Where Are You Now? (36 page)

He wanted to know how she had made out on the visit to her mother. He knew how hurt she had been by her mother's refusal to see her.

At least her cell phone was on. It was ringing. It had been turned off Monday afternoon and all day Tuesday. A gnawing sense that something was wrong made Nick decide to stop at Sutton Place, and make sure that she was home.

The morning concierge had just come on duty. “I don't think she's back yet,” he said, when Nick asked for Carolyn. “I understand she had an emergency message at about three
A.M.
and went rushing out. Whoever handed the note to her doorman said it was a matter of life or death. I hope everything is all right.”

Everything
isn't
all right, Nick thought frantically. He began to dial the now familiar number of Detective Barrott.

T
hank you for seeing us, Mr. Wallace,” Barrott said politely.

“That's all right. Is there any news of Mack?” Elliott asked.

“No, I'm afraid there isn't but we do have a few matters you can help us clear up.”

“Of course.” He gestured for the detectives to take a seat.

“You know Howard Altman?”

“Yes, I do. He is the employee of my client Derek Olsen.”

“Didn't you actually recommend Altman to Mr. Olsen ten years ago?”

“I believe I did.”

“How did you happen to know Mr. Altman?”

“I'm not really sure. As I recall, a former client had sold some real estate and was looking to place him.” Elliott's expression was blank.

“Who was that client?”

“I'm not even sure I can remember. I dealt with him only briefly. But it was one of those coincidences. Olsen had
been in and mentioned he was having a terrible time getting good help, and I passed Altman's name along to him.”

“I see. We'd certainly appreciate having that client's name, and I'm sure you'd want to find him. Altman may be a suspect in the abduction of Leesey Andrews, which of course would clear the name of Mack MacKenzie.”

“Anything that would clear Mack's name would be priceless to me,” Elliott told Barrott, his voice shaking with emotion.

Barrott studied him, taking in the beautifully tailored suit, the crisp white shirt, the handsome blue and red tie. He watched as Wallace took off his glasses, polished them, then put them back on. What is it about this guy that I'm seeing, he asked himself. It's the eyes and the forehead. They looked familiar. Then he wondered:
Is it possible? My God, he resembles Altman.
He signaled to Gaylor to take over the questioning.

“Mr. Wallace, isn't it a fact that you are the executor of Mack MacKenzie's estate?”

“I am the executor of all the MacKenzie family trusts.”

“The
sole
executor?”

“Yes.”

“What are the terms of Mack's trust?”

“It was set up by his grandfather. He was not to receive income from it until he reached the age of forty.”

“In the meantime, of course, it continues to grow.”

“Certainly. It has been carefully invested.”

“What would happen if Mack died?”

“The trust would go to his children, and if he had none, to his sister, Carolyn.”

“Could Mack have asked for an advance from his trust for what you as executor deemed to be a responsible reason?”

“It would have to be extremely responsible. His grandfather wanted no playboy heirs.”

“How about the fact that he was about to get married; that his future wife was pregnant with his child; that he no longer wanted his parents to pay his way; that he would put himself through college and would want to pay for his wife to go to medical school? Would all that be good and sufficient reason to dip into the trust?”

“It might be, but that situation did not occur.” Elliott Wallace stood up. “As you can understand, I have a busy calendar and—”

Barrott's cell phone rang. It was Nick DeMarco. Barrott listened, determined to keep an inscrutable look on his face. Carolyn MacKenzie was missing. The new victim, he thought.

Wallace, holding an arm out, was attempting to usher them out of his office. Lucas Reeves is right, Barrott thought. It all fits into place. He decided to trick Wallace with false information.

“Not so fast, Mr. Wallace,” he said. “We're not going anywhere. We have Howard Altman in custody. He's bragging about the abductions. He's bragging about working for you.” He paused for a moment. “You didn't tell us you were
related
to him.”

Finally, Wallace's unruffled exterior showed signs of strain. “Oh, poor Howie,” he sighed. With one hand he leaned on his desk, and with the other he reached into the top drawer. “He's totally delusional, of course.”

“No, he isn't,” Barrott snapped.

Elliott Wallace sighed again. “My psychopathic nephew promised to die in a breathtaking fashion and take Carolyn and Leesey with him. He couldn't even handle that well.”

In a single, quick motion, Elliott Wallace removed a small pistol from his desk drawer and held it to his forehead. “As Cousin Franklin would have put it, ‘My fellow Americans, farewell,' ” he said, and pulled the trigger.

L
arry Ahearn was in the squad room when the call came in from Barrott. “Larry, we were right about Wallace. He just blew his brains out. Before he did, he told us that Altman is his nephew. He said that Altman has Carolyn and Leesey and he's going to kill them and then kill himself. But he didn't tell us where they are.”

With icy calm, Ahearn absorbed the stunning information. “As of the last few hours, neither trace we have on those phones is giving us anything,” he said. “Either the phones are turned off or they're in an area where we can't get reception. What about Altman? He must have a cell phone. I'll call his boss, Olsen, on another line. Hang on.”

D
erek Olsen, camp chair in hand, was about to go out and walk down the block to see the wrecking ball destroy his old town house. Irritated at the second phone call from the detectives, he was even more irritated at the reason for it. “Sure Howie has a cell phone. Who doesn't? Sure I know his number. It's 917-555-6262. But I'm telling you something. That's the one I pay for. I get the bill. I watch it like a hawk. Business only. I guess he has another. How should I know? I'm on my way out for some excitement. Good-bye.”

*   *   *

As Barrott waited on the line for Ahearn to check with Olsen, Detective Gaylor moved swiftly to secure the premises. With one hand he locked the door of Wallace's office and with the other dialed 911 on his cell phone.

Then he heard Barrott explode as he reacted to what Ahearn was telling him. “The business cell phone that Olsen gave you for Altman is turned off! But wait a minute. Wallace would never have been stupid enough to call Altman
on that line anyway. There must have been another number that he used to reach him. Hold on, Larry.”

In two strides Barrott was across the room and kneeling beside Wallace's body, rummaging through his pockets. “Here it is!” He yanked out a small state-of-the-art cell phone, opened it, and scrolled through the directory. This has got to be it, he thought, as he spotted the initials “H.A.” He pushed 5 and then the send button and, breathing a prayer, held the phone to his ear.

It rang twice and then was answered. “Uncle Elliott,” an edgy, high-pitched voice said, “we did our good-byes last night. I don't want to talk anymore. There's only a few minutes left.”

The connection broke. Within seconds, Barrott was back on his own phone, giving Howard Altman's number to Ahearn, who was frantically waiting to pass it on to the phone technicians who would trace it.

H
e came down to the basement three times during that long night. As I lay next to Leesey on that clammy dirt floor, pain vibrating from my leg, my face crusted with dried blood, my fingers entwined in Leesey's, he alternately cried and laughed and moaned and giggled. I dreaded the sound of steps on the stairs, not knowing if this would be the time he would decide to kill us.

“Remember the Zodiac Killer?” he sobbed the first time he came down. “He didn't want to keep going. Neither do I. He wrote a letter to a newspaper that he knew could be traced to him. I wrote one, too, but I tore it up. I am tortured, but I don't want to go to prison. The first girl was when I was sixteen. I had put that behind me. Then it happened again. I was the caretaker on an estate, and the housekeeper's daughter was so pretty. When they found her body, they suspected me. My mother sent me to New York to be with her dear older brother, my uncle, Elliott Wallace . . .”

Elliott Wallace! Uncle Elliott! But that's impossible, I thought, that can't be.

I felt his breath on my cheek. “You don't believe me, do you? You should. My mother told him he had to help me or she'd expose him for the fraud that he was. But even before I met him, it happened again, right after I got to New York, the first girl in the nightclub. I weighed her body down and threw it in the river. Then I met Uncle Elliott, and I told him about it and said I was sorry, and he had to get me a job or I'd go to the police and turn myself in and tell the newspapers he was a phony.”

Altman's voice became sarcastic. “
Of course
, he said he'd find me a job.” His lips touched my forehead. “You believe me now, don't you, Carolyn?”

Leesey's breath had become a soft, terrified whimper. I squeezed her hand. “I believe you,” I said. “I know you're telling the truth.”

“Do you know that I'm sorry?”

“Yes. Yes. I know that.”

“That's good.”

It was so dark I couldn't see him but sensed that he had moved away from us. Then I heard him going up the stairs again. How long would it be before he came back? I asked myself frantically. I had been so foolish. No one knew where I had gone. It might be hours before someone looked for me. Nick, I thought, Nick, be worried. Know that something's wrong. Look for me. Look for us.