Chapter 60
IS THAT TOO MUCH AIR?” asked Lineberry.
They were sailing along on their way to Atlanta in the top-down Aston Martin.
“No, it actually feels good. This is the Georgia I remember. Warm and humid.”
He grinned.
He was dressed in a dark brown blazer, tan slacks, and a patterned shirt. A pocket square completed the look.
“So, life’s good for you?” said Pine.
“No complaints.” He glanced at her. “What about you? You have some issues I’ve never had to face.”
She moved a few strands of hair out of her face and studied the straight road ahead. “Issues have solutions. I just have to find them.”
“That’s the proper attitude,” he said admiringly. “Are you further along in your investigation of all these awful murders?”
“Further along than we were. But a long way to go. The last victim was a little boy.”
“I heard about that,” he said grimly. “What I can’t understand is why all this now. And why here? This would be the last place in the world you’d think something like this would happen.”
“Murder can happen anywhere because killers can come from anywhere. And go anywhere.”
“I suppose,” he said doubtfully.
“Where are we eating in Atlanta?”
“A little place I discovered about a year ago. The menu isn’t immense, but there’s not a weak dish in the lineup. And the wine list is a veritable treasure trove.”
“I’m afraid I’m more into beer.”
“You know your mother told me that very same thing when I had them over for dinner once.”
“Did she?” said Pine without enthusiasm as she continued to stare down the road.
“But she opened up to wine. First white and then red. She was an apt student. Her taste became quite refined. I look forward to doing the same with you.”
Pine’s pulse quickened a bit at this as Blum’s earlier words and warning came back to her. “How did you get into wine? Not from your work at the bauxite mine?”
“Um, no,” he replied like a man who had said too much. “Just from traveling around here and there.”
Right, thought Pine. She then recalled that Laredo had never been able to find out where Jack Lineberry had come from before he had turned up in Andersonville.
“I guess that’s the good thing about traveling, you learn things,” said Pine cryptically. “I try to do the same.”
He gave her an inquisitive glance at this remark but said nothing.
* * *
The restaurant was intimate, but every table was occupied by what looked to be well-heeled clientele. The owner evidently knew Lineberry because he greeted him enthusiastically by name and guided him back to a private table set in a book-lined alcove at the back of the room with drawn curtains.
“The reserve wine list,” said the man, handing him a black iPad.
“Thanks, Ben.”
After the man walked off, a waitress, young and pretty and clearly intimidated by Lineberry, hurried over to fill their glasses with bottled still water.
“Hello, Mr. Lineberry. Good to see you again.”
“Good to see you too, Wendy. Thank you. This is my friend, Ms. Pine.”
“Ms. Pine,” said Wendy, looking in awe of Pine as well.
She hurried off, and Lineberry slowly went through the screens on the iPad with the aid of a pair of reading specs pulled from his jacket pocket. “Do you have a preference? Italian, French, Spanish, Argentinian, perhaps Napa or Sonoma?”
“So long as it’s wet, I’m good to go.”
Lineberry chuckled and made his selection, inputting it on the electronic device.
He put away his glasses and sat back as Wendy came over and handed them their menus.
“Your wine will be up shortly. Would you like it decanted?”
“For this one, yes. It needs to breathe a bit.”
“Yes sir.”
She brought two stemmed wineglasses and some warm fresh bread and dipping oils, and then rushed off again.
“She seems a little nervous around you,” noted Pine.
He shrugged. “I don’t know why. It’s not like I’m some high-maintenance ass who thinks way too much of himself.”
“I wouldn’t have accepted your invitation if you were.”
“I treat people like I want to be treated. With respect.”
“I’m sure my parents appreciated that.”
He took a bit of bread and dipped it into the oil. “I would like to think they did,” he said thoughtfully.
“This is a beautiful little private space. Do you usually eat in this alcove?”
“I like the privacy,” he said simply.
“Do the curtains close?” Pine said, and then wondered why she had asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve never had occasion to find out.”
“What was it like finding my dad’s body?”
This so caught the man off guard that he choked a bit on his bread. He swallowed some water and cleared his throat.
Pine said, “Okay, sorry, that was the worst segue ever.”
“No…it’s fine. It’s perfectly understandable for you to be curious.”
He sat back and wiped his fingers with his napkin. “It was horrible, Lee, if you want to know the truth. I’d never seen a dead body before. Not like that. And I hope to God I never do again.”
“I’m sure.”
“I guess in your line of work you see many…deceased people.”
“I do, yes, unfortunately.”
“Does it ever get any easier?”
Pine thought back to the body of Frankie Gomez. “Not necessarily, no.”
“Well, that might actually be a good thing. I mean, if you get desensitized to something like that, well, I don’t think that’s a good development personally.”
“I would agree with that.”
He looked at her keenly. “I didn’t mention this before, but you look quite lovely. I mean, very beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
He looked away, obviously uncomfortable with his comments. “I…hesitate sometimes to say that anymore to a woman. I mean, there are so many men who push the bounds.…Well, I’m sure you see that a lot in your work. Isn’t the FBI still very much a male world?”
“Yes. But things are slowly changing for the better. And we should never get to the point where a person can’t respectfully compliment another person.”
“Agreed,” he said, his smile returning.
“Which is why I’ll tell you that you look very distinguished.”
He smiled resignedly. “That’s a good word, distinguished. It must be my white hair.”
“Men get distinguished. Women just get older.”
“Another unfairness in life.”
When the wine came and was poured out, they clinked glasses. Pine took a tentative sip.
“Wow, that has a pop.” She looked embarrassed. “I’m not sure that’s a correct wine term.”
“It is correct if that’s how you perceive it. And just so you know, I’ve used that description before myself.”
“What wine is it?”
“An Amarone, from Verona in Italy. The process for this grape entails special harvesting and drying methods. That brings the tannins and flavor intensity to the finished wine.” He smiled self-consciously. “And that concludes my little lecture on wine.”
“No, it’s fascinating. I wish I knew more about it.”
“Just wait a bit as this wine oxygenates and opens more. You’ll get an even bigger pop!”
They ordered, and their courses were delivered in an unhurried manner. The owner came to check on them twice, and no bill was presented at the end.
Pine said, “So do you get free meals here or what?”
“I have an account. It just streamlines things.”
“Okay.”
“If you’re ever in Atlanta and need somewhere to crash, I have a littl
e place here, in Buckhead. Please feel free to stay there.”
“That’s very generous of you,” Pine said, averting her gaze from his.
“I’m not just saying that. I would be honored.”
Pine didn’t say anything for a few seconds as she composed the question she had wanted to ask all evening.
“When was the last time you saw my mother?”
He took a drink of his wine and wiped his lips with his napkin. He positioned the salt and pepper shakers just so in front of him before answering.
“The day before the three of you left town.”
“They didn’t tell you where they were going?”
“No,” he said tersely. “I have to admit I was…hurt.”
“But you finally reconnected with my dad?”
“Yes.”
“But not my mother. I wonder why? He knew where we were.”
“Well, he decided to keep that to himself, I guess.”
“But you were friends.”
“This was after your parents had divorced. Maybe Tim didn’t want me to see her again. I don’t know why.”
“You seemed like you were very close to her.”
“I was very close to both of them,” he said firmly. “Like I said, I had offered your father a job in my firm.”
“And then he killed himself.”
“Yes, yes he did. Awful. Terrible. I…I could barely believe it.”
“And then my mother came to town to arrange things. And you didn’t see her then?”
“She never contacted me.”
“And you didn’t stay around to see her when she came in?”
He shrugged and wouldn’t meet her eye. “I was still in the middle of building my business. Traveling the globe getting clients and expanding my staff and resources. It was a whirlwind for nearly two decades. I was never in one place more than a week or so back then. Thankfully, my pace has slowed.” He grinned to himself more than to her. “After all, I’m not as young as I used to be.”
“None of us are. Those of us who are still living anyway.”
“Yes, right, of course. I should be grateful for all I have.” His heart did not seem to be in the statement.
When the Aston Martin pulled up to the valet stand, Lineberry said, “Care for a nightcap?”
“Where?”
“My home is near here.”
Pine hesitated. “Shouldn’t we be starting back?”
“Well, if we get tired, we can always stay over. I have a guest room.”
She stared rigidly at him. “I didn’t bring anything for an overnight stay.”
“I have things you can use.”
Pine looked away, clearly uncomfortable with all this.
He said, “You could ask me some more questions, if you’d like. And I’ll do my best to answer them.”
Pine turned back to him. “Then let’s go.”
Chapter 61
LINEBERRY’S “LITTLE PLACE” in Buckhead turned out to be a two-story penthouse suite in a nearly brand-new skyscraper. It had its own private, secure elevator that opened into the vestibule of the apartment.
“Okay, this is another wow,” said Pine as he escorted her into the living room that had sweeping views of Georgia’s capital city. She walked over to the wall of windows and looked out.
“But no drapes or anything? That can’t be too private.”
“It’s specially treated glass. I can see out, but no one can see in.”
“Oh, well, that makes sense. But I doubt it was less expensive than drapes.”
“You would be correct,” he said with a smile. He had taken his jacket and draped it over one of the armchairs. “What would you like to drink? I have a full bar.”
“Actually, do you have any more of that Amarone?”
“I do indeed. I could tell you liked it back at the restaurant. Come on, I can show you the wine cellar.”
He led her down a long, wood-paneled hall and then turned right. Confronting them was a wall of stone with two immense wooden, glassed arched doors built into the middle of it.
He hit a switch on the wall and the lights behind the doors came on. He opened one of the doors and motioned her in. He followed and closed the door behind them.
Pine shivered a bit.
“About fifty-eight degrees and a constant level of humidity,” he explained. “I have some rare bottles in here, and it wouldn’t do to let them go bad by having the wrong climate.”
Pine could see that both the bricks overhead and the ones making up the floor looked reclaimed, the wood beams dark and aged. The built-in cabinetry had evidently been done by master craftsmen, with every cut, joint, and curve perfect.
“This is gorgeous. I feel like I’m back in medieval times.”
“That’s remarkably close to the effect I told the company who did this to go for.”
He slid open a rack of wine and looked over the bottles laid there.
“I think this one will do.” He pulled it out and held it up. “It’s not the same vineyard as the one we had at the restaurant, but I believe this bottle will have even more pop!”
“I trust you.”
“Do you?” he asked.
“Is there a reason why I shouldn’t?”
“No, but from the moment I met you when you came back to Andersonville, I detected a level of uncertainty.”
“Don’t take it personally. I’m that way with everyone.”
They drank the wine on one of the outdoor terraces that covered three sides of the apartment. They sat in a pair of upholstered wicker chairs around a glass table. The breeze was warm and lightly lifted Pine’s loose tresses. Large potted plants abounded around the terrace, and there was even a small putting green. Overhead they watched a line of planes heading to or from Atlanta Hartsfield, the aircraft lights winking in the distance like a string of airborne Christmas lights.
“This is really quite something, Jack. You’ve done well.” She held up her glass. “Here’s to being really rich and successful, and also a nice guy.” Her face crinkled with a smile. “I’m sure you know that’s not always the case.”
“I do indeed. But all of this means nothing if you have no one to share it with.”
“So you never found the right person?”
Lineberry refilled his glass and topped off hers. “No, I did.”
Pine slowly put her wine down. “Who are we talking about?”
“I think you already know that, Lee.”
She settled back in her chair. “How long were you in love with my mother?”
“Just take today’s date and subtract it from the first moment I met her.”
“But she was married, with two kids,” said Pine.
“You’re assuming that I first met her in Andersonville.”
“That’s what you told me.”
“No, I never said we met there,” he responded, shaking his head.
“So where did you meet my parents?”
“I met your mother first. I met Tim later, when he came on the scene.”
“Wait a minute. Are you saying you knew my mother before she met my father?”
“Yes.”
“Where? How?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Bullshit,” she snapped angrily. “You can’t start to go down that road and then stop.”
“If it were my call, I would continue to go down that road, but it’s not.”
“Whose call is it?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Then why the hell did you even start this conversation?”
“Because you asked how long I had been in love with your mother. And I thought now was a good time to answer that question. In fact, that’s why I suggested we come here after dinner.”
“But why?”
“Because I might not get another chance to explain.”
“I don’t understand any of this. Wait a minute—if you knew my mother before she came to Andersonville, that means you followed her do
wn here.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“It was my responsibility.”
“What was? How does responsibility figure into this?”
“What did your mother tell you about her past?”
“It doesn’t matter, since it’s all a lie.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I’m an investigator. I find out things.”
Pine opened her purse and took out something. It was one of the bar coasters that her father had given her. She laid it on the table so he could see it.
Lineberry showed no visible reaction to it. He merely sipped his wine and looked out over the city.
“So are you clamming up now?” she said. “You said you brought me here to explain things.”
“No, I’m not clamming up, just thinking before I speak. I like to do that. It prevents me from making a fool of myself.”
Pine’s expression softened and so did her tone. “Why would you be at risk of doing that?”
“Every person is at risk of doing precisely that at some point in their lives. I’m no exception to that.”
Pine set her wine down. “Are you being cryptic on purpose or what?”
“Your mother could have told you everything,” he said suddenly, the tone of his words tighter and harder than before. “The fact that she chose not to do so precludes me from betraying any confidences. I respect her far too much to do that. I hope you can understand that, Lee. And if you can’t…well, then, you’re not the person I thought you were.”
Pine looked taken aback by this for a few moments. She picked up her wineglass.
“Okay, I guess I can understand that.” She glanced at the coaster. “I had a buddy of mine dig into the Cloak and Dagger Bar.”
“Did you? And?”
“And it wasn’t really a bar. It was a counterintelligence operation.”
“No, not exactly.”
She sat back and looked at him in amazement. “Then you were involved? So what was it?”
“Lee…”
“Please, Jack, I really need to understand this. It’s my family. I have a right to know the truth. It’s been thirty years. It’s time, don’t you see that?”
He considered this and finally nodded. “As you said, you’re a trained investigator. So, let’s harken back to New York City in the early to mid-1980s. What could come to mind in the way of a sting operation?”
A Minute to Midnight Page 31