She started for the door, then asked, “You doing all right?”
Marcus hefted his mug. His coffee was stone cold. “I’m worried about Kirsten.”
“You’re nothing but a bundle of nerves and frets.” She walked over to the desk and took the mug from his hand. “More caffeine is the last thing in this world you need.”
A few moments later, Netty called from the other room. “DA’s office on line two.”
“Marcus Glenwood for Wilma Blain, please.”
A half minute of seventies retro-rock, then, “This is Blain.”
“Marcus Glenwood. I’m an attorney operating out of Rocky Mount, mostly in the Raleigh—”
“I know who you are.” The woman’s voice was almost as deep as a man’s, and sounded both black and rapid-fire intelligent. “We might be working out of a sleepy backwater town, but we’re wide awake in this office.”
“I have come across something related to a case I’m involved in that might interest you.”
“Who referred you to me?”
“Garland Perry.”
“Judge Perry gave you my name?” She sounded genuinely surprised.
“He did.”
“Are you sure he was on the proper medication at the time? I’ve never gotten a thing from that man but a full-on runaround.”
“This matter is urgent, no matter what Judge Perry might think.”
“Ain’t they all.”
“Do you happen to recall a break-in at Dale Steadman’s residence, I’m not sure exactly when it would have been—”
“Seven weeks, give or take a day.” All business now.
“You’re familiar with the case?”
“You might say so. Tell me something, counselor. This have anything to do with the missing child?”
“Possibly.”
“What about the still pending investigation into the demise of Charlie Hayes?”
Angry sorrow ground down his voice. “I sincerely hope so.”
“Not to mention the murder-one beef that brought the big-city detective barging around?”
“You don’t miss much.”
“This is a small town with mostly small-town problems. Happens I like it that way. And you didn’t answer my question.”
“The answer is,” Marcus replied, “I’m calling to hopefully find out that very same thing.”
“Well, now. That’s an answer I like.”
“Why is that?”
“Happens the two gents are still locked up next door.”
“What?”
“Garland Perry was off fishing the day they came for arraignment. We got us a hotshot district judge, young fellow who was a state prosecutor in an earlier life. This judge was willing to listen when I pointed out the pair had a mess of prior felonies and seven parole violations between them. He invited them to remain our guests until the trial.”
Marcus was already up and moving. “You think I could come down and have a word?”
CHAPTER
———
46
KEDRICK LLOYD’S SECRETARY was not in the cramped outer office when Kirsten departed. She slipped into the hallway and decided to wander.
But around the first corner she was halted by a voice from behind. “Can I help you?”
Kirsten turned to face a young man in tank top and linen drawstring pants and sneakers. A sweater was bundled around his neck. His smile was lustrous, his poise dancer-perfect. “I was hoping to meet the senior conductor.”
“Are you supposed to be back here?”
“I’m meeting with Kedrick Lloyd.”
His flirtatious attitude vanished. “Right. Sorry, with all these security scares we’re supposed to be extra careful.”
“It’s fine.”
“The orchestra has just finished rehearsals, so you’ll probably find the maestro up toward the stage somewhere.”
She followed the hall up a flight of stairs and around a corner. She stepped to one side as a stream of people poured through the stage door. Up ahead she spotted the maestro reading over the shoulders of three women. The ladies held thick scores with both hands. Violin cases stood at their feet. The conductor had on a herringbone flannel shirt and fitted Cerrutti jeans, and displayed the swept-back hair of a dedicated Romeo. He wiped his face with a thick hand towel as he studied the music.
“Do you still have a fermata after the second beat?”
“It was taken out, Maestro.”
“Fine, fine, just so long as I know.” He had an odd mixture of accents, Italian and something heavier, a liquid German or Eastern European. “Let’s hold to the rigid beat throughout, then. I’ll inform her majesty at the dress rehearsal that she is not permitted to breathe through the entire aria.” He smiled them on their way.
Only when he faced her was his age evident. And the strain of the rehearsal. “Yes?”
“I was wondering if I might ask you a question, Maestro.”
“Did I not see you upstairs in Kedrick’s office?”
“That is correct.”
“And he sent you down?”
Kirsten was unable to hide behind a lie. “He probably would be furious to discover us talking.”
That brought out a smile. “Well then. Perhaps I can find a moment.”
“I’m trying to obtain some information about a singer.”
“Dirt, you mean.” When she did not contradict him, he inquired, “Are you a journalist?”
“I work for a lawyer. We are involved in a very serious court case.”
“Another singer is in trouble with the law?” He shook his head in sorrow. “There is nothing magical about the Met for those of us fortunate enough to work here. Our job is to create magic for those out front. We work the backstage magic machine. One of my predecessors used to ride home by subway after every performance. He had a limo paid for and waiting outside, but he went by subway. Why? Because he felt it was important to remind himself just how mundane and ordinary his backstage world truly was.” He had a most attractive smile. “Myself, I would prefer a note card attached to the door of the limo.”
She realized he was coming on to her, and smiled in reply. “Positioned just above the champagne bucket.”
“You like champagne. Excellent. A sign of good breeding and fine moments to come.” He gave her a moment to continue the flirtation, then shrugged his acceptance of her distance. Another time. “So. Which singer is of interest to you?”
“Erin Brandt.”
His good humor vanished. “But Ms. Brandt is most decidedly dead.”
“That is correct.”
“Still her problems go on?”
“I’m afraid so. And a very good man risks losing everything.”
He inspected her. “Do I want to know more?”
“Probably not, Maestro.”
“Bene.” He glanced in both directions, then drew her over to one side. “We are not having this discussion.”
“I understand.”
“We would not be talking at all, except for the fact that Ms. Brandt is now lost to us all.” He scouted the hall once more. “You know I came from the Zurich opera house, did you not?”
“No.”
“Indeed. And from your expression I see you have heard the story of Erin Brandt’s debut. Yes. I was intendant there before coming to the Met. Erin made her debut at a performance that I conducted.”
“How did she sing?”
“Magnificently. Erin Brandt’s singing was never the issue. Nor her acting. It was the person I refused to work with.”
“Can you give me something more precise?”
“Not for the record. You understand? I have nothing for you if you wish to make notes or write something public.”
“I am working on background information for a court case, Maestro. Nothing more.”
“Then with you I will share my secret. The diva scheduled to perform that night, she was a friend. A very, very good friend. You understand?”
“Perfectly.”<
br />
“She also had a cast bronze stomach. She had many problems. Her voice, her age, her hearing, her legs, her circulation, her … Never become involved with a singer, my dear. They are a most taxing group of ladies. But her stomach was never a problem. Never, never, never. Do you understand?”
“You think Erin poisoned her?”
“Not poison. My friend recovered. She was very ill for three days, then it was gone.” He wagged his finger between them. “And you will remember what I said, yes?”
She offered her hand. “It was very nice not meeting you, Maestro.”
He bowed over her hand, not quite drawing it to his lips. “You really must come by and introduce yourself some other time, signorina. I am certain I would be delighted to make your acquaintance.”
CHAPTER
———
47
THE DA CAUGHT MARCUS on his cell phone just as he was turning onto I-95. “Wilma Blain, counselor. You someplace where you can give me your full attention?”
Marcus tucked himself behind a lumbering Freightliner doing an easy sixty. “Fire away.”
“I’ve done some checking.” The tiny phone turned her voice flat as cold iron. “The fellow who represented the accused at the arraignment is still listed as their attorney.”
The lawyer would have to be notified of Marcus’ arrival, as he was required to be present for all questioning by the authorities. “Do you know him well enough to get him down on short notice?”
“Can’t say. Seeing as how they’re represented by a courtroom rat from up Raleigh way.”
Marcus braked sharply, causing the SUV on his tail to swerve and honk and shout something he could not be bothered to hear. “Not Hamper Caisse.”
“On the money. The fact he’s still involved brings two critical questions to mind.”
“You want to know why two lowlifes involved in a simple B&E are being handled by a guy from Raleigh. And you want to know why Hamper agreed to take the case.”
“I like the way your mind works, counselor. A courthouse rat like Caisse wouldn’t dream of spending a day down here for an arraignment, followed by visits to his clients, then a week for a trial.”
A courthouse rat was a lawyer whose real office was the district court’s front patio, since all courthouse rats smoked like chimneys and used butt time to prep their clients. Their hours coincided with the metal-detector guards’—first to enter, last to leave. “Hamper has been down for visits with this pair since the arraignment?”
“Interesting question. Know what I did after I learned Hamper was still listed as handling this mess?”
Marcus found his chest tightening. “You checked the prison visitors’ log.”
“You’re not looking for a job, are you?”
“I’d never be able to keep up with you, ma’am.”
She laughed. “Apparently Hamper Caisse is beating a path between Raleigh and the coast. You man’s been down here eight times in the past six weeks. What’s more, Hamper’s only seen one of the guys six of those times.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Your mental lightbulbs just went off. I can hear it happening. Just popping on everywhere.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“You kidding? I’ve got me two bad guys with sheets long enough to wrap them up like shrouds. You don’t think I’d like to find something to bury them?”
“Calling Hamper directly won’t work,” Marcus said. Courthouse rats had mobile phone usage down to an exact science. They never answered their calls. Never. They checked messages, thus giving themselves an out when cornered. “And it might be Halloween before he actually visits his office again.”
“So?”
“Call Judge Rachel Sears. Family court. Third floor of the district courthouse. Tell her exactly what we’re facing here. Then see if she’ll order Hamper to meet us in Wilmington.”
“I am liking this conversation,” the DA said, “more and more.”
“Ask her to do so with a minimum amount of nicety. We want this guy to show up parboiled,” Marcus suggested. “Oh, and one more thing. Ask Judge Sears if she would not tell Hamper it’s me. We might be able to use that as leverage.”
“I get the impression you already know why this Raleigh hotshot is taking the trouble to drive down and handle the case of two punks on a burglary charge.”
“I don’t know, but I can guess.”
“Guess away.”
“It wasn’t robbery.”
“I’m listening.”
“And they’re not his client.”
“Then who is?”
“That is exactly,” Marcus replied, “what I want to ask them myself.”
CHAPTER
———
48
FINDING A DOCTOR who would meet with Kirsten at short notice required going back to the hotel and asking the receptionist for help. When she said she wanted to meet urgently with an oncologist, the concierge looked bereaved. An hour later, she was seated in the swank outer office of a Park Avenue specialist. The nurse was polite but firm in requesting an up-front payment. The doctor’s waiting area was done in suede and steel, with a pink coral coffee table and framed Picasso etchings. A half hour later Kirsten was seated in his office—same artwork, more valuable antique furniture. Nothing to suggest it was a doctor’s office except for the books on the shelves behind his rosewood desk. That and the vague clinical odor from somewhere farther along the dreaded corridors.
“Ms. Stansted?” He was young-old and tall in the way of men who bowed over slightly to accommodate themselves to a shorter world. “Jay Walsh. I understand this is something of an emergency.”
“I’m actually here for information,” she said. “About a friend’s condition.”
“An acquaintance.”
“That’s right.”
“Is this acquaintance a patient of mine?”
“I hope not.”
He slid into his high-backed leather chair. “And you are?”
“Working on a legal case.”
“I don’t do court work, Ms. Stansted.”
“This is a preliminary interview for background information only.”
He had the lean look of a dedicated athlete. But no healthy regime could erase the smeared strain of watching patients die. “Your friend has cancer?”
“He does.”
“What form?”
“Leukemia. CML.”
He had the good grace to grimace. “I assume he has gone through the traditional treatments.”
“Yes.”
“And they have not been successful.” It was not a question.
“No.”
“Do you know his blood type?”
“Only that it is rare.”
“Has he had bone marrow transplants?”
“Twice. They failed.”
“Does he have a living blood relative?”
“No. Why is that such a problem?”
“For reasons that still are not absolutely clear, marrow from a blood relative is far less subject to rejection.”
She read the unspoken from his expression. “But there are problems.”
“Putting it into the patient is not difficult. It is not inserted into the marrow, but rather into the blood. Eventually, if previous treatments have eradicated all the diseased marrow, this new substance will take over production of white blood cells and replenish the bones with new healthy marrow.” He struck his leg with a tight fist. “But drawing the marrow from living bone is a very difficult procedure, and not without risk. The needle has to have a bore large enough to extract a substance with the consistency of cold molasses. We must thrust this probe right through the arm or leg, and punch deep into the bone.”
She spoke with extreme care. “What if the only blood relative is an infant?”
“How old?”
“Sixteen months.”
“Is that what your case is about?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.�
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“This is an ongoing issue. Personally, I wouldn’t subject an infant to this for love or money. We have no idea what effect this procedure might have on a child’s development. What if it retarded growth in that limb?”
“But another doctor might be willing?”
“Nobody I’d associate with.” His voice and features had both turned to flint. “Are we done here?”
“What if the patient does not have a blood relative?”
“Then I would urge you to begin making arrangements.”
Kirsten rose to her feet. “Thank you for your time.”
But the doctor was not finished. “Without further delay.”
Kirsten called Marcus from the doctor’s waiting room. Or tried to. But he was either out of range or had his mobile shut off. She left a terse message, her words strained through the awareness of patients pretending not to listen. Their features bore the same shadows as the doctor’s. Suddenly she could think of nothing nicer than being out and away.
She walked down Park Avenue taking deep draughts of the city’s air. She tasted the diesel fumes like the elixir of life. She relished the sirens and the horns and the jostling crowds and the muggy overcast heat. Question: What would a vain and blindly conceited man do, given the fact that his life depended upon it? Answer: Anything and everything he could.
When the phone cheeped at her, she felt such a rush over the prospect of talking to Marcus again it embarrassed her. Kirsten walked down a side street and up a trio of stone stairs, then turned toward the wall in an effort to find as much privacy as midday uptown Manhattan could provide. “Marcus?”
“Ms. Stansted?”
“Yes?”
“This is Kurt Luft. Calling you from Düsseldorf.”
The fact that there could be only one reason for the German detective to call her did nothing to cut away her disappointment. “Yes, Mr. Luft.”
“I have been contacted by the former housemaid to Ms. Erin Brandt. She is a very stubborn woman, Ms. Stansted. Very difficult.”
“What did she say?”
“Nothing. She refuses to speak unless she can personally deliver the message.” The detective sounded genuinely irate at the disorderly process. “Wait, I am putting her on the line.”
Winner Take All Page 31
