“Private detectives? Scott did that?” Clare asked. “I can’t believe it.”
“Believe it. Steve actually took pictures of one watching the house and last night arrived unexpectedly and gave the pictures to Megan to give to her attorney. You know she has Emily Lloyd. She’s really tough in court when it comes to defending wives,” Tricia said. “She was my divorce attorney. Steve brought Chinese food and we were having a fairly good time of it when Scott just burst in on us.”
“I can’t believe we’re talking about the same Scott Lester,” Clare said, shaking her head.
“Believe it,” Tricia told her. “I was there. I saw it. He did scare the hell out of me.”
They all looked down the hall as the elevator door opened for Steve.
“I was glad Steve was there. He is like Batman,” Tricia said, smiling. She looked at the other two. “I wish he was around to come to my aid after my divorce. At least one good thing happened for Megan in this mess.”
“I have something very important for you to do for me,” Steve said the moment he entered the house.
His mother was sitting at the kitchen table sipping from what was now a cold cup of coffee, but too deep in her own thoughts to realize it. She looked up with an expression of surprise. It was as though she hadn’t realized he had left this morning and didn’t expect him to come in the front door.
“A policeman called here for you,” she said. “You told me never to give anyone your cell number, so I said I didn’t know it. What’s he want?”
“I saw a traffic accident yesterday and told one of the drivers I’d be a witness. That’s not what I mean. I have something more important for you to do for me now. Forget about all that.
“You hear me?” he followed when she didn’t respond.
“What do you want, Steve?”
“I want you to read something over the phone. I’m going to make a call, see, and you’ll read this to the person who answers. I’m sure it will be a woman.”
He handed her a slip of paper. She read it and looked up sharply.
“What is this?”
“Just do what I say. It’s important.”
“I don’t understand it,” she said, looking at the paper.
“It’s important. We need it done.”
“Who’s we? What is this?” She put the slip of paper down on the table. “And why did you lie to me about your job being done? Mr. Lowenstein called and said to tell you that he would make it impossible for you to get a job anywhere in California. What did you do? Why is he so angry? Why did you lie?”
“I’ll tell you why. He gave me a chicken-shit job for lousy money where I had to do the work of two men. It was backbreaking and I told them to shove it.”
She stared at him a moment. She could read his face better than she could read her own sometimes.
“Why wouldn’t you just tell me that? Why would you lie?”
“Because I know how you can get on my back for nothing and nag and nag. Forget about Lowenstein. I don’t need him and he can’t stop me from getting work when I want work. I’ll be just fine. Now back to what I need you to do for us.”
“Who’s us?”
“My future family,” he said, straightening up.
“What?” She looked at the note. “It makes no sense.”
“Just do it. Later, you’ll understand why and you’ll be happy you helped.”
He started for the phone.
“I just read this and that’s it?”
“Exactly.”
“You going to explain it more?”
“I will. Afterward,” he said, and lifted the receiver. He looked at another slip of paper and then he began to poke the numbers.
“I don’t know,” she said. “This sounds crazy. Maybe you should call the policeman back first. I wrote his number down there by the phone.”
He stopped and looked at her.
“I told you that’s not as important. Are you going to help or not? It’s not a big deal, but I need a woman’s voice. Well?”
“I don’t like it.”
He turned and slammed his fist on the counter so hard that the dishes and silverware lying there jumped. She winced. She knew how he could fall into an uncontrollable rage. When he was a child and didn’t get what he wanted, he would scream and cry until he turned blue and even then continue. Her husband would let him go on and on, but she’d known if she didn’t do something, he would literally suffocate, so she’d usually given in. That would trigger another fight with her husband and make him even more angry at Steve as well.
“Take him to see a head doctor,” he would tell her after he calmed down. “He ain’t normal.”
“He’s just a little boy,” she would say. It wouldn’t be until years later that she would regret not following her husband’s advice. Steve’s temper had grown even worse as he became older.
“I don’t understand why I’m saying this on the phone,” she protested.
“I told you. Later, I will explain it.” His face lost some of its fury and redness. “You don’t know it now, but you’ll be helping to save a woman and a little girl. Okay? Okay?” he hammered.
She looked at the note again and then nodded.
“I hope you’re not getting us into some terrible mess.”
He returned to the phone and made the call. As soon as he heard the secretary say, “Scott Lester’s office,” he handed his mother the receiver.
She looked at it and at the note, and he jerked the receiver harder at her, almost smacking her in the jaw with the mouthpiece.
He held it as she read.
“Would you please tell Mr. Lester that she wants her rag doll. He left it in his car and she’s getting sick over it. Please.”
He pulled the receiver away and hung up. Then he took a deep breath and smiled.
“That’s was good, Mom. You did that real good.”
“What did I do?”
“I told you. You helped save a young woman, a wonderful young woman and her beautiful little daughter. Thanks.”
“That don’t tell me anything, Steve. What’s going on here?”
“I have no time to talk now,” he said.
He turned and started for the front door.
“Wait a minute,” she called to him, and stood up. “I’m not going to sit in here thinking about all this. You stop what you’re doing and explain everything—and I mean everything, Steve Wallace.”
He looked at her and then smiled.
“It’s okay. I told you. I met someone wonderful and I am getting a new wife and a new family. So, if you’ll just relax and let me do what has to be done, it will all work out great.” He started to turn away again.
“Just wait one minute.”
“What now?”
She hesitated and then she walked past him and into his bedroom.
“What the hell are you doing?” he called.
She stepped back out with Ed Marcus’s wallet in her hand.
“Explain this,” she said.
He looked at it, and then with renewed rage in his face, he looked at her.
“You went searching through my room? Through my things, my pockets?”
“You’ve been acting pretty peculiar. I wanted to see if there was anything to tell me what’s going on, especially since you don’t. Now what about this? Is this the real reason that policeman called for you?”
He started to reach for it, but she pulled her hand back.
“Well?”
“I found it,” he said. “I forgot all about it,” he added. He actually had forgotten, but he never thought she would go through his pockets. “You have no right to search through my stuff like that. I’m not some stranger, some little kid.”
“You found it? Where?”
“Where I worked,” he said. “I wasn’t going to turn it over to that project boss. He was ripping me off, so I knew he would keep all the money and throw it away.”
“You’re lying again,” she said.
“Don’t tell me I’m lying!” He stepped toward her. “Give that to me now.”
She shook her head and went to the kitchen table.
“It’s why the policeman called. I know it is.”
“Ma!”
She lifted the newspaper and opened it to point to a story.
“This man, the man whose wallet this is, was murdered in West Hollywood. They say he was struck so hard, his skull was smashed. You weren’t working in West Hollywood, Steve.”
He said nothing. He walked toward her slowly, his eyes narrowed into slits. She held her breath. This was a face she hadn’t seen on him, a face she couldn’t quite read.
“Give me the wallet,” he said in a hoarse whisper.
“Did you steal this man’s wallet? Did you hit him?”
He jerked his hand at the wallet and seized it, but to his surprise, she didn’t let go. For a few moments, they were in what anyone would call a silly tug-of-war over it. He was amazed at her strength and determination and, frustrated, pushed her under her chin to get her off balance. She released the wallet, but she fell backward and struck her head on the edge of the kitchen table. The blow was so sharp and hard, it spun her around so that she fell face forward to the floor. For a long moment, he just stood there looking down at her, waiting for her to start to get up.
The sight before him seemed to throw him back years. He was like a little boy again, terrified at what punishment something he had done would bring. The strength and tightness went out of his shoulders and arms. He felt himself wither. His eyes began to tear basically out of fear and not out of sympathy or concern for his mother. His lips trembled as he struggled to form the words.
“Mom…are…you all right? Huh?”
She didn’t move. As he started to kneel, he saw the tiny streams of blood beginning to jerk and crawl over the tile floor. Gingerly, he reached out and turned her over. Her eyes were wide open, as was her mouth, but she looked unconscious. How could she be unconscious with her eyes open? He pinched her chin gently and turned her head. The gash in her right temple looked like a bullet hole. The blood was gurgling.
“Ma!” he screamed, and shook her.
Her eyes didn’t change, but her mouth closed a little. He checked for a pulse and then the shock of what he realized hit him in the solar plexus. He gasped for breath and fell back on his rear, staring at her in disbelief.
Slowly, he regained his composure and got to his feet. He stood there looking down at her. There was no sense in calling for paramedics, no sense at all. He looked at his watch. He had to go. He would deal with this later, he thought. There just wasn’t any time to go through all the rigmarole, the paperwork, the interrogation, all of it. It would easily take the rest of the day and who knew if it would end there?
No, he had to go.
He started out again and then paused at the doorway to look back at her.
“What a shame,” he said. “You could have finally been a grandmother.”
Scott’s attorney, Taylor Stewart, was waiting at the police station. He was on the cell phone and didn’t see Scott and his father enter. Ironically, Scott, who was at first annoyed that his attorney was probably on another case at the same time, realized his lawyer wasn’t behaving much differently from the way he himself behaved. How many times had he been about to begin a business meeting and on his cell phone talking about another project? It’s the nature of who and what we’ve all become, he thought, suddenly turning philosophical.
It’s part of what about me annoyed Megan so much.
As if his entire past few years were on replay, he heard her say countless times, “You’re not listening to me, Scott. You’re mind’s somewhere else. Isn’t any of this important, or at least as important as some deal your father’s hatching?”
“Taylor,” Scott’s father said loudly enough to serve as a whack on the back of his head.
The attorney quickly ended his call and shoved his cell phone into his pocket.
“Sorry, Gordon,” Taylor Stewart said, and shook his head at Scott. “This is a helluva mess. Before we go in there, is there anything you want to tell me? The worst thing is for your attorney to get caught by surprise.”
“Everything is what I told you,” Scott’s father said, speaking for him.
“All right. Let’s see what they want and what they have,” Taylor said, and led them to the examination room where Detectives Parker and Foto waited with a tall, slightly gray-haired man.
“This is Agent Bindle from the FBI,” Detective Foto said. “He’s observing today, but the FBI will be the lead agency on the matter.”
“Very good,” Taylor Stewart said, and introduced himself to Bindle.
Scott didn’t wait for any introductions or small talk.
“Is there any news about my daughter?” he asked.
“We’re working on it, Mr. Lester,” Parker said.
“Just a few questions here to help us structure the situation,” Foto added, opening his notepad.
“That’s a new way to put it,” Taylor Stewart said. “What, you guys go to some new class in interrogations?”
Neither detective so much as smiled and Bindle looked like he had a face made of stone. Everyone sat.
“Let’s review what you told us, Mr. Lester,” Parker began. “You admit you went to the house and expressed anger, even uttered a threat, the night of the attack on your wife and the abduction of your daughter.”
“It wasn’t exactly a threat.”
“‘You’ll be sorry. In the end you’ll be sorry,’” Parker recited.
“Depends on the tone,” Taylor Stewart said, shrugging. “It could very well be simply a prediction the speaker doesn’t necessarily wish to see occur. Instead of a threat, it might be a concerned person’s warning.”
“One of the witnesses, Tricia Morgan, who heard him say it, verifies the tone,” Foto said. “We’re chasing down the second witness.”
“We have verified your being at this bar in West Hollywood and the time is approximately what you described,” Parker continued, totally ignoring Taylor Stewart. “But is there any way you can confirm where you were after you left?”
“I told you. I went to my father’s house where I’m staying. Everyone was already asleep.”
“I thought you said you returned to the house first and saw your wife still had a visitor,” Foto reminded him.
“Yes, that’s true.”
“Did you wait for him to leave and then enter the house?”
“No. Absolutely not. I went to my father’s house.”
“Mr. Lester, you hired a private detective, Ed Marcus, to keep your wife under surveillance,” Parker continued, reading from his notepad.
“Who was murdered a few nights ago,” Gordon Lester interjected, directing himself at Agent Bindle.
“You can remain here, Mr. Lester, but please don’t offer any comments or answers,” Foto said sharply.
“What about his hiring a private-detective agency?” Taylor Stewart asked. “It’s not uncommon in divorce cases.”
“After Mr. Marcus’s death, you kept the agency on the job. You hired one of his assistants, Bob Anderson?”
“Yes,” Scott said.
“But the night you arrived at the house and either threatened or warned your wife, you had already discharged this private detective?” Foto asked.
The way he asked the follow-up clearly illustrated they had planned their roles in the interrogation.
“My wife had discovered she was being watched. I was unhappy with Anderson,” Scott said.
“You had no other reason to keep someone from watching the house and your wife?” Parker asked.
“Why didn’t you replace Anderson, if it was so important?” Foto followed quickly.
“What, are you two practicing to become prosecutors?” Taylor asked. “Obviously, not much time had passed and Mr. Lester was considering other agencies.”
“Were any called?” Bindle asked, finally illus trating he w
as a living person and not some lawenforcement statue.
“If I might speak,” Gordon said. “I did call a friend for some new recommendations. His name is Philip Raymond.”
“But you did not?” Parker asked Scott.
“I was depending on my father,” Scott said, sounding somewhat ashamed of it.
“Okay. Let’s move on here,” Parker said.
“Good idea,” Taylor quipped.
“There were no other fingerprints on the statue besides yours, your wife’s and your maid’s.”
“So the perpetrator wore gloves,” Taylor said. “Do I have to do your work for you too now?”
“Your maid says nothing of any value—besides your daughter, of course—has been taken from the house? Money was easily found, but was untouched. Your daughter’s rag doll is missing, as is her blanket.”
“Assailant sounds pretty concerned for the kid,” Bindle commented. “He had to know what would comfort her.”
Scott said nothing.
“No one has called you to ask for a ransom, correct?” Agent Bindle followed.
“No, no one has called yet or I would have called Detective Parker or Foto and I would assume they would have called you.”
“Did you drive here in your car today, Mr. Lester?” Foto asked Scott.
The questions seemed so off the point, it took Scott by surprise for a moment. He looked at Taylor Stewart.
“What of it?” Taylor asked.
“It’s out there in the parking lot?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any objection to our looking in your car?”
“For what?” Taylor asked. “Forensic evidence that his daughter was in the car? Give me a break.”
“Mr. Lester?” Parker asked, again ignoring Taylor Stewart.
“Of course not,” Scott said, and handed him the car keys.
“Just a minute,” Taylor said. “You have—”
“We have at least a good argument for a warrant, Taylor. Mrs. Lester set her alarm and it wasn’t triggered. There are no signs of a break-in and nothing material was stolen. Mr. Lester is in what has become an unpleasant divorce action. He can’t offer a witness to his whereabouts during the time of the attack. He threatened or warned his wife that night. He hired and discharged a private detective watching the house that night. He—”
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