Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap (5 page)

“I’d like you to find out who took those photos of me—who paid for them, who set me up to be humiliated…and…” Madeline dropped her gaze. “I want to know for sure if Steven is behind all this. I guess from your point of view it seems pretty cut and dried. He’s probably trying to divorce me without having to pay me a nickel. But I’d like to know that for sure. Until I have solid proof, I’ll find it difficult to believe he’s really capable of something like this.” Burt nodded slowly as he followed her logic.

“I did a little research while I was waiting for you to return,” he said, picking up his phone. “You and your husband are quite the power couple.” He handed his cell phone to Madeline so she could see the picture of her and Steven as they entered The Edgecliff Saturday night. The sight of them together, arm and arm, her in the red Valentino gown, made her feel physically ill. She thrust the phone back at Burt.

“From what I was able to glean from a few minutes of searching is that your husband is the founder and CEO of RAM L.P., which as far as I can tell is some private equity management company. Is that correct?

“Yes, that’s right. Ridley Asset Management.”

“What does his company do exactly?” Madeline gazed at him wryly. It struck her that being semi-oblivious to Steven’s business put her at a disadvantage in their new adversarial roles.

“He finds private investors to fund a variety of ventures. He has a stable of wealthy clients looking for a good rate of return on their capital. Steven acts as sort of a middleman between people who have money and people who need it.”

“What kind of needy people are we talking about?”

“People looking for loans on property or for startup companies, or to produce a film—it could be anything, really. Steven’s company is set up in three divisions—one deals strictly with real estate, one handles anything to do with intellectual properties—like computer technologies or film making, and one that handles everything that doesn’t fall into those two categories.”

“How long has he been doing this kind of brokering?”

“For about ten years.”

“Prior to that?”

“He oversaw his father’s assets. Sean Ridley died about thirteen years ago, and that’s when Steven got into the private loan business. He did so well with it, pretty soon he had people begging him to do the same for them.” Burt looked up from his note taking.

“Can you make a list of all the participants that you know of?” he asked, pushing a clean pad of paper and pen toward her.

“Sure,” Madeline said tentatively, her mind slow to conjure up the faces she’d been only marginally connected with.

“What do you need them for?” she asked as she jotted down the names of Santa Barbara’s “quiet giants.” Making this list made her feel like she was violating some code of ethics, though she didn’t know why. She had no agreements with these people, and Steven was now her enemy. Still, some of these men were married to friends of hers. It made her resent Steven even more for forcing her into this position.

“I may need to comb through every bit of information I can find about your husband in order to piece together his motives. It could be as simple as you say—he wants a divorce without it costing him anything. One way to find out who drugged and assaulted you would be to have your dress and undergarments tested for DNA.” Madeline grimaced; she had destroyed the evidence herself. Steven might’ve been counting on that too.

“I disposed of the lingerie and the dress has already been dry cleaned.” Burt exhaled out the side of his mouth and crossed out something on his list.

“And it doesn’t sound like a rape kit was performed.” Madeline shook her head.

“Okay, there are other ways of finding out who was involved in this.” Burt tapped his pen on the desk while he thought. “I’m not an attorney, but I do know that prenups can be invalidated if certain conditions exist. If we prove your husband was involved in having you sexually molested, obviously he would be in some serious legal trouble, and you might have grounds for voiding the clause.”

Hearing someone say this out loud had a different effect than ruminating over it herself. As her heart began to thud, she understood why: it was devastating to think someone she loved was capable of doing that to her. Self-preservation had gotten her to this point, but she would need a stronger emotional rampart to survive the fallout of admitting her husband had her raped in order to dispose of her cheaply. Before she could construct a protective armor, tears started trickling down her cheeks. Burt offered her a box of tissues.

“Have you spoken to a divorce attorney yet?”

“No, I’m afraid to contact anyone here. I plan to make some discreet inquiries in the L.A. area. I don’t want Steven to have any idea I know what he’s up to. That’s why I didn’t call you ahead of time—I don’t want to leave a trail for him.”

“If the prenup wasn’t an issue, what do you think you would stand to gain in a divorce settlement?” Madeline dried her tears, grateful for the detective’s dispassionate approach.

“Several million, I would imagine. I know we have a lot of investments, but Steven handles all that. We’ve got a house on Park Lane and a house on Miramar Beach. And an apartment building in San Francisco. Those are the only real estate assets I know of for sure. But he’s involved in several real estate partnerships.”

Burt took a wad of keys from his pocket and unlocked a drawer on his left. He took out a phone and checked the battery life. He then handed it to Madeline, along with a charger.

“This phone will not be traceable back to you.” Madeline studied the phone for a moment before depositing it and the charger in her tote. “And that will be the way I contact you.”

“What is our next step?” she asked.

“Well, we’ve got to discuss my fee. I charge $100 an hour, plus $500 up front for expenses. I can’t give you an estimate at this point because it all depends on the amount of hours I put in. I refund anything left over from the expense funds, but given the complexity of your case, unless we get really lucky, I can see myself spending several days on this assignment. Can you manage that?”

“Yes. I have a separate bank account in my maiden name that my husband is unaware of.”

“Can I make a copy?” Burt asked as he reached for the photographs. Madeline nodded hesitantly. He picked one that wasn’t showing just the man’s back, though Burt doubted he’d have any luck learning his identity with so little to go on. “Don’t worry, I’ll cut you out,” he said, as he put the photo on the copier. “Did you have a professional photographer at the ball?”

“Yes,” Madeline said, instantly realizing the significance of this. “And a videographer. I haven’t had a chance to look through all the photos yet. Damn, I wished I’d thought of that sooner.”

“It’s okay. You really haven’t had much time to react yet.”

“The videographer said we’d have the final cut in a few days. You don’t suppose either of them would be involved in this…”

“You never know until you start digging around. In any event, tell both of them you want to see every frame they took of the event. You’re going to need to go through everything thoroughly, see if you can get a good picture of this guy. That would make it a lot easier to find him. Even if no one else at the fundraiser can identify him, I can have it run through face-recognition databases. If he’s got any kind of record, we’ve got him. Once we have him, we can find out if and how he’s linked up with your husband.” The thought of actually coming face to face with the man in the photos—the man who’d drugged her, undressed her and raped her chilled her to the core.

“In the meantime, I’ll need a physical description of him,” Burt said, pen poised to take notes.

“Oh…okay…I wish I’d paid more attention to him when we were dancing. The truth is I was too preoccupied by Steven’s odd behavior.”

“Just tell me anything you can remember. About how tall would you say he was?”

“We were about the same height, but I was wearing four-inch heels. So, that would make him around 5’11” or six feet.” Burt scrutinized the photo.

“Seems fit,” he surmised. Madeline’s breathing became fast and shallow again. Burt put the photos back in the envelope and slid them across the desk. “Can you think of any other characteristics? The color of his eyes? Any scars?” Madeline tried to focus her mind on that night. She had been only inches from his face, yet she could barely recall anything at all about his features. “Did he remind you of anyone—a friend, a movie star…?”

“Oh gosh… He had dark hair, combed back, I think. He seemed attractive, but it was more about the way he carried himself than his actual features.”

“So, not the kind of guy who attracts stares from the ladies?”

“No…I’d say he was average good-looking.” Burt laid the pen down.

“What should I do now?” she asked after she digested the possibility of nailing Steven and his accomplices.

“I think you need to pretend everything is just hunky dory in the Ridley household. Do everything you would normally do until Steven gets back.” Madeline let out a strained sigh.

“I don’t think I can face any of my friends right now,” she said, rubbing her neck.

“But you need to. You have access to a valuable source of information that I can’t get to without raising red flags. You need to be visible, that way you can find out details of what happened during your blackout period. The more people you can connect with while your husband’s away, the better.” Madeline remained unconvinced.

“Maybe one of them brought the man to the event. Not that you’ve got much of a description to go on. But also, we can’t completely rule out the possibility that your husband wasn’t involved in this.”

Another wave of anxiety rushed over Madeline, along with a faint glimmer of hope. All she really wanted in her heart of hearts was to have her life back, the way it was before Saturday night. But then doubt nudged this fervent hope out of the picture. Steven’s behavior was too hard to explain away. Plus, even if he hadn’t been involved in having her drugged and raped, she would be damaged goods as far as he was concerned.

“Since you haven’t reported this to the police, I guess I should caution you to get tested for sexually transmitted diseases.” Madeline pursed her lips. It had been bad enough telling the doctor at the clinic in Ventura about her fear of having contracted an STD. Now she felt doubly humiliated. She knew her face was red because she could feel the heat of her fury all over her body.

“I took care of that on Monday,” she said matter-of-factly.

“I’m sorry I brought it up,” Burt said.

“Don’t be. I appreciate your concern,” she said. She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head.

“What is it?” Burt asked, as she regarded him, her expression now hard and focused.

“I found out from our housekeeper this morning that Steven has already been spinning our breakup. She begged me with tears in her eyes not to leave him. I don’t know who else has gotten this warped version of events.” Burt gave her a dour look of sympathy.

“For now, I want you to continue playing the role of the perfect wife. I’ve got another case I’m wrapping up, so I’ll be in touch with you later. In the meantime, go back to Saks and shop till you drop.” Madeline had to laugh at his directive.

“I guess I should. I may need to convert some luxury goods to cash down the road,” she said as she stood to leave. “Anything else I should be doing until I hear from you?”

“Can you get access to the guest list and a list of any additional donations that were pledged that night?”

“I should be able to.”

“I want you to take a look at all the names on the lists and mark all the ones you personally know. That will help to narrow the list for me. If you can think of anyone else that was in attendance that night—like florists or musicians, whoever—see if you can get their names, too.” Madeline was looking a bit overwhelmed by the assignment.

“I cast my net as far as I can in the beginning, that way I don’t have to spend time running down the info later. I always overkill on fact-finding leads. You just never know which one is the key to unlocking the case.”

“I see. Anything else I should be doing?”

“Keep discreet tabs on your shadow. If at any point you think Barnett has stopped following you, let me know.”

TEN

Madeline left Burt Latham’s office in a daze. She snapped out of it briefly as she exited the stairwell to State Street. She slipped on her sunglasses and feigned obliviousness as she scanned the area for signs of her tail. She relaxed as she reentered Saks and remembered her directive to “shop till she dropped.” In spite of her dire circumstances, the echo of Burt’s words made her smile.

A nervous Maryanne spotted her as soon as she neared the shoe salon. “I’ve got everything boxed and bagged for you, Mrs. Ridley. Was there anything else you wanted to try on before I ring you up?” she asked hopefully. Madeline regarded the four shopping bags by the register; she couldn’t for the life of her remember what was in them.

“No, I think that’s going to do it for now.”

“Very well, Mrs. Ridley. If I could just get your card…”

Madeline had the shopping bags put in her car while she ventured on to the next department: fine jewelry. The thought of the damage she could do there made her grin wickedly.

“Well, hello Mrs. Ridley!” Leona called out from behind the display case. “I was just reading about the event at The Edgecliff Saturday night. Gorgeous photo of you and your handsome husband!” Madeline forced a small laugh. “I hear it was a great success,” Leona flattered her, leaning suggestively over the counter, subtly drawing Madeline’s attention to the striking enhancer dangling from a silver chain around her neck.

“Talk about gorgeous,” Madeline said, happily taking the bait. Leona lifted it up to give Madeline a better look.

“Tanzanite and white sapphires,” Leona informed her as she unclasped it and handed to Madeline. “Just came in this morning and I
had to
try it on. Wow, with your coloring, that is just amazing!” Madeline looked at herself in the mirror Leona was quick to supply. It was beautiful, even on a T-shirt.

“I’m not really doing it any justice with this outfit,” she said, handing it back to Leona, who accepted it with disappointment.

“You should try it on with something upstairs—or take it home and try it with some of your own things,” she suggested. Madeline could barely suppress a smile at her blatant salesmanship.

“Put it aside and I’ll think about it,” Madeline said, her eyes already on to the bracelets in the case. “I need a gift for Lauren. She’s been working her tail off these last few months.”

“I’m sure she’d love one of these. Does she own any David Yurman?”

“Not yet,” Madeline said, toying with Leona. “Let me see that one with the peridot.”

“Ooh, she’d love this,” Leona said, placing it on the suede viewing square.

“So this is where successful fundraisers go to get their just rewards,” Carla Dickens said as she crept up behind Madeline, making her jump. Carla laughed at her co-chair’s reaction, grabbing her shoulders from behind as she gave her a playful squeeze.

“It’s not for me,” Madeline insisted, playing down the indulgence. “It’s for Lauren, so she won’t go looking for an easier job.”

“She’d love it. But then I’d have to get something for my Stephanie just as expensive or
she’d
go looking for greener pastures.”

Madeline mouthed to Leona to hold the two pieces for her and turned her attention back to Carla. Burt had assigned her a mission, and this was as good an opportunity as any to get an eyewitness account of her behavior Saturday night.

“What brings you in here?” Madeline asked, steering Carla away from the counter.

“We’re leaving for Venice next week…”

“Oh, that’s right,” Madeline said, missing half a beat.
The auction item: Carla’s husband must’ve won the bid
.

“Need to pick out some fabulous things for the trip.”

“Of course. I’ll come with you and get my thrills vicariously,” Madeline joked as she let her co-chair lead the way.

“That was fun!” Carla said, her face beaming as she waited for Justin to bring her car around. He pulled up the Jaguar sedan and hopped out. He took the bags from Carla and deposited them in the trunk. “My schedule is packed, but let’s talk before I leave next week. Maybe we can squeeze in a lunch or something.” She favored Madeline with two air-kisses, tipped Justin and slid into the driver’s seat.

“Oh, wait—I almost forgot! We’ve got the committee meeting tomorrow night. That’s right—I’ll see you then. Bye love.”

“Bye, see you tomorrow,” Madeline said, barely able to conceal her dread. Justin pulled her car up and held the door open as she rifled through her overcrowded tote for her wallet.

“I had to put some of the bags on the passenger’s side—hope that’s alright,” Justin said as Madeleine slid a ten into his hand.

“That’s fine,” she said, slipping into her low-slung sports car. She fished out her sunglasses and took stock of all the loot she had acquired. Instead of giving her the customary thrill, the evidence of such useless spending dampened her mood. While pretending to make sure everything was accounted for, she checked the immediate environs for signs of Steven’s P.I. She began feeling a little panicky as she started out of the lot, but just before turning right onto Carrillo, she glimpsed a silver Honda through the hedge in the public lot adjacent to Saks.

She couldn’t say for sure it was Barnett, so instead of going straight down Carrillo to the freeway, she waited for the pedestrians to cross, then turned right up Chapala. While she waited for the light to turn green at Figueroa, the silver Accord exited the public lot. This made her breathe easier.

As an excuse for heading this direction, Madeline pulled up in front of the Wine Hound. After purchasing a couple bottles of wine that she didn’t need, she got back in her Porsche, but not before making Barnett’s sedan.

With private dick in tow, Madeline headed for the freeway. She went through the lights and merged onto 101 unaware of her actions; her mind was a seething stew of information and new concerns.

It was almost 1:30 and she was famished. Problem was, she was in too vulnerable a state and didn’t want to go home.
Home
, she thought;
not for much longer.

There was another more practical reason for not wanting to go back up the hill just yet; it went against her sense of decorum to show up at the house with her car packed with proof of her shopping extravaganza. She didn’t want Erma and Hughes thinking any worse of her than they already did.

With all the worries dancing around her head, she almost missed her exit. As she sat at the stop sign waiting for traffic to pass, she got an idea better than creeping around her own home like a thief. Instead of turning left, she cranked the wheel and executed a quick right, toward Miramar Beach.

Though hiding out at the beach appealed to her desire for privacy, once she was standing in the entry, the bungalow felt far too confining. It had been closed up since the weekend and the winter sun made the place feel as though all the oxygen molecules had expired. She opened a few windows to get a cross breeze going and opened the blinds on the east side of the house to let some light in. She’d always loved this house, but the thought of living there in exile for six months made her edgy.

She needed to put her thoughts in order and digest her meeting with Burt Latham, and this was as good a place as any. But she also needed to eat. She was starting to feel lightheaded and she knew there was nothing there to eat except for some stale crackers and martini olives. She stood in the middle of the living room for another minute as she willed herself into action. She shuffled her priorities, and after stuffing her day’s purchases in the hall closet, went in search of something to eat.