Pretend You Don't See Her (37 page)

 
          
“If
you promise me ten minutes alone with the jerk once we nail him.”

 
          
The
captain stood up. “Come on, Ed. Baldwin will be here any minute.”

 
          
It’s
a day for show-and-tell, Ed Sloane thought bitterly as an assistant U.S.
Attorney prepared to replay the conversation they had taped between Lacey
Farrell’s mother and her unknown caller.

 
          
When
the recording began to play, Sloane’s raised eyebrows were the only sign of the
shock he was experiencing. He knew that voice from the countless times he had
been in and out of 3
East
Seventieth. It was Tim
Powers, the superintendent there. He was the caller.

 
          
And
he’s hiding Farrell in that building! Sloane thought.

 
          
The
others sat silently, listening intently to the conversation. Baldwin had a
cat-who-ate-the-canary expression. He thinks he’s showing us what good police
work is all about, Sloane thought angrily. Nick Mars was sitting with his hands
folded in his lap, frowning—Dick Tracy incarnate, Sloane said to himself. Who
would that rat tip off if he got wind that Powers was Lacey Farrell’s guardian
angel?
he
wondered.

 
          
Ed
Sloane decided that for now, at least, only one person beside Tim Powers was
going to know where Lacey Farrell was staying.

 
          
Himself.

 
          
TIM
POWERS TAPPED ON THE APARTMENT DOOR AT TEN-thirty, then let himself in with his
master key. “Mission accomplished,” he told Lacey, with a smile, but she could
see that something was wrong.

 
          
“What
is it, Tim?”

 
          
“I
just got a call from a real estate agent with Douglaston and Minor. Jimmy’s
listed the apartment with them, and the agent told me he wants her to dispose
of all the furniture and personal items in it as soon as possible. She’s coming
at eleven-thirty with someone to look the place over.”

 
          
“That’s
only an hour from now!”

 
          
“Lacey,
I hate to—”

 
          
“You
can’t keep me here. We both know that. Get a box and clean out the
refrigerator. I’ll put the towels I used in a pillowcase, and you take them to
your place. Should the draperies be open or closed?”

 
          
“Open.”

 
          
“I’ll
take care of it. Tim, how did my mother sound?”

 
          
“Pretty shook up.
I tried to tell her you’re okay.”

 
          
Lacey
experienced the same sinking feeling she had had when she revealed to her
mother that she was living in Minneapolis. “You didn’t stay on the phone too
long?” she asked.

 
          
Despite
his reassurances, she was sure that by now the police were scouring this
neighborhood, searching for her.

 
          
After
Tim left, carrying the telltale evidence that the apartment had been used,
Lacey stacked the pages of Heather’s journal together and put them in her tote
bag. She would make one more attempt to reach Kit at St. Elizabeth’s rectory,
but then she had to get out of there. She looked at her watch. She had just
enough time to try Jimmy Landi’s number once more.

 
          
This
time he answered on the fourth ring. Lacey knew she could not waste time. “Mr.
Landi, this is Lacey Farrell. I’m so glad I reached you. I tried a little while
ago.”

 
          
“I
was downstairs,” Jimmy said.

 
          
“I
know there’s a lot to explain, Mr. Landi, but I don’t have time, so just let me
talk. I know why you wanted to talk to me. The answer is yes, there were three
unlined pages at the end of Heather’s journal. Those pages were filled with her
worries about hurting you. Heather referred repeatedly to being trapped
‘between a rock and a hard place.’ The only happy reference was right at the
beginning, where she wrote about having lunch with some man who sounds like he
must have been an old friend. Heather wrote that he said something to her about
her growing up and his growing old.”

 
          
“What’s
his name?” Jimmy demanded.

 
          
“It
looks like Mac or Max Hufner.”

 
          
“I
don’t know the guy. Maybe he’s someone her mother knew. Isabelle’s second
husband was quite a bit older.” He paused. “You’re in a lot of trouble, aren’t
you, Miss Farrell?”

 
          
“Yes,
I am.”

 
          
“What
are you going to do?”

 
          
“I
don’t know.”

 
          
“Where
are you now?”

 
          
“I
can’t tell you.”

 
          
“And
you are certain that there were unlined pages at the end of the journal? I was
pretty sure I’d seen them in the copy you gave me, but I couldn’t be absolutely
positive.”

 
          
“Yes,
they were in that copy, I’m sure. I made a copy for myself as well, and those
pages are in it. Mr. Landi, I’m convinced Isabelle was onto something and
that’s why she was killed. I’m sorry; I’ve got to go.”

 
          
Jimmy
Landi heard the click as Lacey hung up. He laid down the receiver as Steve
Abbott came into his office. “What’s up? Did they close down Atlantic City? You
got back early.”

 
          
“Just
got back,” Abbott said. “It was quiet down there. Who was that?”

 
          
“Lacey Farrell.
I guess her mother got my message to her.”

 
          
“Lacey Farrell!
I thought she was in the witness protection
plan.”

 
          
“She
was, but not anymore, I guess.”

 
          
“Where
is she now?”

 
          
Jimmy
looked at his Caller ID. “She didn’t say, and I guess I didn’t have this on.
Steve, did we ever have a guy with a name like Hufner work for us?”

 
          
Abbott
considered for a moment,
then
shook his head. “I don’t
think so, Jimmy, unless it was a kitchen helper. You know how they come and
go.”

 
          
“Yeah,
I know how they come and go.” He glanced toward the open door that led to the
small waiting room. Someone was pacing outside. “Who’s that guy out there?” he
asked.

 
          
“Carlos.
He wants to come back. He says working for Alex is too quiet for him.”

 
          
“Get
that bum out of here. I don’t like sneaks around me.”

 
          
Jimmy
stood up and walked to the window, his eyes focused on the distance, as if
Abbott weren’t there. “A rock and a hard place, huh? And you couldn’t turn to
your
baba
, could you?”

 
          
Abbott
knew Jimmy was talking to himself.

 
          
AT
TEN PAST ELEVEN, LACEY PHONED THE RECTORY OF ST. Elizabeth’s in Wyckoff, New
Jersey. This time the phone was answered on the first ring. “Father Edwards,” a
voice said.

 
          
“Good
morning, Father,” Lacey said. “I called earlier and left a message asking that
Kit Taylor be—”

 
          
She
was interrupted. “She’s right here.
Just a moment.”

 
          
It
had been two weeks since Lacey had spoken to Kit, going on five months since
she had seen her. “Kit,” she said, then
stopped,
her
throat tight with emotion.

 
          
“Lacey,
we miss you. We’re so scared for you. Where are you?”

 
          
Lacey
managed a tremulous laugh. “Trust me.
It’s
better you
don’t know. But I can tell you that I have to be out of here in five minutes.
Kit, is Jay with you?”

 
          
“Yes,
of course.”

 
          
“Put
him on, please.”

 
          
Jay’s
greeting was a firm pronouncement. “Lacey, this can’t go on. I’ll hire an
around-the-clock bodyguard for you, but you’ve got to stop running and let us
help you.”

 
          
Another
time she probably would have thought Jay sounded testy, but this morning she
could hear clearly the concern in his voice. It was the way Tom Lynch had
spoken to her in the parking lot. Was that only yesterday? Lacey thought fleetingly.
It seemed so long ago.

 
          
“Jay,
I have to get out of here, and I can’t call you at home. I’m sure your line is
tapped. I just can’t go on living like I have been. I won’t stay in the witness
protection program, and I know the U.S. Attorney wants to take me into custody
and hold me as a material witness. I’m sure now that the key to this whole
terrible mess is to find out who was responsible for Heather Landi’s death.
Like her mother, I’m convinced she was murdered, and the clues to
who
did it have got to be in her journal. Thank God I kept a
copy, and I’ve been studying it. I’ve got to find out exactly what caused
Heather Landi to be so troubled during the last few days of her life. The clues
are there in the pages of the journal, if I can just figure them out. I think
Isabelle Waring tried to find out what happened, and that’s why she died.”

 
          
“Lacey—”

 
          
“Let
me finish, Jay. There’s one name I think is important. About a week before she
died, Heather had lunch with an older man whom she’d apparently known for a
long time. My hope is that he was somehow connected to the restaurant business
and that you may know him, or could ask around about him.”

 
          
“What’s
his name?”

 
          
“It’s
so blurred that it’s hard to make it out. It looks like Mr. or Mac or Max Hufner.”

 
          
As
she said the name “Hufner,” she could hear the rectory door chimes ringing
loudly.

 
          
“Did
you hear me, Jay? Mr. or Mac or Max
Huf
—”

 
          
“Max
Hoffman?” Jay asked. “Sure I knew him. He worked for Jimmy Landi for years.”

 
          
“I
didn’t say Hoffman,” Lacey said. “But oh, dear God, that’s it …”

 
          
Isabelle’s
last words … “read it … show him …” then that long shuddering gasp, “… man.”

 
          
Isabelle
died trying to tell me his name, Lacey realized suddenly. She was trying to
separate those pages from the others. She wanted Jimmy Landi to see them.

 
          
Then
Lacey realized what Jay had just said, and it sent a sudden chill through her.
“Jay, why did you say you knew him?”

 
          
“Lacey,
Max died over a year ago in a hit-and-run accident near his home in Great Neck.
I went to his funeral.”

 
          
“How much over a year ago?”
Lacey asked. “This could be very
important.”

 
          
“Well,
let me think,” Jay said. “It was just about the time I bid on the job at the
Red Roof Inn in Southampton, so that would have made it about fourteen months
ago. It was the first week in December.”

 
          
“The first week in December—fourteen months ago!
That’s when
Heather Landi was killed,” Lacey exclaimed. “Two car accidents within days of
each other …” Her voice trailed off.