Suppose the police should ever come to her, she wondered suddenly. What would Max want her to do?
The answer was very calming, and it came to her as clearly as if he were sitting across the table from her. “Do absolutely nothing, Lottie,” he cautioned. “Keep your mouth shut.”
38
SANDY SAVARANO WAS FINDING HIS SEARCH WAS TAKING more time than he had expected. Some real estate agencies answered his questions willingly. The ones that told him they had hired young women between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five all had to be checked out, which meant on-site surveillance. Other agencies refused to give him information on the phone, which meant they had to be checked out too.
In the mornings he would drive to the agencies and look them over, giving the most attention to the small mom-and-pop businesses. Usually they were storefront offices where he could walk past and by merely looking inside see what was going on. Some were obviously two-person operations. To the ones that turned out to be more elaborate, prosperous-looking setups, he gave scant attention. They wouldn’t be the kind to take on someone without a thorough background check.
The late afternoons he spent covering the health clubs and the gyms. Before he went into one of them, he would park for a time outside, looking at the people who were going in and out.
Sandy had no doubt that eventually be would find Lacey Farrell. The kind of job she would probably look for, and the kind of recreation she would rely on, were more than enough to lead him to her. A person didn’t change her habits just because she changed her name. He had tracked down his quarry in the past with a lot less to go on. He would find her. It was just a matter of time.
Sandy liked to think about Junior, an FBI informant he had tracked to Dallas. The one good clue he had was that the guy was a nut for sushi. The problem was that sushi had become very trendy, and a lot of Japanese restaurants had opened in Dallas recently. Sandy had been parked outside a restaurant named Sushi Zen, and Junior had come out.
Sandy liked to remember the look on Junior’s face when he had seen the car’s tinted window slide down and had realized what was going to happen. The first bullet had been aimed at his gut. Sandy wanted to wake up all those raw fishies. The second had been directed at his heart. The third, to his head, had been a mere afterthought.
Late Friday morning, Sandy drove to check out Royce Realty in Edina. The woman he had spoken to on the phone had seemed one of those firm, schoolmarm types. She had answered his initial questions freely enough. Yes, she had a young woman working for her, age twenty-six, who was planning to take her Realtor certification test but had left to have a baby.
Sandy had asked if that young woman had been replaced.
It was the pause that interested him. It indicated neither denial nor confirmation. “I have a candidate in mind,” was what Mrs. Royce finally told him. And yes, she was in the twenty-five to thirty-five age category.
When he reached Edina, Sandy parked his car in the supermarket lot across the street from the Royce office. He sat there for about twenty minutes, taking in details of the area. There was a delicatessen, next door to the agency, which had a fair amount of traffic. A hardware store halfway down the block also looked busy. He saw no one, however, either going into or coming out of Royce Realty.
Finally Sandy got out of the car, crossed the street, and sauntered past the agency, casually glancing inside. Then he stopped as though to examine the contents of a flyer prominently displayed in the agency window.
He could see that there was a desk in the reception area. Neatly stacked papers suggested that it was usually occupied. He could see beyond to where a largish woman with gray hair was sitting at a desk in a private office.
Sandy decided to go in.
Millicent Royce looked up as the door chimes signaled the arrival of a visitor. She saw a conservatively dressed gray-haired man in what she judged to be his late fifties. She went out to greet him.
His story was simple and direct. He said he was Paul Gilbert, visiting the Twin Cities on business for 3M —“That’s Minnesota Mining and Manufacturing,” he explained with an apologetic smile.
“My husband worked there all his adult life,” Millicent answered, not quite understanding why it should irritate her that this stranger had assumed she would not understand what 3M stood for.
“My daughter’s husband is being transferred here, and my daughter was told that Edina is a lovely place to live,” he told her. “She’s pregnant, so I thought that while I’m here I could do a little house hunting for her.”
Millicent Royce dismissed her feeling of pique. “Aren’t you the good father!” she said. “Now let me just ask you a few questions so I can get some idea of what your daughter is hoping to find.”
Sandy smoothly gave appropriate answers about his supposed daughter’s name, address, and family needs, which included “a kindergarten for her four-year-old, a good-sized back yard, and a large kitchen—she loves to cook.” He left half an hour later with Millicent Royce’s card in his pocket, and her promise to find just the right house. In fact, she told him she had one just coming on the market that might be perfect.
Sandy went back across the street and again sat in the car, his eyes fixed on the entrance to the agency. If there was someone using the reception desk, she was probably at lunch, he figured, and would return soon.
Ten minutes later, a young blond woman in her twenties went into the agency. Customer or receptionist? Sandy wondered. He got out of the car and again crossed the street, taking care to stay out of view of anyone inside the real estate office. For several minutes he stood in front of the delicatessen, reading the lunch specials. From the corner of his eye he could glance from time to time into the Royce agency.
The young blond woman was sitting at the reception desk, talking animatedly to Mrs. Royce.
Unfortunately for Sandy, he could not read lips. Had he been able to, he would have heard Regina saying, “Millicent, you have no idea how much easier it was to sit behind this desk than to take care of a colicky baby! And I have to admit that your new assistant keeps it a lot neater than I did.”
Irritated at having wasted so much time, Sandy walked quickly back to his car and drove away. Another washout, he thought. Since there were other possibilities to track down in the area, he decided to continue to make the rounds of suburban agencies. He wanted to be back in downtown Minneapolis by late afternoon, though. That was a good time to look into the health clubs.
The next club on his list was the Twin Cities Gym on Hennepin Avenue.
39
“NOW BONNIE, DON’T BE LIKE THAT. YOU KNOW YOU DO so like Jane to mind you,” Kit said persuasively. “Daddy and Nana and I are just going to dinner in New York. We won’t be late, I promise. But now Mommy has to finish getting dressed.”
Heartsick, she looked at her daughter’s woebegone face. “Don’t forget, Nana promised that next week, when Lacey phones, you can talk to her.”
Jay was putting on his tie. Kit’s eyes met his over Bonnie’s head. Her look implored him to think of something to say to their daughter.
“I’ve got an idea for Bonnie,” he said cheerfully. “Who wants to hear it?”
Bonnie did not look up.
“I want to hear it,” Kit volunteered.
“When Lacey comes home, I’m going to send her and Bonnie—just the two of them—to Disney World. How does that sound?”
“But when is Lacey coming home?” Bonnie whispered.
“Very soon,” Kit said heartily.
“In time for my birthday?” There was the sound of hope in the little girl’s voice.
Bonnie would be five on March 1st.
“Yes, in time for your birthday,” Jay promised. “Now go on downstairs, sweetheart. Jane wants you to help her make brownies.”
“My birthday isn’t that far away,” a much happier Bonnie said, as she sprang up from beside Kit’s dressing table.
Kit waited until she heard Bonnie’s footsteps going do
wn the stairs. “Jay, how could you... ?
“Kit, I know it was a mistake, but I had to say something to cheer her up. We can’t be late for this dinner. I don’t think you understand how I’ve sweated this order for Jimmy Landi’s casino. For a long time I’ve been closed out there completely. As it is, I got underbid on some of the biggest orders. Now that I’m back in with them, I can’t let anything go wrong.”
He pulled on his jacket. “And, Kit, remember that Jimmy just found out from some private detective he hired that Lacey is my sister-in-law. In fact, Alex said that’s why Landi called him to set up the dinner.”
“Why Alex?”
“Because he also found out that Alex is dating your mother.”
“What else does he know about us?” Kit asked angrily. “Does he know that my sister could have been killed if she’d gone into that apartment five minutes earlier? Or when she was shot at on our doorstep? Does he know that our child is recovering from a bullet wound and is under treatment for depression?”
Jay Taylor put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Kit, please! It’ll be okay, I promise. But we have to go. Don’t forget, we’ve got to pick up your mother.”
* * *
Mona Farrell had carried the phone to the window and was looking outside when she saw the car pull up. “They’re here, Lacey,” she said. “I’m going to have to go.”
They had been talking for nearly forty minutes. Lacey knew that Deputy Marshal Svenson would be getting impatient, but she had been especially reluctant to break the connection tonight. It had been such a long day, and the weekend stretched endlessly before her.
Last Friday at this time she had been looking forward to her date with Tom Lynch. There was nothing for her to look forward to now.
When she had asked about Bonnie, she could tell from her mother’s overly cheerful reassurances that Bonnie was still not doing well.
Even less reassuring had been the news that her mother, Kit, and Jay were having dinner tonight with Jimmy Landi at Alex Carbine’s restaurant. As she started to say good-bye, Lacey cautioned, “Mom, for heaven’s sake, be careful not to tell anyone where I am. You’ve got to swear to me—”
“Lacey, don’t you think I understand the danger I’d put you in? Don’t worry. No one will learn anything from me.”
“I’m sorry, Mom, it’s just—”
“It’s all right, dear. Now I really do have to go. I can’t keep them waiting. What have you got on for tonight?”
“I’m signed up at a new gym. It has a great squash court. Should be fun.”
“Oh, I know how much you love to play squash.” Mona Farrell was genuinely pleased as she murmured, “Love and miss you, dear. Good-bye.”
She hurried down to the car, thinking that at least she could tell Kit and Jay and Alex what Lacey was doing for recreation.
40
ON FRIDAY EVENING, TOM LYNCH WAS PLANNING TO HAVE an after-theater drink with his cousin, Kate. Her show was completing its Minneapolis engagement, and he wanted to say good-bye to her. He was also hoping that she might pick up his spirits.
Ever since Alice Carroll had told him that there was another man in her life, he had been depressed, and as a result everything seemed to be going wrong. The producer of his radio program had had to signal him several times to pick up his delivery, and even he was aware that he had sounded downright flat during several author interviews.
A touring production of Show Boat was opening at the Orpheum on Saturday night, and Tom’s fingers itched to dial Alice’s number and invite her to see it with him. He even found himself planning what he would say to her: “This time you can have the extra slice of pizza.”
On Friday evening he decided to go over to the gym and work out for a while. He wasn’t meeting Kate until eleven o’clock, and there was absolutely nothing else he could think of to do with his time.
He admitted to himself that he actually was harboring the secret hope that Alice might come into the gym, that they would start talking, and she would admit that she had serious doubts about this man in her life.
When he came out of the men’s locker room, Tom looked around, but it was clear that Alice Carroll wasn’t there, and, in fact, he already knew that she hadn’t been there all week.
Through the glass that surrounded the manager’s office, he could see Ruth Wilcox in deep conversation with a gray-haired man. As he watched, Ruth shook her head several times, and he thought he detected a slight expression of distaste on her face.
What does he want, a discount? Tom asked himself. He knew he should start to jog, but he had to ask Ruth if she had heard anything from Alice.
“Have I got news for you, Tom!” Ruth confided. “Close the door. I don’t want anyone else to hear this.”
Somehow Tom knew that the news had to do with Alice and the gray-haired man who had just left.
“That guy is looking for Alice,” Ruth told him, her voice snapping with excitement. “He’s her father.”
“Her father! That’s crazy. Alice told me her father died years ago.”
“Maybe that’s what she told you, but that man is her father. Or at least he says he is. He even showed me her picture and asked if I’d seen her.”
Tom’s instincts as a newsman were aroused. “What did you tell him?” he asked cautiously.
“I didn’t say anything. How do I know he wasn’t a bill collector or something? I said that I couldn’t be sure. Then he told me that his daughter and his wife had had a terrible misunderstanding, and that he knew his daughter had moved to Minneapolis four months ago. His wife is very sick and desperate to make amends before she dies.”
“That sounds phony as hell to me,” Tom said flatly. “I hope you didn’t give him any information.”
“No way,” Ruth said positively. “All I told him was to leave his name and if I happened to find that young lady was among our clients I’d ask her to call home.”
“He didn’t give you his name, or tell you where he’s staying?”
“No.”
“Didn’t you think that was strange?”
“The gentleman said that he’d appreciate it if I didn’t tell his daughter he was looking for her. He doesn’t want her to disappear again. I felt so sorry for him. He had tears in his eyes.”
If there’s one thing I know about Alice Carroll, Tom thought, it is that no matter how big a misunderstanding, she’s not the kind who would turn her back on a terminally ill mother.
Then another possibility occurred to him, one that he found enticing. If she wasn’t telling the truth about her background, maybe the man she claimed to be involved with doesn’t exist, he thought. He felt better already.
41
DETECTIVE ED SLOANE WORKED THE EIGHT-TO-FOUR DAY shift, but at five-thirty on Friday evening he was still in his office at the 19th Precinct, with Rick Parker’s file spread out on his desk. He was glad that it was Friday. He hoped that at least over the weekend, he might have some peace from the Feds.
It had been a grueling last couple of days. Since Tuesday, when Rick Parker had not shown up for his appointment, the rocky relationship between the NYPD and the U.S. Attorney’s office had become openly hostile.
It drove Sloane nuts that it was only when two federal agents showed up, looking for Parker, that Gary Baldwin finally admitted they had a witness who could place Rick at a ski lodge in Stowe the afternoon before Heather Landi died.
Baldwin didn’t share that information, Sloane thought, but when he learned that I was putting heavy pressure on Parker, he had the nerve to complain to the district attorney.
Fortunately the DA stood by me, Sloane thought grimly. In a face-to-face confrontation, the DA had reminded Baldwin that the NYPD had an unsolved homicide that had occurred in the 19th Precinct, and it was their intention to solve it. He also made it clear that if the federal law enforcement officials wished to cooperate and share information, they might all be better off, but the NYPD was running the case, not the Feds.
&n
bsp; The fact that the DA had gone to bat for him, even though he had had to sit and listen as Baldwin reminded him that vital evidence had disappeared from Sloane’s locked cubby, had given Sloane a driving need to be the one who eventually pulled Rick Parker in.
Unless he was already dead, of course, Sloane reminded himself, which was a distinct possibility.
If not, Rick’s disappearance was a sure sign that they were on the right track. It certainly cast in a new light the fact that he had never been able to explain how Isabelle Waring’s murderer was able to pass himself off so easily as a lawyer with a prestigious law firm that just happened to be a major Parker and Parker client.
Now they knew that Parker had been at the ski lodge, and that Heather Landi was spooked when she had seen him there, only hours before her death.
In the four months since Isabelle Waring’s murder, Sloane had put together an extensive curriculum vitae on Rick Parker. I know more about him than he knows about himself, Sloane thought, as once again he read through the thick file.
Richard J. Parker Jr. Only child. Thirty-one years old. Kicked out of two prestigious prep schools for possession of drugs. Suspicion, but no proof, of selling drugs—witness probably paid off to recant. Took six years to finally finish college at age twenty-three. Father paid for damages to fraternity house during wild party.
Always plenty of spending money through school years, Mercedes convertible as a 17th birthday present, Central Park West apartment as college graduation gift.
First and only job at Parker and Parker. Five years in the West 67th Street branch office, three years to present in East 62nd Street main office.
It hadn’t been hard for Sloane to learn that Rick’s coworkers on the West Side had despised him. One former employee of Parker and Parker told Sloane, “Rick would be out partying all night, show up with a hangover or still high on coke, and then start throwing his weight around in the office.”