The Chase: A Novel

by Brenda Joyce

  Claire didn’t move. “Why did you disappear?”

  “Disappear? What are you talking about! I haven’t disappeared, I’m right here.”

  “The police want to question you. They said you disappeared.”

  “Christ!” Jean-Léon cried. “They’re idiots, Claire, and so is my secretary—she knew where I was. And I’ll be happy to speak with the police and give them a piece of my mind.”

  Claire was shaking her head. She couldn’t speak now. But there was one question she had to ask, since it had been haunting her forever. Still, it was almost impossible to get the words out, maybe because the prospect of his answer terrified her.

  “Claire?”

  “I’m a Jew, Dad. You married a Jew. Didn’t that bother you?” she asked in a whisper.

  “What?” He seemed disbelieving. “No, Claire, it did not bother me and it does not bother me, for God’s sake, you are my daughter!” He hesitated. “Claire, I—”

  His words were cut off by the deafening sound of a helicopter. Startled, they both looked up.

  The helicopter appeared overhead, hovering. The wind from its rotor blades gusted hard at them, causing them to careen into each other. “You are surrounded, Elgin,” a voice boomed over a megaphone. “Raise your hands and surrender now.”

  Claire met her father’s eyes. His were wide with the comprehension of what she had done, and Claire felt herself begin to flush in guilt.

  “Hands up, Elgin,” the voice boomed. “You are under arrest. Give yourself up.”

  Claire looked past her father and saw the SWAT teams and police officers at the edge of the clearing, using the far line of trees for cover. Huge gusts of wind from the helicopter’s rotors were blowing grass, dirt, and debris around them. Claire continued to stagger from the strength of the gusts.

  “How could you?” Jean-Léon asked tremulously.

  “I’m sorry,” Claire whispered, but she did not know if she meant it or not.

  Jean-Léon took a gun out of his suit-jacket pocket. Claire blinked at it but did not move away from him. “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “Drop the gun!” the voice cried. “Drop the gun! Claire, move away from him!”

  Claire felt as if she were in the midst of a dream. But she obeyed the impersonal voice over the megaphone, and she began backing away from Jean-Léon, leaving him standing there alone, a gun in his hand.

  Their eyes met.

  “There is no way out,” the officer continued over the megaphone. Claire realized he was standing on the edge of the field behind them, where more SWAT team members and more policemen crouched. Jean-Léon had seen them, too.

  As Claire walked away from her father, she glimpsed Ian among the police and SWAT teams standing a hundred feet away in the line of trees, but the sight of him gave her no comfort, and he was too far away for her to make out his expression.

  Suddenly all hell seemed to break loose. All of the police and detectives and SWAT teams began rushing toward her.

  Claire froze, but the dozens of men ran past her, and she turned.

  Jean-Léon had thrown down his gun and stood with his hands up in surrender.

  “Dad,” Claire cried, and in the next instant a dozen uniforms were on top of him, handcuffing him.

  “Claire!” Ian was at her side.

  She couldn’t look at him now. She shoved past him, hurrying to the paved walk ahead, wanting to leave this nightmare behind.

  The roar of the helicopter began to diminish as it lifted up and left. The barked commands of the police sounded behind her. Marked and unmarked cars were pulling up in the field. Siren lights were flashing.

  “Are you okay?” Ian demanded, catching up to her.

  She was so angry it was hard to speak. “What the hell do you think?”

  Ian stopped in his tracks, and she left him behind.

  A man in a tweed jacket and felt fedora came up to her. His name was Maclntyre, and he was from Scotland Yard; Claire had met him last night. “Thank you,” he said with a smile.

  Claire lifted her sweater and T-shirt, revealing an expanse of flesh and the microphone taped and wired to her body. A man from the FBI came over and removed it. She remained mute. She had nothing to say to any of them. In that moment, she was filled with hatred, no small amount of it directed at herself.

  On impulse, she turned. Her father was being pushed into the backseat of a squad car. Ian stood beside the car with Lisa. Claire watched until he sensed her stare and turned to look at her. She abruptly turned away.

  She hoped he was happy. God knew she was not.

  And then she saw William Duke standing farther back, behind several policemen, behind one unmarked car. Surprise stiffened her, but only briefly. There were tears in his eyes.

  Claire began to walk away from it all, the black-and whites, the congregation of uniformed and plainclothes officers, the feds, Maclntyre, Ian. Her pace increased. She ran.

  William held out his arms and she rushed into them.

  It was the safest haven she had ever known.

  “I’m so sorry, Claire, so sorry,” William said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

  She couldn’t speak. She could only nod. He held her another moment, until she managed to get a grip. Finally she straightened. “Yeah.” She sniffed. “So am I. I’m sorry I doubted you. I don’t know how I could have ever had such doubts.”

  “It doesn’t matter. All that matters now is you.” He smiled sadly at her. His gaze was searching.

  “I’ll get over it.” She didn’t think she ever would. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was on my way to your hotel to leave a message for you—I saw you and followed you here.”

  He hesitated. “Claire, there’s no gentle way to say this.”

  Claire waited, bewildered.

  “I’m your real father,” William Duke said.

  CHAPTER 24

  William and Claire walked through the tunnel, back the way Claire had come. Claire wasn’t reeling, because she was numb. “I don’t understand.” She paused on the other side of the underpass, a stone’s throw from the Met.

  “Your mother and I agreed to never tell you the truth.” He touched her, moving hair away from her face. “But given all that has happened, I realized today I had to come forward, Claire. Let’s sit down,” he suggested.

  Claire nodded, still stunned, as they walked over to the nearest park bench. The park was filling up now, mostly with dogs and their owners. “But you and Elizabeth have a wonderful relationship,” Claire said.

  “Yes, we do. Claire, we’ve been married fifty-six years. That’s a long row to hoe, and we had our ups and downs. We separated just after our twentieth anniversary,” William said gently, his gaze upon her unwavering. Claire looked into his eyes. She saw so much affection there. “And you had an affair with my mother?” Claire whispered.

  William nodded, his eyes on her face. “Cynthia was very unhappy, Claire. I’m sure you can imagine why.”

  Claire could. Her mother’s marriage must have been one of loneliness and even despair. Had there also been doubts, suspicions, shadows? Claire shivered. “Maybe it was a blessing that she passed away when she did.” She never would have thought to see the day when she would think such a thing.

  “Our affair happened accidentally, I guess. She was lonely, and like most men, I wasn’t about to be alone, even for a day. But I never stopped loving Elizabeth, and we had to break it off. Elizabeth and I, of course, realized that our differences meant nothing in the light of our love and friendship, and we’ve never thought about breaking up since.”

  This man was her real father She was not Jean-Léon’s daughter Elgin was not her father.“This is a miracle,” she managed hoarsely. But confusion settled in on the heels of shock. And there was no denying it. While it was easy to admit that she was very fond of William, a part of her would always cling to Jean-Léon. A part of her still needed him and his love. Claire
didn’t want it to be this way, but it was.

  “Not really. Had I been a more sensitive and less virile man, I would have spent my separation thinking things out, instead of sleeping with your mother.”

  Claire met his watery gaze. “I don’t know what to say, or what to think.”

  “That’s understandable, Claire. I know that you will always have strong feelings for Jean-Léon, one way or the other.”

  “Does he know?” Claire suddenly asked with trepidation. And she had an image she wished she would never again recall—Jean-Léon standing there beneath the howling helicopter, his hands up in the air.

  He hadn’t admitted anything, she realized with a pang.

  “No. He has no idea. We were very careful.”

  Claire heard William, but she had begun to analyze the conversation she had just had with Jean-Léon. She was uncomfortable and disturbed, as she should be—she had been the bait in Ian’s trap, a role she had sworn she would never perform. Claire had to shake off her thoughts. She stood. “I wonder if he will ever forgive me for what I have done.”

  William also stood, using his cane, and put his arm around her. “I believe he loves you, dear. In his own way. Love is about forgiveness.”

  Claire ducked her head against the brightening day. The past was flashing through her mind, images tumbling and juxtaposed. Jean-Léon hardly ever present, William always somehow there, in the midst of her life. Suddenly Claire thought about his wife, whom she loved also. “Does Elizabeth know?”

  “Yes. She’s known from the beginning, there are no secrets between us. She encouraged me to tell you the truth, Claire.”

  Claire took a deep breath. She looked up at the sky. It had become a robin’s-egg blue. In fact, the sun was bright and shining. It was over, she realized. The nightmare was finally over.

  But Jean-Léon had denied everything.

  But then, Elgin would hardly break down now, after all these years, and confess.

  Claire forced a smile. “I had better go. I’m exhausted, and I’m taking an afternoon flight home. I stayed at the Helmsley last night; my stuff is at Ian’s.”

  William looked at her closely. “Is something wrong?”

  “Of course not,” Claire whispered, but dear God, she had a thought she wished she hadn’t—what if they had captured the wrong man?

  “Shall I give you a lift? My driver is waiting in front of the Stanhope.”

  “I’ll walk. It’s only a few blocks.” She hesitated. “William? You’re not his brother, are you? You’re not really an Elgin?”

  William looked amused but did not laugh—it was hardly a laughing matter. “No, dear, I am who I say I am, and I really went to school with Harry Elgin, whom I adored.”

  Claire nodded and they began to walk out of the park.

  “Are you certain I cannot give you a ride? In fact, if you like, you can come back to the house for breakfast. Elizabeth should be up in a half hour or so.” He smiled at her.

  “Thanks, but I’ll walk. I need to pack and I need to think. This has been a very confusing morning.” It was perhaps the hardest act of her life, but she turned on her best, most perfect, high-society smile.

  William smiled back.

  Claire had keys, of course, and the moment she had let herself into Ian’s apartment, she went still. Something wasn’t right.

  The apartment’s atmosphere felt laden and combustible. The silence seemed fraught with tension, and thick enough to cut with a knife.

  Claire told herself she was overwrought and justly so. “Ian?”

  There was no answer.

  Claire remained standing in the foyer, and now the hairs on her neck were prickling sharply, warningly, at her. “Ian?” she tried again.

  There was no response.

  But she hadn’t expected him to respond, because she had last seen him speaking with Lisa, Maclntyre, and half a dozen other detectives in the park.

  So what was wrong?

  Claire realized she was filled with dread. She realized that she expected another blow to come her way at any moment. She realized that the apartment did not feel empty—which was absurd, the result of her well-earned paranoia.

  What if they had captured the wrong man?

  Claire didn’t want to go there now. She turned and double-locked the door. As she crossed the hall to the kitchen, her sandals made a loud clicking sound on the wood floors. In the kitchen, she dutifully put fresh grounds in the coffeemaker, added water, and turned it on, trying not to think. Then she turned, leaning against the counter, listening to the silence of the apartment. But what was she listening for?

  Behind her, something scratched. Claire jumped, whirling, and saw a cat outside on Ian’s terrace, scratching at the windowpane. She inhaled shakily. Clearly the cat belonged to Ian’s neighbor, whose terrace adjoined Ian’s.

  Claire took a sip of water and crossed the apartment again. She might as well pack her few things while waiting for the coffee to brew, but why did her footsteps sound so loud? Why was her breathing so harsh?

  William claimed to be her father. She should not doubt him; plus, a DNA test could settle that question sooner or later.

  Claire opened the door to her bedroom—and cried out.

  Elizabeth was standing directly in front of her on the other side of the bed, in front of the room’s large window. She was backlit by the early morning sun, and it was hard to make out her expression in the glare. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, Claire.”

  Her heart was beating hard and fast, hurtfully. Claire laid a palm on her breast. “Good God. Didn’t you hear me? Why—” She stopped in shock.

  Elizabeth pointed a small black gun at her. “You are all fools,” she said softly.

  Claire stared, transfixed by the small gun, trying to understand what this meant and failing. “What. . . what are you doing?” she managed, somehow looking up and into the other woman’s eyes.

  Elizabeth sighed. “My dear, the Swan is dead. He died in late 1944. In fact, he died on Christmas Eve of 1944, and I thought that touch rather amusing myself.”

  This could not be happening.“I don’t understand.” But she did—for an inkling of an idea was beginning, one so fantastic and incredible that it was mind-boggling.

  “I killed him, Claire. We had lost the war, and he knew too much, and it was time to get rid of him.” Elizabeth smiled at her. “You see, he reported to me. I was his superior, my dear. In a way, we were a team.”

  Claire sagged against the wall. “Oh my God.”

  “God will not help you now,” Elizabeth said flatly.

  Claire stiffened instantly. This woman was a killer—maybe she had killed everyone—Jean-Léon was innocent—and she, Claire, was in grave danger. Instantly, Claire decided to play for time.

  “I don’t understand,” she said breathlessly. “How could this be? You’re a woman. I mean, I just don’t understand. I’ve known you my entire life—you became a mother to me when my mother died.”

  “There’s very little to understand, my dear,” Elizabeth said easily, “except that you and Marshall have both gotten far too close for comfort—which is what David and Suttill did as well—and like them, you must be removed.”

  Claire blinked. She was sweating now, and perspiration trickled down her brow and into her eyes. It gathered between her breasts. It made her hands wet. Had this woman killed David and George Suttill? How could this woman, whom she had loved and trusted her entire life, be a ruthless killer?“You killed David?” Claire gasped.

  “I most certainly did. It was the bloody worst luck, to be having lunch with him and to have George Suttill recognize me as Lionel’s old wartime girlfriend. I was Elizabeth Longford then, but no matter, Suttill knew. He recognized me. You see, when Lionel disappeared, the authorities tried to find me in order to question me. The world believed Lionel and me to be lovers. It was so convenient to be his girlfriend, as I could go to and from his little flat as I pleased. When Lionel ‘vanished,’ I, of course, had to
disappear, too. I colored my hair and changed my name and the way I dressed, the tart becoming a princess, and the idiots never found me, when all along I was right under their noses.”

  Claire could only stare. “So you began dating William. And four years later, he took you to France.”

  “William was the perfect cover for me, which was why I married him so quickly. Of course, I lied about my age, to throw everyone off. I was eighteen in 1940—not fifteen.” She paused. “I have survived all of these years, Claire, by never allowing any link with the past to remain.”

  “So since George Suttill recognized you as Lionel’s old flame, you killed him? And you killed David just because he was there at the restaurant and heard the exchange?” Claire could hardly believe what she was hearing, but then, she was faced with a ruthless sociopath, not the woman she had known her entire life. That woman had never existed; that woman had been an illusion.

  “Yes and yes. But David also happened upon me while I was removing Suttill. Which made him a witness to murder, Claire. And as you know, I have no intention of spending even one day behind bars.”

  Their gazes locked. Claire realized her time was running out. An image of Ian flashed in her mind—if only he would return to the apartment to try to speak with her. But after the way she had turned her back on him, Claire felt quite certain he was not about to come to the rescue now. She was on her own.

  “You know, I am genuinely fond of you,” Elizabeth said, moving away from the window, toward the foot of the bed.

  Claire went rigid. Shit. What should she do? “Was David stupid enough to be blackmailing you, too?” she asked, sidling to her left. She wanted to keep a distance between them—not that it mattered, as Elizabeth had the gun.

  Elizabeth smiled and shook her head. “No, he was not. I deposited the cash in his account to lead the authorities astray. In fact, I used the thumb knife to pin the murders on Elgin—a dead man. I knew Marshall would think David had uncovered Elgin and was blackmailing him. Brilliant, don’t you think?”

  Claire hardly knew what to think. She nodded, unable to tear her gaze away from the other woman.