The Trophy Wife

by Diana Diamond

  Angela stopped with her hand on the knob. Helen and her agents looked up at Andrew Hogan for their instructions. “Let’s wait outside,” Hogan decided. They rose reluctantly and filed past Angela. But Hogan closed the door behind them, turned, and leaned his back against it.

  “Please, Andrew,” Walter Childs asked.

  Hogan shook his head. “I can’t do that, Walter. You two have a … relationship. And the fact is that you’re both suspects. I can’t give you an opportunity to coordinate your stories.”

  “Jesus,” Angela said in despair. She reached around Hogan for the doorknob and then looked back to Walter when the security officer wouldn’t budge.

  “We’re trying to save Emily’s life,” Walter pleaded, “if she’s not dead already.”

  Angela considered for a moment. “You’re right, of course,” she said to Walter. Then she stepped quickly to the sofa and sat in the chair she had just left. This time, Hogan sat a decent distance away from her and Walter perched on the very edge of his chair.

  “We’re all in agreement that Emily’s kidnapping involved insiders,” she began, “people well placed in the bank and familiar with its operating procedures.”

  “Yes, of course,” Walter acknowledged. He looked at Hogan for confirmation, but the detective’s expression was professionally noncommittal.

  “You do agree with that, don’t you, Mr. Hogan?” Angela persisted. Hogan reluctantly allowed that it was a strong possibility. “Then which one of your operatives was going to identify the person from InterBank? Did any of them even know anyone from InterBank? Any of the senior officers or the key people on their staffs?”

  Hogan kept staring. She was right. Helen’s hired hands wouldn’t have been able to identify anyone from the bank who showed up to claim the ransom.

  “That’s why I went to Grand Cayman,” Angela told him. Then she looked over at Walter. “You told me when you were supposed to send the ransom and how it was going to be handled. I knew you’d pay it. You’d never take a chance with Emily’s life. And I knew that the only way you would survive here would be if you could show Mr. Hollcroft who the real thief was.” She turned back to Hogan. “Someone from InterBank was down there. Probably waiting at the airport for the couriers to make their delivery. And I would have spotted him, if you’re people hadn’t screwed everything up.”

  Hogan shook his head slowly. “I’ve got to hand it to you, Miss Hilliard. You’ve got balls. We catch you red-handed at the scene and you blame the people who caught you.”

  “Those idiots couldn’t catch the runs in Mexico,” she fired back. “First, they couldn’t have been more obvious if they were dressed like Batman. I spotted them and I’m not exactly Scotland Yard. Then, they blew whatever cover they might have had by barging through pedestrian traffic to arrest me. Next, they let themselves be suckered into driving right past the airport where the person they were supposed to find was probably waiting.”

  Andrew was turning red from the description of the operation. “They found the person they were supposed to find,” she interjected.

  Walter came to Angela’s defense. “She does have a point, Andrew. You said yourself that the couriers were supposed to deliver the money to the airport.”

  “For the love of God, Walter, don’t side with her. She knows where Emily is.”

  “I don’t,” Angela said, “but I think that maybe your investigators do. It’s hard to believe that they could have screwed up that badly if they weren’t trying.”

  “Where is Mrs. Childs?” Andrew kept pressing.

  Angela looked back and forth. Then she stood quickly. “I’m very tired. It’s been a bitch of a day.” She fixed on Hogan. “I’m going home now.” And then she said to Walter, “I’m truly sorry about all this. You know I want to help you in any way I can. You have my address and phone number. Your friend Hercule Poirot, here, ought to be able to find me.”

  They all sat speechless and watched her walk out of the office.

  “She couldn’t be involved in this,” Childs finally assured Hogan. “I know her. She couldn’t do anything like this.”

  “Walter, think with your head instead of your pecker. You don’t really believe that she went down there to catch the kidnapper, do you?”

  “I know she’d do anything to help me.”

  “She’s not helping you. She’s helping herself. Dammit it, Walter, I’ve been a cop all my life. I know when someone is lying. Your lady friend went down there to collect the hundred million. She knows where your wife is.”

  Helen didn’t agree with Andrew Hogan. She had listened patiently as Hogan repeated the conversation that had been held in Childs’s office after Helen and her men had departed. Then she announced, “Of course she’s lying. Her story about going down there to identify the kidnapper is pure horseshit. Something that she made up on the plane. But I don’t think it follows that she’s involved.”

  “What other explanation is there?” Hogan demanded.

  “I don’t know. But she doesn’t have a motive. Why would she be part of a scheme to kidnap Emily Childs?”

  “How about a hundred million bucks. Isn’t that motive enough?”

  “Not for this young lady,” Helen instantly answered. “She has the next president of InterBank wrapped around her finger. Prestige. Power. Money. Even after Emily Childs leaves with half the property and a life’s worth of alimony, there’s still going to be more money than Angela Hilliard can ever spend. It would be stupid of her to risk all that for money that will come to her eventually. And one thing this young lady isn’t is stupid.”

  “Well, if it isn’t her, then who in hell is it?” Hogan’s question was more an explosion of frustration than a serious inquiry, but Helen answered thoughtfully.

  “That’s what doesn’t make sense. There are no motives. No one has anything to gain.”

  Hogan returned a blank stare.

  “Well, think about it,” she went on. “Why would Walter Childs have his wife kidnapped? He’s got his fortune. He has his trophy wife. He’s got a big-time job. So he’s going to have to give up his house—he’ll buy another. And he’s going to have to pay serious alimony—he can afford it. To him, it’s a simple financial transaction. He pays top dollar for a brand-new wife who’s worth top dollar. It’s just like trading in his BMW for this year’s model. No big deal.”

  “You said he was ambitious,” Hogan corrected, reminding his friend that she had once thought that Walter might use the kidnapping to assure his rise to the presidency.

  “Yeah, but that only works if he goes to the board and makes a big show of sacrificing his wife rather than robbing the bank. Childs is trying to pay the ransom, which isn’t going to raise his stock with the directors.”

  Andrew nodded in despair. Then he asked, “What about the tennis jock?”

  Helen shrugged. “He’s hard to figure. Amanda is right about her mother paying him regularly and Emily did send a note with her last check saying that she wasn’t going to need any more lessons. But is that a motive? It’s not like she was going to turn him in. He had nothing to fear from her and he still was collecting overtime from all those would-be Steffi Grafs.”

  “Her note could have come as a disappointment if he was counting on half her divorce settlement,” Andrew mused. “But he doesn’t know a thing about InterBank activities. And if he were in on it, why would he have come in after the kidnappers and walked all over the crime scene?”

  “So who does that leave?” Helen asked.

  “The other banker, I suppose. He knows the bank procedures inside out and he has a real interest in derailing Childs’s career.”

  “Yeah, but he already has a seven-figure salary and all the perks. Why would he risk exchanging all that for a jail cell?”

  Hogan supplied the answer. “To make himself the world’s top financier. For people like Mitchell, finishing second is a complete disgrace.”

  Helen nodded. “So I guess the only one left is you.”

>   Hogan laughed. “You still think I might be the kidnapper?”

  “You’re the only one with the underworld contacts,” She answered.

  “Well, I’m not paying for the chorus girl you have following me,” Hogan said.

  “No charge. It’s the least I can do for an old friend.”

  They fell into another period of moody silence, both focused on the same set of suspects and motives to see if there might be something that they had missed. Then Hogan put his thinking into words. “Suppose Emily decided that she didn’t want to be pushed aside …” Helen looked up into Andrew’s face, signaling her interest, so Hogan continued with his train of thought. “Walter lays everything out for her one night, tells her he’s fallen in love with another woman and explains what a wonderful settlement she’s going to get. But instead of demanding more, like any sensible wife would, Emily says flat out no. She threatens to drag Walter and his mistress into the garish light of public disclosure. Walter pleads. Promises her twice as much, but she isn’t interested in the money. She’s so pissed at the guy that she wants his head on a pole. She’s already cutting out a scarlet letter to sew onto Angela’s lapel. Wouldn’t that be enough motive? Wouldn’t Walter want to put her out of the way?”

  “Maybe so,” Helen allowed.

  “Or, suppose Walter accepts the bad news,” Andrew continued. “So he goes back to Angela and tells her that he won’t be able to marry her because he’ll be disgraced and thrown out of the banking world. All of a sudden, a very ambitious young lady who figured she was going to get it all is now going to get nothing except the occasional sexual favors of a middle-aged man. Quite a disappointment, don’t you think?”

  “It’s a motive,” Helen conceded. She stood up wearily. “Guess I better find out whether Emily Childs knew she was going to get thrown out of bed.”

  “How are you going to find that out?”

  “Amanda. She’s searching through her mother’s records. Maybe she found a check retaining a divorce lawyer.”

  * * *

  Walter Childs took a devious route from his office. He signed out in the usual fashion, crossed the lobby, and as he climbed into the waiting limo, stole a glance at the man who had been watching his office. The man, presumably one of Hogan’s hirelings, waited until the car pulled away from the curb and then turned abruptly to head off in the other direction. That was exactly what Childs expected. Just as on the previous nights, the one watching his office had passed him off to another investigator whose car was just now falling into line behind the limo. The car would tail them all the way out to Short Hills, up to the moment when they turned into the driveway. Then it would roll past, leaving him to the man who was watching his house.

  Walter made sure the car was still following when the limo turned south on Park Avenue. Then he leaned forward to his driver. “Omar, I need to head uptown. Take a U-turn here.”

  Omar looked bewildered. “Where would you like to go?”

  “Just uptown. Now!”

  Omar braked and turned abruptly into the cross-street cutout in the center island. He found a minute space in the northbound traffic and accelerated rapidly into his turn. The following car was hung up at the intersection. With the light turning yellow at the next corner, Walter yelled, “Take this right!”

  “Dammit,” Omar cursed quietly as he squealed into an abrupt right turn. As soon as they were safely on the cross street headed east, he added, “You should give me more warning, Mr. Childs—”

  Walter cut him off. “We were being followed. I think we lost him on the first turn. But you better make a few more just to be damn sure.”

  Omar registered a different kind of fright. “Followed?” He reached for the telephone that was cradled in the dashboard.

  “Don’t call anyone,” Walter ordered. “Go north, then east over to Second. Use Second south and get me back to the rear door of the bank.” He glanced over his shoulder. There were a couple of taxis hanging on the back bumper, but no sign of the following car. One of the cabs blasted its horn as Omar took a quick left without signaling. There were more angry horn blasts as they angled across traffic and turned into the next eastbound street. Omar backed off to a normal speed, and coasted to a stop at the Second Avenue traffic light.

  “I am supposed to call immediately if anything suspicious happens,” he said indignantly. “I really have to call.”

  “Just get me back to the office and then don’t hang around. Keep driving. I’ll phone you when I’m ready.”

  “But the procedure is …”

  “For Christ’s sake, Omar, I’ll tell you what procedure is. Just do it!”

  The driver looked as if his feelings were hurt.

  Walter jumped out quickly and went directly to the security lock on the rear doors. He bent over the keypad as if entering his identity code, but kept an eye on the car until it had turned at the next corner. Then he stepped back out into the street and hailed a taxi.

  He used the back door and the fire stairs to reach Angela’s floor, searched through the wired-glass window to make sure the corridor was empty, and then dashed to her apartment door. He used his key to let himself in so that he wouldn’t have to wait outside for the bell to be answered.

  He crossed the living room to the bedroom door and tapped softly. “It’s me. Please! I have to see you.”

  The door pulled open. Angela was slipping into her robe. She looked more angry than startled. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  “I have to talk to you.” He led her out to the living room sofa.

  “Now?” She questioned. “I thought we agreed that this wasn’t a very good idea.”

  “I know.” He left her sitting on the sofa while he went to the kitchen liquor cabinet.

  “You shouldn’t have come here,” she said when he returned with their drinks. “It’s bad enough that moron suspects me. Now he’ll think that we’re working together.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he began. “I never would have allowed them to subject you to that kind of treatment. But it never dawned on me that you would … involve yourself … in the investigation.” He sat carefully on the edge of the sofa next to her, but made certain to keep a bit of distance between them. It was as if he were asking if he were still welcome.

  She shook her head slowly. “They had no right. No right at all.”

  “Of course not. They’re a bunch of damn fools.” Walter’s hand wandered over to touch her shoulder. He was relieved when she didn’t pull away. “I should have thrown the whole bunch of them out. But I’m not thinking straight. Jesus, I keep thinking that we’ve blown it and wondering what they might be doing to Emily to get even. I’ve read things … like people being buried in a box and just left there. Or even worse, like …” He squeezed his eyes shut to lock out the ghastly images.

  Angela took his face between her hands and brought it close to hers. She kissed his cheek softly and then rested against his shoulder. “I’m the one who should be apologizing, Walter. I was angry because my dignity was being abused. I should have been thinking about what you were suffering. It was selfish of me.”

  He hugged her reassuringly. “No. We’re both upset. It’s just too damn much to cope with.” He jumped up and began to pace frantically. “I handled this wrong right from the beginning. I never should have tried to play it smart. I never should have gone to Andrew Hogan. I should have just collected the money and deposited it in the account, exactly the way they told me. If I had, Emily might be home now, safe …”

  “You did what was right,” Angela corrected. “You went to an expert. Someone who should have known how to handle it.”

  “He’s a cop,” Walter wailed. “I should have known that he’d act like a cop. That he’d try to catch the bastards instead of trying to save her.”

  “You can’t blame yourself. You’ve tried twice to buy her freedom. It’s Hogan and his goons who keep screwing things up. If anyone is responsible, it’s he. Jesus, he couldn’t have done any
worse if he were trying to get her killed. The way Andrew Hogan has worked things out, you’re going to get hurt no matter what happens.”

  His eyes flashed. What in hell was she saying?

  “Well, just think about it,” Angela said, putting aside her untouched drink. “He didn’t go to the board the way he was supposed to. That would have lifted the entire burden off your neck. And yet he won’t let you pay the ransom.”

  “He can’t,” Walter interjected. “He can’t let me give away the bank’s money.”

  “No, I understand that. He’s just using the money to bait the trap for the kidnappers. Only he never catches anyone in his trap. The guy on the telephone never took the bait. And down in the Caymans, he arrested me instead of the person who was waiting at the airport.”

  Walter squinted, suspicious of her logic.

  “Don’t you see? If you don’t pay the money, you lose your wife. And if you do, you lose your career. Andrew Hogan gets to drag you before the board and say, ’Look who I caught with his hand in the till.’ ”

  His expression hardened. She was certainly right Hogan had screwed things up right from the beginning.

  “Walter, is it possible that Andrew has it in for you? Is there any reason why he’d want to destroy you?”

  “Hogan? Of course not. We hardly even spoke to each other before all this happened.” Then he shook his head. “He’d never be involved in a kidnapping.”

  “No! But is there any reason why he would use the kidnapping as a way to get back at you? Because everything he does seems to bury you deeper in your problems. He seems to be grinding you into the ground. Christ, he made you sit and watch while he and his bullies were working me over.”

  The idea was absurd. And yet, Hogan’s plans kept backfiring. The kidnappers were never caught. Emily had not been freed. And no money had left the bank. He seemed to be running in circles, chasing after thugs who would probably fit comfortably into Andrew’s circle of underworld associates. Certainly, Andrew wouldn’t be a kidnapper. But would he enjoy watching Walter, or one of his senior executive associates, swing slowly in the wind? And would he be likely to throw one of them to the wolves just to raise his own stock with the bank’s management? The thought wasn’t beyond consideration. Andrew was a proud man who had enjoyed sterling success on the public payroll. Yet the senior executives had treated him like a night watchman. Walter couldn’t help think that if he were in Andrew’s place, he would relish a few moments of sweet revenge.