I'll Be Watching You

  "Hadman. Olin," Reed acknowledged. "Let's hear what you've got. It had better be pretty good. You humiliated my client at his place of business."

  "He'll get over it. It was after five on Valentine's Day. So only a handful of people were there to witness his humiliation. Besides, why should your client care after Wednesday's big announcement?" Hadman shot Reed a penetrating look. "He's moving out, and up, on his way to run Berkley and Company. So what difference does it make what the old crowd at the Chrysler Building thinks?"

  "Detective, cut the sarcasm and—"

  Hadman waved away Reed's protest. "I'll get right to it. The circumstantial evidence is damning enough. We've got no forced entry and no burglary." A quick look at Jonathan. "You did tell me you have a key to the house."

  "Douglas gave one to each of his sons when they were teenagers so they could use the place when they stayed in the city," Reed answered for him. "Sounds normal to me. Not to mention that the housekeeper has a key, too. Anyone could have 'borrowed' it."

  "Right. Then there's that empty Scotch glass. No surprise that the fingerprints we lifted belonged to your client. He told us he was at the brownstone that afternoon, and that he had a drink." Another glance at Jonathan. "Scotch is your drink, isn't it? It's what you were guzzling Wednesday night at Le Cirque.

  Then again, you were celebrating. Or were you fortifying yourself for knocking off your father and stepmother later that night?"

  "Don't even dignify that with an answer, Jonathan," Reed instructed.

  "On the other hand, your client had lots of other reasons to drink that night," Olin pointed out. "Talk about stress. From what we've heard from the guests and the staff of Le Cirque, he was bickering with Adrienne Berkley, arguing with Douglas Berkley, and trying to pick up Taylor Hal-stead, all in one night."

  "True." Hadman eyed Jonathan, who had begun to sweat. "Ms. Halstead doesn't like you much, by the way. In fact, I think she's afraid of you. But then, that's no surprise either. As for Adrienne Berkley,

  you two never much got along. So face-offs with her were status quo."

  "Where are you going with this, Hadman? So far, all you've done is badger my client."

  Hadman turned to Reed. "You want information? Fine. It seems your client had lunch with his father

  last Friday. According to the maftre d' at the Oak Room, as well as two of the waiters, the conversation

  at Mallory's table escalated into an argument. Douglas Berkley was upset about something. Care to tell

  us what?"

  "I'll answer that," Jonathan replied before Reed could intercede. "We were talking about Gordon. I'd uncovered some unethical dealings he was involved in before he died. I passed the information on to Douglas. He had a right to know, in case it affected the company. He was very upset." ,

  "Sorry, that doesn't wash." Hadman pulled out a chair, propping one of his legs on it. "Although I don't doubt you touched on the subject of your brother's dirty dealings. But that's not what your argument

  was about. According to the e-mails you and Berkley exchanged the weekend after that dinner, it's clear he already knew about the securities fraud Gordon was conducting when you broke the news to him.

  I'm sure you were very disappointed. Hot information like that might have bought you an even sweeter deal at Berkley and Company."

  "What's the source of these e-mails?" Reed demanded, making sure to hide the fact that he hadn't a

  clue what the hell Hadman was talking about. What securities fraud had Gordon been involved in that Jonathan uncovered?

  Obviously, his client had forgotten to mention something to him. And he'd screwed it up further by opening his mouth and lying to Hadman.

  More damage control for Reed to effect.

  "We found the e-mails on Mallory's computer," Olin supplied. "Your client kindly allowed us access to

  his apartment, and to his laptop. We retrieved some messages between him and Douglas Berkley.

  There are specific references to the major bombshell Jonathan had assumed he was dropping on his father, but that, as it turned out, came as yesterday's news to Berkley."

  Hadman's features hardened. "But that's not what the fight at the Oak Room was about, was it? It was about Taylor Halstead, and your father's concern over your obsession with her. In fact, you were overheard defending yourself, swearing that you weren't the one harassing her."

  Jonathan's jaw was working.

  "What happened, Mallory? Couldn't you convince Douglas you were innocent?"

  "Cut it out, Hadman," Reed said. "The only one who's doing any harassing is you. If Douglas doubted Jonathan on any level, he wouldn't have appointed him to a high-level position at Berkley and Company, and set things up so he'd be running the company one day."

  "Maybe. Maybe not. We've still got lots of time to dig, and to find out if your client was blackmailing

  or threatening Berkley. Trust me, the prosecution will have everything they need by the time this goes

  to trial."

  "Trial? This won't even get past arraignment." Reed shoved back his chair and rose. He knew in his gut that Hadman and Olin were playing cat and mouse. Which meant that they had some ace in the hole. It was time to push them to reveal it. "Everything you've said is either circumstantial or speculative.

  Douglas was a powerful man. Like every powerful man, he had enemies. Including enemies he assumed were friends and would therefore welcome into his home. So much for needing a key to gain free access to the intended victims. As for Jonathan's relationship with his father—"

  "Save it for the jury, Weston," Hadman interrupted, cutting to the chase in one punch-in-the-gut announcement. "We've got a positive DNA match. The semen taken from Adrienne Berkley's body belonged to your client."

  Dead silence.

  Then Jonathan reacted, lurching to his feet. "That's impossible!"

  "It's not impossible. It's fact."

  "Run the damn test again! I'm telling you, it's wrong!"

  "Try again, Mallory. DNA testing is damned close to a hundred percent accurate. And in this case, when you add motive and circumstantial evidence . . ." Hadman eyed first Jonathan, then Reed. "Care to change your story?"

  Reed jumped in before Jonathan could start raving again. "I want to talk to my client alone."

  Hadman made a grand sweep with his arm. "By all means. Maybe you can talk some sense into him.

  It'll be easier on everyone."

  "Good idea." Olin glanced at his partner, then jerked his head toward the door. "Come on, Roy. I could use another cup of mud with half-and-half anyway."

  "You're on." The two of them headed out. "You've got ten minutes," Hadman called over his shoulder.

  * * *

  Reed didn't waste a single one of them.

  The instant the door shut behind Hadman and Olin, Reed pulled his chair over to Jonathan, gesturing

  for his client to put his butt in his own. "Sit."

  Jonathan complied, his breath coming in shallow pants. "This can't be happening."

  "It is." Reed leaned forward until he was in Jonathan's face. "Look at me."

  Again, Jonathan complied.

  "Tell me what happened that night."

  "I already told you everything."

  "You were drunk. Maybe you forgot something."

  Shock was eclipsed by anger, and Jonathan jolted upright in his seat, his eyes flashing. "Forgot something? You mean like raping Adrienne and killing her and Douglas? No, Reed. That's not

  something I'd forget. I didn't do it." He gazed wildly about, like a drowning man clutching at straws.

  "The DNA test was fixed. It had to be."

  "The medical examiner's office doesn't fix DNA test results."

  "Then how else do you explain it?"

  "I can't," Reed answered quietly.

  The skepticism in his tone must have come through, because Jonathan turned sheet white, the reality

  of the situation sinking in. "You don't believe me. You
think I'm guilty. Hell, even I'd think I was guilty

  if I didn't know I wasn't. I'm screwed, Reed. Totally, utterly screwed." All the fight seemed to drain

  out of him, and he dropped his head in his hands. "I've got no alibi. I'm up to my ass in motives. And

  they've got irrefutable evidence. I'll either rot in jail for the rest of my life or be executed for something

  I didn't do."

  Reed's mind was racing a mile a minute. Only one of three possibilities was true. A: Jonathan was guilty and one hell of an actor. B: Jonathan was guilty but delusional, and didn't remember committing the crimes. Or C: Jonathan was as innocent as he claimed, and there was some other, bizarre explanation.

  But what?

  "Jonathan, let me ask you something. Would you agree to take a polygraph?"

  "What good would that do? From what I understand, they're not always accurate. They're not admissible in court. And they won't hold a candle to DNA evidence."

  "All that's true. But we've got nothing to lose. If you pass, it'll be something in our favor to share with

  the police and the DA. It'll put a chink in their ironclad resolve that this is a done deal. If you fail, you'll be no worse off than you are now."

  "Which is pretty bad." Jonathan blew out his breath. "Okay, fine, yeah, I'll take the polygraph. I've got to pass. I'm innocent. Now tell me, what happens next? I'm not exactly familiar with criminal proceedings."

  "The arraignment's next. It'll be set for tomorrow."

  "That's a bail hearing, isn't it?"

  Reed nodded.

  "What if the judge refuses to release me on bail? We're talking two counts of murder one here."

  Reed didn't avert his gaze. "I won't lie to you. He might refuse bail. You're not a flight risk, but the state will argue that you're a threat to society. I think I can convince the court otherwise. But I can't make any promises. With a modicum of luck, you'll be able to walk out of here until the grand-jury hearing—once you've forfeited your passport and paid a ton of money. And Jonathan, I do mean a ton of money. Bail will probably be set at a million dollars or more, a tenth of which has to be put up in cash."

  "Whatever it is, I'll come up with it. If I hit a snag and run short—" Jonathan's voice quavered, and he broke off, looking like he was going to puke. "I was about to say that Douglas would help me out. He always has. Only now he can't."

  "No, he can't. What's more, you can't touch a single dime of his assets. Whatever you come up with

  has to be on your own. You have the resources, don't you?"

  "Yeah. I'll liquidate whatever I have to. I'll do anything to avoid jail." Abruptly, Jonathan turned to

  Reed. "I'm spending the night here."

  Another nod. "Yes, and I'm spending it poring over the facts and starting to build our case."

  A weighted pause. "Reed, I need to clear something up."

  "I'm listening."

  "I realize I'm repeating myself. But in this case, it's necessary. You think I'm delusional. Maybe I am—

  in some cases."

  "Cases like Taylor."

  A nod. "If I'm to be brutally honest with myself, I'm aware that I need help. Extricate me from this nightmare, and I'll get it. You have my word. But, in return . . ." Jonathan cleared his throat. "You

  said it's not necessary for you to believe I'm innocent in order to represent me. I understand that's true—legally. But I need you to believe me. I am innocent. I'm not a stalker, and I'm sure as hell not a rapist and a murderer. I did not commit those crimes. Please believe me. And for God's sake, help me."

  Reed rose. "I'll do what 1 can."

  CHAPTER 28

  9:40 P.M.

  EAST SIXTY-EIGHTH STREET

  Reed stared at the phone on his night table for a long time.

  Then he unfolded the slip of paper Taylor had given him and punched in the Florida number.

  "Hello?" Her voice was weary and edgy as hell.

  "Hi, it's me."

  "Hi." Her relief was a tangible entity he could feel. Even now, more than a thousand miles away, she

  was still apprehensive each time she picked up the phone. "I'm glad it's you."

  "Did your flight get in okay?"

  "Right on schedule. I grabbed a sandwich, took a cab to the house, and soaked in a hot tub. Tomorrow I'll hit the beach. It's right on the other side of the row of palm trees outside my window. The weather's supposed to be eighty degrees and gorgeous."

  Lighthearted words. Taut tone.

  "Where's Mitch?" Reed asked.

  "In one of the four downstairs guest rooms." A half laugh. "Don't worry about Mitch's comfort level.

  My father doesn't do anything half measure. This place is a lavish Spanish-style palace. Between the Olympic-size pool, the high-tech exercise room, the ocean at our feet, and a choice of opulent bedrooms, each one with a private bathroom that's bigger than his entire Manhattan apartment, Mitch won't want

  for anything."

  "I wasn't worried—at least not about Mitch." Reed gripped the phone more tightly. "I needed to hear

  your voice."

  "Miss me already?"

  "More than you know." He paused. "Taylor, there's another reason I'm calling."

  A heartbeat of silence as she absorbed his words and his tone. "Reed, what's wrong?"

  He blew out his breath. "I hate laying this on you. Especially now. Jonathan's been arrested for

  Adrienne and Douglas's murders."

  She gasped. "Arrested—when?"

  "He called me right after your plane took off. I went straight to the Nineteenth Precinct from the airport.

  I arrived home a little while ago. The file is spread out all over my bed. It's going to be a long night."

  "That doesn't sound too promising." Taylor was shaken. "I know you can't discuss it with me."

  "No, I can't."

  She let out a frustrated sigh. "Reed, you sound like a wreck. Is there anything I can do?"

  "Just have faith in me. No matter what spin the press puts on this, believe that I know what I'm doing."

  "That's not an issue. It's a given." Taylor paused again. "Do you want me to come home?"

  "Definitely not. Stay put. Relax and enjoy the sun. I feel better knowing you're safe. Mitch is with you. And the only people who know you're in Palm Beach are the gang at WVNY and me. So there'll be no creepy phone calls for you to contend with."

  "There might not be any more of those anyway," she answered quietly. "Not if my stalker's in jail."

  "If," Reed replied. "Which I don't think he is."

  That was the truth. Still, Reed felt like a bastard. Taylor was assuming that Jonathan would be incarcerated for the long haul—until his trial. But if Reed's efforts were successful, Jonathan would

  be back on the streets tomorrow.

  He had to tell her.

  "The arraignment's tomorrow. Jonathan's willing to post any amount of bail."

  Another silence.

  "Are you telling me the state releases murder suspects on bail?"

  "If the defense attorney makes a convincing-enough case that his client's not a flight risk or a threat

  to society, yes."

  "Which you intend to do—don't answer that," she interrupted herself. "Of course that's what you intend to do. It's your job."

  "Yes, it is." He was beginning to wish he'd told her to come home after all. "Taylor, listen to me—"

  "You don't need to explain. I understand. And I appreciate your honesty. Now, I'll give you the same.

  I don't blame you for doing what you have to. But don't blame me for hoping you fail. I'd feel a lot

  better if Jonathan Mallory stayed behind bars."

  "I know." Reed rubbed a palm over his jaw. There was nothing else he could say, no way to bridge

  this gap. Not unless he proved Jonathan's innocence—on all counts.

  "You'd better go," Taylor said, as if reading his mind. "You've got a lot of work ahead of you."

/>   "Yeah. I do." He drew a slow breath. "Just one more thing before we hang up. I love you. Don't forget that."

  "I didn't plan to."

  "Good."

  She must have sensed the underlying tension in his voice. "Reed, are you sure you're okay?"

  "Okay" was a relative term.

  "I'm fine," he assured her. "This is the world of a defense attorney. I've lived it for ten years. I'm a pro

  at it. I love the challenge. Now go to sleep. I didn't let you get much of that last night."

  A soft laugh. "No, you didn't. But I'm not complaining." Her laughter faded. "I love you, too, by the