“Well, she may have something to say about that, Maura.”
“You kidnapped her and stole $20 million from me.”
Scarne looked at Jobert, who was listening intently to the byplay. He suspected that this was all news to him.
Brandeford sat up and poured himself a drink from a frosted pitcher on a table next to his chaise.
“Guavaberry rum daiquiri,” he said. “Can I interest anyone? You haven’t lived until you’ve had one. No? Perhaps some champagne? Alana loves the stuff. I’m sure she’ll share.”
There was a bottle of Krug in an ice bucket next to a chair where Alana now sat. She poured a glass and lit a cigarette.
“Nobody wants a goddamn drink, Lucas,” she said. “My mother is here for her money.”
“Well, that’s interesting, isn’t it,” Brandeford said. “Because I think a case could be made that it’s also your money, isn’t it? We may have borrowed it prematurely, but surely we didn’t steal it.”
“I came for you, Alana,” Maura said.
“Sure you did, Mama. That’s why you didn’t contact the police or F.B.I. when I disappeared. You left me to rot, and probably die. If I’d been taken by anyone else but Lucas, I probably would have. But we fell in love. And I saw a chance to get out from under you, to lead my own life.” She looked at Anastasia. “Vincent, I’m sorry if I worried you. You have always been so wonderful to me. The father I never had. But what’s done is done.”
“How did you find her, Lucas?” Maura asked. Her voice was like ice. “How long have you been tracking me?”
“You have it all wrong, Maura. She found me. By accident of course. It was a million to one shot that she would wind up in my English Lit class at Columbia. Poetic justice, if I may make a terrible pun.”
Brandeford then calmly explained how surprised he was when Alana walked into his class at Columbia. The same last name, Dallas, and, despite the blond hair, the obvious resemblance to her mother. He wanted to be sure, of course, so he did made some inquiries with the bursar’s office at Columbia. He was only an adjunct, but that had been enough. Then, despite her family’s desire for privacy, it did not take long in the Internet age for him to find out who the girl’s mother was. It was a God-given opportunity to pay back Maura Dallas for what she did to him. Oh, yes, he knew it was her who planted the cocaine in his apartment. It couldn’t have been anyone else. She was the reason his academic star crashed and his life went to shit. The reason he had to change his name and muck around in demeaning jobs. Yes, get even, and perhaps get very rich at the same time.
Brandeford became animated. He poured Alana more champagne and sat next to her. She patted his leg.
“It’s over, honey,” she said, gently. “Ancient history.’
But he wouldn’t stop. He was proud at how things turned out. He was not afraid. What could the Dallassios do to the man Alana loved?
“It’s crazy how things turned out,” Brandeford continued. “I admit that at first I had not thought things through. But I soon realized I could never hurt Alana. I grew to love her. I may have been a little rough in the beginning, but I never did anything bad to her.” He looked at Alana and smiled. “Not that I wasn’t tempted. And, of course, things have changed between us since. But that was more her idea than mine. In fact, the ransom, the diamonds, the scuba pickup” — Brandeford waved an arm — “all this, is her idea. We are together, in everything.”
Scarne turned to Alana.
“I suppose it was you who shot off the rocket to distract us at Pecks Pond,” he said.
“Yes. And to blind you temporarily, of course. That was my idea, as well.” She looked at Maura. “You never even let me watch fireworks, let alone play with them. They are quite safe, Mother, when handled properly.” She smiled. “And, as it turned out, very useful.”
Alana lit a cigarette and took another sip of champagne. Scarne did not smoke. Or rather, he did not buy cigarettes. But he was no fanatic about it, and occasionally took one if offered, especially in times of high stress. He was quite sure that if he were ever put in front of a firing squad and was asked if he wanted a last cigarette, he’d accept. Now, as the pool deck crackled with tension the old craving came back with a vengeance.
“Mother, admit it,” Alana said as she let out a luxurious stream of smoke. “You never had time for me. Lucas has shown me more affection than you ever did. I really don’t know what you are so upset about. It must be the money. How hypocritical of you. It’s not as if you haven’t stolen as much in your career. Probably more than once. I would think you would be happy that I turned out to be just like you.”
“You little fool! Don’t you know who he is?”
“Of course I do. Lucas told me everything. You’re not jealous that I’ve slept with him, are you? I know, it’s kind of weird that he’s had both of us. But this isn’t The Graduate and you’re certainly no Mrs. Robinson. Get over it. We can work this out. I suppose I can give you back some of the diamonds. There is still a big pile left. But not all. Lucas and I want to buy this place, or something like it. And we don’t plan on ever working a day in our lives. We’re even thinking of having a baby. Your grandchild. I should think you would be pleased.” She dropped her cigarette into the almost-empty champagne bottle, where it hissed briefly. “Of course, I’ll have to give up smoking and drinking for a time, I suppose.”
Brandeford smiled and looked at Maura Dallas.
“Grandma,” he said. “Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”
Scarne looked at Anastasia, whose face had a look of apprehension on it. In anyone else, he might have said it was fear. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
Maura Dallas stood and slowly walked over to Brandeford.
“You despicable, fucking pervert. You will never touch our daughter again!”
Brandeford looked at her, his face a mask of confusion.
“Our daughter?”
“Alana is your daughter! You were a pig then, and you are a pig now.”
Brandeford rocked back as if he’d absorbed a physical blow.
Maura turned on Alana.
“He’s the father you said you never had, you stupid girl. And now you’ve had him in every way possible!”
“Jezus Christus,” Emile Jobert said, and made the sign of the cross.
The other two guards looked at each other and their hands drifted slowly toward their weapons. For a moment, no one said anything. No one moved.
Scarne knew he would remember the frozen tableau on the pool deck for the rest of his life. The holster under his left arm never felt emptier.
“What are you talking about?” Brandeford’s voice was hoarse. “Alana told me her father was an anonymous sperm donor.”
“I only told her that because I didn’t want her looking for you. I left Boston pregnant with your child. I decided to keep the baby, but I certainly didn’t want you to have any part in her life!”
Well, that hasn’t worked out too well, Scarne thought to himself. He looked at Alana, who was staring at Brandeford in horror. She dropped her champagne flute on the deck, where it shattered. Now unearthly pale, she got up and slowly walked into the house. No one made a move to stop her.
“I swear I didn’t know,” Brandeford said. Now, he was afraid. “I never would have touched her had I known.”
That defense was not going to fly, Scarne knew. Brandeford had kidnapped a girl and held her for ransom. And now it was revealed that he’d been sleeping with his own daughter! The expression on Anastasia’s face had become murderous. He looked like he wanted to launch himself at Brandeford and strangle him with his bare hands. Brandeford was a dead man. Even his guards looked stunned. But what would they do now? Brandeford paid them, so they would presumably be loyal to him.
“Why don’t we all calm down,” Scarne said. “There is a lot here that has to be worked out.”
And then it suddenly was, but not in the way Scarne hoped, as everything went to hell when Alana suddenly walked back out to the patio.
She was holding a shotgun.
“This is for you, daddy,” she said, coldly.
Brandeford looked into her eyes. He stood up and backed away from his chair, toward the pool and the presumed protection of his bodyguards.
“Alana, please,” he squealed. “I didn’t know. I love you.”
The shotgun blast caught Brandeford fully in the stomach and groin and virtually disemboweled him. He screamed and crumpled backwards into the pool. The Asian bodyguard pulled his gun and instinctively swung it toward Alana. Anastasia’s arm shot toward the man and Scarne caught a flash of steel flying through the air. They should have searched the old assassin for his stiletto, which now stuck out of the gunman’s throat. The man gurgled horribly and his gun boomed twice. The shots went wild as the man fell. Scarne was at Alana’s side in two quick steps and took the shotgun away from her. He pushed her down and turned to face the other bodyguard, whose gun was just clearing his holster. He pumped a new shell into the shotgun’s chamber and fired. He saw the flame of the man’s return fire but did not hear the shot, which was drowned out by the blast of the shotgun.
Scarne felt a searing burn on his left flank as he watched the other man’s head disintegrate in a mist of blood and brain matter. He chambered another shell and swiveled on Jobert, who had not drawn a weapon and now stood with his hands relaxed at his side.
Then, there was silence. The smell of cordite mixed obscenely with the fragrant night air. The blood streaming from the guards trickled into the pool, which was already turning crimson with Brandeford’s. Scarne felt his side. Instinctively, he knew that the sensation he felt when hit, akin to a cigarette burn, indicated that the bullet had only grazed him. Ironically, had the wound been more serious, the initial pain, mitigated by shock, would have been less. But his side was now throbbing. His shirt was sticky and his hand came away bloody. But all that meant was some antibiotics and a few stitches. He was reflecting on his good fortune when he heard Alana’s anguished cry.
“Mother!”
Scarne turned. Alana was cradling Maura Dallas in her arms. A red stain was spreading across the older woman’s white blouse at her left breast. Scarne’s mind flashed back to another woman, another bloodied breast. He went over to the two women. One look at Maura’s sightless eyes told him she was dead. He looked over at Anastasia and shook his head. They both heard an animal sound. It was the guard with the knife in his throat. He was lying on his back, still alive, and had the presence of mind to press his wound, with the stiletto still protruding, to stanch the flow of blood. The dagger had apparently not pierced the man’s jugular. Not that it mattered. Anastasia calmly walked over and picked up the man’s gun, which had fired the errant bullet that struck Maura Dallas. He looked down at the man, who raised one hand in supplication. Anastasia shot him through the forehead. He bent down and retrieved his stiletto, wiped it on the dead man’s shirt, and slid it back up in his sleeve. Then he walked over to Jobert and raised the gun. The man looked more resigned than frightened.
“Vincent, no!”
It was Alana. She eased her mother’s body to the deck and walked over to Anastasia. She faced him, her back to the guard.
“I am head of the family now,” she said. “You will do as I say.”
There was steel in her voice. She turned to Jobert.
“Do you want a job, Emile?”
CHAPTER 25 - BONUS
“It was surreal,” Scarne said.
It was three days later and he was sitting in his office with Noah Sealth and Evelyn Warr. All were drinking Irish whiskey. The sun was just setting, but outside it was abnormally dark for the hour, thanks to the black clouds of a just-ending thunderstorm. The frequent flashes of lightning and rolls of thunder added drama to a story that did not need any. When Scarne finished telling it, Noah and Evelyn sat stunned.
“Do you think it will hold?” Sealth said, finally.
“I don’t see why not.”
Scarne had described the aftermath of the carnage at the villa. Alana Dallas had taken complete charge. She explained, in a matter-of-fact tone that brooked no opposition, that Emile, the surviving and very lucky bodyguard, was born and raised in Sint Maarten, and knew just about everyone on both sides of the island. As a former policeman, he could help stage the crime scene so that it looked as if Brandeford and his guards had a falling out fatal to the three of them. He could also provide details of the alleged bad blood that precipitated it.
There would be hard questions, but Jobert could prove he did not fire his gun, or any gun. It was ghastly work, but by the time he, Anastasia and Scarne were through, the fingerprints on guns and the stiletto, which had been carefully replaced in the dead guard’s throat, would match only those of the three dead men. Anastasia had been fond of that stiletto. It held many memories for him. But, in the end, he had been convinced that it had to remain at the crime scene.
“Alana promised him a new one,” Scarne said dryly.
He explained that Emile, being the smartest of the bodyguards and a local, had been Alana and Brandeford’s bag man, responsible for paying the bribes to officials, including those at the airport. With him on their side, they could all leave Sint Maarten without questions — and with Maura’s body.
“What about that French detective you hired?” Sealth asked. “He leads you to Brandeford and the girl, and then there is a slaughter. He surely won’t buy any story about a shootout among Brandeford and his guards, and you and the girl disappearing.”
“Bastian half suspects that this was an intelligence or terrorism operation. He would probably keep his mouth shut in any case, and, besides, Jobert will give him some diamonds to insure his silence. If there is any blowback on Bastian because he was asking questions about Brandeford, he will claim a mysterious American, that’s me, hired him to find Brandeford, who owed him a large gambling debt. Brandeford was known as a gambler. If anyone remembers me from the casino, that will seem natural. Don’t forget, we’re dealing with a police force that is not that sophisticated in a region where bad actors often meet untimely deaths. Jobert says no one will cry over the bodyguards, who were petty criminals when he recruited them. And if anyone digs into Brandeford’s past they will learn about a man who lived under an assumed name in the States because he was thrown out of Harvard on a drug rap.”
“Which he didn’t deserve,” Evelyn said.
“He deserved all the rest,” Scarne said.
The rest of the story was almost as bizarre. Alana told Anastasia to call a mob friend of the Dallassios in New Orleans. Money was paid. Strings were pulled. The Dallassio jet landed at a small private strip the mobster used for his drug smuggling and was met by a Lincoln Town Car, from which emerged two tough-looking men and a doctor. The doctor, who knew to keep his mouth shut, patched Scarne up in the back seat of the car and gave him a shot of antibiotics. After the jet was refueled, Alana Dallas and Vincent Anastasia came over to the car.
Alana got into the back seat with Scarne and handed him a small blue felt pouch.
“Vincent told me that my mother hired you because you had a history with Alana Loeb, the woman I was named after. Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“Now is not the time, but when you are ready I would like to hear about it.”
Scarne was silent.
“Vinnie also said people think you are the best at what you do.”
“I don’t know about that. I seem to get shot a lot.”
She leaned across to him and kissed him long and hard.
“I told you, Jake, I like older men. And I’m no longer young, am I?”
“No, kid. You are not. Take care of yourself.”
“Do you think all this will fuck me up?”
“Only if you let it, Alana. You are beautiful and smart. And a woman, which means you are tougher than any man. Go home and bury your mother. She loved you. Vinnie loves you.”
“I’m going to be a criminal. You’re not bothered about that?”
“Vinnie won’t be around forever.”
“I think you may have found your next Vinnie.”
“Jobert?”
“He’s solid.”
They could hear the Dallassio jet’s engines revving up.
Anastasia walked over to the car.
“Alana, we have to go.”
“I think I’m going to see you again, Jake Scarne. Don’t get too old.”
Scarne laughed as she got out of the car and walked toward the jet.
Anastasia reached in and shook Scarne’s hand.
“The stiletto was inspired, Vinnie” Scarne said.
“Thank God for amateur pat downs,” Anastasia said.
As the car pulled away, Scarne could hear the roar of the jet’s two engines as it took off for San Francisco. Then he was driven to Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport in Jefferson Parish, where he was given a first-class ticket for a flight to New York.
“Emile the bodyguard played his role perfectly. There was hardly a mention in the media. Bad for tourism when three guys get whacked, so the local authorities played it down. Alana gave him a handful of diamonds to use as bribes, with the promise of more if he pulled it off. And she promised him a bigger job in San Francisco when it all blows over. As for her mother, the story is that Maura Dallas died at home of a cerebral hemorrhage. It’s rare, but not unheard of in a woman of her age.”
“She had a bullet in her chest,” Evelyn pointed out. “Wouldn’t someone notice?”
“Anastasia told me that the family owns a string of funeral homes, with some pet morticians who can cover up anything.”
“That works for Dudley, too,” Sealth commented.
“You bet,” Scarne said. “But Dudley doesn’t also own a hospital with a couple of doctors who will fudge a death certificate. Yet, anyway. The Dallassio family does.”
“It sounds like Alana has it all figured out,” Sealth said. There was admiration in his voice. “One tough cookie.”
FACETS (JAKE SCARNE THRILLERS Book 6) Page 18
