by Andrea Kane
“What time was that?”
Arthur’s forehead creased in thought. “Jack and Lara had just left for Brooklyn. So it had to have been around six-thirty. I was drinking champagne with my wife at seven-fifteen.”
“You remember the exact time you drank your champagne?”
“Actually, yes. Elyse had been having trouble with the clasp of her watch ever since she got dressed for the evening. I fixed the clasp for her while the server was pouring. So I noticed the time when I put the watch back on her wrist.”
“I see.” Monty was jotting everything down. “Any idea where I can find this Margo Adderly?”
“Not a clue.” Arthur gave an arbitrary shrug. “It was seventeen years ago, and very inconsequential.”
“To you, maybe. Obviously not to her.”
“She was emotionally distraught, Montgomery. Not homicidal. Plus, if she wanted to kill anyone, it was me. But if you have doubts, feel free to track her down. Start with the D.C. area, since that’s where she’s from.”
“I will.” Monty stopped writing.
“So, is that it?” Arthur was getting ready to stand up.
“One more thing. Why did you tell me that the last time you spoke to George Hayek was when he worked for your father?”
Arthur paused, something definitely flickering in his eyes. “I had no idea George was still on your list. Have you determined that he’s connected to your investigation?”
“That’s a question, not an answer.”
“The answer is, I gave you the most candid response I could. Any further information is privileged.”
“Ah.” Monty rolled his pen between his fingers. “Meaning your friend the D.A. doesn’t want it getting out that Hayek was, or still is, a CI for his office.”
Inhaling sharply, Arthur settled back in his chair and seized his half-empty coffee container. “I should have gotten the twenty-ounce size. I didn’t realize I’d be here all morning.” He took another gulp, then met Monty’s gaze. “How did you find out?”
“Can’t say. Any further information is privileged.”
“Very amusing. What do you want to know—and why?”
“Three things.” Monty counted off on his fingers. “One—did Hayek call you on July twenty-ninth, 1976, at your office at Kellerman Development and tell you he’d been arrested for running guns for Carl Angelo? Two—did you, in turn, contact Jack Winter and make a deal with him that resulted in Hayek’s charges being dropped and his file sealed in exchange for his becoming a CI? And three—as a CI for the D.A.’s office, did Hayek eventually testify against Carl Angelo and help Jack put him away just a few months before Jack and Lara were shot to death?”
Arthur’s lips had drawn into a grim line. “Yes, yes, and yes.”
“Then you shouldn’t have to ask why I’m still interested in Hayek.”
“I see why you think Angelo might have ordered the hit on Jack. But how would that involve George?”
“Angelo was in prison. Hayek was free as a bird. Maybe he was offered enough cash to arrange the hit on Jack. Or maybe Angelo wanted to find out who’d been ratting him out and Hayek was scared shitless he’d be made and eliminated. So he killed the only person who knew he was the CI who’d gotten Angelo convicted. I don’t know. But I plan to find out.” Monty paused. “It’s interesting though. Your pal the D.A. is pushing like hell to find out who killed his rising star Jack Winter. Yet he’s obviously not in someone’s face about this Hayek angle. I wonder why.”
“No idea.” Arthur polished off his coffee. He looked like he wished it were bourbon. “And now I’ve said all I can say on this subject. Anything more, you’ll have to go to the D.A. directly.”
“If that’s what it takes, I will.”
TWENTY-NINE
Monty met Lane at the Second Street Café, a short cab ride away from the Maimonides Medical Center in Brooklyn, for a quick burger and update.
Lane frowned when he saw his father’s face. Monty had given him a brief rundown on the Taconic incident. But his story and the visual didn’t match up. “You told me the only damage was to the car. It doesn’t look that way to me.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you saw my Corolla. It needs bodywork, a paint job and a new windshield—not to mention a Super Sucker to pick up all the pieces of glass. Me? My jaw stings and I’ve got a few pulled muscles. None of it hurts as much as my pride. Your mother needed the truck today. She’s getting supplies for the horses. So guess who had to take her little royal-blue bumper car to work?”
“You’re driving Mom’s Miata?” Lane’s lips twitched.
“Wipe that smirk off your face.”
“I’ll try. But it won’t be easy. The image of you—” Lane broke off at the murderous gleam in Monty’s eyes. “Okay, okay, I won’t goad you anymore.” He sobered. “No clue on who was driving that BMW?”
“Nope. But whoever it was was a hired hand. As for the car, it probably belongs to the scumbag he’s working for—the real perp we want.” Monty gave Lane a questioning look. “In the meantime, how’s Jonah doing?”
“He’s got a partially ruptured spleen. Plus, he’s got a rare blood type, so they’re scrambling to find a donor—just in case. He’s adopted, which means that neither of his parents fit the bill and there are no known siblings to turn to. So he’s scared. And his parents are a mess. That’s why I’m more time pressed than I planned.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Monty waved that away. “If you want to hang out a little longer at the hospital and put the Vaughns at ease, do it. I’ve got enough to keep me busy for a few hours.” His forehead creased. “Where’s Morgan during all this?”
“At my place, sleeping. It’s probably the first good rest she’s had in weeks. I checked in with her on my way over here. She sounds half out of it, and more than happy to relax till I get back. O’Hara’s stationed outside my building, and I made sure to set the alarm and double-lock the door when I left. So everything’s cool at that end.” A scowl. “Everything except my plan to spend the morning with her.”
“Spend the night instead. Jonah’s condition will stabilize, so his parents will be calmer. I’ll be out of your hair—assuming you spend the rest of the afternoon and evening enhancing those crime-scene images. And Morgan will be a hell of a lot more relaxed at your place than at the Shores’. The tension there isn’t going to be easing up anytime soon.”
“Let’s hear the details,” Lane said the instant the waitress had taken their orders and disappeared. “What happened during your meeting with Arthur? And why the urgent computer search at my place yesterday? I assume it had something to do with your meeting with Charlie Denton.”
“Yeah.” Succinctly, Monty repeated the outcome of his meeting with Denton, then went on to relay the gist of his conversation with Arthur. He provided Lane with the facts, omitting the personal details behind Denton’s falling-out with Arthur. He had confidence in Lane’s deductive skills. As a result, he simply let him draw his own conclusions.
“So you were right about Hayek being a CI for Jack Winter,” Lane commented thoughtfully as soon as Monty was through.
“Yeah, and about Arthur orchestrating the deal between Hayek and the D.A.’s office.”
Lane eyed his father, processing everything he’d just been told, and all the implications that went along with it. “That doesn’t tie Hayek to the murders.”
“I didn’t expect it would. But it does tie Hayek to Arthur Shore. And not just as teenagers who Lenny took to the movies so Hayek could have brotherly companionship and a father figure. Arthur and Hayek had some kind of association seven years after Hayek left Lenny’s. Who knows how long that association lasted and how deep it ran?”
Brows drawn together, Lane mentally contemplated his father’s reasoning. “I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”
“Me, either. But either Arthur’s sitting on something, or the D.A.’s sitting on something.” A quick, pointed glance at his son. “Brace yourself. I might
be twisting your arm on the Hayek issue again. But for now I’ll let it be. The rest of my conversation with Shore gave me more food for thought.”
“He came up with an explanation and an alibi.”
“Too good an explanation and too convenient an alibi.”
“You think they were staged?”
“Or at least rehearsed. It’s obvious Elyse Shore prepped her husband for what was coming. She loves the guy; you gotta give her that. She protects him even at the cost of her own self-respect. I have some feelers out on this Margo Adderly. How much do you want to bet she’s either untraceable or unreliable?”
“You think Arthur paid her off?”
“Nah, more likely he did a walk down memory lane, recalling his sexual conquests of that year, then settled on someone who’s a druggie or an alcoholic and can’t remember what she had for breakfast, much less what time she threw a drink in Arthur’s face seventeen years ago. All I know is that he was too prepared and too composed when I hit him with that line of questioning. He didn’t lose his cool until I mentioned George Hayek’s name. Before that? He had it all down pat, right to the time on Elyse’s watch.”
“Monty, it’s beginning to sound more and more like you think Arthur Shore was involved in these homicides.”
“I think he’s involved in something. I just don’t know what. If Denton’s right, then that whole ‘my closest friend’ reference Arthur uses when he describes Jack Winter is a crock. More likely, they were the equivalent of in-laws in a marriage. Their wives were best friends, so they got along out of necessity. And, of course, they cut that Hayek deal together. So I’m sure they were on civil terms. But it sounds like Jack Winter was an ethical guy who thought Lara’s best friend was getting the royal shaft from her husband. That can’t have bred good feelings between them.”
“Even if that’s true, it’s hard to believe that even a fierce disagreement over moral choices could lead to murder. Plus, there’s another flaw in that theory—Elyse. She knew about her husband’s affairs, probably from the beginning. She accepted him anyway. And her father was one hundred percent behind his son-in-law. So it’s not like Arthur would have lost either his wife or his financial backing if Jack took the facts to Elyse.”
“Assuming that’s all Jack took to her. Maybe this isn’t about infidelity. Maybe it’s about something a lot more substantial. Even illegal. Now, that would be both a marriage and a career breaker.”
“You’re back to Arthur’s ties to Hayek.” Lane blew out a breath. “I’m up against a wall on this one, Monty. If my source is lying to me, he’s not about to admit it, or change his story.”
“True. Which means that if getting more detailed dirt on Hayek is what’s necessary, it won’t be coming from channels—yours or mine. Denton’s not any more willing to talk than your source is. When I called him back, gave him Hayek’s name as the CI he’d help me figure out, he was thrilled—at first. What A.D.A. wouldn’t be? Hell, to be able to link a rich, possibly shady international arms dealer who sells weapons to foreign governments with the Winters’ double homicide? Denton would be front-page news for a week.”
“Then you dropped the other shoe and told him that Arthur Shore had played an instrumental part in Hayek being recruited by the D.A.’s office.”
A corner of Monty’s mouth lifted. “Denton nearly choked on his coffee. Needless to say, he won’t be running with this lead. He likes his job too much. So Hayek will be our problem. You and I will tackle it as a last resort.”
“In other words, we’ll save the risky, balls-out approach for last.”
“Exactly.” Monty drummed his fingers on the table. “Let’s talk about the package Morgan got yesterday. It’s either a breakthrough lead or a pile of BS meant to throw me off track. Who is this woman who sent it, and how is it that her timing is so perfect?”
“You don’t think it could be Margo Adderly, do you?”
“The thought crossed my mind. But that would be too easy. And Arthur’s too smart to give me the name of someone who sought out Lara’s help.”
“Maybe he didn’t know about it.”
“Maybe. But I doubt it. Then again, I’d be thrilled to be wrong. I can’t wait to talk to Barbara Stevens tomorrow.”
“And I can’t wait to get back to those images.” Lane’s determination resurged, full force. “In fact, given the direction your investigation is headed, I’m going to see if Morgan has the negatives of all the shots taken at the Kellermans’ Christmas Eve party. Now that you got Arthur’s rendition of what went on, let’s see if I can enhance any photographic details that would help us prove or disprove his story.”
“Such as?”
“Such as I’ll know when I see it. I keep telling you, image enhancing isn’t an exact science.”
Monty scowled. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better? Because it doesn’t. Not with the escalating threats to Morgan.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to Morgan,” Lane stated emphatically. “I won’t let it. But the more in sync I am with the victims’ states of mind and relationships, the better the big picture I have, and the more likely I am to spot a discrepancy. It’s there, Monty. I can feel it in my bones. I just have to find it. And I will.”
“Fine. But we’d better hurry. Because my gut tells me time is running out.”
LANE PUT DOWN the magazine he’d been reading when Jonah woke up. “Hey. Have a nice nap?”
Jonah still looked pale and weak. “Hey,” he replied groggily. Awareness returned in slow increments. “How come you’re babysitting?”
“I’m not babysitting; I’m giving your poor parents a chance to get some coffee and stretch their legs. They’ve been glued to your bedside for hours.”
“Hours? What time is it?”
“Two-fifteen.”
“You’ve been here all this time?”
“Relax. I met my father for lunch. He says to get well soon, by the way. I stopped by here on my way home to check on you. Oh, and expect a visit from Lenny. When I called him and explained what happened, he told Rhoda and the two of them immediately started packing up a care package for you and your parents. I’m not sure the doctor will let you eat deli, but I didn’t have the heart to tell Lenny that. So whatever’s left over, the staff can enjoy.”
“Lenny’s great.” Jonah gave a weak smile. He turned to look at the various pieces of medical equipment around him. “How am I doing?”
“According to the last results, you were holding your own.”
“But I’m still bleeding internally.”
“That’s what lacerated spleens do. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not. I’m just thinking that I might need a transfusion. Isn’t it best to get those from family members?”
“Most of the time, yes. But there are exceptions.”
Jonah angled his head so he could see Lane. “You’re probably wondering why I’m asking these questions. It’s a good time for me to tell you, because it’ll also explain why I said there was some heavy stuff going on at home.”
“You’re adopted,” Lane said matter-of-factly. “I was there when your parents told the doctor. They said you were pushing them to contact your birth mother. Well, you’re getting your wish—even if you did go to dramatic lengths to make that happen.”
“Yeah, who knew that crashing into that tree would help my cause? Then again, nothing short of that was going to get my parents to agree to help me.”
Lane leaned forward. “Don’t be too hard on them. They’re only trying to protect you.”
“I know. And maybe I’ll be sorry I ever started this. Maybe my biological mother is a crack whore, and my father is a pimp. But I need to know who I am, where I came from. Can you understand that?”
“Sure. Just remember, no matter what happens, who your real parents are. They’re the two people who’ve been glued to this hospital since dawn, waiting to hear the news that you’re better, who’ve been there your whole life, and who are busting their asses to fin
d someone they didn’t want to find in the event her blood and yours are compatible. I’m no expert on parenting, but I don’t think it gets any more devoted than that.”
“You’re right.” Jonah shut his eyes and sighed. “I feel bad for upsetting them. They’re the best.”
Lane rose as Nina Vaughn hurried back in. “He’s awake?” she asked.
“Yup.” Lane pointed. “We were just talking about you, hoping you and Ed were getting a break, maybe something to eat.”
“No need to worry about that.” Nina glanced at her son, looking as close to smiling as Lane had seen her all day. “Lenny Shore is here. He’s got bags of food that are bursting at the seams. The ICU nurse said he can come in, but only for a few minutes and only if you’re up to it.”
Jonah’s lips curved. “I’m up to it.”
Two minutes later, Lenny hustled into the room, two bulging brown shopping bags in his hands. “How’s the patient?” he demanded, eyeing Jonah. “Pale. Hurting. Half out of it. I’ve seen the look a hundred times. Arthur was a jock in high school. The ER was our second home. ICU was our third.”
Lane chuckled. “What did I tell you? It’s a male thing.”
“Don’t be such a big shot,” Lenny chided. “Monty and I have compared war stories. Whose son caused the most gray hairs. There was no clear winner.”
“Congressman Shore is a natural athlete,” Jonah protested. “I can’t imagine him ever taking a fall—especially a dumb one like mine.”
“Trust me, he did. A lot of them. But he never let them stop him. He fought his way back from every injury. Shaken not stirred, we used to call him. Like one of James Bond’s martinis. You’ll be the same way.”
“You’re a Bond fan?” Jonah asked.