Intrusion (29 page)

His bemused smile stopped me in mid-flight. “Just
ask,
ma petite. I can refuse you nothing.”

As I outlined my plans for
Arun
, Lucian remained stoic even when the word “hacking” arose.

“This is a serious thing you ask of me. I understand your motive, but have you anything tangible against
Arun
?’

I shook my head. “Other than opportunity, means, and a possible motive, I have nothing at all.”

“OK, we will do this thing. I take this seriously,” Lucian said. “Never would I violate someone’s privacy for selfish reasons.” He touched my hand.
“Just for you.”

~

It was a fascinating read that shattered Candy’s dreams of happily ever after. Lucian’s fax was a damning indictment of a charming trust fund baby with a past. Apparently,
Arun’s
poor judgment in money matters had emptied his own coffers and alienated his family. They had officially turned off the fiscal spigot, leaving their pride and joy
on his own
. CYBER-MED was his lifeboat, and it was hemorrhaging cash.

No wonder he’d raged against Lucian. Any whiff of scandal would sink the business and
Arun
along with it. I saw only one ray of hope for Candy. If he were involved in the murders,
Arun
had absolutely nothing to show for it—no big cash deposits, real property or other tangible assets. What he did have was an abundance of debt and
maxed-out
credit cards, most of them in arrears. Two companies had judgments against him.

He was certainly vulnerable enough to be the inside man, but
Arun
has no visible assets. He would more likely bilk Candy of her money than plan a murder. That possibility sickened me.

 
I did a reality check. Had Lucian seduced me in my own office, fed me, and committed God only knows how many felonies for me by hacking into secure databases? Was he an entrepreneurial genius or a cunning
Svengali
? I didn’t know, and frankly I didn’t much care. Lucian was in my blood. I could either swim against the tide or drown in ecstasy.

My mind was on CYBER-MED. I intended to face down Tony Torres and
Arun
Rao
or die trying. Wait a minute, forget the die trying part. Since I’d met Lucian my will to live had reasserted itself. I could almost feel Kai’s arms hugging me. “That’s my girl, Lizzie Mae. Go for it.”

I dressed with care in head-to-toe black, my ninja avenger outfit. Before leaving, I forced myself to call Candy. She had every right to know what I’d found, even if it devastated her. I dialed her private line, hoping she wasn’t there.

“Candace
Ott
.” Her voice had its normal buoyancy.

“Hey. How are you feeling?” I edged gingerly into the conversation like the coward that I am.

“I don’t know, Betts. You tell me.” My best friend awaited the verdict stoically.

It wasn’t easy but I’d shared dire news before. Let’s face it. Since Kai and Tommy died, I was a pro, handmaiden to the grim reaper himself.

She didn’t react. I expected anger, tears or sarcasm, not stony silence.
 

“Candy, you’re scaring me. Say something. Please.”

Her voice was atonal, subdued. “You’ve said it all, Betts. He’s a scoundrel, possibly a fortune hunter or even a murderer.” She stifled a sob.
“Told you.
Arun
is the perfect man for me. I sure know how to pick ‘
em
, don’t I?”

“I’m coming right over. Stay put.”

“Don’t bother. I won’t be here. I’m having lunch with
Tattie
Lake. She called this morning all hot and bothered.
Something about Ian.”

“Ian Cotter?”

“The very one.
Who knows? Maybe
Tattie
knows something bad about
Arun
, too. That would give you a matched set.”

“Candy …”

“See you, Betts.” She hung up with an emphatic click.

~

Luckily, the first face I saw at CYBER-MED was a friendly one. Rand Lindsay was at his post, busily updating Dr. Meg’s schedule.

“Hey, Miss Elisabeth,” he said.
“How y’all doing this morning?”

I basked in that blast of Alabama sunshine. “What are you doing back at work?” I asked him. “Shouldn’t you be resting or something?”

“Nah.
Doc said it was okay. Besides, Dr. Meg’s here if anything goes haywire.”

I looked around, noting the deserted corridor. “Look, Rand, be careful for heaven’s sake. I mean it.”

“Ah, come on. It was probably a prank.” He grinned. “Tornado already told me I’m too tough to die.”

“Come into my office. I need to speak with you about that.”

He ambled into my office as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “What’s up, ma’am?”

“Don’t ma’am me. This is serious.” I lowered my voice. “Did you know
Arun
Rao
was insolvent?”

Rand’s cherubic face fell. “No.
Arun
has family money. He told me.
Arun
wouldn’t lie. Not to me.”

“Forget
Arun
for a minute. What about Tony Torres? How would a nurse practitioner with four little kids and a wife ever amass that kind of money? You tell me.”

Rand squirmed in his seat. “They’re my friends. I don’t want to spy on them anymore. It’s wrong.”

“So is murder.” I folded my arms and gave him the death house stare. “Man up, Rand. Can I still count on you?”

“I guess so. Yes.”

“Good. I think we should lay a trap for the murderer.
Francie
Cohen will help us in case there’s any rough stuff. I don’t expect much from Andrews, but you never know. People surprise you sometimes.”

Rand stared down at the floor as if his eyelids were glued to the spot. “Does Dr. Sand approve of this?”

“Never mind, leave Lucian out of it. Tommy was my friend, mine and Candy’s. If you won’t help, that’s okay. We’ll find another way.” My mouth was set in a long, grim line. Ninja avengers don’t fold when they get a bad hand.

His sigh shook several folds of skin. “OK, you got me, Mrs. B. How can I help?”

“Keep your ears open, especially around
Arun
and Tony.
Secretary
Chernikova’s
next to die, if I’m right.
I did some web-crawling of my own, and apparently he’s some kind of lothario.”

“
Chernikova
?”
Rand’s eyes widened. “I thought he was too mean to screw around.”

“Apparently not.
He’s tailor made for our guy or gal. Didn’t you say he was sniffing around Dr. Cahill?”

“Me?” Rand started choking. “Please! I don’t know anything about that. It’s just gossip.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “If Dr. Meg found out I even suggested that, she’d fire me or worse.”

“What could be worse than that? Are you suggesting she would kill you?”

I panicked as Rand’s face turned an unhealthy shade of puce. He held up both hands in surrender. “Please, Miss Elisabeth, Dr. Meg could blacklist me. Do you understand? She could guarantee that I would never be employed by any university or think tank. My God! She’d make sure I never even got my PhD.”

If it weren’t a physical impossibility, Rand would have prostrated himself at my feet. Good thing, because I couldn’t pick him up if he collapsed or flopped into a fleshy heap.

“Calm down, Rand. I promise not to say anything about you.”

“Even to the Sandman?”
His normal color returned, and his breathing slowed.

“I can’t promise that. Lucian is helping me … us. But I’ll be very discreet. Now go back to work and try to act normal.”

After he lumbered out the door, I did some deep thinking. Meg Cahill was a powerful woman with a healthy ego and a robust libido. It was possible that she had warmed the sheets with all the victims, at least the male ones. Mrs. Jacob Arthur had certainly hinted at it, and even Sergeant Andrews, the sloth of Boston homicide, had accused her of screwing Ian Cotter. I knew for sure that Tommy was one of her conquests. At the
Joslin
Ball, Richard
Chernikova
, the rake of the Potomac, had acted Biblically fond of his former physician. Was that the answer? There was a Shakespearean simplicity about the woman spurned angle. That didn’t explain Mary Alice Tate, unless she was the test case. Crass Carter Cahill had all the money. If I was right, Meg was simultaneously lining her pockets and avenging her honor without involving her doting hubby.

I needed caffeine to clear the cobwebs from my brain. By the time I cleared the elevator and sprinted out the door, Starbucks was packed. The latte seared my fingers as I searched for a seat. The only available one was back in the corner at a pie-shaped table for two occupied by Tony Torres. He waved, flashing a lupine grin that was part grimace.

“Are you saving this?” I asked.

“Nope.
Have a seat.” Tony arranged his newspaper in neat folds and eyed me.

Something about him made me shudder. Perhaps it was his perpetual scowl. More likely it was my guilt at having invaded his private life.

“So,” he said, “how goes the investigation? Any breaks?” His stare was impudent, hardly that of a respectful employee. Come to think of it, everything about the Tornado screamed impertinence.

I shrugged.
“So, so.
All I really care about is finding Tommy’s murderer. We’re focusing on the financial angle now. You know, seeing if anyone has unexplained wealth.”

Tony Torres yawned. If he felt stress, it wasn’t evident. “What do the cops think?” he asked. “They’re supposed to be the experts, aren’t they?”

“It’s early yet. Sergeant Andrews traced the stolen car involved in Tommy’s death.”

“Oh, yeah.
Grandmas in Wellesley always go out on the town in their
Mercedeses
.” He chuckled, a cold and soulless sound. “Maybe Tommy insulted her little doggie. Those old broads take that stuff seriously.” He gulped his latte and pushed back the chair. “Well, back to the grindstone.”

He strode away, awash with swagger, leaving me speechless. How could Tony Torres describe the car that killed Tommy? That information never appeared in print.
 

I flipped open my
iPhone
and dialed
Francie
Cohen. Unfortunately, Mark Andrews answered the call.

“Officer Cohen, please.” I toyed with using a British accent but kept my voice as anonymous as possible.

“Hello, Mrs. Buckley.” Andrews couldn’t control the smirk in his voice. “
Francie’s
off today. Anything I can help you with? Pistol-whipped a
perp
? Gotten a confession? Whatever.”

“That’s your job, Sergeant. Made any progress? Or have you already given up on my friend’s murder?” I leashed my temper and muzzled my mouth.

Andrews paused a moment. “Sorry. I know you want results. So
do
I.
Francie
told me about your theories, and believe it or not, I’ve considered them.” It was a rare confession, a measure of how desperate he was.

I plunged into the abyss, asking the question that plagued me.
“Just one thing, Sergeant.
Did you release that information about the Mercedes? You
know,
the car that killed my friend.”

He didn’t respond for a long time. Maybe Mark Andrews knew yoga, too. Cop-like, he answered with a question.

“Why do you ask? As a matter of fact, I purposely didn’t release that information.”

“Someone mentioned it today. Tony Torres, a CYBER-MED employee. He fits the pattern, Sergeant. I think he might be the one.” I craned my neck, making certain no one was listening. “He’s got lots of unexplained income, too.”

Strange squawks emanated from my
iPhone
. It was either bad reception or Sergeant Andrews in death throes.

“You’ve been very industrious, Mrs. Buckley. However, I do have news, something I should have already told you. We ran the fingerprints inside the Mercedes through AFIS and got a hit. This morning we arrested a kid from Natick.
Nineteen years old, a habitual offender.”

I stuttered, “But…that can’t be.”

“It can be. It is. He stole the old lady’s car.”

“This guy murdered my friend? He admitted it?” I was making a scene, thrilling the coffee crowd with an unintended show.

Andrews knew how to handle hysterical women. Angry lawyers, not so much. He made a series of clucking noises intended to soothe the savage breast. Mine.

“Calm down, Mrs. Buckley. He hasn’t admitted to anything yet. Says he only borrowed the car. Claims the old doll lent it to him for the night.” Andrews hooted. “Sooner or later, we’ll get it out of him. He swears that he left it parked, keys in the ignition, on a side street near CYBER-MED. Never saw Mr. Yancey.
Blah, blah, blah.”

“So that’s it? Case closed?”