Leana shook her head sadly. “You just don’t get it, do you? You really think you were a prize father. What a joke. You haven’t heard a word I’ve said. The great George Redman does no wrong.”
“I made mistakes,” George said. “I admit it. I’m human. But you’ve been holding onto those mistakes for years. You’ve been carrying a grudge ever since you were a kid. Can you honestly say that you’ve given me a chance?”
“Yes,” Leana said without hesitation. “Yes, I can say that.”
“Then I guess you’re a better person than I am,” George said. “Congratulations.”
He started to walk away again.
But Leana went after him.
“It’s so easy for you,” she said. “Build your buildings. Take over your corporations. Live your big life. Be that big dream. But what I see is a pathetic excuse of a man who has so lost control of himself and what matters in life that my sister is dead because of it.”
That stopped him.
“It’s true,” she said. “Those spotlights exploded weeks ago. Why didn’t you protect your family when someone obviously has it in for us. Someone you probably pissed off. You think they’ll be coming after me and Mom because of something we did? Get real. When we’re dead, it’ll be because of something you did, not us. You’ve got blood on your hands now, and you’ll have blood on your hands then.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Tell that to Celina.”
“I’ve been in touch with the police daily about those spotlights.”
“You should have been up their ass hourly. You should have been on the phone to the major. You should have called your friend the governor. Tell that to Celina, too. You’re partly responsible for all of this. You failed to keep your family safe. You suck as a father. You’re not the man you think you are. You’re just some schmuck who got lucky years ago, made his fortune, collected the rewards that came with it and the luck kept rolling until it stopped with my sister’s death. You’re the murderer here. You’re a piece of shit and it’s time someone told you so to your face.”
“Get the fuck out of here,” George said.
“If you think I’m leaving my mother alone with you, you’re crazy. You’re unstable. You get the fuck out.”
George looked at Elizabeth, saw the pain on her face and the defeat in her eyes, and then he also noted something else—she was siding with Leana. He stepped alone into the elevator—only dimly aware of the press, who were still leaning against the windows—and pressed a button. The doors closed. He was gone.
* * *
In his study, Michael Archer watched his mother move across the living room to pick up her son, watched her collapse with him on the damask sofa, watched her throw back her head and laugh when he tickled her ribs.
No sound came from her mouth. But her eyes were shining.
He picked up the remote, pointed it at the television, zoomed in and froze on her face. She looked happy. He held the shot for a few seconds, then pressed a button and faded into the next clip.
Michael leaned toward the television and tried to remember the lost scenes of his childhood as they unfolded before him.
Anne Ryan stood on tip-toe as she placed a large tinfoil star on top of a Christmas tree decorated with strings of popcorn, twinkling lights, frosted glass balls. When the star was in place, she stepped back and smiled at her handiwork. She turned toward the camera, curtsied, then made a face and pointed across the room.
The camera whirled and swept across a small apartment that was neat, festive and filled with people. His father was sitting in an antique rocking chair, cuddling an infant in the crook of his arm. Louis kissed the child on the forehead, brushed its cheek with the back of his hand.
Michael lifted the receiver to his ear. “How did you get these films onto DVD?” he asked his father, who had called moments before. Louis had asked Michael to go to his study and look in the drawer beneath the television. There, Michael found a DVD player and a stack of DVDs.
“They were brought to a man on Third Avenue,” Louis said. “He takes old home movie footage and puts it onto DVD.” There was a beat of silence. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”
“Why isn’t there any sound?”
“Your grandfather shot everything. He used his camera.”
Michael watched his mother. She was now wearing a long, flowing white dress and holding a stuffed Easter bunny in front of her son. He watched himself giggle, watched himself grin.
“Why are you doing this to me?”
“I want you to remember your mother as she was. It’s been a long time, Michael. You’ve forgotten.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” Michael said. I haven’t.
The line went dead.
When the phone rang thirty minutes later, Michael was viewing the final DVD. Feeling drained and exhausted, he paused the frame and reached for the telephone, thinking it was his father.
It wasn’t.
For the next several moments, Michael listened quietly to the man who gave him the loan in Vegas. He listened to him threaten, he listened to him shout.
“I understand in a few days your father’s going to ask a favor of you,” the man said. “For your sake, you better do it, Michael. Because if you don’t, if you decide not to kill Redman, your father won’t give us the final payment—and then Mr. Santiago will be asking me to do a favor for him.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
“How are you this morning?”
Diana turned from the window she was standing at and looked across the small living room at Jack Douglas. He was standing in the arched doorway, holding two cups of coffee and wearing a faded blue bathrobe that was spotted with purplish bleach stains and frayed at the sleeves.
Diana shrugged. “I’m all right,” she said. “Considering.”
Jack nodded—he knew.
His eyes puffy from lack of sleep, his hair tousled, he moved to the center of the room and sat at one end of a sofa. “I made coffee,” he said. “Want a cup?”
Diana said she would love a cup. As she crossed the room, it occurred to her how strange it was that they were here together, comforting each another in his apartment. Yesterday, after the police left with Eric, Jack went upstairs to her bedroom, packed her an overnight bag and told her to come home with him.
Diana didn’t want to be alone in her apartment. She was grateful for his kindness and agreed. Now, as she sat beside Jack, she wondered again how anyone involved in the takeover of WestTex Incorporated would get through these next few days without losing whatever sanity they somehow had managed to keep.
Jack handed her one of the steaming mugs. “That was Harold on the phone a few minutes ago,” he said. “He and the board have been caucusing with WestTex and Chase since last night. Frostman has been key to moving things forward. The paperwork’s nearly finished. Chase has cut us a deal. Everything’s a go.”
“Then we leave tomorrow afternoon for Iran?”
Jack nodded, relieved that Celina’s funeral was scheduled for early morning, hours before he, Diana and Harold would have to board Redman International’s private Lear to London, then on to Iran.
“It’s a long flight,” he said. “By the time we arrive to sign the final papers, it’ll be Tuesday morning in New York and the deal with WestTex will have just been completed. Harold seems to feel that everything will go smoothly from here on out.”
Diana smiled wryly. She sipped her coffee.
“I see you’re having a difficult time believing that, too,” Jack said.
“Can you blame me?”
“Not at all. In fact, I’d be surprised if something doesn’t go wrong. Too much has happened. My trust in this deal and in Redman International has dissolved. Someone is out to destroy George and his family.”
“They still haven’t found the man who murdered Celina, have they?”
Jack shook his head. All night long he had relived Celina’s death, trying to convince himse
lf that he’d done everything he could to save her, but nevertheless feeling that he hadn’t done nearly enough. “Harold said they’ve found nothing. Not a thing.”
“Are you going to be all right?”
“What’s all right? I know that once this deal is complete, I’m out of here. I’m going to leave Redman International, disappear somewhere. Before I do anything else, I have to get my head on straight, Diana.”
“You didn’t sleep last night, did you?”
“Not a wink.”
“Me either,” she said. “And I’m dreading going back to my apartment. If I didn’t have to go back, Jack, I wouldn’t go.”
“Then don’t,” he said. “You can stay with me until everything blows over. When you’re ready to go back, you go back.”
“I wish it were that easy,” she said. “But there are a stack of files I have to collect before we leave for Iran—and much of them are in my office at home.”
Jack finished the last of his coffee. “Let me go with you,” he said. “To be honest, I’d be grateful for anything that can help take my mind off Celina.”
* * *
The air was still when they entered her apartment.
There was no commotion, no officers talking into their cell phones, no one there to kneel by her side and tell her that everything was going to be all right while she sat stunned as they wheeled Eric’s body out of her apartment.
Instead, there was only quiet and it left her vacant. As Diana followed Jack inside, she kept thinking how unreal this still was. Just yesterday, she thought, as they moved into the living room and she saw the winding oak staircase, they had found Eric Parker dead at the bottom of it.
Jack must have sensed her uneasiness.
“Let’s get this over with,” he said. “Where’s your office?”
Diana nodded toward the stairs, but she made no effort to climb them.
“Do you want me to get the files for you?”
She hesitated, but then said that she didn’t. The files she needed were stored in her desk, packed away in a black crocodile briefcase. Not only would it be easier for her to get the files herself, but she also knew that Eric had been using her computer yesterday afternoon. She was still curious to see what he was so curious about. “But I’d like it if you came with me,” she said.
When they reached the top of the stairs, Diana hesitated only briefly before she approached the closed office door. She turned the handle and gave it a push. The door swung open, coming gently to rest against the rubber doorstop, exposing a plain room filled with the muted light of an overcast sky.
She moved toward her desk and noticed the large, black smudges soiling the back of her computer. Jack noticed it, too. “Looks as if you’ve had some computer problems,” he said. “What do you suppose he was up to?”
“No idea.”
But she was determined to find out. She sat at her desk and turned on the computer. But when she flipped the switch, the machine did nothing. She checked and saw that it was unplugged. Plugging it back in awakened an odd buzzing sound, almost as if the computer’s circuits were frying. The screen flickered—once, twice—and it then turned in on itself.
Jack reached over her shoulder and pulled the plug.
Diana stared at the screen. “He broke it,” she said. “Why?”
“We could spend all day wondering why.”
She turned in her chair and looked around the room, still trying to figure out why Eric would use her computer and then break it. It didn’t make sense. She wondered if he was after information of some sort, but even that didn’t make sense. There was nothing Eric didn’t know about all aspects of Redman International.
Like her, he had had top clearance to all files and he was well-versed in every one of them. And even if he had forgotten something in the two weeks that had passed since his termination—which, knowing him, she doubted—she had openly discussed several ongoing deals with him during the time they’d spent together. She had updated him on everything—including the takeover of WestTex Incorporated.
There was nothing he didn’t know. And yet he used and broke her computer for a reason.
She looked over at the long line of metal file cabinets along the far left wall and wondered if he had found her key and gone through those.
She left her chair. As she moved past Jack, she thought of all the times Eric had used her, hurt her, taken advantage of her, and of all the times she swore to herself that he never again would he be given that chance.
Now, as she stopped in front of a white table that held one of her two printers, she couldn’t help feeling that she’d been taken again by the son of a bitch.
She removed the table’s only drawer and emptied its contents onto the floor—pens and pencils and scraps of paper fell at her feet. Taped to the back of the drawer would be the only other key to her file cabinets—the other key she carried with her at all times. But if this key was missing, if it was gone or put back improperly, she would know that he had been into her files.
She flipped the drawer over—and saw that the key was still there, still taped to the back, clearly unmoved. Eric hadn’t broken into her files. And Diana felt foolish. It occurred to her that maybe he had just been bored sitting here alone and accessed her computer only to surf the Web.
Buy why break the machine?
Jack came over to where she was kneeling and began picking up the clutter at her feet. “It’s probably nothing,” he said, taking the drawer from her hand and inserting it back into the desk. “We might be blowing this out of proportion.”
Diana wanted to agree with him, but she couldn’t. “That computer didn’t break on its own,” she said. “It was only a few months old.”
“There’s a chance that we’re reaching here. Maybe he didn’t break it intentionally. Maybe it did break on its own.”
She considered this, but it didn’t feel right. Eric had lied to her too often to think that this was less than it seemed.
“What could he gain from going through your files and using your computer?”
Diana could come to only one conclusion—Eric needed money. She told Jack about the enormous hospital bills he had to pay when George terminated his insurance, about the pipes bursting in his apartment and how the water had seeped through to the apartment below, destroying Mrs. Aldrich’s prized paintings and furniture.
“She was threatening to sue Eric and he was desperate,” she said. “He was rapidly running out of money, he knew he wouldn’t be able to afford a lawyer—certainly not a decent one—and I didn’t offer to defend him. Before I left him alone yesterday morning, I asked how he was going to come up with the money he needed to cover those debts.”
“What did he say?”
It was a moment before Diana could speak. As realization slowing dawned on her, the ramifications of what she was thinking chilled her. “He mentioned something about contacting Louis Ryan for a job.”
“Louis Ryan?” Jack said. “But George hates that man. Celina told me that Ryan once accused George of killing his wife.”
Diana didn’t hear Jack. She wasn’t aware of anything else except for the cold possibilities that were now in front of her. “All of those roses,” she said to herself.
“What are you talking about?”
Diana moved to her desk. In the left-hand drawer would be the files she’d collected on the takeover of WestTex Incorporated—files Eric hadn’t seen or read.
She opened the drawer, feeling only slightly relieved when she saw that the shiny black briefcase was still there, just as she had left it. She removed the briefcase and put it on her desk. Jack moved behind her. As Diana unsnapped the brass latches, she realized that if the files were disturbed, or if they were missing, she would have to tell George that Eric might have sold the information to Louis Ryan—or perhaps to some other competitor—and the deals with WestTex and Iran would need to fall through.
She opened the case.
Inside were several dark green fol
ders—and every one of them was empty. Stunned, Diana fell into her seat. “There gone,” she said. “He took them.”
“Took what?” Jack asked.
“The files,” Diana said impatiently. “The files on the takeover of WestTex. The files that outlines our entire deal with Iran. Eric took them.” She slammed the briefcase shut, reached for one of the phones in front of her and dialed the front desk. Her heart was pounding.
While she waited for the line to be answered, she said to Jack: “While Eric was in the hospital, Louis Ryan sent him dozens of roses. At the time, I thought he was going to offer Eric a job.” She nodded toward the briefcase. “Now I know what that job was.”
A man answered the line.
“Billy,” she said. “Diana Crane. I need you to answer a few questions for me.”
“Of course, Ms. Crane.”
“Yesterday morning, when I left, you were on duty, correct?”
“That’s right.”
“I need to know if Mr. Parker left the building while I was gone.”
The man was silent for a moment. He cleared his throat and said, “He did.”
Diana closed her eyes. Yesterday, when she returned from the market and found her apartment empty, she assumed Eric was in his own apartment, surveying the damage by himself. Sensing he wanted to be alone, Diana started lunch. And then came the call from George Redman, telling her the news about Celina’s death and asking her if she could come to an emergency board meeting. In her haste to leave, she’d knocked over two bags of groceries.
At the time, Diana hadn’t given a second thought to Eric’s absence. Now, she knew that he hadn’t been in his apartment at all.
“Did he say where he was going?” she asked.
“He didn’t,” the man said. “But if it’ll help, I can tell you that wherever he was going, he went by limousine.”
The man added this information so smoothly, her instincts as a lawyer became acute. She knew he wanted her to know something she wouldn’t know without his help. Glancing at Jack, she said, “Limousine? Did he order the car around himself?”
The Fifth Avenue Series Boxed Set Page 33