Fatal Impressions

by Reba White Williams

  “What will happen to them?” Rob asked.

  “The stupid little thieves will pay their taxes and penalties and go about their business, but if DDD&W management has any brains, they’ll fire ‘em. Cheat once, they’ll cheat again, and maybe bigger. As for Great Art Management, it’s history.”

  Rob hung up and thought about what he’d heard. He had no reason to doubt their assessment of Patti Sue—except that she’d been murdered. If every brainless pawn was killed, the planet would be a lot less crowded. Only it didn’t happen. She must have done something to make someone kill her. But what?

  The SEC investigator called while he was still thinking about Patti Sue. “I heard about the roundup of the DDD&W tax dodgers,” he said. “I wish I could say I’ve nabbed twenty bad guys. But no one at DDD&W is doing audits. They stopped as soon as the merger went through.”

  “Do you mean they’re not doing anything illegal? I can’t believe it,” Rob said.

  “I didn’t say that. We think they’re up to plenty, just not auditing. We think you should talk to the New York Attorney General. That woman makes Giuliani and Spitzer look like plump house cats. She goes after corporate corruption like a starving leopard after a gazelle. This could be her kind of thing. She can’t move without hard information, but you should tell her all you know and suspect about these people so she can investigate. We’ll do the same.”

  Rob couldn’t see himself calling the AG with optimism based on no evidence. She’d bite his head off. He was trying to decide what to do when Hicks called with the information about insider information at DDD&W. When Hicks heard what the SEC investigator had advised, he volunteered to talk to the AG. Rob sighed with relief. He didn’t mind calling the SEC, but he was terrified by the AG.

  Rob’s friend at the SEC was grateful for Rob’s information, and Rob was feeling good about having done a colleague a favor. He was also looking forward to dinner at Dinah’s, where he’d see Coleman, when Coleman called.

  “Rob? I just heard from Loretta. She talked to the Victor sisters’ neighbor—the one your guy found—and would you believe the woman identified a photo of Quintero as Frances’s lover? And Leichter as Patti Sue’s? So Leichter is the guy Patti Sue was fighting over. Can you imagine? No wonder Quintero looks so ghastly. Johnson was his sweetheart, and he had to investigate her murder and keep their relationship a secret. I wonder if he really thinks Dinah killed her. He’s not the brightest guy I ever met. Anyway, Loretta did good. I have to hand it to her—she’s enterprising. Oh, and I figured out it was Tom, Jonathan’s driver, who was leaking information about Jonathan’s whereabouts to Harrison and Quintero—he’s admitted it. He told them when Dinah was alone, and they could have told anyone.”

  “Oh, God,” Rob groaned. “How the hell did we miss all that? I should fire my guys and hire you and Loretta. Would you ask her to write up her interview with the neighbor and include the time and date, too? And make some copies of the photos? And would you write up how you found out about Tom? The Cobra will want to pass everything on to the police.”

  Fifty-One

  “Those arrests for tax evasion aren’t going to do us a lot of good,” Ted Douglas told Hunt. “Twenty guys…can you believe it? That will make headlines. Thank God all the crooks are from downstairs. That fool Patti Sue really got us into it this time.”

  Hunt nodded. “Got herself killed, too. Her death must be connected to the tax fraud, although the DA’s office thinks not. Any ideas about who killed her and her sister, if Dinah Greene is innocent?” he asked.

  Ted shook his head. “I still think Dinah did it. But both Patti Sue and Frannie came in with the D&W merger—that was a mistake. We shouldn’t have let it happen.”

  “No point saying what we should have done then. The question is, what do we do now? Did you get that report from Patti Sue about the Americana collection?”

  “No. I asked her for it, but I guess she didn’t have a chance to do it before she was killed,” Ted said.

  “Is there any way to get a paper trail on the shipments? Anything we can follow up?” Hunt asked.

  “Not that I know of. Ms. Skinner cleaned out Patti Sue’s office when the police said it was okay, just like she did Frannie’s. Says she didn’t find anything useful.”

  Hunt sighed. “That lunatic Scot from the museum and the Hathaway lawyer they call the Cobra are going to take us to the cleaners over the missing stuff from that damn collection. One of the lawyers talked to an old biddy who works at the museum, and she told him the name of the shipper, and how many crates they received, and get this: they videotaped the two museum guys unpacking the stuff, said it was standard museum procedure to prevent theft and to verify what arrived. Nothing could have been stolen at the museum. And the shipper videotaped the sealed cartons when they picked ‘em up, and again when they delivered ‘em. They’re in the clear, too.”

  Ted frowned. “What could have happened to the missing art?”

  “Patti Sue must have packed up the good stuff and sent it somewhere—maybe to a dealer—by a different shipper,” Hunt said.

  “Patti Sue? I always thought she made a pine tree look like a genius. She must have had a boyfriend who pulled the strings,” Ted said.

  “Somebody who works here?” Hunt asked, startled.

  Ted shrugged. “There’s a rumor that Patti Sue and another secretary had a fistfight in the ladies’ room over one of the partners. I thought it was a joke, but maybe it’s true,” he said.

  “Oh, hell. Who’d know?” Hunt asked.

  “Moose, maybe? I heard a couple of those kids who work for him talking about it in the men’s room,” Ted said.

  “I guess I better check out the rumor, and question the Victor woman’s boyfriend, if he exists. Unless we can find the missing art, the partners will have to pick up the tab.”

  “Oh, God,” Ted groaned. “I hadn’t thought of that. Will it be a lot of money? Won’t insurance cover it?”

  “I think it’ll be a huge number, and I can’t see insurance covering the disappearance of the art unless we can figure out when and how it disappeared. For all we know or can prove, it’s been missing for years, and no one noticed. We’ll call the insurance people, but I doubt if they’ll turn up anything we’ve missed.”

  “What a mess,” Ted said.

  “You’re telling me. You know they’re pulling off the two cops who were on the case? Starting the murder investigation all over with a new team? Everyone will be questioned again, and all because Danbury hired that ape Harrison as a bodyguard or something. Paid him with DDD&W’s money, too,” Hunt said.

  Ted nodded. “Yeah, I know. What a screwup. I’ll be surprised if they ever arrest the person who killed those women.”

  Jeb Middleton poked his head in the door to Heyward’s office. “I just talked to Rick Oliver, the guy who wrote Miss Coleman the first letter? He swears he got out of the Colossus business with Miss Coleman the day Jonathan called him. He told Colossus he had a conflict because of a long-standin’ relationship with Jonathan: they went to kindergarten together—it happens to be true. But he hadn’t known Miss Coleman and Jonathan’s wife were related. Colossus didn’t force Oliver to keep botherin’ Miss Coleman, because that fool Black—the guy who writes Miss Coleman the nasty letters—was pantin’ to take over. Sounds like he gets off on beatin’ up their targets, and ‘specially scarin’ ladies. And speaking of scarin’, Oliver sounded scared out of his britches when I told him I was actin’ for you, and that Miss Coleman is your sister. He asked if Miss Coleman had any more kin he ought to know about.”

  Heyward smiled. “Will he tell his friends at Colossus?”

  “Oh, yes. I asked him to. I said they shouldn’t communicate with Miss Coleman unless they’re apologizin’, and that if they kept on botherin’ her, you’d retaliate. I didn’t tell him that the SEC and the New York Attorney General were prob’ly about to put ‘em out of business,” Jeb said.

  “When are you going to contact Colossus di
rectly?” Heyward asked.

  “Friday. I’m givin’ them time to reflect on their sins. Then I’ll tell ‘em what happens to bad boys.”

  Fifty-Two

  Coleman, with Dolly in her carrier, was the last to arrive for Dinah’s dinner. She was surprised and pleased to see a good-looking stranger with Heyward. Heyward introduced her to Jeb Middleton, and after they’d chatted a while, he seemed even more attractive. She was sure she saw an answering gleam in his eyes.

  But she was shocked by Dinah’s appearance. Always slender, Dinah had lost weight she couldn’t spare, and despite an unusual amount of makeup, Coleman could see dark circles under her eyes. She hadn’t realized what a terrible toll the DDD&W problem was taking on her cousin. Annoyed with herself, she vowed to talk to Dinah alone after dinner and try to find out how she could help.

  When introductions were completed, and Dinah asked Heyward what brought him to New York, Coleman thought he might talk about her struggles with Colossus, but he raised another topic.

  “Oh, this and that. Since I arrived, I’ve been trapping vermin. Everyone here knows about the inside information crimes at DDD&W, and Colossus, but I’ve also been on the trail of the Stubbs. I had the same thought you did, Dinah, that whoever had stolen the paintings would try to sell them in London. I called Rachel this morning, and when she said the only way to learn the identity of the Stubbs’ seller was to buy them, I bought them. The seller is the Davidson Estate, Lucas Parker Esq., Executor. He has no more right to sell the paintings than I do. I’m sure we’ll be able to have him arrested. And, of course, the sale to me won’t go through. The paintings will be held in a London bank while ownership is determined,” he said.

  “Parker! I knew he was a bad lot,” Jonathan exclaimed. “Wait till you hear about my discussions with him, and the story of the Davidson family.”

  When he’d repeated everything he’d learned, Dinah was the first to speak.

  “I don’t believe it,” she said.

  Jonathan, frowning, stared at her. “Don’t believe what?”

  “The story about those girls never seeing their mother. They had no one. Their father, the only person who didn’t want them to talk to their mother, died when they were little. I think that as soon as they were old enough to use a phone, they called her, long distance. I would have,” Dinah said.

  Rob rubbed his head. “You may be right, Dinah. I should have thought of that. But I learned today that one of the girls is dead. Margaret killed herself last July. And we still can’t find her sister.”

  “Oh, how terrible,” Dinah said. “That poor girl. And her poor twin.”

  Dinah went into the kitchen to serve the soup, and Jeb and Coleman followed her to help. But before Coleman left the room, she heard Heyward ask Jonathan how he wanted to handle the problem of Lucas Parker.

  “Turn him over to the Firm,” Jonathan said. “They like to handle any Boston legal misdoings. They’ll make sure that Parker gets what he deserves. Do you mind if I call now? The Firm never closes, and some say never sleeps. They’ll take care of Parker, and they’ll do it fast.”

  “No, go ahead,” Heyward said, and joined the others in the kitchen.

  Jeb, pouring champagne, offered Heyward a glass when he came in the kitchen.

  “No, thanks, but I’d like some water,” he said. Coleman brought him the water, and Heyward raised it to toast the group.

  “Jonathan is making the call to pull the plug on Lucas Parker. He said he wouldn’t be long. Let’s drink to Justice,” he said.

  “And so say all of us,” Coleman murmured.

  After delicious turkey stroganoff that everyone but Dinah gobbled up, Coleman turned down Jeb’s, Heyward’s, and Rob’s invitations to ride uptown. She thanked them but insisted on staying to help Dinah clean up. Dinah demurred, but Coleman ignored her and banished Jonathan with a roll of her eyes.

  Fifty-Three

  “What is it, Dinah? Tell me everything,” Coleman said, loading plates into the dishwasher.

  “I feel awful,” Dinah said. “At first I was angry. Like at our meeting, when we made the plans—putting in the bugs and such.

  “But my anger kind of burned out—I tried to pretend everything was all right—but it didn’t work, and I began to be really scared. I know I may get arrested, may have to go to jail. Maybe worse. I’ve been praying, of course, but I feel like maybe I could have done things differently and none of this would have happened.

  “I’ve finished hanging the prints we need for DDD&W, and I don’t have anything to do. I can’t sleep. I worry all the time. I wish I could do something to help find the murderer, and clear up my situation. Everybody is trying to help—Jonathan’s not even doing his own work, he’s so busy helping me. But I don’t know how to act. I feel like I have to keep up a good front for Jonathan—he’s so worried. And I don’t know how to do anything. You’ve always been the activist, the one who gets things done. I’ve mostly had my head in books.”

  Coleman thought fast. Dinah was her best friend, and as close as a sister. She, Coleman Greene, who prided herself on her loyalty to her friends, had been so preoccupied with her magazines, with the attempted takeover, and with her brother’s rescue program, she’d let Dinah down. That had to be rectified.

  “I’ll give you a list of things you can do by yourself, and we’ll do some together. Remember how we worked together to solve the Print Museum murders last year? We’ll do it again. We make a great team,” Coleman said.

  Dinah’s eyes brightened. “What can I do right away?” she asked.

  “We have to find Ellie and Elizabeth. You could start by calling Elizabeth’s schools, or visiting them, or looking at their yearbooks, maybe getting photos like Loretta did.”

  Dinah nodded. “I can do that. I’ve wondered—two young women with similar names—Ellie and Elizabeth—vanish. Could they be the same person? Is Ellie Elizabeth and hiding for some reason?”

  “I’ve thought about that, too. Maybe the school or the minister of the church where Margaret’s funeral service was held can tell us what Elizabeth looks like,” Coleman said.

  Dinah nodded. “Right. I’ll start with the schools. What else?”

  “Find out what you can about the girls’ mother. Who’d she marry? The minister might know that, too. Or neighbors. Or the local paper. Somebody’s got to know what her name is, right? If you find out who she is, you can find out where she is,” Coleman said.

  “Okay, what else?”

  “If Ellie isn’t Elizabeth, we have to find both of them. Who is Ellie? Why is she involved? What does she know about the murders? And why did she disappear? And where is Elizabeth?”

  “What else?”

  “We all agree the Stubbs they’ll exhibit at DDD&W on Friday will be forgeries—copies. How many people in New York could make copies so good they can fool the crowd coming in to look at them? Can you get a list of the possibilities? When we have a list, we’ll start calling or visiting them. I don’t know if anyone will admit to copying them—that depends on why they thought they were doing it—but it’ll be a start.”

  “I’ll try,” Dinah said. Some of her normal color had returned.

  Coleman sighed inwardly. Her magazines—her business—would have to wait while she helped Dinah. She’d explain to Heyward tomorrow: he was family; he’d understand.

  “Jonathan?” she called. “Will you see me to a cab?” She leaned over and kissed Dinah on the cheek. “We can do this. I promise,” she said. Dinah needed exoneration. Being cleared of suspicion. Not having her reputation marred. Not giving Jonathan’s ghastly family another opportunity to disapprove of their precious son’s wife. Coleman didn’t know how getting Dinah out of the frame could be made to happen, but it had to be done. She feared Dinah was on the verge of a breakdown. She’d never seen her sound so down. And, of course, she would pretend everything was all right—she would smile no matter what. That’s the way they were brought up.

  Fifty-Four

 
; Thursday morning Loretta awoke at five and couldn’t go back to sleep. She tossed and turned for more than an hour, thinking about her Quintero and Leichter discoveries. At a little after six, she gave up and went into the kitchen to make coffee. She was still on a high about her successful detection, and she had an idea about how to hit another home run. Should she go in early this morning and implement her plan? She wasn’t supposed to be alone at DDD&W, but there was never anyone around before nine. Anyway, she thought Coleman and Bethany were crazed on the topic of security. Except for Monday, when she and Bethany had their unpleasant encounters with Harrison and Patti Sue, no one had ever looked cross-eyed at Loretta, let alone threatened her. She made up her mind. She’d go.

  After a quick shower, she dressed in her dark green suit, the white ruffled blouse that went with it, and dark green shoes—she wouldn’t leave the house looking less than her best, no matter what—and took the subway uptown to the Fry Building, stopping at a deli to pick up coffee and a bagel before riding the elevator to thirty-two. She put her breakfast bag on the desk and hung her jacket on the back of her chair before sticking her head out the door and looking up and down the hall.

  Not a soul in sight. She tiptoed across the hall. She didn’t bother trying the door to Patti Sue’s office. She’d seen Leichter and Skinner boxing up everything in that office and locking the door behind them. That office was squeaky clean, not a scrap of paper left behind.

  But no one had searched the desk outside Patti Sue’s office, where Dinah said McPhee had worked—at least, not since Loretta had been at DDD&W. Loretta didn’t give a hoot about the girl who came and went like a spook, but Bethany, Coleman, and Dinah did, and Loretta wanted to impress them. Not that she thought that what she was about to do was so brilliant. But everyone else had overlooked the obvious: Ellie’s desk.