“McSwain.”
“Is this the private eye guy who came to Henderson Carlyle’s loft last week?”
“One and the same. Who is this?” Jimmy asked.
“Billy Potter, his downstairs neighbor.”
Jimmy had left his car, and told him to call if he had any new information to share.
“I remember. How can I help you?”
“Are you near? Could you stop over? I’d rather do this in person.”
“Do what?”
“Information I think you’ll want. I’m home for an hour, before I have to report to the gym.”
“I’m not far,” Jimmy said.
He ended the call, swiped his card, and soon began the journey back to Manhattan. What could have changed in a week, that’s what kept his mind occupied as the train rattled through the long tunnel back into the city. He needed the East Side, Mercer Street at Houston Street, but he figured he’d make better time by staying on the express train to Canal Street, switching then to the local #1. He got off at Houston Street, walked east along the wide boulevard that separated the city’s grid from the narrow, winding complex set of side streets that made up Lower Manhattan. He was there within thirty minutes, ringing the buzzer of the first-floor apartment.
“Hello?”
“Jimmy McSwain.”
“That was fast.”
“I was in Brooklyn Heights, quick trip. We gonna talk through the intercom?”
“I’ll be out in a sec.”
A cautious guy, it would be the second time they would have met in front of the building. He showed up, gym bag in hand, his body dressed in a spandex outfit. Jimmy remembered he said he was a trainer at Equinox. He also remembered the guy inviting him inside his home for a bit of afternoon distraction. Clearly that wasn’t going to be offered a second time. Jimmy didn’t mind. He was still trying to adjust his mind from one case to another, curious what the buffed Billy Potter had to offer to him.
He opened the door, stepped out so they both stood on the sidewalk.
“You said you had some information for me?”
“Yeah, about that other murder.”
“Other murder?”
“You’re investigating Henderson Carlyle’s demise, right?”
Doubly-so, Jimmy thought. “Yes, you know that already.”
“What about that guy who got iced the same way?”
“Robbie Danvers?”
“Yeah, what’s with those pretentious names anyway? Like their parents were deliberately trying to get them killed. Anyway I told you that Henderson had male company when he wasn’t bringing home those society ladies. That’s the guy…I saw his photo in the paper.”
“Are you saying Robbie Danvers was Henderson Carlyle’s lover?”
“Well, I mean, I never saw or heard anything, but I’d see him a lot, arriving late at night or leaving early in the morning.”
It was certainly interesting information. Jimmy needed time to process it.
“You’re sure?”
“As much as I think those preppy, entitled blond boys look alike, I knew it was him.”
“Which tells you what?”
“Well, it makes sense that whoever killed Henderson probably killed this Danvers guy. Why, who knows. That’s your job. I just wanted to let you know…because, well, I’m really a good guy. I’m sorry if I came strong the first time we met. Lucky guy who lands you, Jimmy. Relationships suck. They can drain you, take more of your time than you can give it. Hookups work for me. You meet, you have your fun, and you leave. Anyway I’ve got to get to work. I hope I’ve helped. Henderson was a jerk of a neighbor, but no one deserves an end like that. And to know that his lover met the same end, well, it just ate at me these last couple of days. I held your card in my hand, wondering what the best course of action was. I finally called.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“Does it help you?”
A good question that Jimmy had no answer to. Instead he just offered up his thanks to Billy Potter for being conscientious, and then the two men went their separate ways, Billy to the gym where he could work out his frustrations, Jimmy simply walking along the busy streets of the East Village trying to absorb the information he’d received. Henderson and Robbie lovers, but both of them indulging in sexual relationships with Serena Carson. What was that about? Had they targeted her, looking for a big payday, or was something darker going on, their suspect motives now buried alongside the two corpses?
Jimmy hailed a cab. He was tired of the subway.
“Where to, sonny?” the cabbie asked.
“Home,” came Jimmy’s first response. He realized it wasn’t helpful and finally provided a destination. The cab shot forward up 6th Avenue. Jimmy sat back, his mind swirling. He felt like his day of investigation had provided many clues and many avenues to pursue. He needed a quiet night in which to process all he’d learned. The next day would reveal more, perhaps more truths than he was willing to admit to, and it included his own.
Chapter Twelve
The sound of his sister’s voice brought him comfort, more so since he knew he’d be seeing her soon. “Can you meet me first, maybe at a local coffee shop? She’s your client. I’d like some insight.”
“Your client too now.”
A pause first. Then, “We’ll see.”
He liked how naturally skeptical she was. It’s why they had always gotten along. “How about the Viand. It’s on Madison and 60th. See you at three. My treat.”
“Big spender.”
“Big budget,” Jimmy responded.
He ended the call with Mallory, a rare smile lighting up his face on that Thursday morning. Spending time with his uptown-turned sister was special, and it was always more interesting when they were working a case together. She’d secured him the Hidden Identity case last spring, and she’d assisted on the Crime Wave situation. So there they were again, meeting to discuss crime, the law, and the fine line that seemed to fall between the two issues. It was a language only the two of them spoke within the family. Maggie and Meaghan were left in the dark as to the contradictions of their jobs to put people in seats. A patron had a ticket, and they had an assigned seat. It was like math. There was no wrong answer.
There were many wrong answers on the Serena Carson case, and Jimmy had spent the night reviewing his file, adding in the details he’d learned from Billy Potter. He still didn’t know much about Robbie Danvers, his family background, or what had occupied his time. His digital footprint barely existed. Knowing he’d been at the benefit, Jimmy wondered if Robbie was involved with Help Is Here in some capacity or had his attendance been on purpose, perhaps courtesy of a calculating Henderson, his supposed lover. If the two men were truly sexually involved with each other, then why had Henderson pursued the women on the side? Was it financial-based or a power trip? Was he sexually confused or sexually voracious? Did he not care who he slept with, so long as he got what he wanted? It was a puzzling situation, one that kept at Jimmy as he slept, his sheets a tangled mess when he woke. It continued to gnaw at him as he went about his morning, waiting for the time he would see Mallory.
The meeting was a precursor to the bigger event of the day. Later that day Help Is Here would host its annual holiday party. He hoped some gift-wrapped truths awaited him under their tree. Whatever the day produced, he was ready, his senses heightened. All he would uncover would be dissected, and facts would be separated from agendas. Everyone had a motive. The richer you got, the more protective you acted. Serena was superrich, but so too were the other board members of the charity, and the thought of them had Jimmy already thinking up questions, anticipating a thwarting of answers. He would have to decipher what wasn’t being said.
The Viand Coffee Shop was a New York staple, a throwback to another era, somehow still not extinct in a time when Starbucks ruled the world. Jimmy arrived first, the bell above the door welcoming him to the past. It was a narrow space, and in the late afternoon two waitresses were sitting arou
nd. It was quiet here, since they were between the rushes of afternoon and evening. He was told he could have his pick of tables. He chose a compact two-seater near the window. Just as he sat down, Mallory appeared, waving to him from the sidewalk. She breezed in, her dark hair trailing behind her, comfortable in her Upper East Side surroundings. She kissed his scruffy cheek.
“Yeah, I know.”
“I’m not Ma. You don’t want to shave, your choice. I wish Taylor would let his hair down.”
“Everything okay with you two?”
“Oh, yeah. He’s just…so Connecticut.”
“Planning on moving? Marriage, family, house, all that?”
She signaled for the waitress. “Ah, no. Tell me about the case.”
He would, but they would order first. She asked for coffee, black. Jimmy said the same. It only took a minute for their steaming mugs to be delivered: ceramic, filled to the brim, and real honest dark coffee, nothing fancy just flavor. Brother and sister clinked mugs and drank. Mallory sighed and let her body relax as the caffeine fueled her system. Jimmy admired his sister. She was always on the go, ambitious and gutsy.
“Sorry, it’s been a busy time, heavy caseload.”
Jimmy nodded. “I know what you mean. So, Serena Carson, you spoke to her?”
“On the phone, briefly. I thought we would do better in person.”
“She’s a handful. And doesn’t like the word ‘no.’”
“So I’ve read.” She drank her coffee, signaled for more. “You think she did those guys?”
“Slept with them, yes, killed them, no.”
“Always clever with the words, Jimmy.”
“Just stating facts as I see them.”
“Informed opinion.”
“Instinct.”
“Give me a preview before I meet her. Should I trust her?”
“I’d keep my guard up. She’s hell-bent on not taking the fall for these murders, but that doesn’t mean she’s completely in the dark. So far she hasn’t opened up to me. That early morning when she discovered Henderson Carlyle on her stoop, she was in shock, or if not, a damned good actress. The second murder, this guy Robbie Danvers, he was her supposed alibi for the first killing. Yet there he was splayed out in her living room, another autopsy in the making.”
Mallory grimaced. “That bad?”
“Once upon a time they were pretty boys.”
“She’s kind of infamous. The poor little rich girl who survived a plane crash.”
“Her parents perished when she was eight, and she had no other family. Grew up in Europe, came home to New York to stake her claim to a fortune that only amassed greater wealth during her formative years. She had to wait until she turned twenty-one, and once she did, I don’t think she ever looked back, but underneath her bravado, she’s still that wounded girl we all remember from the newspapers—the photo of her covered in ash, a miracle survivor. It’s one of the reasons I’ve agreed to accompany her to her charity’s holiday party, giving out gifts to underprivileged children like she still channels what she lost. I don’t think Serena Carson ever means any harm. I also think she doesn’t always know the difference.”
“A complex lady.”
“She’s lived her entire life alone, even when she had a man in her life.”
“Not her life, from what I read, just her bed.”
“To her, it might be the same thing.”
Mallory drank down the last of her second cup and held her hand over the top, when the waitress returned. Jimmy paid the check and left a generous tip, and the two of them drifted out of the coffee shop and headed toward Serena’s brownstone just a few blocks north. That rumored blast of cold air was reality that day, even with winter still a week away. Mallory was bundled up, and Jimmy was dressed up more, a nice navy suit, though he’d skipped the tie, a long overcoat, and a scarf. He figured the holiday party was a dressier affair, not quite the tuxedo affair of the benefit two weeks ago, but life with Serena brought fancier events than Jimmy was accustomed too. They approached the brownstone, the uniformed cop on duty waving them both through, the same guy as the other day.
“Any other visitors?” Jimmy asked him.
“No, all quiet like she’s got no one.”
It was a telling statement. Her friends had abandoned her. She was alone in her ivory tower.
“I’ll be accompanying you downtown. Some party?”
“That’s fine. Thanks, Officer…”
“Sanchez, Oscar.”
Jimmy nodded, and then he and Mallory continued up the stairs of the brownstone. He rang the bell and heard it sound within the high-ceilinged rooms. The double doors opened and then Serena appeared, an angel dressed in the devil’s colors: a startling crimson dress with a severe dip in the front and a gold chain dangling against exposed flesh. Her dark hair was freshly cut, blown out. She looked like a million bucks. Jimmy supposed the way she presented herself was even more important than her actual presence at the party, showing the world nothing stopped her, not legal troubles and not the threat of a life behind bars. The only sign of things not being totally kosher was the ankle bracelet with GPS, a requirement for her bail.
“Don’t you look dashing, Jimmy,” she said, pecking his cheek. “Please come in, and you must be Mallory. I do see the family resemblance.”
“Ms. Carson, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Oh, ‘Serena’ will do. Let’s not be so formal. Shall we have champagne?”
Jimmy walked into the living room to find the room transformed. In the corner was a tree, lit with an array of white lights and several gold and silver ornaments hanging from thick branches. It was an elegant expression of the holiday, made more so by the previously wrapped gifts which she had stored beneath the tree. Over the hearth were holly and candles, simple but upscale decorations that could have been in the window of a Fifth-Avenue department store. Perhaps it was how she traditionally celebrated the holidays, or maybe she had just gone all out that year knowing she was homebound. It was almost like she was expecting to host her own holiday party.
“You’ll help pack these gifts up, Jimmy, won’t you?”
At least that meant they were still going. “At your service, but while we have Mallory here, let’s talk.”
“Of course, but let me get the bubbly…”
Jimmy stopped her. “That can wait. I think Mallory needs you with a clear head.”
She was clearly unhappy about having her plans thwarted, but she seemed to accept the reality that a lawyer was there to defend her from two homicide accusations. A glass of champagne could wait, or maybe it couldn’t, he reasoned. Perhaps her days of being able to pop a cork were winding down. Best she might see is sparkling cider at a prison holiday gathering.
“Serena, why don’t we sit and talk?” Mallory said, taking her own lead and sitting on the sofa. She withdrew a notepad from her attaché case and grabbed a pen.
Serena joined her, sitting on the opposite side, a cushion between them. Jimmy remained standing, leaning against the hearth. He was just there to listen, and so he did.
“You say that Henderson Carlyle beat you and left your bruised.”
“Yes.”
“You pressed charges and got an order of protection.”
“Yes.”
“He violated that order the night of the Nutcracker benefit.”
“Yes.”
“Jimmy stopped him?”
“Jimmy and Robbie.”
“We’ll get to him in a moment. You hired Jimmy to act as your bodyguard?”
“Yes.”
“Knowing Henderson was at the function and that he violated the order, why then did you dismiss Jimmy from his duties? Why did he not safely escort you home?”
“Dear, sometimes things change. You meet someone…you know you are safe with them.”
“That would be Robbie Danvers, the second victim.”
“You make it sound so…clinical. He was a man.”
“So was Henderson Carlyl
e.”
Serena scoffed at that notion. Mallory jotted down some notes, taking her time. The silence filled the room to the point where Serena gazed up at Jimmy. The interrogation was kindergarten compared to what she had probably been through with the cops. Mallory listened, and the cops suspected. Had Serena been petulant with them or dismissive? She didn’t seem to be taking Mallory’s questions too seriously, simple “yes” responses, no insight, and, like the article in the paper stated, showing no remorse. Men were dead. They deserved it, or at least Henderson had. Yet somehow Robbie had died in the same brutal way. Jimmy decided maybe he should step in and shake things up. He was the possessor of valuable information neither women knew.
“Serena, the night of the benefit, you told me Robbie would escort you home.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Did you go immediately home?”
“Jimmy, do you honestly expect me to recount every detail of that night?”
“I just need to know where you went.”
“If you must know, we got a hotel room. Robbie said he was between places.”
“So why not come here? You live alone. There’s lots of privacy.”
“It just seemed more…fun. Henderson beat me here upstairs in my bedroom, you know. I didn’t need reminding. I haven’t had a man in my bed since.”
“Did you have a man in your bed the night of the benefit?”
Serena’s eyes narrowed. She crossed her legs. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means, did you really sleep with Robbie Danvers?”
“He’d had too much…champagne, whiskey, whatever. No, Jimmy, I lied to you. I never slept with him. He couldn’t get it up…”
“Because he was gay,” Jimmy said.
“Well that’s…” Her indignant tone quieted. “What are you saying?”
Guardian Angel Page 19
