Lethal Justice

by Fern Michaels

  “Maybe Annie isn’t open to it like you and Mom were. Some people aren’t.”

  “Couldn’t you…ah, you know, goose them a little in that direction?”

  The tinkling laugh circled overhead. “Not my job, Nik. See ya.”

  Nikki whirled around when she felt a hand tap her shoulder. “Oh, Isabelle, you startled me. What are you doing up so early?”

  “I heard Charles. What did he say? Is he okay with our guests being in residence?”

  Nikki sighed as she watched the coffee dripping into the pot. “Believe it or not, he was great about it. Said I did a good job and he would have done the same thing. He complimented me, Isabelle. God, I feel like someone took ten thousand pounds off my shoulders.”

  “That’s great. It’s out of our hands and into Charles’s capable hands. We should celebrate. Then again, maybe we shouldn’t. Isn’t there some kind of saying about chickens coming home to roost or something?”

  Nikki laughed. “It is indeed out of our hands. Today is the day Gillespie and Sullivan meet the bogus Anna de Silva. Alexis must be like a cat on a hot griddle. I know I would be if I were in her shoes.”

  “I wish we could be there! I hate being out of the loop,” Isabelle said as she held her cup toward Nikki.

  Nikki carried her own cup over to the table and sat down. “Jack called me yesterday. He told me that Mrs. Sullivan showed up at his office yesterday and told him she thought her husband and his partner framed Alexis but that she had no proof. And, she went on to tell him she thinks they’re scamming this new client they are trying to woo, but again she has no proof. She asked him if he knew a good divorce lawyer and he recommended me.”

  “How come you didn’t tell me this yesterday? Not that it would have made any difference,” Isabelle grumbled.

  “Because I went to bed at nine-thirty and you weren’t here. I’m telling you now. Oh, here’s Charles!”

  “Good morning, Isabelle,” Charles said bending over to kiss her on the cheek.

  “It’s good to see you back home, Charles. It’s been kind of lonely with everyone gone.”

  “Well, I am back now and I will be cracking my whip,” he joked. He reached out for the cup of black coffee that Nikki held in her hand. He sat down and relaxed. “Is there anything I need to know?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well then, the sun is creeping over the horizon so I guess it’s time for me to pay a visit to our guests. I’ll need a whistle, Nikki.”

  When the kitchen door closed behind Charles, the two women rushed to the kitchen window. They watched him cross the yard to the garage, climb the steps, knock on the door, and then disappear from view. They looked at one another, their eyes full of questions.

  Nikki shrugged. “We’ll just have to wait and see what happens. More coffee?”

  “Well sure, fill ’er up.”

  Ted Robinson opened the door, his hair standing on end. He was dressed in boxer shorts and a tee shirt that said he was a Redskins fan. A dog yapped at his feet as two cats hissed at this intrusion. “Whatever you’re selling, we don’t want it.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Robinson. Allow me to introduce myself: Charles Martin.”

  Ted jerked his head backward. “Yo, Maggie, you better come out here. Our host is here.” He turned back to face Charles. “We don’t do breakfast. Actually, we don’t do much of anything these days except read and watch television.” His tone changed. “What the hell do you want?”

  Charles brushed past Robinson to enter the apartment. Maggie appeared wearing a long white nightgown, her curly hair just as messy as Ted’s.

  “Please, sit down,” Charles said.

  “Why should we?” Ted snarled angrily.

  “Because I told you to. It wasn’t an invitation. It was an order. You are in no position to quibble, Mr. Robinson.” Ted and Maggie immediately perched on the end of the couch.

  Charles waited a moment until he was sure he had the reporters’ attention. “You have caused my friends and myself considerable angst. That’s why you’re here. I want you to know I can keep you here forever if I so choose. I can also spirit you away and you’ll never be found.”

  “That sounds like a goddamn threat,” Ted blustered.

  “It is, Mr. Robinson.”

  “Or? I sensed an or in there somewhere.”

  “Or I can simply allow both of you to leave. I can, if you are interested, guarantee you both positions at the New York Post if you care to relocate.”

  Both reporters stared at Charles with suspicion and hope in their eyes. “And why would you do that?” Ted demanded.

  “To avoid having to kill you,” Charles said. To both reporters it sounded like Charles was discussing the weather.

  “We’ll take it,” Maggie said quietly. “Ted?”

  Ted nodded. “Are there any other…restrictions?”

  Charles smiled. “I’ve killed many people while I was in service to the Queen. I will always be able to find you. There is no place you can run to. No place you can hide that I won’t be able to find you. If you ever breathe one word that I don’t like, and I will know if you do, I will kill you. It’s that simple.”

  Charles stood up and walked to the door. “You are now free to leave. You have one hour. When you’re ready to go to your car, call the house and I’ll call off the dogs.”

  When the door closed behind Charles, Maggie wrapped her arms around Ted. “We’re going, aren’t we?”

  “Damn straight we’re going. Hurry up and pack.”

  “Is this the end of…this…this crap? I don’t want to die, Ted.”

  Ted’s eyes were narrowed to slits. “We’ll talk when we’re out of here. It’s not the end of the world, Maggie. Think of it as an adventure.”

  Maggie looked up at the tall man standing next to her. She shivered at what she was seeing in his eyes and face.

  Chapter 23

  Arden Gillespie walked into Roland Sullivan’s office dressed in a long mud-colored sack dress with matching straw sandals. She wore no jewelry and her lustrous blond hair was pulled back into a severe bun. Roland thought she looked awful and said so. He was wearing a charcoal gray suit, white shirt and power tie. His wing tips were polished to a high sheen.

  He didn’t want to go to Manassas. He didn’t want to meet Anna de Silva because then this whole damn thing would be real. He wished he could turn the clock back to another time. To before AG. Before Arden Gillespie. Back then he was happy, truly happy making a go of his small brokerage house, happy with Patsy and the kids. Happy planning for holidays, vacations, and just hanging out in his family room in the evenings, holding Patsy’s hand while they watched television, talking about their day, sharing a bottle of wine.

  Greed and lust were terrible things even though the lust was pleasurable at the time and spending money like he printed it himself, just as pleasurable.

  “What did you do with the pictures?” he barked.

  “I took mine down and trashed it. What did you do with yours?”

  Roland looked at the blank space on the wall where Sara Whittier’s picture had hung for so long. “I didn’t do anything with it. I thought you took it down. Are you telling me you didn’t?”

  “No, I didn’t. What difference does it make as long as its gone? By the way, what’s wrong with you? You look terrible. You could use some concealer under your eyes. Not sleeping?”

  “No, I’m not sleeping. You might as well hear it from me. Patsy booted me out of the house. She’s filing for divorce. I moved to the Marriott four days ago.”

  Arden looked honestly surprised. “Why?”

  “Because she knows about us. She saw me kissing you in the parking lot last week. She staked out your apartment those two days we celebrated. I know I’ve told you this before but I’m going to tell you again, she never believed Sara Whittier did what we accused her of. She also thinks we’re scamming de Silva. You want to run with that one, Arden, because I sure as hell don’t. My gut tells me she’s
going to…I don’t know what, but I know she’s going to do something.”

  “That means you’ll have to give her half of everything,” Arden said. “Sara is a dead issue. Did you hire a detective to find her like I told you to do? You didn’t, did you? Why is it you leave everything up to me, Roland? All right, all right, I’ll take care of it when we get back from Manassas. We should leave now or we’re going to be late.”

  Roland turned away to stare out the window. “I just realized something. You don’t have a conscience, do you?”

  Arden stamped her foot. “It’s a little late to be worrying about a conscience. Need I remind you that you were right there when all that business with Sara was going on. You couldn’t wait to buy that fancy place in Aspen. So, just shut up, Roland. I never want to hear you mention Sara Whittier to me again. Let’s just get this over with so I can dump these clothes and fix my hair. I’ll drive today,” she said coldly.

  Roland wished he had the will power, the guts, to tell Arden to go to hell. He picked up his brief case because he never went anywhere without it, and followed his partner from the room and out to the borrowed Saab.

  They were halfway to Manassas when Arden took her eyes off the road long enough to look over at Roland. “Why didn’t you move in with me?”

  Roland didn’t bother to answer. He stared out the window at the passing countryside, his thoughts jumbled. His mother always used to say money was the root of all evil. He wished she was still alive so he could tell her she was right.

  Arden’s voice turned cold. “You are going to make an attempt to be civil and charming when we meet de Silva, aren’t you?”

  Roland stirred himself long enough to reply. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

  “You screw this up, Roland, and I’ll make sure you live to regret it. This is our chance at the brass ring. Listen to me, I don’t give a hoot about that plump little wife of yours who thinks she has a brain and can threaten me through you. Nor do I care that she kicked you out of your house. Buy another one, a bigger, better one. If you’re hung up on your kids and she won’t let you see them, adopt some. Get a cat, for God’s sake. Are we clear on all this, Roland?”

  Christ Almighty, what did he ever see in this woman? Suddenly, he felt sick to his stomach. He was tempted to ask Arden to stop the car so he could upchuck but then he noticed she was making the turn into the de Silva estate. He took deep breaths to try and calm himself.

  Arden waited for the guard to open the gate. This was all so…so royal, for want of a better word. She told herself she could now buy herself something just as grand as this lavish estate. She, too, could have a guard house to keep unwanted people away from her royal self. The thought so pleased her, she smiled.

  And then they were standing at the front door ringing the bell. Yoko opened the door and ushered them inside. “Follow me, please. Miss Markham is waiting for you.”

  Arden stopped in her tracks. Roland bumped into her. Yoko kept on walking. “But I thought we were to meet with Miss de Silva,” Arden called out. Yoko ignored her comment. Both brokers hurried to catch up.

  Kathryn Lucas didn’t bother to get up from her chair behind the highly polished desk. She motioned for Arden and Roland to sit down. Precisely in the middle of the desk was a bright red folder. She opened it, pretended to read. Her expression gave no clue as to what she was reading or thinking. Across the room, Yoko was watching the three women with interest so she could report later to Alexis, Myra and Annie.

  Kathryn removed her reading glasses and looked across at the two brokers. “I must admit, I didn’t think you would be able to secure a loan the size we stipulated. Miss de Silva was as surprised as I was until I reminded her that Virginia State Trust was the new name of the bank her great grandfather founded. After your meeting with Miss de Silva—if she doesn’t change her mind, which she’s been known to do at the eleventh hour—she will give the order to begin the transfer of her accounts to your firm.

  “Miss de Silva likes to ask questions. Sometimes the questions are personal and sometimes they concern business. Honesty is always an excellent policy. Miss de Silva can give you ten minutes. Sumi will take you to the sun room now to meet with Miss de Silva.” It was an abrupt dismissal.

  Sumi stood up and motioned for Arden and Roland to follow her.

  Myra Rutledge, a.k.a. Countess Anna de Silva, was sitting on a straight wooden chair dressed in a long flowing white muslin dress. Her back was ramrod stiff and she had a magazine in her hands. She wore ropy sandals and a crown of spring flowers. She smiled as she extended her hand, palm down. There was no other furniture in the sun room, not even a carpet. The sun coming in the wrap-around windows was blinding.

  Arden walked forward, uncertain if she was supposed to kiss the extended hand or not. What the hell, she dropped to one knee and did just that. Roland followed suit.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Countess,” Arden said. Since there was no place to sit, she simply stepped backward and waited. Roland did the same thing.

  Myra smiled again. “I want to congratulate you on securing the loan I required. Ellen and Sumi tell me you had to mortgage all your holdings. I approve. That proves to me you are dedicated to doing a good job for me. I’m sure you will be rewarded handsomely. I like to be up front with the people who work for me. I am a demanding client. I do not tolerate excuses. Now, tell me about your families. I understand, Mr. Roland, that you have children. I am very fond of little ones. A picture will suffice.”

  Roland reached for his billfold and withdrew a small family snapshot. The picture was an old one where everyone was smiling into the camera.

  “What a lovely family. Absolutely charming. I insist you all come to dinner one evening. I would love to meet your children. Ellen, before Mr. Sullivan leaves, set up a dinner meeting.”

  Myra turned her attention to Arden as she enjoyed the stricken look on Sullivan’s face. “I understand you’re a single career woman. Commendable. You don’t look the part,” she said sharply. “I expected business attire similar to Miss Markham’s. I assume there is a lot to be said for…comfort.”

  Arden grappled for something to say in her defense. “I don’t think one’s ability should be judged on his or her apparel. I work a very long day that doesn’t leave much time for shopping. I do like to be comfortable. I apologize if my outfit offends you.” She cursed the article she’d read on de Silva that said she liked simple things. Then she cursed herself for believing it.

  “Oh, it doesn’t offend me,” Myra said breezily.

  Arden knew when to keep her mouth shut so she clammed up.

  “Tell me what you will do if you fail to turn a profit on my holdings. You’ll be wiped out financially.”

  “We won’t fail. The word simply is not in our vocabulary,” Roland said flatly.

  “In that case, I must say good-by. I will anticipate your first report. I don’t ever want to hear one excuse about a stock, a fund, a bond, whatever. You’re being paid to anticipate every market trend. Oh, dear, just one minute. Did your firm make good on Miss Whittier’s accounts?”

  “Of course,” Arden lied coolly.

  Myra looked over to where Kathryn was standing. “We really must find that young woman.”

  “We have several serious leads, Miss de Silva.” Confidence rang in Kathryn’s voice. “We’ll locate her, it’s just a matter of time.”

  “You’ve never failed me yet, Ellen. Good-by, Miss Gillespie, Mr. Sullivan.”

  Yoko appeared out of nowhere and escorted the couple from the barren sunroom and out to the front door. She opened it and then said, “Miss Markham will call you to set up an appropiate dinner date.” It was all she could do not to push them out the door. She did, however, slam the door harder than was necessary before she scampered back to the sun room where the others waited for her.

  “Oh, Myra, you were wonderful!” Annie said. “Kathryn, you should have been an actress, and you, Yoko, you were exquisite. Darling, Alexis, what do
you think?”

  Alexis liked this lady. She was everything Myra said she was. She smiled at the excited Countess. “I enjoyed watching them lie. I wish you could see Arden when she’s dressed up. Like I said before, they are both spending money in their minds. That’s all either one of them thinks about.”

  Myra pulled off her gray wig and tossed it aside. “Wouldn’t it be exciting if Alexis were to call Miss Gillespie and say, ‘I understand you’ve been trying to reach me.’ Then arrange a meeting between the two of them with the rest of us standing by in case of…foul play.”

  Yoko clapped her hands. “A wonderful idea. Should we do it before we clean out the bank account or after?”

  Alexis sat down on a wicker chair. “It’s not enough! I thought reducing the two of them to paupers would be enough but it isn’t.”

  “Darling girl, they’re going to go to prison. You said that’s what you wanted,” Myra said.

  Alexis dropped her head into her hands. She started to cry. “I know that’s what I said and I meant it. It just isn’t enough.”

  Kathryn spoke. “I think what Alexis is trying to say is it isn’t personal enough. She wants to get her licks in and I for one understand that.”

  “I do, too,” Yoko said.

  “Then let’s think of something that will make it personal,” Annie said briskly. “I used to get wonderful ideas. Isn’t that right, Myra?”

  “Absolutely. All right, ladies, lets adjourn to the kitchen for coffee while we kick this around,” Myra said.

  Two hours later, Alexis was beaming from ear to ear. “It works for me!”

  Countess Anna Ryland de Silva positively glowed. “I told you I was an idea person.”

  “We need to talk, Roland. Look, I’m sorry your wife is divorcing you. I guess I am surprised at your reaction. For some crazy reason, I thought you didn’t care and that’s why you stepped so willingly into my arms. You did come willingly, Roland. If you have regrets now, there’s nothing I can do about it. We’re going to be working very closely together so now might be a good time to set some ground rules. I say that because I assume our…relationship has come to a screeching halt. Or, am I wrong?”