Fatal Impressions (16 page)

Coleman had agreed to meet Jonathan, Dinah, and Rob Monday night for an early dinner at a small Lexington Avenue bistro, well known for its cassoulet. She was reluctant to pair up with Rob again, but she had to support Dinah, and for that, she needed to be a part of this investigation. She’d do her best to keep Rob at a distance.

The restaurant was warm and redolent of garlic and roasting meat, appealing on this chilly night. They ate cassoulet, and everyone but Coleman drank a young red wine from Cahors, while Rob updated them on his investigations. The big news was about Harrison: Rob was sure he’d be removed from the case. Maybe Quintero, too.

To Coleman’s disappointment, Rob’s investigators had turned up nothing against Hunt Austin Frederick. He’d sowed some wild oats in college but had, like other famous Texans, been born again in midlife—didn’t smoke, drink, do drugs, or gamble. He was a regular churchgoer and donated money to charity, especially education and his church. After an expensive divorce from a feather-brained Texas deb who’d amused herself with her tennis pro while her husband was traveling for DDD&W, Hunt Austin Frederick was said to have been grateful for the chance to move to New York and take on a challenging new assignment. He’d kept a low social profile since his arrival in Manhattan.

Rob’s people had done a quick check on DDD&W management. The founding Davidson was dead, of course, and Rob assumed his stock was tied up in his estate. Based on shares owned, the organization should be called Davidson, Frederick (who had acquired a healthy chunk of stock when he became managing director), Douglas, Danbury & Weeks.

Ted Douglas, descendant of the original Douglas and inheritor of the Douglas family’s stock, lived in a magnificent apartment on Sutton Place with his wife of many years, Glenda Gould, heiress to a Pittsburgh fortune. They owned a weekend house in East Hampton, and a ski house in Vail. They had no children. They belonged to the right clubs, attended the most prestigious benefits, played tennis, and skied. They lived a typical well-off Manhattanite life. Neither money nor social position was an issue in a world governed by Glenda the Gould, as Coleman had long ago christened her.

Since Leichter had been made a partner at Weeks’s behest, Rob had also had him investigated. After the merger, when Weeks and Leichter moved east from Chicago, Leichter bought a small house next door to the one his father-in-law had chosen in Teaneck, New Jersey. Leichter, his wife, and their four daughters were said to be firmly under his in-laws’ thumbs. Leichter worked long hours and played golf every weekend with Father Weeks. His wife was preoccupied with the house, the children, and her mother. Their social life appeared to be totally child-related. Their expenses, like his income, were modest, but no one interviewed thought Leichter aspired to more.

Oscar Danbury had bought a town house in the East Nineties when he moved to New York. He lived there with his wife, who’d been his high school sweetheart. They had two sons away at school. Work was apparently his only interest, and his wife volunteered at a nearby hospital. Danbury was rumored to be a miser, with a great deal of money tucked away in conservative investments.

The detectives investigating the Victor sisters had discovered a neighbor who lived across the hall from them and hated them. The neighbor, an ancient crone with little to do but spy and gossip, reported that both sisters had mysterious boyfriends— criminals, she was sure. She said one of the men looked like a TV mobster—she’d seen him with Frances twice—and Patti Sue’s beau was “weaselly like.” Age? Couldn’t say. Color? Not black; she’d have noticed. But the men were “real ugly.” She swore she’d recognize them if she saw them again. She claimed she always knew the sisters would come to a bad end.

No one else in the building admitted meeting the Victor sisters, or knowing anything about them. “They’ve always kept themselves to themselves,” one of the doormen said. None of the doormen was willing to comment on their gentlemen friends. “Lotsa people come in and outta here,” one of them growled. “We don’t keep track.” The detectives doubted they’d learn more.

“Too bad neither of the boyfriends sounds like Harrison,” Coleman said. “I was sure his girlfriend at DDD&W would turn out to be Patti Sue or her sister.”

“Me, too,” Rob said. “Next on the agenda is Great Art Management. Their name has been linked to antiquities smuggling, fake art, bogus antiques. They have a stable of artists capable of faking on demand—Impressionism, Realism, Picassos, copies of works by Frank Stella, Roy Lichtenstein, and other contemporary artists. Whatever the client wants. In fact, Coleman, one of your favorite artists is represented by them.”

“Who?” Coleman asked.

“Crawdaddy,” Rob said.

“Oh, that creep. That’s the kind of place where he would be involved,” Coleman said.

“Crawdaddy?” Jonathan asked.

“The photorealist who crashed Coleman’s party, and had his picture taken with Coleman and me,” Dinah explained.

“Oh, him. He was a nasty piece of work,” Jonathan said.

“Anyway,” Rob continued, “apparently whenever a client is unhappy with a purchase, GAM reimburses his money and takes back the object, probably selling it to a greater fool. Nothing negative has been published about them, there’s no record of anyone suing them, and nothing has ever been proved against them.”

“Something’s about to be proved,” Jonathan said, explaining that a Great Art Management employee had confessed and named Patti Sue as the contact at DDD&W. The DA’s office would strike this week. The SEC was also on the move.

“That’s great news, Jonathan,” Rob said. “I wish mine was. I still don’t have a line on the Davidson girls, and it’s wait and see on the Stubbs portraits. If they turn up at DDD&W on Friday, I guess we’ve been on the wrong track there.”

“I’ve been thinking about the latest anonymous note,” Dinah said. “Our informant tried to let us know about the office search, although we didn’t get the note in time to remove my tool kit. I’m sure the portraits won’t be back on Friday, and I have an idea about how to find them.”

“Go to it. I wish you luck,” Rob said.

“What about the stuff you got from the Fry Building?” Coleman asked Rob.

“None of the security guards has a criminal record, but they’re sloppy. If someone they know comes in, they might not sign him or her in; the same if a person they know leaves the building. Their sign-in and sign-out books aren’t as full as they should be, given the number of people on the videos. The videos show what you’d expect—lots of people coming and going, mostly the same people over and over. The DDD&W people are in and out constantly.”

“Did the audio tape of the girl calling in the murder tell you anything?” Jonathan asked.

Rob shook his head. “You can barely hear her. I’d think it was a hoax except that there
was
a murder.”

Dinah, looking worried, spoke up.

“Uh—I have something to tell everyone about that. I know who the girl was—her name is Ellie McPhee. She was Patti Sue’s assistant. She turned up right after I discovered the body, and I asked her to call the guards downstairs,” Dinah said, looking at Jonathan’s astonished expression. “I know I should have told you. But she’s a sweet little thing, and I didn’t want to hand her to the bullies at DDD&W, or the police. I thought they’d learn she was in the building from the security people—or the tape—or she’d come forward, and I wouldn’t have to tattle on her. But the thing is, I tried to call her, and she’s not there.”

Coleman sighed. Just like Dinah to try to protect someone, even when it wasn’t in her own best interest. She’d done that sort of thing as a child. When a little vase on her grandmother’s dressing table was broken, everyone thought Dinah was the culprit, because dusting that room was her responsibility. Dinah hadn’t told anyone that she’d seen Morton, a neighbor’s child, looking scared, tiptoeing out of the room. Weeks later, Morton, overcome by guilt, had confessed.

“What do you mean ‘she’s not there’?” Rob said.

Dinah shrugged. “Just that. The DDD&W operator said she’s gone.”

“Do you think she was fired?” Rob asked.

Dinah shook her head. “I haven’t a clue.”

“Has Dinah broken the law by not reporting this woman to the police?” Jonathan asked Rob.

Rob shook his head. “I don’t think so. She hasn’t lied to the police. I’ll put one of the detectives on Ellie McPhee right away, see if we can find her. I don’t think we should wait too long before we tell the police about her, and it would be good if we can give them more than the name of a missing girl. Of course, she’s not the only one missing. As I said, the Davidson heiresses are in the wind, too. I’ve got people looking for them. They can try to find the McPhee woman as well,” Rob said.

“We’re not getting very far, are we?” Coleman said.

Jonathan shook his head. “No, but I think we’ll know a lot more when I get back from Boston. I’m looking forward to meeting the chairman of the Prince Charles. I’ve faxed him Dinah’s analysis of the collection—what they have and what’s missing. I’ll be interested to hear his reaction. And I’m sure I’ll learn a lot from the Davidsons’ lawyer,” he said.

“I hope you do better than I have,” Rob said. “I have nothing but bad news. As you guessed, Coleman, Patti Sue denies any fight in the DDD&W ladies’ room, and Mrs. Thornton says she can’t talk to us unless Hunt Frederick clears it, which he isn’t going to do. We’ll have to try to get the police to investigate the fight. Maybe the Cobra can make it happen. Patti Sue’s lying, of course. It’s apparently known inside DDD&W that there was
at least one, maybe more, fight between her and another woman. Listen to what the Byrds picked up today.” He clicked on a tiny tape recorder.

Say, Patti Sue dint attack you, did she? Her and one of the other dames here have fist-fights when they think nobody’s lookin’, mostly in the girls’ privy. Y’all better watch out for her. Well, Love Birds, I gotta get back to work. My name’s Michael Shanahan. Folks call me Moose.

“Will he tell us more?” Dinah asked.

Coleman nodded. “Sounds like he will. I doubt if he’d talk to the police, but I bet Bethany or Loretta can chat him up and get what we need. He’s susceptible to beautiful women.”

“Do you know Moose Shanahan?” Rob asked. His tone made the innocuous question sound like an accusation.

Coleman was irritated by the question but kept her response civil.

“I know
of
him. Big-deal college football player, big-deal investment banker, big-deal ladies’ man. I don’t know if he’s currently married. He’s a serial marryer,” Coleman said.

“Well, whatever he is, he knows what’s going on at DDD&W,” Jonathan said. “Can Bethany and Loretta find out from him who the other woman in the catfight is?”

“They think they know. They think it’s Naomi Skinner, Mark Leichter’s assistant. But it would be good if they can pin it down, and I’m sure they’ll try. If they don’t get anywhere, we’ll try another approach,” Rob said.

He turned toward Coleman. “While we’re on the topic of people at DDD&W, how do you know Theodore Douglas, Coleman?” Rob asked.

Coleman thought he was more interested in prying into her past than in the case they were discussing, but there was no reason she shouldn’t answer him.

“Teddy? I’ve seen him around town for years. Decent manners, pleasant, inoffensive,” she said.

“I’ve known Douglas a long time, too,” Jonathan said. “I’ve always thought he was insignificant—nothing like his father and grandfather. They were both very intelligent, and very successful. Ted barely made it through any of his schools. I was surprised to learn he’d done so well at DDD&W. His wife’s family’s influence and money must have helped.”

“Getting back to my problems: how bad is it Harrison found my tool kit?” Dinah asked.

Rob looked at her, his expression grave. “I won’t lie to you: I’d rather he hadn’t, because it gives him more ammunition against you. Unless they can prove your tools were used to loosen those shelves, finding them doesn’t help make their case, but it’s another smear opportunity. I keep thinking everything—including the tools—is going to show up in the tabloids.”

Dinah looked so miserable, Coleman changed the subject. “How are the hangers doing, Dinah?”

Dinah’s face brightened. “They’re doing fine. We’re speeding along. By the end of the day Tuesday they’ll have completed the corridors on thirty-three and be halfway through what’s left of the job. The rest of the prints are already coming in. Today I had a batch picked up in the New York area—from New Jersey and Connecticut dealers as well as in the city—and they’re already at the framer’s. They’ll arrive at DDD&W ready to hang Wednesday. If all goes well, Bethany and Loretta will have finished the job by the end of the week.”

They finished dinner a little after nine, and Rob, feeling terrible about Coleman’s coldness and his own less-than-stellar performance on Dinah’s case, returned to his office. Shortly after he arrived, Pete, looking puzzled, appeared in his door. “May I speak to you for a minute?” he asked Rob.

Rob looked up from his papers. “Sure. What is it?”

“I’ve got a weird one: I checked the Internet, didn’t turn up anything on Ellie McPhee. No address in the US, no social security number, nada. Called DDD&W’s human resources department, and the snippy woman who answered the phone says no one named Ellie McPhee has ever been employed by DDD&W.”

Rob frowned. “That’s ridiculous. Dinah knows her. She saw Ellie McPhee often—the woman was Patti Sue’s assistant,” he said.

Pete shrugged. “I hear what you’re saying, but I’m telling you, everybody I talked to said she doesn’t exist.”

“Have you asked Coleman’s friend, Amy Rothman?”

“Did that. Ms. Rothman has a vague memory of a girl sitting outside Patti Sue’s office, but she never met her, and can’t remember what she looked like. She phoned a few others at DDD&W she thought might know her, but no one did,” Pete said.

“Have you asked the lobby guards?”

Pete nodded. “Checked the books. No one by that name has ever signed in or out of the building. The guards never saw anyone like Dinah describes, never heard the name.”