The Fifth Avenue Series Boxed Set (64 page)

She left her chair.
 
As she moved past Jack, she thought of all the times Eric had used her, hurt her, taken advantage of her, and of all the times she swore to herself that he never again would he be given that chance.

Now, as she stopped in front of a white table that held one of her two printers, she couldn’t help feeling that she’d been taken again by the son of a bitch.

She removed the table’s only drawer and emptied its contents onto the floor—pens and pencils and scraps of paper fell at her feet.
 
Taped to the back of the drawer would be the only other key to her file cabinets—the other key she carried with her at all times.
 
But if this key was missing, if it was gone or put back improperly, she would know that he had been into her files.

She flipped the drawer over—and saw that the key was still there, still taped to the back, clearly unmoved.
 
Eric hadn’t broken into her files.
 
And Diana felt foolish.
 
It occurred to her that maybe he had just been bored sitting here alone and accessed her computer only to surf the Web.

Buy why break the machine?

Jack came over to where she was kneeling and began picking up the clutter at her feet.
 
“It’s probably nothing,” he said, taking the drawer from her hand and inserting it back into the desk.
 
“We might be blowing this out of proportion.”

Diana wanted to agree with him, but she couldn’t.
 
“That computer didn’t break on its own,” she said.
 
“It was only a few months old.”

“There’s a chance that we’re reaching here.
 
Maybe he didn’t break it intentionally.
 
Maybe it did break on its own.”

She considered this, but it didn’t feel right.
 
Eric had lied to her too often to think that this was less than it seemed.

“What could he gain from going through your files and using your computer?”

Diana could come to only one conclusion—Eric needed money.
 
She told Jack about the enormous hospital bills he had to pay when George terminated his insurance, about the pipes bursting in his apartment and how the water had seeped through to the apartment below, destroying Mrs. Aldrich’s prized paintings and furniture.

“She was threatening to sue Eric and he was desperate,” she said.
 
“He was rapidly running out of money, he knew he wouldn’t be able to afford a lawyer—certainly not a decent one—and I didn’t offer to defend him.
 
Before I left him alone yesterday morning, I asked how he was going to come up with the money he needed to cover those debts.”
  

“What did he say?”

It was a moment before Diana could speak.
 
As realization slowing dawned on her, the ramifications of what she was thinking chilled her.
 
“He mentioned something about contacting Louis Ryan for a job.”

“Louis Ryan?” Jack said.
 
“But George hates that man.
 
Celina told me that Ryan once accused George of killing his wife.”
 

Diana didn’t hear Jack.
 
She wasn’t aware of anything else except for the cold possibilities that were now in front of her.
 
“All of those roses,” she said to herself.

“What are you talking about?”

Diana moved to her desk.
 
In the left-hand drawer would be the files she’d collected on the takeover of WestTex Incorporated—files Eric hadn’t seen or read.
 

She opened the drawer, feeling only slightly relieved when she saw that the shiny black briefcase was still there, just as she had left it.
 
She removed the briefcase and put it on her desk.
 
Jack moved behind her.
 
As Diana unsnapped the brass latches, she realized that if the files were disturbed, or if they were missing, she would have to tell George that Eric might have sold the information to Louis Ryan—or perhaps to some other competitor—and the deals with WestTex and Iran would need to fall through.

She opened the case.

Inside were several dark green folders—and every one of them was empty.
 
Stunned, Diana fell into her seat.
 
“There gone,” she said.
 
“He took them.”

“Took what?” Jack asked.

“The files,” Diana said impatiently.
 
“The files on the takeover of WestTex.
 
The files that outlines our entire deal with Iran.
 
Eric took them.”
 
She slammed the briefcase shut, reached for one of the phones in front of her and dialed the front desk.
 
Her heart was pounding.

While she waited for the line to be answered, she said to Jack:
 
“While Eric was in the hospital, Louis Ryan sent him dozens of roses.
 
At the time, I thought he was going to offer Eric a job.”
 
She nodded toward the briefcase.
 
“Now I know what that job was.”

A man answered the line.

“Billy,” she said.
 
“Diana Crane.
 
I need you to answer a few questions for me.”

“Of course, Ms. Crane.”

“Yesterday morning, when I left, you were on duty, correct?”

“That’s right.”

“I need to know if Mr. Parker left the building while I was gone.”

The man was silent for a moment.
 
He cleared his throat and said, “He did.”

Diana closed her eyes.
 
Yesterday, when she returned from the market and found her apartment empty, she assumed Eric was in his own apartment, surveying the damage by himself.
 
Sensing he wanted to be alone, Diana started lunch.
 
And then came the call from George Redman, telling her the news about Celina’s death and asking her if she could come to an emergency board meeting.
 
In her haste to leave, she’d knocked over two bags of groceries.

At the time, Diana hadn’t given a second thought to Eric’s absence.
 
Now, she knew that he hadn’t been in his apartment at all.

“Did he say where he was going?” she asked.

“He didn’t,” the man said.
 
“But if it’ll help, I can tell you that wherever he was going, he went by limousine.”

The man added this information so smoothly, her instincts as a lawyer became acute.
 
She knew he wanted her to know something she wouldn’t know without his help. Glancing at Jack, she said, “Limousine?
 
Did he order the car around himself?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“And I assume he returned by the same car?”

“He did,” the man said.
 
She could sense a mix of eagerness and caution in the man’s voice.
 
He’s holding back
, she thought.
 
Go easy.

“Was Eric alone?” she asked.

“He was,” the man said.
 
“But he wasn’t in your apartment long before he called the front desk, told me that he was expecting some friends and to just show them up when they arrived.”

Diana looked at Jack.
 
“Who were these friends, Billy?
 
Did you recognize them?”

The silence that followed wavered like heat from a city street.

“I didn’t recognize any of them,” he said quietly.

In that moment, Diana knew he was lying

“Billy,” she said carefully.
 
“It’s very important that I know who came to my apartment.
 
It’s very important that you tell me if you recognized anyone.
 
Please tell me.
 
There is no need to be frightened.
 
Your name will never be mentioned.
 
If you know anything, you’ve got to tell me.”

Diana could almost feel the man making his decision, weighing whatever odds he felt needed to be weighed.
 
And then he spoke.
 
“I only recognized one of them,” he said, his voice stronger than it was moments before.
 
“And I’ll be damned if he’s going to intimidate me any longer.”

Diana was riveted.
 
She leaned forward in her seat. “What are you talking about, Billy?
 
Who’s trying to intimidate you?”

“Mario De Cicco,” the man said.
 
“The Mob boss.
 
He and his friends came just after Mr. Parker’s first guest left with all those folders.
 
He told me that if anyone learned he was at Redman Place, he’d make me and my family regret it for the rest of our lives.”

*
  
*
  
*

From his van on 59th Street, Spocatti waited for Diana Crane to hang up her telephone before he removed his headphones and sat in thought.
 
He carefully dissected the possibilities he now was faced with, tossed around a few ideas and then made his decision.

He rose from his seat at the rear of the van and moved forward, toward the front of the van, where he reached for his cell phone and dialed Louis Ryan’s private number.

While he waited for Ryan to answer to the line, he listened to the traffic rushing past him outside.
 
It occurred to him that this assignment was drawing to an end.
 
His time in Manhattan was growing short.
 
For his own safety, for his own protection, he knew that he would soon have to implement a series of plans that would not only alter the future Louis Ryan planned for George Redman, his family and the Redman empire, but which also would assure himself of a safe departure.

While Redman and his family would indeed die after the fall of Redman International, it wouldn’t be as Louis Ryan planned.

Ryan answered the line.
 
Spocatti told him everything that had happened during the last twenty minutes in Diana Crane’s apartment.
 
He told him what had to be done.
 
It was a moment before Louis responded.
 
“And you’re certain this will work,” he said.

“Absolutely certain?” Spocatti said.
 
He was delighted by the tension in Ryan’s voice.
 
“There are no certainties, Louis.
 
But I can promise you this—if you want Redman International to crumble, if you want Redman to burn for what he did to your wife, then this is the way to go.
 
There’s no other choice.”
  

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

“Eric was murdered,” Diana said.
 
“I’m sure of it.”

Jack sat at the edge of Diana’s desk.
 
As she told him the details of her conversation with Billy, the doorman, he couldn’t help feeling that they were at the threshold of a series of revelations that ultimately would lead them to the person responsible for Celina’s death.

“Where is Billy now?” he asked.

“In the lobby.
 
He goes on break in fifteen minutes. I asked him to come here when he clocks out.”

“You don’t think he’ll run, do you?”