“Good evening, Mr. Harrington.”
Alex stared at the cop he’d met yesterday, near Kent’s cubicle in the ICU, bundled to his ears against the frigid weather. “It’s Detective Hoolihan, isn’t it? You came to tell me you’ve found out who shot my friend?”
Hoolihan said, “We’d like to speak with both you and Ms. Barrett.”
“But we’ve told you everything we know, Detective, yesterday. Have you at least learned anything new?”
Hoolihan said nothing, nodded behind him. “I believe you know Ms. Briscoe, and these are FBI agents Sherlock and Maitland.”
Sherlock gave Alex her sunny smile, held out her creds. Tommy did the same. Harrington waved them away.
Pamela appeared behind him. “Alex? What’s going on? Who are these people? Oh, good evening, Detective, I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”
Alex said, “Pam, it’s Detective Hoolihan. We spoke to him yesterday, about Kent.”
“Yes, of course, Detective Hoolihan. Forgive me, I’m so worried about Kent, and of course, Mr. Harrington had to end his mayoral race—” She abruptly stopped, shook her head, but then she spotted Mia, and her eyes fired. “You! Why are you here? Don’t think we don’t know who was behind those ridiculous sex questions at Alex’s press conference yesterday. I’m going to see to it you’re fired. I already called your boss.” She paused, frowned. “You’re a disgrace.”
Mia knew what Milo had said to Pamela, and he hadn’t been all that pleasant. She said, “Actually, Pammie, you have no idea what I am, but I promise you, you’re going to find out.”
“How dare you call me that! And just what does that mean, you unethical—”
Detective Hoolihan smoothly interrupted. “Actually we’re here to speak to you about the murder of a student, Serena Winters, seven years ago at Godwyn University.”
Pamela snapped out, “Who? What are you talking about? What does a murdered student have to do with Alex? Where in the world is Godwyn University?”
Even though Pamela had tried to hide it, Mia heard alarm in her voice. So Alex told you something about it, did he, Pam? A nice believable lie? Bet he didn’t tell you about Juliet. Mia didn’t look at her; she kept her eyes on Alex, almost applauded him when he smoothly morphed a brief flash of shock into bewilderment.
Mia smiled at him, watched him start, then frown at her. The tsunami’s here at your front door, Alex, no escape for you. And you’re wondering how to play it. She’d bet he was weighing whether to cry lawyer. She prayed he was too arrogant to let any lesser human being speak for him, at least not yet. Yes, Alex, deal with this yourself. You don’t need a lawyer. You’re so much smarter than they are, aren’t you?
She wanted to cheer when she saw his ego win out. He said calmly, with only a civilized hint of annoyance, “I don’t recall that name, Detective.”
“Serena Winters,” Hoolihan said, stolid as a judge. “She was a twenty-year-old student at Godwyn University seven years ago. Godwyn University is in Pennsylvania, thirty or so miles west of Philadelphia.”
Alex merely looked at him, ignored the sarcasm. “Thank you for the location. As I said, I don’t recall her name. Is that all you wanted to ask me?”
Hoolihan said, a bit of steel in his voice, “No, Mr. Harrington, we’re far from through. We can either speak about this here or we can go down to the station. Your choice. But make it snappy, the wind out here is frigid.”
Alex stepped back, waved them in, and closed the door. “Very well. Ms. Barrett and I are quite busy. It isn’t easy to close down a campaign. I hope we can clear up any misunderstanding quickly.”
He took Pamela’s hand and they turned together to lead them down a wide hallway, its white walls covered with incredible Dutch pastoral paintings, not, thank heavens, with Pamela’s signature minimalist style. An elegant antique table was centered beneath them, a tall clear vase on top filled with red roses so abundant they overflowed the surface.
They walked into a living room with twelve-foot ceilings and ornate plaster moldings that took you back in time. What looked to be the original wooden shutters covered the oversized windows that faced a line of brownstones across the street, dark gold draperies pulled tight against the frigid night. Ah, but this room had enjoyed Pamela’s stark hand, all black-and-white pictures, stark and flat. No soul, Mia thought. She felt Pamela’s barely banked rage from six feet away, violent and hot. Mia gave her a fat smile, watched her blink in surprise.
Tommy was staring steadily at Harrington with a look as violent as Pamela’s. Keep it together, Tommy, we’re at the finish line.
The room felt warm and cozy, with the fire burning sluggishly in the Carrera marble fireplace. Alex walked to the fireplace, turned to face them, his arms crossed, calm, poised. Pam walked to stand behind a stark black chair, her eyes once again on Mia.
No one sat down.
Alex’s clipped Boston accent slipped out. “Detective, let me say I am perfectly willing to cooperate with you, whatever it is you wish to know about this student at Godwyn University. I would ask you to understand, though, that my fiancée and I are not only busy, we’re grieving. My best friend, Kent Harper, is fighting for his life. This is hardly the time to discuss another investigation.”
Mia said, “Isn’t it lucky for us we found both of you at home, and not at Bellevue at your best friend’s bedside?”
Alex ignored her, said to Hoolihan, his eyes tortured, pain-filled, “We would be happy to give you more information about Kent, but I doubt it will help catch who shot him. We are still at a loss as to why anyone would shoot a man who was well-liked and respected. I think it must have been a drive-by, some kind of mistake. Nothing else makes sense.”
He paused, as if waiting for the supplicant cop to offer to polish his Ferragamos, and looked discreetly at his watch, like an important man being harried unjustly. “Very well, Detective, I will say it for you. You are here to question me about some supposed sexual misconduct on Kent’s part, something you believe relates to this student—Winters, you said her name was? Let me state categorically I don’t believe Kent Harper has ever harmed a woman in his life. He focuses his aggression on his competitors. The rumors some of those reporters asked about yesterday at my press conference are both preposterous and untrue, probably planted by one of my opponents, even accusing me of complicity to drive me out of the race.” He stared at Mia. “With the help of a reporter who decided she’d use me as a springboard to launch her career, such as Ms. Briscoe here.”
He looked down at the stark white carpet beneath his feet, his expression infinitely sad, but stoic. “That vicious ploy succeeded enough to destroy my campaign, and now I am left to pick up the pieces of my life. I am the victim here, Detective, as is Kent, who can’t even defend himself. So if you’re here about those absurd rumors, to try to dig up dirt, then I want you to leave. I will give you my lawyers’ number. I will say it again, this has been a very difficult time for both Pamela and me. We want to be left in peace.”
Mia said, “We found Serena.”
Alex cocked his head at her. “What are you talking about? If you found this girl, then why are you here?”
Mia wanted to punch him in the face, she wanted to obliterate him. She felt Tommy’s big hand tighten around her arm, and she took a deep breath. “We found Serena this morning, exactly where Kent told me the two of you buried her after you murdered her at the Godwyn frat rave.”
Stone silence. Mia added, “If you’ve forgotten, you buried her near Pauley’s Farm in Valley Forge National Park.”
Pamela lunged toward Mia, her fists raised. “That’s a lie, you vicious bitch! A hateful, ridiculous lie!”
Tommy quickly stepped in front of her. He said, “You don’t want to touch her, Ms. Barrett, or I will arrest you. Try me.”
Mia wanted to pull away from Tommy, break Pamela’s perfect nose, maybe loosen some perfect capped teeth. Tommy said softly, “You, too, Mia. Get hold of yourself.”
Alex caugh
t Pamela’s arm, pulled her back against him. She whispered to him, “Why is she saying these things, Alex?”
Mia said, “Because they’re true, Pam. You got something out of him about Serena, didn’t you? But not the truth, not what really happened that night.”
“No, that isn’t what happened!”
Hoolihan took back control, said in his calm way, “Mr. Harrington, this morning, as Ms. Briscoe said, we recovered the remains of Serena Winters in a grave in Valley Forge National Park.”
Sherlock said, “We’d never have found her if Kent Harper hadn’t told us exactly where you’d buried her.”
Alex stood straight, shaking his head back and forth.
Tommy stared at the monster who had killed the girl he’d thought he’d marry. The rage he felt for what he’d done, for the grief he’d brought to everyone else, was a violent brew, but he held himself in check. He said in his deep, calm FBI voice, “The Jaguar you drove seven years ago? We matched it to a photo taken by a student outside the fraternity house the night of the fire, the night Serena disappeared, with your old license plate. It appears you know quite a bit about Godwyn University.”
Alex said nothing, looked mildly bored, but Mia knew he wasn’t, he couldn’t be.
Tommy continued, “The autopsy showed Serena was struck hard at the base of her skull, hard enough to kill her. The odds are good we’ll find traces of your DNA on her clothes and on the tarp you wrapped her in.”
Mia sent a questioning look to Detective Hoolihan, who nodded. She said, “You and Kent drove from Boston to Godwyn to find a girl to roofie and rape. But you ended up killing her because she saw what you were doing—namely, sprinkling a roofie into her drink.” She felt rage building, burning her throat. “You murdered my best friend, and neither of you even knew her name. Did you know Kent knew her only as Aolith, the gaming character?
“You hit her, Alex, killed her, set the fire so you could get her out without being noticed. You and Kent wrapped her in a tarp and threw her into a hole.” Mia felt herself beginning to spin out of control, but she managed to dial it back, there was too much at stake. “You killed her and forgot her, didn’t you, Alex, once she was in the ground, once you dumped dirt on top of her? She no longer existed. If you felt anything, it was impatience because she’d ruined your evening. Was Serena the only girl you killed?”
Alex Harrington stood silent and stoic, the innocent man in the dock. Mia wondered if the others could see the calculation in his eyes. She saw the instant he decided what to do. He began shaking his head back and forth and whispered, his voice steeped in pain and regret, “All right, if you must know the truth. It wasn’t my fault, her death. I hate to say this, hate it, but it was Kent who struck her. I was talking to some guys, drinking too much, I’ll admit, and when I happened to look over, they were dancing in place, talking over each other to be heard, when Kent suddenly hit her. I don’t know what happened, maybe she said something, but it all happened so fast—her dying, but it was an accident, he really didn’t mean to hurt her.”
He swallowed, managed to make his voice shake. “He was my best friend, I had to help him or he’d go to prison. Yes, I’ve told Pam about what happened and she understood. We were discussing whether to tell you, Detective Hoolihan, because of those rumors at the press conference, but it’s so difficult. Kent could be dying, maybe shot by someone taking revenge, I don’t know. You must believe this, the girl’s death was an accident, Kent didn’t mean to kill her.”
Mia pulled her cell phone out of her coat pocket and touched play. Kent Harper’s whispery voice sounded in the silent room.
“You saw Alex put a roofie in your drink and he was really mad so he hit you, hit you with his fist against your head, too hard, and you were just—dead.”
The only sound in the room was Alex Harrington’s harsh breathing and the pop of an ember exploding in the fireplace.
Pamela said, “What Kent said, he was obviously out of his mind, you can hear it. He was so drugged, he’d have said anything. What does he mean ‘you’ saw anything? None of it makes sense. That was pitiful.”
Sherlock said, “Kent Harper believed he was talking to Serena, but it makes no difference. He knew exactly where she was buried and what he said makes sense in every way.” She looked from Alex to Pamela. “I imagine the two of you have been sitting here hand-clasping, praying Kent Harper will die. The newest word? Your very best friend in the whole world, Mr. Kent Harper, is going to live. Do you think he won’t testify against you, Mr. Harrington?”
Alex drew himself up, smoothed out his breathing. “I want to call my lawyer.”
Detective Hoolihan said smoothly, “That’s your right, sir, but you will make your call from the station. I am arresting you for the murder of Serena Winters, human being,” and Hoolihan read him his rights. “Do you understand these rights?”
“Of course I do.” His face turned cold. “I will tell you again. It was an accident. Kent said I was responsible because he was trying to protect himself. You can’t prove otherwise.” He crossed his arms, gave them a full-bodied sneer. “The whole lot of you are vultures, each with your own agenda. Quite a thing to bring down a man only trying to serve this city, destroy a man who could buy and sell all of you, make or break your reputations. And you . . .” He stared at Mia. “You started this. Your whole purpose was to create some tacky rumors, turn them into a front-page investigation, and you picked me to go after.” He shook his head at her. “Pamela’s right. You’re a disgrace. You’re despicable.”
Alex paused, looked at each of them, as if memorizing faces. “When this is over, I will personally destroy all of you.”
He stepped away from the fireplace. “Let’s get this over with, Detective. I imagine the New York Police chief will have something to say.” He turned to Pamela. “Wait here. I’ll be back.”
Hoolihan said smoothly, “Actually, Ms. Barrett will be coming with us.”
Alex took a step back toward him. “There is no reason to force my fiancée into such an unpleasant situation. I don’t want her exposed to the violent scum you deal with.”
Hoolihan said, “Actually, there is every reason.”
53
Mia
Detective Hoolihan continued to Pamela, “And you, ma’am, you’ll be wanting to call your lawyer as well.”
Alex stepped forward, stopped when Hoolihan frowned at him. “What are you talking about? Why would Pamela need a lawyer?”
Hoolihan locked eyes with Pamela. “Because you, Ms. Barrett, hired a broker by the name of Reily Flint, of Boston, Massachusetts. We don’t know as yet how you knew to contact him, but the Boston PD is working with us. We will find out, never doubt that. The broker, Mr. Flint, in turn hired one of his best operators, known as Whistler. Whistler was instructed to run down Mia Briscoe last Wednesday night. He failed because a bystander stopped him.
“You hired Whistler again, through Mr. Flint, to murder Kent Harper this past Thursday night. He failed again because Agent Sherlock was there surveilling Mr. Harper’s house. After Whistler shot him two times in the back, she was able to get him help immediately.
“Of course, Whistler didn’t know who you are, knew you only as the principal, Ms. Barrett, for his protection and for yours, so he couldn’t roll on you.” He nodded to Sherlock.
She said, “A very committed FBI agent spent hours tracking the sedan Whistler drove the night he tried to run down Mia Briscoe. When she finally spotted Whistler’s sedan on a camera feed, she was able to follow it to the Wild Oaks Motel in Fort Lee.
“Unfortunately for you, Ms. Barrett, Whistler made two mistakes. He should have ditched the sedan he used to try to run down Mia Briscoe Wednesday night, but he didn’t. His second mistake was he neglected to change out his burner cell phone in time. That’s how we found Mr. Flint, and records of your four calls to him, both before and after the attempted murders, including, I imagine, your screaming matches when Whistler failed to kill Ms. Briscoe—and Kent Harper
?
“We also know about your two-hundred-thousand-dollar withdrawal from your private accounts. We are confident that with the right incentive, Mr. Flint will give us full details, including evidence of the two-hundred-thousand-dollar deposit into his own account.”
Hoolihan shook his head at Pamela. “What I don’t understand, Ms. Barrett, is why you got so involved. For what? To save your fiancé from his own misdeeds? You were willing to commit murder?”
Alex Harrington stood white and shaken, staring at Hoolihan and then at Pamela. His voice was barely above a whisper. “Pammie, that can’t be true? You didn’t hire some fricking professional assassin? That’s crazy, all of it’s crazy. Why would you do that?”
Pamela shouted, “I didn’t! It’s absurd. For heaven’s sake, I’m Pamela Raines Barrett of the Boston Barretts!” She whirled on Mia. “All these lies are your fault, you’d do whatever you had to do for your precious career, ruin Alex, ruin me!” She took a step toward Mia, paused when Mia smiled and beckoned with her fingers. “Come on ahead, Pammie, just try it, you murdering bitch.”
Hoolihan said, “That’s enough from both of you.”
Pamela whirled about. “Alex, don’t believe them. I wouldn’t do anything like that, I wouldn’t. You’ve known me all your life.”
Alex said slowly, “Kent knew you, too, all your life. He never did anything to you.”
“I didn’t try to kill Kent! All of you go away, I have nothing more to say to any of you.”
“We’re not going anywhere, Pam,” Mia said. “You tried to kill me because Alex told you I’d write about Serena’s murder. I was the obstacle to what you’ve wanted your whole life, climbing aboard the political power train. With me out of the way, no one would be digging into Alex’s past. But you were wrong. Agent Maitland would never have given up.
“And Kent? I’ll bet Kent came here to see Alex after Juliet and I left his office on Thursday. I’ll bet he was scared, angry—”
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