by Allan Topol
"Last evening at five fifty-eight p.m., Washington time, a wire transfer of ten thousand dollars was made into the Gillises' account."
"Where'd the money come from?"
"Credit Suisse in Zurich. Number Twenty Bahnhofstrasse."
"From whose account in Zurich?"
"There's no name. Only an account number." Miller didn't wait for the detective to ask. He wrote the Swiss bank's name, the address, and the account number on a small piece of paper, and handed it to him.
With a deadpan expression, Campbell came out of the bank and got into the car. Before he could open his mouth, Ben said, "Well, what happened?"
Campbell looked at Jennifer and smiled. "Was he always so impatient when you used to date him?"
She returned the smile. "He has lots of good qualities. Patience isn't one of them. No way I could change him."
"Yeah, that's what I figured."
Campbell reached into his pocket and handed Ben the piece of paper Miller had supplied. "How good are your contacts at the Department of the Treasury?" Campbell asked. "They might be able to shake some more info free from Credit Suisse, but maybe not. From my experience, those Swiss bankers are tough customers."
"We can't go to Treasury," Ben responded. "If someone high up in the administration's involved, a call to Treasury will set off the alarms bells. I'll be tossed off the case, for openers."
"We need someone in Zurich," Jennifer said.
Ben's mind was racing ahead. "A few years ago I prosecuted a high official at Treasury for corruption. Same as now, I had to make an end run around official connections to Swiss banks. I developed a relationship with Jack Carmack, a CIA operative in Zurich, who hates the Treasury people because of their haughtiness. Carmack's well wired into the Swiss banking industry."
"Would Carmack help you," Jennifer asked skeptically, "in a case like this when you're operating on your own?"
Ben realized it was a long shot, too, and he frowned. "It's worth a try. We'd have to do it in person because the CIA routinely monitors the calls to and from Carmack, and we don't want to tip off people in Washington. What do you think?"
"We've got no choice," Jennifer said.
Reluctantly, Ben nodded in agreement.
"So now we've got a bank in Zurich and a madam in London to work with," Jennifer said.
The detective offered, "Sounds to me like you two are headed to Europe."
At this suggestion Ben instantly looked worried. "What will happen to Amy if I'm gone?"
Campbell responded, "I'll personally spend time at your house and watch her go to and from school. I hate to put it this way, but as long as you're not planning to be with her all day, she'll be as safe whether you're in Europe or downtown."
Ben wasn't satisfied. "No, I can't do that," he said, shaking his head.
"Let me call Ann," Jennifer volunteered. "She'd be glad to stay with Amy while we're gone. She's been dying for grandchildren." Seeing Ben was unconvinced, she added, "To get started, the two of them can spend some time together when Amy gets home from school today—before we have to leave for the airport."
"Ann Winthrop is hardly my idea of a bodyguard," Ben replied.
Jennifer reached into her briefcase and extracted the picture of the man with the broken nose in the video store parking lot. "This gentleman might disagree with you about that."
* * *
Voice mail is great, Ben thought. It's the perfect way to leave messages for people when you don't want to talk to them.
From the phone upstairs in the study in his house, he left identical messages for Hennessey, Traynor, and Fulton. "Sorry, I had to go to Chicago for a couple of days on the Young case. This shouldn't pose any problem for the Gillis prosecution because there haven't been any new developments. I have plenty of time to get ready for trial."
He smiled when he hung up from Fulton's voice mail. For forty-eight hours he and Jennifer would simply vanish. Only Campbell and Ann knew their itinerary.
Jennifer walked into the room. "Art Campbell called on the other line. He made a copy of the video, which will be delivered here before we leave for the airport. They finished analyzing Winthrop's pants. It was precoital fluid, no doubt about it."
Ben cringed. He wondered what type of sick game the blonde had played with Winthrop—making him think he was going to fuck her when she blew him away.
Jennifer was looking at him curiously, and he quickly changed the subject. "How are Amy and Ann getting along?"
"Fabulously. Ann's really into dressing up Barbies."
Ben went downstairs to spend some time with Amy before they left for the airport, while Jennifer called her office to check for messages. Kathy said Jim Slater had called but didn't leave a message. Jennifer checked her watch. There was time to return the call.
To her surprise, she heard Miss O'Brien, Slater's secretary, say that she'd pull him out of a meeting. What did he want that was so important? Jennifer wondered.
"I called to see if your workload has changed for the weekend. Is California now doable?" he asked.
She smiled. "Persistent fellow, aren't you?" Her tone was gentle and playful.
"I'm not used to rejection."
"Poor baby. But it's not rejection. Just deferral."
He sounded elated. "Deferral I can handle. Tell you what. The first weekend after the Gillis case is over, I'll take you to London for the weekend. We'll stay at the Connaught. Three shows. Meals at Gordon Ramsey and The Square. How's that sound?"
He sure knew the right things to say to a girl. "Sounds great."
"Good. It's a deal."
"Hope you win your polo match on Saturday."
"I always win."
"Modest fellow, aren't you?"
"Talk to you when I get back."
* * *
Ben drove to Dulles Airport in his Volvo. Telling Jennifer to look for any car following them, especially a dark blue one, he tried every trick he could remember from any detective movie. Feeling a little like James Bond, he went up streets one way, and down the other. He made sharp quick turns, pulled to a stop, and waited. He got off the beltway twice—once at Old Georgetown Road and once at River Road—and back on again quickly, always watching the rear-view mirror.
All of this time, a mile behind the Volvo, at the wheel of her own car, Gwen watched Ben's antics with amusement. Get into the modern age, you dope, she thought. With electronic homing devices, you don't have to see a car to follow it.
When he finally parked at Dulles, she parked three lanes away and waited until he stepped inside the terminal before exiting her car. From a distance, she saw him and Jennifer in line at the United international counter.
She picked the lock to a dark gray door that said united employees only. None of the flight attendants lounging around between flights paid any attention when she sat down behind a computer. Looking very official, she punched the keys. Before Ben and Jennifer even boarded the plane, she had their entire itinerary. Zurich tonight on United. London tomorrow afternoon on British Air. An open return to Washington.
She exited the room and went to a pay phone downstairs. Using a phony credit card number that AT&T's automated system took, she called Zurich. A gruff-sounding man answered, "Herr Wilhelm."
Then he recognized her voice and cheered up. "Meine kleine madchen," he said, eager to do the bidding of the blond goddess.
Five minutes later when Gwen hung up the phone, she had a puzzled expression on her face. She knew why Ben and Jennifer were going to Zurich, and she had arranged with the help of Karl Wilhelm to deal with them there. But why London?
There must be facts related to Winthrop in London. But they hadn't told her about those facts. They had concealed them from her. That made her very angry.
Chapter 21
Ben had a strategy for dealing with Jennifer. He waited until the plane had leveled off at thirty-five thousand feet, and they were sipping white wine.
"There's something I've been wanting to tell you," he
said in a no-nonsense tone. "Now you're going to listen to me."
She saw the determination on his face and groaned. "We're getting along so well now. You want to ruin it all?"
"I have to tell you the story of what happened."
With her eyes she pleaded with him to stop. People made mistakes. She was willing to move on, but he wouldn't let it rest. "Can't we leave it alone? Just keep on the way we are now?"
"I can't do that. You've got to hear me out."
She could see that she had no choice, and it was too bad. Since this morning, she had enjoyed being with him again. She was starting to feel the old, easy companionship they used to share. He didn't wow her like Slater, but in a way she was more comfortable with that. She was hoping that they could at least be friends.
She made one more futile stab at stopping him. "Really, Ben," she said, trying not to sound dogmatic, "whatever happened, happened. Some things are best left undiscussed."
"Not this one, Jenny. Please let me tell you about California."
He was so serious, she tried to add some levity. "Since I don't have a parachute and it's a full plane, I guess you've got your audience."
"Good, let me start with the bottom line." He whispered, "I didn't do anything with her at all."
Jennifer shook her head in disbelief. "Yeah, right."
"Well, let me explain."
Her voice was ten degrees frostier. "Ben, this was your idea. I'm willing to listen."
"It was a Saturday afternoon when Terry called," he began slowly. He had this memorized.
"I know it was a Saturday afternoon," she interrupted. "I was the one who answered the phone. I happened to be addressing our wedding invitations at the time, as you just might remember."
A little steamed, he replied, "I remember exactly what you were doing."
"When I answered the phone, she asked for you, and I said, in my most polite future-wifely little voice, 'Can I tell him who's calling?' She told me it was none of my fucking business, which was just lovely."
"C'mon, Jenny, she was in bad shape. She was diagnosed a couple days later as being depressive and suicidal. When I picked up the phone, she was threatening to slit her wrists with a kitchen knife."
"So my fiancé, a brilliant trial lawyer without one ounce of psychiatric training, decided to drop everything and fly to Los Angeles."
All of the old anger flared up like it was yesterday. "You knew what had happened to my parents. You knew that Terry and I had been raised as brother and sister. That both of her parents were dead. That there was no one else who could help her. You knew all of that."
"I also knew," she countered, "that you and Terry had dated when you were both seniors at Berkeley. In fact, if I recall, when we discussed our prior relationships early on, you said that before me Terry was the only woman you had ever dated seriously. I think that was your term."
Ben grimaced. Jesus, Jenny had a steel-trap mind. "Yeah, I did say that. I also told you that dating her had been a mistake. She was screwed up even then at Berkeley. Into coke and other drugs, which I didn't touch."
"But the sex with her was great."
Actually, it had been fantastic when they were at Berkeley together, Ben remembered, but the sex was all they had together. He didn't tell Jennifer that.
"I had law school ahead of me. I wasn't interested in a relationship with anyone. Certainly not with her. So I broke it off. She dropped out of school a little while later."
The flight attendant brought a tray with dinner, but Jennifer waved her away. "I'm not hungry," she said.
"It's going to be a long time until we eat again," Ben said.
"Don't tell me what to do," she snapped at him.
His face straining to look polite, he asked the flight attendant to hold both of their meals until later.
Jennifer turned back to the argument. "You told me that you were going out to Los Angeles for two days. Just long enough to get her under the care of a psychiatrist. You'd be back Monday evening."
"That's what I thought at the time. Things got more complicated than that."
"As I later learned."
Here was the nasty side to her again. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It's your story. Why don't you continue to spin your tall tale? By the way, just for the record, don't leave out the fact that even after what she said on the phone and even knowing that you had dated Terry, I trusted you. I was such a dope. I thought it was a good idea for you to go and help her. I even drove you to the airport."
They were getting to the tough part. Ben drained the rest of the wine in his glass and ran his hand through his hair. "When I got there Saturday night, she was in dreadful shape. She was out on the balcony of her fifteenth-floor apartment in Santa Monica, threatening to jump to Wilshire Boulevard below."
"How touching."
"I called a psychiatrist who had been a fraternity brother of mine at Berkeley, and I leaned on him to come out. He calmed her down and medicated her. He agreed to see her Monday morning. I figured I'd fly home Monday afternoon."
"That's what you told me when you called on Sunday."
"But on Monday he gave her a new medication. He said it would take a day or so for her condition to stabilize. So I decided to stay a little longer. I called and told you that on Monday. Later that day, she took most of a bottle of sleeping pills. I rushed her to St. John's Hospital in Santa Monica, where they pumped her stomach. That's when I decided I'd better move out of the Beverly Hilton and into her apartment to take care of her. I figured I could sleep on the couch."
"Wasn't there anybody else who could take care of her?" she asked suspiciously.
"There was nobody," he protested. "I swear it. Remember, this wasn't the greatest time for me. I was scrambling to complete a brief in the Dobson case that was due to be filed in court in Washington on Friday." That struck a chord of remembrance in her, and she nodded for him to continue. "Tuesday morning, my psychiatrist friend said he would try a different medication. I stayed with Terry Tuesday night and Wednesday night, sleeping on the couch. Then, even though she was pleading with me to stay longer, I told her I couldn't do any more for her. I loved you, and I was going home to you. I tried calling you Thursday morning to say I was coming home, but I couldn't reach you. So I got on the first plane out." He stopped, his voice turning dull. "I returned home to the wonderful surprise you left for me. All the wedding invitations cut in half and placed neatly on the bed. Your engagement ring on top of the pile, that lovely note, and you had moved out of the house. The worst part was you wouldn't even let me explain. You wouldn't even talk to me."
"I can see how shocked you were. You expected a hero's return."
He was surprised at how tough, sarcastic, and sharp Jennifer sounded when she wanted to. He never remembered this side of her from before. Maybe it had developed as a result of the broken engagement and her divorce.
He continued, "Sarah Van Buren came to talk to you when I got back. She told you that I was just taking care of Terry. I never had sex with her. Why didn't you believe her?"
"Oh, c'mon, Ben. She was just telling me what you had told her. She may have believed you, but she had no idea what really happened."
She was right about that. Desperate at that point, he had told Sarah what to say. When Sarah couldn't make any headway, he had decided it was futile.
"I never tried to call you again after that," Ben said. "I figured if you didn't trust me, then there was nothing to our relationship. No point in our getting married. The hell with you. I wasn't going to spend my life with somebody like that. Face it, Jenny, your imagination ran away with you. I know what you thought." He locked eyes with her. "I swear to God I never fucked Terry the whole time I was in L.A. That's it. End of story. By the way, I might add that I've never seen or spoken to Terry since. Now, does that satisfy you?"
"You only left one thing out," Jennifer said coldly.
"What's that?"
"You didn't explain what you were doing asleep
in Terry's bed at five o'clock Wednesday afternoon, when I called and she answered the phone."
"What'd you say?" he asked in a weak voice.
"Don't stall for time. You damn well heard me."
"You called on Wednesday afternoon?"
"Yes, darling," she said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "You gave me the telephone number at both the Beverly Hilton and at Terry's apartment. You hadn't called me since Monday. Wednesday evening, about eight o'clock, Washington time, I decided to call you and see how things were going. First I tried the Beverly Hilton. They said that you checked out two days before. That was a big surprise. So I called Terry's apartment and asked to talk to you."
"What did she say?"
She puffed out her lips in a fake smile. "Let me try to do it in her sexy voice."
"Just tell me," he demanded.
"She said, 'He's sleeping, honey. Do you want me to wake him?' And I responded, like a total moron, 'What do you mean, he's sleeping?' So she said, 'He's right here next to me in bed, his eyes are closed, and he's making little snoring noises. I love that about Ben. After we have sex, he sleeps like a baby. Does he do that with you, too, honey?' Seemed pretty clear what had happened. Wouldn't you say?"
Ben was outraged. "It was an absolute lie. I never had sex with her that week."
"Good try, Ben, but you're not convincing me."
"Jesus, Jenny, I had no idea that you called on Wednesday. I wasn't even in her apartment on Wednesday afternoon." He paused, trying to recall. No, he hadn't been. "I remember distinctly. I was downtown at the U.S. Attorney's office making final changes in my brief in the Dobson case. I can get an affidavit from somebody down there if you need it," he said angrily, seeing her face hadn't changed. "Believe it or not, I was trying to keep up on my work that week. The U.S. Attorney's office in L.A. made an office and secretarial help available to me as a courtesy." He clenched his teeth. "Dammit, Jenny. I didn't do a thing with her. All you had to do was give me a chance to explain. The woman was nuts, for God's sake. That's why I was there in the first place. What happened to trust?"
A flight attendant came over with a bottle of white wine in her hand. "A little more?" she asked Jennifer.