Authors: Lisa Unger
“Have you considered the possibility that it was the jury that didn’t do their job, Ms. Ross?”
Eleanor Ross’s face lost some of its hardness, seemed to crumble a bit as if she might cry. But Jeffrey had a hard time imagining that kind of emotion from the woman, would have been less surprised if tears fell from the eyes of the Statue of Liberty.
“I know how it looks, Jeff. Can I call you that?” she said, her voice suddenly becoming softer as she leaned toward him in her chair. When he nodded, she continued.
“But I know my daughter and I
know
that she is not capable of this. If you’re familiar with the case of Tad’s murder, you know there was sufficient evidence to suggest there was someone else at the apartment that night.”
“Do you have any idea who that person might be?”
He thought he saw a flicker there; something that passed in front of her ice blue eyes but was gone as quickly as it came. “No,” she said, raising a hand to her throat. “I can’t begin to imagine.”
“But you believe that the person responsible for Tad Jenson’s death is the same person responsible for Richard Stratton’s?”
“I don’t know what to think,” she said, looking away from him. “I just know that it wasn’t Julian.”
It was in these moments when Jeffrey most needed Lydia. Jeffrey was a facts man. He lived for the empirical, the provable, the trail of evidence that led to an undeniable truth. Lydia believed that the truth sometimes left only a scent on the wind. She got a sense of people, their hidden selves, their secret motives, sometimes in just a few moments. Her instincts were usually dead on. He called it “the buzz.” The tingling of the senses she got when something was not as
it seemed, when something was off or needed investigating. Looking at Eleanor, he saw a woman in distress, needing help for her daughter. He wondered, though, what Lydia would see.
He knew Eleanor couldn’t be aware of his involvement in the case ten years ago. No one knew about that except Ford. It seemed like a strange coincidence that she would wind up in his office. He didn’t like coincidences.
“Who’s working the case?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
She pulled a card from the pocket of her coat that she’d unbuttoned but not removed.
“Detective Halford McKirdy. Do you know him?”
“Yes, I do. He’s a good detective, Ms. Ross. You might be wasting your money.”
“Don’t you think I know how it works?” She shifted forward on the chair, her eyes widening in desperation. “The police will go for the easiest suspect. Right now, that’s Julian. I’m her mother, and even I know she looks as guilty as sin. But there’s someone else out there, Jeff, someone who murdered Tad and now Richard. He’ll go free again.”
She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed her eyes, even though Jeffrey had not actually seen any tears. He could see that she had been a beautiful woman once. Even now, with her silver hair, fair skin, and searing blue eyes, she was remarkable. Her face was a map of fine lines, but they communicated depth and character to Jeffrey rather than old age, beauty faded.
As Eleanor made a show of wiping her eyes, Jeffrey looked up and saw Lydia walk through the glass doors of the office, feeling the familiar lift in his heart that he did every time he saw her. She was shadowed by Dax, and looked tiny next to his large frame. He could see the flush of her skin, her black hair pulled back into a tight, high ponytail. He watched her stop at the reception desk and then stride toward his office, all attitude, dressed head to toe in black except for her white Nike running shoes and socks.
Lydia entered Jeff’s office without knocking, bringing with her the scent of cold air outside. Eleanor startled a bit and looked up from her tissue. Then she rose, extending her hand.
“I’m an admirer of your work, Ms. Strong,” she said. “That’s why I’ve come here.”
“I’m a great fan of your daughter’s. I was sorry to hear of the tragedy that your family suffered today,” answered Lydia, taking Eleanor’s hand in both of hers. Jeffrey wondered at how she had gathered so much information in the half hour since he’d spoken to her, as he watched Lydia focus all the energy of her attention on Eleanor. He’d watched people shrink under that gaze, as if sensing that she could see all the facets of themselves they strove to hide.
Eleanor only nodded at the compliment and sat down again, lowering her eyes. Lydia sat in the chair beside her, leaned back, and crossed her legs. Jeffrey could see the flash in Lydia’s eyes as she sized up the woman next to her before Eleanor raised her eyes again.
“How can we help you, Ms. Ross?” asked Lydia.
“Ms. Ross would like us to find out who killed her son-in-law,” said Jeffrey.
“Which one?” asked Lydia, and Jeffrey suppressed a smile. “I mean, the case ten years ago was never solved, was it?”
“No. That is why I am here today,” answered Eleanor, barely concealing her annoyance at having to repeat herself. “I don’t want the same thing to happen this time.”
Jeffrey noticed that she’d dropped the frightened, desperate-mother persona she had employed in her conversation with him and that her imperiousness had returned.
“Where’s your daughter now?” asked Lydia.
“She’s at the Payne Whitney Clinic, where she’s being treated for a psychotic break she suffered this morning. Quite a natural response to the trauma she’s suffered, I’m told. Especially for someone so emotionally … fragile.”
“Shouldn’t she have gone to Bellevue?” asked Jeffrey, knowing
that the Midtown hospital was the standard place to bring what the police referred to as EDPs, emotionally disturbed persons.
“Our lawyer was able to see that she was taken to the hospital with which her psychiatrist is affiliated.”
“Is that to say that she’s had mental health issues in the past?” asked Lydia.
“Julian has suffered severe bouts of depression in her life. But since the birth of the twins, she’s been quite stable. Now … this. Well …” Her voice trailed off and she didn’t finish the thought.
“Can we talk to her?”
“She’s not lucid.”
“Still …”
“I’ll arrange it, if you think it will help.”
Lydia looked closely at Eleanor, wondering how she could be so cool and unemotional in light of the events of the day. Eleanor had appeared to be wiping her eyes when Lydia entered, but Lydia didn’t sense any genuine sadness from the woman. She seemed more like a CEO at an emergency board meeting than a mother whose daughter’s life was unraveling. Some people hid a tumult of emotions beneath a serene façade. But Lydia had the sense that Eleanor’s chill went straight to the bone.
Eleanor looked at her watch suddenly and rose.
“I have to collect my lawyer and see Detective McKirdy to give my statement,” she said, turning to Jeffrey. “I’m sure you’ll recap our conversation for Ms. Strong and contact me to let me know if you’ll accept this case. You realize, of course, that money is not an issue.”
“We’ll contact you by the end of the day today,” answered Jeffrey.
Lydia stood and shook Eleanor’s hand again, saying nothing. The older woman’s hand was as cold and hard as a corpse. She turned toward the door with a sweep of her coat.
Jeffrey escorted Eleanor to the elevators and Lydia watched as they exchanged a few more words while they waited in the lobby.
She could hear the cadence of Jeffrey’s deep voice even though she couldn’t understand his words. The elevator doors slid open and Jeffrey held them as Eleanor stepped on. Lydia always admired the way Jeffrey treated people, with a kind of courteous distance. He wasn’t cold, but he wasn’t falsely intimate. There was a quality about his manner and his voice that communicated authority. There was something about the gaze of his hazel eyes faceted with gold and green that could be in turn withering or understanding, loving or just plain dangerous.
When Eleanor disappeared behind the stainless steel, Jeffrey turned to face Lydia, raising his eyebrows and giving her a small smile. She knew he couldn’t see her, but that he was aware of her watching, observing them. The thought made her smile.
In the cab on the way up, Lydia had checked the news headlines on her cellular phone. Remembering Jeffrey mentioning the Julian Ross case of ten years ago to her more than once, she had deduced immediately what was up. Though she certainly hadn’t expected Eleanor Ross would be sitting in his office when she arrived.
She hadn’t been blowing smoke up Eleanor’s ass, not that she was above it. She truly had been a fan of Julian Ross’s work for quite some time. It was grim and violent, alive with a raw passion that moved Lydia. She’d thought more than once of buying an original piece but could never quite bring herself to part with the small fortune it would cost. Besides, there was enough violence and passion to be found on the landscape of her own inner life to keep her occupied.
Eleanor Ross made quite an impression herself. Lydia could tell that she was a formidable woman, strong and domineering, intelligent, and not to be fucked with. But she could also see Eleanor was hiding something, something that frightened her very much. Lydia could sense that by the way the older woman’s hands were ice-cold and shook almost imperceptibly, by the way she shifted her eyes quickly between Lydia and Jeffrey, by the way she slipped behind
a queenly façade when Lydia mentioned the first murder case. The buzz was so loud it sounded like blood rushing in her ears.
Jeffrey returned to the office and shut the door behind him. He wore a thin black Armani sweater with three bold horizontal gray stripes across his broad chest, over charcoal wool flat front pants. A pair of black leather boots was the perfect finish. His sandy brown hair was cut short with a stylish bit of length on top. He was the only straight man she knew who loved designer clothes and good hair as much as she did.
“What did you think of her?” he asked, knowing by the look on her face that she’d already formed an opinion.
“Freaky,” she said with a smile. Lydia stood and Jeffrey pulled her in to him. She took in the scent of his cologne, feeling his warm hard body against hers and the stubble on his chin against the soft smooth skin of her face. She wrapped her arms around his waist.
“How’s everybody?” he asked, pulling back from her and patting her still-flat belly. Then, not waiting for her to answer, “I really don’t think it’s a good idea to be running, do you?”
She bristled a bit, never liking much the suggestion that he knew better than she what should and should not be done.
“Maybe not, but it’s not even a month yet,” she said with a shrug, moving away from him and heading toward the couch.
He smiled and said nothing, knowing by now the futility of trying to tell Lydia what to do. He pulled a bottle of water from a small refrigerator under the bar on the far wall of his office and tossed it to her. She pulled it from the air and they sat on the cream chenille sofa arranged to look out onto his spectacular view of downtown Manhattan. She put her feet up on the glass top of the chrome-and-bleached-wood coffee table and hugged a rust-colored pillow to her chest as he filled her in on the rest of the conversation with Eleanor and some of the more relevant details of the earlier case.
“What about those hairs? Any chance they’re still floating around somewhere? DNA technology has come a long way.”
He shrugged. “Anything’s possible. I left a message for Ford McKirdy.”
“So what do you think?”
He drew in a deep breath and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’d like another crack at this,” he said thoughtfully. “There are too many unanswered questions. I know Ford feels the same way. At least, if we get involved, we know we can count on his cooperation.”
“You really think there was someone else there that night … you know, back then?”
“I really do. I’m not saying she was entirely innocent. But there was definitely someone else there. There’s more to what happened than we were ever able to piece together. I just have a strange feeling that what happened last night will shed some light on the past.”
He got up and walked across the elaborately patterned Oriental rug to the window.
“Just one thing, Lyd. Don’t get pissed.” His voice was tentative as he watched her from across the room.
“What?” she said, looking up at him with a frown.
“I only want your brain involved in this. You leave the legwork to the other people on the team.”
She nodded, since they’d already agreed that she’d do nothing to put herself in danger while she was pregnant and until they had captured Jed McIntyre. But the resentment she felt was already a stone in her heart. It pulled down the corners of her mouth and creased her brow. He walked back over and sat down beside her, putting his arm around her shoulder.
“I know this is hard for you. But it’s not forever.”
“Is there any word?” she answered, not wanting to look at him, not wanting to reveal how constantly she wondered where Jed McIntyre was.
“There’s no sign of him. The FBI has people watching us,
watching your grandparents on Kauai. There’s an alert at airports and at bus and train stations. If he makes any kind of a major move, chances are we’ll know about it. He’s going to have to take a risk sometime.”
She nodded, knowing he was right. But the waiting was like a physical pain, invading her sleep, keeping her from peace and comfort. The sense of something dark and angry at her heels was always with her.
“How are your grandparents doing?” he said, trying to lighten the subject that was casting a pall over their days.
“Great,” she said with a forced smile. “They love it there. They’re looking forward to seeing us.”
They had sent Lydia’s grandparents on a “vacation” indefinitely to Hawaii after their brush with Jed McIntyre early last month. There they would stay under FBI surveillance until Jed McIntyre was behind bars again. Or until he was dead.
“Did you tell them?” he asked, and she knew he was talking about her pregnancy.
“No, I’ll tell them when we go to visit in February,” she said, leaning into him. She looked into his eyes and smiled, running her fingers though his thick hair. “It’s too soon. And I want them to hear it from both of us … together.”