It was difficult to imagine what kind of link Tony might have had to Rivington, since Isobel still hadn’t traced him to Harrison. There were so many possible suspects, and she had little or no access to most of them, a frustrating impediment to her investigation. She wondered how the police were getting on, and if there were some way she could insert herself into the process. She still had Detective Vitelli’s card in her wallet. But what information could she share that wasn’t embargoed by the confidentiality agreement she’d signed with Sarah?
She stopped abruptly on the sidewalk, causing the woman behind to barrel into her.
“Sorry,” Isobel said absently.
The woman scowled and pushed past her.
Isobel resumed her pace and returned to the thought that had struck her so suddenly. Could there have been more to Sarah firing her than met the eye? Maybe—just maybe—Isobel was getting a little too close for comfort. Where had Sarah been that Saturday night? She’d been awfully quick to point out the article in the paper. Was she trying to ascertain whether Isobel had spotted her lurking around the perimeter of The Hostelry? Because if Candy had needed an accomplice, might she not have turned to her lawyer?
“That’s nuts,” Isobel muttered. An old man shuffling past her agreed.
“Nuts!” he yelled, waving his fist.
Sarah was a professional, a businesswoman. She didn’t go around shooting people to protect her clients. And as much as Isobel hated to admit it, Sarah had sufficient cause to fire her. Still, the idea was provocative. Who knew where Sarah was that Saturday night?
Isobel’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out and glanced at the number.
James.
Unbelievable. What on earth made him think she’d answer? Who would choose to be screamed at again?
Obviously, she would. Unable to contain her curiosity, she steeled herself for a tirade and picked up.
“What?”
“Don’t hang up. Just gimme a sec, okay?”
She opened her mouth to retort that a sec was more than he’d given her the other day, but thought better of it. “Hang on. I’m on the street, and it’s very loud.” She spotted a bank on the corner and darted into the lobby. “Okay, I’m listening.”
“You know me well enough to know this is hard for me,” he began.
“I take it you’re calling to apologize?”
“Not exactly.”
“What the—”
“I mean, yes! Yes, of course. But it’s more than that. Let me just start from the top, okay?”
Isobel gave a friendly wave to the security guard who was eyeing her curiously, then sat in the window with her back to him. “Go ahead. I won’t interrupt. And you know how hard that is for me.”
James cleared his throat. “There is no excuse for my behavior to you on the phone. But I have to tell you exactly what happened when you called.”
“You were at Jayla’s wedding.”
“I thought you weren’t going to interrupt?”
“Sorry.”
“They had just gotten to the part where they say the thing about forever hold your peace, and I jumped up. She thought I was going to object.”
“You told me that part.”
“Isobel!”
“Sorry!”
With her free hand, she held her lips together while he spoke.
“I wasn’t really trying to stop the wedding, but what was I going to say? That my phone rang? And then she’d ask me who it was and I’d say you, and she’d totally flip a shit. So you put me in a terrible situation.”
I put you…? Isobel thought, squeezing her lips harder.
“But like I said, there was no call for me to go off on you like that. You just hit me at a crazy, kind of emotional moment. So, I’m sorry. I hope you’ll forgive me.” The last few words came out in a rush, and Isobel couldn’t help but smile, even with her fingers clamping her lips.
“Can I talk yet?”
“Yeah.”
“I forgive you. And I screamed at you, too, so I’m sorry.” It was, in its way, hilariously awful, but she didn’t dare laugh. This was a tenuous détente at best.
“The other thing—well, the other two things I wanted to say are, well, first of all I’ve been kind of a dick for a while, and that’s not the person I want to be. So maybe we can patch things up. And, um…” He paused.
“It’s okay. Of course we can be friends,” Isobel said, wanting to laugh and cry at the same time.
“Sorry…this next one’s hard for me.”
“James. I’ve missed you. Does it help if I tell you that?”
“Um, yeah.” He gave a slight laugh. “Actually, it does. What I wanted to say is that I owe you. I mean, I want to make amends. You know what I’m saying?”
“Sort of?” It came out as a question, which Isobel supposed it was.
“I want to make it up to you. I wish I knew what to offer, but if there’s something I can do to make it right between us, I want to do it.”
Warm relief spread through Isobel’s chest. “Well, now that you mention it, there is. The truth is, I was calling you for help the other day. And since we’re being all open and honest, I have to tell you that it required some pride swallowing on my part. That’s why I flipped out right back at you.”
“Jeez, we’re some pair.”
“It would be easier for me to explain in person. I don’t suppose you’d want to meet for coffee or something?”
“That would be great. My treat.”
“I’m in Chelsea, and I have a little errand to finish up now, but I could meet you in an hour or so. Where’s good?”
“There’s a diner on the corner of 58th and Ninth. I have to head down there for class anyway.”
“Perfect. See you there.” She hung up, feeling a sudden rush of goodwill. “Thanks!” she called out to the guard, who gave a tentative, confused wave in return.
She knew what it had taken for James to call her, and she recognized the hand of his AA sponsor. Still, he had done it, and realizing she was important enough that he would make himself vulnerable forced her to admit how much she cared about him—and how much she’d missed him. She continued east on West 19th Street with an added spring in her step, crossing Seventh Avenue with a renewed sense of purpose.
She slowed when she saw the police car parked ahead, its lights flashing silently. Even-numbered buildings ran on the south side, odd numbers on the north. The car was parked in front of a low-rise apartment building on the north side. She continued past the car and casually glanced at the number as she went by.
It was Andrew’s building.
Her heart began to pound, but she kept walking until she reached the corner. Although she was sweating, she pulled on her jacket and let out her ponytail. Not that it would disguise her appearance all that well, but she didn’t want to attract notice by retracing her steps. She shaded her eyes and appraised the neighboring buildings for possible camouflage. There was an antiques store almost directly opposite Andrew’s building. She crossed the street and approached it, pretending to look in the window. A loud voice carried across the street, and she moved between two parked cars to get a better view.
A gray-haired woman in an orange flowered blouse and a clashing red bandanna was hollering at two policemen.
“You gotta let him get a lawyer. Everybody gets to have a lawyer!”
They didn’t respond, nor did Andrew, a wraith-like form cowering between the muscular officers, his hands cuffed behind his back. He looked dazed and disheveled, offering no resistance when one of the cops put a hand on his head and dipped him into the backseat more roughly than necessary. The police car drove off.
If only she hadn’t stopped to talk to James, she would have gotten to Andrew before the police picked him up. She might even have been there when they arrived. Frustrated, Isobel banged her fist against the hood of an SUV and jumped a mile out of her skin when the car alarm went off practically right in her ear.
She
darted into the street, running in front of an approaching car whose driver gave her the finger. The gray-haired woman was leaning against the doorframe, lighting a cigarette.
“Are you a friend of Andrew Dahl’s?” Isobel panted.
“Who?”
“The guy who just got arrested. Are you a friend?”
“He rents from me, but his last name isn’t Dahl.”
“No, I know him,” Isobel said. “Andrew Dahl. He’s an actor.”
The woman snorted. “He may be an actor—says he is, anyway—but it’s Harrison. Andrew Harrison.” The woman peered closer at Isobel. “You say you know him?”
Isobel swallowed hard. “Um, I know who he is.”
At least, I do now, she thought, as the piercing wail of the car alarm continued to shatter the air around her.
TWENTY-FIVE
“I hate to be the ant at your picnic, but it looks like the cops are a step ahead of you on this one,” James said.
They were seated in a booth at the diner, where James was ending his lunch with black coffee, while Isobel nursed a large chocolate shake. She had started with Judge Harrison’s murder and painstakingly led him through all she’d discovered since, right up to the events of the past hour. To her surprise, he listened patiently—she supposed this was part of his penance—and in return for his undiluted attention, she had done her best to be succinct.
“So he changed his name,” she concluded. “Who knew?”
“I don’t know why you’re so surprised. Don’t you actors all take stage names?” James asked. “I thought that was pretty much par for the course.”
“These days people tend to hang on to their birth names, even if they’re unpronounceably ethnic. Usually you only change it if there’s already someone in Actors’ Equity with your name. Then you have no choice.” She drew a cold mouthful of chocolate up through her straw. “Andrew probably wanted to distance himself from his father and carve out a fresh identity for himself. I know I would.”
“And nobody recognized him?” James asked.
“Well, obviously his father did. Andrew must have been the person he spotted across the room. I know Bethany and Maggie saw him for the few minutes he deigned to rehearse.” She chewed her straw. “Bethany might not have recognized him if he’s changed a lot since he was younger. Besides, she was too busy browbeating the busboys. Maggie was new, so she wouldn’t have known him from Adam.”
“You gotta wonder if Andrew knew what the gig was before he showed up,” James said thoughtfully.
Isobel frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Well, either he didn’t know it was a celebration for his father and he freaked out once he got there, or he did know and came prepared to kill him.”
“Of course he came prepared to kill him! Motive, means, opportunity.” Isobel ticked them off on her fingers. “He had all three.”
“But what if he didn’t know?” James held up his hand to stem her imminent objection. “Just think it through for a second. You show up for a gig, and suddenly you find yourself in a situation you’re completely unequipped to deal with emotionally. What do you do?” James sat back. “Exactly what he did: disappear to get stoned and run off when your father gets shot. Plus, didn’t you say there was that clause in the will about drug testing?”
“Yes, but—”
“From what you’re telling me, he’d have been in hot water if his father had seen him stoned. All I’m saying is that there’s a logical explanation for his behavior that doesn’t involve patricide.”
“But you said it yourself: the cops must have something on him, or they wouldn’t have brought him in.”
“That’s not quite what I said. I said the cops were ahead of you, but believe me, they don’t need evidence to haul him in. Just the fact that he’s the victim’s son and he fled the scene of the crime is enough.”
“He’s still the most likely person to have pulled the trigger,” Isobel insisted. “He hated his father for sending him to juvie. He knew his father was the guest of honor, and he came prepared.”
“You said there were two sons. Are you sure he’s the one who went to juvie?” James asked.
Isobel opened her mouth, then closed it. “No. Actually, I have no idea. I just assumed.” She held up a warning finger. “And don’t throw that stupid old adage at me.”
James took a sip of coffee. “Well, considering he’s the only son in the picture at the moment, let’s say he is. What about Angelina Rivington? How likely is it that Andrew knew she was involved in the youth camp? Sounded like Percival had to dig pretty deep for that intel.”
Isobel looked over James’s head at a series of black-and-white photographs of old New York. She squinted at a Depression-era image of a breadline, maybe not the best choice for a diner wall. “Andrew could have been angry that Angelina was getting part of his inheritance—”
“But it wasn’t the part that was potentially available to him,” James reminded her. “If that were the case, Candy is the one he’d have wanted dead. And this is all assuming he knew what was in his father’s will. And that doesn’t make sense, because if he knew, he’d never have popped off pop when he was stoned. That would be the worst possible time for the old man to kick the bucket. It could completely blow his chance at an inheritance.”
“You really pay attention, don’t you?” Isobel said, admiration showing in her voice.
He shrugged. “I love this stuff. That’s why I want to be a lawyer.”
Isobel shook her head, bewildered. “I don’t get it. I mean, you helped me work through these things before, but it was always against your will.”
He let out a hearty laugh. “Well, yeah! Because our jobs were on the line.”
“And now?”
“This is my job, or it’s going to be anyway. Now we just gotta find you one.”
Isobel felt her cheeks grow warm, and she drew on her straw for more milk shake. The glass was empty, so she spooned a few cubes of ice from her water into her mouth.
“Delphi’s trying to get me a job at her restaurant.”
“I thought you couldn’t wait tables,” James was indignant. “That’s the whole reason you strong-armed me into sending you on a temp job. Were you bullshitting me?”
“No!” She worked the ice into one cheek and talked around it. “And I told her all about the lobsters. But they need a temporary hostess. How can I mess that up?”
“Don’t you know never to ask questions like that?”
She crunched her ice and swallowed it. “Oh, ye of little faith.”
“I do have faith in you.”
“Faith in me to mess up?”
They regarded each other warily across the table. Isobel knew they were skirting the porous border between teasing and arguing.
She let out a long, slow breath. “Acting on the evidence at hand, counselor, your concern is justified.”
He reached out and gave her hand a squeeze. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
Isobel was hyperaware of the surprising softness of James’s skin against hers. She felt him pull away, but she gripped his fingers harder and her eyes met his.
“Thank you for calling. I need your help more than ever. I can’t do this one without you.” She squinted at him. “Are you blushing? I can’t tell.”
James burst out laughing and withdrew his hand. “That was so obliviously racist it was almost cute. Yeah, whatever, I’m blushing. Now that I think of it, you never did tell me why you were calling in the first place. What is it you think I can help with?”
Isobel sat back against the banquette. “I wanted the names of kids the judge sent to the camp. But now with Andrew arrested, I guess it’s not really necessary.”
James rattled his coffee cup in the saucer. “If they can’t pin it on him, those names would be worth having.”
“Percival tried, but juvenile court records are sealed, so I figured I needed someone with connections in the legal field, like, oh, I don’t know…you.”
/> James interlaced his fingers and leaned his chin against them. “Well, I’m just a lowly sophomore, but I’m taking a class on juvenile corrections. It meets this afternoon, in fact. Maybe my professor can steer me in the right direction.”
“What do I have to do to convince you to ask?” Isobel batted her eyelashes.
“Stop doing that thing with your eyes, for one thing.”
“Okay, fine. Will you help?”
“Of course. That’s what making amends is all about. I owe you.”
Now it was her turn to blush. “I owe you, too.”
“For what?”
Isobel stared at the drawings of festive cocktails on the paper place mat and traced the Pink Lady with her fingertip. “For giving me my start when I first came to New York, and for always being there when I need you.”
“But I’m not,” he said with a touch of sadness. “Not always.”
She looked up and gave him her sweetest, most sincere smile. “Maybe not right away, but in the end, you usually come around.”
TWENTY-SIX
As much as James hated to admit it, lunch with Isobel had lightened his mood, even though he still had to make amends to Jayla and Lily. In a way, Isobel had been both the most and least scary of the three to face. But in retrospect, he should have known that, approached delicately, she’d make things easy for him. She had, and he was grateful. Lily was less likely to be so magnanimous, and Jayla…well, he didn’t want to contemplate where that conversation would go. Fortunately, she was on her honeymoon, so he could postpone it for another few weeks. Lily was a different story, but he decided to invoke “one day at a time” and give himself the rest of this one off. Besides, in order to complete his amends to Isobel, he had to follow through on his promise to find a record of inmates at that horrific youth camp.
There but for the grace of God, he thought.
He flashed his ID at the top of the school escalators and rode down to the lobby level, where he passed through the airy concourse to the New Building and his class in Administration of Correctional Programs for Juveniles. Professor Zoe Lin was a steely, laser-focused woman in her late thirties, who favored gray pantsuits and tortoiseshell glasses. He found he paid more attention than usual today to her lecture about probation issues and wondered what, if anything, she knew about Empire State Youth Camp.
And Justice for Some Page 14
