by Steve Richer
“It’s true, Elizabeth. It appears to be one of your maids.”
“And she’s dead? What happened?”
“I…” Dr. Steckle glanced at Lawson, as if deciding how much he could tell his mother without traumatizing her. “I’m not sure. I called 911. They will probably send the police as well.”
“The police? My God…”
“Relax, mom. They won’t throw you in the slammer.”
She turned toward her son, decidedly not finding any of this funny. “Why does this sort of thing only happen when you’re here?”
“Excuse me? Now you’re saying I have something to do with this?”
“Your brother and sister never got suspended from school, they never got into trouble. It’s only when you’re around that my life gets upended.”
“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, mom. I love you too. How have you been anyway?”
“How I’ve been? Police are coming here, Lawson! What will people say? It will be front page news tomorrow morning.”
The young man stopped himself from telling her that she was being optimistic. The news was probably already on Facebook. And that was without mentioning the reporters in the lobby; they were bound to learn about this sooner or later.
“Thank you, Dr. Steckle,” Lawson said, shaking his hand. “You really don’t know what happened?”
“I’m not a medical examiner and I didn’t want to stay too long to contaminate the crime scene. She had her…” He looked at Elizabeth fleetingly. “Her underwear had been pulled down, so it could be some sort of sexual assault. I would guess she was asphyxiated.”
“My God! A murder?”
This time Lawson didn’t do anything to keep his mother calm. He was freaking out as much as she was although he was keen on not showing it.
Finally, he said, “It’s going to be fine, mom.”
“It’s not fine. There’s been a…” She lowered her voice. “There’s been a murder in our home! It will never be fine. But of course I can see how that doesn’t affect you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You don’t care about anything, Lawson. You never have. You’ve been hiding from responsibility all your life. All you’ve ever done is drag the family name in the mud.”
“Hey, that’s not fair!”
“But it’s the truth,” she said, her eyes black. “And now somebody has to fix this. I need to call our publicist. We need to manage this crisis. Excuse me.”
She walked away as she rummaged through her purse for her phone.
“Don’t worry about her, son,” Dr. Steckle said. “I’m sure it’s just the nerves talking. This is a very stressful event.”
“No, that’s her regular demeanor, Doctor. Welcome to the Winslow family.”
Lawson walked away, fully intending on reaching the bar in less than six seconds, when John fell in next to him.
“Jesus, can you believe this? I heard what the doctor said to you and your mother.”
“This shit’s crazy. And I need a drink.”
He wasn’t the only one who’d had this idea and there was a long waiting line at the bar. Champagne wasn’t enough for people and the two bartenders were busy pouring liquor, making martinis, and even getting beer. Lawson’s hands were practically shaking when he was given his bourbon. He swallowed it in one gulp.
“Easy there,” John said.
“Lay off my case, will you. I need another. Hey,” he called to the barman.
Unfortunately, people had already taken his spot and the barman was in over his head filling up orders. Screw this, Lawson knew where the family stash was.
He walked away, left the great room, and soon he was at the billiard room. It was paneled with dark oak and the stained glass chandelier above the table gave off just enough light to make the place intimate. There were a few people sitting down and talking but no one was playing pool.
Lawson ignored them and headed to the sideboard where there were several bottles of single malt scotch. He grabbed a crystal glass and poured himself a generous measure of Dalmore. He drank until he ran out of breath.
Holy shit, this whole thing was unraveling and he had done nothing wrong!
“Lawson?”
Startled, he turned around and almost dropped his glass. In front of him was someone he hadn’t counted on seeing tonight.
“Tom?”
“How are you, buddy? It’s been such a long time!”
Tom Marulli was probably the most wholesome person in attendance tonight and they shook hands warmly. He was his oldest friend, having met him at prep school. What made him different from everyone else was that he didn’t come from money. His father had been a janitor at the school and so he’d been allowed to attend free of charge.
As a result, he’d always been a good influence on him, keeping him grounded. He was always one to remind him of the consequences before doing something reckless. He credited Tom for saving him from a life of debauchery, inasmuch as he wasn’t debauched already.
He’d probably consider John his best friend but the sheer fact that he was a lawyer had always made trust an issue between them. And that wasn’t something he kept secret either, it was an ongoing joke between them. But the three of them had been really close over the years. It was a shame they had drifted apart.
“Am I glad to see you,” Lawson said. “Tonight is nuts.”
“Yeah, what’s this about a dead woman?”
“I don’t know, man. Somehow I don’t think it’s what my mother had in mind to make this a memorable evening. You still work for the city?”
“Yes, city planning. I’m angling for a promotion, borough supervisor.”
“Good for you,” Lawson said although he had no idea what that meant.
Instead of admitting it, he let Tom talk about himself. He was the one person he knew who had a regular life. He wasn’t rich, he had a wife and kid, a small house in Queens. It sounded condescending but he thought of him as someone who kept him level-headed.
Tom started to ask about some of the movie stars Lawson had been with recently when there was a commotion out in the great room. They left the billiard room to see what was going on.
Lawson’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out without thinking. It was a new text message from the unknown user.
Uh oh. The police is here. Good luck, Lawson.
A million thoughts crashed through his brain. The person who was texting him had to be the killer. And this message hinted at something even worse.
The killer was somewhere in the apartment with them.
Chapter 6
At first count, twenty uniformed police officers entered the Winslow penthouse. The party was in upheaval as guests made way for the new arrivals. Lawson himself stood aside and watched his mother go to a tall man who held his head high as if he had the power of life and death over everyone.
“Deputy Inspector McDiarmid, how are you?” Elizabeth asked.
“Evening, Mrs. Winslow. I wish I was here under better circumstances.”
“Likewise.”
The man – wearing a suit instead of a uniform given the late hour – was the commanding officer of the NYPD’s 19th Precinct. Of course his mother would know him personally, Lawson thought with a roll of the eyes.
“I understand a body has been discovered, is that correct?”
“Yes, upstairs. It’s such an unfortunate tragedy.”
“All right, here’s what’s going to happen. The crime scene unit is on its way up, along with my detectives. They will take over the premises and see what’s going on. Meanwhile, my officers need to take statements from all your guests.”
“My God, is that necessary?”
“I’m afraid it is, Mrs. Winslow.”
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow? Does it have to be here?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. It has to be this way.”
To his credit, McDiarmid didn’t allow himself to be railroaded by his mother, Lawson mused. P
lacated, she walked away to David for a show of solidarity. At the same time, the ranking officer turned to his men and signaled for them to start.
Two uniforms and McDiarmid himself headed upstairs to get an idea of what they were dealing with and seconds later the detectives and crime scene technicians showed up with what looked like suitcases. An officer whispered to them and before long they were heading up the grand staircase themselves.
“Hi,” an older cop with a protruding belly greeted Lawson. “I’m Officer Boa. I’m here to take your statement.”
“I don’t know anything.”
The guy shrugged, having obviously heard that before. “I’m sure you don’t but I still gotta ask you, all right? First let me get your name, address, and then you can tell me what you don’t know. Fine by you?”
“Fine.”
With butterflies in his stomach, Lawson answered questions with as few words as he could manage. He didn’t want to speak too much and be caught in a lie.
So he essentially told the truth: it was his parents’ party, he didn’t come here often, he mingled and drank all night, and then somebody screamed about a dead body. The police officer wrote everything down on his clipboard.
“Thank you, sir,” he said mechanically before moving on to somebody else.
“Uh, thank you,” Lawson replied, caught off guard that he wasn’t being marched away in handcuffs.
It had been surprisingly painless. Maybe he had been worrying for nothing. After all, he had done nothing wrong, right? He went to the bar and found that there was still a man at his post although nobody was in a drinking mood anymore.
“Can I have some water?”
The bartender handed him a bottle of Evian and Lawson drained half of it. He was getting a massive headache. The whole evening was a nightmare and drinking so much hadn’t helped.
He pulled out his phone, anything to distract him, and he remembered the last text message. Without pausing, he deleted it. He didn’t need another incriminating piece of evidence pointing at him for something he hadn’t done.
Shit, it was hard to believe that the killer was in the house right now. What kind of fucked up individual did that anyway? Kill a girl, taunt him with it. And even more puzzling: why?
“Smart.” Lawson was startled by the deep voice coming from behind him. He turned around and found a diminutive man smiling at him. “You switching to water, it’s smart.”
“Mr. Jernigan, it’s been a long time.”
Morris Jernigan was pushing eighty and Lawson had known him all his life. He was on the company’s board and in essence had been his father’s mentor. He had been a trailblazer in the world of corporate raiding.
“I saw you pounding the whiskey earlier.”
“You don’t approve?” Lawson asked, almost amused by the need to justify himself.
“There’s a time for everything. It’s good that you see that for yourself, having switched to water. You have a good head on your shoulders, son.”
The young man snorted. “Thanks, that’s the first I hear of it.”
“I heard you with Elizabeth before. I know the two of you have your differences.”
“Just the two of us?”
Jernigan snorted a laugh and nodded. “Okay, you and your entire family have your differences. It’s a shame they don’t see what I do.”
“Yeah? And what is that?”
“You have potential, Lawson. I always thought so. Your family doesn’t see it. I don’t even think you see it. You don’t fit into the mold that they’re accustomed to, but you do have potential.”
Lawson appreciated the vote of confidence but at the same time he was using the word potential. That literally meant that he could become great someday. This in turn implied that he was currently a fuck-up.
“I have my production company going,” he announced, on the defensive.
“Oh sure, sure. I’m certain you’re doing pretty good by yourself. But you could become great, son. You just have to believe in yourself, all right? Even if your family doesn’t believe in you, you have to believe in yourself.”
If anyone else had told him this, Lawson would have taken offense. It would have been condescending bullshit. But somehow he could feel that Jernigan was sincere.
He nodded, shook his hand, and walked away with his water. He didn’t trust himself being around him longer. He wasn’t used to getting compliments that weren’t sycophantic.
He wandered to the middle of the living room, doing his best to avoid anyone he knew. Guests who were being interviewed by the police were chatting, discussing hypotheses and conspiracy theories about what had happened. Maybe it was a suicide. Maybe it was the mob trying to embarrass the family. Lawson had to keep from laughing.
There was movement coming from the top of the stairs. A woman was coming down. She was in her late forties and wore a frumpy dark suit with a white shirt stained by mustard. The badge wedged in her waistband was a medallion. She went to Deputy Inspector McDiarmid and Lawson was close enough to overhear.
“No doubt about it, it’s a homicide.”
“Okay, thanks. Shit.”
Officer Boa caught him listening and he gave a half chuckle. Lawson looked away in embarrassment.
“Don’t worry about nothing. If there’s anybody who can solve this case, it’s her.”
“Yeah?” Lawson said.
“That’s Detective Carolyn Munson. She’s practically a legend. I ain’t never seen her not catch the perp.”
“Good, thanks.”
The officer jotted something down on his clipboard and headed to get another guest’s statement. That’s when Lawson’s phone buzzed.
He shouldn’t have been surprised that it was another message from the killer, but he was. It read: You’re fucked.
Chapter 7
Once the police had everybody’s names and addresses, guests were allowed to leave. Lawson felt the pressure to stay because his mother undoubtedly would want to hold a family meeting to discuss this. Mostly, it would be to remind his siblings and father to shut the hell up and remain a united front. Knowing this, Lawson didn’t feel the need to stick around.
As expected, the reporters were still in the lobby and they pestered him as he left.
“Lawson, what’s going on?”
“Lawson, Lawson! Is it true there was a murder in your home?”
“What did the crime scene cops find?”
“Is your family involved, Lawson?”
“Did you know the woman? Is it true she was raped?”
“Lawson, are you a suspect?”
Cameras flashed all around him, practically drowning out their voices. The six seconds it took to go from the elevator to the front door stretched on forever. He kept his head down and his mouth shut. He had known the press would find out but somehow he hadn’t anticipated this landing on his shoulders so fast.
They didn’t chase him out on the sidewalk and he hurriedly walked down Park Avenue until he could hail a cab. “Fifth and East 59th,” he told the driver.
What Lawson wanted the most was to go back to his hotel and sleep the whole thing off. Then again, would he be able to? Probably not. He would lie awake, tossing and turning until he made sense of this gigantic clusterfuck. That meant he wouldn’t sleep for two days.
What he needed was an ally to help him understand what was going on. He pulled out his phone, dismissed the traumatic memories it conjured, and called John Tilley who had left the party a half hour before him.
“Hello? Lawson?”
“Hey, John. You’re not already in bed, are you?”
“Why, you want to cuddle?”
“I need to see you right now. Can you meet me? It’s important.”
There was a pause. “Uh, sure. Of course.”
“Meet me at the Morning Star Cafe.”
“All right, I’ll see you when I see you.”
Lawson hung up and turned to the cabbie. “Change of plans, Second and 51st.”
; The Morning Star Cafe was open twenty-four hours and it had been a favorite hangout of Lawson after nights of drinking with John and Tom when they were younger. His head still pounding, he closed his eyes and tried not to think about anything during the whole ride.
It didn’t work.
When he got to the unassuming diner, John was himself just sitting down in a booth, removing his coat. Lawson joined him and took a place across the table from him, also removing his trench coat.
“What’s going on, man? I know it’s been a crazy night but I thought you had a Victoria’s Secret model to see after the party.”
“Oh shit,” Lawson groaned, having completely forgotten about her. “Screw it, this is more important.”
“Excuse me? Us being here, in this tiny little diner way past midnight, this is more important than banging a Victoria’s Secret model? You have to be losing your mind, dude.”
“John, forget her. This is about the dead girl at my parents’.”
This mollified the lawyer. He was about to ask questions when the waitress came over. They ordered coffee and cheesecake.
“The hell’s going on, Lawson?”
“Uh… Jesus, this is harder than I thought.”
“It’s okay, buddy. You know you can tell me anything.”
Lawson nodded and something occurred to him that would make it easier. “I’m hiring you as my lawyer.”
“What?”
“You’re my legal representative, John. I can speak in confidence now, right?”
“I’m in corporate law, I’m not the guy you want for… for whatever this is.”
Digging into his pocket, Lawson came out with a hundred-dollar bill which he slid across the table. “Here’s your retainer. Let’s say you’re my in-house counsel, okay? You can refer me to somebody else or whatever. Deal?”
John mulled this over for a moment before nodding at long last. “You got it, buddy. Now tell me what we’re doing here?”
“The killer sent me a text message.”
“What?”
“It started weird, I thought it was a joke. I was walking into the party and I got this text that said something like who do you want me to kill? I thought it was a prank, you know? Then I got more text messages until I got one that said to go upstairs. That’s when I found the girl.”