Swann Songs (The Boston Uncommon Mysteries Book 4)

by Arlene Kay

  “We`ve checked all the known commercial sources of cyanide,” he said. “No luck so far. Your tip about Paskert’s field trip is our first lead.”

  I nodded. “It`s the key to the whole thing, wouldn`t you say? Someone who knew Sonia’s idiosyncrasies used them against her or tried to. Duff Ryder paid the price but in the end so did Sonia.”

  One of Keegan’s minions whispered something into his ear and scurried away.

  “Okay. They`re finished with your door, Ms. Kane. No useable prints on the door handle, but that`s no surprise.” A change in his posture alerted me to a new development. Keegan uncoiled his long legs and straightened up, looking like a much larger man. “Amateurs. They try to be careful, but they still screw up. We found a print in the middle of your door right near those blood drops. Guess whose it was?”

  I refused to dignify that request. Two can play the stony silence game.

  He waved his arm in disgust. “You`re no fun. We found Nadia Pinsky’s perfect little pinky right there. The boys are going to round her up right now. Tell your husband or Mr. Bolin Swann to call me. You can press charges if you want to.”

  I stood and shook Keegan’s hand. “He`ll be happy about that.”

  Keegan twirled around as if he were a magician. “Thanks, ladies. I`ll be in touch.”

  I USED ALL MY powers of persuasion to restrain Deming. “It`s classic good cop/bad cop scenario,” I said. “Relax and don`t butt in. Let Keegan grill her first. You know from experience what a bulldog that man is. Then we`ll step in and play nice with her. Sun Tzu—remember?”

  “I know how to handle things, Eja. Remember, I`m the attorney in the family.”

  When Deming gets huffy, I pay obeisance to the legal gods and fold my tent. After all, how can a humble MFA compete with those credentials? Luckily his snits never last long. Within five minutes, Deming is swamped with remorse and full of apologies. When the subject involves Gabriel, he sometimes holds out a bit longer, but in the end my husband always acquiesces.

  He grunted something rude and grudgingly agreed to my plan. After Keegan cracked her like a lychee nut, Nadia would welcome having friends at court, and I was fully prepared to play that role.

  When Keegan phoned, I left everything to Deming. He made a production of it, retreating to his study, closing the door, and emerging some minutes later with a smug smile on his handsome face.

  “Nadia Pinsky is toast,” he gloated. “Keegan gave her what amounts to the third degree, and she folded like a cheap fan. She told him it was all her idea. She was afraid that we were losing interest in the case and wanted to stir things up in Duff Ryder’s name.”

  “No one egged her on?” I asked. “Strange. Did he charge her with anything?”

  “Standard stuff—malicious mischief, unlawful entry. You know the drill. Naturally, if we elect not to press charges, she`ll get a stern lecture and that’s it.”

  “So Keegan thinks she`s clean in Sonia’s death? I`m not so sure.”

  Deming held up his hand. “Stop. I didn`t say that. You know how cagey that guy is. He braced her about the day Sonia died. Got her to admit that she was involved with Gabriel, but that`s it. Keegan is keeping an open mind about her role in the murders. She`s an awfully convenient suspect, always on the scene. After all, she and Dr. Gabriel Mann might have been in it together.” His eyes glistened at the prospect of Gabriel standing in the dock. The spectre of capital punishment would have completed his fantasy had the Bay State not eliminated that possibility some time before.

  “Maybe you`re right,” I said, pinching his cheeks. “Come on. Let me see those dimples. Love can make a woman do strange things sometimes.”

  Soft words instantly cure him of the sulks, and Deming responded with some clever moves of his own. Later that evening when Anika texted us with the details of Sorrel’s gathering, Deming was surprisingly agreeable. He folded his arms like the Grand Poohbah, grumbled just for show, and acquiesced.

  “Tomorrow evening, huh? I guess it`s okay although I`m expecting a real snooze fest. For crying out loud, we just saw half these people at Duff Ryder’s service. Zealots bore me to death. They are so one-dimensional.”

  I shrugged. “Whatever. It does seem like an ideal time to quiz Nadia though.”

  Deming’s eyes met mine. “Very clever, Mrs. Swann. Full marks to you.”

  I made a half bow and refocused on the task at hand. Tactics and strategy were a winning combination. Even Deming couldn`t argue with Sun Tzu.

  “I wonder who`s on the guest list,” I said. “All the usual suspects? Maybe we should divvy up the names. Divide and conquer, you know.”

  When Deming acts clueless it`s an obvious charade. After all, the man once edited the esteemed Harvard Law Review, an honor accorded only to superior students. He gave me a blank stare and shrugged.

  “I have no idea what you`re saying. You and Mom are the schemers anyway. I only care about protecting you and my property.”

  “Thanks loads for lumping me with your other possessions.” I kept my tone sugar sweet despite a compelling urge to pinch his nose. “I`ll speak with Anika and let you know.”

  Before I left Deming added one more thing.

  “Why are you so consumed by this case, Eja? It can`t be the true crime book nonsense. You don`t even enjoy that kind of writing.” He treated me to the Byronic frown. “I hope you`re not launching a crusade to save your ex-husband. He`s still numero uno on Keegan’s list, you know.”

  I bit back the retort that was right on the tip of my tongue, replacing it with a mysterious smile that would shame the Mona Lisa. Then without another word I strode into my office, closed the door, and immediately sketched out a plan based on the assumption that both Duff and Sonia were felled by the same hand. Personally, I don`t believe in coincidences or the theory that a crazed killer stalked Concord University, randomly savaging any woman in his path. My ideas centered on Sonia and the devastation that trailed her every move. Love affairs, lurid books, and lookism converged into the perfect emotional storm for violence. Each of Sorrel’s probable guests had a reason to bitterly resent the lovely lady professor and the opportunity to make her pay.

  By my recollection, the whole gang had attended the Bella Brigade fundraiser, and surprisingly the same crowd had converged on Sonia’s work area the day of her death. Nadia, Gabriel’s latest lover and Duff’s loyal pal, had personally felt the sharp sting of Sonia’s tongue. Had she finally reached the boiling point and clobbered her rival? That scenario was plausible, but it didn`t explain the cyanide and Duff’s death. If Nadia had mistakenly killed her friend, it would have devastated her, and I doubted that Nadia could hide it. She would have babbled like a swollen brook full of remorse. I discounted the possibility that Nadia was a psychopath who was immune to normal human emotions. In the past a clever crazy had deceived me about that, but I held firm in my belief. Deming called it the triumph of hubris over reason.

  Zarina, on the other hand, was calm, calculating, and fully capable of anything she set out to do. As a psychologist, she knew how to manipulate others and anticipate their reaction. I`d felt that sense of menace myself when we spoke on the Common. Sonia would be easy prey for a woman the size of Zarina. She had no love for Sonia and didn`t try to hide it. Her loyalty was to the movement and the goals it espoused. Would Zarina commit murder to fell an apostate? I simply didn`t know.

  Despite Deming’s suspicions, I had no feelings for Gabriel—no positive ones, that is. I knew the man, realized late in the game that he was a supreme egotist who was also vain and lazy. Gabriel was bright enough to plot a crime and amoral enough not to feel any guilt. But after calculating the odds he was unlikely to do so—too much downside risk for him. On the other hand, he was fully capable of nudging one of his admirers into doing the dirty work. Shades of Henry II and Becket, Deming was right about that one. If either Melan
ie or Nadia had eliminated Sonia, Gabriel might well have egged her on.

  My head spun with spurious theories that got me nowhere. Even Fess Paskert had a whopping big motive for silencing Sonia, and he had ample opportunity to abscond with a pinch of cyanide. Plenty of suspects but no proof—I was back where I started from.

  I cleared my mind and analyzed Deming’s last question as dispassionately as I could. Why was I so involved—not obsessed, merely involved—with this case? The answer was complicated. Long ago I warned Deming that I was curious, nosey even. I hadn`t pursued this conundrum until Gabriel Mann dragged me, Anika, and the Swann boys into a messy situation with tragic consequences. I didn`t give a fig whether or not Gabriel was clapped in irons and left to rot. As that old, trite saying went, he`d made his bed . . . over and over again.

  Duff Ryder, that true disciple of a failed leader, was a different story. She deserved better, no matter how mixed her motives were. Duff was young. You`re allowed some missteps in your twenties, and from everything I`d heard, she had infinite promise. I refused to let her be swept aside in death as she had been in life, a footnote to Sonia’s superior star power.

  Introspection had a cleansing effect. I felt vindicated, even a bit self-righteous. Then I recalled another of my failings: arrogance. Hubris, some called it. All my life I had been the smartest kid in the room, even among gifted types like Deming or CeCe. Others had more wealth, family connections, or beauty, but I had that genetic quirk that produced genius. Solving crimes, besting the professionals, was ego balm to me. At times I craved it as slavishly as any other addict did. It validated me and conferred a secret satisfaction. On a couple of occasions, my overconfidence had endangered others and almost led to my own demise. That realization sobered me up in a hurry.

  I felt chastened when I phoned Anika. She listened to my plan, added a few suggestions, and buoyed my confidence with her enthusiasm.

  “You`re right on target, Eja. I`ll fill Bolin in on everything we discussed. This is so exciting, I can`t wait!”

  I surveyed my desk, that beautiful French bureau plat that Cecilia Swann had so loved. At times like this I felt her presence, from the exotic scents she favored to the soft sweet strains of jazz that she hummed. At times like this I especially missed my friend and yearned for her presence.

  CeCe was never maudlin, and she loathed self-indulgence. She had lived in the present, enjoyed every day, and embraced the future. “Snap out of it, Eja. Stop moping.” Her voice was as clear in my mind as if she were standing next to me. I resolved to heed my friend`s advice and make a no whining pledge. Maybe tomorrow.

  When CeCe was taken, I had avenged her murder. The same traits that drove Deming crazy had brought his sister`s killers to book. Whether through ego or sheer madness, I could again help to right a grievous wrong. It was my duty. At least that`s what I told myself.

  Sometime later Deming ambled into the room, carrying two mugs of mulled cider and a load of guilt. He bent over, kissed my cheek, and mumbled an apology.

  “Forgive me for being a jerk,” he said.

  I couldn`t resist. “Pompous prick was more like it. Don`t worry. I know you can`t help yourself. It`s congenital.”

  Deming rolled his eyes. “You are a brat, Eja Kane. Maybe that`s why I love you.” He bent over the computer screen and scowled. “Okay. Print me a copy, and we`ll rehearse this scheme of yours. Just don`t expect me to chat up Gabriel Mann or act like his pal.”

  “I never even considered it.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  SORREL YEAGAN’S home surprised me. I expected dreary bachelor digs, a small colorless efficiency with a whiff of desperation much like the man who owned it. I couldn`t have been more wrong.

  When we pulled up to the townhouse on Brattle Street, Deming gave a practiced nod. “Hmm. West Cambridge. Very nice.” He pointed to the other units in the enclave. “See. Just seven of them. Not too noisy, decent size, and just far enough from the madding crowd of students. I approve.”

  The Swann seal of approval was high praise indeed, particularly from a real estate shark like Deming who made it his business to know both price and value. He frowned at me as he continued his assessment.

  “I thought you said he had no money. These places go for at least a million bucks.”

  “Search me. I was judging from his office and his clothes. Not terribly impressive.” In truth, I had no concept of cost, especially when something had more than six figures attached to it. Before inheriting CeCe’s condo, I inhabited a small one bedroom on a low floor adjacent to the Prudential Tower. On his first visit, Deming could barely wipe the sneer from his face.

  He angled the Porsche into a parking space and turned off the engine. “Okay, super sleuth, we`re here. Any more marching orders?”

  “Nope.” I pointed to a cab that was discharging its passengers. “Look. It`s Zarina and Nadia. Better watch your virtue, Mr. Swann. Zarina has a big crush on you.”

  The expression on his face mingled horror with scorn. “Big is the operative word. I have nothing to fear,” he said. “After all, I`m a married man.”

  We both grinned at that since Gabriel, Fess Paskert, and many more were eager to shed their vows and clothing when opportunity knocked. Fortunately, Deming had sown his wild oats—enough to feed an entire army—long before we got together.

  “Ignore both of them,” Deming ordered. “I want Nadia to sweat for a while.”

  I gave him my sweetest smile. “And Zarina? You can easily make her sweat.”

  “No comment.” Deming herded me toward Sorrel’s front door with the vigilance of a border collie. “Come on. Let`s get this farce underway.”

  The moment we rang the bell, our host appeared and ushered us and his other guests into the foyer. Nadia kept her head down, but Zarina boldly eyed Deming as if he were a tasty treat that she yearned to sample. I yelped as he tightened his grip on my arm in a desperate bid for cover. Deming Swann, scourge of womanhood, had finally met his match!

  Other guests had preceded us. Fess Paskert, Gabriel, and Melanie Hunt were seated on beige suede sofas that flanked the fireplace. Each had a champagne flute in hand. Unlike most New England homes, the floor plan was open, modern but far from austere. Large Aubusson carpets in muted shades of gold covered gleaming bamboo floors. With the exception of one piece, the artwork was an eclectic blend of European oils and bold abstracts. My eyes were drawn to an incredible portrait of Sonia that held pride of place over the fireplace mantel. The sepia image was so vivid that I cried out and grasped Deming’s arm.

  “Like it?” Sorrel asked. “Sonia called it soul-snatching. Too revealing.”

  “It`s lovely,” I said. “Almost alive. It certainly captures her beauty.” Upon reflection, it captured something else as well—the duality that made Sonia such a formidable person. The face that stared down upon us was bold, confident, and somewhat contemptuous, much like the woman I had known.

  Deming stepped closer to examine it. “Tintype, isn`t it? You don`t see many of those anymore. Kind of a lost art.”

  “My hobby I confess,” Sorrel said. “At one time I had artistic leanings. Couldn`t take it to the next level, of course, but I still kept my hand in.”

  “Wow! It looks amazing.” I stepped closer to study the image.

  Sorrel shook his head. “Trust me, it`s not that difficult to master. The process can get messy though, so Sonia always exiled me to my studio.”

  Deming peered down at him with more intensity than I had expected. I was surprised at his interest in something as esoteric as tin typing. The lad never ceased to astound me.

  “Isn`t it hard to get the proper supplies?” he asked.

  “Not really,” Sorrel said. “We`ve had a resurgence recently. Lots of younger artists—gifted ones—are experimenting with tin typing. Me, I`m just a dabbler. Cambridge has some r
eally serious students of the craft.”

  While they discussed techniques, I wandered over to greet my fellow guests. Gabriel leapt to his feet with courtesy he had never extended when we were a couple. Melanie stayed seated, fidgeting with a string of spectacular South Sea Island pearls that dipped down deep into her décolletage. She shared a limp handshake and a tepid greeting with me.

  “Nice to see you,” I said mendaciously. “Such a fitting tribute for Sonia.”

  “Humph,” Melanie sniffed. “She loved attention. Craved it.”

  Gabriel tensed like a heat-seeking missile. Probably concerned that Fess Paskert would hear his wife`s comments. Maybe he was also trying to head off any worrisome speculation about Sonia’s sexual adventures. More likely as a man awaiting a promotion, he was focused on damage control.

  “Are Anika and Bolin coming?” he asked. “I heard about that scholarship they`re funding. Very generous.”

  Fess Paskert reared up at the mention of money. It was a genetic quirk, a coping mechanism peculiar to fundraisers everywhere.

  “Ah, the Swann Foundation. Such commitment to gender equality. You must be very proud, Ms. Kane. How is your book coming along, by the way?” After a quick peek at Melanie’s cleavage, Paskert turned to me.

  “Slow but steady,” I said. “Naturally, the murders complicated things.”

  The M word jolted Paskert back against the couch. “Quite,” he murmured. He beckoned a waiter circulating refills of champagne and leapt for a glass.

  When Bolin and Anika arrived, the group heaved a collective sigh of relief. Bolin was garbed in understated elegance, a form-fitting Brioni suit that few men of any age could manage. Anika’s Chanel dress was simplicity itself, if a garment costing $5,000 can ever be considered simple. I gladly abandoned the sad specimens on the couch and joined Deming and his parents.

  “What a lovely home,” Anika said to Sorrel. “So beautifully done. Do those French doors lead to your garden?”