Never Tell

by Alafair Burke

  And after telling her daughter the entire story, Adrienne still remained worried only about Ramona. She assured her that the book was being published under a pseudonym. That no one would need to know her mother had written it. But Ramona didn’t care about any of that. She had hugged her mother and said, “If it were up to me, I’d want the whole world to know. I’m so proud of you.” And since then, they were back to the way they were. No more secrets. They promised.

  “You know I have debate team.” She tried one more time to persuade her mother to stay in the city. “Can’t you write at home?”

  “I’ll get more done out east. And, honestly, the further away I can get from the scene of the maggot crime, the better. We may need to replace those floorboards.” She feigned a shudder. “Trust me. I’ll be fine.”

  “You promise?”

  “I promise.”

  They both knew that unlike their promise not to keep any more secrets, this was a promise they had no control over. But, just like the feeling of her mother’s hand in hers, the words were a comfort.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  The lobby of the Park Manhattan was typical for a midtown office tower. Lots of marble. Lots of glass. Expensive but nondescript art. Post-9/11 security guards manning the front desk, insisting on identification and issuing electronically monitored guest passes before granting entry.

  On this particular day in this particular office tower, one of the security guards had already made the phone call they’d requested. The call was to a Margene Waters, former secretary to George Langston, former partner at the law firm of Mascal & Blank. Could she please come downstairs? She had a floral arrangement requiring a personal signature.

  “How do you know she’ll talk to us?” Ellie asked.

  “I don’t,” Rogan said. “Worst thing that happens is she tells Langston we’re asking about him and his farce of a lawsuit against his buddy, Bolt. Pretty sure the Moffits will have already let that cat out of the bag. The way I see it, secretaries feel one of two ways about any given boss: fiercely loyal to the ones who are good to them, and eager for karma to catch up to the rest. You met George Langston. He seem like the kind of guy to remember Secretary’s Day?”

  The security guard nodded in their direction when the woman they were looking for stepped out of the elevator. Margene was about forty years old, dressed professionally in a navy sheath dress. Her five-inch, bright-white heels were the only giveaway that she wasn’t one of the lawyers at the blue-chip firm.

  When they explained they had some questions about George Langston, she glanced back toward the closing elevator doors, already planning her retreat from the conversation.

  “We can talk somewhere else if that would be better,” Rogan said. He flashed the smile Ellie had seen work magic so many times before. “Bet you know a coffee shop around here that brews a way better cup than whatever insta-java stuff they have upstairs. On us. We just need some background info.”

  “You’re real police, right?” She had a heavy Long Island accent. “Not some fringy private investigators or something?”

  “Why would a private eye be asking questions about George Langston?” Ellie asked.

  “Half the partners who got pushed out last year have either sued the firm or are getting sued for poaching clients. It’s like Lord of the Flies since the downsizing. All the staff knows we’ll get fired in a New York minute for helping any of the old guard.”

  Now Ellie had a smile to match Rogan’s. Ladies and gentlemen, they had found themselves a talker. They assured her they weren’t interested in the internal workings of the law firm, and then made their way to a Starbucks on Sixth Avenue.

  Margene didn’t even wait for them to ask a question before launching in. “So the suspense is killing me. What in the world could two police detectives want to know about George?” She emphasized his name as if it alone captured the very essence of his uninterestingness.

  Rogan followed their game plan of easing into the subject gently. “Something bad happened to one of his daughter’s friends. It would help us put some of the information in context if we had a better sense of the family dynamics.”

  “Ramona’s okay, though, right? You don’t think she did anything wrong.”

  “Oh no, nothing like that,” Rogan assured her.

  “Oh, thank God. That girl is such a little sweetheart. Hard to believe she grew up with George. I mean, not that he’s a bad guy, but—well, have you met him?” They nodded. “Okay, so then you know. I mean, some of the girls upstairs thought he was adorable in this old-fashioned way, but I never quite got it. He’s just . . . he’s so . . . pent-up. Maybe the fact that Ramona’s so laid-back is proof of the whole nature-over-nurture thing. Or maybe it’s because of Adrienne. Now, boy, did George get lucky there.”

  Ellie was beginning to wonder whether this woman was even breathing between sentences. “So it sounds like you know Ramona was adopted, and that Adrienne came into the picture later?”

  “Oh, of course. Everyone knew. I mean, I wasn’t there when it all went down, but people talk. No one—not even the girls who were kind of into him—could believe George was marrying someone like Adrienne. I mean, she’s gorgeous. And such a doll. So, on the one hand, it’s like, how the hell did he land her? But on the other hand, you could kind of tell that George would be watching all the other partners when Adrienne was around, like she might embarrass him or something. Don’t get me wrong. He absolutely loves her. But George is so class-conscious, you know?”

  They didn’t, but they were about to.

  “Seersucker suits in the summertime. Bow ties. He wants to be taken so seriously. But”—she lowered her voice to a whisper—“you know his father was a building superintendent? That’s right. He didn’t come from money. You’d think he’d be proud of it, but—whatever. At least he married a great woman and raised a great daughter. That’s gotta say something.”

  “How about friends?” Rogan asked.

  “Same kind of thing. Always chasing the social ladder. Honestly? I think it’s why he got pushed out. The partners here didn’t respect him enough. And he was having a hard time bringing in clients, too. People issues, you know? People can tell when you’re not comfortable in your own skin.”

  “Isn’t he friends with some muckety-muck doctor?” Ellie said it like she wasn’t sure of the details.

  “Oh, that’s David. David Bolt. Yeah, those two go all the way back to middle school. David told me once—I’m sure George didn’t like it—that George’s dad was the super in David’s family’s apartment building. That’s how they got to be friends. More like brothers—you know how guys can be? Better friends to each other than us girls, I hate to say. David was actually the one to get Ramona into that fancy school. I was the one who drafted the letter to the headmistress. In fact, George might’ve been pushed out earlier if it weren’t for David throwing him business here and there.”

  “What kind of work?” Rogan asked.

  “You know, a drug company matter, usually litigation. Sometimes it was work for the patent department. One matter was a construction project for NYU Medical Center. But it was always one little thing or another, not enough to make George a rainmaker or anything. Not even enough to save him from the ax, as it turned out.”

  Margene had nearly drained her frothy whipped-cream coffee drink and was starting to look at her watch. They thanked her for the information and got her home number in case they needed to contact her again.

  “I didn’t mean to make him sound like a bad guy,” she said. “Once I get on a roll, I’m hard to stop. And it’s always so much easier for some reason to go straight to the imperfections. George is a very nice man at heart.”

  Her post-gossip pangs of guilt must have still been kicking, because as they walked out onto Sixth Avenue, she pulled her cell phone from her purse. “The week he asked me to draft Ramona’s recommendation letter from Dr. Bolt, I wound up having to work eighty hours because of a deal that exploded. To thank me, he
gave me a weekend in the country. Got me a car service both ways and everything. They had these cute little llama things. Look, isn’t that sweet?”

  Ellie took a look at the picture on the screen to be polite. A Long Island gal like Margene thought she had spent the weekend with llamas.

  The two animals in the pictures were not llamas, but alpacas. And in the background behind them stood a distinctive red barn with a sloped green metal roof.

  She could tell from Rogan’s expression that he’d made the connection as well. When he’d seen the animals on Julia Whitmire’s Facebook page in front of that same barn, he had thought they were goats.

  “Oh, those are cute,” Ellie said. “That was very nice of him to thank you so generously. Is that the Langstons’ place?” If Ramona’s family owned alpacas at a country property, that would certainly explain how Julia could have spent time there as well.

  Margene nodded. “Up in Pound Ridge. Nothing fancy—seemed almost like a cabin or something—but tons of land, and definitely relaxing.”

  Ellie’s phone buzzed. She let Rogan handle the goodbyes and stepped to the curb to answer the call.

  “Hatcher.”

  “This is Detective Sean Doherty from the 19th Precinct. I was just handed a potential stalking report from a walk-in up here. I was about to write it off as a lost cause, but I found the victim’s name in an incident report you filed in a homicide case you caught last Monday. Your vic, Julia Whitmire, posted some kind of harassment on a blog belonging to Adrienne Langston?”

  “That’s correct. Are you telling me Adrienne Langston finally filed a police report about those comments on her blog?”

  “It’s more than comments. We’ve got a box full of maggots courtesy of Mrs. Langston’s own personal evidence collection.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “You have what?”

  “Her doorman handed her a surprise delivery: an Adidas shoe box nearly full of those nasty little fuckers. The fella in the property room had stomach enough to forage through the pile. Guess there was half a rancid chicken at the bottom. So is this for real or what?”

  “If the maggots were real, then, yes, I’d say it’s for real.”

  “No need to get feisty. I’m asking whether this should go to you as part of your homicide.”

  Ellie hated that word. When Ellie heard feisty, she thought of tiny, yippy dogs who nipped at ankles. She didn’t nip at ankles. She bit. And when she bit, she went for the jugular.

  But she had been a little bitchy. “Yeah, refer the report to us. We’ll handle it out of our squad. But can you send the box full of nastiness straight to the lab for analysis?”

  “Already done.”

  “That was quick.”

  “I’d tell you it’s because we’re here to protect and serve, but we were just glad to get those suckers out of here.”

  As she ended the call, Rogan clicked the Crown Vic’s doors unlocked. “Do I even want to know why you were talking about maggots?”

  “I need to schmooze the crime lab. And we need to talk to Adrienne Langston again.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Thank you, Nelson. Send him up.”

  Ramona propped the apartment door open, the way she always did after telling the doorman to send someone upstairs. But then she thought better of it and walked out to the hallway. She wanted to see Casey as soon as possible.

  When he’d finally been released from jail the previous evening, he had called her immediately. But she had to be with her mother. That awful box. Cleaning up the mess. Helping Mom pack for the trip to Long Island. By the time she finished, the curfew at Promises had passed, and Casey couldn’t leave.

  The least she could do was wait in the hallway.

  She was surprised by her own reaction when he stepped from the elevator. This had been the worst week of her life, worse than anything she ever could have imagined. Julia was gone. Her mother was being stalked. The police had falsely accused Casey of doing something he could never do.

  But the minute she saw Casey in person, she felt herself smile for the first time since she’d heard about Julia’s death. It was a big smile, the kind that moved through your entire body. And before she knew it, she was hugging Casey. They had never hugged before. Sure, they’d done the hand-on-shoulder, peck on the cheek style of greeting, but now they were really holding on to each other. To her surprise, she found herself burrowing her face into the crook of his neck before quickly pulling away. She hoped he didn’t sense the guilt in her movement.

  “I’m so glad they finally realized they were wrong about you,” she said, shepherding him into the apartment. “Are you doing okay back at Promises?”

  “You know you’ve had a bad week when you’re ecstatic to be sleeping at a homeless shelter.”

  “Maybe you can stay here for a while. I can talk to my dad tonight—”

  He waved a hand. “I wasn’t dropping hints for a place to stay. Ms. Ri is trying to get me to see the bright side in all this. My lawyer thinks I might have a lawsuit against Julia’s dad and those security guards, but I don’t really know whether I want to do that or not. Julia’s mom feels so horrible she actually offered to let me stay at their house with her until I get my act together. Plus, the group that got me my lawyer is going to help me find a job. They even asked me about starting college classes. I feel like I might be able to turn this into something positive.”

  “That’s great, Casey.”

  “Not like Columbia or anything like that. Community college, but whatever. We’ll see what happens. I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

  “Maybe you deserve to get your hopes up, after what you went through.”

  She saw a hunger in his eyes, and then looked away. More guilt.

  They were interrupted by the telephone. It was Nelson from downstairs. Detectives Hatcher and Rogan from the NYPD were here to see her mother.

  “Send them up,” she said. “Speaking of last week, I think a couple of detectives owe you a serious apology.”

  Ellie was used to dealing with attitude. That was pretty much a typical day in the life of a cop—dealing with attitude. But sixteen-year-old girls had a certain brand of attitude that she found especially trying.

  “My mother is out at the beach. She’s working on her book. And hiding from some nutjob who’s stalking her. But at least Casey’s here—now that he’s finally out of jail.”

  Apparently Rogan wasn’t in the mood to sit through the tirade. “You done venting, Ramona?”

  “No, not really. I told you that Julia would never threaten my mom. I told you that Casey was innocent. And I told you that I was scared for my mother. I practically begged you to listen. I trusted you.”

  Ellie wanted to write the girl off as a spoiled brat, but that last remark—that the girl had trusted them, and they had failed her—hit too close to home to ignore. “Is that why your mother filed the police report with the 19th Precinct instead of with us?”

  Ramona looked at her feet. “We didn’t think you’d listen. We thought someone else might take it more seriously.”

  “We’re taking it seriously. I already cashed in some chips with the lab to get them to rush the analysis of the shoe box. But you’re right. We got waylaid there for a few days. We made some mistakes.”

  Ramona started to argue, but Casey interrupted. “No, it’s okay. They did what they thought was right under the circumstances.”

  “But that’s because—”

  “I know. Trust me—I know what those asshole security guards did to me. Not to mention Brandon and Vonda.”

  Ellie groaned at the mention of their names. “If we find those two idiots, I’ll escort them to jail personally.”

  “I don’t think they’ll be back. You know, Brandon had the audacity to send me an e-mail this morning, apologizing?”

  The news gave Ramona a new direction for her anger. “Right. Because an apology makes up for trying to frame you for murder. Oops. My bad.”

  “He said it
was Vonda’s idea, which I absolutely believe. Plus, Vonda took off in the middle of the night with all the cash they got from the Whitmires, stranding him in Idaho. Now Brandon’s in Portland. No money. No Ms. Ri.”

  “Any chance you can make them come back here?” Ramona asked.

  Ellie shook her head. There was already a warrant out for both Brandon and Vonda for obstruction of justice and defrauding the Whitmires out of the reward money, but they’d probably never be extradited to New York.

  “Stupid idiot actually thought Promises might take him back in,” Casey said. “He was all, I can’t believe how bad I messed things up. We had a good thing going with Promises and people like Julia and Ramona trying to help us. Way to show your gratitude. Send the police off on some wild goose chase when they should’ve been finding out what really happened to Julia.”

  “We do regret the way things have played out. But we’re here now to try to help your mom, Ramona. That’s what we all want, right?” She could tell Ramona wanted to show some more fight, but the girl eventually nodded. “Is your mother out in East Hampton alone?”

  “Yeah. My dad’s working.”

  “Is that typical—for her to go there alone?”

  She shrugged. “Not typical, but, you know, my dad works pretty hard, trying to get his own firm off the ground. So she and I do our own thing sometimes. And lately she’s been more on her own. I didn’t know why until I found out how important this blog thing is to her. All these months, she’s been sneaking off to write.”

  Ellie hadn’t thought of it when they’d been talking to George’s secretary about the alpacas, but she didn’t have the Langstons pegged as wealthy enough to own so much property. “Do you guys also have a place up in the country?” Ellie asked.

  Ramona shook her head. “Just the apartment and the beach. Oh, and yeah, my dad has that farm up in Pound Ridge, but it’s land he bought with some friends right out of law school. It’s more of an investment.”

  “A real working ranch, huh?”