When they finally stepped onto the landing on the sixteenth floor, Reg was there, waiting by Pearl’s door.
‘Good morning,’ he said, ‘this way.’ If he was curious as to why both the police and fire brigade wanted to see his employer, he did not betray it.
‘The police are here, Mrs Colbert,’ he said, using both hands to push open the heavy doors to the parlour. ‘And the fire brigade, too.’
‘So I see,’ said Pearl. She was reclining in her favourite chair. Her head was, as ever, lost in a cloud of smoke.
‘We’re sorry to have to inform you, there’s been a fire at your son’s house,’ Cramer said. If he was expecting Pearl to leap up, he’d have been disappointed, because Pearl barely moved.
‘A fire?’ she replied. She pronounced it like ‘far’.
‘I’m afraid so.’
Cramer waited for some kind of response, but none was forthcoming. He looked over at Bassingsthwaite, who looked back at him. Maybe the lady was in shock?
‘Do you mind if we sit down?’ he asked.
‘Be my guests,’ said Pearl, waving her cigarette.
Cramer moved across the floor towards a Victorian-style armchair. Bassingsthwaite opted to keep standing. He stared at Pearl. Her reaction had been fascinating. No: ‘Did everyone get out?’ No: ‘Was anybody hurt?’
‘Your daughter-in-law, Caitlin – she’s been located. She was inside. She’s suffered some smoke inhalation, but she’s very lucky,’ Cramer said. ‘She’s going to be fine.’
‘Hallelujah,’ said Pearl, drily.
‘As for your son, Lachlan, we don’t believe that he was home at the time.’
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ said Pearl. But the way she said it, it was like she couldn’t have been less interested.
‘You do have a son: Lachlan Colbert?’ Cramer consulted his notes.
‘I do.’
‘And he normally lives at Bellevue Road, Larchmont?’
‘I suppose he does. I’ve never been there.’
‘And he’s recently moved out of that residence? He’s separated from his wife in recent weeks?’
‘Has he now?’ said Pearl, tapping her cigarette. ‘Well, I didn’t know that. But I’m pleased. He finally left. Good for him.’
Bassingsthwaite stepped forward. ‘Mrs Colbert, do you know where your son is now?’
‘Do I? No.’
‘Your daughter-in-law, Caitlin, she says your son left the house two weeks ago. We’d like to speak to him if we can. Because the bigger problem is – we can’t find your grandson, either.’
Pearl raised her eyebrows.
‘You can’t find my grandson?’ she said, carefully.
‘No.’
‘And which grandson would that be?’
‘Benjamin,’ Cramer said.
‘I see,’ said Pearl. ‘Well, there must be a misunderstanding. I don’t have a grandson called Benjamin.’
Cramer looked confused. He flipped some pages backward and forward, and moved his lips while reading.
‘Your son, Lachlan, known as Colby, and your daughter-in-law, Caitlin Colbert – they have a son, Benjamin? The little boy adopted from Moscow a little over a year ago?’
Pearl had been holding smoke in her lungs, and now expelled it.
‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Caitlin does not have a son. And I certainly don’t have a grandson. And if I did have a grandson, he would not be from Moscow.’
Chapter 39
Summer’s apartment was in a new building, near Carnegie’s headquarters in West Street. Cramer approached the doorman, who rang Summer’s buzzer. She answered immediately, but then asked the doorman to give her a minute; she wasn’t dressed. Cramer said no, they wanted to go straight up.
Summer’s face showed concern when she opened up, wearing the clothes she’d quickly been able to grab – a skirt and top, and flat shoes.
‘Is everything alright?’ she asked.
‘Summer Bilton?’ They showed their badges.
‘Yes. Has something happened?’
‘May we come in?’
Summer stood back.
‘You’re making me nervous,’ she said, trying to laugh. ‘Please, just tell me everything’s okay?’
‘May we sit down?’
The apartment was furnished in white leather, with fur throws and mirrored cabinets, and a 1950s-style cocktail station with polished glassware. A plasma TV stood atop a sideboard, tuned to NY1 but without volume. A Hispanic maid in a pink uniform kneeled near the balcony door, cleaning lint from the tracks with paper towel.
‘Please do,’ said Summer.
Cramer and Bassingsthwaite sat down on the sofa and Summer took a seat on the white Barcelona chair opposite.
Cramer cleared his throat. ‘Do you know a man by the name of Lachlan J. Colbert?’
‘Colby? Yes, of course I do. Why? What’s wrong?’ Summer’s hands were trembling.
‘Do you happen to know where Mr Colbert is this morning?’
‘This morning? No. I mean, it’s Saturday. We’re not working. Or not officially. Colby’s always working. I suppose I could check my BlackBerry to see if he’s messaged me?’ She went to get up, but Cramer raised his hand and she stopped.
‘So, he’s not here?’ he said.
‘Why would he be here?’
‘He’s your friend?’
‘He’s my friend, yes. He’s also my colleague.’
‘He’s not more than that?’
Summer looked from Cramer to Bassingsthwaite and back again.
‘Look, I don’t know what’s going on here,’ she said, ‘and to be honest, you’re frightening me. But I’m also not sure I want to answer any more questions. At least, not without a lawyer.’
‘Why would you need a lawyer?’ asked Bassingsthwaite.
‘Don’t you want to know why we’re here?’ Cramer asked.
‘Well, of course I want to know – but you’re not telling me.’
‘Your colleague’s house – Lachlan’s house – burnt down this morning.’
Summer’s hand flew to her open mouth. ‘Oh dear God,’ she said. ‘Is Caitlin alright?’
‘Is Caitlin alright?’ echoed Cramer.
‘Colby’s wife? Caitlin?’
‘Caitlin’s fine,’ said Cramer. ‘She suffered some smoke inhalation, but she’s okay. But why do you ask about Caitlin? Not about Colby? It’s like you know he wasn’t there.’
‘You just told me he wasn’t there,’ Summer said. ‘You asked me where he was, so I assumed he’s not there. But Caitlin, oh my! That’s terrible news. And the house is destroyed?’
‘It’s destroyed,’ Cramer said.
Summer looked genuinely shocked.
‘Caitlin’s a friend of yours?’ asked Bassingsthwaite.
‘A friend of mine? No. Or, not really. No. I suppose she’s not. I’ve known her for years. Since she first came out from Australia. I helped her a little after 9/11. She was shaken up. She needed a therapist. She’s been married to Colby for a long time. We used to see each other at the odd event here and there, though not for several years.’
‘But you’re close to her husband?’
‘To Colby? Yes … I mean, we work together, probably eleven, twelve hours a day.’
‘But you don’t know where he is now?’
Summer shook her head. ‘Oh my God,’ she said, suddenly looking shocked. ‘You’re here because you think Colby did this?’
‘Well, we’d like to know where Mr Colbert is,’ Bassingsthwaite said.
‘Oh, this is madness!’ Summer said. She shook her head so vigorously that her lush ponytail started to swing. ‘Why on earth would Colby burn his own house down?’
‘You’re aware that Mr Colbert recently moved out of his house?’
‘I am aware of that, yes,’ said Summer. ‘He’s had some problems in his marriage. He asked me to organise a lease on a serviced apartment for him.’
‘And you did that?’
&n
bsp; ‘I did that. Of course I did. He asked for help, I gave it to him. He’s at the serviced apartments at 92nd and Park.’
Cramer made a note of it. ‘And remind me, the nature of your relationship with Mr Colbert is …?’
‘He’s my colleague. And before you ask me another question, I would like an answer to mine: do I need a lawyer?’ Summer’s voice was shaking.
‘Again, why would you need a lawyer?’ asked Bassingsthwaite.
Summer rested her elbows on the coffee table in front of her. She seemed to be collecting her thoughts. The two officers exchanged glances.
‘We know about your relationship,’ Cramer said.
Summer lifted her head and Cramer could see she had been crying.
‘What do you mean?’
‘We know about the romance.’
Summer’s chest heaved. ‘Well, that’s not anyone’s business. Colby’s wanted to leave Caitlin for a long time. Now he’s finally done it and she’s burnt their beautiful house down. She really must be crazy.’
Cramer frowned. ‘What do you mean, she burnt his house down?’
‘Well, who else would have done it? You don’t understand. Caitlin’s got … well, look, she’s got all kinds of problems. Maybe you need to talk to Colby about it, but there’s no way he did this.’
Cramer sighed. ‘You know, as cops we hear this quite a bit.’ His tone was world-weary. ‘We hear stories about men who have mistresses, just like you. They tell their mistresses that they really want to leave their wives, but they can’t. They’re worried about what their wife might do. Or they’re worried about the kids. I’m betting that’s what this Colby told you. That he wanted to leave, but he couldn’t leave Benjamin. Am I right?’
Summer snorted, and because she’d been crying, she immediately needed a tissue. Cramer reached into his pocket to get one for her.
‘Thank you, I’m okay,’ she said, ‘it’s just, all that nonsense with Benjamin … believe me when I say if I never hear that name again it’ll be too soon.’
Cramer looked at Bassingsthwaite.
‘You don’t think that’s a bit harsh? We’re talking about a little boy here. Colby’s little boy.’
‘No,’ said Summer, shaking her head. ‘No. You don’t understand. Colby doesn’t have a little boy.’
Cramer opened the file that he’d placed on the table. It contained pictures of Benjamin, downloaded from Caitlin’s website. He was feeling pretty fed up with these strange rich people, writing off a boy because he’d been adopted.
‘Look at this boy,’ he said. ‘How is it that you people can talk about him like you do?’
Summer reached over, put a finger on the photograph and slid it across the table to get a better look.
‘Look,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘You’ve got this all wrong.’
Cramer sighed. ‘Look, however Colby wants to describe the boy doesn’t concern us right now. What we’re trying to do – what we’re urgently trying to do – is find him. He hasn’t been seen since the fire. And neither has Colby. And I don’t like to assume too much so early in an investigation, but that doesn’t look good for either of them.’
‘No, please listen,’ said Summer. ‘You don’t understand. Whatever Caitlin’s told you – whatever you might think – Colby had nothing to do with this fire. He wasn’t even there.’
‘And you know this how?’ asked Cramer.
‘She’s knows because I’m here,’ said Colby, stepping through Summer’s front door. ‘I’m right here.’
Chapter 40
Cramer got up from his seat and drew his weapon.
‘Hands in the air,’ he said, though Colby’s hands – still holding the set of keys he’d used to open Summer’s door – were already raised.
‘Don’t move,’ Cramer said.
‘I’m not moving.’ Colby was wearing the weekend uniform of Wall Street bankers: chino shorts and a polo shirt.
‘Get on your knees.’ Cramer motioned with his gun.
Colby didn’t argue. He slowly got down onto one knee and then the other. The door to the apartment closed behind him.
Summer cried out, ‘You’re making a mistake.’
Colby looked over at her, and said, ‘It’s okay, Summer. It’s okay. Just give me a chance to explain.’
‘Yes, tell them,’ Summer cried.
‘Tell us what? Your house has burnt down, and your kid is missing. All we want to know is where we can find your boy,’ Cramer said.
‘You don’t understand,’ Colby said.
‘Help me understand,’ said Cramer. ‘Actually, no, I don’t need to understand. Just tell me: where’s the boy?’
Colby took a deep breath. The news networks had by now been showing footage of what remained of his house for more than an hour. Summer’s own TV was showing it: the volume was still down, but Colby could see the images of the smouldering wreck and of course he could read the ticker: Breaking News. Fire Destroys Luxury Larchmont Mansion. Five-Year-Old Boy Missing.
Colby breathed deeply through his nose. ‘I don’t have a son,’ he said.
‘Jesus Christ!’ said Cramer. This business about Benjamin only ever being the adopted child was wearing thin. ‘The boy you adopted, then. Benjamin. Where is he?’
‘If you would just listen,’ said Colby. ‘There is no Benjamin. There is no boy we adopted. I don’t have a son. None of it is true.’
‘He’s telling the truth,’ cried Summer. ‘I was trying to tell you. There is no Benjamin. He doesn’t have a son. Please listen to him: Caitlin makes things up. She’s been going on about this for almost a year. It started as just a story on her website, but now it’s like she thinks it’s real. It isn’t real. There is no Benjamin.’
Cramer and Bassingsthwaite exchanged confused glances.
‘It’s true,’ said Colby, as quietly and firmly as he could. ‘There. Is. No. Benjamin. I don’t have a son. My wife, Caitlin, she … she invented a child that she could not have. She decorated a room in our house for him. She keeps a website in his name. She has a scrapbook, filled with pictures of him. But he’s not real.’
‘She can’t help it. She’s just not well,’ said Summer. More tears than ever were streaming down her face.
Cramer lowered his pistol, although only by an inch.
‘What are you telling me?’ he asked.
And so Colby tried again to explain. Benjamin wasn’t real. None of it was. He had talked to Caitlin about having children. They’d given it a good go, but nothing had happened. Colby had suggested IVF, but Caitlin wanted to look into adoption. Colby had gone along with it, thinking she’d get pregnant with a baby of their own eventually, but the deeper they got into the process, the more concerned he became by Caitlin’s erratic behaviour.
‘In the end, I just couldn’t do it,’ Colby said. ‘I just had a feeling, with Caitlin, that something wasn’t right. Her behaviour – I can’t explain it, just … she’s very strange. First it was pills. She’d been given Valium because apparently she had a phobia about flying. But then when she was told she’d have to go to Moscow to pick up a child, suddenly it was fine, she could get on a plane. I started to have doubts about whether she’d ever had a phobia. I wanted to talk to her therapist about it, but then I found out that she’d stopped seeing her. I confronted Caitlin about that. She told me the therapist wasn’t working for her, she was actually working for somebody else. As in, like the CIA or something.’
Colby’s knees were aching but he didn’t dare ask to get up. Cramer was still holding the gun, and still looking like he didn’t believe a word of it. The best thing seemed to be to keep talking.
‘I could see what was happening: she was becoming paranoid,’ Colby said. ‘She’d say things like 9/11 had been set up by our government to frighten her. She’d find something wrong with the food on her plate. Everything had poisons in it: chemicals that could kill you. She started losing weight. A lot of weight. Then she wouldn’t leave the house. The house became an obsessio
n. She’d do one room, then do it all over again.
‘I told her that I wouldn’t go any further down the adoption path until she went back to therapy. And then I started getting emails from people. The adoption attorney we were going to use, Laura – she got in touch, saying Caitlin was constantly online, writing about a child she’d adopted through her agency, and what was all that about?
‘I went to Caitlin’s site and saw what she’d written, about how she had actually adopted a son. I didn’t think it was a big deal at first. It was just a story. But then she started getting all these followers, and the more followers she got the more she kept adding to the story: how the boy she’d picked up out of the orphanage was disturbed, and how she was trying to save him. Of course it was all nonsense. But at some point, she started to believe it. And she built her whole world around it. And I could see it was crazy, but she couldn’t.’
Cramer was still looking at Colby like he needed to be convinced. ‘I don’t get this,’ he said. ‘I saw your wife outside your house, bashing the windows, trying to get in to save her son. Your wife told us that you wanted to get rid of Benjamin.’
Colby shook his head.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘as soon as I found out the extent of what Caitlin was doing – the website she was keeping, the fact that she was actually going to meetings of other moms with adopted kids, the fact that she had installed all this nursery furniture in what I thought was our unused attic – I tried to put a stop to it.
‘I told her, “You have got to get help.” But, like I said, she stopped seeing her therapist. I couldn’t get her to go. She’d say, “No, no, no, all anyone wants to talk about is me. Nobody wants to talk about Benjamin.” In the end, I went to see her therapist. I explained what had been going on, and she basically said she thought Caitlin was deluded and needed serious psychiatric care.
‘I asked her what I should do and she said I probably needed to take her to some kind of residential facility. And obviously that’s exactly what I should have done. But she’s my wife. There was a time – it’s gone now – but there was a time when I really loved her. And I still wanted to help her.
Can You Keep a Secret? Page 27
