Lethal Justice

by Fern Michaels

  Roland removed his jacket and yanked at his tie. “No, you aren’t wrong. I thought you were going to call a detective agency to find Sara Whittier. If those women out there in Manassas get to her before we do, all this,” he said waving his hand about, “is going to come crashing down around us. I’d get on it. Promise a bonus to the detective. Tell him we need to locate her yesterday.”

  Arden knew he was right. She hurried to her office and closed the door while she made her calls. An hour later she was convinced she had a dedicated detective who promised there would be no charge if he didn’t locate the missing subject in thirty-six hours. That was good enough for her. She marched her way down the hall to Roland’s office to tell him. She was stunned to see him sitting with his feet propped up on the desk guzzling scotch. A big tumbler of scotch.

  “We should have located Sara a long time ago and paid her off. Where are we going to get the money to do it now, Arden?” He sounded like he didn’t care one way or the other.

  “That is a problem. I guess I’m going to sell my jewelry and my Mercedes. You’re going to have to sell your Porsche and your boat. That will be some serious money for starters. We’ll pay her the rest once she relocates out of the area. Assuming she’s still in these parts. For all we know, she could have gone back to Mississippi.”

  “I did try to find her once,” Roland said, slurring his words. “She just dropped off the face of the earth. I should have tried harder.”

  Arden could feel anger starting to build. “You know what they say about letting sleeping dogs lie. I wish you’d get over it.”

  Roland continued drinking. “What do you suppose it’s like being in prison? Eating that awful starchy food, being locked in a little space, having to shower with other people watching, working for twelve cents an hour. Going to bed at nine at night, getting up at five. Seeing visitors once a week assuming anyone cares enough about you to visit. How did Sara survive all that?”

  “Will you stop that!” Arden screamed shrilly. “I’m sick and tired of hearing you whining like this. It’s over and done with. I have no desire to go to prison so I don’t think about what it would be like. Obviously it isn’t as bad as you say it is because Sara survived and even got out early for good behavior. Sara is a survivor just like I am. I don’t know what the hell you are other than a wuss. Right now, you’re a drunken wuss.”

  Roland finished his drink and immediately poured another. Arden eyed him with disgust before she left the office.

  In her office, her mind raced. She knew in her gut that Roland was somehow, someway, going to screw things up. Maybe it was time to do something about him. Now that his fat little wife was dumping him, who would miss him if he disappeared? Then again, if he died, she’d be five million dollars richer from the Key Man insurance partner policy. She could handle the de Silva account on her own if she hired a few buttoned up financial MBA’s. Her mind continued to race as idea after idea flitted through her head.

  Chapter 24

  Arden Gillespie paced her office in short, jerky steps as she puffed furiously on a cigarette she neither wanted nor needed. Each time she walked around her desk she stopped long enough to look at the screen of her computer monitor. Where were the accounts? They should have been transferred by now. Markham said she would set the transfer in motion the day they went to Manassas to meet with the Countess. A prickle of apprehension rippled up and down her arms as she puffed on her cigarette.

  Arden wondered if she should mention her concerns to Roland who seemed oblivious to what was going on. He was more concerned with finding a new apartment and getting used to his second-hand car. She knew he was depressed over the fact that he had to sell his Porsche and his boat. He was now driving a second-hand Lexus with 70,000 miles on it. All he did was whine about it. Today, he would be a snarling bear when she told him the private detective had had no luck in locating Sara Whittier. The detective had gone on to say he wasn’t giving up because now it was a challenge.

  The cigarette in Arden’s hand had burned down to the filter. She stubbed it out and lit another one. The room was already cloudy with smoke. She wondered if the smoke alarm would go off. It was a non smoking building. Well, rules were for other people, not her.

  She was in front of the computer again. Where were those goddamn accounts? A call to Ellen Markham would probably answer the question. Would calling that frozen ice queen be a sign of eagerness or insecurity? Or would it come across as professional? She was rattled and she knew it.

  Arden opened the door to let the smoke from her office billow out into the hall. She walked back to the kitchen area to get a cup of coffee. She was surprised to see Roland leaning against the sink sipping his own cup of coffee. She tried for a light tone. “How’s the apartment hunt going?”

  “I found an apartment, fully furnished. I’ll be moving in over the weekend.”

  “Is it nice?” Arden asked, making small talk.

  “It’s not the Ritz but it’s all I need. There’s an extra bedroom for the kids if Patsy lets them stay overnight.” He shrugged.

  Finally, Arden couldn’t stand it any longer. “The detective hasn’t found Sara Whittier and the de Silva accounts haven’t been transferred. I didn’t want to call the Markham woman without your approval.”

  Roland, who had been staring into space brought his focus back to Arden. “It’s been three days! You’re just telling me this now! If you don’t want to call the Markham woman, try calling the brokerage houses where the accounts are. The broker’s name is on top of the account. You have a complete list, don’t you?”

  “Of course. I just don’t want to look like an eager fool by calling. The houses might be stalling because they’re losing the accounts. We’ve done the same thing when a client wants to switch.”

  “It’s one o’clock, Arden. Make at least one call. Get the lay of the land. If you don’t like what you hear, call the Markham woman.”

  “All right, as long as you think it’s a good idea. Roland…would you like to come over for dinner? I was planning on making some Thai food. I know you like it. Just dinner, a few glasses of wine. Around seven-thirty. I’ll have to stop at the market on the way home.”

  “Yeah, sure. Beats takeout or the Marriott café.”

  Arden left her partner staring into space. For some reason, she felt nervous and jittery. Something, somewhere, was wrong.

  The house in Manassas was alive with activity as the Sisters prepared to make the trip back to Pinewood. Myra stood by the kitchen door talking to Annie.

  “Annie, are you sure you can handle this? If you have any doubts, now is the time to voice them.”

  “Surely you jest, Myra. I can’t wait for tomorrow morning when I go to the bank. I don’t want you to worry one little bit. After I do the bank gig,” she laughed using one of Kathryn’s favorite words, “can I come out to Pinewood?”

  “No, Annie. You have to stay here. All kinds of people are going to be visiting you. The SEC, the Feds, all those bank officers. Your staff is here and can attest to your recent arrival. Your two guards are on an extended vacation. You’ll have to monitor the security gates on your own. Alexis typed up a set of instructions for you. She left it in your bedroom. Refer to it if things get muddled. Whatever you do, do not call any of us at Pinewood. You can, however, call Nikki at the firm since she is your new attorney. She will cover your tracks. Be careful what you say. In this high tech age, everything can be tracked and traced. I learned this from Charles.”

  “It’s all so exciting. I wish I had…oh, Myra, I wish so many things. It’s not too late for me, is it?”

  “It’s never too late, my friend. You’re back among the living. Stick with us, kid, and life will become even more interesting. Oh, Annie, don’t you just love those girls?”

  “I do, Myra, I do. I’m so glad you’re allowing me to become a part of all this. When is Charles going to…to do the deed?”

  Myra looked down at her watch. “He said he was going to transfer the
money at two o’clock. He’s quite punctual. I imagine the bank will be calling you shortly afterward.”

  “We’re ready, Myra,” Alexis called from the kitchen door.

  Annie stood in the doorway waving to all of her new best friends. She stood there for a long time before she turned around and walked over to the refrigerator. She made herself a ham sandwich and poured a cup of coffee. As she sipped and chewed, she kept her eyes on the digital clock on the stove as the numbers ticked off. When the red numerals hit two o’clock, Annie drew a deep breath and held it.

  Now, according to Kathryn, the dark brown stuff was going to hit the fan. She was so excited she could hardly stand it.

  The ladies of Pinewood clustered around Charles as he flexed his fingers dramatically. The clock readout on the computer read 1:59. Precisely at two o’clock, Charles’s nimble fingers hit the keyboard. A blizzard of numbers raced across the screen for a full five minutes. When the screen turned black, the women gasped.

  “What happened? What’s wrong?” they chorused.

  Charles whirled around, a huge smile on his face. “It’s done! The money is gone. All of it. At this moment it is being transferred all over the world six times over. I have…ah…people who are seeing to the multiple transfers. It will take years and years for anyone to trace the transfers. Alexis, dear, your revenge is almost complete.”

  The women hugged and congratulated Alexis.

  “When will Gillespie and Sullivan know something is wrong?” Nikki asked.

  “Probably by the close of business today, possibly sooner. I’m a little surprised that it hasn’t already happened since Kathryn assured them the accounts would be transferred ASAP. It’s my opinion they are playing it cool so as not to appear over eager. I’m also certain that by today they are starting to worry a little,” Charles said.

  “I’m starving,” Kathryn said.

  “You’re always starving. You’re like a bottomless pit,” Alexis said, punching Kathryn lightly on the arm. “Isabelle promised to make crab cakes for lunch.”

  “Run along, ladies, I have work to do. Save me some of the crab cakes.”

  “We will, dear. Come along, girls, I’m rather hungry myself. We can chatter non stop and not disturb Charles.”

  Lunch was a rousing affair to Myra’s delight, as the women insisted she sit and allow herself to be waited on. They giggled and laughed as they talked about everything and anything from Ted Robinson and Maggie Spritzer, to Yoko and her date the following day. All of them jumped in to plan Yoko’s wardrobe until she said it was a martial arts exhibition and there was no need to dress up. “Undress,” she giggled, “would be more like it.”

  “You naughty girl!” Myra smiled. Yoko tittered again as she placed silverware on the table.

  “About tonight…” Nikki said.

  “I have it covered.” Alexis said. “I’m going to call Arden at the office around three. I plan on saying I understand she’s been trying to locate me. I’ll make arrangements to go to her apartment around eight or eight-thirty. I will take a bottle of doctored-up wine that will knock them out for several hours, thanks to Charles and his never ending supply of medicines. I’m going to pick up my friend at seven. He knows what to do and for a princely sum of money, thanks to Myra, he will do what I want. When he’s finished, he will relocate to the Miami, courtesy of Myra. Like I said, I have it covered. Who wants to go with me?” Alexis asked.

  “Count me in. I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Nikki said.

  “Okay, but you can’t come into the apartment until they’re out cold.”

  “Gotcha. What about your friend?” Nikki asked.

  “Well, he’s a little flaky, loses track of time, things like that. You’d do me a big favor if you could pick him up. You’ll enjoy his company. He’s a real trip, if you know what I mean.”

  “Consider it done,” Nikki said.

  “Now what should we do?” Yoko asked.

  Kathryn fixed Yoko with a keen stare. “You can tell us all what you have planned for this date you have tomorrow evening. In detail. Don’t leave anything out. We’ll vote to tell you if it’s acceptable.”

  Yoko tossed her wadded up napkin at Kathryn who expertly dodged it. “Yes, mama san,” she said giggling again.

  “We really need to discuss it, kiddo. In case you get into a sticky spot, we’ll bail you out.”

  Yoko’s face puckered up as she tried to make sense out of what Kathryn said. “Forget it! I was teasing. But, you don’t know him well enough to go to bed with him yet. Do you hear me?”

  Murphy reared up and barked loudly.

  “Do not worry. I am playing hard to get. See,” she said pulling her cell phone out of her pocket. “Harry has called me thirty-seven times during the past few days and I did not return his calls. I am being…mysterious.”

  “Yeah, a real Mata Hari,” Isabelle quipped.

  As the women bantered back and forth, Myra let her thoughts drift to what Charles was doing in the war room. She finally excused herself to take a plate of food to him. The women were still giggling and laughing when she left the kitchen.

  Myra sat at the round table with Charles while he ate his lunch. She waited until he was finished, then asked, “How long will it take before they arrest those awful people?”

  “My best guess would be sometime tomorrow. That’s why Alexis has to exact her personal revenge this evening. Everything is on target, my dear. Is there something in particular you’re worried about?”

  “I’m not exactly worried, Charles. I am…a bit apprehensive about Annie. This is all so new to her. She appears to have bounced back remarkably well. What’s that expression? She did a 160 and ran with it.”

  “Annie is having the time of her life, thanks to you, my dear. Don’t jinx her now. I have no doubt that she will make us all proud of her. Lately, we all seem to be conversing in clichés but even so, I will risk another one. Annie is taking to the Sisterhood like a duck to water. I see her as being a definite asset to our little team.”

  “I just wanted a second opinion, dear.”

  “Well, now you have it. I must get back to my work to make sure we all stay safe and on this side of the law.” Myra blinked and Charles laughed.

  Myra sighed as she got up, picked up Charles’s lunch plate and left the war room.

  “Stop worrying, Mom. It’s happening.”

  “Oh, darling girl, thank you. You know me, I’m not happy unless I’m worrying.”

  “You miss out on a lot when you do that. This revenge was flawless. Aunt Annie seems really happy. I’m so glad you were able to enlist her help. I hope you’re relieved that the two thorns in your side, Maggie Spritzer and Ted Robinson are gone.”

  “I am, dear. I did quite a bit of worrying about those two. I’m so glad Charles intervened. He wouldn’t tell me what he said to them. I suppose it’s better I don’t know.”

  “The only important thing is they’re gone. I am so proud of you. I wish I could hug you, Mom. I wish that more than anything.”

  Tears rolled down Myra’s cheeks. “Darling girl, I wish that, too. More than you can ever know.” She turned when she felt something brush her cheek. She literally swooned and almost dropped the plate in her hand. Gingerly, she brought up her fingertips to touch the spot on her cheek. She was stunned to find her tears had been wiped away. “If this is all that is allowed me, I’ll take it,” she whispered.

  Arden Gillespie settled herself behind her desk. It was 2:30 pm. She took a deep breath before she fired up yet another cigarette. She looked down at the condensed file in front of her that listed all of Anna de Silva’s accounts. She took a second deep breath before she dialed the private number of the broker in charge of the account at Smith Barney. She identified herself and said, “I was wondering, Mr. Gilbert, if you could give me some indication as to when you plan to transfer Anna de Silva’s account to my firm. It was my understanding the account was to be transferred three days ago. Is there a problem?” Ther
e, she’d voiced her worst fear. She waited for what she expected to be some cockamamie excuse.

  “I beg your pardon. Who did you say this was?”

  Arden felt her heart flutter in her chest. “I said I was Arden Gillespie of Gillespie and Sullivan. I asked you when you would be transferring Miss de Silva’s account to my firm as per our agreement. I hope you aren’t going to tell me there’s a problem. I don’t like problems, Mr. Gilbert.”

  “I don’t like problems either, Miss Gillespie, but I have no clue as to what you are talking about. I have had no instructions about transferring Miss de Silva’s account.”

  “That’s impossible. My partner and I had a meeting with Miss de Silva and her personal assistant, Ellen Markham, who assured us both that ALL of Miss de Silva’s accounts were to be transferred to our firm. I can understand you don’t want to part with such a lucrative money maker but it is Miss de Silva’s wish. Perhaps you should call her to confirm this. I’ll be happy to provide you with the phone number. Miss de Silva is no longer in Spain, she’s in Manassas.”

  “That I did not know. I’ll call her immediately. I have the phone number in Manassas and I’ll get back to you.”

  “See that you do, Mr. Gilbert. I am not a patient person.”

  Arden disconnected the call and immediately dialed the number of Goldman Sachs. She went through her spiel with exactly the same result. She started to panic as alarm spread through her. She fired up another cigarette as she pressed the button that would ring in Roland’s office. “Come here immediately. We seem to have a problem. Now, Roland.”

  Sullivan collapsed, his eyes wild with fear when Arden brought him up to date. “Something’s wrong,” was all he could manage to say.