by Pat Young
She was meant to fly home tonight. She had a ticket booked in the name of Charlotte Gillespie. She’d booked a return so it looked like a short business trip. No need for lots of luggage. She’d also booked business class. Might as well live it up, while she had the chance. And she had planned on using Charlotte Gillespie’s passport. No one would challenge her. Passport photos were often notoriously bad likenesses.
Now she didn’t know what to do.
Foreboding squirmed like a snake in her gut. She recognised the dark apprehension from her life with Curtis and those awful days that followed their last fight. She remembered the same tense, nauseous feeling as she crept about this apartment, convinced someone would appear and blow her cover. The horror she’d felt each time a door banged or the elevator stopped on her floor.
Finally she rose, made herself a coffee and sat to watch the city come to life. It crossed her mind that whatever she found today might mean she couldn’t fly out tonight. Part of her was hoping that might be the case. In a way she’d be sorry to end to this make-believe life she’d been living.
It was silly to think she could she keep up the pretence of being Charlotte Gillespie. Equally silly to allow herself to dream of a future with Rick. A future where he knew everything there was to know about her and still loved and wanted her. She had fantasised about taking the place of his wife, imagined sliding seamlessly from this life into a new one. Forgetting her vow to never become dependent on another man as long as she lived.
Lucie showered in Jo Malone lather and let the zesty scent of lime and mandarin push her worries to the back of her mind. She dressed in one of Charlotte’s business suits and tried the Jimmy Choos, for luck. She tucked the little card and key in the inside pocket of her purse and with a wistful look at the apartment, she closed the door behind her.
‘Morning, Ms Gillespie,’ said Rob, as she approached his desk. ‘Something I can do for you?’
‘Yes, please Rob. Could you call me a cab?’
Now the time had come, Lucie’s nerves were getting the better of her. In the cab she held her hands out and watched them tremble. She dropped them into her lap and tried to still one with the other. She had no idea what was waiting for her at the bank, but feared it wouldn’t be good. The actual process of accessing Charlotte’s safe deposit box was freaking her out too. What if someone at the bank knew Charlotte and recognised Lucie as an impostor?
She needn’t have worried. She handed over her little card, showed her key and was escorted in an elevator that seemed to plummet to the centre of the earth. She fought her instinct to flee from the vault and run back up to daylight. Serge, the young man who was accompanying her, unlocked and led her through two doors, which he then re-locked behind them. Lucie tried not to think about fire escapes. Serge ushered her into a chamber that looked nothing like any room she’d ever seen before. Every wall was covered, floor to ceiling, with numbered metal doors. Some were shallow as a letter box and others were the size of gym lockers.
Serge seemed to know exactly where to find Charlotte’s box. He checked the number on the door, made sure it matched the little card and handed it back to Lucie.
‘Your key please?’ he said, his voice echoing slightly.
Lucie handed over the key and Serge inserted it, and one of his own, into twin locks. He turned both simultaneously. The door opened and he handed Lucie her key before removing a grey oblong box with a black lid.
‘Would you like to use a private room, ma’am?’
Lucie nodded. ‘Please.’
‘This way.’
At the end of the corridor he unlocked yet another door and stepped into a small, windowless room. He carefully laid the grey box on a table in the middle of the floor, saying, ‘I’ll be right outside. Just ring the bell when you’re done.’ He closed the door behind him.
The room was completely bare apart from the table and one chair. Lucie sat and tried to gather enough courage to open the box and unleash whatever evil lurked within. She was convinced nothing good would come of this. Perhaps she should just ring the bell now and leave. Granny would say this was none of her business. ‘Remember what curiosity did,’ she’d remind Lucie.
With a great, deep breath she released the lid and folded it back. On top of a pile of documents rested a cream vellum envelope. Someone, Charlotte presumably, had written in calligraphic handwriting, ‘To be opened once you have perused the contents of the box, dear Stranger.’
Lucie dutifully laid the envelope on one side and removed from the box a sheaf of printed papers. They looked like receipts for options purchased on shares by Scott Millburn and Charlotte Gillespie. Lucie flicked through the sheets. Page upon page was dated seventh September 2001.
They’d been short selling. Millions of dollars invested in buying push options. On shares in major world airlines. A similar amount spent on call options. On shares in Munich Re and Swiss Re. The names meant little to Lucie but she knew that these ‘options’ were essentially bets that a company’s stock was about to rise, or fall, dramatically.
She delved deeper into the paperwork and found a densely worded legal document that looked like the deeds to a house, fortunately not Charlotte’s apartment. Below these lay sheet after sheet of evidence that this Scott Millburn had borrowed huge amounts of money from various sources at the end of August. Whoever the guy was, he appeared to have a lot riding on this gamble on the stock exchange. He must be pretty sure it was going to pay off.
A sobering thought occurred to her. If this Scott was the man Charlotte was due to meet in the North Tower, it was more than likely he was now dead.
Where did that leave Lucie? She’d just impersonated a dead woman and, under false pretences, had accessed the contents of a safe deposit box which appeared to contain evidence of criminal activity. Lucie had swum so far out of her depth she was drowning in deceit.
She glanced around as if there might be someone who could help her. She wished she’d brought Rick along. He would know what to do.
All that remained in the box was a manila folder. Lucie lifted it out and opened it. Charlotte smiled at her from a large glossy photo in Avenue magazine. Against a background showing the logo of NYSPCC, Charlotte posed for the camera with a young man. Two things struck Lucie. The first was how young, vibrant and glamorous Charlotte looked. The second was how much Lucie resembled her. No wonder people had been easily taken in.
Underneath the photograph ran a line which identified Charlotte as a guest at the Annual Fall Benefit of the children’s charity. Lucie studied the photo and felt a deep sadness for the loss of Charlotte’s life. She wondered if the man pictured was Charlotte’s mystery lover and business partner, Scott. He was handsome. Lucie could see the attraction.
She flipped through Avenue looking for more photos of Charlotte. She stopped at a photo that showed a group of four people, elegant in evening dress. Charlotte and her partner stood, champagne glasses in hand, beside another couple. A beautiful woman on the arm of a tall, handsome man. Lucie recognised him immediately. It was Rick. This must be his wife. They made a strikingly good-looking couple. How sad that he’d lost her.
Charlotte Gillespie of Gillespie, Manders and Moffatt and Simon Hood of Simmonds Hamling with Mr and Mrs Scott Millburn of Langdon Associates.
That couldn’t be right. It should say Mr and Mrs Richard Armstrong. Another photo showed a group raising slim flutes in a toast. This time Charlotte and Rick were standing together, smiling at each other instead of to camera.
A column down the side of the photo identified guests from left to right: Jonathon Grieves with Meredith Brown, Andrew Capaldi, Genevieve Duval, Charlotte Gillespie, Scott Millburn and Jeremy Warren.
Lucie put a finger on each face and moved it from the left, one person at a time, as she checked off the names. She read them again, this time in reverse, moving her finger from the right. She had no need to read beyond Charlotte’s name. The man she knew as Rick had to be this Scott Millburn.
She f
elt sick and looked around desperately for a bin or some other container that could save her dignity. Nothing. She ripped a tissue from the pack in her bag and rammed it against her mouth, swallowing furiously until the wave of nausea ebbed away.
Heavy-hearted, Lucie packed all the papers into the box, keeping the magazine till last. She tore out one photograph, which she stuffed into her purse. Then she took Charlotte’s envelope but, instead of opening it, she tucked it in her bag too. There would be time enough later to study both. Trying to remain composed, she closed the box and rang the bell by the door.
58
Dylan had expected to arrive first, but Lucie was waiting for him at a table right at the back. She didn’t wave to attract his attention. Just nodded when he noticed her.
He made to sit opposite, but she touched a chair beside her own and said, ‘Can you sit here, please?’
As he sat down he caught a whiff of citrusy fragrance. It smelled expensive. She moved her chair so close to his, their thighs touched. Lucie didn’t seem to notice. Or if she did, she wasn’t embarrassed.
‘Can I get you a coffee? Tea?’ he asked, and tried to catch the waiter’s attention. This place was always busy, but the tables were well enough spaced for a private conversation, or a business deal.
‘Water,’ said Lucie. ‘Anything, thanks.’
He placed their order then leaned on the table, a little uncomfortable with the way they were sitting. ‘So, Lucie,’ he said, ‘what can I do for you?’
She clutched at his forearm. ‘Dylan, I’m scared.’
He believed her. Lucie was no drama queen.
He patted her hand, hoping to reassure, though he’d no idea what was going on. ‘Curtis can’t hurt you anymore.’
Her eyes were wide. She shook her head, frantic. ‘It’s not Curtis.’
He’d never seen her look this frightened, even that day at the house, when he’d startled her out of hiding. ‘Lucie,’ he said gently. ‘Tell me what’s going on.’
She looked around the coffee shop, like a spy in a movie. ‘I’m in big trouble, Dylan,’ she said, ‘I don’t know what to do. I need help.’
The waiter appeared and placed a steaming espresso on the table. ‘One coffee. And a San Pellegrino.’ He unscrewed the cap and poured. The water sparkled and fizzed in the glass. ‘Enjoy.’
When he’d gone, Dylan swivelled on his seat so he was almost facing Lucie. ‘Okay, deep breath and tell me all about it.’ He lifted his cup and kept his eyes on her face while he sipped the boiling coffee.
She spoke so quietly he had to strain to hear her. ‘I need you to go to the police about something really bad. But you can’t go till I’ve left the country.’
‘Lucie, what have you done?’ He regretted the words the moment they left his lips, but she didn’t seem offended.
‘It’s not me. Well, it is me. I mean, I’ve done some stuff that’s illegal, but that’s not the really bad thing I’m talking about.’
‘Sorry, you’re not making any sense. Can you slow down and go back to the beginning?’
‘I don’t know where to start. It’s such a mess.’
‘Okay. Let’s take it one step at a time. Do you want to start with the really bad thing or do you want to tell me what it is you’ve done that’s illegal?’
She hesitated.
‘Before you say a single word, know this. Whatever it is you’ve done, I will stand by you.’
‘Really?’
‘You have my word on that.’ He put his arm around her and gave her a quick, friendly hug then let go. ‘Come on now. Let’s hear it.’
‘I’ve been lying to you. I’m not living with a friend. I’m living in a stranger’s flat.’
‘Nothing illegal about that, unless maybe the stranger hasn’t given permission.’ The look on her face told him he’d guessed right. ‘Ah, the stranger doesn’t know.’
Lucie shook her head. ‘She’s dead.’
Dylan prayed he wasn’t about to hear a confession of murder. He wasn’t sure he could stand by a murderer, even Lucie.
‘God, Dylan. I didn’t murder her, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘Phew, that’s a relief.’ He wiped imaginary sweat from his brow and gave her a fake smile.
‘I found her dead in the street. Remember I told you about losing my bag?’
‘In the dust, yeah.’
‘Well, I picked up Charlotte’s, that’s her name, by mistake. I realised I’d the wrong bag but the policeman wouldn’t let me go back.’
‘I remember. What did you do with it?’
‘I was going to take some money. Just enough so I could get home, but it felt like stealing. I couldn’t do it. So I got her address and I went to her apartment to give the bag to her family. I thought maybe they could lend me some money. I’d have paid it back. You know I would.’
Dylan nodded. ‘Of course I do. What happened?’
‘Remember all those people who got caught in the dust? How they looked?’
‘Like snowmen.’
‘You couldn’t tell one person from another, right? Well, I get to the address and this doorman comes out and says, “Miss Charlotte, I’m so glad you’re safe.” I try to tell him I’m not Miss Charlotte, but my throat’s all closed up with the dust and I can’t. So he takes me inside and before I know it, I’m in this apartment and the door’s shut.’
Lucie stopped and gulped at her mineral water. She choked and Dylan patted her on the back till she stopped spluttering.
‘And you stayed?’
She nodded, as if afraid to try her voice.
‘Go on. I’m listening.’
‘No one came or phoned or anything and I waited till it was almost dark. I had nowhere to go and I was scared to leave in case I’d get stranded on the street.’
‘That’s fair enough.’
‘I meant to leave the next morning, but by then I was too scared. You know why?’
Dylan had no idea.
‘Because I was afraid I might have killed Curtis. I know this sounds awful, Dylan, but I didn’t stop to check on him. I just walked out and left him unconscious. I was scared to rouse him in case he’d punish me, stop me getting to Manhattan.’
‘For your interview?’
‘Not just that. I was supposed to meet my mum afterwards.’
‘Oh, Lucie. I’m so sorry.’
‘Anyway, I’ve been lying to you. I knew I’d hurt Curtis. And since I’m being honest, you might as well know that I didn’t care. Are you shocked?’
‘Not really. I know how badly he’d been treating you. I’m only sorry I didn’t do something to stop him before it ever got to that stage.’
Lucie shrugged, as if to exonerate him. ‘I decided to stay in Charlotte’s apartment, just till the dust settled.’ She looked at him apologetically. ‘Sorry, no pun …’
‘… intended. I know. How did you survive?’
‘Charlotte gets all this luxury food delivered. And flowers. I was worried the delivery boys would know I wasn’t Charlotte, but they didn’t.’
‘How come?’
‘I look like her.’
‘Wow! What are the chances?’
‘I know. So it was easy for me to stay. It was like heaven, Dylan, after living with Curtis, scrimping and saving on food. I’ve been trying, for months, to get enough money to escape, and the only way I could do it, without making him suspicious, was to cut down on my food.’
‘You were starving yourself?’ Dylan groaned. ‘Oh, Lucie, why didn’t you say? I’d have given you all the money you needed. My mom would have taken you in. We’d have kept you safe.’
‘But you’re Curtis’s friend.’
‘And you think that meant you couldn’t trust me?’
She didn’t answer, but her eyes said everything.
‘Lucie, what would you say if I told you I’d have walked away from Curtis long ago if it hadn’t been for you?’
Lucie gave him a sad little smile. It was impossible to t
ell if she believed him.
‘I had to do it myself. I’ve been a victim long enough. Far too long.’
‘I get that. I just wish you’d have let me help.’ He drained his coffee cup and concentrated a moment on the grains in the bottom, so she wouldn’t see his face. ‘So what happened next?’
‘I was trying not to use Charlotte’s money. Then, after Mum told me my dad would be glad to see me, I decided to go back to Scotland.’
‘Which is why you were looking for your passport?’
‘Yes.’
Dylan decided not to complicate things by telling her how long her passport had been in the pocket of his jeans.
‘But then you told me Curtis had the cops watching the airports, so I lost my nerve. By then I’d started spending Charlotte’s money.’
A connection sparked in his brain. ‘How much of Charlotte’s money?’ he said.
‘Em, quite a lot.’
‘Like a hundred thousand dollars?’
‘I felt bad about him, Dylan. I wanted to do something to help. I knew the health plan would cover hospital costs, but I couldn’t send him back to that hovel. He wouldn’t have coped. It wasn’t fair. I loved him once.’
Dylan’s heart soared at the finality of that past tense, but he couldn’t condone what she’d done. ‘So you paid him off with a hundred grand of someone else’s money? You can’t do that.’
‘Why not? What difference does it make? She’s dead. She’s hardly going to notice. And I’ll be gone before anyone finds out. Are you worried they’ll take the money back off Curtis?’
‘Yeah, maybe. But I’m more worried about you.’
‘No one will be able to trace the money Curtis got. Don’t worry, I made sure of that.’
Dylan shook his head in despair at her naivety. ‘Is that the illegal stuff?’
‘That’s the larceny part of it. No, sorry, grand larceny. Then there’s identity theft, fraud, criminal impersonation. They’ll throw the book at me. Oh, and faking my own death. Let’s not forget that one.’
‘Okay, I get the picture. Is this the really bad stuff you were talking about?’
The terrified look was back on her face. It had relaxed while she was concentrating on her story. ‘I found papers of Charlotte’s. She’s been involved in a scam to make money by insider trading. With a boyfriend.’