by Janet Dailey
“Yes, we were. Once upon a time. That—well, that was long over. I am so glad that I had a chance to see him in Dallas before his tragic death.” Lowering her voice, she almost purred the last two words.
Kelly was taken aback, trying to figure out how a memorial service had turned into a stage play starring the eccentric Natalie Conrad. It seemed safest to agree. “It was a tragedy. I was so shocked when I heard.”
“My dear, where were you at that moment?” Not waiting for an answer, Natalie spoke first. “I was in my garden, watching the moon rise. For some reason I was thinking that Gunther might be looking at the same moon far away. Strange, isn’t it? But at the time, it seemed like only a fleeting thought.”
Kelly realized that Natalie was talking about the hour of night when Gunther Bach had died. She searched for some reply, but was interrupted by someone who knew Natalie.
The elderly woman sidled up and edged in front of Kelly without saying excuse me. “Can you give me just a minute of your time, Mrs. Conrad?”
“What?” Natalie snapped out of her reverie. “May I ask who you are?”
“I’m Frances Berry. I lived in the apartment down the hall from Mr. Bach. He invited me in once for a glass of schnapps. I saw your picture—I thought you were lovely.”
Natalie’s expression was glacial. “Imagine that. I had no idea he had my photo on display.”
The elderly woman persisted. “He told me a little about you. He’d be happy to know that you came today. He seemed to be a very lonely man.”
Natalie Conrad’s perfectly plucked eyebrows went up. “We are all lonely people, Mrs. Berry. Now if you would excuse us—” She reached across to take Kelly’s arm, turning around with her and putting a decisive end to the conversation.
They walked a few steps away.
“What an odd little person,” Natalie murmured. “I never went to Gunther’s apartment. I thought for some reason that his penthouse was the only one in the building. I didn’t know he had neighbors.”
“I think she meant well,” Kelly said softly, covering her irritation at being steered away. Natalie Conrad was putting her long fingernails to good use. She had a surprisingly strong grip for a slender—and older—woman.
“Perhaps.” Natalie sighed. “I hope I wasn’t too rude to her. I suppose I should mingle.” They turned to face the other guests, who merely nodded if they noticed the two women at all.
“I’m sure you have friends here,” Kelly replied. “It was nice to see you again, Natalie. Even under the circumstances. But I do have to leave.”
“Must you?” Natalie asked peevishly. “I can make excuses to Monroe if you like. Won’t you come with me to Buckhead afterward? I haven’t been back to the house that Harry and I shared in ages. I don’t want to go alone.”
Ultra needy. And borderline nuts. Both were snap judgments on Natalie’s character, but Kelly knew they were accurate. At first she was inclined to politely decline. But something stopped her. She sensed there was something to be learned by accompanying Natalie to her mansion and she would have her own transportation if she wanted to leave. She had decided on a long-term rental car for the time being. Deke hadn’t had a chance to look at hers.
Natalie seized on Kelly’s momentary silence to press her advantage. “Don’t worry, dear. I called ahead. I still have live-in servants on the property—the house will be ready for us. And it’s not as if you’re staying overnight.”
Kelly was intrigued. A glimpse into the former mansion of one of the wealthiest couples in the world would be an excellent starting point for an interview—which could be linked to Gunther’s sad demise if Natalie would talk about him. Kelly had broken the initial news in a brief report the day after Gunther’s death.
“Please say yes,” Natalie begged her.
Kelly knew an opportunity when she saw one. But she left herself an out. Natalie had just arrived. She would want to talk with other guests and she would think nothing of keeping Kelly waiting.
“Thank you,” Kelly said bluntly. “I do have the rest of the afternoon free. But if you don’t mind, I would prefer to wait in the parking lot in my car.”
Natalie patted her arm. “I understand completely. There are far too many cold fish here—and I don’t mean the ones on the buffet table. Let me chat with a few acquaintances, though.”
Kelly thanked her instincts for predicting that. She would have time for a quick call to Deke, if he picked up. “Of course. Please don’t hurry on my account.”
“I won’t be long. Then we can be on our way.”
“Sounds good.”
Kelly discreetly left the gathering by walking around the guests without making eye contact.
The dreary afternoon was nearly over. Even if Natalie didn’t know it, she was effectively being interviewed as of now.
Kelly breathed a sigh of relief when she stepped outside. The day was overcast, but there was a fresh breeze that lightened her mood as soon as she got away from the grim guests. She glanced over her shoulder as heavy doors swung shut behind her, making sure that no one had followed her.
She headed for her rented car, turning on the cell phone she’d switched off during the eulogy and pulling up Deke’s number.
He answered after a few rings. “Hey, Kelly. How was the memorial service?”
Kelly gave him a rundown as she unlocked her car and slipped into the passenger seat. Natalie’s penchant for gracious conversation meant she might have to wait an hour or more. She kicked off her black pumps and leaned the seat back, getting comfortable as she talked.
“Sounds like it was worthwhile,” he said. “Let’s look at the rogue’s gallery when you get back, see if you can find a few faces.”
“Okay. But update me,” she said. “Any news on what happened to Bach?”
“They still can’t say for sure if it was suicide or homicide.”
“No one can make an educated guess? There must be some clues.”
Deke paused. “As far as his apartment, it’s more like the absence of clues that we’re looking at. For example, the balcony railing had a layer of city dust that no one had touched for weeks.”
“And that means . . .” Stubbornly, Kelly wanted to make him go over the facts in detail. She knew Deke wasn’t telling her everything with the new police investigation under way.
“Could mean a lot of things. None of the windows were open,” Deke said. “And we know he didn’t go off the roof because the door was locked and the soot and dust in that area, inside and out, also hadn’t been disturbed.”
“Got it.”
“So if he went off the balcony, he didn’t vault it or climb over it. Since there were no marks on the railing, he was probably thrown.”
Gunther had been fit and he was tall. There had to have been a struggle. Deke seemed to be giving her a chance to figure it out. Nice of him. “It took two to do that.”
“Or one man who was strong enough and tall enough to hurl him clear of the railing.”
Kelly thought. “Someone would remember a man like that.”
“It’s a big-city apartment building,” Deke said. “People who live there don’t hang around in the halls. But we’re interviewing everyone, starting at the top and working down. So far no one heard or saw anything out of the ordinary.”
Which reminded Kelly. “An old lady who lives on his floor was at the memorial service. Frances Berry was her name—it seemed to me that she actually knew Gunther.”
“Thank God for old ladies,” Deke said.
“So did you talk to her?”
There was a brief pause. “She was out.” He was making a note. “But we will.”
“Moving right along,” she said briskly, “do you have any details about the autopsy?”
Deke sighed. “I hate to cross the line and give out information.”
“Do you want me to sign a confidentiality agreement?”
He laughed. “I don’t have that kind of authority. And a piece of paper isn’t going t
o stop you.”
“Just tell me. I’m not going to blurt it out on air. Dave Maples might faint. He can’t stand gore.”
“All right.”
She guessed Deke was consulting a notebook.
“Given the condition of the body, the medical examiner had a tough time identifying subtler signs of trauma, but he’s sure Bach was roughed up before he died. As far as the toxicology analysis, the results won’t be back for a couple of weeks at least.”
“What are they looking for?”
Deke stopped. “Kelly, I’ll be straight with you. This case could tank—and the evidence made inadmissible in court—if you’re all over it.”
“You’re in too deep to back out now,” she retorted. “Believe me, I’m not typing this into a laptop and I’m not going to make a single word of this public, even though it’s killing me. I keep reminding myself that I owe you.”
“What for?”
“Oh, you know, saving my life. That right there could be enough to keep me in line.”
Deke acknowledged that with a laugh. “All right. Drug and toxin tests are routine in an autopsy. What they’re looking for is a heavy-duty tranquilizer, according to the medical examiner. Hang on. I’ll give you the details.”
She waited.
“New psychoactive, experimental in Europe with restricted availability,” Deke reeled off. “In FDA trials here, not likely to be approved in the US.”
Kelly found a pen and scratch pad and jotted down the brand name. That wasn’t classified information. “If the toxicology results take weeks to come back, how do they know the name of the drug?”
“There was an intact pill stuck in Bach’s throat,” Deke explained. “The brand was readable. He may have been unknowingly drugged at first, then forced to swallow more.”
“Why?”
“Maybe his killers wanted to make sure he wouldn’t struggle or scream.”
Kelly shuddered. “That’s awful.”
“There was a new bottle of spray cleaner under the sink. A torn rag soaked in it was found in Bach’s kitchen garbage.”
“How convenient.”
“Not really. We sorted through every damn garbage bag in the building’s Dumpster before we found one with a receipt that had his signature. Ask me how many bags we opened.”
“James Bond didn’t have to do stuff like that. Two hundred and five?”
“Close enough.” Deke continued, “Our guess is that the spray cleaner was used to remove fingerprints, and thoroughly. The techs didn’t pick up a single one, anywhere. With the exception of the balcony, the whole place was immaculate.”
Kelly listened.
“The rest of the rag got stuffed down Gunther’s throat, on top of the pill,” Deke said tersely. “He probably didn’t have the strength to fight his attacker, Kelly. But he didn’t go down easy.”
She was lost in thought after the call concluded, finally switching the key in the ignition so she could listen to the radio and take her mind off what Deke had told her. A rap on the car window snapped her out of her reverie.
Kelly pressed the button to roll it down. “Natalie—sorry. My mind was elsewhere.”
“Completely understandable.” Natalie pulled the collar of her light coat up and took car keys from an Hermès bag. “Do you want to follow me?”
“Yes. But please give me the address. I can use the GPS app on my phone just in case we get separated.”
Natalie provided it and waved to indicate her car. Kelly got out and went around to the driver’s side of hers, taking a long look at the sleek sports car as Natalie unlocked it from steps away. The taillights flashed twice. Their distinctive configuration would be easy to follow.
She slid behind the wheel of her car, thinking how much Natalie’s must have cost. Kelly had never cared all that much about what she drove. But the sports car was definitely out of her league.
Natalie Conrad’s mansion in Buckhead was old and oppressive—and totally different from the clean, contemporary look of the planned museum.
Just for the hell of it, Kelly silently counted windows on the second floor as she followed Natalie from the porte-cochère. Monroe Capp hadn’t exaggerated when he’d said the house had twenty bedrooms.
She entered the carved doors with a feeling of apprehension. There was a servant waiting just inside who’d evidently opened them at the sight of Natalie’s car rolling up. She seemed to be in late middle age, wearing a dark uniform dress with a white collar. She didn’t meet Kelly’s gaze, responding first to Natalie’s sharply voiced request.
“Tea and light sandwiches in the drawing room, Finley. And be quick about it.”
“Yes, Mrs. Conrad.”
Natalie took off her lightweight coat and tossed it on a massive sideboard that had pride of place in the foyer. There was nothing else on it but a black marble vase.
The huge house exuded gloom. There were fabric covers over most of the furniture Kelly could see, and the drapes were closed everywhere she looked. A wide, floor-to-ceiling window in the drawing room was the exception. Kelly walked past a set of antique armchairs to get to it, drawn to the splash of sunlight.
“That’s quite a view.”
A plush green lawn that hadn’t been mowed recently sloped down to an ornamental pond surrounded by willows. Nearer to the house were tall, shaggy hedges that almost concealed narrow paths winding through them.
“It used to be much nicer. The grounds are in dire need of landscaping,” was Natalie Conrad’s reply.
Kelly didn’t mind the overgrown look. But she couldn’t say so in those words—Natalie might take it the wrong way. She turned away from the window toward the arrangement of armchairs, noticing for the first time that the wallpaper was sun-faded, except for several large patches where it looked new, as if paintings had been removed.
Natalie, who had seated herself, seemed to expect a question on the subject. “Are you wondering where the art went?”
“I was, yes.”
“Many of our paintings are on extended loan to museums,” the older woman said. “They are safer there, since I so rarely come to Buckhead.”
“That makes sense.”
“I find it more satisfying to give these days. One can only acquire so much before it becomes overwhelming.”
Kelly didn’t know much about the ins and outs of the art world, but obviously a loan and a gift were two different things. It was interesting that Natalie didn’t bother to draw a distinction.
“That’s admirable,” she said. “Will the Conrad collection go to the new museum?”
Natalie turned in her chair to face the empty wall. “Yes. Eventually. I do hope that it will be built in my lifetime. So far, the benefactors have had to use their imaginations. All I have to show them are blueprints and that architect’s model.” She laughed lightly. “We may be years away from approval. So many regulations, permits, forms—thank goodness I have people to see to all that. It never seems to end.”
“Someday it will.”
“Yes. I can’t complain, Kelly. But it is a great shame that Gunther will never see the museum. He would have been so proud.”
Kelly didn’t know exactly what to say. The details of Gunther Bach’s death weren’t something she could share. “It’s hard to believe that he’s gone.”
She paused, hoping Natalie might feel the need to fill in a few blanks. But the older woman seemed pensive. “He shall be missed.”
Kelly wasn’t going to mention Gunther’s financial crash if Natalie hadn’t heard about it—it wasn’t public knowledge yet. With luck, she hadn’t invested with him. Kelly assumed she had advisers and accountants by the score.
But she was beginning to get an inkling that Natalie Conrad didn’t have as much money as people thought. The downturn in the economy had hit some very wealthy people hard—no one was completely immune. This house might be proof of that.
Kelly supposed there wasn’t much point in keeping up a place if no one lived in it, but even so.
Despite its luxurious, Old World furnishings, the darkened mansion had a faintly musty atmosphere. And so far she had seen only one servant, though there had to be others around somewhere. It would take a small army to manage a place this size. Still, there was something shabby about Natalie Conrad’s house, grand as it was. Somehow Kelly had been expecting more.
But the Buckhead mansion was only one of many houses that the Conrads had owned and Natalie had inherited. If Kelly officially landed the interview—and even better, coaxed Natalie to reveal more about her connection to the mysteriously dead Gunther Bach—they would shoot it elsewhere.
A telephone rang on a lacquered desk.
“Excuse me.”
Thick rugs softened every step Natalie took to answer it. She murmured a few responses to the caller and ended the conversation, moving to a set of crystal decanters and pouring herself a stiff drink.
“Would you like something stronger than tea?” she asked Kelly. “I can’t imagine why Finley is taking so long.”
“No thanks.”
Natalie shrugged and gulped down the amber liquid, pouring herself another before she returned to sit with Kelly again.
“That was Luc, a young friend of mine, who just called. I think he’s about your age. He’s an artist—I suppose you could say I collect them too.” Her eyes were shining. Alcohol or not, she seemed happier.
Kelly smiled. It wasn’t her job to judge.
“He’s working on a new series about death and rebirth. Luc never does anything frivolous.” Natalie finished her second drink and set the glass aside.
“Oh. How interesting.”
Natalie sat back and ran a hand over the brocade of her armchair. “Which is why he hates this place,” she said.
That was more than Kelly needed to know. She just listened.
“To think I once considered it and everything in it the height of elegance,” Natalie continued. “Now, pah. If there was a fire and it all burned to ashes, I would miss nothing. Too many possessions can be a burden, don’t you agree?”
For someone who had everything, maybe that was easy to say. Kelly only laughed. “It’s not something I think about.”