Did he dare hope it would be the former? Certainly things were beginning to look hopeful. After he’d left Trista’s last night, he’d spent hours going through Walker’s and Hawthorne’s canceled checks for the entire year. It had been early morning before he’d found the connection he’d been searching for.
Political contributions. Both Walker and Hawthorne had made sizable donations to Suni Choopra’s political campaign. What did it mean? Morgan wasn’t too sure of that yet, but at least it gave him a new angle to work on.
First, he had to see Trista. She’d phoned him early this morning from home, awakening him from his four hours of sleep. She’d sounded upset and told him she needed to talk to him as soon as possible. Although he’d pressed her to tell him then, she’d refused to discuss it on the phone, instead asking him to meet her at her office. She’d decided to reopen. She said she’d tell him why when he got there.
Morgan stamped the snow from his boots on the mat in the lobby, then made his way to the elevators. Brenda was at the front desk, dressed in a black suit and white silk blouse. She frowned when she saw him.
“Trista’s on the phone. Could you wait a minute?”
She was uncomfortable with his presence and that made him curious. Was it because she was worried he would tell Trista about her past? Or did her anxiety spring from her involvement with this case?
“Thanks for the list,” he said. “I suppose you’ve had a chance to look things over a little more thoroughly since we last spoke. Has anything turned up missing?”
“No.”
“Did Trista say why she was reopening the office?” He’d thought she intended to remain closed until the case was solved.
“No.”
Not exactly chatty, this Brenda. He saw her chest heave with a sigh of relief when Trista opened her office door.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Morgan.”
Trista looked more than just tired this morning. Dark circles underlined her eyes, and her expression seemed both sad and resigned. Morgan’s stomach tightened as he wondered just what new blow she was planning to deliver to him this time.
“When’s my first appointment, Brenda?” Even her voice sounded dispirited.
“I’ve been phoning people to let them know we’re open again. I’ve got someone coming at eleven, and then another appointment for one.”
“We’ve got lots of time then.” Trista went into her office, gesturing for him to follow.
Morgan glanced back at Brenda and was interested to see the naked curiosity in her expression. Frightened of him, and yet anxious to know whatever it was he and Trista were about to discuss. The plot thickened.
Trista closed the door firmly. “Sit down, Morgan.” She waved her hand toward the grouping of chairs, but ignored them herself as she strode to the window and pulled open the blinds.
“I think I’ll stand, thanks.” His back to the door, he watched her. Her movements were fast and nervous, increasing his own curiosity about what she had to tell him. He didn’t press her for a quick answer, though. Let her go about this her own way. She stood staring at the gray choppy waters of Lake Ontario for a moment before finally turning to him.
“I have something to tell you about the note that Sylvia showed us yesterday.”
Morgan took a sharp breath. She wanted to talk about the case. He’d figured that was it. But now he realized that in the back of his mind he’d been hoping she’d wanted to apologize for her abrupt turnaround last night. He still couldn’t believe how quickly she’d changed from a warm, responsive lover, to the cool, withdrawn woman he was beginning to know too well.
Trista went to stand behind one of the chairs, linking her hands together and resting them on the back. “I was over at Sylvia’s because she needed to talk. We’d had a cup of tea, and she told me she’d called you, but I didn’t know that you were on your way over.”
She put her hand to her chest, fingering the gold chain that he’d given her for Christmas once.
“When she pulled out that note, Morgan, the stationery seemed familiar to me.”
He’d known there was something about that note. He waited for her to continue.
Trista took a deep breath. “I wasn’t sure, though, and I wanted to check it out before I told you.”
“What do you mean, ‘check it out’?”
Her gaze flew back to the window. “I thought the stationery was similar to the kind used by Suni Choopra in a note I received from her once.”
Suni Choopra. Lightbulbs flashed as Morgan thought about the political contributions that he’d uncovered earlier this morning. Every successful case had a moment like this, when everything seemed to fall into place. He tried to temper his sudden hopefulness with caution. Sometimes, these burning illuminations turned out to be dead ends.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted to be sure the stationery was the same. You know she’s running for reelection this month. You can imagine what the press would make of her being interviewed by the police…”
Trista’s voice beseeched him to understand, but of course he couldn’t. Because this was the most damn unreasonable thing he’d ever heard. “It’s my job to check out details like that. Not yours.”
“I know. But it seemed like a simple thing to do.”
Oh, God. What had she done this time?
“I needed to know if the stationery was the same. So I went to the campaign office late last night and I typed this—” She pulled a folded piece of paper out of her purse and handed it to him.
Morgan unfolded the paper, trying to control his fury. “You went out, alone, in the middle of the night…” He forced himself to stop. To take a deep breath. Finally he calmed down enough to go on. “Didn’t it occur to you that if Suni had written the notes, you could be placing yourself in danger? You should have phoned me, at least. I would have come with you…” Morgan’s words trailed off as he looked at the paper.
To the naked eye it appeared identical to the one Sylvia had given them yesterday. He’d have to get the lab to check it out, of course, but he was positive that both notes had been typed on this typewriter. The stationery, for sure, was a dead match. By the miserable expression on Trista’s face, she thought so too.
“I wasn’t afraid because I was so sure Suni couldn’t have written those notes,” she admitted.
“You still should have let me be the one to figure that out.”
“You don’t understand. If the notes hadn’t matched, then Suni would never have had to be involved. Any connection with a homicide investigation will be the kiss of death for her reelection chances.”
“Tell that to Jerry Walker and Daniel Hawthorne. I guess they’ve felt the ‘kiss of death,’ all right.” He wondered if Trista had lost her mind. “Don’t you think the electorate has a right to know that their member of Parliament has had affairs with married men while in office? And that she might have killed them as well?”
Now that he thought about it, Morgan realized Trista had been working against him this entire case. There was always somebody she had to be looking out for, and it was never justice, and most certainly never him. Her clients, her secretary, now it was that bloody politician.
“I knew you would jump to conclusions. That’s why I didn’t tell you about the similarity in the first place.”
“Jump to conclusions?” He could feel his bad temper move across his forehead, into his temples where the blood pounded furiously. “You think I’m jumping to conclusions?”
Trista began to pace. “You know how you steamroller over people once you get an idea in your head. Is it any wonder I had to check things out before I told you about it?”
“Check things out,” Morgan repeated furiously. “Have you forgotten what happened the last time you decided to check things out?”
She ignored his outburst. “I know the notes match, but I still can’t believe Suni Choopra is capable of murder.”
“Is she capable of having an affair with a ma
rried man?”
Trista couldn’t answer that.
“It’s always a mistake to assume you know what someone is capable of. Given the right motive, more people than you might think will commit murder. You’ve already given me the perfect motive for Suni Choopra to have committed this crime.”
“I have?”
“To protect her career. Maybe one or both of these men were threatening to go public about the affair. As you’ve already pointed out, that kind of publicity could have blown her electoral chances.”
Trista sank into her chair. “You’ve already made up your mind that she’s guilty, haven’t you?”
She sounded so depressed, Morgan had the strangest urge to move behind her. To gently massage her tired neck and shoulders, and try to give her comfort. Why was it that even when she made him madder than a hornet, he still hated to see her distressed? He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and tried to answer her question diplomatically.
“Let’s just say Suni Choopra has become my number one suspect.”
“What happened to innocent until proven guilty!”
“I swear, sometimes you remember more about law school than I do!” He couldn’t keep the bitter sarcasm from his voice.
“This is no joking matter, Morgan. Suni is my friend. You have no idea how much she’s done for me.”
“Are you saying I should ignore evidence in a homicide investigation because this woman happens to be a friend of yours?”
“Of course not! I just don’t want you to jump the gun. Keep your mind open to other possibilities.”
“A lot of people have been telling me that recently,” Morgan muttered under his breath.
“What did you say?”
“Oh, nothing. Look, I’d better be going. I’ve got a ton of work to do this morning.”
“I suppose you’ll be wanting to talk to Suni today.”
“As soon as possible.”
“Well, could I at least come with you? I feel like I owe her that much.”
Morgan took a few steps closer toward her. As he did, he noticed a faint amber light glowing on the intercom button of Trista’s phone. “That’s fine with me, but let me warn you, it’s not going to be a pleasant scene.” He took another couple of steps forward, then motioned Trista to be quiet, pointing to the light and raising his eyebrows questioningly.
Trista compressed her lips and pointed to the door, in the direction of Brenda’s desk.
Morgan cursed softly under his breath. He should have thought to check the two-way intercom system, but it was too late now. He wondered what Trista’s secretary would make of the new information she’d just overheard.
TRISTA HAD FINISHED her last appointment for the day when Morgan phoned with confirmation from the lab. The typescript on the note she’d given him had matched that of the two notes found by Walker’s and Hawthorne’s wives. Trista took the news calmly. It was, after all, exactly what she had already known must be true.
When she and Morgan walked into the Runnymede Street office at shortly past five o’clock, Suni didn’t seem surprised to see them, although she barely glanced at Trista. A few other people were also at the office—a receptionist and two men who seemed anxious to conclude their conversation with Suni.
But she put them off. “I’ll call you later this evening,” she said, walking them to the door. Then she told the receptionist she could go for the day.
Trista watched her friend with great sadness, conscious that however this turned out, their relationship would never be the same. What she’d done had been out of a desire to protect Suni, but it was doubtful that the politician would see it that way.
Once they were alone, Suni spoke to Trista. “I knew last night that you suspected I’d been having an affair with Jerry, and that I’d previously had an affair with Daniel. But I couldn’t figure out how you knew. I still can’t.”
“It was the notes,” Trista told her. Although her heart ached for her friend, she was relieved at Suni’s honesty. “Both Jerry’s and Daniel’s wives found the notes setting up their husbands’ rendezvous. Those notes were written on the same stationery that you use for your personal correspondence. When you saw me last night, I’d just taken a sample from your manual typewriter. Morgan took it to the lab this morning and they’ve made a positive match.”
“I don’t understand.” Suni stared at her blankly. “What notes are you talking about?”
Trista looked at Morgan uncertainly. Was Suni just pretending to be dumb? If she was willing to admit to the affairs, why lie about the notes?
Morgan took over. “The note you sent to Jerry Walker setting up a meeting for Monday, May seventeenth. And the note you wrote to Daniel Hawthorne arranging another meeting for the following Wednesday.”
Suni’s confused expression didn’t change. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I never set up my—meetings—in writing. I always phone and I never give out my home number or allow anyone to call me at work.
“Yes, I was having an affair with Jerry. We’d started seeing each other a few weeks ago, but it was always on Wednesday, not Monday. As for Daniel, we’d stopped seeing each other at least six months ago.”
Morgan pulled a pad out of his jacket pocket and jotted something down. “You say you never sent notes?”
“Do I look stupid to you, Detective? I took a lot of pains to keep my affairs private. The last thing I wanted was any physical evidence that someone could blackmail me with later. Why do you suppose I had affairs with married men?” She shot a glance at Trista. “That was the only way I could be certain that I wouldn’t wake up one morning to find my face plastered all over the front page of the paper because some man decided to reveal the details of his affair with me. Married men have their own reasons to keep quiet.”
Trista couldn’t believe Suni had such a cynical view of her sexual relationships. “What about all those wonderful men you have escorting you to all the political functions?”
Suni laughed bitterly. “Those wonderful men enjoy the attention of being seen with me in public, but when it comes to private, long-term relationships, they aren’t interested. I’m too intimidating. Don’t shake your head. It’s true. There was a man once…”
She shook her head bitterly. “No sense going into that. But I learned quickly, I always have. Men just aren’t interested in women who are more successful than they are. Unless it’s on the side, of course. Then, it’s something completely different.”
Trista was saddened by Suni’s cynicism. Whatever had happened in her friend’s past, it had obviously been very disillusioning.
“I’m having trouble with this, Suni,” she said. “Both Jerry Walker and Daniel Hawthorne have wives. Didn’t it bother you that you might be ruining their marriages by having affairs with them?”
“Believe it or not, Trista, I didn’t set out to seduce these men. Daniel and I had a long conversation once during a fundraiser. It was perfectly innocent. After that, he asked me to coffee. One thing led to another, but I didn’t wreck his marriage. He was already deeply unhappy at that time. I found him very romantic and gentle and finally I agreed to become involved with him.”
“Why did you stop seeing him?” Morgan asked.
“Why? We fell in love, that’s why. He wanted to marry me, but how could I let him leave his wife for me? It would have been political suicide.” Suni closed her eyes briefly. “I hated to break it off, but I had no choice. I would have been labeled a home wrecker.”
Trista felt sorry for both of them. Daniel, trapped in his unhappy marriage, and Suni, trapped by her own cynicism.
Morgan’s voice, however, was cold as he continued the questions. “What about Jerry Walker? How did you meet him?”
“It was about a month ago, when I was speaking at a business luncheon. I was still so lonely after Daniel, and Jerry was obviously interested. He asked me for lunch, and so it began…” Suni put a hand to her forehead. “It was different with Jerry. Neither of us wanted anything complicated.�
��
Trista couldn’t believe Suni thought you could make love with a man and not have it become complicated. Her experience with Morgan just last night disproved that idea.
“Don’t look at me that way, Trista!” Suni burst out. “Of course I felt guilty. But you don’t understand the pressures of a public life.”
“I guess I don’t,” Trista said sadly.
“So where does this leave me?” Suni asked frankly of Morgan. “I was hoping that if I was cooperative, you might be willing to keep this information confidential. I know my affairs were moral transgressions, but I’ve done nothing against the law. Surely there’s no need to drag the press into this?”
Morgan was taken aback. “Still concerned about your political future, Ms. Choopra?”
“Well, of course I am! I’ve been sick ever since I heard of Jerry’s murder, hoping against hope that no link to me would be found. And then when Daniel was killed, I thought I’d go crazy. Personally, of course, I was very sad. Politically, I was terrified. Surely you understand that if word of these affairs gets out my career will be finished?”
“Your political future should be the last thing on your mind right now.”
“Pardon?”
“You’re a hell of an actress. It must come with the territory. But you can’t expect me to believe you knew nothing about the notes. Not to mention the murders.”
“But—”
Morgan ignored her attempt to interject. “Surely you must realize by now that you’re a suspect for murder. And I’m not going to rest until I find the evidence that will put you where you belong. And that, Ms. Choopra, is definitely not back in Parliament.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
BRENDA WAS UNUSUALLY talkative at work the next morning. She chatted about a couple of appointment changes, then she mentioned a new restaurant she’d tried the previous evening. Finally, after a careful sideways glance at her employer, she asked what Trista had done after leaving the office yesterday.
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