by Jan Coffey
“Of course not. I don’t mind at all. Her name is Gwen Turner. You can call her if you want, but I’d advise you to stay out of her path today. Between all the harassment from the media and me being away for most of this week, she’ll be loaded for bear.”
Archer stood where he was, looking at the answering machine. Hal shrugged.
“Okay, Captain. I can read your mind. Just in case Gwen didn’t get to it yet today.” He headed across the room, Archer on his heels.
“I don’t mean to be a nuisance. You understand that we can’t let any stone go unturned.”
“No problem.” Hal nodded and pressed the messages button. Two messages. One from Gwen at the office, and one from a news reporter who had somehow gotten his private number. Both had clearly been left this morning. “Sorry. I warned you.”
Archer nodded with a frown and followed the other man again toward the door.
“One last thing, Mr. Van Horn.”
“Actually, this’ll make it two ‘last’ things…maybe even three.” He ran a hand through his thick hair and gave Archer a pleasant smile. “But go ahead. Better to ask everything you have now, rather than to try to get hold of me later. Gwen’s going to keep me running until I’m caught up with my work.”
“I know this might sound sorta far-fetched. But last night…or was it this morning…” Archer scratched his balding head. “Anyway, I had this crazy notion that I wanted to run by you. What if Sarah Rand was really not dead?”
“Captain, I don’t see the point in—”
“Hold on, Mr. Van Horn. I mean, we have yet to find a body. We haven’t found her car. A lot of personal items were missing from her apartment—toilet articles, wallet, even her passport. And so far, the tests we’ve done have only matched up blood we found on Judge Arnold’s boat and in Attorney Rand’s apartment. But let’s say…what if she wasn’t the victim of a homicide at all? What if she killed someone else there?”
Archer watched Hal’s already tanned face darken with anger. “This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Sarah could no more commit murder than I could. What in God’s name would make you think something like that?” Before the Captain could voice an answer, the developer exploded. “This is too much! It really sickens me that everything in our lives has been turned into some disgusting headline for these tabloids I used to think were real newspapers. Well, let me make something very clear. I’m through sitting on my hands while this kind of crap gets printed about people I care about. A lot of this crap, by the way, sure has the look of information leaked from Newport Police files.”
Archer shuffled his weight, gazing blankly at the wall beyond Van Horn. Unfortunately, the man had a point. Somebody in the department did seem to be leaking investigation information to the press. “Well, I can’t say anything that.”
“Under the advisement of my lawyers, I have continued to refrain from making public statements about the judge and my own feelings regarding his guilt or innocence. But if Sarah’s name gets dragged into the middle of this thing as anything but the victim that she was, then you and I are going to war.” Van Horn’s finger was in Archer’s face. “I’m well aware of Sarah’s battle with your department. I know all about the closed society of police, and the retribution that gets meted out to those who call you onto the carpet for your actions.”
Archer opened his mouth to speak, but Hal Van Horn’s quick words cut him off again.
“Sarah Rand was a flower in a jungle of weeds, Captain. You mess around with her good name, and I’ll set the wolves on your ass so fast that you won’t even know which one of them took the first bite. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m expected at the office.”
Archer stood frowning in the hallway for a long moment after the door shut behind him. Jeez, even the carpet out here was better than his brand new one at home.
Chapter 11
Owen folded up the newspaper and laid it down as Sarah walked out of his bedroom and into the living room. She had changed into a simple jade green running suit that was nearly the same color as her eyes. Wordlessly, she settled again on the edge of the sofa and focused on the screen of her laptop. The dark circles under her eyes spoke of her weariness, but determination showed in her face.
“Do you want something to eat?”
She shook her head.
“Something has been bothering me.”
“Only one thing?” she replied wryly, without looking up.
“How did those people—the guys who stopped you on the way back from the airport—know that you’d be there that particular night and at that particular time?”
“I don’t know.”
Owen came to his feet and stretched. “Did you have a roundtrip ticket?”
“I did, initially.” She looked up. “But I had to cancel my return flight after the first week. In fact, I came back on standby yesterday.”
Owen shoved his hands in his pockets. “Even if we figure they somehow had access to the flight information, or passenger manifests, or customs info, it still doesn’t add up. How about the guy who was waiting for you at the Van Horn mansion? I doubt he was camping there for the last two weeks, thinking that you’d be coming back sooner or later.” Owen walked into the kitchen and looked out across the counter at her. “After all, why would he wait there and not at your condo?”
“My place must be secured by the police.”
“That’s true, but you didn’t know that. You didn’t know you were dead. So under normal circumstances, you would have gone there first. Did you call anyone from the airport?”
Her face colored, and she shot a quick glance at him before looking away.
“Are you trying to protect someone, Sarah?”
When she didn’t answer, he walked back into the living room and stood before her, staring down. After a long moment, her face lifted.
“What’s going on? Do you know who’s behind all this? Are you just using me to kill time?”
“No!” She shook her head. “No! Trust me when I say I’m stunned by everything that’s happening.”
“Who did you call from the airport?”
“I—I tried my house first. But there was no answer. Then I tried the judge’s number, but I didn’t leave a message.”
“What time was that?”
“I was at JFK. The flights into Providence were delayed because of the storm. It was about four in the afternoon, I think.”
“Anyone else?”
She paused a long moment before answering. “I called Hal. Hal Van Horn.”
Owen felt the muscles in his jaw tighten. All the innuendo in the papers flashed back at him.
“But he wasn’t home either. So I left a message.”
“Then he’s the one.”
Sarah rose quickly to her feet. “It’s not what you think. He probably hasn’t even gotten my message yet. Hal’s notorious for never checking his answering machine.” She started pacing the room, her hands running up and down her arms. “Hal has no connection with those cops. He has nothing to gain by any of this, and I know he would never hurt me.”
Owen glared at her, perplexed by the rawness of his own feelings. He’d known Sarah Rand for less than a day, but still it angered him to hear her defending this other man, a man who was very much a part of her past. Hell, a part of her present!
“I can drop you off at his place this morning, if you want. The two of you can continue on with whatever it is you’re trying to do here.”
“No!” She abruptly ceased her pacing. A hand darted out and rested on his arm. “Please don’t!”
Flustered, she dropped her arm and her chin sank onto her chest for a long moment. Owen stared at her and waited.
“A number of people have access to Hal’s answering machine. His secretary…his housekeeper…I even heard one of his friends once kidding Hal that practically everyone in town knew that machine’s code. So you see, even though it’s true my message might have clued somebody in about my return, it doesn’t mean it was Hal. And it doesn’
t mean he is personally responsible for these attacks.”
“Thank you, counsel for the defense.” Owen cringed at his own sarcastic tone. “Listen, if you love him, why don’t you want to be with him right now?”
“I don’t love Hal,” Sarah protested. “I know I’m asking a lot of you. Without knowing me at all, you’ve already given me much more help than I could reasonably expect. And I understand your curiosity about…well, my personal life.”
Owen felt that pull again. Curiosity? Christ, the sexual pull between them was getting very tough to ignore. It was like that proverbial eight-hundred-pound gorilla sitting in the middle of the room. She looked up. His fingers itched to touch her face. His mouth was hungry to taste those lips again. But he turned toward the kitchen instead, giving himself some room.
“Sorry,” he said over his shoulder. “You’ve got to remember my life has been an open book for years. In fact, I have to call the tabloids myself to find out where I’m going next week and who I’ll be seeing.”
He turned in time to see her smile.
“Well, being dead has put a bit of a cramp in my style. Not being alive makes it a little difficult to correct what the papers have been printing about my personal life.”
“Does this mean you’re planning to set the record straight?” He reached inside the fridge and took out the fixings for a sandwich.
She walked over and leaned over the counter, facing him. “I guess I owe you that. Would you like to hear the ten-cent version of the Van Horn-Arnold-Rand connection?”
“Ten cents sounds pretty brief.”
“I’ll sell you the million-dollar version when I know how it turns out.”
“Good deal.” He was tired of coffee, so he put the water on for tea.
“I’ll skip the sob story of my childhood. Let’s see. Well, Hal Van Horn and I met a little over four years ago through some college friends. I was already working as an attorney in Boston. We hit it off pretty quick, and in no time at all he was proposing marriage.” She played with the corners of an envelope on the counter. “Meeting Hal’s family and friends in Newport was an eye-opener for me. Here I was, a half-Irish Catholic girl from South Boston with enough college loans to choke a horse. And there he was, the sole heir to the Van Horn fortune, old money. You know the rest, rich boy, poor girl. Just one problem. I had never been looking for Prince Charming. I’d been very happy to go through college and then law school my way. I liked Hal—to be honest, I was confused enough to think I even loved him for a while—but not enough, I guess, to feel comfortable with such an enormous social jump.”
“But you still gave up your job and moved to Newport.”
“Yes, I did.” She nodded. “I got along pretty well with both Hal’s mother and her husband. And about the same time that I was feeling myself getting cold feet about marriage, Judge Arnold told me about his plans of retiring from the bench so that he could spend more time with Avery. It was then that he asked me if I’d be interested in forming an association with him in a law office in Newport.”
She reached for the mug of tea Owen placed before her.
“I think they knew I was getting anxious and wanted me to be closer. They liked me—that was clear—and it was a great professional opportunity for me. So I made the move.” The tea bag dipped again and again. “Despite what the judge and Avery had hoped, my living and working in Newport further distanced me from Hal. Within six months, we called off the engagement. We were two different people, from different worlds, with different interests and views on almost everything in life.”
Sarah placed the teabag on the little saucer on the table. In the silence, Owen could hear the sound of the tide rolling into the inlet that bordered the estate grounds. He said nothing, waiting.
“Interestingly enough, my split with Hal had no effect on my connection with the Arnolds. In fact, over the years, Avery and I became fond friends. And I really came to value Judge Arnold. I witnessed firsthand the love and devotion he had for his wife. That only added to the respect I already had for the man as a lawyer. The judge became a mentor to me.”
A dozen questions popped into Owen’s head, but he only asked one. “How did Hal deal with all of this, after the break-up?”
“Very well. We stayed friends. And despite what the papers claim, we kept it platonic. Yes, we attended social and family events together, but the spark between us was dead. It wasn’t passion that each of us sought in our relationship, but companionship…maybe even solace.” She took a sip of her tea. “I believe the long period of Avery’s suffering, and then her death, taught Hal a few things. I saw him changing. He became more emotionally…I don’t know…connected, I guess. Anyway, it made our friendship stronger. I found myself more willing to talk to him. That was why he was the one that I tried to call from the airport. I was coming back from the funeral of my last surviving parent. Hal had lost his mother this summer. I knew he’d understand what I was feeling.”
When she looked up at him, Owen saw the tears glistening in her eyes. He too knew how it felt to lose your only parent—to grow up alone—but he didn’t think his own twisted past made him much of an expert in compassion.
“So, there. You have it all.” She took a long sip of the tea. “Hal has suffered a lot this summer, and I don’t know that he’d quite be ready to have me come back from the dead and land on his doorstep. On the other hand, you’re doing a great job of protecting me and driving me around and feeding me.” She eyed the counter. “By the way, is it too late to change my mind about the food?”
“Well, speaking as a mature and emotionally connected guy…that depends on how much you eat.”
~~~~
“Sorry to wake you up, Dan, but this is really important.”
“Hmm.”
The phone propped against one ear, Archer rubbed his hands over his face and squinted at his watch. 4:32. The late afternoon sun was coming through a crack where the draperies came together.
“Yeah. Okay, what’s going on, Bob?”
“I just got the results of the dusting we did last night at the judge’s place.”
Dan Archer pushed the sheet off and sat up groggily in the bed. “What have you got?”
“That scumbag Frankie was planning on going in and out clean. There is nothing on him. But we did pick up something else—somebody else’s fingerprints—and you won’t believe who.” McHugh’s voice was high-pitched, very excited. “Sarah Rand.”
There was a long pause.
“Are you still there, Dan?”
“Aha. I’m here.”
“Did you hear me all right? It was her, I’m telling ya. We have fresh prints, not two-week-old prints. New ones. They’re everywhere. By the door, on the security box, her desk, the telephone. She was there last night. Can you believe it?”
“How many people know about it?”
“You, me, and the genius downstairs who thought to cross-check the prints before filing them. I could have kissed the son of a bitch.”
“Talk to him. I want to keep a lid on this, Bob.”
“What do you mean, keep a lid on it? If she’s alive, then that means somebody else is a corpse right now.”
“Just shut up, Bob. For now.” Archer was already reaching for his clothes. “Not a word to anyone. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
He slammed the phone down and reached for a clean shirt.
Well, of course she was alive. Now, if he could just keep it quiet until he had a chance to take care of things.
~~~~
All day, Owen had been conscientious to the max about conducting business. Just making it look like a usual day. He’d answered his phone calls from the West Coast. He’d held the conference call to New York that had been arranged two days ago. And he’d even gone to work out in the exercise room a little while ago. So unless someone broke into his apartment and discovered Sarah there, there was no way anyone could think anything was amiss in the life of Owen Dean.
Still, he felt like he
was blundering around on an unfamiliar set. Archer’s visit this morning had made him neurotic. Hell, he thought. He just had to be careful. It was Archer’s job to be suspicious.
Owen went to the front lobby to get his mail and returned just in time to see Sarah toss a legal pad on the coffee table and rise stiffly to her feet. She had cast aside the top of the jumpsuit and was wearing a short sleeve shirt over the pants. As he watched her stretch, his eyes were momentarily drawn to the mold of the shirt to her body.
She looked too good to him, and this concerned him even more than Archer’s interest. She turned and caught his eyes on her and smiled. He looked quickly at the brass clock on his desk. Five o’clock.
“Any progress?”
She nodded and picked up the yellow pad. “I’ve copied and downloaded all of Judge Arnold’s appointments and calendar notes for the month of June and July.”
Owen dropped the keys on the counter. “How does that help you?”
“If there is one flaw that Judge Arnold has, it’s that he’s too meticulous about documenting everything in his files. Kind of a control freak in some ways. He keeps all types of records. From the content of phone calls to the file record numbers of the follow-up letters, to the names of people he’s met on a certain day and when, both in and out of court, and even whether there is a follow-up needed. It’s like a religion to him. Linda, our office manager, told me once she thinks he’s afraid of getting senile. But it isn’t that. He’s always been that way. The judge just loves to be in control. And he loves the electronics. He is very much into keeping up with technology.”
“I am surprised these files weren’t already seized by the police as part of the investigation.” He took all of the mail to his desk. “I would have thought they’d be the first thing the cops secured.”
“I imagine they must have taken his computer, but the way our office computers are networked, every night all the files are backed up.” She gave him a knowing nod. “So I just tapped into the network.”