Chapter Twenty-five
I called Tom Silvers from the cellular phone in the car. I asked him if he could recommend a good divorce lawyer. He said that, while it wasn't his area of expertise, he had handled a few divorce cases in his time, and would be thrilled to represent me. Even given the timing, he didn't seem the least bit surprised at my request. Apparently, Jonas had already talked to him.
It was just after noon when I pulled into the driveway. I checked the garage first, to make sure Jack's Porsche wasn't there. It wasn't.
In the house, I wasted no time getting my suitcases from the closet in the basement. I took them up to the bedroom and started packing my clothes.
I had about half of my things in the bags when I heard the loud roar of the Porsche's engine outside. A few moments later, the front door opened, then slammed shut. Jack came bounding up the stairs and appeared in the doorway.
"You came back," he said, catching his breath. "I knew you would."
"Just to get my things." I took another stack of clothes from the closet and put them in the suitcase. I closed the bag, put it on the floor and started on another.
"I got out of line, Pagan," he said. "I'm sorry."
"That's good," I told him. "You should be." I took the last of the things from the closet and folded them into the case. Then I started on the drawers, taking the whole thing from the dresser and dumping it into my suitcase. I stacked the empty drawers on the floor next to the bed. Jack could put them away later.
Jack sat down on the bed and tried to reach for my hand. I pulled it away.
"Don't even try to touch me," I warned. "You do and you'll be very sorry."
"I can change," Jack said. "You wanted me to see a psychiatrist. I will. Just come back to me."
"Its too late."
"Please don't say that. I'll get down on my knees and beg if you want me to. Just give me another chance." His eyes were telling another story.
"That would be a nice gesture if you meant it, but it wouldn't do any good. You want to do something for me. Then help me with these bags."
He had no intention of helping. "I love you," he said.
"That's nice." I closed the lock on the last of the bags. I stood back and looked at the pile of suitcases by the door. Six of them. Three trips to the car with Jack chasing after me the whole time.
I picked up two bags and headed down the stairs.
"Please don't do this," Jack said, following me just as I had expected. "I need you."
"Right."
"Things will be different."
"Uh huh."
"I don't know what I would do without you."
"Frankly," I started, then left it hanging. Too much of a cliché. "Jack," I said, "I've already called a lawyer. He's drawing up the papers as we speak."
"You cant do that!"
There were tears in his eyes. I almost felt sorry for him. But not quite.
"I can do it," I said. "I am doing it. You can make it hard, or you can make it easy. I really don't care."
"How can you throw away eight years so casually?"
"I'm not," I said. "You did that the other night."
The trunk was full, so I put the last two bags on the front seat.
"Can we at least talk about it," Jack pleaded. "Just have dinner with me tonight. After that, if I can't convince you to come back, I'll leave you alone."
I regretted it before I said it. "Yeah, okay."
We made arrangements to meet at eight o'clock, and I drove away thinking that I was a damned fool.
Chapter Twenty-six
The Coffee Bean was an upscale bakery and deli with a small dining room, located in one of the city's more exclusive strip malls. It's clientele ranged from would be hippies to the cream of the social crop.
Annie Bannister fit the first of those categories. She was waiting when I arrived and had already ordered two ameretto cafe au laits and a plate of apple cinnamon scones. She had changed from the black outfit she had worn this morning into a long, gauzy A-line shift in a pastel floral print. Her hair hung straight with a single thin braid down the right side.
I joined her at a little table in the corner farthest from the door.
She tapped the ash of an odd smelling cigarette into the ashtray. "Its an herbal blend," she said. "Its supposed to cure headaches, but I don't think it's going to work. I never caught your first name."
"Pagan," I said.
"Really," she asked. "That's cool." She crushed out her cigarette. "Help yourself," she said, indicating the plate of scones.
I took one. "What is it you wanted to talk about?"
Annie gazed out the window. "How well did you know my grandfather?"
"I suppose I knew him as well as anyone at Crown Jewels," I said. "But I wouldn't say that I really knew him well."
Annie nodded thoughtfully. "No one really knew him. Not even Grandma. Or if she did, she liked to pretend she didn't." She took one of the scones and bit into it. "Maybe Aunt Sharon did. I guess I did. He wasn't the person he showed to the world. I don't want to speak ill of the dead, Pagan, but I have to tell someone about this."
"What are you trying to say," I asked.
"Everyone always thought he was this wonderful man. You know, reliable, good-natured. And I'm not really denying that," she said. "He was those things, but he had a problem." She searched for the words. "He liked... He liked to have sex with young girls."
"Did he rape you?"
She nodded slowly, with a far away look in her eyes. "I've been in therapy for three years, trying to deal with it. I've always wondered. You know. If he was doing it to me, how many others were there? I'm pretty sure that he abused Aunt Sharon, too. I asked her about it, but she didn't want to talk about it. She just said that it was a terrible thing to say and I shouldn't talk about it anymore. Dr. Jeffries says that denial is a normal reaction, if not a healthy one, but.." She picked up a napkin and wiped her eyes. "I think it was more than that, though. It seemed more like she was jealous, like she was upset that there was someone else in his life. Does that make any sense?"
"Not really," I said. "But then, I've never been in that situation. I don't know if it makes sense or not."
"I guess it would be hard to understand. Anyway, I'm not exactly sure about this, but I think he was still sleeping with her. As of when I asked her about it."
"He was having an affair with his own daughter," I said. As this started sinking in, I tried to reconcile it with what I knew of Harvey Bannister. Had there been subtle signs that no one had noticed?
"Not exactly," Annie said in response to my statement. "See, Grandma and Grandpa got married in June of 1947. Aunt Sharon was born December 8th of '47."
The math was so simple even I got it. "So Amelia was pregnant when they got married."
"Yeah. Only she and Grandpa hadn't, you know, before they got married. He told me that one time."
"So who was Sharon's father?"
"I don't know. She never told him. I don't even know if she knew that he knew that he wasn't. She just doesn't talk about her life before they were married. I don't even know that her maiden name was or where she was born. When I think about it though, I really don't blame her for keeping it a secret. Now it would be no big deal, but things were different then."
I didn't see what this had to do with anything, and I really didn't care to hear it. But I decided, if Annie could live it, I could listen to it. She obviously needed tell this story. I waited quietly for her to continue.
"Anyway," she said at last, "with me, it started when I was about twelve. I was living with my grandparents after my parents died. I understood what was happening and I knew it was wrong, but, I just didn't know who to tell, so I didn't tell anyone. I was scared."
"Did he threaten you?"
No. In fact he was kind of nice about i. It sounds weird, I know, but he was always real gentle and polite. I'd like to meet a guy now that treats me that good."
It did sound weird. I must have showed that reaction.
"I don't mean I liked it," Annie protested. "Not at all."
"But you didn't exactly hate it either."
"You sound like Dr. Jeffries. No, I didn't hate it. But, as time went on, I hated him for putting me through it."
"How long did this go on," I asked.
"Until a couple of years ago. I moved out when, I was eighteen, and that's when it ended." A shiver went through her entire body. "There's more. He told me things. Things I didn't want to know. That was the worst part."
Her tears were falling openly now. She wiped them away with the napkin, and they were replaced instantly with fresh ones. I wished that there was something I could do for her, but all she really needed was someone to listen. I was already doing that.
"What kind of things," I asked softly.
"Stories. His favorite was one from when he was in World War Two. He killed a man, strangled him. The way he told it, I got the feeling that he'd really enjoyed it. He kind of got off on it. You know?"
I had seen Harvey's work records. He had worked at Crown Jewels since 1946 and he had started when he was seventeen years old. There was no way he could have served in World War Two. I didn't tell Annie this.
"There's something I have to ask you," she said, staring into her untouched cup of cafe au lait. "Did he have anything to do with the robbery?"
"What," I asked.
"I wondered if maybe he did it, and who ever was helping him got greedy and killed him. Could it have happened that way?"
I had to admit, to myself, that it could have. "I don't think so," I said. "Why do you ask?"
"He told me that he knew how to get into the vault."
"Are you sure he was telling you the truth?"
"No, but you can tell me. He told me the combination." She dug in her purse until she found a little piece of paper. "When I found out he was dead, I wrote it down, in case it might be important. I'm pretty sure I remembered it right."
She passed me the piece of paper. The numbers written there were 94-17-47. It was the combination to the vault.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Harvey Bannister was a pervert. That knowledge didn't help my case in any way. In fact, I would have been happier not knowing. I had always liked Harvey.
I met him when my father took me to Crown Jewels for the very first time to help him pick out a birthday gift for my mother. At that time, Harvey's post had been at the front door, five days a week, during business hours. From there, he watched for shop lifters and kept the undesirable element out of the store. In those days, it was easier to spot those types.
I was nine years old at the time. Harvey had introduced himself to me, and started asking me questions. Over the years, his words had faded from my memory. What stayed in my mind was the kindness with which he had spoken to me. He didn't treat me like a child, but spoke to me as he would to another adult.
It had been a nice a memory, and most of my feelings for him since had been based on that. Now, I was forced to wonder what his motives had been.
I believed what Annie had told me, although I didn't want to. She had no reason to lie. That meant she was probably telling the truth. And that presented its own problems. If Harvey had given her the combination to the vault, who else had he given it to? Sharon? Amelia? Someone I had never met?
I had been counting on the fact that the robbery had been committed by someone on the inside. Someone I had known and worked with for years. Now, that was no longer a fact. It was just a theory.
"Why don't you go to the police with this," Schuyler asked.
I was sitting on his bed while he changed out of his suit and into his jeans.
"And what are they going to do with it? Shapiro would just assume that Harvey was my accomplice and I shot him. I'd end up in more trouble than I'm in now," I said.
"So what are you going to do?"
"I'll start asking questions and hope something turns up that I can use."
"Anything I can do to help?"
"I'll let you know," I said.
Schuyler had to move my suitcase to get his shirt out of a dresser drawer. I had left it there for exactly that reason. I wanted him to see it and I wanted to gauge his reaction.
"Don't tell me you got all of your things into this one little suitcase," he said.
"I left the rest in the car."
"I'll help you bring them in."
"No," I said. "I don't want it to look like I'm moving in on you."
Schuyler sat down next to me on the bed. "Why not," he asked. "You don't have anyplace else to go. And.."
"And?"
"I like having you here. It gets kind of lonely out here in the woods with no one for company but the dogs and the horses."
Was that the reaction I had been hoping for? I wasn't sure. "I just don't want to move too fast," I said. "I have the feeling that nothing I could do would scare you off."
"You're right."
"But I don't want to take any chances. I don't want you to think that I walked in here looking for a long term commitment."
"Didn't you," he asked.
"No," I said. Then I thought about it. "I don't know. Maybe I did. Tell you what. In a couple of days, I'll start looking for an apartment. Not searching, just looking. And when I go back to work, I'll move out. Unless you get tired of having me around before then."
"I wont," he said.
"It could be a long time."
"How do you want me to answer that," he asked. "If I say 'It won't be,' it sounds like I really don't want you here. And I do. But if I say 'Yes, it could,' it sounds like I don't have faith in your proving your innocence."
"You're right, it wasn't fair," I said. "It's just that everything is happening so fast, and it scares me a little."
Schuyler slipped his arms around me and kissed my neck. "Any chance I could talk you out of this dinner with Jack?"
"Yes, there's a good chance," I said. "But I need to go. I have to convince Jack that its over."
"Just promise me one thing," he muttered with his mouth against mine. "When you go to bed tonight, it'll be with me."
"I promise," I said.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Jack had suggested that we meet at La Malin. I didn't realize it at the time, but this was the place where he had proposed to me a lifetime ago and light years away. It hit me when I pulled into the parking lot, and saw the big red neon sign over the red and white striped awning. I almost turned around and left. It seemed somehow fitting, though, to lay the marriage to rest in the same place where it began.
Jack's Porsche was under a street light, parked so that it took three spaces and no one could park next to it, on the far edge of the lot, where no one parked anyway. It would serve him right, I thought, if someone in a 1962 Impala parked next to it and slammed one of those heavy old doors into that shiny red bumper.
I found a space near the door. If he insisted on walking me to the car, I wanted to be in plain sight of everyone inside until I had the doors locked.
I didn't really fear Jack. When it came right down to it, he was a coward. But there was no sense in taking unnecessary chances.
La Malin was the kind of up-scale restaurant where they still have his and hers menus. His has the prices on it, hers does not. As soon as I walked in, I made it clear to the maitre d' that this would not be acceptable. I had no intention of allowing Jack to control the evening.
The lighting in the dining room was dimmer than I had remembered. Each table had a single candle surrounded by fresh flowers as a centerpiece. At any other time, it would have struck me as a terribly romantic setting.
The maitre d' led me to Jack's table, where there was a silver wine bucket with a bottle of champagne sitting at the ready. As soon as I sat down, the maitre d' picked up the bottle.
"That won't be necessary," I said.
Jack motioned for him to proceed. "It's already paid for. We might as well enjoy it."
"You enjoy it," I said. "None for me."
When the maitre d' left, Jack took a sip of his champagne. "You don't know what you're missing," he said.
I picked up my menu, with the prices on it, and looked it over. I could feel Jack's eyes on me. Whatever little bit of humanity he had found within himself that afternoon was gone. Everything about him was radiating hatred.
"Are you going to give this a chance or not," he asked sharply.
"There's no chance, Jack."
I put my menu down and a waiter appeared out of nowhere. He took our orders, on separate checks, of course, and left.
"Then why did you agree to meet me?"
Because I'm a damned fool, I thought. "Because, you were right about one thing. I can't throw away eight years without at least giving you an explanation," I said.
I told him, in a gentle, objective way, of the things I had come to realize on the night I left him. I explained the way I had felt since then, free and happier than I'd been in a long time, despite Shapiro and his accusations. I left out the part about Schuyler. Jack would find out eventually, but he wasn't going to hear it from me.
He took all of this better than I had expected. That in itself made me nervous. I had been prepared for a big scene. I had thought that he might even hit me again, right there in front of all those witnesses. But he didn't. He sat calmly, listening, but hearing only what he wanted to hear.
By the time I finished talking, we had finished dinner, and the waiter had brought the desert menu, which I waved away.
"You could be happy with me. We could be happy again, like we were in the beginning," Jack said.
"That's not a possibility anymore. Haven't you heard a word I've said?"
"I was saving this for our anniversary," he said, reaching into his pocket. "But I think I should give it to you now."
He held out a small, pale mauve ring box that I recognized as coming from Crown Jewels. I made no move to take it, so he opened the box himself, and set it on the table in front of me.
The ring inside was a platinum band with a small heart-shaped diamond on either side of the center emerald.
"Its beautiful," I said, without emotion, "but I can't accept it." I pushed the box back to his side of the table.
"If you wont come back to me tonight," he said, "at least take the ring and think about it." He stood quickly and made a move to kiss my cheek. I turned away, and before I could speak, he hurried out of the restaurant.
The waiter appeared to inform me that the check had been taken care of, then disappeared again.
I couldn't leave the ring on the table, so I closed the box, dropped it in my purse, and left to keep my promise to Schuyler.
Chapter Twenty-nine
That night, I had a dream that I was Annie Bannister. I hid in the back of Harvey's car until the other security guard pulled his car out of the Calvary Mall parking lot. In the dream, it was Jerry Dinsmore, although I knew that Charlie Howard had been on duty that night. Was there any significance to that? When he was gone, I climbed out of the car and knocked on the back door of Crown Jewels. Harvey let me in. Together, we disarmed the alarm system and made our way upstairs to the vault. Once inside, we stuffed all of the jewelry into bags. Then Harvey suggested that we clean out the other vault, too, the one where the loose stones are kept. The combination is the same, he told me. We went back downstairs, across the sales floor, and into a little room on the other side. When the vault was open, Harvey stepped inside. I took a gun from my pocket and aimed.
That's when I woke up. The dream had been so real that it took me a few moments to realize where I was. I found my robe in the tangled sheets and slipped it on.
Schuyler was on the phone in the living room when I came out of the bedroom. He thanked the caller, said good-bye and put the receiver back in its cradle. He turned to me with a big grin on his face. "You are going to love this," he said.
"I'm not going to love anything until I've had a cup of coffee," I said and yawned.
Schuyler followed me into the kitchen, waited in the doorway while I poured my coffee, then followed me back to the living room. I sat down on the sofa next to Duke. He raised his head, glanced at me, flopped his tail once and went back to sleep.
Schuyler was standing by the fireplace, excited as a little boy on his first trip to Disney Land, waiting for permission to speak. I made him wait until I had finished half of the cup.
"Okay," I said finally, "spit it out."
"That was Sara Lewis on the phone. You'll never guess what happened."
"God, I hate morning people," I said. "You're right, I'll never guess. And why aren't you at work?"
"Its Sunday, I have the day off. Carole Lefler turned in her resignation last night."
Chapter Thirty
Carole Lefler's phone had been busy all morning, so I decided to drive out to her house to talk to her in person.
Schuyler had informed me that word hadn't spread about my leave of absence. That gave me a good excuse to talk to Carole. I would play the concerned boss.
Carole and her husband, Joe, lived in a condominium complex on a manmade lake in the center of town. It was a gated community, and I had to stop and call her on the intercom from the guard box.
It was several minutes before her voice came over the speaker.
"Yes," she asked tentatively.
"Carole. It's Pagan Brock. I'd like to speak to you if you have a minute."
"Oh, Pagan. Uh, yeah, okay. I'll buzz you in."
The gate rumbled slowly open and I drove through. Tall elm trees lined the main drive, their branches intermingling overhead to create a plush green canopy. I came to a fork in the road and kept to the right, following the lake for a few hundred yards until I came to the first row of condos.
The buildings, set on neatly manicured lawns, were painted white with dark brown trim. Each unit had a deck off the second floor in the back, over looking the lake, and a small front porch. Each porch had on it a round white ceramic planter with nearly identical red geraniums and white petunias. The theme was echoed in the tiny flower beds in front of the porches. No room for individuality here. I wondered if planting marigolds would be grounds for expulsion from the condo association.
There were no cars parked in the driveways or along the street. Apparently that was against the rules too. Not everyone could be out on a Sunday afternoon.
Carole lived in the end unit of the second row of condos. I pulled into the driveway. Carole was waiting at the door, and came out onto the porch as soon as I got out of the car.
I was used to seeing Carole at work. She always dressed very professionally, in suits or simple dresses, her make-up always perfect. I hardly recognized her in the pink sweat suit she was wearing. She had a bright green print scarf tied over her flaming red hair. She looked very tired and nervous.
"Good to see you," she said. She met me at the end of the sidewalk. "You weren't at work yesterday, and I was starting to get concerned."
"Thank you," I said. "I could say the same. I hear you've resigned."
Carole stiffened. "Yes," she said.
"Could we talk about that," I asked.
I looked toward the door and she followed my gaze.
"Oh! I'd invite you in, but the house is really a mess right now. Um, there are some benches down on the dock. Why don't you go on down there and I'll get us some iced tea."
"Nonsense, Carole," I said. "I'm the last person to be offended by a little clutter. Hell, if I didn't have a housekeeper come in once a week, my house would have been declared a disaster area years ago."
I walked around her and headed toward the door. Carole followed beside me, visibly flustered.
"Well," she said, "I guess it would be okay."
Carole had understated the condition of the house. It was not a mess. It looked as though a tornado had gone through it. There were piles of old newspapers on the floor in just about every corner. Last nights dishes were still on the table, the remnants of spaghetti dried to the plates. A pile of clothes overflowing the basket they were in sat on one end of the sofa. A bookshelf stood in one corner, empty. The books were spread out in a fan on the floor in front of it, as though it had been tipped over. All over the floor, tiny shards of broken glass glittered in the afternoon sunlight that came in through the open deck doors. The shattered pieces of a crystal vase lay in a pile in one corner. Above this, there was a dent in the plaster of the wall, presumably where the vase had hit. There were several sealed boxes stacked in front of the china cabinet on the opposite wall. I settled my gaze on these.
"Going somewhere," I asked.
"Yes," Carole said. She paused before continuing. When she did, her speech was broken, as though she were putting together the lie as she spoke. "Joe got a job offer from a company in New York. I just found out last week, but with the robbery and everything..." She paused again. "I just didn't think the time was right to quit. You know? And then he told me on Friday that we had to be there by the end of next week. He left this morning to look for a place to live."
"That's wonderful," I said.
"What?"
"The job. He's an architect, isn't he?"
"Yes."
"What firm is he going to?"
"Um. He told me the name, but I don't really remember. Its something like Smith and Woodbridge, or something like that."
"Smith and Woodbridge," I said. "I met a man from New York a few years ago, a customer at Crown Jewels actually, he was an architect. His name was Arthur Woodbridge," I lied. "I wonder if it would be the same firm?"
"Arthur," Carole said. "I think Joe did mention that name." Carole relaxed. I had bought into her lie, or so she thought.
"That's quite a coincidence," I said.
"Yes, it is. Small world." She laughed nervously.
I took another look around, not trying to be inconspicuous about it. Carole moved quickly to block my view.
"Well, just so there isn't a problem," I said.
Carole stiffened again. "What?"
"Well, I thought maybe you had some kind of problem at work. Maybe someone you weren't getting along with, or whatever. I didn't want to think that you were leaving over some little thing like that. I'm glad to hear that that isn't the case."
"0h, night. No, there's no problem. I'm really sorry to be going. I've enjoyed working there. With everybody."
"We'll miss you, Carole," I said. "You'll have to keep in touch. Drop a line now and then. Let us know how things are going."
"Sure, of course I will."
"Good."
"I'd ask you to stay for some tea or something, but..."
"You have a lot of work to do," I said.
"Yes."
"Of course. I'll be going now." I headed for the door. As I opened it, I turned back. "Good luck."
"What?"
"In New York. And give Joe my best, too."
"Oh, yeah."
I walked down the sidewalk and got into the car. I could see Carole peeking through the curtain, so I put the car in gear and drove off in the direction I had come. When I was out of sight of the house, I pulled over to the side of the road and looked at the lake for a while.
Chapter Thirty-one
Carole had been lying, but that didn't prove she had committed the robbery, or even that she knew who did. Although it was a question I should have asked her. Her reason would have been interesting. But until I had some proof, there was no point in alerting her to my suspicions, especially when she was getting ready to move anyway and could be out of town in a matter of minutes.
And how was I supposed to deal with that? If she did rob Crown Jewels and kill Harvey Bannister, I couldn't let her leave town. But how in the hell was I supposed to stop her?
After further thought on that, I decided that it didn't matter. The job I had given myself was to find out who committed the crime. If it turned out to be Carole, it would be up to the police to locate her.
And there were other leads to follow up on. Namely, Harvey's family.
I stood once again in the living room of the run down apartment while Amelia was in the kitchen making tea. I stared at the family photographs once more, but this time in a new light. The expression on Sharon's face, which had looked so odd before, now made perfect sense. It was love, and not the kind a little girl of seven, as she was in the picture, feels for her father. It was the kind of love a woman feels for a man.
And who is your father, little girl, I wondered. Do you know? Does anyone know?
Even the wedding picture looked different to me now. Before, I had thought that Harvey and Amelia looked happy. But on closer examination, that wasn't the case at all. Amelia looked victorious. Harvey just looked accepting.
I picked up the frame to take a closer look. At about three months, it was a toss up whether or not Amelia's pregnancy would be showing, and the way she was standing, I couldn't tell.
As I put the picture back, my finger hit something smooth on the back of the rough cardboard backing of the frame. I turned it over.
There was another photograph taped face down to the back.
"If its too much trouble, just skip the tea, Amelia," I called.
"No trouble at all," she said from the kitchen. "Just another minute."
I peeled the tape back and looked at the picture. It was a recently made print of an old photograph. It was taken about the same time as the wedding photo. In it, Amelia was sitting at a table in a restaurant, across from a man who was definitely not Harvey. He was a tall, lean man, much older than Amelia. He had a thin mustache and thick dark hair. In a way, he reminded me of Clark Gable. It was more the mustache and the cocky smile than any real physical resemblance. He was leaning toward Amelia over the narrow table. Their glasses were raised in a toast and they were smiling intimately. The man's left hand showed in the picture. There was a wedding ring on his finger.
So that's why he hadn't married her.
"Hello," said a voice behind me.
I turned around, startled, hiding the photograph in the folds of my skirt.
Sharon came into the room and sat down on the sofa. I slipped the photograph into my pocket until I had a chance to return it to its place.
"Hello, Sharon," I said. "How are you feeling?"
"A little better, " she said. "I miss him."
"Of course you do." I sat down in the chair nearest her. "Loosing a parent is a very difficult thing."
"Oh, no, " she said, "Harvey wasn't my father. I thought he was, when I was little. But when I was old enough, he told me the truth."
"I see."
"I did love him though. And he loved me. He explained it to me. I wasn't his daughter, so he couldn't love me like a daughter. That just wouldn't be right. But, we had a special love. That's what he called it. A special love. Isn't that nice."
I was feeling queasy, but I managed a nod.
"He didn't think of me as a little girl, even when I was. I liked that. Being treated like an adult."
A chill ran down my spine as I thought of my first encounter with Harvey Bannister. "Yes," I said. "I can see why you would."
"Sometimes, he would come into my room at night, and we would just talk and talk. He would tell me about his work, and I would tell him what happened at school. Sometimes we would do other things, too." Sharon was gazing at the spider plant in the corner again, and smiling at the memory. "He told me that they were things only adults were supposed to do. But since I was so grown up, I could do them too. But only with him. Other adults wouldn't understand."
"No," I said. "They wouldn't."
Sharon continued to gaze and smile for a while longer. Then her smile faded. "Then it stopped. I don't understand why. Maybe he didn't love me so much anymore. I think there was someone else."
I searched for something to say. "That's too bad."
Sharon nodded. "I missed him."
"Did that make you angry," I asked.
Sharon thought about it. "I guess so. We were lovers, and..."
"That's enough, Sharon." Amelia's voice was harsh. She stood in the doorway with a tray that held a teapot, cups and creamer and sugar. "I'll not have that kind of talk in my house. Now go to your room."
"Yes, Mother," Sharon said. She stood up and shuffled out of the room, hanging her head.
Amelia set the tray down on the coffee table and poured the tea. "Forgive her, Ms. Brock. She rambles sometimes. She confuses fantasy and reality." Amelia passed me a cup. "And she's taking her father's death particularly hard."
"Yes," I said, feeling a little dazed, "I could tell. She said something strange, though. She told me that Harvey wasn't her father."
Amelia laughed and sipped her tea. "All children have the fantasy now and then that they're adopted or that their parents aren't really their parents. Didn't you?"
"No."
"Well, I guess Sharon just never outgrew that."
I nodded. Of course, that must be it. Why didn't I think of that? And if you believe that one, I have some lovely swamp land in Florida for sale cheap.
"You're looking better," I said.
"Yes. Its been hard on me. Harvey and I were so happy together for all of these years, but I just have to pick up and go on with my life, don't I?"
"I have to give you credit, Amelia. You must be a very strong woman." Or a very weak one, I said to myself.
Chapter Thirty-two
I left as soon as I could make a polite get away. I had learned more than I wanted to know and nothing that I could use.
Except that Sharon had been angry with Harvey because he wasn't molesting her anymore. And that Amelia was in such a state of denial that I couldn't count on anything she said.
She had told me that Harvey didn't have an enemy in the world. She painted him as a perfect husband, a perfect father, and an overall perfect man. When I asked her about his drinking, which was common knowledge to everyone he worked with, she had said that he never touched alcohol. The same thing with gambling. Other women? Nonsense.
Yet, she hadn't acted shocked, or even mildly surprised when I mentioned these things. There was nothing in her face or her attitude to suggest that she was insulted by such a suggestion. On some level, at least, she knew that it was all true.
And if she disliked that truth enough to go into this state of denial, did she dislike it enough to do something about it? Such as helping Harvey plan a robbery and then killing him?
So far, every question I had asked revealed a dozen or so more that needed answers and every answer led to more questions. And all of this seemed to be leading no where.
I've never been one to turn away when I see something unpleasant, but this close-up view of the Bannister family had left me feeling dirty and emotionally drained.
When I got home, Schuyler was out back working with the horses. Sadie was helping him by running in giant circles around him. Duke was under the dining room table. He flopped his tail three times when he saw me and went back to sleep.
"What's the matter, Duke? Wear yourself out," I asked him. In answer, he rolled over onto his side and started to snore.
I took a long shower with the water as hot as I could stand it, and I started to feel a little better. It didn't last long.
As I was putting my clothes away, I felt something in my skirt pocket. It was the first time I had thought of the photograph since I hid it from Sharon.
I took it into the dining room, where Duke had rolled onto his other side and was still snoring. I sat down at the table, put the picture in front of me, and stared at it until Schuyler and Sadie came in.
"What's that," he asked.
"Its a picture of Amelia Bannister," I said. I told him about my conversations with Sharon and Amelia.
"Do you think that could be important?"
"I don't know. Probably not. But I can't help thinking about it. Either of them would have had a motive for killing him. Annie, too."
"And they stole millions of dollars worth of jewels to cover it up? That's a little far-fetched."
"I know."
"But not entirely impossible."
"I know that too."
Schuyler put two frozen dinners into the oven and sat down at the table to wait. This was his idea of making dinner.
"You haven't heard anything more from Shapiro, have you," he asked.
"No. I don't know if that's good or bad."
He covered my hand with his and a too-sympathetic expression came over his face.
"Why," I asked. "What have you heard?"
"I talked to Sara again. He was at Crown Jewels today," Schuyler said, "asking a lot of questions about you. I tried not to tell her anything, but I had to say something."
"They were bound to find out eventually," I said.
"Would it help if I said no one believes it?"
"No. I'd know you were lying."
Chapter Thirty-three
In the morning, I called police headquarters and asked for Chad Washington. I was told that he was on patrol, so I left my name and number with the desk sergeant, along with a message for Washington to call me as soon as possible.
Then I called information in New York. There was no listing for a Smith and Woodbridge under architects. There was a Woodgate and Smith, attorneys at law, a Smith and Woods Talent Agency, and Woodbridge Estates, which turned out to be an apartment complex in Brooklyn. There was no listing under architects for a Woodbridge. There were eleven for Smith.
I took all of these numbers and started calling them. The receptionist at the law office had never heard of a Joe Lefler, so I asked to speak with either Mr. Smith or Mr. Woodgate. Both of them were deceased, I was informed, so I asked to talk to whoever was in charge. He was out of the office, but I could talk to one of the junior partners. I said never mind and hung up.
The talent agency was just as helpful. I had barely gotten the words "I'm calling to inquire about..." out of my mouth when Mr. Woods, who had answered the phone, told me that I would have to come in for an audition if I was looking for an agent. I told him that I had no interest in an agent, that I was looking for a Joe Lefler, and had he ever heard of him? He couldn't give out any personal information about his clients unless I was in the business, he said.
"Okay," I said. "I'm the casting director for an off-Broadway theater on Forty-ninth. Ever heard of Joe Lefler?"
"Nope."
The number for Woodbridge Estates had been disconnected and the recording did not give a new one, so I turned my attention to architects named Smith.
None of them knew a Joe Lefler. One said he knew a Carl Lefler. He was the bastard who embezzled a hundred thousand dollars from the firm and ran off with Mrs. Smith. He told me I wasn't being funny and he didn't appreciate prank callers, then hung up on me. Another Smith knew a Joe Lefton, who had been the janitor in his building right up until he disappeared off the face of the earth six months ago. I said thank you, he's not the one I'm looking for, but I hope he's found soon.
"So do I," Smith said. "I'm getting fired of taking my own garbage out."
Finally, I called the firm where Joe Lefler worked here in town, Emil Dreyfuss Associates. The secretary, Lucy, told me that he no longer worked there. He hadn't worked there for almost seven months now. Although I couldn't get a direct comment from her, she implied that he did not leave under amiable terms. I made an appointment to talk to Mr. Dreyfuss later in the day.
Just as I hung up, the telephone rang. It was Washington.
"What can I do for you, Ms. Brock," he asked.
"I thought we agreed you were going to call me Pagan."
"Oh, yeah."
"I need a little favor. Is there any way you could get me a look at that surveillance tape from the Crown Jewels robbery?"
I could hear tapping in the background as he clicked the edge of his ring against the phone. "I really shouldn't," he said. "I mean, you're a suspect in an ongoing investigation, and..."
"If I told you that my lawyer was coming along?"
"Then I suppose it would be all right. And if, you know, he didn't show up or something, that's not your fault, is it?"
"No, it isn't."
"Okay, the guy down in the evidence room owes me a favor, but it'll take some time. Is four-thirty okay?"
"Five o'clock would be better."
"Okay," he said. "Five. I'll leave your name with the desk sergeant so he'll let you in. Go up to the fifth floor. I'll meet you by the elevators. Oh, and Pagan, if Shapiro were to find out about this..."
"Don't worry," I said. "I never talked to you."
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