On Wednesday morning they applied in chambers to Judge Brown to obtain the phone records and their request was granted. “We know Professor Lyons called and told every one of them about the parchment,” Benet pointed out. “Now we’ll be able to see if they called him back and how often they may have spoken to him.”
Their first interview was going to be with Albert West at eleven A.M. He was twenty minutes late arriving. Apologetically, he explained that the traffic on the George Washington Bridge had been unexpectedly heavy, and he hadn’t allotted enough time for the drive from Manhattan.
Benet glanced at Rodriguez, aware that she too was picking up the fact that West was nervous. Is it because he’s late for the meeting, or is it because he has something to hide? Benet wondered. He made a mental note to check what the traffic conditions on the bridge had been for the last hour. West was casually dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved shirt. Benet watched as he clenched and unclenched his hands, noticing that even though the man was not more than five feet six in height and slight of build, the sinewy muscles in his hands and arms hinted at steely strength.
“Professor West, when we spoke on the phone last week, you told me that you never saw the parchment that Professor Lyons had found, is that correct?”
“Absolutely. I heard about the parchment from Jonathan a week and a half before he died. He was wildly excited. I warned him that so-called discoveries often turn out to be clever forgeries. That was our last conversation.”
“Professor West,” Rita said, her voice hesitant, as if the question she was going to ask had just occurred to her. “You were with your colleagues last night at dinner with Ms. Lyons. Do you think that any one of them might have seen the parchment and, because of the murder of Jonathan Lyons, is afraid to admit that fact?”
The two detectives watched Albert West’s expression become impassive as he seemed to be weighing how to answer the question.
“Professor West,” Rita said softly, “if that parchment is as valuable as Jonathan Lyons believed, whoever has it now and is choosing not to come forward is committing a serious crime. It’s not too late for whoever has it to give it up and avoid getting in any deeper.”
West looked around the crowded office as though trying to find a place to hide, then cleared his throat nervously. “It is very hard to point a finger at a colleague and friend,” he began, “but I think in this case it may have become necessary. As Father Aiden told us last night at dinner, the parchment is the property of the Vatican Library, and if further scientific tests absolutely prove it to be authentic, it should be on display there for generations to come. Literally until the end of time.”
“You think you know who has the parchment?” Benet queried. “Because if you do, it is your responsibility to tell us and help us get it back.”
West shook his head and slumped in his seat. “Charles Michaelson,” he said. “I believe he may have it now, or at least did have it.”
Simon Benet and Rita Rodriguez were too experienced to show emotion, but both were thinking that this could be the first break in locating the parchment.
“Why do you think Professor Michaelson has it?” Benet asked.
“Let me backtrack,” Albert West said slowly. “Fifteen years ago, a wealthy collector of antiques who regularly hired Charles as a consultant asked him for his professional opinion as to the authenticity of an ancient parchment. Charles was paid five hundred thousand dollars by the seller to tell the collector that it was genuine. In fact, it was a clever forgery.”
“Was Michaelson or the seller ever prosecuted?” Benet asked.
“No. I personally interceded with Desmond Rogers, the buyer. Frankly, other experts had warned him that the parchment was a fraud, but Rogers considered himself very knowledgeable and had absolute faith in Charles. He did not file charges against Charles or the seller because he did not want the public humiliation of having been duped. As you can imagine, Desmond Rogers now considers Charles nothing more than a common thief and beneath contempt.”
Where is this leading? Rita Rodriguez wondered, but Albert West was already answering her unspoken question.
“This morning, just before I left my apartment, I received a call from Desmond Rogers. As you would expect, he knows quite a few other wealthy collectors. One of them has been in touch with him. He heard that Charles is shopping the Joseph of Arimathea parchment and has received several enormously high bids for it from unscrupulous collectors.”
“He’s shopping the parchment!” Benet could not keep the surprise from his voice.
“So I am told.” Albert West looked both drained and relieved. “That is all I know. I have no proof beyond what I just told you. I am simply relaying to you what Desmond said to me. But frankly, it makes a great deal of sense. I stress that there is nothing more that I can tell you. May I leave now? I have a one o’clock meeting with my department chairman.”
“Yes, that’s all, except for one thing,” Benet told him. “Do you remember the exact date on which you last spoke to Jonathan Lyons?”
“I think it was the Tuesday before he died, but I’m not sure.”
He’s being evasive, Rita thought, and she took a chance on asking a question that might get her in trouble with Simon Benet. “Don’t worry, Professor West,” she said reassuringly, “we’ll be checking your phone records, so if you’re mistaken, we’ll know.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Benet’s furious stare, but then Albert West sank back into the chair. “Full disclosure,” he said, his voice now high-pitched. “As I told you, I had been in the Adirondacks the weekend before Jonathan died. I was planning to stay up there until Tuesday, but it was very hot and humid, and so on Monday I decided to return home. I was very curious about Jonathan’s supposed find and so I impulsively drove down through New Jersey, debating about calling him and asking if I might stop in.”
“What time was that?” Rita asked.
“It was later than I expected it to be. I drove past Mahwah a few minutes before nine.”
“Did you visit Professor Lyons the night he died?” Benet asked.
“No. I realized Jonathan did not like surprises. Upon reflection I thought that he might very well not welcome a visit on such short notice, and so I continued home.”
“Did you phone him to ask if you could stop in?” Rita demanded.
“No. The only reason I bring this up is that I made a phone call while I was in the vicinity of the Lyons home, in case anyone is checking the location of my cell phone at that time.”
“Professor West, who did you call?”
“I called Charles Michaelson. He did not answer and when his answering machine came on I did not leave a message.”
49
After lunch, Mariah and Alvirah went back to wait at Lillian’s apartment building. Alvirah brought a sandwich and coffee for Willy. They sat for the rest of the afternoon in the lobby. At five o’clock it was Willy who voiced their growing sense of apprehension. “If Lillian was meeting Richard to sell that parchment to him, it’s sure taking a lot of time,” he commented as he got up to stretch his legs.
Mariah nodded. At lunch she had tried to keep up with the conversation, but she felt crushing disappointment after hearing Lillian’s message to Richard. It had robbed her of the faint optimism she had been allowing herself to feel that, given a showdown with Lillian, she might be able to persuade her to quietly return the parchment.
Now she wondered if the revelation that Lillian had the parchment and that Richard was willing to buy it might not be enough to have criminal charges brought against both of them.
Dad, this is the woman you loved, she thought, realizing that the bitterness she had been trying so hard to overcome was returning in full measure. She knew that during lunch Greg had recognized how quiet she had been and had tried to reassure her that the parchment would be recovered and returned to the Vatican Library.
“I never would have thought of Richard as capable of doing something so u
nderhanded,” Greg had observed. “I’m absolutely stunned.” Then he’d added, “Nothing Lillian did would ever surprise me. Even while she was involved with Jonathan, I always wondered if she didn’t have something going with Charles too. Maybe it was just because they were both big moviegoers. But still, when Lillian wasn’t with Jonathan, it seemed to me that she spent an awful lot of time with Charles.”
Mariah knew the last thing Greg wanted to do was upset her, but the thought that Lillian might have been involved with Charles as well was galling. It was all she could think of as they waited hour by hour in the lobby. Finally, at five thirty, she said, “I think what we need to do is to let Detective Benet hear your recording of that phone call, Alvirah. I guess if he hears it, it would be enough to have him confront both Lillian and Richard. I think I’ll go home now. For all we know, Lillian and Richard are out together celebrating somewhere.”
“I’ll be right back,” Alvirah said. “The new doorman just came on duty. I’ll have a talk with him.” When she returned a few minutes later, she was obviously pleased with herself. “I gave him twenty bucks. I told him that we have a surprise for Lillian, that her cousin is in town unexpectedly. That’s you, Mariah. I gave him my number. He’s going to tip me off when she gets back.”
Mariah reached into her purse and pulled out Benet’s card. “Alvirah,” she said, “I don’t think we should wait any longer. It’s time to call Detective Benet. You can play the tape for him as soon as you get home and let the chips fall where they may.”
50
On Wednesday afternoon, Kathleen Lyons was sitting in a chair by the window in her hospital room, a cup of tea by her side. She had been dozing, and when she woke up, she looked out listlessly at the trees and the way the sun was flickering through the leafy branches. Then she leaned forward. She could see that there was someone half-hidden behind one of the trees.
It was a woman.
It was Lillian.
Kathleen stood up, leaned her hands on the windowsill, and narrowed her eyes so that she could see Lillian more clearly.
“Is Jonathan with her?” she mumbled. Then as she watched, she could see that Lily and Jonathan were taking pictures of each other.
“I hate you!” Kathleen screamed. “I hate both of you!”
“Kathleen, what’s wrong, dear, what’s wrong?” A nurse was hurrying into the room.
Kathleen grabbed the spoon from the saucer of the teacup and spun around in her chair. Her face savage with fury, she pointed the spoon at the nurse.
“Bang… bang… Die, damn you, die! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you…,” she shrieked, then collapsed back into the seat. Her eyes closed, she began to moan, “So much noise… so much blood,” as the nurse quickly injected a sedative into her thin and trembling arm.
51
Greg Pearson’s interview with Detectives Benet and Rodriguez had none of the drama of Albert West’s blurted-out accusation against Charles Michaelson.
He explained that he considered himself to be a good friend of Jonathan Lyons and that he had met him six years ago when, on an impulse, he signed up for Jonathan’s annual archaeological dig.
“For Jon and Albert and Charles and Richard, it was a passion,” he said. “I was in awe of their knowledge of antiquities. By the end of that first trip, I was hooked and I knew I would sign up for the next one.”
He verified that about once a month they were invited to the Lyons’ home for dinner. “It was an evening we all thoroughly enjoyed,” he said, “even though it was painful to watch a beautiful and charming woman like Kathleen deteriorate before our eyes.”
In response to questions about Lillian, he said, “The first time she signed up for one of Jonathan’s annual expeditions was five years ago. We could all see that Jonathan was instantly enchanted with her, and she with him. Within three nights they were sharing a bedroom and making no bones about it. Frankly, given their relationship, I felt quite uncomfortable watching her interact with Charles when they were at Jonathan’s dinners. But of course when Kathleen found those pictures, Lillian was banished from ever setting foot in that house again.”
Greg readily admitted to Benet and Rodriguez that Jonathan had told him about his supposed find. “Jon didn’t actually offer to show it to me. He said he was having it evaluated. I told him that at some point I’d love to see it and he promised that after he had gotten the opinions of the experts, he’d let me have a look at it.”
“Where were you on the Monday night that Professor Lyons was murdered, Mr. Pearson?” Rita asked.
Greg looked straight at her. “As I told you last week, Detective Rodriguez, I was in the Time Warner Center in Manhattan, where my apartment is located, all of Monday evening. I had dinner at Per Se on the fourth floor at about six and afterward went directly up to my apartment.”
“Did you have dinner with anyone?”
“After a busy day at my office, I was content to eat quietly by myself, and to forestall your next question, I was alone in my apartment all night.”
Benet’s final question to Greg was about Charles Michaelson. “Do you think it’s possible that Professor Lyons might have entrusted the parchment to him?”
As he and Rodriguez watched, Greg’s face became a study in conflicting emotions. Then he said, “I believe that Jonathan would have entrusted the parchment to Lillian and I believe she would have confided that to Charles. I’m not prepared to speculate any further than that.”
52
An hour later Charles Michaelson was sitting in the chair earlier occupied by Albert West and Greg Pearson. His portly body shook with anger as he got into a fiery exchange with the detectives: “No, I never saw the parchment. How many times do I have to tell you that? If someone says I was shopping it, he’s a liar.”
When told by Benet that they were planning to interview the source of the rumor, Michaelson snapped, “Go ahead. Whoever he is, tell him for me that there are laws about slander and he should look them up.”
When asked where he was on the night Jonathan Lyons died, he retorted, “Once again, let me tell you, and I will speak slowly so that you’ll get it straight. I was at home on Sutton Place. I got there at five thirty and didn’t go out again until the next morning.”
“Was anyone with you?” Benet asked.
“No. Happily, since my divorce, I live alone.”
“Did you receive any phone calls that evening, Mr. Michaelson?”
“No, I did not. Wait a minute. The phone rang around nine o’clock that evening. I could see that the caller was Albert West and I was not in the mood to speak to him so I didn’t answer.”
Abruptly, Michaelson stood up. “If you have any more questions for me, you can submit them in writing to my lawyer.” He reached in his pocket and flipped a card onto Benet’s desk. “Now you know how to reach him. Good afternoon to both of you.”
53
Richard Callahan’s interview was scheduled for four P.M. When he had not arrived by four forty-five, Simon attempted to reach him on his cell phone. It went directly to voice mail. Frustrated, Simon left a brusque message for Richard regarding his missed appointment. “Mr. Callahan, I don’t know why there would be any confusion about the fact that you were supposed to be here at four o’clock. It is imperative that you contact me as soon as you receive this message so we can reschedule, preferably for tomorrow.
“Once again I am leaving my cell phone number…”
54
After Mariah, Alvirah, and Willy had given up on waiting for Lillian and left the lobby of her apartment building, they crossed the street together and went down into the Lincoln Center garage, where they’d parked their cars only a few rows apart. Alvirah promised to call Mariah immediately if Lillian’s doorman phoned to say that she had come home.
All the details of her day were running through Mariah’s mind as she drove back to New Jersey. She wanted to be close by her mother in case she was allowed to visit her. When she got to her parents’ home she left the c
ar in the driveway, and, with a feeling of infinite weariness, she made her way to the front door and took out her key. As she stepped into the house, the thought ran through her mind that until the last few days, she had almost never been there alone. Better get used to it, she told herself as she dropped her shoulder bag on the table in the foyer and walked back to the kitchen. She had given Betty the day off, so she put on the kettle, made herself a cup of tea, then carried it outside to the patio.
Mariah settled into a chair at the umbrella table and watched the early evening shadows slant across the bluish-gray cobblestones. The colorful umbrella was closed now, and it brought back the memory of the night, about ten years ago, when her parents were out and a sudden summer storm had come up. The wind had toppled the umbrella over. It had taken the table with it, causing the glass tabletop to shatter in a hail of windblown shards.
Like my life now, Mariah thought. Another sudden storm just over a week ago and now I’m left to pick up the pieces. When Alvirah plays that recording for the detectives, she wondered, will it be enough proof for them to charge Lillian and Richard with conspiracy to buy and sell stolen property? Or will Lillian and Richard be smart enough to come up with another explanation for why she was accepting some offer from him?
And I don’t think the safe-deposit records at her bank will give any hint to what she took out today, Mariah decided as she slowly sipped the tea.
What’s going to happen to Mom at the court hearing on Friday? was the next question that rushed into her mind. From what the nurses are telling me, she seems to be pretty quiet. Oh, God, if only she could be allowed to come home, she thought.
The Lost Years Page 17
