

  We drove back to Sag Harbor. His office turned out to be above a bank on Main Street. We followed him up a flight of stairs to the second floor, through a small waiting room to an interior office where a middle-aged woman with red eyeglasses sat at a desk.

  “Jackie, we’ll be going into my office for a while. Don’t put any calls through until I say it’s all right.”

  His office had a comfortable feel to it. The room was not especially large but had enough space to hold his desk, a table piled high with files. At the other end were an armchair and a couch. Framed degrees, photos, and art work decorated the walls as well as bookshelves filled with lawyerly looking books.

  “We need more chairs,” he said, picking up a phone. “Jackie, would you be kind enough to bring in three folding chairs?”

  In a moment, the good secretary appeared, shlepping the chairs by dragging them along the floor. I went over to help. Sarajane and Margo sat in front of the desk, Sherri, Morty, and I behind them.

  Longwood’s funereal face cracked open to let a hint of a smile out. “Welcome. When you called for an appointment this morning, I didn’t expect this.” Every one seemed to relax a bit, which is what I guessed he’d intended. He leaned back. “Let me review what’s occurred so far. When Dr. Adler called and told me Ms. Relda and Ms.Staller were at the police station I was not officially the attorney of record so I had to ask you, Dr. Adler, to state to me that I was, or I could not act. You understand that, don’t you, that I wasn’t trying to force myself into this case?”

  “Of course,” Morty said.

  “Good. It’s important you understand because I don’t take every case that’s offered to me.” He paused. “Although there have been times when I regretted turning someone down. We had a high profile murder out here a few years ago. I didn’t want any part of it because I’d become acquainted with one of the principals. However...” He let the rest of the sentence go as if he now regretted having mentioned it in the first place. “Let’s get to the present. I learned a few facts from the police. They informed me of how Ms. Relda and Ms. Staller are connected to the murder of this man Oakhurst. Today they took clothing from Ms. Relda and Ms. Staller and also took their fingerprints. It was good you called me when you did because it enabled me to arrive at the police station in time to inform the police that for the time being these young ladies were not going to answer any questions. And in the future if questions were going to be asked, I would have to be present.”

  “You can do that?” Morty said.

  “Yes. Keeping one’s mouth closed at the right time is quite important.” He pointed to a picture on the wall. It was a drawing of a trout under which was written, If I’d kept my mouth shut, I wouldn’t be in this frame.

  “Now let’s get our house in order. First, there’s the matter of a retainer. My usual fee for a criminal case is twenty-five thousand dollars. However, since no one has been charged yet we don’t know if there will be a case. I’ll therefore accept ten thousand. If nothing further develops, you’ll be charged only for my time. My hourly fee is $400 dollars.” He paused for a few moments, letting this sink in. “Are there any questions?”

  For a while nobody spoke. Then Sherri said, “That’s fine.” She addressed Sarajane and Margo. “Don’t worry about the finances. We’ll work everything out.”

  “Good.” He put his palms together and held them under his chin as if he were thinking deep thoughts. In my opinion, he was either a bonafide ham or the most lugubrious individual I’d ever met. “Next,” he went on, “I’ll need to have an in depth discussion with these two young women, as well as with you, Dr. Adler, and you, Mr. Wanderman. I was told that both of you were at the gallery the night of the murder. It’s important you give me your impressions of what happened. Are we agreed?”

  No argument. He wanted to talk to each of us in private, beginning with Sarajane. He told us he didn’t expect us to wait because the length of each interview could not be predicted. He would call us to make appointments but he wanted to do this as quickly as possible.

  Margo said she would wait. Morty and Sherri said they would, too, wanting to get it over and done with. I elected to go home.

  CHAPTER 11

  I tried to think about the entire affair in order to get a clear picture. It was complex. A weird art opening. A found daughter. A murder. The murder victim a rapist. So far the police knew nothing about that event in Sarajane’s past but how long before they found out? Sarajane said she’d told no one but memory was fallible. Now there was a lawyer in charge. He’d get all the information he could from each of us and go from there. We had to hope he was good.

  I changed into shorts and a tee shirt and went down to the basement. I had a punching bag and a speed bag. I worked the speed bag for about fifteen minutes, starting slowly and building up to a rapid crescendo, my hands beginning to tingle. The morning sweat had dried on my body. Now I could feel the new and more satisfying layer of perspiration begin to appear. I put gloves on and turned to the heavy bag. I pounded it with jabs, left, rights, combinations. The hits sent shock waves through my arms as far as my shoulders. Endorphins began whizzing inside me and I got the high I’d been hoping for. After a few more minutes of pummeling the bag, it was time for a shower and a drink.

  Luksusowa vodka in hand, my thoughts turned to Sienna Nolan. The very beautiful Sienna Nolan. I said her name out loud, rolling it around my tongue the way you might with something that tasted extremely fine. I remembered in vivid detail the one night we’d spent together. I also remembered the disappointment I’d felt when she’d made it clear there wasn’t going to be another. Not exactly the truth. I’d felt much more than disappointment. Her taking it as a one-night stand had left me bruised and battered. I wasn’t a bad guy. I thought I deserved better. At the same time it helped diminish some of the guilt I’d felt even though I’d tried to tell myself there was no good reason for guilt.

  What was Sienna doing at this moment? And what was she after, taking the girls’ fingerprints and clothing? They’d been there a long time which meant their fingerprints had to be all over that gallery. So what was she looking for? Was it possible the cops had found prints at the murder scene itself? Maybe on the knife? Or something on or near the body? But even if they had found something, how could that have anything to do with Sarajane and Margo? The girls said they’d seen the body from the doorway, that they hadn’t gone anywhere near it. In which case it was probably Sienna being her usual, professional self. At least I hoped so. But I also thought it might be a good idea to try to find out.

  I called the police station. She wasn’t there. Next call was to her office in Hauppauge. They told me she wasn’t in. I asked for her cell phone but they wouldn’t give it to me. My only option was to leave a message and hope she’d return my call. I wasn’t optimistic about that but there was no other choice.

  Soon enough it was time for dinner. Did I want to just eat or did I want to treat myself by making something special? I didn’t know. I was floating a bit even though the endorphin effect had faded away. I knew my good feelings were due to Polish potatoes but who cared? I peered into the refrigerator and freezer to see what was there. As it turned out, not much. Home-made hummus, cheese, herring, eggs, and an assortment of salad stuff. The freezer had chicken thighs, pork chops, peas, cauliflower, and a couple of bagels. The pantry had cans of tomatoes and a variety of pasta. That last decided me. A simple dinner of linguini with a light tomato sauce. Not much trouble to make but eminently satisfying, especially with the accompaniment of a pleasurable glass of Sangiovese.

  I set about chopping onions and garlic, sautéing them in olive oil and, when the onions were translucent, adding the can of plum tomatoes, breaking them up first. All I had to do was toss in some oregano, boil the pasta, and I’d be in clover.

  O happiness, enjoy’d but of a few!

  When the phone rang I was holding a glass of wine and savoring the taste as it combined with the rich sauce and the linguini. Sienna’s voice in my ear made my hand shake. I put the glass down.

  “Hi,” I said. “I’m glad you called me back.”

  “I’m glad you’re glad. What’s your problem?”

  “Why do you think I have a problem? I wanted to talk to you, that’s all.”

  “About what?”

  At the station she’d seemed tense and ready to take offense at any remark that struck her as off. She still sounded that way, which made it imperative that I be very careful choosing my words. “I was wondering if you might want to have a cup of coffee with me.”

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “I thought we were friends. Isn’t that what friends sometimes do?”

  “Jake--Jake--I don’t know--why do I have the feeling that with you there’s always something underneath the surface? Am I wrong?”

 

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