“Thank you so much,” Bethany said. Another moron. Anyone could have taken those keys. She called Rob and reported what she’d learned.
“Thanks, Bethany. That helps. I’ll tell Jonathan, and he can give the information to Sebastian Grant. The whole office had access to the tools and to the chairman’s office. That doesn’t clear Dinah, but it could mean reasonable doubt. I’m still trying to figure out how to make the police investigate Naomi Skinner. I’ve told several cops about how she had good reason for wanting Patti Sue out of the way, but they’ve ignored me.”
Ted hovered outside Hunt’s office until Hunt couldn’t stand it any longer and called him to come in. “The police are closing in on Dinah Greene,” Ted said. “They found her tool kit in her office here, and her tools were used to loosen the shelves.”
Hunt, astonished, turned to look at Ted. “And after she loosened the shelves, she left the tools here?”
Ted shrugged. “The office was locked, and so was the cabinet where the tools were kept. But that’s not all: Naomi Skinner cleaned out Frannie’s office, and Frannie had twenty or thirty master pass cards in an unlocked drawer. Anyone could have taken them. Anyone could have gotten in this office.”
“What an idiot that Johnson woman was. Are you saying Dinah Greene might have taken one of those cards?”
“Yep. The police now have two more pieces of information they needed. They’ve identified the tools that were used to loosen the shelves and learned that Dinah Greene not only had access to them, she used them all the time. Her tools are definitely the murder weapons and they know how she could have got in your office. I bet there’s an arrest soon, maybe as early as tomorrow,” Ted said.
“Maybe so,” Hunt said. But the story didn’t make sense. Dinah Greene was smart. If she’d used those tools to kill someone, surely she wouldn’t have left them behind. If they didn’t belong to her, he’d think they were planted, that someone was trying to frame her. But they were hers. She’d brought them in herself. On the other hand, if Dinah had access to the master pass cards, so did everyone in the office.
Forty-One
When Rachel telephoned Tuesday afternoon, Dinah almost failed to recognize her voice: Rachel, the most controlled person she knew, sounded excited.
“The Stubbs paintings are here! They are for sale in the Dulaney Gallery on Cork Street. My friend at the British Portrait Gallery has an appointment to look at them, and I invited myself to accompany him. I inquired about their history, and the story is rather odd: the seller prefers to remain anonymous and will supply provenance only to the purchaser. But Dulaney is a respectable gallery and would not knowingly handle stolen goods. The gallery received the paintings in January but was asked not to show them until March. My friend thought perhaps it had to do with taxes. If I sense a quick sale in the offing, what should I do?”
“If you think they’re about to be sold, do anything you can to stop it, and call us. But otherwise, don’t do anything. We don’t want to spook the thief. Thank you, thank you, thank you, dear friend,” Dinah said.
“I am enjoying being involved. You must tell me more. I am very curious about those paintings. And Dinah, you are the first to know—except for Heyward Bain, who is an angel—I am free of Simon. I now own 100 percent of the Ransome Gallery.”
Dinah congratulated Rachel and called Coleman. After exclaiming over the discovery of DDD&W’s Stubbs paintings in London, Coleman wanted to know how Bain had freed Rachel from Simon, but Dinah didn’t know the details.
“I’d never have believed it,” Coleman said. “I bet it cost Heyward plenty.”
“But even with a lot of money to pay him off, getting rid of Simon was a miracle. He’s a parasite—he’s fed on Rachel for years, he’d be hard to detach. Rachel says Heyward is an angel. I am so embarrassed when I think how much I disliked him when we met…”
“I know,” Coleman said. “And I still haven’t thanked him for helping my dream come true.” Or almost come true. She longed to tell Dinah about her difficulties with Colossus, but Dinah’s problems were so much more serious, Coleman couldn’t bring herself to add to her cousin’s worries.
Forty-Two
Sebastian Grant was in a state his associates rarely saw: stymied. He was also in a tearing rage. He’d telephoned everyone he knew in the higher ranks of the NYPD, repeating what he’d heard about Harrison. To a man, they’d said “Got proof?” But the incriminating information had come from a retired cop. He couldn’t give them the guy’s name. His fellow officers would annihilate him for ratting out another cop.
He started over, calling everyone again. This time, he insisted that the department investigate Harrison. “If he turns out to be corrupt, and you haven’t even bothered to look into my allegations, I’ll see you all over the front page of the New York Times!” he shouted into the phone.
“You’re making up this stuff because he’s gonna arrest your client,” said one of the cops he was threatening. “We’ll investigate, but it’ll be so slow, your client will be in jail long before we’ve made the first call.”
Grant slammed down the phone and called the deputy mayor he knew best. But city hall wasn’t buying it either. “We can’t look like we’re yielding to pressure because Dinah Greene is connected. The mayor’s had a dozen calls about her—they all say she’s a saint, first cousin to the Virgin Mary. Maybe so, but she’s also a murder suspect. Get her out of the frame, and I’ll see that Harrison is investigated. But that’s the order it’s got to happen in—clear her, and we’ll check him out.” The deputy mayor hung up before Grant could reply.
Grant left for the gym to work off his fury. He’d get that bastard Harrison yet. When he’d cooled down and his mind had cleared, he telephoned Jonathan. He had a plan. They didn’t call him the Cobra for no reason.
“Why don’t we investigate Harrison?” Grant said. “The police should clean up their own house, but to hell with them. We’ll do it for them, and get plenty of proof. We won’t tell the bureaucrats until we have everything we need on Harrison and can nail him to the wall. We probably should have done it earlier, but I don’t think we could have turned up anything without the tip from Rob’s buddy about Harrison’s moonlighting at DDD&W. Who’d have thought it? Let’s start with the Fry Building and persuade the guards to tell us what they know.”
Jonathan didn’t hesitate. “I’ll call Greg Fry, and get Rob’s people on it right away.”
At last, a breakthrough and much bigger than Rob had anticipated: the lobby guards admitted that they knew Harrison worked for DDD&W and reported to Oscar Danbury. Yes, they’d agreed to call him about any incidents involving DDD&W. Yes, they’d called him when Frances Johnson was killed. They didn’t see anything wrong with it; still didn’t—until Fry’s head of security set them straight. Two guards were fired and the others were left wiser and more attentive to their duties, which included discretion.
The men had often seen Harrison with his sweetie, Trixie, who worked in the DDD&W cafeteria and dining room. She’d been tight with Frannie Johnson and Patti Sue Victor. Because of Trixie, Harrison spent a lot of time with the sisters. Another piece of the puzzle fell into place: the sisters had blackened Dinah to Harrison even before he met her—Dinah was the enemy, and Harrison’s expensive girlfriend was Trixie of the large bosom and fat-making food.
Now the brass would have to act. Rob faxed his notes to Sebastian Grant and called his friend at One Police Plaza and explained about the keys to Dinah’s office and file cabinet. Rob went on to tell his friend about the key cards found in Johnson’s desk during a DDD&W cleanup. Anyone could have borrowed Dinah’s tools. Anyone could have unlocked the managing director’s office. His friend agreed. The search was wide open. He’d alert the police.
“If Ms. Greene is innocent, I’m beginning to doubt we’ll ever get the murderer. Everybody in the place could get in everywhere. Their security is nonexistent,” Rob’s friend said.
“What about alibis?” Rob asked.
/> “Harrison and Quintero say your client is the only person without an alibi. They say that’s what’s keeping Ms. Greene in the frame.”
“I see,” Rob said. But he didn’t believe it. After they replaced Harrison, everything would have to be rechecked—this time, he hoped, by unbiased detectives. With the information on the easy access to both Dinah’s and Hunt Frederick’s offices, the search for the killer would have to be broadened. But a cloud still hung over Dinah’s head. If only they could discover the identity of the killer before everyone in town heard that she was—or had been—a prime suspect in a police investigation.
Forty-Three
Early Wednesday morning
Rob had been awake for hours, tossing and turning—worrying about Dinah, about his business, his workload, and Coleman—when the phone rang. He had the sinking feeling that late night or early morning calls always inspired: the news was bound to be bad. When he heard the voice of his friend at One Police Plaza, he was sure of it.
“Rob, there’s been another murder at DDD&W.”
“Oh my God,” Rob groaned. “Who was killed? Don’t tell me it was one of the Greene Gallery women?”
“No, Patti Sue Victor, the sister of the first victim. They found her body an hour ago. She died around midnight Tuesday. She’d been hit on the head and then shoved down an elevator shaft. She might have died from the fall, but in any case, when the elevator went down again, it crushed her. You better hope Ms. Greene has an alibi for late last night. If she doesn’t, the DDD&W crowd will be sure to say Greene shoved Victor down that elevator shaft.”
“Okay. Thanks for the heads-up. I won’t forget it.”
When Rob called Jonathan at home, the answering machine picked up. He left a message for Jonathan or Dinah to call him and tried Coleman, who was instantly awake and horrified by the news of a second murder at DDD&W.
“Oh, no. I can’t believe it. Jonathan stayed in Boston last night—he’s probably still there. I don’t think the first morning shuttle to New York leaves Boston until six. Dinah was alone again. It was another setup. Who knew Jonathan would be in Boston overnight?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I didn’t. I knew he went to Boston, but I assumed he came home last night. Will you call Dinah? I didn’t get past her answering machine. And see if Loretta and Bethany have alibis, will you? I want to make sure they don’t come under suspicion. I have to call Sebastian Grant, and I’ll try to reach Jonathan on his cell phone,” Rob said.
Coleman dreaded telling Dinah about Patti Sue’s death and discussing her lack of an alibi. She put off calling her and tried Bethany, who was at Zeke’s. Bethany was stunned to hear about Patti Sue’s death. She had an alibi: she’d been with Zeke since the previous afternoon.
“Zeke and Loretta and I left DDD&W around four thirty. We had a quick drink at Hennessey’s on Lexington at Sixtieth. That’s where we parted company. We put Loretta in a taxi—she was headed uptown to visit friends. I think she planned to stay overnight. I have their number; she’s been stayin’ there a lot. Zeke and I ate dinner here at the apartment—his cook was here. She’ll alibi me. I spent the night. Zeke can vouch for me. The doormen, too, I guess,” Bethany said.
Coleman reached Loretta at her friends’ apartment, where she’d been since she left Bethany and Zeke. They’d watched videos and ordered pizza, and everyone was in bed by midnight. Loretta had slept on a bunk bed in a room with three other girls. Her alibi, like Bethany’s, was solid. Coleman e-mailed the information to Rob, and, bracing herself, called Dinah.
Dinah, in tears, was incredulous. “Why is this happening? I’m almost never alone at night, and this has happened twice when Jonathan was away. They’ll never prove I did it, because I didn’t, but I can’t prove I didn’t do it. I was home. It’s just like before: I walked the dog about nine o’clock, came in, locked up and was in bed by nine thirty. But there was no one here to swear I stayed in,” she said.
Would Dinah feel worse or better if Coleman told her what she was thinking? Maybe Coleman should have mentioned her suspicions earlier, but suspicions were all she’d had. She still had no proof, but she had to speak up. “I’m sure someone knew Jonathan was away, and used that information to implicate you,” Coleman said. “Who knew Jonathan was spending the night in Boston?”
“I didn’t tell anyone but you,” Dinah said.
“Would anyone at Jonathan’s office have known?”
“I doubt it. Jonathan left Blair’s number with me in case of an emergency. I don’t think he’d have told anyone else he planned to spend the night in Boston, leaving me alone. He’s very security conscious.”
“I’ve been trying to figure out who could have known you were alone the night Frances Johnson was killed,” Coleman said. “I’ve hesitated to tell you what I concluded, because I know how much you like and trust the person I believe is responsible for leaking the information. One person who knew Jonathan would be away both times was your driver.”
“Oh, Coleman, don’t be ridiculous,” Dinah said. “Tom’s totally trustworthy. He’s a former policeman.”
“Exactly,” Coleman said. “Because he was a cop, he may know Harrison and Quintero, or talk to people who know them. Where’s Tom now?”
“Probably waiting for Jonathan at the airport. You want me to call and ask him? I will, but it’s a waste of time.”
“Humor me,” Coleman said.
“I’ll call him, but you’re wrong,” Dinah insisted.
Five minutes later, Dinah, sobbing and nearly hysterical, reported that Tom was the leak about Jonathan’s overnight absences. “He hangs out at a cops’ bar in the West Forties—sees Harrison and Quintero there all the time. They introduced themselves. They were together almost every night. They could tell cop stories. And, Coleman, I think I’m responsible for their looking him up. When they first interviewed me, I told them our driver was a retired policeman, gave them his name and number. Tom didn’t know Harrison was after me or that he moonlighted for DDD&W. He says he can’t swear he told them about Jonathan’s travels, but he ‘probably’ did. He didn’t have much to talk about. He didn’t realize there was anything secret about our activities.”
“Did the police interview Tom about your comings and goings?” Coleman said.
“He says he was interviewed over the phone by somebody he didn’t know. He doesn’t remember the man’s name.”
“I bet they had someone he didn’t know talk to him so he wouldn’t connect Harrison and Quintero with the DDD&W investigation,” Coleman said.
“Maybe so. I’d never have believed Tom could be so indiscreet,” Dinah said.
“I’m sorry, Dinah. I was pretty sure it was going to work out this way. I thought about it a lot, and I couldn’t see how anyone else would know Jonathan’s plans.”
“Well, I thought Tom was totally trustworthy. I thought he was my friend. Just one more blow. Like I thought Hunt was a nice man—a gentleman,” Dinah said.
“We all make mistakes about people. What are you doing today?”
“I don’t know. Wait for Jonathan to come home. Mope.”
“Would you like to do some sleuthing? I have an idea I planned to discuss with Rob but I haven’t wanted to call him. I’d rather have you check it out.
“Really? What is it?” Dinah had stopped crying.
“We’ve been assuming the killer at DDD&W is a man. But there’s no reason it couldn’t be a woman. What if it’s one of the creepy females we’ve encountered there?”
“How would I check on them?”
“Start by calling Rob. Ask if anyone has checked on the hairspray woman. Or that skeleton who works for Ted. Or even the Gray Lady. Just because she looks like everyone’s ideal grandmother doesn’t mean she isn’t a baddy. Rob should suggest some ways of finding out about them.”
“Oh, Coleman! That’s a great idea! I’ll let you know later today how I’m doing.”
But when Dinah called several hours later, she reported that Rob was sure a
ll the DDD&W women had been cleared of suspicion. None had records, and all had alibis. She sounded more depressed than ever, and Coleman was sorry she had suggested that her cousin try to help with the investigation. She wished she was confident that Rob had done a thorough check on the women at DDD&W. She no longer trusted Rob’s investigative work.
Forty-Four
Coleman stared at the letter. As Jonathan had prophesied, the would-be buyers of ArtSmart and First Home hadn’t given up. The second letter was signed by Roger Black, Executive Vice President, Mergers and Acquisitions, Colossus Publishing. He described the disadvantages of being small: Coleman’s two “little” magazines had no purchasing clout for paper, or printing, or anything else. When her “little” company was part of Colossus, she would be able to get anything she needed. He used the word “little” in every sentence.
The threat was obvious. If Colossus Publishing owned her magazines, management would make sure she got the supplies and services she needed. If she tried to remain independent, they’d see that she faced shortages, even cutoffs from suppliers. She might be forced out of business. Before that happened, she’d have to sell, and probably at a rock-bottom price. She was certain Colossus had the power to do what they threatened. But why would they? Surely she was too small a fish to warrant so much attention from the biggest shark in the publishing world.
She put her questions to Jonathan in a cover note when she faxed the letter to him. When he called back a few minutes later, he sounded even more worried than he had been when last they spoke.
“I’m so sorry about this. I thought they might come back, but the threatening tone of the letter is unusually unpleasant. You threaten them—they think if they let you reject them, they’d set a bad precedent. All they do is take over organizations like yours. Very few of their serious targets have escaped. They’re a monster merger machine. They’re in the bully pulpit, and intend to remain in it,” he said.
Fatal Impressions Page 17
