He took out his cell phone, called Reggie. She started to make some comment about his date, but he cut her off, asked if she could get a fingerprint guy over to Gramercy Park. She said she thought she could. He told her to do it, said he’d fill her in in the morning.
He waited in the apartment, and someone from the FBI showed up less than half an hour later. Justin told him he could concentrate on the desk where the computer had been and on the closet in that room. The FBI guy did a quick check of the dead cat, said there was no trace of prints or blood. Justin nodded, not surprised, then he went and found a black plastic garbage bag under the kitchen sink, picked up the cat, and put it inside the bag.
The FBI agent told Justin he knew what to do, no need for him to stick around. He said he’d get the results to Agent Bokkenheuser and Agent Fletcher as soon as he had any.
Justin thanked him and left. Out on the street, a quarter of a block away from Ellis’s building, there were three trash cans left out for pickup in the morning. He opened the lid of one of them, put the cat inside.
All he had to do now, before catching his train home, was walk the few blocks back to Belinda Lambert’s apartment. Earlier, he had decided he would leave her keys—and Ellis’s—with her doorman. There was no reason she couldn’t return to her routine now. She’d just be feeding one cat, but she probably wouldn’t even realize that for a while. She said one of the cats never came out to see her. So she could do her duty, blissfully ignorant of what had transpired.
But the theft of Ellis St. John’s computer made him realize there was something else he needed.
So when he got back to Belinda’s building, he dangled her keys in front of the doorman and said he had to go upstairs to return them. The doorman wanted to call Belinda first, but Justin grabbed his arm, told him he was a cop, and said he’d prefer to do things a little differently. The doorman nodded, waved his hands to show that it was no problem whatsoever.
Upstairs, Justin opened Belinda’s front door. She was still sacked out on the couch. It didn’t look as if she’d budged so much as an inch. And he wasn’t shocked to find out that she snored.
She didn’t stir as he moved around her apartment, and it took him only a couple of minutes to find Belinda’s BlackBerry and slip it into his jacket pocket. If he were a praying man, he would have thanked someone or something for giving Belinda Lambert a big mouth.
Before leaving, Justin looked at the note he’d left for her earlier. He picked it up, crumpled it in his hand. There was no need for her to know that anything had happened now. So he wrote a new one. This one just said, “Thanks.”
Back on the street, as he began heading toward Penn Station, he thought about the cat that had been killed. It saddened him and, as always, he was surprised that he’d become inured to the death of human beings but not to the killing of an animal. He supposed it was because animals were, for the most part, innocent. And people were, for the most part, anything but innocent. And he thought about how the murder of a human being almost always had a purpose. A twisted purpose, but there was an underlying reason, whether it was jealousy or greed or power. Murder was always a distorted means to a desperate end. But killing an animal. There was no purpose, no means, no end. To hurt a little animal meant that all you had to be was one sick, mean son of a bitch.
He thought about how he’d tossed the cat into the garbage can on the street.
Not much of a burial, Justin decided, not for something that only gave pleasure to people.
On the other hand, he thought, it served its purpose as well as most.
27
The only thing better than the quiet, late-night train ride back to Bridgehampton would have been half an hour in a crazy-hot steam room and a long, cold shower. But Justin was content to let the solitude and the relative quiet help wash the soiled feeling off his body. By the time he’d taken Fred’s Taxi Service from the train station back to East End, he was relatively relaxed and guilt free.
He got into bed and decided he didn’t even need a drink to help him sleep. Then he heard his cell phone. He’d left it downstairs and he’d also left it on vibrate, but he could hear the vibration as it resonated against the hard surface of his desk. He swung his legs out of bed and made it downstairs in time to catch the call. When he heard the caller’s voice at the other end, he wasn’t sure if he was glad or not that he’d moved so fast.
“Jay?” Abby Harmon said.
He didn’t answer.
“Jay?” she repeated. “It’s Abby.”
“I know,” he said.
“I’m sorry I haven’t called you.”
“Uh-huh” was the best he could muster.
“I wasn’t allowed to talk to you. My lawyer forbade it.”
“And what changed?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to talk to you.”
“Okay,” he said.
“You sound so cold,” she told him. And when he didn’t answer—what could he answer?—she said, “I don’t know who’s on my side anymore.”
“I’m on your side,” he said.
“Yes, I know you are. I do know that. But . . .”
“But what?”
“Everyone’s telling me something different.”
“What are they telling you, Ab?”
“I’m not supposed to discuss it with you.”
“You’re not going to fall for it, are you, if I ask you what it is you’re not supposed to discuss?”
She breathed out the best laugh she could. “No,” she said. “I’m not. But thank you for making me laugh. I haven’t laughed since this all started. God, is it really not even a week?”
“Who else is telling you not to talk to me, Ab?”
“My lawyer. H. R. Everyone.”
“You’re talking to H. R.?”
“Yes. He’s—he’s been very supportive.”
“So he doesn’t think you actually killed his son anymore?”
“He never really thought that, Jay. He was just . . . He was upset. Evan’s death was crushing to him.”
“I didn’t think he was crushable.”
“I was wrong about him. He’s—he’s been a big help.”
“Who else, Abby? Who else is helping you?”
“Lincoln.”
“Lincoln Berdon?”
“Yes. He was always very close to Evan. He was his mentor.”
“Abby, I’d really like to see you.”
“I can’t, Jay. It’s not a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because of the relationship we had. I’m still being investigated. And you’re working with the FBI now. You’re still investigating. My lawyers said I’m not allowed.”
“How’d you know that?”
“What?”
“How’d you know I was working with the FBI?”
It might have been the very first time he’d ever heard her flustered. “I—I don’t know. It was probably in the paper.”
“It wasn’t.”
That was the end of her flustered tone. Her voice instantly turned sharp and distant. “Then I don’t know, Jay. Someone told me.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. Probably my lawyer.”
“Abby . . . I need to talk to you. I need to know more about Ellis St. John.”
“What does Elly have to do with this?”
“Elly’s in this up to his fucking eyeballs.”
“No, Jay, you can’t be right about that.”
“I am right.”
“You’re not,” she said. “You weren’t right about Ellis being missing, either. I just heard. Lincoln told me he had some kind of family emergency.”
“Really?” Justin said. “What kind of emergency?”
“I don’t know. But I know they’ve given him a leave of absence from R&W.”
“How’d Lincoln happen to pass this info along to you?”
“I was surprised I hadn’t heard from Ellis, because he and Evan were close. So I asked about him.”
“Abby, I’m telling you. There’s no emergency. He’s got something to do with Evan’s murder.”
“I don’t think so, Jay.”
“Listen to me, Abby. Listen to what I’m telling you—”
“I can’t.” And before he could go on, she said, “I’m sorry, Jay.”
“Sorry about what?”
“I know you’re on my side. So . . . I’m just sorry.”
“Abby . . .”
“Good-bye, Jay.”
“Abby, I have to talk to you. Don’t hang up.”
“Bye.”
“Abby . . .”
But she was gone. Jay stared at his open cell phone in frustration before snapping it shut.
What the hell had she done? What was she apologizing for?
He decided he needed that drink if he was going to get any sleep at all.
Justin found out first thing in the morning what Abby’s phone call was all about. As soon as he stepped outside his front door to pick up the morning papers.
The headline on one tab was: widow speaks! The headline on the other tab was: true confession: he did it!
The stories were more or less consistent. Abby had spoken to the media the night before and what she’d basically said was: I’ve been a bad girl. I cheated on my husband. And now it’s caught up with me because one of the men I cheated with—David Kelley—murdered the husband I really loved despite it all.
He sank back on the couch in disbelief and read more. There were several photos of Abby, many of them from her past, looking as glamorous and sexy as it’s possible to look. Each paper had a similar shot of her from the day before: flanked by her lawyer and H. R. Harmon. She looked drawn and subdued and conservative.
Abby said she was speaking out publicly because she decided it was best to get the truth out in the open. She revealed that she and Evan had been having troubles for several years. There was never any question about their love for each other, but his business was so consuming that it seemed more important than their relationship. Abby confessed to being somewhat selfish and spoiled—that was by far the worst thing to which she confessed—and she said she was hurt when she realized she wasn’t the center of his world. So she had affairs. Not many, but several. One of them was with David Kelley and that one got out of hand. Kelley wouldn’t accept the fact that it was just an affair. He kept insisting it was going somewhere she knew it would never go. He talked all the time about how if Evan weren’t around, they could be together. It never occurred to her to take him literally. Nor did she really take him seriously. It was just talk, she said. Even when she discovered that Evan had been murdered, it was inconceivable that Dave—she called him Dave by this point in the story—was involved. Then she found out that Evan had been tortured and that the means of torture was a stun gun. At this point in the story, one tab had her tearing up and becoming too emotional to continue for quite a while. The other tab just continued with the story line, which was that when she heard about the stun gun, she knew that Dave had to be involved. She didn’t say anything for a few days, still not able to convince herself emotionally of the truth. Then the police came to her and told her that they knew about the gun. She told them what she knew: that Dave had one, that he’d even kept it at their house for a while. She said that she’d have to live with her guilt. She said that she thought she was doing something that she couldn’t justify but still wasn’t high on the list of evils—cheating on her husband. But she realized that all cheating and all lying had to be put high on the list of evils, because this is what the result could be.
H. R. Harmon hugged her at the end of her emotionally draining tale. Reporters peppered her with questions. One had asked her about the police chief in East End Harbor. Hadn’t she been having an affair with him, too? And wasn’t he still being investigated by the police to see if he was involved?
Abby said, “I did also have an affair with Justin Westwood, the chief of police of East End Harbor. I owe him an apology because, I realize now, I was using him as a kind of psychological crutch, a way to move away from Kelley. I know the police are investigating Justin. I’m sorry he’s been suspended, and I can only hope to God that he had nothing to do with Evan’s murder. But after what’s happened this past week, I don’t think anything will ever surprise me again.”
Justin tossed the paper on the floor, disgusted. Despite the fact that he seemed to officially have been cleared of everything but professional misconduct, this story—and Abby’s not so subtle insinuation, leaving his culpability as an open question—wouldn’t help in his investigation. It certainly wouldn’t make it any easier for him to get in to see H. R. Harmon or Lincoln Berdon. Now he kicked the paper across the room and when the phone rang soon after, he didn’t say hello, just barked “What?!” The person on the other end was flustered, and Justin heard a nervous voice say, “Um . . . Chief Westwood? This is Ben Jenkins. I hope I didn’t wake you up. I’m sorry for calling so early.”
“Ben,” Justin said, doing his best to soften his tone, although he knew it wasn’t exactly what he could claim as actually soft. “I’m sorry. What’s up?”
“I got what you wanted,” the teenager said.
“What?”
“The stuff you wanted me to do. I did it.”
“All of it? Already?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t so hard.”
“You got into Ascension’s system?”
“Uh-huh. It was pretty easy. They have lousy security. Hey, did that agent really mean it when she bet me a hundred bucks?”
“Yeah, she did.”
“How do I collect?”
Justin shook his head, amazed. “I’ll tell you what—I’ll get it for you, that way she can’t weasel out.”
“Really?” Ben said. “Gee, thanks.”
“Ben, can you get the info to me now?”
“Yeah, that’s why I was calling. I just e-mailed it. I wanted to let you know it was there ’cause it sounded kind of important.”
“It is.”
“And I’ll get my TV, right?” the kid asked.
“I’ll even pay for the delivery charge,” Justin told him. Then, eyeing the gadget sitting on his desk, the one he’d taken from Belinda Lambert’s apartment the night before, he said, “Ben, let me ask you something. I think I’ve got another job for you.”
“Cool,” Ben said. “I can use a DVD recorder. U.S. and European capabilities.”
“Name your brand.”
“Wow, this is great.”
“Yeah, great. Listen. I’ve got a BlackBerry here. It’s a secretary’s, but her boss had it configured so all his corporate info automatically shows up on it. Can you come here and take a look at it? I might need you to recover some information.”
“Well, if she’s attached to his system, I can hack it.”
“How about coming over now?”
“Gee, I can’t now. I gotta get goin’.”
“Where you going so early?” Justin looked at his watch. It was still a few minutes before seven-thirty. “What are you even doing up so early? Shouldn’t you be staying out all night and sleeping till noon?”
“I got summer school,” Ben said.
“Summer school?” Justin said.
“I had to pull my grades up, you know.”
“Your grades? How the hell can you get bad grades? Ben, you’re a goddamn genius.”
“Yeah,” Ben Jenkins said, “but my grades still stink.”
“How is that possible?”
“My mom says I watch too much TV. Listen, I gotta go, okay, Chief?”
“Ben . . . I think we’re talking about you skipping summer school today.”
“I don’t know. My mom gets pretty pissed off about stuff like that.”
“I’ll talk to her. Is she awake?”
“Yeah. She never sleeps. She gets up at like five every morning.”
“Let me talk to her, okay?”
Ben put his mother on the phone, and Justin explained to her what h
e needed her son to do. He said it was very important. And he told her he’d talk to Ben’s teacher and explain everything to her, so Ben wouldn’t get penalized for missing any work. The clincher was that he told her Ben wouldn’t just be working with the police department, he’d be helping the FBI.
“Honest to goodness?” she asked. “The FBI?”
He swore on his life and Mrs. Jenkins agreed. She said she’d drive him over in a few minutes. Justin then spoke to Ben again, told him precisely what he wanted him to do so if he was going to need any special tools or connectors he could bring them with him.
As soon as Ben hung up, Justin went to his computer. When he went on AOL, the lead news story was: black widow admits to affairs but not murder. Justin said, “Fuck me,” and then signed on to his mailbox.
Sure enough, Ben’s e-mail was waiting for him. He opened it, briefly scanned the info on the screen, then printed it. Two copies. He started to dial Reggie on his cell phone as he waited for the pages to print, but before he could finish dialing, there was a knock at the door. When he opened it, Reggie was standing on his doorstep. She was holding a newspaper, but as she peered inside his living room, she saw his papers scattered on the floor.
“I see you’re already up on your current events,” she said.
He told her to shut up and come in.
28
Reggie’s mouth was open wide as she studied the info that Justin had printed. She stared over at Ben, who had arrived a few minutes after she had, and was busy clacking away at the keyboard of Justin’s computer.
“You are a genius,” she said.
“You owe him a hundred bucks,” Justin told her, “and me fifty.”
“You mind if I wait till payday?” she asked Ben.
“When is that?” Ben asked.
“Friday,” she said.
The teenager looked at Justin, who nodded.
“Should be all right,” Justin said. “But if you want, I’ll pay you and she can pay me back. With interest.”
“Nah,” Ben said. “That’s okay. I can wait.” And he went back to searching through Belinda Lambert’s BlackBerry, which he’d hooked up to Justin’s computer.
Hades Page 27