by Sandy Nathan
“They’re not going to supervise me. Remove me from duty or give me free rein.”
A chuckle came over the receiver. “It’s a tech team. They may be able to do things you can’t.”
She smiled. They were giving her the big guns. A tech team meant people who could determine if technical crimes were involved. And how technical the crimes were. They would bring chemical persuaders with them and weapons most people hadn’t seen. Not to mention explosives and computers.
“Great. Thanks for the support. I won’t let you down.”
“We know you won’t, Val. Everyone’s counting on you. They’re watching you all the way to the top.”
That gave her chills. They were watching her. Now, to make the arrest that would put her on top. Being the bureau chief was her life’s ambition. This could put her where she wanted to be.
About one-fourth of the school was destroyed by the initial blast, the northwest quadrant that held classrooms, the school office, and some meeting rooms aboveground. Belowground were the offices and practice rooms. After the second explosion, the entire front section of the building collapsed.
From the way the force felt—and she knew, since she’d been standing near the first one—the bomb was in the basement farther up the hall from Richard’s studio.
The room she had been in was obliterated. She’d been thrown halfway up the hall and managed to run the rest, choking from dust and smoke, ducking falling timbers and debris. When the second blast occurred, she had clawed her way into the ballet studio. Those stupid girls were there, howling. Not her.
“Set up an interview area,” she ordered. “We’ll establish a ‘nice’ room for the good guys. We can sort people out and determine who isn’t nice. We’ll take them to headquarters. I’m going to be interrogating people. Tell me when the Special Forces arrive. And have someone start going through records. Flag anyone under suspicion. Look at the eye printouts and the data from the snipes. I want all the reports.”
They didn’t have to interview that many people. The school director was dead; she had been looking out the front window when the building collapsed beneath her. Most of the kids had been off-campus, done with their classes. They were being rounded up from pizza parlors in the neighborhood. Some were safely in their dorm rooms. Many teachers had gone for the day. A few were there; they were sequestered. Figuring out who was buried under the rubble and who was off playing pinball made taking a body count hard. The death toll didn’t seem too high, except for her team. But they were the only ones who really counted.
“I can’t believe it,” sobbed Sylvia James in the “nice” room they’d set up. “If I hadn’t been with the ballet class, I’d be dead.” Sylvia was red-eyed and shaken, but she shot a sharp look at Val. “The school didn’t know anything about what Madame Mercier was doing to those girls. Please believe me...”
“I do believe you, Sylvia. I know the Hermitage Academy would never be party to abuse. Who do you think did this?” Val knew kind and empathetic would be the best way to get information out of the blubbering office manager.
“I don’t know. We’re devoted to the arts. We don’t do anything controversial,” Sylvia sobbed.
“This was an act of terrorism against the United States,” Val assured her.
“Really?”
“Yes. I know you’ll give us your full cooperation.”
“Oh, yes! I’m totally behind the government.”
“OK. Who was down there in that basement? Or what was down there?”
“Nothing, really. There’s storage and extra classrooms. Special students—like poor Richard...” That was good for a five-tissue break.
“Tell me who might have killed him. Who else went down there?”
“Jeremy had rooms in the basement, a bedroom and a music studio. He practiced his clarinet every day. The floor vibrated from it. He had speakers.”
“Is he technically minded? Did he know anything about computers?”
“Oh, no. Jeremy had to call Henry in to set up his speakers and keep them working. Jeremy wouldn’t do anything. He wouldn’t know how.”
She put her hands to her face and shrieked, “Oh, God! Jeremy’s down there, too. He’s probably dead.”
“Sylvia, we’re trying to find Jeremy as fast as possible, if he was down there. Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he’s wandering around the city. Maybe something fell on his head and he needs help. Tell me about him so we can help him.”
“Well, his name is Jeremy Edgarton—”
“As in Veronica Edgarton?”
“Yes. The Piermont family, Mrs. Edgarton’s family, once owned this building. She gave it to us for the school. She’s on the board. Mrs. Edgarton gave us the building in return for taking special care of Jeremy.”
Her voice dropped and she looked around as though someone might be listening. “Jeremy’s had a terrible time since his father died. Do you remember Chaz Edgarton? The famous musician?”
Val nodded.
“It happened seven years ago. Jeremy was nine. He found his dad dead—an overdose.” Sylvia leaned forward. “I don’t know how a child could get over the shock. And then what happened next: news teams and fans mobbing their house day and night. Mrs. Edgarton moved him here, where he’d be safe. That’s why she had the building renovated.”
“I see.” Val kept her face composed. When the ballet teacher had mentioned Mrs. Edgarton, she’d thought of Mrs. E as she was now, the socialite celebrity who’d hooked up with the general. Her present notoriety had eclipsed Mr. Jazz’s tragedy. Val was nineteen when Chaz Edgarton died; she still remembered being stunned.
“How did his father’s death affect Jeremy?”
“We’d hear him playing his clarinet with recordings of his father’s music through the office floor. It’s like he’s trying to get his dad back.”
“How often does he do that?”
“Almost every day.”
“Could he have had any part in the explosion?”
“No.” Sylvia leaned forward another notch. “He’s harmless. Jeremy’s autistic. His mother had a famous psychiatrist come here when he was diagnosed and tell the teachers about his disorder. It was supposed to be a secret, but everyone at the school knows. That’s hard on Jeremy, too. He’s not socially skilled, which is why he lives in the basement and spends most of his time there. He has to be busy with projects all the time or he becomes distressed. His mother sends him lots of kits and things to keep him busy. It’s all legal. We check.”
“What kind of kits?”
“For sculptures and metal work. And wood things. He made the bird feeders in the back of the school. They’re amazing. Twelve feet high.”
“Bird feeders?”
“And wind chimes. Dollhouses. Things like that.”
Val’s internal alarms blazed. Lots of deliveries to the basement. She wanted to call in a bulldozer to clear the rubble. If these people were so stupid they didn’t know what the ballet teacher was doing, anything could get past them. “You’re sure he’s harmless?”
“You’d have to see him. He’s not capable of carrying out any kind of plan. He barely talks. Well, he talks to Henry. His mother hired Henry to watch out for him. But he has no friends.”
“Does he have any favorite teachers?”
“Yeah. He likes Mel Adams. They talk about history a lot. He’s in the history club. Mel chairs that. But everyone likes Mel.”
“I see. Does Mrs. Edgarton come to the school?”
“Yes, for board meetings and social events. Fund-raisers and such. She hasn’t been here in a year, though. She’s been traveling with the general.”
Val knew that very well. She’d memorized Mrs. Edgarton’s dossier, hating her from the moment she’d seen her up close at a State Department event. “Did she come here at any other time?”
“Yes, she came to see Jeremy.”
“Did she go to Jeremy’s practice studio?”
“Yes, of course. He lives there.”
; “How long did she stay down there?”
“A long time. He played his clarinet for her.”
“Does she come very often?”
“She used to. Before she and the general became a couple.”
“Has the general come here?”
“Oh, no. He wouldn’t be interested in a school for the arts. Except maybe for target practice.” She smiled.
“Tell me about Jeremy and his mother. Are they close?”
Sylvia rolled her eyes. Val noticed that gossiping had popped Sylvia out of her grief. “Love/hate, you know. It must be hard for a kid like him to have such a gorgeous and famous mother. I’ve been here as long as the school has been in this location. It’s been hard to see them fall apart as Jeremy grew up.”
“Fall apart?”
“For some time after Chaz died, Jeremy and his mother were very quiet. Grieving. She’d come and visit him—” Sylvia James suddenly switched gears. “And I’ve got to tell you that I’ve never seen her look anything but the fashion plate you see in the magazines. Big fur coat, perfect hair and makeup. She’s gorgeous. She’d come in, say hello to everyone, and then go downstairs and spend time with Jeremy.”
“How often?”
“In those days, once a week, when she wasn’t traveling. And they’d go to the estate in the Hamptons in the summer. Jeremy is there on most weekends and all summer, and she’d visit.”
“How did their relationship change?”
“A while after his father died, she started taking him out to dinner. He’d get all dressed up in suits she had made for him. Just like a little man. They’d walk out the front door, her dressed to the nines, with a hat and high heels. He’d hold out his arm like he was her date. It was so cute. They’d go to Scallion or Rumba, all the top restaurants. When he was about twelve, she started taking him to Heinz’s and the Flamenco Club.”
Val blinked. “Isn’t the Flamenco a little much for a twelve-year-old?” Heinz’s and the Flamenco were the top supper clubs in the city. Swanky, sexy, and late hours.
“He was raised with things like that. He’d probably gone there to hear his father...” Her guilty look said the school staff thought it out-of-bounds, too.
“Everything seemed fine, until she began to keep company with the general.” Sylvia’s eyes widened farther and her voice dropped lower. “Mrs. Edgarton and Jeremy had a huge fight three years ago—right in the main hall. I was the only one here at the time. I’ve never told anyone about it, it was so bad.”
Val leaned closer. She reached out and touched Sylvia’s hand. “Tell me what happened. It may have something to do with the explosion.”
“He started yelling in his room; I could hear it from the office. I didn’t know Jeremy knew words like that. She came up the stairs in tears, almost running toward the front door. I’d never seen her upset. He was right behind her, screaming.”
“What did he say?”
“He was angry about her and the general. He said terrible things about her... social life and the men she’d dated since his father died. He said she’d dumped him in the basement because she was a terrible mother. He called her names—” Sylvia blushed and stopped talking.
“Have you told anyone else this?”
“No. I couldn’t stand everyone gossiping about her. She’s so beautiful, and she’s had such a sad life.”
“The Edgartons are lucky they have you looking out for them.” Val patted her hand and sat back, delighted at the information she’d gotten. How did it fit with the explosion? She was sure there was a connection. “Is there anything else?”
“Oh, yes. Mrs. Edgarton has a key to the school. So does Henry at the gate. In case Jeremy had an emergency. Technically, either of them could come in at any time.”
“Let me see if I’ve got this right. Jeremy lives in the basement and doesn’t come out much?”
“That’s right, except when he goes to their estate in the Hamptons.”
“And how often does he do that?”
“Pretty much every weekend. Mrs. Edgarton’s driver takes him in one of her cars. Sometimes Henry goes along. Jeremy spends all his vacations and summers there, too.”
“Who watches him then?”
“The driver. And they have staff out there.”
“Who’s the driver?”
“I’ve met him. Arthur something. He’s Latino. I don’t remember his last name. Henry would know.”
“Well, thank you so much, Sylvia. We’ll get back to you if we need more.”
Sylvia’s eyes teared as she stood and shook Val’s hand. “Thank you so much, Lieutenant. You’ve been so nice. I know you’ll get the answers.”
Wally—Mel’s friend and the math teacher at the academy—spit out the last of his front teeth. He was tied in a chair in a cement-lined room. His clothes were bloodstained and his face battered. He had an IV in his arm.
“I don’t know. It’s conceivable. It could have been that way,” he mewled. His words were hard to understand due to his missing teeth.
Val nodded for the attendant to inject something into Wally’s arm. He screamed and his body jerked out of his chair. Sweat drenched his face and came through his clothes.
“You know, Wally, the great thing about the drugs we use is that they dissipate very rapidly. So, if there’s a medical exam, nothing shows. The only effect they have on the body is causing pain. Show him again, Officer,” she said.
Wally screamed once more. “Please! Stop. I’ll talk. I’ll tell you everything.”
“Good, Wally. I thought you would.”
17
“Woman, do not tell me what Mrs. Edgarton will like.” Henry Henderson stood with his wife in the middle of one of the last super-delis in Manhattan. He wore a black suit and tie, a white shirt, and shoes so shiny they reflected the ceiling. Lena was decked out in a black skirt, white shirt, sensible black shoes, and coat to match.
Henry’s voice reverberated throughout the grocery as he spoke to his wife. Arthur had given them instructions: be out there in public, doing something. He’d given them a cover and a mission. They were to make sure every government agent in New York City knew that Mrs. Veronica Edgarton was returning from South America that night and needed a few things from the store.
That would be news to them. The feds already knew that he worked for the great Mrs. E. His father had been her father’s butler. Henry had watched out for Jeremy since he was born. The feds had known that for years, too. Hadn’t kept them from monitoring him.
“We went over what she wanted on the phone. I’ve got her shopping list,” Henry bellowed. “She likes haute cuisine, mother. She is not goin’ to like your ribs, no matter what you say.”
“Henry, I know if she ever tastes them, she’ll love them. She’ll probably sit right there at that long table in her ball gown, and chow down.”
“I don’t think so.” He got the attention of one of the men working behind the nicely, but somewhat sparsely, stocked meat case. He spoke twice as loudly as needed, broadcasting. “Butcher, could you get me an eight-rib standing rib roast for Mrs. Edgarton? She’s coming back tonight and is having a little dinner for a few of her friends. Out in the Hamptons. We have little enough time to get there without having to shop. Here’s her whole list. Can you have someone pick it off the shelves for me?”
Sure enough, someone jumped out from the rear of the store and trotted off with his list. Henry leaned against the glass case and waited. Even though he’d seen it all his life, he was always amazed at the way rich folks lived.
Lena took a different route, walking up and down the aisles with a cart. She amassed quite a load.
“What are you doing with all this?” Henry scowled when she approached.
She addressed the butcher. “Would you please throw in some of those short ribs? An’ some spareribs, too.” She turned to her husband. “I’ll tell you what I’m doing. I’m going to fatten up that poor skinny woman. She always comes back so thin. She needs to fill out, and I intend
to help her do it.” She gave the butcher a conspiratorial look before stowing the packages in her cart. “Socialites think thin is better, but you know...”
“That’s enough, woman.” Henry felt a buzz at his belt where he’d put his cell phone. That meant Arthur was now outside. He and Lena had been supposed to stall and attract attention until Arthur could get there. “We’ve got what we need.”
At the checkout, Henry pulled out a stack of bills an inch thick. “Here you go, miss. An’ a happy evening to you.” He peeled off a tip for the girl at the register.
“Oh, thank you, sir.”
“Do you see Mrs. Edgarton’s car out there? You can’t miss it.” Early fall rain pelted the sidewalk.
She looked out the glass doors. “There’s four limos and a town car in line.”
“Call the biggest limo in close. I don’t want to get wet.”
They piled into the back with noisy aplomb.
“Come on in, you two,” Mel said. “Eliana, move over and let them in.”
They nodded at her and Mel, and took seats along the side of the car.
“Jesus Christ, Henry. What were you buying for?” Jeremy exclaimed, holding up two large bouquets of flowers that Lena had shoved at him. A basket of fruit sat by his feet.
“I spent it all, Jeremy. If what you say is true, we won’t get a chance to shop again. It’s a big car. I figured we might pick up some more deserving souls on the way. Lena and I broadcast to the whole city that your mother is coming home tonight and expects dinner at eight.”
Jeremy frowned. “My mother will not be attending her good-bye party. I had word from her a few days ago saying she’d be in South America a few more weeks, but Arthur just told us she’s in Russia with the general.” He shrugged, face hard, and then indicated the groceries. “With all this stuff, the feds and all the guards at the checkpoints will know where this car is headed and why.”
“Jeremy, thank you so much,” Lena bent over and squeezed his hand. “If you hadn’t sent Arthur to warn us and tell us what to do, we’d be dead.”
“That’s OK, Lena. You’ve always taken care of me.”
“That was a pleasure, Jeremy. Our pleasure.” Lena smiled, and then shook her head. “The party is tomorrow morning.” She slumped, aware she’d used their code word for what was coming. “I can’t believe it. This is our last night on earth.”
