House of Secrets - v4 (38 page)

T
his time the news came in directly to Christine. She was up early, grinding fresh beans for coffee, and almost didn’t hear the sprightly notes of “Anything Goes” coming from her cell phone, which was sitting on the counter. In her haste to get the call she tipped the lid of the grinder. Freshly ground coffee carpeted the counter.

The caller was Detective Lamb, and her information was, for the most part, not good. Christine tilted back against the counter as the police detective explained how a link between the woman found dead in the van used to abduct Michelle and a recently unsolved murder on Shelter Island had led a pair of investigators out to Shelter Island the day before, and how the two had been brutally murdered as they had approached the scene. Christine had to ask the detective to repeat the last part. The words had failed to register as a reality.

“Agent Taylor,” Megan said flatly. “And a detective from the Suffolk County Police. They were both shot at close range.”

Christine’s free hand had landed in the loose coffee. “Michelle?”

“No sign of your daughter.”

The detective went on to explain that the identity of Michelle’s kidnapper had now been established. Minimizing the details, she informed Christine of the early morning raid on Robert Smallwood’s apartment in Queens and encouraged Christine not to lose hope.

“Every law enforcement agent in the country has the man’s picture. His car is distinctive; it’s not going to be difficult to spot. He’s been flushed out not only from his home but from the house on Shelter Island, where he was most likely holding Michelle. This means he’s on the run. Whatever his plan was, it’s falling apart. Smart money says he’ll just drop Michelle off somewhere and try to make a run for it. I just want you and your husband to hang tough, okay? Things are falling our way, Mrs. Foster, not his.”

Jenny had come into the kitchen as the detective delivered her assessments to Christine. She froze as she heard Christine say, “But he’s killing all these
people.”

Megan conceded. “The victim on Shelter Island. That is, the first victim. She’s been identified as Smallwood’s cousin.”

“Oh my God.”

“It’s fresh information for us. We’re trying to piece it all together. This man, Robert Smallwood. Does the name mean anything to you? He works as a security guard at the Metropolitan Museum. We don’t really have much else on him yet.”

Christine was shaking her head. “I don’t… None of that’s ringing any bells.”

“How about Mr. Foster? Is he there with you?”

“No. Andy’s… I don’t think he’s gotten up yet.”

There was a pause on the line. Christine smiled wanly at Jenny and shook her head slightly. No Michelle.

“Mrs. Foster,” Megan said. “I’m going to ask you to have your husband give me a call as soon as he’s up.”

“Would you like me to go get him now?”

“There’s no need for that. I’ve got plenty to occupy myself here. But… well, when he does get up, you can ask him if he has any knowledge of this man Smallwood. And something else. Both Smallwood’s cousin and the woman we found in the van, they worked together here in the city. They worked for an organization called Masters and Weiss. Public relations work. Are you familiar with this company, Mrs. Foster?”

“Well, yes. They handled much of my husband’s campaign last year. You’re saying both these women worked for
them?”

“I’m just trying to piece things together, Mrs. Foster.”

Christine moved away from the counter and dropped into the chair opposite Jenny.

“Tell me more, Detective.”

I
rena Bulakov waited on the corner of 110th Street and Lenox Avenue, on the northern end of Central Park. She stiffened as a mounted policeman on a chocolate-brown horse passed behind her on the gravel path just inside the park, then glanced furtively around as the animal continued by. The helmeted policeman turned his head in her direction, but his eyes were hidden by a pair of aviator sunglasses. Irena could not swear he was not looking at her.

Ten minutes later a blue Toyota pulled over to the curb. Irena pushed aside an open map as she got into the passenger’s seat. Her first thought was that the policeman on the horse would circle back and see this mummy at the wheel of the car and gallop over to investigate.

“Drive!” she gasped, pulling the door closed.

Leonard Bulakov offered his sister-in-law a smile. “And today, a redhead. I cannot keep up with you, Irena.”

He checked the mirror and pulled out into traffic. His bandaged right hand participated minimally with the steering. He gestured with his elbow, indicating the map.

“I have put a circle around Greenwich. You must help me to get out of the city. I think this is the hardest part.”

Irena clawed the map onto her lap. She repeated to Leonard what she had said to him on the phone earlier that morning.

“I have to do this, Leonard.”

Leonard spoke soothingly, switching lanes to move past a stopped taxi. “I know, I know. You do not have to feel bad.”

“They have stolen the daughter of this woman. She is a little seven-year-old girl. I want this woman to have her daughter back home. I have to do this for her, Leonard. I must.”

“Yes, yes.” Leonard’s hand crossed the seat and landed on the map. “It’s good. You are a good woman. We will do this.”

Irena was gripping the blue flash drive in both her hands, so tightly that her palms were moist with heat. The golden stone. Was the golden stone going to bring the little girl home to her mother? Irena would be so happy. This would be today’s definition of heaven.

A small circular island appeared. In the middle was a statue of a man standing next to a piano. Leonard frowned, then found the lane that guided him partway around the circle. He cut back to the outside lane and veered off onto the street to his right just in the nick of time.

Behind the Toyota, two car lengths back, the driver of the black Explorer muttered as well, jerking the wheel to make the sudden turn.

“Shit.”

A crackling voice sounded over the speakerphone under the dashboard. “What’s going on?”

Anton Gregor wished his boss would just leave him to do his job. But the man was anxious.

“Nothing,” Gregor said.

The phone crackled again. “Where are they going?”

Even two car lengths back was too many. Especially in the city. They weren’t going to notice him on their tail.

“I don’t know yet,” Gregor said, tipping the wheel to the left. There was so much horsepower at his command he felt he could bring his vehicle to pounce right on top of the little blue car if he wanted to. Who knew? Depending on the destination the two Bulakovs had in mind, maybe this is exactly what he would do.

“They are going nowhere, Mr. Titov,” Gregor said. “I promise you this.”

A
ndy was not in bed. Christine glared at the indentation left by his head on the pillow. She fought back an almost overwhelming impulse to attack the pillow.

As Christine emerged from the bedroom she nearly ran into her mother, who was coming down the hallway from Christine’s old room. Lillian was wearing a green silk robe that rode tightly on her hips.

“Well if it—”

Christine silenced her with a look. “Not now.”

S
he found him out in the gazebo, seated up on the railing. He was talking on his cell phone, but he disconnected the call as she approached.

“Fergus,” he said, by way of explanation.

Christine stopped at the lip of the gazebo. One thing Andy Foster never looked was frail. He exercised. He was smart about what he ate. His varsity quarterback good looks were always robust. But right now he looked bad. His pallor was not all that far from the pale gray of his sweatshirt. His eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep and as puffy as Christine had ever seen them. The sight brought a pause to Christine. But only long enough for her fury to gather force.

“I don’t care who you’re talking to! What are you doing, hiding out here?”

“I was just calling Jim. I thought it better if I conduct business away from the house.”

“Business.” Christine injected bile into both syllables.

“This isn’t easy, Chris. I’m… I’m trying to do all the right things.”

Christine stepped up into the gazebo. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Andy parroted the question. “What am I not telling you?”

Christine was struggling to keep herself under control. “About Michelle. About her kidnapping. You know more about this than you’re telling. I demand to know what it is!”

“What do you think I know?”

She wanted to hurt him. She wanted to throw herself at him and dig her fingernails into his skin. She took a breath. “I just got off the phone with Detective Lamb. They know who took Michelle.”

Andy slid off the railing. “Who is it? Who has her?”

“He has ties to Masters and Weiss,” Christine said. “He has murdered two people who worked there. One of them was his cousin.”

“His
what?”

“It was Joy Resnick, Andy.”

She watched her husband closely for his reaction to the name. Christine had met Joy Resnick on any number of occasions during the course of the campaign. The two had even embraced on election night. Andy’s gaze remained vacant.

Christine continued. “The police are saying it was Joy’s own cousin who murdered her. It was something like a week or so ago. Out on the island. The woman they found in the van yesterday was her assistant.”

“Joy Resnick’s
cousin
murdered her?”

“Did you know about that? That Joy Resnick had been murdered?”

Andy hesitated, which was answer enough for Christine.

“This man killed two more people last night,” she said flatly. “Two men, Andy, including one of those FBI men who were at our apartment. Damn it, this is about
you
, Andy. This is—”

Andy started forward. “We’ve always known—”

“No! If you take another step, I’ll kill you, I swear.”

“Chrissie—”

Christine’s foot stamped down hard against the wood floor.

“Don’t say anything, Andy! You’re going to lie, I can tell. I don’t want to hear it. There’s something bad here. Really bad. Lillian picked up on it right away.”

“Chrissie, please. Your mother?”

“Don’t go bad-mouthing her, Andy! It’s time out on Lillian bashing. We’re not playing that game. Though frankly, I don’t know what game we
are
playing.”

Andy took another step forward. As he did, Christine moved backward. She held up a warning finger to her husband, and he froze where he was.

“If you touch me right now, Andy, I promise, I will hurt you. Our daughter is in the hands of a killer. Okay? Is that getting through to you? This man is
killing
people, Andy, and he’s got Michelle. Nothing else matters. I don’t matter and you don’t matter. It’s our daughter. Nothing else. Detective Lamb says that now that they know who they’re looking for, she thinks they’ll locate him quickly. All I’m saying to you is that if you know
anything
that can help them find her…”

She let the sentence go unfinished. She turned abruptly and left the gazebo. Andy watched her as she made her way across the grass. Halfway to the house she broke into a run. Even from where he stood, Andy could hear her sobbing. By the time she had disappeared through the sliding glass doors, he was on his phone.

Jim Fergus answered on half a ring.

“Andy, What’s going on?”

The senator spoke tersely. “Call Hyland’s people. I’m not taking the job.”

He disconnected the call before Fergus could reply. The phone was already vibrating by the time he slipped it into his pocket. He ignored it.

I
rena was musing again about her two nonexistent children. The twins. There really wasn’t any reason why they wouldn’t be able to be friends with the little girl she and Leonard were going to help rescue. Was there? They were smart as whips, the both of them, and attractive, so why not? The little girl’s mother would be so grateful to Irena.

Of course, not everything was going to be good. The golden stone was going to help the girl come back home, but it was also going to present a very big problem for the girl’s mother and father. The father was not a good man. But things were going to happen to him. Probably he would have to go away. Irena stared out the windshield at the passing buildings and imagined the bad man going far away, hopefully with an idea to make himself better. She thought of Dimitri. Maybe Dimitri was also far away somewhere trying to become a better person again.

Maybe.

Irena continued to clutch the flash drive in her hands. They should have been out of Harlem by now, but Leonard was already lost. He told her he must have missed the road that led to the bridge out of the city.

“We can find the highway another way,” he assured he. “At least we are still going north. We are fine.”

The map was open on Irena’s lap. The city of Greenwich was in a circle of red Magic Marker.