Charles was stunned, but not seduced. „How do you do, sir?“
By Sheldon Smyth’s manner and smile, the other diners might believe that they were close friends who met for lunch every day. When the three men were seated with menus in hand, the elder Smyth said, „I understand the police got you out of bed last night. My ex-wife called this morning. You remember her of course. Cleo Winter-Smyth?“
„No,“ said Charles. „We’ve never met.“ For that matter, he could not recall having met Paul’s father either. At those gatherings where children were forcibly pitted against one another, Paul had always been accompanied by a nanny.
„But you did meet her once,“ said Paul, „for about six seconds when you were ten. She dropped off me and my sister at your birthday party. Bitty wasn’t invited, of course, but she badgered Dad, and I had to take her.“
Sheldon Smyth cleared his throat to announce that this minor slander did not sit well with him. „Bitty is the only child by my first marriage to Cleo.“
Charles nodded in a show of polite interest. „I see the family resemblance.“
„Bitty’s adopted,“ said Paul.
This was a surprise, for the woman had features in common with her father, the shape of his large eyes, if not their color, the same chin and mouth. Paul, on the other hand, bore no -
„She’s family,“ said Sheldon Smyth, all but daring his son to say one more word. With a friendlier expression, he turned all of his attention on Charles. „Cleo and I adopted Bitty when my cousin died in childbirth. Now tell me, why should the police bother you about a lot of photographs?“
„I believe they’re required to notify me of a potential stalker.“
„But you set them straight, of course, told them she was a family connection.“
This was news to Charles, who had no surviving relatives. He politely smiled and waited for some explanation.
„Your mother’s second cousin, Charles. His half brother was a Smyth. No blood relation perhaps, but there you are,“ he said. „Family.“ The old lawyer allowed this word to hang alone, punctuated with respectful silence to increase its import.
Charles was not surprised. He had long been a believer in the six degrees of separation: the theory that everyone on the planet was somehow connected to everyone else by a sequence of relationships. However, the Smyths had taken it to an elitist extreme, marrying into every major fortune in New York State.
„So you’ve got a stalker,“ said Paul, not quite understanding that word as the one his father most wanted to defuse. He failed to catch the old man’s eye and that look of disappointment in an idiot son. „Just like a rock star.“ Grinning, Paul punched Charles on the arm, instantly calling up the days when a child-size Paul had fired sniper shots with closed fists, jabbing and bruising on the run, then finishing off his prey by killing him with words that had an even stronger punch and power. Charles had died each time they met.
But not today.
Sheldon Smyth had finally managed to capture his son’s attention. The old man narrowed his eyes in an ocular thump on the head, a warning not to punch their guest one more time. Glancing at his watch, he said, „Paul, don’t let us detain you any longer.“ As he reached out for a roll and a butter knife, his face said the rest: Go, or be impaled on the silverware.
And now, Charles quite liked the old man.
When Paul had excused himself from the table and the waiter had departed with their menus and lunch orders, Sheldon Smyth leaned forward, voice lowered. „So, my boy, Cleo said the house was full of police – standing room only. Why all this fuss over a burglar?“
„Well, he was a dead burglar. You didn’t know?“
„No, my ex-wife neglected to mention a corpse. So typical of Cleo,“ he said, as if dead bodies lying about the house were an everyday nuisance. „I think she was more concerned that you might cause problems for Bitty. When I called my office this morning, I was told that the police had paid a visit. Well, naturally… I wondered if you’d pressed charges against my daughter.“
„No, sir, it never occurred to me.“
„Good man.“
Salads arrived during the ensuing silence. Then Charles further reassured Bitty’s father, saying, „I had a long talk with Bitty last night. I’m satisfied that she isn’t the least bit dangerous.“
„Quite right. No more than a simple schoolgirl crush. I’m sure you found it quite charming.“
Charles understood this from his host’s perspective. Quite comical, really. A man like himself, one with the attributes of an eagle beak and bullfrog eyes, would have so few choices; how could he fail to be flattered by the fixation of a neurotic elf?
Between one course and another, he learned that the Smyth firm had served the Winter family for more than a hundred years. The old man’s eyes were always fixed upon Charles, as if he regarded his guest as the most important personage on the planet. It was an illusion from a lawyer’s bag of tricks to win over juries and stalking victims alike, but Smyth had perfected it to a fine art, and Charles felt that his immunity to flattery was slipping.
Meanwhile, heads were turning at all the other tables. Mallory had arrived to work her usual effect upon a room. No one thought to stop her forward momentum across the wide floor. She was so obviously one of the power people in this gathering. What waiter would risk being trampled? There were nods of approval all around. Yes, the patrons assured one another, she was one of them, though so few of them carried guns to lunch. Hers was exposed – quite deliberately, Charles thought – as she swept the blazer to one side and reached into a rear pocket of her jeans, where she kept her gold shield.
Only now did Smyth realize that his table had become a spectacle. He looked up to see the young homicide detective standing beside his chair. She was no longer displaying the gun, but only discreetly holding out her badge.
Mallory gave Charles a curt nod. „Hello, Dr. Buder,“ she said, employing a title he never used, though his credentials entitled him to do so. And with this pointed formality, she wiped away their friendship, their business partnership and the years that they had known one another. They were merely recent acquaintances – that was her message to him. And now, after forcing Sheldon Smyth to wait out this little farce, she turned her eyes on him. „Your office told me I could find you here.“
„Really,“ he said. With those two syllables, Smyth managed to convey that some minion would be parted with his head just the moment he returned to his office.
Hardly inclined to wait on an invitation, Mallory pulled up a chair at the table. As if she did not already have Smyth’s complete attention, she asked, „Can you think of any reason why someone would want your daughter dead?“
Smyth stared at her, then shook his head and kept his silence, perhaps adhering to a lawyer’s code to ask no question to which he did not already have the answer. And then, of course, he could not have been more stunned if she had pistol-whipped him.
Mallory seemed to like that reaction. She liked it a lot. „Money motives work for me. Who inherits if your daughter dies?“
The words were slow to come. „No one,“ said Smyth. „I drew up her will myself. Her estate goes to the Legal Aid Society.“
„I know there’s a family trust fund.“ Mallory’s tone implied that she had caught the old man in a lie.
„My daughter has no stake in that. The only beneficiaries are her mother and her uncle.“
„And Nedda Winter?“
The old man nodded.
„Tell me why your daughter doesn’t benefit from the trust fund.“
It took a moment for Sheldon Smyth to adjust to the fact that he was not in control of this interview. He graced her with a radiant smile – an experiment that immediately failed. She had a natural immunity to charisma, and this seemed to irritate him. The old man made a great show of looking at his wristwatch, and he would not meet her eyes when he spoke. „I can’t discuss the trust fund with you.“ He addressed the empty chair on the other side of the t
able. „It’s privileged information. I can tell you that Bitty doesn’t need a. draw on the trust. I provide her with a generous allowance.“
„That’s not what I asked.“ Mallory leaned forward and raised her voice, as if the old man might be hard of hearing. „So, apart from you, her only source of income is her law practice?“
Charles sat up a bit straighter. „Bitty? A lawyer?“
„Yes, my daughter was top of her class at Columbia.“ The old man misunderstood Charles’s startled expression. „Of course, I wanted her to go to Harvard, but she preferred to stay close to home.“
Mallory called Smyth’s attention back to herself. „Where does your daughter practice law, and what’s her area of expertise?“
„She used to work for my firm, but now she’s on sabbatical. She’s always concentrated on contract law.“
„Would that include trust-fund busting?“
„You can’t mean the Winter family trust.“ Smyth was incredulous. „What would be the point if she didn’t – “
„I need copies of all the documents for that trust fund,“ said the detective. „I want them today.“
„Got a warrant, Detective?“ Smyth seemed suddenly cheered by Mallory ‘s prolonged quiet. „No,“ he said, „I didn’t think so.“
„You’re the executor,“ said Mallory. „You can give me any – “
„That trust fund has a long history. The documents – every bill and receipt and canceled check, paperwork for decades of transactions – it fills a good-size storage room.“ He leaned toward her with new confidence. „It would take a small army to copy all that paperwork, and the originals will never leave my firm.“
„Did I mention that I was trying to keep your daughter alive?“
„And were you listening when I said there was no motive for anyone to harm her?“
„It’s my job to decide that,“ said Mallory. „You’re only a lawyer. I’m the law“
Sheldon Smyth inclined his head and smiled, perhaps in agreement with this distinction, but more likely in approval, a sudden change in his opinion of this young adversary. „Detective Mallory, I can give you the basic structure of the trust. Cleo Winter-Smyth and her brother are entitled to a monthly draw.“
„And Nedda,“ said Mallory, reminding him once more of this woman’s existence. „She could also be a target. So if she dies – “
„It doesn’t change the amount of the draw. You should also know that the trust fund is entailed to charity. The payouts end with Lionel and Cleo’s generation.“
„And Nedda,“ said Mallory. „You keep forgetting her.“
Sheldon Smyth dropped his smile and laid his napkin on the table. „I think we’re done here, Detective. Talk to my secretary if you need more information. She’ll schedule an appointment.“ And now, because he must sense that she did not take direction very well, he added, „I’m afraid we ‘re boring poor Charles with all of this.“
After Mallory had kicked him under the table, Charles was encouraged to say, „Oh, no, sir. This is fascinating.“
„Well, Charles,“ said Smyth, „if that’s the case, I suggest you have dinner with the family tonight. You’ve been invited by my ex-wife. I’m sure Bitty would like to properly apologize for the unpleasantness with the police.“
„I assure you there’s no need for that,“ said Charles, shifting his legs beyond Mallory’s long reach.
„Say yes,“ said Smyth. „I’m asking as a favor. Bitty’s so easily crushed. Tell me you’ll go.“
In Mallory’s version of subtlety, she examined her fingernails – as if they might need sharpening.
„Of course,“ said Charles.
After signing a tab for the luncheon and leaving instructions to care for his guests, Sheldon Smyth departed, and the energy level of the dining room was diminished by half.
Moments later, Riker arrived, and he proved to be another head turner, attracting attention from every quarter of the dining room. He moseyed toward the table, followed closely by a waiter, who no doubt suspected this badly dressed man of a scheme to steal the silverware. Charles stood up to greet the detective, and the waiter, somewhat relieved, melted away.
When Riker had been apprised on the fine points of Mallory’s interview, he sipped his coffee and grinned at Charles. „So Mallory promoted you to snitch. Good job. Take a nose count when you show up for dinner. There might be somebody living there that we don’t know about, maybe the one who wrote this letter.“ He handed over a clear plastic bag containing a sheet of paper. „We took that from the dead man’s lawyer. It came with a boxful of money.“
Charles read the scant information neatly typed. It mentioned the name of the client and an arrangement for more money if the bail hearing was successful. „My God, I should’ve recognized him from his picture in the newspaper. This is the dead burglar, isn’t it? Willy Roy Boyd?“
„Keep that to yourself,“ said Mallory. „Can you tell us anything helpful?“
Charles shook his head. „Bare sentence fragments. No style or turn of phrase to give the writer away. I can tell you that you’re not dealing with an idiot. Does that help you?“
No, apparently not.
„Sorry.“
An afternoon of begging for warrants had come to a bad end. District Attorney John J. Buchanan had personally turned down the last request for assistance from his office. In a rare exception to protocol, he had granted an audience to mere detectives, and that alone had been enough to make Riker suspicious.
The DA had made it clear that the Smyth firm was unassailable and off-limits to the NYPD. That directive had included Bitty Smyth, a former member of that firm.
It was dark when the partners returned to SoHo, and Riker was gearing up for another unpleasant confrontation as they left the car and headed down the street to a familiar haunt. „Well, it’s an election year,“ he said, as they walked along. „Smyth must be a big contributor to the DA’s war chest. Damn Buchanan.“
They stopped by the window of a brightly lit cafe across the street from the station house. The table on the other side of the glass was littered with guidebooks and cameras, and the chairs were filled with middle-aged ladies.
Damn tourists.
All the cops in sight had had the decency to take other tables. A gray- haired woman sat in the chair once occupied by Mallory’s foster father. Unaware that she was trespassing, this tourist looked up to see the young homicide detective’s face close to the window and those cold eyes like oncoming bullets. Apparently the mayor’s new handout sheet for visitors had included tips that were actually helpful, like – never make eye contact with the sociopath, for now the woman quickly looked down at her menu, wishing the green-eyed apparition away.
Riker nudged his partner. „They’re ordering dessert. We can come back later.“
No, that would have been too easy.
The woman seated in the dead man’s chair looked up to the window again, and now her companions were also curious. This was Mallory’s cue to clear the table – quickly and efficiently. Before his partner could casually draw back one side of her blazer to terrorize these out-of-towners with the display of her shoulder holster, Riker said, „No, let me do it this time. Just wait here, okay?“
He entered the cafe and hunkered down by the ladies’ table. Softly, he spoke to them about the young woman on the other side of the window glass, the one with the very disturbing eyes. Really just a kid, he said to them. He talked about her foster father, a late great cop, and how Kathy Mallory had never come to terms with the fact that she would never see him again. It was too hard to believe that Lou Markowitz would not be sitting at this very table each time she came by the cafe. And here Riker paused a beat to rap the table – softly.
There was always this little moment of pretend, he told the ladies, before the kid turned to the window to see that the old man’s chair was empty. And then she would come in and sit down to wait for him because, bless the old bastard’s soul, he was always late. And, just
for a little while, Lou was still alive. He had never died in the line of duty and left his kid all alone in Copland.
Just a kid, he said once more.
And he told them about Gurt, the waitress who had kept this table clear of other patrons at this same hour, until the day, not long ago, when she had retired. So now the girl had also lost another fixture in her life. Ah, Gurt, he said to them, that saint (a sarcastic old bat who should have retired years ago). And so, as the ladies could see – he pointed to Mallory now – the kid did not handle change very well. It… disturbed her.
They all turned to the window, as if waiting for Mallory to cry. They would wait forever.
He was still talking as these women rose from their chairs, all smiling with their kind faces from the heartland of America, where all the good people lived. They picked up their plates and glasses, silverware and napkins, and moved to a vacant table at the back of the room. Riker faced the window, but Mallory was gone.
„What did you say to them?“ She was behind his back, and he jumped. One hand went to his heart – still beating – just checking.
„I told them the truth,“ he said, and that should shut her up. Mallory had difficulties with that simple concept. And the idea of human kindness would give her even more trouble.
When they were seated and waiting for their meal, Riker continued to parcel out the story of Nedda, a.k.a. Red Winter.
„You’ve seen the painting,“ he said. „I guess everybody has. But back in the day – remember this is the forties – a nude painting of a little girl was a shock and a half. In the other paintings the kid had clothes on, but the nude was the biggest one, nine feet tall. And Nedda was only eleven years old then. The cops raided the art gallery and took all the paintings away.“
Winter House Page 8