Brigitte turned to Richard and said, "Can we give you a lift?"
"No, thanks. My apartment is just a couple of blocks away. I can use the fresh air," he answered.
Alex started saying something and stopped. He gasped, his face contorting violently.
“Are you alright, Alex?” asked Richard.
“Just some indigestion,” he choked out as his face began to redden and beads of perspiration rolled down the sides of his face. "Brigitte, do you have a handkerchief or something?"
She opened her bag and handed him a Kleenex. "Are you all right? You don't look well."
"I'm fine, just fine. Probably something I ate." He wiped himself with the tissue and shoved it in his pocket. "Just a bit of upset stomach."
At that moment, a black Mercedes pulled up and the doorman hopped out. Alex held the door open for Brigitte, then went around and climbed behind the wheel. A minute later the car roared off.
* * *
Richard watched the red taillights until they disappeared into the night. Why Alex sometimes insisted on driving his own car, he would never understand. With the amount of money the man had, he could afford a whole fleet of cars and drivers. One thing was sure, given half the fortune the old man had, Richard would have his own limo and never drive again.
He glanced at his watch. After the events of the evening, he felt wide awake and full of energy. If everything went according to plan and they squashed the takeover attempt, he would soon be a very rich man.
What an exciting thought. It filled him with exuberance, greed, and lust, all jumbled together, sending a surge of adrenaline through his veins. It will be impossible to sleep tonight.
A woman, that's what I need. He wondered briefly if he might be able to entice one over to his place. At this time of night, it would not be easy. Not too many women would go for the idea of a tumble in bed without the required wining and dining. For some unfathomable reason, some females seemed immune to his dark, movie star looks.
Usually Richard relished in the challenge of capturing a woman who could escape him. Tonight, though, he was not in the mood for a challenge. He wanted a hot and easy girl, not some tight-assed broad who needed hours of seducing before she came across. Then he remembered Sylvia. Hot and easy Sylvia. Whistling happily, he turned toward Fifth Avenue and walked home.
* * *
The traffic was light and the roads smooth. The speedometer registered a steady eighty miles per hour. Tonight, the streets were clear.
Brigitte watched him intently. "Now, can you tell me why we’re going home so early?"
"No reason. I just needed to get out of there." He sounded irritated. Realizing how harshly he had spoken, Alex softened his tone. "How is it going, sweetheart?"
In the dark he could just make out her profile, and the rich red of her hair looked almost black. The sequins on her dress sparkled every few seconds from the reflection of the city lights. He guessed, more than saw, the smile she gave him. He reached over and affectionately covered her hand with his.
"I'm fine," she replied. There was no warmth in her voice.
"God, it's hot in here. Mind if I turn on the air conditioner?" He fiddled with the control on the panel and settled back with a sigh of satisfaction as the cold air rushed over him. "Do you still love me?" he asked, and Brigitte gaped at him.
"What a strange question," she replied uneasily and laughed. "Are you feeling all right?" She stopped and looked at him as he suddenly began breathing heavily. "Alex, what's wrong?"
She unclasped her seat belt and tried to grab the steering wheel as the car swerved dangerously close to the median.
"My heart," he replied, gasping. Then, as she watched helplessly, he let go of the wheel and clutched at his chest. Frantic, Brigitte tried to loosen his collar while keeping one hand on the wheel.
She never saw the car as it came directly at them.
* * *
Chapter 26
The telephone rang insistently. Richard Conrad opened one bleary eye and noticed the blonde hair spilling over the pillow next to his. Sylvia, he remembered and immediately regretted having called her. Now he would have to make small talk all through breakfast, and she would probably want to set another date before leaving his apartment. Aw, hell! All I wanted was a quick tumble in bed, not a relationship. The phone rang again, interrupting his thoughts.
"Christ, it's the middle of the night," he said under his breath.
"What time is it?" asked Sylvia sleepily as she reached a lazy hand over to caress his back.
"Four-thirty," he said and picked up the phone. "Yes," he answered blearily. "Yes, this is Richard Conrad."
There was a long pause, then suddenly he pushed away the bed covers and sat upright. "Where? How did it happen? Yes, yes, no problem. I'll be right there." He slammed down the receiver, jumped out of bed, and quickly pulled on a pair of pants.
"Where are you going?" asked Sylvia as she watched him from the bed.
"To the hospital," he replied abruptly.
"Why? What happened?"
"None of your business," he answered, deliberately cold. "And by the way," he added as he finished buttoning his shirt, "I don't want you here when I get back."
The pillow landed on the door just as he closed it behind him.
* * *
The hospital felt deserted so early in the morning. Richard hurried along the hall, his shoes squeaking on the green linoleum. He stopped at the information desk.
"I'm here about the Ivanovs."
The receptionist nodded and picked up the intercom. "Doctor Thomas to the front desk, please. Doctor Thomas." The message echoed through the hospital on the intercom system.
"Can't you give me any information about their condition?"
"I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to give out any information. Here's the doctor now." She smiled apologetically and turned her back discreetly as the doctor approached. On the counter next to her was a small portable radio. She busied herself with the dial.
"Mr. Conrad?" The man extended his hand. "I'm Doctor Thompson. I was the attending physician when the Ivanovs were brought into emergency."
"Yes, yes. How are they?"
The doctor hesitated for a moment and looked uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. "I'm afraid it isn't good."
* * *
William Brandon, stark naked except for the towel he wore draped around his neck, looked out of the window of his suite at the Plaza. Since his divorce, he had never bothered getting another house and moving out. After all, he no longer had a wife to care for his needs and the Plaza offered as good of a service as any woman could. He was the longest paying customer in the history of the hotel and he felt proud, somehow, of that fact. It gave him an odd sense of belonging.
He leaned forward, squinting his puffy eyes. From his angle, he could clearly see the entrance of the Pierre Hotel a stone’s throw away. A moment earlier, he had watched with avid curiosity as a shiny black Mercedes had pulled up and an elegant couple stepped out. Although from his distance he could not tell who they were, he was convinced it was Alex and his wife.
Now he took another drag from his cigar and smiled. You just try and get out of this one, he thought with smug satisfaction. At that moment, there was a knock at the door. “Just a moment,” he called and pulled the towel from his neck and wrapped it around his waist. “Who is it?”
“Room service.”
“I didn’t order room service,” he muttered to himself as he opened the door.
One shot rang, pushing him with such force that he stumbled backward a few steps before he even realized he was hit. “Wh-what?”
The intruder watched calmly as he stumbled to his knees, and then to the expensive Oriental rug as blood spurted out of the small wound in his chest.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to open the door to strangers?” The intruder stepped forward quickly, placed the gun to Brandon’s temple, pulled the trigger again, then stepped back, closed the door, and hurried down
the hall to the bank of elevators.
* * *
Chapter 27
Gerald arrived at the hospital looking harried and disheveled. “How is she?” he asked, frantic. “I heard on the news. I came as fast as I could,” he explained as the others stared at him.
Réjeanne, Richard, Natalia, and Andrew were seated in the private waiting room the hospital had made available for them. They all wore the same look of shock and disbelief.
For the third time since the Ivanovs had been brought in, Doctor Thompson patiently explained, “Mr. Ivanov had a minor heart attack. Luckily, he was brought to the hospital very fast and once we were sure he suffered no injuries from the crash, we gave him an injection of rTPA to dissolve the blood clot and help decrease the damage to the heart muscle.”
Gerald nodded. “What about Brigitte?”
The doctor hesitated. “Unfortunately,” he said. “Mrs. Ivanov has not been as lucky. The air bag was only on the driver’s side of the car, and it seems she was not wearing her seatbelt. When she was brought in, Mrs. Ivanov showed signs of massive internal bleeding. We operated and removed her spleen to stop the flow.”
“So she’ll be fine,” he said, wanting very badly to believe it.
Doctor Thompson shook his head. “While we were inside, we found a tumor on one of her ovaries. The tumor was large, and when we removed it, we were unable to keep it intact. The ovarian capsule burst. If it was malignant, there may have been some seeding of the cancer cells from the burst capsule inside the peritoneal cavity. Because of the bleeding in the area, we were unable to suction abdominal fluids for analysis.”
Gerald, who had been standing until then, collapsed on the sofa. “Cancer! How can that be? She was perfectly healthy.”
Doctor Thompson continued. “Any talk about cancer is still premature at this time. We won’t know if the tumor was malignant until we get the results from the lab.” The doctor paused for a moment, and when the others did not ask questions, apologized and began to turn away. “I’m sorry but I have to get back to my other patients. As soon as I get the report from the lab, I’ll let you know.”
“Can I see her?” asked Gerald.
The doctor shook his head. “She’s still in recovery and won’t be able to see anyone for a few hours.”
“This couldn’t have happened at a worse time,” said Andrew. “I wonder what this is going to do to the stockholders.”
Gerald exploded. “Who cares about the fucking stockholders!”
Natalia, ignoring Gerald’s outburst, answered, “We don’t have to worry about the stockholders anymore.”
“What are you talking about? With Alex in the hospital, they are sure to vote Brandon in,” retorted Andrew glumly.
Natalia shook her head. “William Brandon is dead. He was murdered last night. I heard it on the radio on my way here.”
Gerald’s face blanked in shock as his thoughts left Brigitte momentarily. “Do they know who did it?”
“No. They mentioned something about unknown intruders.”
Andrew groaned. “Who wants to bet that we will all be suspects?”
“The single most important thing we can do right now,” said Natalia, “is make a show of strength and unity. We must put out a statement immediately. We can’t afford a panic at this moment. Make sure to stress that Alex suffered only a mild heart attack and is expected to recover fully. Don’t mention anything about Brigitte, except to say that she suffered some internal injuries and had to undergo some surgery. I don’t want the word cancer to be so much as breathed to anyone. Do you understand? Make sure the hospital knows exactly what they can say. In the meantime, business goes on as usual.”
After all of the others had left, Gerald Masson stood by the window and looked at the gray skies.
This is like a bad dream. Like one he had already lived many years before. He remembered his wife and her long slow death after months of painful battle against ovarian cancer. Brigitte was the only other woman he had ever loved, and now she might suffer from the same affliction.
Dear Lord, he prayed silently. Don’t take her away from me, too. Not now. Not when we were so close to being together.
* * *
When it came back from the lab, Doctor Thompson read the report quickly. He picked up the telephone and called Gerald Masson at Power Properties. “I have good news,” he explained. “The tumor was benign.”
Gerald felt dizzy with relief and for a moment he couldn’t speak. “H-how is she?” he stammered.
“She’s out of the anesthesia. You can go and see her now.”
“And how is Alex?” he added as an afterthought.
“He’s resting at the moment, but we’ve scheduled him for a series of electrocardiograms and angiograms over the next few days. He’ll be in and out of his room, but you can try to see him in between procedures.”
Forty minutes later, Gerald walked into Brigitte’s private room, carrying three dozen red roses. For a moment he stood in the doorway gazing at her. Paleness had replaced her rosy cheeks. She looked so vulnerable in her sleep. There were tubes coming out of her everywhere.
“Brigitte,” he whispered as he came closer. “Darling, it’s me.”
Brigitte stirred and opened her eyes.
“I brought you some flowers.”
She smiled. “I was just dreaming about you.”
“Pleasant dreams I hope.”
She nodded. “The doctor said we had an accident. I don’t remember…”
“Shh. The important thing is that you’ll be fine.” He caressed her face with his free hand. “I also have good news for us. The takeover bid is over. William Brandon was murdered last night. That means I’ll be free to leave Power Properties just as soon as Alex comes back.”
The words seemed to shock Brigitte. She shook her head weakly. “Gerald, I want to tell you something.”
“Shh.” Gerald put the flowers on the bedside table and leaned over. “I love you,” he whispered.
Panicked, Brigitte struggled to keep her eyes open. “Th-there’s something I have to t-tell…” Before she could finish, she was asleep again.
Later, when Gerald returned to the office, he was greeted by a panic-stricken Leonora. “All hell has just broken loose. The switchboard hasn’t stopped for one minute. The stockholders are going crazy about Brandon and the takeover and about Alex being in the hospital. Reporters are calling every second, and to make matters worse, now there’s someone from the police here. He wants to question everyone about William Brandon’s murder.”
“Tell the reporters we are preparing a press conference and that we will notify them of the time and place. In the meantime, you can reassure the stockholders that Alex is expected to make a full recovery and that business is going on as usual.” He sighed. “I’ll handle the cop. Where is he?”
“In the conference room.”
Gerald strode down the hall. In the room, Natalia, Andrew, Richard, and the inspector were gathered around the enormous table. The inspector was a big man and dwarfed everyone except Natalia. He was obviously annoyed when Gerald walked in.
Natalia spoke first. “Gerald, this is Inspector Lawson. He wants to know—”
Inspector Lawson interrupted. “William Brandon was murdered last night. He was shot sometime between seven and ten o’clock in his suite at the Plaza. I understand that he was making a run for Power Properties.”
Natalia shook her head vehemently and her chins wobbled. “Yes, but we only found out it was him yesterday afternoon. And last night, we were all at the stockholder’s gala between seven and ten.”
“If you don’t mind, ma’am, I would like to ask the questions.” Lawson pulled out a grimy pad and a pencil. “William Brandon was found by one of the hotel maids late last night. He was shot with a twenty-two caliber, one bullet in the liver from a few feet away and one in the head at close range.”
“That sounds like a professional killing, doesn’t it?” asked Natalia eagerly.
Lawson looked up at her. “Not when the gun is small caliber. A dozen guests on the same floor heard the shots.” He paused. “Brandon was making a run for this company and in my books, that’s a motive for murder.”
The partners exchanged glances. Their silence acknowledged there was no arguing with Lawson on that one.
After the meeting, Lawson returned to the precinct. His partner hurried over before he had a chance to slump his weary bones down in the equally tired-looking chair behind his desk. Larry Miles was in his early thirties and looked like he played quarterback for Notre Dame. “So, how did the meeting with the big shots go?”
Lawson disregarded the creaking of his old chair and leaned way back. He took a deep breath and exhaled noisily. “I don’t know. I spoke to them together, and then questioned each one individually. Natalia Berenson, you remember her? The old movie star? She was a mess of nerves, but I have a feeling that’s just her personality. On the other hand, Gerald Masson, he’s got something he’s hiding. Andrew McGregor hates Alex Ivanov. He feels that Ivanov has been stretching the company finances too thin. He might have wanted to murder Ivanov, but why Brandon? And the young one, Richard Conrad…”
Scorpio Series Boxed Set Page 41