by Marti Green
I called hospice, and Janice arrived an hour later. She made the official pronouncement of death, after which I called the Frederick Canton Funeral Chapel, and they came and took away Dad’s body. The funeral home I’d chosen, located on the Upper West Side, was the place the rich and famous were taken when they’d drawn their last breaths. With its own security staff that ensured only those invited to the funeral were granted access, and its lovely chapel, it had gained a reputation as the top funeral home in Manhattan.
Once Dad was gone, I stayed in the apartment with my grandfather. Neither of us wanted to be alone, and even though Ben waited at our townhouse, I would still feel alone there. We both began making phone calls, to family, to friends. Despite Detective Saldinger’s caution about Mallory, I felt an urge to call her. She picked up on the first ring.
“He’s gone, isn’t he?” were her first words.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry, Charly. I know how much pain you’re in now.”
“Because of how you felt when your mother died?”
“No. It’s something else. I felt overcome with sadness about three hours ago. Is that when he passed?”
I was speechless. Since meeting Mallory, we’d both noted similarities in our tastes, in our habits. But this? She was right, though. Three hours ago, I was sobbing in my grandfather’s arms. Somehow, it made me feel better to know how connected we were. “So, it’s going to start soon. Ben’s plan.”
“Don’t think about that now. Just mourn your father. And call me whenever you need to talk.”
The next few days passed in a blur. Poppy helped me pick out a casket. The funeral home had every kind imaginable, with prices that soared into six figures, but Dad wouldn’t have wanted that. Instead, we picked out a classic mahogany casket with solid brass trim. From there, we headed to Dad’s church and met with Reverend Stokes, Dad’s minister at the Park Avenue United Methodist Church. He would conduct the service, and even though he knew Dad well, we filled him in on his life.
Three days after his death, we held the wake. Over two days, more than five hundred people came to pay their respects, and most cornered me to say what a wonderful person he was. By the time the funeral was held, I’d cried myself out. I sat there, in the first pew, Ben on one side and Poppy on the other, as one by one, family and close friends walked to the front to eulogize Dad. I only half listened. All I could think about was that in a few days, the man sitting by my side, my husband, would text a man to say, It’s time to kill my wife.
Shortly after 10:00 p.m., I got a call from Mallory.
“It’s going to happen Friday night. I just spoke to Detective Saldinger and let him know. Ben will be at a Knicks game. Are you ready?”
I was. I almost looked forward to it. I had one more call to make, to my sculptor showing in the Whitney Biennial. “Sergei? It’s happening Friday. Is it finished?”
“Da.”
“Good. You know what to do, right?”
“Pictures. I bring them to detective.”
“That’s right.”
“I wish I knew why you need.”
“Better that you don’t. And thank you again for your help.”
I hung up and smiled. Everything was set.
CHAPTER 43
I was jittery all day Friday. I had spoken to Detective Saldinger the evening before, going over the plans once more. “Are you sure you can’t have one of your men inside the house with me?” I’d asked.
“This guy’s an army sniper. They’re used to making themselves invisible. I don’t want to take the chance that he’s staked out your house from early in the day and spots someone entering and not leaving. But I promise you, we’ll be nearby. He won’t see us until he tries to go in your back door, and then we’ll be right on top of him.”
Tonight, my life was going to change. I kept watching the clock, waiting for the time when the basketball game would start. I knew Ben would then be at Madison Square Garden. He’d never miss the beginning of his precious Knicks game. He seemed to care more about them than anything else. Maybe even more than his girlfriend. More important, Detective Saldinger had agreed with me that, even with Mallory stepping in to take my place, Ben would want to establish he was at the game if something went wrong.
Even though I hadn’t yet returned to work, I tried to stay out of the house as much as I could during the day. It made me too nervous to just sit around. With every man walking behind me, or next to me, or even in front of me, I wondered if he was the one. The man hired to murder me. So many men I passed looked similar to Mallory’s sketch. I spent the morning shopping—always a stress reliever—and the afternoon touring the Met, returning to my townhouse a little after 5:00 p.m.
The game started at 7:30 p.m. I turned on the television, and once I saw the tip-off, I went into my closet and pulled down a duffel bag from the top shelf. I couldn’t take what I already owned with me, on the off chance that Ben would notice if some of my things were missing. So, over the past few weeks, I’d purchased a few new clothes as well as cosmetics and toiletries. They were already packed inside the bag.
I took off my engagement ring and placed it inside my jewelry box, then tossed the comforter on the bed, to make it look like it had been thrown off me. There was nothing to do now but wait. It was already dark outside. The man my husband had hired could come at any time, but I thought it likely he’d wait. The sidewalks were still busy with neighbors coming home from work or heading out to dinner.
I sat on my bed and attempted to read a book, but it was hard to concentrate. All day I’d been second-guessing my decision to let this go ahead. What if the hit man evaded the detectives? After all, he’d managed to disappear the night Mallory had met him, leaving the police scratching their heads. More frightening, what if he got past them and entered my home without their knowing? I scooted over to Ben’s side of the bed and opened the top drawer of his night table. I took out the handgun nestled under some papers, checked that it was loaded, and then returned to my side of the bed. I felt better with the gun on my lap.
My bedroom faced the front of the house. I’d already checked and had seen that Ben had left a key under our welcome mat at the back door. That’s where he’d enter—the hit man. I knew that I shouldn’t, that I should stay put, but by the time 9:00 p.m. rolled around, every ten minutes I went into the guest bedroom, which faced the rear yard, and pressed my ear to the window, listening for something—for anything.
I had just entered the guest bedroom again at 9:50 p.m. when I heard the sound of a handle being turned. Seconds later—or maybe it was minutes, the fear that filled me having taken away all sense of time—there were loud voices and what seemed like a scuffle coming from the kitchen. I ran back to my bedroom, grabbed my gun, and pulled the blanket up to my chin. My body shook all over, and beads of sweat dripped down into my eyes.
Moments later, I heard footsteps coming up the stairs and briefly wondered whether I should run into the bathroom. No, I reasoned. My bed faced the door. From this perch, I could immediately see whoever came in. I’d have a clear shot if it was the hit man. My heart felt like it was going two hundred beats per minute.
It seemed to take forever for the steps to reach my door. Slowly, it opened. I held the gun in front of me, pointed straight ahead.
“Charly?”
It was Detective Saldinger. I rushed out of bed and threw my arms around him. When I let him go, he said, “We have him. We have the guy.” He looked me over. “You okay?”
I nodded. My heart was slowing down, almost back to normal.
“We can end it now. I can wait here and arrest your husband as soon as he returns home.”
I thought about that. It was the safe bet. They had the hit man. They would arrest Ben. Mallory, too, I supposed. I could return to a normal life. But it didn’t feel finished yet. My rage at Ben was still boiling inside me. I knew he had enough money to hire the best criminal defense attorneys. Maybe they’d say he was suffering from some temp
orary delusions, some type of mental illness. He’d probably point the finger at Mallory, say she came up with the idea, and fed into this illness. What if he got six months in a psychiatric facility, then walked free? I couldn’t bear the thought of that.
“I want to finish our plan. I want to leave.”
Saldinger nodded. “You ready to go?”
“Yes.” I picked up my duffel bag and walked out of the room and down the stairs. The hit man was seated on my living room couch, his hands cuffed, and two policemen stood over him. Saldinger led me outside to his car, then drove me out to LaGuardia Airport.
I’d been careful to book my ticket for Florida from the gallery’s computer. If Ben harbored any suspicions, he would find nothing to shore them up at home. When I arrived at the airport, I said goodbye to Saldinger, then checked in for my 11:15 p.m. flight. My grandfather had left me a key to his house before he’d flown home so that I wouldn’t need to wake him when I got there.
By the time I arrived at my gate, I had a half hour before boarding started. I called Mallory.
“I’m at the airport now.”
“What happened? I’ve been on pins and needles waiting for someone to call me.”
“They got him. The hit man.”
“Thank God. And you’re okay?”
“Not a scratch.”
“Good. Nervous?”
“No. You’re the one who should be. You have to pass for me. And convince Ben you’re still going along with him.”
“I’ve been convincing him ever since you and I met. He’s so anxious to collect your money, he’ll believe anything now.”
My money. An obscene amount of money. I’d never given it any thought while growing up. It was simply there, available for me to have whatever I wanted, from parents willing to indulge my every wish. That didn’t change once I’d married. Ben had a handsome salary from Dad’s business, and just like it had been when I was growing up, I’d never wanted for anything. Granted, my tastes weren’t extravagant. At least, not for the circles I traveled in. I owned no furs and no diamonds, aside from my engagement ring, which Ben had paid for; one diamond pendant necklace that my father had bought me when I’d turned twenty-one; and two pairs of diamond earrings. I wore designer clothes, but that was required in my line of work. And I had more shoes than any woman should own—my own personal extravagance.
When this charade was over, I would be enormously wealthy, and Mallory would still have little. “I was thinking. You’ve saved my life. Literally. When this is over, I want to give you some money.”
There was silence on the other end. Finally, Mallory said, her voice soft, “That’s not why I came forward. I don’t want money. I want a sister.”
Detective Saldinger was wrong about Mallory. She wouldn’t turn on me. Not now. I was certain of that.
I slept until after 10:00 a.m. and woke to bright sunshine streaming through the slats of the wooden shutters covering my bedroom window. I walked into the kitchen and found my grandfather sitting at the table, reading a newspaper.
“Well, the princess has awakened,” he said.
I walked over and kissed his cheek, then poured myself a cup of coffee from the pot.
“There’s a box of donuts over there,” Poppy said, pointing to a spot next to the refrigerator.
“Ugh. Too much sugar. You shouldn’t have them, either.”
“When you get to my age, why not? I’m not going to last forever. I might as well enjoy the remaining years.”
Suddenly, tears welled up in my eyes. “Don’t say that. I need you.”
His face dropped. “I’m sorry, Pips. That was insensitive.” He smiled. “Besides, I’ve got strong genes. I’m going to be around for a good long while.”
I finished my coffee, then dressed for a run. I’d left behind temperatures in the thirties and welcomed the seventy-two degrees that greeted me. By midday, it would reach the low eighties. I understood why my grandfather didn’t want to return to New York. Tomorrow, I would head for the beach. Today, after my run, I needed to shop for clothes. And maybe a piece of jewelry to perk me up. I deserved it.
The next day, I got a call from Detective Saldinger. “Where are you?”
“At my grandfather’s, in Florida.”
“Okay. Two things. First, the guy your husband hired, his name is Daniel Clark. He was asked to leave the service with a psychiatric discharge. We searched his apartment and found a hundred grand in cash under his mattress. We couldn’t get anything out of him, even after we said we knew Ben hired him. Completely mum. We did find a picture in his room of him and another guy in uniform. We checked it out, and the other guy’s name is Jeff Mullin, who, as it turns out, went to high school with your husband.”
“His name sounds vaguely familiar, although I don’t think Ben was in regular touch with him.”
“Our best guess is that Ben reached out to Mullin, and Mullin put him in touch with Clark. If that’s true, it helps show that your husband was the one controlling the situation. I have some guys out to pick up Mullin now. Hopefully, he’ll be more talkative. Otherwise, Mallory’s testimony is going to be key.”
“What’s the second thing?”
“I have to tell you, from the pictures I just saw of what’s supposed to be you, I’d be convinced you were really dead.”
“You met with Sergei.”
“I just came from his studio. Did you ask him to be so gruesome, or was that his idea?”
I laughed. “All mine. I wanted Ben to be really sick about what he’d arranged.”
“I’m glad I didn’t ask him to just drop the cell phone off at the station. I mean, it was really spooky how lifelike the body parts were. If I just saw the pictures, I’d think you really were dead. Sergei brought me back into his studio and showed me the bodies he’d sculpted. If I walked past any one of them sitting on a park bench, I’d probably sit down and start a conversation. That’s how realistic they are.”
“He’s very talented.”
“So, here’s what’s next. I’m going to leave the phone with the pictures under your back doormat tomorrow night. My guess is that Ben will get Mallory down to the city right away. As soon as she and Ben change the prenuptial agreement, we’ll arrest him.”
“Don’t we need to wait for the estate to be settled?”
“Nope. The DA says revoking the prenup is enough to show motive.”
“Can I ask you to hold off a few days?”
“Why?”
“I’d like to come back to New York and confront him with Mallory, get him to confess.”
“Absolutely not! It’s much too dangerous.”
“We can do it in my house. I’ll be wired, and you can be right outside.”
“Look, we don’t need a confession. We have the recording from when Mallory and Ben met up with Clark. And we’ll have the changed prenup, which shows the reason he did this. He’s going away for a long time.”
“I want him to admit it was his idea, not Mallory’s. Please. I really need to do this. I need to see his face when he first realizes that it’s over for him. That instead of getting away with murder, he’s going to spend the rest of his life in prison.”
I heard a deep sigh over the phone. “All right. I shouldn’t say yes, but you’ve been through a lot. I’ll give you this.”
“Thank you, Detective.” As I hung up, I could feel my excitement rise. I could already picture Ben’s face when he saw the two of us together. First shock, then realization, then panic. I felt great.
CHAPTER 44
“It’s done,” Mallory told me three days after I’d fled to Florida. “I’m heading to your house in a few minutes.”
“Did Ben say anything about the pictures?”
“Just that he got them.”
I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall when he’d flipped through the photos on the cell phone and seen my severed head. I knew Ben well. He had no stomach for gore. I hoped he had nightmares from seeing Sergei’s handiwor
k.
I still had to wait for Ben to take Mallory to Goldfarb’s office to revoke the prenuptial agreement. A cagier man might take months to do that in order to dispel questions, but I knew Ben. He was probably itchy to get that done. If he didn’t act fairly quickly on his own, though, Mallory was prepared to prompt him. Until then, it was comfortable being with Poppy, away from winter. After months of watching my father die, it felt like a needed vacation.
My grandfather lived on the twenty-first floor of a high-rise condo in a three bedroom, four-bath apartment overlooking the ocean in Bal Harbour, at the northern tip of Miami Beach. Everything about the building and the community was ultraluxurious. He’d spent the bulk of his career in Manhattan real estate, constructing high-end buildings, and built up a fortune in the process. He’d hoped Dad would take it over, but it didn’t turn out that way. Dad’s interest in money was purer—he wanted to deal with it directly. Even though Poppy was disappointed, he gave Dad the seed money he’d needed to start his own hedge fund.
After my grandmother died, Poppy moved his business down to southern Florida. He was now semiretired, letting his longtime chief operating officer handle the day-to-day matters. As a wealthy widower, he had more than enough women clamoring for his attention and was usually out every night with one or another. He was still attractive and only a bit overweight. He was always saying he needed to take off a few pounds, and I was always telling him to go to the gym. He’d just laugh at me. “That’s for you young folk,” he’d say.
This week he was staying in with me, even though I’d told him it wasn’t necessary. “Let’s go to Carpaccio for dinner tonight,” he said when I came back from the building’s lagoon-shaped pool. The ocean had beckoned just a few feet away, but I preferred the lounges by the pool, where I wasn’t constantly shaking off sand.
