Daylight

by David Baldacci

  “How would she even know about the Vincenzos?”

  “Wasn’t it in all the papers back then? After the arrests were made?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “And you’re telling me that Linda was so oblivious to what you did for a living that she couldn’t have made that connection? Or was she that stupid?”

  “No one would accuse Linda of being stupid. Quite the opposite. She was a brilliant woman.”

  “Then you’re proving my point. Did you ever have my mother over to your place?”

  “Not while Linda was there.”

  “But she could have seen her there if she had been suspicious. She could have left and then come back.”

  “I just don’t think that’s possible.”

  “What did she do for a living? Did she have a profession?”

  “She was a lawyer.”

  “Oh, great. Don’t tell me she was a criminal defense lawyer?”

  “She was, actually, yes.”

  “And you still think she couldn’t have possibly made the connection with the Vincenzos? Hell, she might have had mob clients.”

  “No, no, I’m sure she didn’t.”

  “Did she share her work with you?”

  “No, she was as guarded as I was.”

  “Then you can’t possibly know who her clients were, can you?”

  “Now you sound like a lawyer cross-examining me.”

  “Good, that’s my intent. Where is she now?”

  “I don’t know. It’s been over thirty years.”

  “Do you know what happened to her after you two broke up?”

  “I . . . I heard she got married. To a very wealthy man. He died a few years later, leaving her very rich. She might have gotten married again after that. But I’m not sure.”

  “And she never made any effort to contact you? After you became superwealthy? You probably moved in the same circles.”

  “I moved to Georgia. She was more of a big-city girl.”

  “She should be easy enough to trace.”

  “Are you going to do that?”

  “I have to do that, Jack.”

  “Even if she had anything to do with what happened, do you really think she’ll just confess it to you?”

  “I’m not expecting that, no. But I still need to talk to her.”

  “Look, despite what I said, I know that it could be possible that Linda was the leak. I . . . I guess I just didn’t want to even entertain the thought.”

  “I’m not saying she’s a bad person, Jack. I’m not even saying she wanted to hurt my family. But for someone who was engaged and then found out her fiancé was going to be the father of another woman’s children? That might have been enough to make her do something she otherwise never would have done.”

  “I guess I can see that.”

  “I’ll make my own inquiries. But if you come up with anything, let me know.”

  “I will.”

  Pine clicked off and dropped her phone on the car seat.

  Blum said, “I heard most of the exchange. He’s a man clearly in denial.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “Chances are very good this Linda Holden-Bryant was the leak.”

  “I know.”

  “When you find her and confront her, what will you do? How will you work it?”

  Pine closed her eyes and took a long breath.

  She opened her eyes and said, “When I figure that out, you’ll be the first to know, Carol.”

  CHAPTER

  37

  PINE WAS STANDING ON BILLIONAIRES’ Row, this time with Blum, staring up at another splinter of a building as a weather system bringing chilly temps and rain passed over the city. They were one block down from the building where Pine had been abducted and very close to the sweeping vistas of Central Park.

  “She must have done really well for herself if she lives in there,” noted Blum.

  Linda Holden-Bryant had not been difficult to track down. She went by her maiden name, though she had been married twice. Once to a man in his seventies who had died four years into the marriage, leaving his thirty-something widow a fortune worth hundreds of millions of dollars. Then the woman had hit the real jackpot with her second husband, an heir to a French cosmetics empire. After their divorce, she had walked away with more than three billion dollars. Another decade had passed since that divorce, and Pine figured if the woman had just put the money in the stock market she was probably worth over ten billion now.

  “Yes she has.”

  “Are you surprised she agreed to see you?”

  “Not really. She must be as curious to see me as I am to see her.”

  “Did you tell her . . . everything?”

  “I told her I know Jack Lineberry. I didn’t tell her how.”

  “So why does she think you want to see her?”

  “I’m working a case that has to do with Jack. I’m sure that’s what got me in the door.”

  “Are you going to tell her that you’re his daughter?”

  “Yes, but at the right moment.”

  “Which will be when?”

  “When my gut tells me.”

  They cleared the doorman and concierge after a video of Pine and Blum was shown to Ms. Holden-Bryant, and she cleared their coming up in the private elevator.

  The elevator car opened right into the vestibule of her apartment, which they had been told occupied three levels of the building.

  “She seems to be even wealthier than Jack,” murmured Pine, more to herself than to Blum.

  A butler in full livery greeted them in the vestibule and escorted them down a marble-floored corridor that was lined with paintings that looked like they could have hung at the Met or the Louvre.

  They were ushered into a room that they assumed was the library, since it held thousands of volumes on two walls. A fire smoldered in the grate that was bracketed by a soaring wall of stone.

  Blum drew near to the flames and put her hands out.

  “Arizona never feels this raw,” she said. “That wind cut right through me out there.”

  Pine perched on a settee that looked like something Napoleon would have favored and tapped her fingers on the wooden arm.

  The fourth wall was covered with photos. Pine rose and went over to study them more closely. There were a number of A-list actors from the previous decade, two Yankee baseball players from another era, and photos of rock stars from the seventies and eighties, each signed by the musician. But all the others were of politicians, both past and current. There was a photo signed by a past VP with “warmest wishes to a real friend.” Translated, Pine knew that Holden-Bryant had donated/raised a shitload of money for the man.

  Blum joined her and started to say something, but Pine put up a cautionary hand and then waved at a black lens that occupied a space near the ceiling where two walls were joined.

  To the camera she said, “Anytime you’re ready, Linda. Thank you.”

  About thirty seconds later another door opened, and a young woman dressed all in black with blond hair in a ponytail, tortoise-shell glasses, and an efficient expression poked her head in and said, “Please follow me.”

  They walked up a grand staircase made of marble, metal, and wood to the floor above. They passed along another long hallway, where yet more Picassos and Dalis and Monets hung, until they arrived at twelve-foot double doors painted sparkling white. The woman knocked, received an “Enter,” and opened one of the doors.

  Pine and Blum stepped through. The woman shut the door behind them, and they heard her heels tap-tapping efficiently back down the hall.

  They looked around. They were in a bedroom. Only it was the size of a large condo. The bed was at the far end. And lying in it was, presumably, Linda Holden-Bryant.

  She lifted herself off the pillows. “Please, come closer.”

  They walked over, and Holden-Bryant pointed to two chintz-covered chairs set next to an enormous bed on which six adults could have slept without touching one ano
ther.

  She had on a thin, long-sleeved satin lavender robe that was closed in front. The woman settled back against the plumped-up pillows as Pine introduced herself and Blum. Pine ran her gaze over the woman. She was in her midsixties, toned and fit. Her hair was dyed blond with just a trace of silver roots evident. Her features were sharp enough to hurt someone. The green eyes looked electrified. The mouth was a slash, the chin jagged yet elegant. She was very attractive, so put together it was easy to think of her as ten or even fifteen years younger than she was. She lay under the covers, but a glance at her long legs told Pine that Holden-Bryant was only a few inches shorter than she was.

  “I’m sorry to see you in here, but the fact is I have some sort of bug,” she began. The woman’s voice was deeper than Pine would have imagined it would be.

  Holden-Bryant glanced at Blum. “Oh, I’m not contagious, no worries there. Full course of antibiotics and recovering fast. But still not quite all there. And it’s so dreary out today. Crushes one’s spirits.”

  “But I would suppose living in this place, your spirits won’t be crushed for long,” said Blum in a disarming tone.

  “Aren’t you sweet. And very right. I’ve been very lucky. Privileged. Right place, right time.”

  “I haven’t seen a butler in a long time,” said Pine.

  Holden-Bryant tittered at that. “A holdover from my last marriage. I could have let most of the staff go because I actually live a simple life. But that wouldn’t have done them any good or been fair to them. The divorce wasn’t their fault, so I kept them on.”

  “Very nice of you,” said Blum.

  “They thought so, too. Now,” she said, turning to Pine, “you wanted to speak with me about Jack Lineberry?”

  “Yes.”

  “I understand he’s done very well for himself. Investments, right?”

  “Yes. But I think you have him beat on the financial end.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. His jet is bigger than mine, although I have two of them.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “We have some mutual friends. They keep me informed. But he earned his money.”

  Blum said, “Well, I think you earned yours, too.”

  “If you keep that up, you might be my new best friend,” she said. When she turned to Pine her expression grew far more serious. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

  “Jack is in a hospital in Georgia.”

  She tensed. “Is he all right?”

  “He’s going to recover, but he was shot.”

  Her features collapsed. “Oh my God. Jack shot. Who? Why?”

  “The who is known. The why is also known. The person was actually aiming for me, but Jack was in the wrong place.”

  “Why was someone trying to kill you?”

  “I’m an FBI agent, it sort of goes with the territory.”

  “And how do you know Jack again? Is he involved in some FBI thing?”

  “No. I met him down in Georgia recently. I actually knew him as a child but didn’t remember him.”

  Holden-Bryant’s features grew strained. “You knew him as a child?”

  “It was only later that I found out he was actually my father.”

  Holden-Bryant, to her credit, remained absolutely quiet. For about five of the longest seconds of Pine’s life.

  “He’s your father?” she said in a hushed tone.

  “Me and my sister, Mercy. Yes. My mother was Julia Pine. But back then she went by Amanda. Perhaps you knew her?”

  Holden-Bryant took a moment to fluff her pillow and draw her covers up above her chest, as though she were burrowing in for a long winter’s nap.

  “No, no, I can’t say that I did.”

  Pine held the woman’s gaze for one long second. “I know that you and Jack were engaged back then.”

  The woman suddenly flung the covers off her, pivoted her feet to the floor, and got out of bed. Under the robe she was wearing pajamas in a striped pattern. She marched over to a wooden cabinet against the wall and opened its door, revealing a full bar.

  “You want something?” she asked.

  “Little early in the day for me,” said Pine. “And if you’re on meds, should you be drinking?”

  “Oh, I just feel like living dangerously right now,” shot back Holden-Bryant.

  “I’ll have a glass of sherry, if you have that,” said Blum.

  “I have everything, sweetheart. And I can use a belt right now.”

  She brought over a glass of sherry for Blum, then sat down on the bed with a glass of bourbon. She crossed her legs and took a healthy sip. She primly wiped her mouth, sighed, and said, “I was engaged to Jack. For well over a year. We dated for years before that.”

  “Then it must have come as a shock to you that he was fathering another woman’s children,” said Pine.

  “God, I wish I still smoked,” barked Holden-Bryant. She eyed Pine shrewdly. “Why are you really here?”

  “I’m going to tell you something. Something startling. It will probably shock you, at least I hope that it does. And then let’s talk about it.”

  Holden-Bryant stared at her for a moment, then swallowed the rest of her bourbon and rose to pour out another one. After she resettled on the bed Pine told her some of what had happened to her family, though she didn’t go into great detail and she didn’t mention the Vincenzos’ involvement, not by name. She was saving that revelation. Even so, as she spoke Holden-Bryant seemed to grow smaller and smaller on the enormous bed.

  When Pine finished, she folded her arms over her chest and watched the older woman.

  Holden-Bryant finished her second shot of bourbon and put the empty glass down on her nightstand.

  She sat back against her expensive and plumped pillows. “This was all a long time ago.”

  “Old sins cast long shadows,” remarked Blum.

  “Is that what you think, I’m a sinner?”

  Pine said, “I don’t know or care. I just want to know what you might have done back then when you found out about Jack and my mother.”

  “You have no proof that I found out or did anything.”

  “Then let me ask you directly: Did you know that Jack had slept with my mother and that she had become pregnant?”

  “And I could answer that by saying you have no way to make me respond to that question.”

  “You’re right about that. And the only thing I have to fire back is I would like to know what happened to my sister. Wouldn’t you, if our positions were reversed?”

  “I was a criminal defense lawyer. I lived in hypotheticals, but that doesn’t mean I have to answer one.”

  “Is it really a hypothetical?”

  “I don’t know,” said Holden-Bryant coolly.

  “Did you know about Jack and my mother?”

  Holden-Bryant glanced at Blum. “You look like a mother.”

  “Six times over.”

  “I never had kids. Wanted them. But I was too busy professionally. When I got married, the men I married had been married before. They had kids and even grandkids. They didn’t want a do-over. So, I lost out there.”

  “But my mother had two daughters,” said Pine. “At a very young age.”

  “Jack always wanted children. If we had married, I’m sure we would have had kids together.”

  “But you didn’t. You broke up. Why?”

  She gave Pine a whimsical smile. “Why does anyone break up? There was an issue. A problem. A falling-out.”

  “And specifically for you?” said Pine. “What was it?”

  Holden-Bryant got up and started to pour herself another drink. “Sure you don’t want one?”

  “All right. I’ll have what you’re having.”

  “Now you’re talking.”

  “But the thing is, I want you to start talking.”

  She finished making the drinks and slowly walked back to them.

  Now maybe we’ll get somewhere, thought Pine.

  CHAPTER
/>   38

  JACK AND I JUST MOVED in different directions.”

  Holden-Bryant had settled back on the bed after handing Pine her drink.

  “Did anything prompt that?” Pine asked.

  “Look, let’s cut to the chase. We all know what men are like.”

  “And for at least one person here who may not know what you mean by that?”

  “It’s hard enough to get men to commit. It’s virtually impossible under one circumstance.”

  “Which is?” asked Pine.

  Blum answered, “When the man no longer loves you because he loves someone else.”

  “Bingo,” said Holden-Bryant, though her expression did not match the triumphant word.

  “Jack loved my mother over you. And you were aware of that?”

  “I had my suspicions.”

  “Based on?”

  The woman pointed her sharp chin at Pine and gave her a triumphant look. “I was a lawyer. I know how to find out things.”

  “You had Jack followed?”

  “I took steps to find out why the man I was going to marry suddenly didn’t want to marry me.”

  “Did that include telling mobsters where to find me and my family so attempts could be made on our lives while we were in witness protection?”

  Holden-Bryant slowly lowered her glass. “What?”

  “And when that failed, did you tell Bruno Vincenzo where my family was so that he could shame his brother, Ito, into coming down to Georgia to hurt my family?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” sputtered Holden-Bryant. “I have no idea what you’re blabbering on about. Who is this Bruno person?”

  “Do you think I look like my mother?” Pine asked suddenly.

  “What?”

  “Do I look like my mother?”

  Holden-Bryant hesitated for a moment and then said, “You have her height, for sure.”

  She realized too late what she had just done. She sat back and said in a chagrined tone, “Well, that was neatly done, Agent Pine, I’ll give you that.”

  “You saw my mother, then. Did you ever talk to her?”

  “I don’t remember.”