And Justice for Some

by Joanne Sydney Lessner

  “I know the reason.” Delphi got up. “You don’t want this to be done and dusted without you.” She slammed the bathroom door behind her.

  Was that really it? Isobel wondered. Was it that she didn’t want it to be over? She picked up the phone and absently pressed play.

  She heard her own voice, blatting and tinny: “I could not for the life of me remember where I’d set it down.”

  But in the brief moment between her final words and the end of the recording, Bethany’s voice came through distinctly.

  “…you can’t. Maggie’s gone.”

  THIRTY

  James shaded his eyes and looked up at the red brick building, trying to guess which of the fourth-floor windows was Isobel’s. The curtains were still drawn on all of them, even though it was almost 10:00 a.m., but at this point he didn’t care about waking her. He just wanted to tell her what he had learned from Professor Lin and make sure she was safe—not necessarily in that order. It troubled him that Isobel, who he knew was addicted to her iPhone, hadn’t picked up his calls last night or returned the message he’d finally left. His first thought was that she was with Hugh, and he’d had to work hard to master the strange mix of emotions that overtook him. But as the evening wore on, he felt certain that even if she were with that twerp, she’d have checked her phone at some point. On the other hand, he reasoned, if she was with Hugh, it might have been difficult for her to steal a moment to call him back.

  He’d never been to her apartment before, although she had once been to his when he had not picked up his phone and she’d been concerned—as it turned out, rightly so. Even though he could easily justify his presence outside her building, he still felt like he was crossing some sort of line. He doubted Isobel had felt similar reservations about showing up at his place unexpectedly. He tried to channel her certainty by reminding himself that he possessed information she had asked him to find—and which he had found, in spades.

  A sleepy voice answered the buzzer. “H’lo?”

  “It’s James. Can I come up?”

  There was a pause before he was buzzed in, and he imagined the frenzied preparations his arrival had prompted. But when he rang the doorbell, it was Delphi, clad in gym shorts and a tank top, rubbing sleep from her eyes, who let him in.

  “Sorry to wake you. Is Isobel here?”

  Delphi yawned and pointed across the room to a mattress on the floor. Isobel lay on her back, her straight brown hair tangled in a halo around her head. She had one arm flung over her eyes against the sun streaming in the only window, which, he now realized, did not face the street. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but he was surprised at how cramped and cluttered her apartment was, even though he recognized that as far as studios went, it was a decent size. His spacious one bedroom in Harlem was smartly decorated (largely by Jayla), and he did his best to keep it clean. This place was a mess.

  He followed the clearest path of floor he could find and knelt beside Isobel. Pushing thoughts of Sleeping Beauty from his mind, he turned to Delphi and shrugged a question.

  “Proceed at your own risk,” she warned and escaped to the bathroom.

  He shook Isobel’s arm gently. “Hey, it’s James.”

  If he expected her to wake up slowly, confused and foggy, he was mistaken. She shot bolt upright, clutching her comforter to her chest and sending him back on his heels.

  “Omigod! We didn’t—you didn’t—I don’t remember a thing!”

  James stared at her, astonished, before he exploded with laughter that drove away any residual annoyance at her for willfully ignoring his calls.

  Her face went red as she realized her mistake. “Shut up!” She smacked him on the chest, which only made him laugh harder.

  “I’m sorry! Maybe flattered, I don’t know. Just not what I expected.”

  “Well, you’re not what I expected! Jesus, James, what the hell are you doing here?”

  Momentarily distracted by the rise and fall of her chest, he judged it best to simply answer the question.

  “I called you like ten times last night, and you didn’t pick up. I was worried.”

  “So you broke into my house?”

  “Delphi let me in.” He gestured vaguely to the area where she’d been standing.

  Isobel was sitting up now, pulling a University of Wisconsin sweatshirt over her head. Her voice was muffled. “I started at the restaurant last night and left my phone home.” Her head popped into the hood. “Then we were up late listening to a recording we made on Delphi’s phone. You’ll never guess who ate at Vino Rosso last night.”

  He folded his arms. “Amaze me.”

  “Gordon Lang and Bethany Balsam. Harrison’s lawyer and assistant. We put the phone on record and left it on the windowsill behind them.”

  “You did what?”

  She brushed off his disapproval. “They were talking about a website where people blog anonymously about their experiences at the camp. There are some vague threats on there and someone claiming to be Andrew.” She grabbed a tissue from a box beside her bed and blew her nose messily, which James found surprisingly endearing.

  She crumpled the tissue and pitched it across the room, missing the pink plastic garbage can by a country mile. “So that’s one thing. Also Maggie, the clerk who hired us, seems to be gone, whatever that means exactly. I’m not entirely sure. That’s the upshot.”

  “Refreshingly brief. I should always try you when you first wake up.”

  She waved a pair of jeans in his face and gestured for him to avert his eyes. “Do you mind?”

  “I thought you actors had no modesty,” he said, complying.

  “With other actors. Not with…”

  He waited to see how she would categorize him, but she only said, “Okay, you can turn around.” She was fully dressed now and brushing the tangles from her hair. “What was so urgent last night?”

  “Your buddy Peter’s a lawyer.”

  Isobel rolled her eyes. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Okay, he defended a lot of kids who went before Harrison and got sent to the camp.”

  “What?” She plopped onto her knees and bounced excitedly on her mattress. “How did you find out?”

  James moved aside a pile of discarded clothes and sat next to her. “One of my professors knew all about it. If you want a list of who was sent there, Peter is your best bet.”

  Isobel gazed up at the ceiling. “That’s why he’s protecting Andrew. Peter must know who he really is and thinks he killed his father. Maybe Andrew did kill him and Peter helped.” She leaped up and started pacing. “I mean, did Peter get the gig first and then tell Andrew? Or did Andrew tell Peter about the party, and then Peter got himself hired?”

  “Slow down!”

  Her hand sliced the air decisively. “The point is it all comes back to Peter. He’s the key. We have to get those names.”

  “Do we?” James hauled himself off the mattress and paced over to a bookshelf. He tilted his head to read the spines and absently pulled out a script.

  “What do you mean? Of course we do.”

  He didn’t like the flint in her voice and decided that keeping his back to her would better deflect her tenacity. “We’ve found the connection between Peter and Andrew. Now you know Peter was covering for him.”

  She grabbed his arm and spun him around. “So we just let it go?”

  They both glanced down at the script in his hand, Uncommon Women and Others. She raised an eyebrow, and he quickly stuffed it back on the shelf and paced into the kitchen. Delphi had emerged from the bathroom dressed and was pouring orange juice.

  James perched on a barstool and gratefully accepted a glass. “According to Professor Lin, Peter goes out of his way to help the kids once they get out,” he said.

  “So?” Isobel sat on the other stool.

  “So let him do his work.”

  “But if he had something to do with killing Harrison and Rivington—”

  “It’s not you
r responsibility to deliver him to justice.”

  Isobel gaped at him. “And you’re going to be a lawyer?”

  “Look, they’ve got Andrew. If Andrew is innocent, he’ll lead them to Peter. Your work is done.”

  A muscle twitched in her cheek. “I still want to see the list.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to know if there was anyone else at The Hostelry that night who Harrison sent to the camp.”

  “Why should there be?” Delphi asked. “The fact that there was one is explained by his being Harrison’s kid.”

  “But that’s not the reason he was there!”

  “You’re just being stubborn,” James said. “A minute ago, you decided Andrew did it and Peter helped. If that’s true, the police are on the case. Why can’t you just leave it there?”

  “I don’t know!” Isobel put her head in her hands. “Something about it seems wrong to me.” She raised her head. “Like why did Andrew kill his father in public where someone might have seen and recognized him?”

  “Because they were estranged, and there was no other opportunity to get near him,” Delphi suggested.

  “There had to be a less conspicuous way,” Isobel insisted.

  “Maybe Andrew didn’t care whether or not he was caught,” James said.

  “Then why did he run?”

  “Because it’s a perfectly understandable response in the heat of the moment, and there’s a difference between not caring if you’re caught and hanging around actively drooling over the handcuffs.” He downed the rest of his orange juice and stood up. “Look, do what you want. You always do. I’ve discharged my part of the agreement.”

  “‘Discharged your part of the agreement,’” Isobel repeated, an edge to her voice. “I thought you were helping me because we’re friends.”

  He turned to Delphi. “It would be nice if just once I could say the right thing.”

  Delphi regarded him without sympathy. “One of these days I’m going to smack your thick heads together. I’ve never in my life seen a conversation escalate faster than with you two. And I have five sisters!”

  James took a deep breath and tried again. “Let Professor Lin and her task force pursue the people behind Empire State, and let the police pursue the killer, whether or not it turns out to be Andrew.”

  He could see Isobel struggling to contain a retort. Finally, she gave a resigned sigh. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

  He blinked. “Really?”

  She threw up her hands. “Now who can’t say the right thing? I’ll stop. You’re right. It’s dangerous and none of my business. And thank you. Thank you for finding out about the list and Peter, and thank you for coming over this morning because you were worried about me.”

  He tried to read her expression, but her gray-green eyes shone with sincerity. “That’s what friends do,” he said.

  She hopped off her stool and steered him toward the door. “Next time give me a little advance warning so I can straighten up.” To his surprise, she stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. “I mean it. I really appreciate it.”

  He gave Isobel a quick, awkward hug and left. Despite the kiss, he suspected he was getting the bum’s rush. He didn’t trust Isobel’s sudden and total acquiescence, but he couldn’t see a way to call her out on it without igniting a fresh argument.

  Well, he’d done his best, and his amends were complete. There was nothing to do but swallow his doubts and go back to school.

  THIRTY-ONE

  “You may be fooling James, but you’re not fooling me,” Delphi said, clearing away the orange juice glasses.

  Isobel stared reflectively at the apartment door. “I’m not fooling James, either.” She sighed and swept her hair up, securing her ponytail with the black rubber band that lived on her wrist. “We’re just going to have to agree to disagree.”

  “That’s not exactly how you left it,” Delphi observed wryly. She leaned against the refrigerator and snapped the dish towel at Isobel. “So, what are you going to do?”

  Isobel shrugged. “Don’t know yet.”

  “Not to keep harping on it, but I really don’t understand why you think there’s more to find out.”

  With a burst of restless energy, Isobel began to prowl the room, collecting scattered articles of clothing, sheets of music, and empty chip bags. She wished she could give Delphi—and herself—a satisfactory answer. It wasn’t stubbornness, willful meddling, or a penchant for drama. Something was nibbling at her subconscious, but she couldn’t identify it. She scooped up a sports bra with her toes and tossed it, catching it in her hand. The place really was a mess. What must James have thought? She didn’t particularly care for the turquoise-and-brown decor, but at least his place was spare and neat, an adult haven. She suddenly felt like a ten-year-old on a sleepover.

  “Do I get an answer to my question? Here, I’ll take that.” Delphi held out her hand for the bra, which she stuffed into a laundry bag hanging on the closet doorknob.

  “There’s some detail…some little thing… I can’t put my finger on it.” Isobel knelt down and reached for the dirty socks that fanned out in every direction like spokes on a wheel. “We should keep this place neater.”

  “So when guys drop in unexpectedly we don’t embarrass ourselves by revealing that we occasionally resort to shapewear?”

  “No, because clutter makes a small place look smaller.”

  Delphi grumbled in response but pitched in anyway, and in about twenty minutes the room was improved, if not exactly transformed. Isobel collapsed onto her neatly made air mattress and surveyed their accomplishment.

  “All it needs now is a little attention with a dust rag and vacuum.” She waved at Delphi, who was lying diagonally across her bed, her tumbled curls cascading down the side. “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your—holy shit!”

  Delphi pulled herself up and clutched her curls fearfully. “What? Is it my roots?”

  “I know what’s bugging me.” Isobel catapulted to her feet in a smooth motion, her hands waving wildly. “At The Hostelry when Harrison said, ‘What the hell is he doing here?’ Andrew wasn’t there! Remember? We couldn’t find him. He was MIA for that whole first part of the evening. And Peter didn’t do the cocktail hour. Harrison must have seen someone else.”

  “Someone he sent to the camp?”

  “Who else could it be? Presumably everyone else there was a friend or colleague. The point is it was someone he was not happy to see, someone he didn’t expect to see, and it wasn’t Andrew.” Isobel strode over to the kitchen counter, where she’d left her laptop, and began typing. “Here’s the other thing,” she went on. “It explains why Candy didn’t say anything about Andrew being there. She didn’t see him either.”

  “And if she did see whoever Harrison saw, she either didn’t recognize him or wasn’t surprised.”

  “Right. Now I really want that list. Did you deposit Peter’s check yet?”

  “No, why?”

  “Let me see it.”

  Delphi easily located the check on her now neatly organized dresser.

  Isobel glanced at the imprinted address. “He’s not far from Sarah’s office.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re going over there.”

  Isobel closed the laptop and reached for her phone. She saw all the missed calls from James, plus two from Hugh. “Thanks to James, I see the value of the ambush, so yes.” As she dialed into her voicemail, she briefly wondered why Hugh hadn’t troubled to show up at her door.

  “I’m coming with you,” Delphi declared.

  Isobel made the universal “hold on a moment” sign and listened to Hugh’s messages.

  “Hey, sorry I haven’t called. I’ve been holed up in auditions all day and coaching every night. Anyway, the coast is clear for a bit. Call me.”

  She looked at the date stamp. It was from the weekend. How had she missed that? She pressed the second message. “Hope you got my last message. Don’t be cross—I was really tied up, and not
in the fun way. Right. Do you want to catch a movie tonight? Whoever picks the movie, the other picks dinner.”

  Isobel guiltily set the phone on the counter. It was bad enough she hadn’t clocked his first message, but the truth was she’d been so caught up with everything else that she hadn’t even noticed they’d been out of touch.

  “Bad news?” Delphi asked.

  “No, just…never mind.” She slid off the stool and stuffed her phone into her pocket. “Anyway, you don’t have to come with me.”

  “Yes, I do. The man owns firearms.”

  Isobel placed an affectionate hand on Delphi’s shoulder. “You’d take a bullet for me? That’s sweet.”

  Delphi shook her off. “I’d run for help. But I’m not letting you go alone. If you don’t want me, get James back or call Hugh.”

  “Okay, you win. Let’s go.”

  Isobel locked the door and followed Delphi down the stairs, wondering what show Hugh had been playing auditions for and why he hadn’t told her about it—which reminded her of the Sousa musical. She hadn’t asked him to play for her audition yet. She reached for her phone, but changed her mind. It didn’t feel right to return two days of messages just because she was looking for a favor. Instead, she went into hyper-chatty mode, which, to her surprise, Delphi tolerated. It wasn’t until they crossed Park Avenue at 39th Street that Isobel spotted the telltale white earbuds.

  Delphi removed them and pointed. “That’s it.”

  Isobel looked at the apartment building, made of the postwar white brick that was ubiquitous on the East Side. “He must work from home. Hope we’re not catching him out of the tub or anything.”

  She held the buzzer until a voice came over the intercom.

  “Who is it?”

  “Isobel and Delphi. We need to talk to you. It’s urgent.”

  “Who?”

  “Isobel and Delphi. From The Hostelry gig.”

  “Just a sec.”

  Delphi gave a mock sigh. “How quickly they forget.”