Cover-up

by Michele Martinez

  “Great, although sometimes I think I’m just…I don’t know, mixed up about him,” Melanie said, flashing on the intense sex they’d had in her office. Wow. She felt her cheeks get hot, and wondered if Sophie noticed her blushing. She had to fight off a powerful urge to sneak outside and call Dan up to see if they could do it again. She twirled fettuccine around her fork and shoved it in her mouth.

  In the depths of her handbag, Melanie’s cell phone rang, and she dug for it frantically. The display showed an incoming call from Julian Hay’s cell phone.

  “Oops, sorry, work,” she said to Sophie as she flipped the phone open. “Hello?”

  “Melanie, Julian. I only have a second. I need to know. You want I should go ahead and buy this dude, or what?”

  “You mean Miles?”

  “Who else, boss?”

  “You’re in a position to buy from him already? I’m amazed!”

  “Yeah. Turns out he’s moving crystal meth, and he’s like begging to sell me some.”

  Now, this was the reason to have Julian Hay on a case. He might be a slacker when it came to matters that didn’t interest him, but there was no better narcotics undercover than Suave Pierre.

  “Crystal meth? He’d be looking at real jail time,” Melanie said.

  “Like the Big Bad Wolf says, the better to flip you with, my dear,” Julian said.

  “If Ortiz flips on Welch, we’ll be cooking with gas. Pierre, you’re a genius.”

  “One step at a time, sister. I’m calling only because I need a prosecutor’s authorization to requisition the buy money before I start negotiations. Give me the Benjamins and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “You’re authorized. Sign my name on the dotted line.”

  “Now you’re talking, sister. My aim is to put your boy in bracelets in the next twenty-four. Fingers crossed,” he said, and hung up.

  Melanie put her phone away and looked back at Sophie. “Where were we?”

  “You were telling me that things are mixed up with you and Dan. I’ve been waiting for this.” Sophie shook her head sadly.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that I’ve always thought this was a rebound relationship for you, Melanie. Not destined to last.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Oh, come on. You got involved with Dan right after learning of Steve’s affair. You were distraught over your marriage, afraid of being alone, and an attractive man fell head over heels for you, so you rushed into a relationship. I’m not blaming you. But what do you two have in common for the long haul? He’s a very nice person, and great looking, but he’s not your equal intellectually or emotionally. You share no interests beyond work. He’s a blue-collar suburban guy. You’re an uptown girl. He—”

  “Stop right now. Be quiet!”

  Reading Melanie’s expression, Sophie looked startled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I thought I was only saying things you already knew.”

  “I don’t know anything of the kind. I’m madly in love with this guy.”

  Sophie sipped her Diet Coke, looking chastened. “Well, that doesn’t mean you can’t question it.”

  “I can’t. I don’t. I’m way too into him to question anything right now.”

  “That’s not good.”

  Melanie sighed. “Maybe not. But it’s the truth.”

  “I would never say this if I didn’t love you and Maya so much, but is this really the right moment to be in such a passionate, all-consuming relationship? What about her?”

  Melanie’s eyes lingered on Maya, who was busily feeding ravioli to her doll, chattering away in half English, half baby.

  “I do worry about the time I spend on Dan,” Melanie said, “and how much room he takes up in my heart. Sometimes I think I should focus on nothing but her, at least until she’s older. But am I not entitled to have a man in my life? Dan’s it for me, Soph. I don’t want anybody else, and I can’t imagine feeling this way again. Am I supposed to let him go because he came along too soon?”

  “Do you ever think the strength of your feelings might come from the fact that you met him at such a vulnerable moment? In a crisis, we don’t always make the best decisions.”

  “That sounds like something you read in a magazine. Smart women, stupid choices. I’m not a self-help stereotype.”

  “Maybe you just don’t want to hear what I have to say,” Sophie said gently. “But fine, on a more practical level, then, does Dan accept Maya?”

  “He adores her. You should see him down on the floor with her, playing with her dollies, rolling her around.”

  “No, but…This is sensitive, but how does he feel about dating a woman with a child? Do you think he would marry you, or is this bound to be a temporary thing?”

  “I just got divorced.”

  “So he hasn’t asked?”

  “Of course not,” Melanie snapped, her tone defensive. “It’s much too soon.”

  Dan hadn’t introduced her to his family, either. It wasn’t too early for that, and Melanie was beginning to find the omission worrisome. But she had her pride, and she wouldn’t voice her fears to Sophie, given the tone of this conversation.

  “But he loves you, right?”

  “I think he does. He’ll say he’s crazy about me, or that he can’t live without me. He doesn’t actually say, ‘I love you,’ but that’s not his style.”

  Sophie frowned. “He’s never told you he loves you?”

  “Will you stop? I’m happy with Dan. More than happy, I’m besotted. I express one little iota of doubt, and suddenly you’re on this rampage of negativity. I don’t want to hear it.”

  “I just worry that you’ll get hurt, Melanie. A man changes once the chase is over, once you’re under his thumb. He loses interest.”

  “Fine, so I’m making a huge mistake,” Melanie said, exasperated. “It’s my life. Butt out.” Not to mention that you’re hardly the queen of relationships, she thought.

  Melanie’s phone started ringing again. She was glad for the excuse to end the conversation, which was more troubling than she cared to admit. Dan had been difficult to reach over the past few days, and a nagging little voice in her head was starting to ask if something was going on. What if he was seeing somebody else? He wouldn’t do that, would he? What if he broke up with her? Steve had shattered her plans, but Dan could break her heart, and she knew it.

  “Sorry about all the calls,” she said to Sophie as she flipped open her phone. “Work is crazy right now.”

  Tony Mancuso from Target News security was on the phone.

  “Sorry to bother you,” he said, “but I have some news I thought you’d want to hear immediately.”

  “What is it?”

  “I brought the box of dog shit to the FBI guys this afternoon, and they examined it right away. They don’t have the fingerprint analysis complete yet, but listen to this. The packing tape used to seal up the box?”

  “Yes?”

  “It matches the tape used to gag Suzanne. Matches exactly. Not just the same brand, but there’s a flaw in the weave that matches up so perfectly, they think it was contiguous pieces ripped off the roll. Melanie, the Butcher definitely sent this box.”

  26

  David Harris was on the telephone with his wife, and the call was not going well.

  “But I didn’t have to tell you!” he said, exasperated, dropping his head into his hands. “Don’t you see, Robin, I could have just lied. You would never have found out. I told you the truth because I love you, honey, and I want to make things right.”

  “You think I’m an idiot? Of course I would’ve found out, and I’m not the only one! You’ll be testifying about this abomination in open court. The whole world will know. My parents. All the moms from play group. The teachers at Jake’s school.” And she started to wail.

  “Robin, I didn’t even do anything. I told you, nothing happened. It was just something I was thinking about. A fantasy.”

  “
Sex with a prostitute is your fantasy? How do you think that makes me feel?” she screamed.

  Dave felt a migraine coming on, a bad one. In confessing to Robin, he’d left out the gay part, which was just too hard to explain. He kneaded his forehead with his fingertips and directed himself to remain calm.

  “And you do it in the park?” Robin yelled. “You can’t even be discreet and call some high-class hooker so people don’t find out? That is sick.”

  “I feel terrible that I hurt you, honey. I swear to you, nothing like this will ever happen again. I’ll go to therapy. I’ll get to the bottom of this. It was the stress. You can’t imagine the pressure I’m under, with the partnership decision so close. We’ll come out better than ever, promise…Robin?”

  But she was sobbing hysterically on the other end of the phone.

  “I have an idea. Robin? Robin, are you listening? Sweetie? Listen to me.”

  “Don’t call me sweetie!” she cried. “What am I supposed to do now? I have the kids. I haven’t worked in ten years! How am I supposed to support them?”

  “I’ll support us, like I always have. Don’t talk that way, please. We can work this out. I know you’re upset about what people will think. How about this? We buy a house in Scarsdale. A big house with a backyard for the kids. We can even renovate if you want. New kitchen, baths, the works. You’ll make friends who’ve never heard about out troubles.”

  “Scarsdale’s…not…far enough!” Robin said, sputtering through her sobs. “Everybody in Scarsdale knows people in the city. They’ll find out!”

  “Bedford, then. We can get enough land for a pool.”

  “Bedford?” She quieted, hiccuping and snuffling.

  “Sure.”

  “You always said you wouldn’t commute that far.”

  “I’d make that sacrifice if it would help you get past this. I know you love it in the country. We’ll get a dog, have a separate laundry room instead of that stacking thing stuck in the closet. Live like human beings.”

  Robin coughed and blew her nose loudly. “But, Dave, Bedford is expensive.”

  “Doesn’t matter. With prices in the city what they are, we’ll clear a mint on the apartment. And I’m still gonna make partner. I can get old man Feinerman back in my camp if I just ace this Simpson litigation. I know I can. What do you say, Rob?”

  She was silent.

  “Robin? Are you there?”

  “Are you sure nothing happened? I need to go over that part again.”

  Robin had eventually agreed to let him stay in the apartment that night if he slept on the couch in the den. Dave consulted his watch. It was about nine o’clock, on the early side to leave his desk. Putting in face time was critical to making partner at Feinerman, to the point that certain senior partners were known to call around late at night in the months leading up to the decision, professing to ask for research on some minor point when in fact they were checking whether you were still at your post. Dave was scrupulous about not getting caught out like that. But what the hell. He’d just witnessed a brutal murder and his marriage was on the rocks. He could knock off early for once.

  Dave speed-dialed the internal extension that patched him through to Tri-State Limo.

  “Tri-State Limousine Service. How may I help you, Mr. Harris?”

  “Ready now at the office.”

  “Destination?”

  “Home.”

  “Very good, sir. You want your regular driver?”

  “Yes, I want Stanislaus. How long?”

  “Let me check. Hold on please.”

  Dave waited on hold. He drummed his fingers on his desk impatiently, studying the photograph that sat in a silver frame next to his telephone. Dave, Robin, and the kids, taken by a professional photographer last summer in Westhampton. They were seated on an appropriately beachy rock, wearing matching outfits of khaki pants and white dress shirts, looking prosperous and content. Like a family should.

  The dispatcher came back on the line.

  “Good news, Mr. Harris. Stanislaus is actually downstairs outside your building. He just returned from his previous call.”

  “Car 130 as usual?”

  “That’s correct. He’ll display the number in the window.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Have a good night, Mr. Harris.”

  Outside, it took a second before Dave spotted the town car with the big red number 130 in the window. Stanislaus hadn’t parked in his usual spot. Instead of idling directly in front of the building with all the other black sedans from Tri-State that awaited the departures of other lawyers from the Feinerman firm, Stanislaus had for some reason parked halfway down the block on the opposite side of the street. Dave waved at him testily, but getting no response, gave up with a sigh and trotted across the street, dodging traffic.

  “What’s the idea, parking all the way over here?” he said as he slid into the roomy leather backseat and slammed the door with a thunk. The smoked-glass barrier between the front and back seats was raised. Apparently Stanislaus hadn’t heard Dave, because instead of responding, he pressed the button that locked all the doors and pulled out into the stream of traffic so fast that Dave rocked backward into the seat.

  “Take it easy, Stan!” Even his driver was stressed out tonight.

  The Wall Street Journal was folded neatly in the seat-back pocket in front of Dave, just as he liked. He turned on the small reading light above his door, took the newspaper out, and snapped it open, enjoying the smell of fresh newsprint. But as he scanned the bullet points in the “What’s News” section, his head started to throb again. Wherever he turned, this nightmare dogged him. David M. Harris, Esq., a litigation associate at Feinerman, Seidel, Brinkley and Tate, testified today… the news brief began. He flung the paper aside furiously, his breath catching in his throat. This was not how he’d planned to make his first appearance on the front page of the Journal.

  Dave sank back into the cushy seat and rubbed his temples, closing his eyes and resting for a few minutes. Eventually, he took a few deep breaths and looked out the window.

  As he registered his surroundings, Dave’s heart gave a jagged thump. They were nowhere near where they were supposed to be. Instead of heading uptown via the Westside Highway, toward his apartment, they were somewhere in the no-man’s-land leading to the Holland Tunnel, heading for New Jersey. What the…He opened his mouth to yell at Stanislaus, but shut it again as all the signposts finally clicked into place. He felt like throwing up. What an idiot he’d been, caught up in his meaningless personal problems. He’d forgotten to stay alert to his environment. How could he have been so stupid? He was an eyewitness to a brutal murder. His name and photograph had been in every newspaper. Had been on the evening news, for God’s sake. Of course the Butcher wanted him dead. What had happened to his survival skills, honed like a knife’s edge in the desert so many years ago? He’d gotten soft and lazy, and now he’d pay the price.

  It was true what they said: Dave’s life flashed before him. A beautiful day in Jerusalem with his best friend when he was nineteen, holding his father’s hand as he died, the birth of his first son. No, he thought, I will not leave my children fatherless.

  Dave snatched up the newspaper from the seat and pretended to read, his heart pounding. He knew how to do this. He could cope. He could fight. He could escape. Using the paper as a screen, he unfastened his seat belt and leaned sideways to peek at the driver up front. Silently, Dave berated himself. How could he have failed to notice? This man was blatantly, obviously not the diminutive Stanislaus. He was taller and bigger altogether, robust and thick-necked. He was an impostor, armed and dangerous, surely intending to shoot Dave in cold blood and leave him to die like a dog in the street. Additional visual reconnaissance supported that awful conclusion: the driver’s hands on the steering wheel were encased in rubber gloves. Dave’s scalp crawled at the sight.

  They were doing about forty, and the street was deserted. They were five blocks from the tunnel. Dave wa
s running out of time fast. He didn’t want to leap out inside the tunnel, and he would have a decidedly poorer chance of survival once they reached the other side and the dumping grounds of the Meadowlands. If it was empty here, it was desolate there. Now was the time to make his move. Realizing that, Dave panicked, his eyes darting around wildly. He had to struggle to control his breathing so as not to alert the driver.

  Still holding the newspaper in front of him for cover, Dave tried the door lock. It wouldn’t budge. He tried the window. Same result. The automatic locking mechanisms must be equipped with those childproof features, like they had on their minivan, where the back seat controls could be disabled completely. His best option was going to be kicking out the window and escaping though it. Dave studied the window. It was tinted, but otherwise appeared to be made from standard automotive glass. A well-placed, vigorous kick would shatter it. He was wearing his Johnston & Murphy wing tips, which had hard, sharp heels. They would do the trick. What he needed now was a diversion. A loud noise perhaps. Something to confuse the driver for several seconds, or as many as he could manage anyway, to allow Dave to make his escape before getting shot to death. He contemplated what he’d brought with him in his pockets and his briefcase and weighed the possibilities.

  They were heading straight for the tunnel entrance. Still camou-flaged behind the Journal, Dave drew his cell phone from his pocket. Calling for help was useless: he was flat out of time. But his phone came with a variety of ring tones, including one that sounded like a police siren. His hands shook violently as he scrolled through the menu searching for that one. He ramped the volume up as high as it would go and selected TEST.

  The shrill blast of a wailing siren filled the car. Dave reeled back onto his shoulders, raising his legs and kicking with all of his substantial strength. Just as the window shattered and he felt the rushing air on his face, he heard an explosion. Chunks of rough glass showered down on top of him. He’d propelled himself forward and up, going for the window. He heard a second explosion and felt a burning in his back. His breath had been knocked out of him; he’d been kicked or punched or…Robin! Everything went black.