The Alex Shanahan Series

by Lynne Heitman

  “You have to go tonight?”

  “It’s a scheduling thing. I’ll come back.”

  Sean gave me a kiss good-bye and thanked me again for his new shirt. He wanted to know if I would ever come back. When I bent down to kiss Maddie, she wrapped her small arms around my neck. They felt like two feathers lying there. She didn’t seem to want to let go. I knew I didn’t want her to. Jamie was nowhere to be found. I had nothing to say to him, anyway.

  The first number I dialed when I got to my car was the one that started with 800 on Djuro Bulatovic’s business card. He answered promptly.

  “Bo, are you after Monica again?”

  “No. I told you I would leave her to you.”

  “Do you know where she is?”

  “No.”

  That was disappointing. I had no good way to find her on my own. “Will you call me if you hear anything?” I gave him my cell phone number. “Where are you? Are you still in Boston?”

  “I’m close.”

  “Can you stay close? I might need you tonight.”

  He said that he would. I checked my watch. Eight-thirty. If I was really lucky and really reckless and irresponsible behind the wheel, I could still make the ten o’clock shuttle back to Boston.

  I tried Harvey next. Maybe I could catch him before he left to meet Carl for dinner. He didn’t answer his cell phone, which was not surprising. When I called his hotel, they said that he had checked out, which was more than surprising. It was disturbing. When he didn’t answer his home phone in Boston, I was more than disturbed. I was worried. Harvey rarely deviated from his planned schedule.

  I was still trying to find him, leaving urgent messages at both his numbers, when I had to board the ten o’clock flight home.

  Back in Boston, the hunt for a parking space was the usual nightmare. The cars double-parked up and down Beacon Street with their parking lights flashing signaled another bad night for anyone in the Back Bay without an assigned parking space. I circled the block several times before giving up and making my way to the mammoth parking garage under the Boston Common, where there was always space for those willing to pay. I hated paying for parking in my own neighborhood.

  The idea came to me as I rode the elevator up to the surface. Without giving myself a chance to overthink it, I turned on Charles instead of crossing and walked the short distance to the familiar dwelling on Chestnut Street. I stood for what seemed like a long time on the front steps with my finger poised over the buzzer. I collected myself, pushed the button, and waited. When the answer came, I talked fast.

  “It’s me. It’s Alex. Please don’t hang up. I need to talk to you.” What came back was a ringing silence that managed somehow to be cold and angry.

  “Tristan, please.”

  The buzz that released the building’s front door lock was the most welcome sound I’d heard in a while. I pushed through and headed up the stairs.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Tristan was dressed comfortably and ​smashingly in midnight-blue sweatpants and a celery-colored pullover. There was just no way to catch him looking sloppy and unkempt. He stood in the middle of the living room of the two-bedroom condo he shared with Barry. With its fresh-cut autumn flowers and large cathedral windows, the place was as serene as a church, a jarring juxtaposition to what was going on between us.

  I stood close to the front door, leaving it to him to determine the distance between us. As a union officer, he knew everything that was going on, including my part in it. He was not taking it well. “Tristan, please don’t look at me that way.”

  “How should I look at you? Tell me, Alexandra. Shall I look at you as a friend, because it’s hard for me to see you as a friend just now. Is Alexandra Shanahan your real name? Or do you have a code name? Something like Double-O Lying Bitch.”

  Some people sputtered when they were angry and searched for words. Tristan wasn’t one of them.

  “All this time, I’ve been looking out for you and trying to protect you, and now it turns out…”

  “Turns out how?”

  “It turns out that you’re not my friend at all. You’ve been using me for my contacts and abusing my trust, and you humiliated me in front of Irene. I was so hurt by what you did.” He drifted to the window and ran a finger along the edge of one of the slats in the blinds, along a line that was long and straight and predictable. It wouldn’t throw him any unexpected curves.

  I moved in enough that I could lean against a chair. I wasn’t sure I could make this right, but I had to try. “This was supposed to be a simple job,” I said. “I would collect evidence on a few hookers, the airline would confront them, they would quit, and I would be out of there and on to the next assignment. But things got complicated. I never meant to involve you, or hurt you. Meeting you was the only bright spot in this whole mess.”

  “No, dear.” He shook his head. “That will not play.”

  “What?”

  “You cannot simply say you’re sorry, and can’t we be pals anyway, and that will be that. You had lots of chances to tell me the truth and trust me, and you never thought fit to do so.”

  “I’m telling you now.”

  “Now that cats are flying out of bags everywhere?”

  He wouldn’t look at me. “Look, you’re angry, and you have every right to be. But I was hired to do a job, and as part of doing that job, I had to pretend to be someone I’m not. If that offends you, so be it. I can’t change what I did. I would do it over again, and it’s not over yet. There is a lot going on tonight.”

  He turned and looked at me as if I’d just declared the sky blue. “Ya think?”

  “What have you heard?”

  “Only that Angela is circulating a rumor that I helped you get her fired.” He moved to the mantel to adjust the spacing of the high-end trinkets arranged mere. Most of them were souvenirs from his around-the-world travels. “I think she’s planning on hurting someone.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because she says she is. It feels like it, too. Everyone is edgy.”

  “What is she saying?”

  “She’s saying she will find the people who did this to her, and she will get them. Are you happy with what you’ve done to us? It’s absolute chaos around here.”

  “If you want to blame someone, Tristan, blame Angel. She’s the one who did it to you, and she’s been doing it for years.” What I didn’t say was that he had allowed it to go on, but his sixteen-foot ceilings were too low for that high horse. “Do you think you’re in danger?”

  “I don’t know. I sent Barry up to the house in Maine.”

  Which meant he was worried, which really worried me. I moved farther into the room, from leaning on a chair to leaning against the arm of the couch. “If you think she’s coming after you, you should leave. You should pick up a trip and leave town.”

  His laugh was bitter. “As if that would save me. Angela is everywhere, dear. Besides, I think she’s more interested in you.”

  “So she said. Is it true she’s coming back to work?”

  “She never left. She was back before the ink was dry on the notification letters.”

  It was one thing to hear this news from Angel. She could have been lying. But hearing it from Tristan, union officer, meant it was official. I felt like crying from sheer frustration, but I was pretty much cried out for the evening. Maybe tomorrow “What kind of deal did she cut?”

  “I don’t know. Whatever she did, it had nothing to do with the union. She doesn’t need us. She has friends in high places.”

  “What does that mean? Friends at the company?”

  “Way higher. The rumor is, it was some U.S. senator who got involved behind the scenes.”

  “A U.S. senator?” The surprising news just kept coming. I was starting to feel numb. Since it didn’t seem that Tristan was about to throw me out, I went ahead and sat down on the couch.

  “He sits on a subcommittee that has something to do with the bailout loans to the
airline industry. One phone call from him was all it took.”

  “One of her clients,” I said.

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “Angel told me she had some kind of secret weapon. She called it her nuclear bomb. This guy must be her weapon. Still, I’m surprised a U.S. senator would get involved in something like this.”

  “It’s all hush-hush.”

  “You know about it.”

  “I know everything. Everyone talks to me.”

  “The same could be said for Matt Drudge. How did the airline react?”

  “Are you kidding? Only too happy to oblige.”

  “They were?” I wondered if Harvey knew.

  “Of course. Do you think they’d want the press that goes with firing a bunch of flight attendant hookers? I think the good senator gave them exactly what they wanted: a reason to wash their hands of the whole affair.”

  “But why would he do it? It seems like high-risk behavior for someone so high-profile.”

  “Well, either she’s the best piece of ass that ever walked, or Angela has dirty pictures of him.”

  I remembered the moment when I had seen Jamie’s face in that video for the first time. There would be few things more powerful than a video of a naked senator doing it with a hooker, especially with the high-quality digital equipment these women were using. That had to be it. Why would he risk his job unless it was to save his job? “She does.”

  “Does what?”

  “Angel has a sex video of this senator. That’s how she got him to do what he did.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Look, I know you’re still pissed at me, but I’m going to tell you some things that I hope you will keep in confidence.”

  He waved an exasperated hand. “Now you want to trust me?”

  “I always trusted you. I just couldn’t tell you everything.”

  He considered that. “Answer one question honestly. If you weren’t in trouble and needing my help, would you have ever rung my buzzer again?”

  “Yes.”

  “That was quick.” He put a finger to his chin. “I wonder, do I believe you?”

  “You asked me to tell the truth.” I stared down at my shoelaces. “I felt like a shitheel every time I lied to you. I tried not to, but you’re a good man, Tristan. I couldn’t help but confide in you, even when I knew it was unfair to do it. So, when it comes down to it, and this part cannot be denied, the fact that I had to lie to you was your fault.”

  When I looked up, he was dearly trying to figure out if I was serious. I smiled. I really did miss him. “I’m sorry, Tristan. I don’t know what else to say.”

  His jaw seemed to unclench slightly. “Let me get some refreshments, and you can tell me your secret-agent stories.”

  I sank back into the leather couch and thanked whoever was watching over me that Tristan was a big enough person to forgive. He came back with an ice bucket and a tray with several bottles of sparkling water. He set the tray down and handed me one of those techno cold packs that you keep in the freezer. “This is Barry’s. It’s for his sinus headaches, but he won’t mind if you use it.”

  “For what?”

  “Have you seen your eyes lately?”

  His dedication to flawless service ran deep. “Thank you.”

  I didn’t want to talk to him without looking at him, so I put the cold pack on my forehead as I told him everything. I told him about Monica and Arthur Margolies and the possibility that she was blackmailing several of her clients.

  “Busy, busy girl,” was his comment.

  I told him about Monica’s call to me in New York and Angel’s mysterious threat to her. Then I told him about Jamie and what Angel had done with him, and he with her. Tristan might not have had sympathy for me, but he did for Jamie.

  “How is he?”

  “Shattered. We had a monumental fight. Really hurtful to each other.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too. She called me at his house. I don’t know how she knew I was there.”

  “She didn’t have to know. All she had to do was try it and get lucky. I told you from the beginning, she’s an evil, evil bitch. You should have included me. I could have helped you.”

  “You also said that you would defend her, no matter what.”

  He thought about that. “Part of that was me spewing rhetoric, and part of it was true. I have no love for management, especially since I worked in it. But she has gone beyond the pale.”

  “How would you have helped?”

  “I would have told you not to trust the airline. They do not have the backbone to take on Angela and win. I would have told you the only real way to get rid of her would be to go to the police. If she goes to jail, she gets fired for sure. It’s in the contract. There is no deal they could make to bring her back.”

  An intriguing idea. Whatever Angel was up to, I had no doubt we’d all be better off with her in jail. That wasn’t even considering the personal satisfaction I would get from seeing her incarcerated. But… “It’s too late now.”

  “Why?”

  “She knows we’re on to her. She’ll have switched everything up. We would have to rebuild the entire case from scratch, and if it’s true the airline is bailing, I would have to do it without their resources or the access I had undercover. My partner is already squirrelly. Can’t be done.”

  “Unless,” he said, “you can get an insider to come forward and testify.”

  I looked at him. I liked where he was going. “An insider like Monica?”

  “If it’s true Angela is after her for this blackmail scheme, you might be her best alternative at this point.”

  “She didn’t sound very cooperative last time we spoke. Besides, I can’t go to the police until I get Jamie’s video back.”

  “Could she help you with that?”

  “I believe she can. She knows Web Boy.”

  “Who?”

  “Stewart Belkamp, Angel’s Web master. He’s involved in both the blackmail scheme and Angel’s business. If I threaten to tell Angel he’s working against her, it might be enough to get him working for us. The question is, can we get Monica working for us. You know her better than I do. Will she talk?”

  “I’ll get her to talk” With a nonchalant wave, he dismissed any thought that she could resist him.

  “We have to find her first.”

  “I’ll find her, but not tonight.”

  I checked my watch. It was three-thirty A.M. “Oh, man.”

  “I know. You sleep here. I’ll get you a blanket.”

  He got no argument from me. I put the cold pack over my eyes and was fast asleep before he had even left the room.

  My cold pack was no longer cold when I woke up. I put my bare feet on the floor and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. It was cloudy outside, so the room was dim with the blinds closed, which might have been the reason I had slept until ten. On my way back from the bathroom, I found Tristan’s note on the dining-room table. True to his word, he was out looking for Monica.

  I dug out my cell phone and checked messages at home. No word from Harvey. No word from Jamie, although I hadn’t expected any. No word from anyone. I was poised with my thumb over Felix’s turbo button when another call came in. I looked at the spy window and punched it up.

  “Harvey, where are you?”

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Harvey emerged from the pool, climbing one shallow step at a time and gripping the silver bar with his thick, square fingers. His disease had not diminished his bulk above the hips—his torso was thick, and his spongy belly hung down over the waist of his bathing suit. Yet he seemed fragile. If the waist of his suit was too small, the leg openings were too big. As he climbed the steps, the wet fabric bunched around his shrunken thighs.

  He found his glasses by the side of the pool and put them on. When he caught sight of me watching him, he reached across his body to grab the rail with his other hand. The effect was to turn his belly away and show me his back.
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  “You’re early,” he said. “You weren’t supposed to come back here.”

  “They told me out front it was all right.”

  He held himself perfectly still. All that moved were rivulets of water that dripped from the ends of his hair. He turned cautiously to look at me. His heavy glasses had slipped down to the end of his nose. I knew he wanted to push them back up but couldn’t let go of the rail. Instead, he peered over the tops, as if this were how corrective lenses were supposed to be worn.

  “I’ll leave,” I said. “I’m going now. I’ll meet—”

  “No. Stay here. I want to talk to you. Just… give me a minute.”

  He managed to negotiate the last steps and climb onto the deck but then froze in the face of the several-foot-wide expanse that separated him from a rack of thick towels. He seemed torn between two bad options: standing in front of me with his pale body mostly exposed or lurching ungracefully toward the rack and risking a fall. I couldn’t stand it. I went to the rack, grabbed a towel, and draped it around his shoulders.

  “I can wait for you out front.”

  “No.” He pulled the corners of the towel together under his chin and pushed his glasses up. “Thank you, but that will not be necessary. It takes me a long time to get dressed.” He motioned to a grouping of deck chairs. “Let us sit here and talk”

  I pulled two of the chairs closer, sat in one, and waited for him to make his way to the other. To keep from staring at him, I scanned the swimming space. It had that echoing quality of all indoor aquatic facilities and that sharp aromatic cocktail of chemicals and the fungus it was supposed to kill. Two people worked in the water at the other end, an older woman wearing a rubber swim cap, possibly a stroke survivor from the way she moved, and her therapist, a black man with a slight build but strong arms and a soothing way about him.

  “The exercise …” Harvey had settled in next to me, breathing hard. “It takes a lot out of me. I was never a good swimmer, but it is the only suitable exercise. Overheating exacerbates my symptoms. Do you swim?”