Fatal Impressions (19 page)

R
ob had been awake for hours, tossing and turning—worrying about Dinah, about his business, his workload, and Coleman—when the phone rang. He had the sinking feeling that late night or early morning calls always inspired: the news was bound to be bad. When he heard the voice of his friend at One Police Plaza, he was sure of it.

“Rob, there’s been another murder at DDD&W.”

“Oh my God,” Rob groaned. “Who was killed? Don’t tell me it was one of the Greene Gallery women?”

“No, Patti Sue Victor, the sister of the first victim. They found her body an hour ago. She died around midnight Tuesday. She’d been hit on the head and then shoved down an elevator shaft. She might have died from the fall, but in any case, when the elevator went down again, it crushed her. You better hope Ms. Greene has an alibi for late last night. If she doesn’t, the DDD&W crowd will be sure to say Greene shoved Victor down that elevator shaft.”

“Okay. Thanks for the heads-up. I won’t forget it.”

When Rob called Jonathan at home, the answering machine picked up. He left a message for Jonathan or Dinah to call him and tried Coleman, who was instantly awake and horrified by the news of a second murder at DDD&W.

“Oh, no. I can’t believe it. Jonathan stayed in Boston last night—he’s probably still there. I don’t think the first morning shuttle to New York leaves Boston until six. Dinah was alone again. It was another setup. Who knew Jonathan would be in Boston overnight?” she asked.

“I don’t know.
I
didn’t. I knew he went to Boston, but I assumed he came home last night. Will you call Dinah? I didn’t get past her answering machine. And see if Loretta and Bethany have alibis, will you? I want to make sure they don’t come under suspicion. I have to call Sebastian Grant, and I’ll try to reach Jonathan on his cell phone,” Rob said.

Coleman dreaded telling Dinah about Patti Sue’s death and discussing her lack of an alibi. She put off calling her and tried Bethany, who was at Zeke’s. Bethany was stunned to hear about Patti Sue’s death. She had an alibi: she’d been with Zeke since the previous afternoon.

“Zeke and Loretta and I left DDD&W around four thirty. We had a quick drink at Hennessey’s on Lexington at Sixtieth. That’s where we parted company. We put Loretta in a taxi—she was headed uptown to visit friends. I think she planned to stay overnight. I have their number; she’s been stayin’ there a lot. Zeke and I ate dinner here at the apartment—his cook was here. She’ll alibi me. I spent the night. Zeke can vouch for me. The doormen, too, I guess,” Bethany said.

Coleman reached Loretta at her friends’ apartment, where she’d been since she left Bethany and Zeke. They’d watched videos and ordered pizza, and everyone was in bed by midnight. Loretta had slept on a bunk bed in a room with three other girls. Her alibi, like Bethany’s, was solid. Coleman e-mailed the information to Rob, and, bracing herself, called Dinah.

Dinah, in tears, was incredulous. “
Why
is this happening? I’m almost never alone at night, and this has happened twice when Jonathan was away. They’ll never prove I did it, because I didn’t, but I can’t prove I didn’t do it. I was home. It’s just like before: I walked the dog about nine o’clock, came in, locked up and was in bed by nine thirty. But there was no one here to swear I stayed in,” she said.

Would Dinah feel worse or better if Coleman told her what she was thinking? Maybe Coleman should have mentioned her suspicions earlier, but suspicions were all she’d had. She still had no proof, but she had to speak up. “I’m sure someone knew Jonathan was away, and used that information to implicate you,” Coleman said. “Who knew Jonathan was spending the night in Boston?”

“I didn’t tell anyone but you,” Dinah said.

“Would anyone at Jonathan’s office have known?”

“I doubt it. Jonathan left Blair’s number with me in case of an emergency. I don’t think he’d have told anyone else he planned to spend the night in Boston, leaving me alone. He’s very security conscious.”

“I’ve been trying to figure out who could have known you were alone the night Frances Johnson was killed,” Coleman said. “I’ve hesitated to tell you what I concluded, because I know how much you like and trust the person I believe is responsible for leaking the information. One person who knew Jonathan would be away both times was your driver.”

“Oh, Coleman, don’t be ridiculous,” Dinah said. “Tom’s totally trustworthy. He’s a former policeman.”

“Exactly,” Coleman said. “
Because
he was a cop, he may know Harrison and Quintero, or talk to people who know them. Where’s Tom now?”

“Probably waiting for Jonathan at the airport. You want me to call and ask him? I will, but it’s a waste of time.”

“Humor me,” Coleman said.

“I’ll call him, but you’re wrong,” Dinah insisted.

Five minutes later, Dinah, sobbing and nearly hysterical, reported that Tom
was
the leak about Jonathan’s overnight absences. “He hangs out at a cops’ bar in the West Forties—sees Harrison and Quintero there all the time. They introduced themselves. They were together almost every night. They could tell cop stories. And, Coleman, I think I’m responsible for their looking him up. When they first interviewed me, I told them our driver was a retired policeman, gave them his name and number. Tom didn’t know Harrison was after me or that he moonlighted for DDD&W. He says he can’t swear he told them about Jonathan’s travels, but he ‘probably’ did. He didn’t have much to talk about. He didn’t realize there was anything secret about our activities.”

“Did the police interview Tom about your comings and goings?” Coleman said.

“He says he was interviewed over the phone by somebody he didn’t know. He doesn’t remember the man’s name.”

“I bet they had someone he didn’t know talk to him so he wouldn’t connect Harrison and Quintero with the DDD&W investigation,” Coleman said.

“Maybe so. I’d never have believed Tom could be so indiscreet,” Dinah said.

“I’m sorry, Dinah. I was pretty sure it was going to work out this way. I thought about it a lot, and I couldn’t see how anyone else would know Jonathan’s plans.”

“Well, I thought Tom was totally trustworthy. I thought he was my friend. Just one more blow. Like I thought Hunt was a nice man—a gentleman,” Dinah said.

“We all make mistakes about people. What are you doing today?”

“I don’t know. Wait for Jonathan to come home. Mope.”

“Would you like to do some sleuthing? I have an idea I planned to discuss with Rob but I haven’t wanted to call him. I’d rather have you check it out.

“Really? What is it?” Dinah had stopped crying.

“We’ve been assuming the killer at DDD&W is a man. But there’s no reason it couldn’t be a woman. What if it’s one of the creepy females we’ve encountered there?”

“How would I check on them?”

“Start by calling Rob. Ask if anyone has checked on the hairspray woman. Or that skeleton who works for Ted. Or even the Gray Lady. Just because she looks like everyone’s ideal grandmother doesn’t mean she isn’t a baddy. Rob should suggest some ways of finding out about them.”

“Oh, Coleman! That’s a great idea! I’ll let you know later today how I’m doing.”

But when Dinah called several hours later, she reported that Rob was sure all the DDD&W women had been cleared of suspicion. None had records, and all had alibis. She sounded more depressed than ever, and Coleman was sorry she had suggested that her cousin try to help with the investigation. She wished she was confident that Rob had done a thorough check on the women at DDD&W. She no longer trusted Rob’s investigative work.

Coleman stared at the letter. As Jonathan had prophesied, the would-be buyers of
ArtSmart
and
First Home
hadn’t given up. The second letter was signed by Roger Black, Executive Vice President, Mergers and Acquisitions, Colossus Publishing. He described the disadvantages of being small: Coleman’s two “little” magazines had no purchasing clout for paper, or printing, or anything else. When her “little” company was part of Colossus, she would be able to get anything she needed. He used the word “little” in every sentence.

The threat was obvious. If Colossus Publishing owned her magazines, management would make sure she got the supplies and services she needed. If she tried to remain independent, they’d see that she faced shortages, even cutoffs from suppliers. She might be forced out of business. Before that happened, she’d
have
to sell, and probably at a rock-bottom price. She was certain Colossus had the power to do what they threatened. But why would they? Surely she was too small a fish to warrant so much attention from the biggest shark in the publishing world.

She put her questions to Jonathan in a cover note when she faxed the letter to him. When he called back a few minutes later, he sounded even more worried than he had been when last they spoke.

“I’m so sorry about this. I thought they might come back, but the threatening tone of the letter is unusually unpleasant. You threaten them—they think if they let you reject them, they’d set a bad precedent. All they do is take over organizations like yours. Very few of their serious targets have escaped. They’re a monster merger machine. They’re in the bully pulpit, and intend to remain in it,” he said.

“But I don’t want to sell. How did the few that escaped do it?” Coleman asked.

“You won’t like the only possible solution. You’ll have to find another powerful organization—what’s called a ‘white knight’—and sell to them. You’ll still lose control of your magazines, but to somebody who is more congenial, and who’ll let you keep a minority share. But they’ll definitely be in charge,” Jonathan said.

“Either way I lose my magazines,” Coleman said. She’d never felt so helpless, so trapped.

“You know what you should do? Ask Heyward Bain for help,” Jonathan said.

“Why him? What can he do that you can’t?” Coleman said, annoyed. Was this another ploy to make her get in touch with her half-brother? Jonathan avoided his own ghastly relations whenever it was possible, but like everyone else, seemed determined to see her involved with Bain. She already owed so much to Bain, she felt awkward about asking him for help.

“He can do plenty. This is not my kind of banking, Coleman. A battle to fight off a hostile takeover is a specialty. Bain’s a billionaire with an international reputation for winning any battle he enters. Colossus might back off just knowing he’s involved.”

“I can’t call him. He gave me all this money, and I’ve never even thanked him properly. Can’t you find someone else?” Coleman asked.

“I’ll try, but I doubt if I can get you a deal you’ll like,” he said.

When Coleman hung up, she was near despair. She’d been so thrilled with the acquisition of
First Home
. Now it seemed she might lose everything. If Jonathan was right, she’d have to beg her half-brother for help. She’d never had to beg; she’d always managed to take care of herself. And she’d lose her magazines anyway—Heyward would be in control. For the moment, all she could do was wait to hear from Jonathan. She didn’t do waiting well.

H
eyward Bain’s library was the first public room the decorators had completed. He’d asked for an oasis where he could work while the rest of the house was finished, and the decorators had selected the library because they could complete it quickly. The walnut paneling had needed only polishing; the Oriental rugs and the furniture were antiques, requiring cleaning and minor restoration. The scent of the blue hyacinths in the blue-and-white Chinese pot on the coffee table added the perfect final touch. But the room’s serenity and beauty seemed to increase his restlessness.

When he’d moved to London, he’d thought that after his busy and stressful months in New York, he’d enjoy a quiet life. He’d lived as a recluse for many contented and productive years. But now that he had the peace he’d sought, he couldn’t seem to concentrate. Simon’s incarceration in the clinic in Switzerland was part of the problem. Not that he missed Simon—far from it. Living with Simon would be intolerable. But Heyward felt duty bound to visit the poor wretch every weekend, and the tedium of those weekends was beyond belief. Simon was a bore, with no interests except himself and money. Why he hadn’t seen that sooner was a mystery. Heyward’s brief infatuation with Simon had been expensive in ways more important than money. Simon had cost Heyward the esteem of people he admired.

He wanted Simon out of his life, but he couldn’t abandon him in his current physical condition, nor could he ignore Simon’s financial situation. Simon had been beaten badly by a lover he had cheated and, because of his battered hands, couldn’t even sign a check. He had given Heyward power of attorney, probably thinking Heyward would pay all his debts. Not a chance. He was paying Simon’s expenses in Switzerland, but when he emerged from the clinic, Simon would have almost nothing left of the small fortune he’d illegally amassed. Simon had owed every penny of that money and more to Rachel Ransome, for whom he had worked. He’d repaid all she’d done for him by stealing from her. Of course, Simon had also treated Heyward badly, but Heyward, unlike Rachel, could afford the losses, and Simon’s perfidy had set Heyward free. Or nearly free. Heyward was taking steps to rid himself completely of Simon, but it was slow going.

Heyward had settled Simon’s debts to Rachel, partly with his own money, and partly by arranging for Rachel to buy back Simon’s interest in the Ransome gallery for almost nothing. Because of what Heyward had done to make amends both on his own and on Simon’s account, Rachel and he had come to an understanding, perhaps the beginning of a friendship. If so, Rachel might be his only friend in London. Maybe his only friend anywhere.

Of the others to whom he’d insisted that Simon was a good person, and that everyone who disliked and mistrusted him was wrong, only Rob Mondelli seemed willing to forget Heyward’s mistakes. Heyward had enjoyed his recent London dinner with Rob. It had been good to have news of Coleman, Dinah, and Jonathan. He wished
they
were his friends. But he didn’t see how he could do more than he had done to win them over.

He walked to the window and stared out at Zachary Square. The mild weather, the yellow daffodils and pale pink and white blossoms on the fruit trees in the square should have cheered him, but all he felt was an unfamiliar emptiness. Could he be lonely? Surely not. He’d always been alone and had long ago come to accept it. When he felt sorry for himself, he had worked: inventing, investing, writing. He’d published six successful books, fiction and nonfiction, under pseudonyms, and by the time he was twelve, he’d made millions from his inventions, mostly devices to help people stop smoking, or to improve the quality of air corrupted by cigarette smoke—air cleaning filters and the like.

His empire was far larger and more diversified than anyone knew, and his riches far greater, even after he’d settled a fortune on his half-sister to try to atone for her impoverished childhood, a childhood he could have made better, if he hadn’t been so self-centered. He sighed. He neither needed nor wanted more money, but until recently, he’d found intellectual challenge in making it. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do.

The intercom buzzed. He frowned. He’d asked not to be disturbed. It was unlike his staff to ignore instructions. “Yes, Hicks? What is it?”

“Jonathan Hathaway is calling from New York. He says it’s an emergency.”

He grabbed the phone. “Jonathan, what is it? Has something happened to Coleman?”

“Coleman is okay, at least physically. I apologize for bothering you. I wouldn’t have called if I could have figured out anything else to do. Colossus Publishing is trying to take over Coleman’s magazines—she asked me to find a white knight, but her two magazines are fairly small, and no one’s interested—”

Heyward interrupted. “I understand. I’ll come at once. Coleman is my sister, and this is my fight.”

“I have to warn you: I couldn’t persuade her to ask you for help. She’s embarrassed because you’ve done so much for her, and she hasn’t thanked you properly—”

“Never mind all that. Will you have someone e-mail me everything you have on her magazines and Colossus’s approaches?”

“Of course. But Heyward, another thing—I might have been able to help Coleman more if I hadn’t been preoccupied with another problem: Dinah’s been accused of murder, and I’ve been told she could be arrested. But even if she isn’t arrested, her reputation could be ruined.”

“Nonsense. That’s ridiculous,” Heyward said.

Jonathan sighed. “You sound like my friend Blair Winthrop. That’s almost exactly what he said.”

“I know Blair. He’s nearly always right. For that matter, so am I. On Dinah, we agree—anyone who thinks she’s a killer is insane. As for Coleman, I’ll be in New York tomorrow morning. You can dismiss Coleman’s problems from your mind; consider everything taken care of. And I will do all I can to help Dinah,” Heyward said.

“Do you know anyone at DDD&W? I think they’re trying to frame Dinah,” Jonathan said.

“I know
of
them. At one time they had a good reputation, but in the last few years, it’s declined. While your office is e-mailing, ask them to send me everything you have on DDD&W.”

“Rob’s done a lot of investigating—”

“Send me whatever he’s turned up, too. You never know—I might know someone, or think of something. I’ll see you tomorrow, Jonathan.”

Heyward was rarely angry, but this was too much. Damn those pirates at Colossus. They’d rue the day they attacked his sister. And what were those idiots at DDD&W thinking? Dinah Greene was incapable of taking home an office-owned pencil, let alone murder. His family and friends were in trouble. But not for much longer.

What an extraordinary feeling: his sister needed him. Well, Coleman didn’t know it yet, but she could relax. He’d deal with Colossus. He’d wanted a project that intrigued him, and this one certainly did. His mind was already working overtime.

He pressed the intercom. “Hicks? Come in, please. I need to speak to every executive who works for HB Enterprises. Set up a conference call, and ask your assistant to make our travel arrangements. Get the two of us on a British Airways flight to New York tomorrow morning—the one that leaves around eight or nine and gets in before lunch.”

Hicks tried to speak, but Heyward didn’t have time for questions.

“Ask Mrs. Carter to pack for me. Tell her I don’t need much—I have clothes at the house in New York. She hasn’t been my housekeeper long, but she’s sensible, she’ll know what to pack.” He was making notes on the pad on his desk while he talked.

“Yessir,” Hicks said.

“We have a crisis on our hands. Colossus Publishing is attacking Coleman. They’re after her magazines. They’ll do their usual—strip them, destroy them, keep a few people, a few ideas, ruin the magazines and expand their reach a little. We’ll get rid of Colossus and make sure she’s armed against any other pirates.

“You and nearly everyone else in the London office will come with me to New York. Leave a skeleton staff here to answer the phones, deal with the mail, or any emergency. I want you on the plane with me, but scatter the others around—no more than two on the same flight, this afternoon or tonight, or at the latest tomorrow. Put everyone up at the Sherry Netherland or the Pierre—I want them within walking distance of my house. Ask your assistant to call the house, and let Horace know I’m coming so he can prepare for my arrival. They’ll need to order food, and get some additional help—we’ll have a lot going on. And I want our real estate people on the phone—I don’t care what time it is. I want to buy a building in New York, and I want to do it fast.”