Deception (19 page)

The same reasoning applied to Paul Scoffield and Philip Van Horn. Both were wealthy, with no apparent grudge against their flamboyant boss. Both lived alone, and their alibis couldn’t he confirmed, hence the reason for their presence on the list.

The last entry on the chart was Joshua, but until Dan questioned him and learned more about the caretaker, he had nothing to go on.

A knock at the door broke his concentration. Not waiting for Dan to say “Come in,” Joe Santini opened the door and ducked his head into the room.

Dan waved him in. “Come on in, Joe.”

“I just got off duty and came to see how you were doing.” A detective with the Brooklyn narcotics squad, Joe had offered to get whatever information he could gather on Mulligan or any other suspect.

Of the three Santini brothers, Joe was the one who had inherited their father’s dark good looks and jovial personality. At thirty-five, he had a head of thick black hair, laughing dark eyes and dimples that had once earned him the much-despised nickname of “Cheeks.”

Looking at the wall chart, Joe quickly read the information Dan had compiled and chuckled. “I swear, Dan, no one can come up with a list of suspects faster than you can.”

“Coming up with suspects is easy, Joe. The hard part is sorting through the mess and finding the killer.”

Joe’s gaze moved up and down the chart, stopping at the top. “I made a few discreet inquiries and found out something interesting about your number-one man.”

Dan leaned against the bureau and folded his arms. “What’s that?”

“Word on the street is that he was once tight with Gino Pugliese.”

“That two-\bit punk in Jersey?”

“He’s expanded now, not in stature—he’s still a two-bit punk—but in territory, which now includes Lower Manhattan.”

“What is he doing exactly?”

“A little bit of everything. Loan-sharking, drug pushing, pimping. You name it, he’s got his dirty nose in it.”

“Any convictions?”

“Not Pugliese. The weasel is too slippery to get caught.”

“You said Mulligan was tight with him. How do you know he still isn’t?”

“I don’t. That’s why I want you to be careful.”

“I will. Thanks for the info, Joe.” Dan didn’t tell him about his confrontation with the contractor the previous night. Knowing Joe, he’d put a twenty-four-hour guard on him.

“Don’t mention it.” Joe gave him a boyish grin. “What’s that we used to say when we were kids? All for one, one for all, right?”

Dan smiled at the familiar saying. Once the Santini brothers had been known around the neighborhood as the Three Musketeers. Then at nineteen, Nino, an incorrigible adventurer, had joined a mountain-climbing teem and had gone to conquer the Himalayas. He and two fellow climbers were killed on the second day of the journey, leaving behind grieving parents and two heartbroken younger brothers.

Joe glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to take Nick to basketball practice, but you remember what I said and watch your back. If Mulligan and Pugliese are buddies, there’s no telling what either of them might do.”

Dan took his blue felt pen from the bureau and underlined Mulligan’s name—twice. “I always watch my back, little brother.”

When Jill returned from Washington later that day, her first call was to Dan. “That cabdriver was wrong after all”’ she told him. “I talked to the director of the clinic himself, as well as his head nurse. Both told me my father was never there.”

Dan sounded skeptical, which didn’t surprise her. Cops, even ex-cops, were suspicious by nature. “Are you sure they told you the truth? Doctor-patient confidentiality is pretty sacred stuff. You breach that and your business goes down the tubes.”

“Dr. Laken and Nurse Parson didn’t lie. They even checked the clinic’s records for me. The only abortion Dr. Laken performed on October 3 was on a young woman who came in with her husband. Both were nineteen years old. There was no other surgery until the following week.”

“Still, it wouldn’t hurt to have Al run a check on the doctor and the nurse, just to be sure. In the meantime,” he continued, “we could take a drive to Livingston Manor and talk to Joshua. Wally called to say he was back. Is tomorrow good for you?”

Jill glanced at her calendar. “I’m free at four.”

Dan agreed to pick her up at the entrance of the Vangram Building.

Olivia woke up with a start. Eyes wide open, heart pounding, she held her breath. Something wasn’t right. A scent—sweet, cloying, unfamiliar—hung over the bed’ filling her nostrils and making her nauseated.

Someone was in her room.

As her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, she saw the shape at the foot of the bed.

Swallowing a scream’ Olivia bolted to a sitting position, pulling the sheets over her bare breasts. She tried to speak but a knot of fear had lodged in her throat, blocking out all sound.

Suddenly, the shape leaned forward, reached for the bedside lamp and turned it on.

A man dressed in black sat looking at her. In his forties, he was short and wiry, with cold, pale blue eyes, a thin mouth twisted into an ugly grin and shiny black hair he wore sucked back in a ponytail.

Her terrified gaze was riveted to the switchblade he held in his right hand.

“Hi, Livy.”

Pressing her back against the headboard, Olivia felt her whole body tremble. “How…” Her voice broke.

“How did I get in?” The man gave a careless shrug. “I have my ways.” When Olivia opened her mouth again, he leaned forward and pressed the flat part of the blade against her mouth. “Shh. I do the talking, Livy, okay? You do the listening.”

His eyes hardened. “Now about that little favor you’re supposed to do for my good friend Pete. You’ve got twenty-four hours. If you keep messing around…” The blade moved to Olivia’s cheek, its point lightly sinking into the flesh.

Olivia held her breath.

“Talk to me, Livy.”

Not daring to nod for fear the knife would sink in deeper, Olivia blinked furiously.

“Say it,” the man ordered.

“The bids. He wants the bids.”

“In twenty-four hours.”

“Twenty-four hours.”

“Good girl.” Smiling now, the man let the blade move downward to Olivia’s neck, stopping long enough over her pulse to make her break into a sweat.

It continued downward until it reached the top of her right breast.

“I’d hate to cut up a pretty number like you.” There was a sort of longing in the man’s voice as if the thought of cutting her excited him. “But if you give me reason to come back, that’s exactly what I’ll do, and then you won’t be so pretty anymore.” The smile widened, exposing small, ferretlike teeth. “You get my drift?”

Unable to do much more than moan her agreement, Olivia pressed harder into the headboard.

Almost reluctantly, the intruder pulled the blade away. There was a click before it disappeared inside the handle.

“One more thing. Don’t go squealing on me, okay, Livy?” He leaned closer until all she could see were those pale, cold eyes. “Because if I hear you went to the cops, you’re going to find yourself in the bottom of the East River with the fishes feasting on that beautiful’ bod of yours, capisce?”

The image brought another shudder. Olivia nodded. “I won’t say anything.”

Transfixed, she watched him move quickly and silently across the room. At the door, he turned around. “Oh, and don’t worry about George downstairs. He should wake up in about an hour, feeling as fresh as a daisy.”

Before she could expel another ragged breath, he was gone.

It was only then that she began to tremble. Clutching the sheets against her, she didn’t even try to fight the spasms that rocked her body, but went with them, letting the fear work its way out of her system.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, shaking and crying. When she looked up again, the clock on her bedside read 2:10 am.

Knowing she wouldn’t be able to sleep, she got out of bed, tested her legs to make sure they’d support her and went into the living room to pour herself a stiff drink. This time she didn’t bother with ice cubes.

She took a big gulp of the liquor, coughed, then drank again. When she was relatively calm, she sank into a chair.

Oh, Olivia, she thought as she closed her eyes. What mess have you got yourself into now?

A layer of new-fallen snow covered the area when Jill and Dan arrived in Livingston Manor the following evening. On the narrow walk that led to Joshua’s cabin, the snow had already been removed and salt granules twinkled in the moonlight.

“Now don’t forget,” Jill told Dan as they prepared to knock on the door. “He’s wary of strangers. He might even refuse to talk to you, so let me start, okay? He’ll trust you more if he knows you and I are friends.”

As Dan had expected, Joshua’s timid smile turned into a frown the moment he saw him.

He was a big man, Dan noted, with a powerful body, thick callused hands and unruly mousy brown hair that fell to his shoulders. Dan estimated his age to be anywhere between thirty and forty.

“Hello, Joshua,” Jill said gently.

“Hello, Miss Jill.”

“Joshua, this is my friend.” Jill took Dan’s arm and pulled him forward. “His name is Dan Santini. You can call him Mr. Dan if you like.”

“Good evening, Joshua.”

Joshua didn’t return the greeting. Nor did he make eye contact with Dan.

“Did Wally Explain why we’re here?” Jill asked.

“He said you wanted to ask me questions.”

“That’s right.” She rubbed her hands together. “Is it okay if we come inside, Joshua? It’s awfully cold out here.”

As the caretaker moved aside to let them in, Dan took a quick inventory of the cabin. It was scrupulously clean, from the small galley kitchen across from the living-dining area, to the small room alcove on the far side of the room. Wall shelves were filled with an odd assortment of dismantled radios, alarm clocks and blenders. A woodstove with a kettle on it kept the place cozy and warm.

“Joshua likes to fix things,” Jill explained. “Don’t you, Joshua?”

Joshua went to the sink and started to wash his dinner dishes, a task Dan and Jill’s arrival had apparently interrupted.

“I like to fix things, too”’ Dan said.

In lieu of a response, Joshua ran a plate under the water faucet, then set it on a wooden rack to dry.

Not looking the least bit disturbed by the man’s unreceptive behavior, Jill moved closer to him but was careful not to invade his space. “Dan needs to ask you a couple of questions about the night my father died.” She spoke slowly and gently as one would to a child. “Is that all right with you, Joshua?”

He puzzled over that for an instant then nodded. “Okay.”

Trying to look as unthreatening as possible, Dan leaned one elbow on the kitchen counter. “It was raining pretty hard that night, wasn’t it, Joshua?”

The caretaker nodded and began to scrub a pot.

“Do you remember looking out?” Dan glanced at the small window above the sink. In the dark, the main house was just a huge, dark shadow. “To watch the rain?”

Joshua nodded but still didn’t look at him.

“Do you like the rain, Joshua?”

“Yes.”

“So do I.” Dan waited a beat, not wanting to crowd all the questions together. “Did you see anything besides the rain? Like maybe.. another car? Or a person?”

Joshua’s mouth tightened as he continued to wash the pot. “I didn’t see nothin’.”

“But you saw Mr. Simon’s Jeep, didn’t you?”

Joshua looked up then, his expression confused and frightened. He shot Jill a quick glance as if expecting her to come to his rescue.

“It’s all right, Joshua. You can tell Dan anything. He’s a friend, remember?”

“Did you see Mr. Simon’s Jeep?” Dan repeated. Joshua set the pot on the drying rack and shook his head.

“My father probably parked in the garage,” Jill offered. “That would explain why he didn’t see it.”

Dan kept his gaze on Joshua. “You didn’t hear another car drive up?”

The caretaker’s expression suddenly turned hostile and his movements became more brusque. His face was now flushed as he started to wipe the counter with a green sponge. “I told you I didn’t see nothin’. I was busy,” he added. “I was trying to fix something.” He pointed at a toaster at the end of the counter.

“Oh.” Dan went to take a closer look at the appliance, which lay on its side. “What’s wrong with it?”

Joshua shrugged. “Needs a part. A heating co…” “A heating coil?” Dan asked.

“Yeah, but I can’t find one.”

Picking up the toaster, Dan turned it upside down and noted the model and serial number on the back of a business card he took out of his wallet. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “I know a man in Brooklyn who might just have what you need. I’ll talk to him and let you know, okay?”

Joshua cast him a suspicious look. “Mr. Simon told me they don’t make toasters like that no more.”

“That’s true, but my friend owns a hardware store. And he never throws anything away, no matter how old it is.” He waited until Joshua had dried his hands on a dish towel before adding, “Did Mr. Simon have a lot of visitors when he was here?”

Joshua shrugged. “Mr. Wally comes here sometime and when there’s a holiday, Mr. Simon’s family comes, too.” His face turned sad again. “Now they won’t come no more.”

“Oh’ Joshua, that’s not true,” Jill said quickly. “I plan to come here a lot and so does my mother and my uncle Cyrus.”

But Joshua didn’t look convinced. Dan tried to draw him back into a conversation but it was useless. Joshua had suddenly erected a wall and retreated behind it.

Jill sensed it, too. Glancing at Dan, she shook her head before addressing the caretaker again. “Thanks for talking to us, Joshua.” On an impulse, she walked over to him and hugged him. “That was very nice of you.”

The man’s expression softened as he looked at Jill. “I’ll take good care of the house, Miss Jill.”

“I know you will, Joshua.”

Once they were outside, Jill turned to Dan. “Well, what do you think of him?”

“He doesn’t trust me.”

“That’s because he doesn’t know you.”

“And he didn’t tell me the truth.”

“Oh, Dan, how can you say that? I was right there and he sounded completely truthful to me.”