In the silence that followed, Abby put her drink down on the table. “Jay,” she said slowly. “Excuse me . . . Chief Westwood . . .” Now her voice betrayed the tiniest slurring of words and syllables. “Forrest worked for Evan. He made a lot of money off Evan. So he, like many people, was at Evan’s beck and call. Also,” she said, picking her drink back up, “he was a little bit in love with Evan.”
Bannister swiveled to stare at Abby. “More in love with him than you were, that’s for damn sure!”
Abby ignored Bannister now. She was staring at Justin, giving him an answer to his what-the-fuck-is-going-on-here look.
Bannister realized that his outbursts were inappropriate. He did his best to look dignified, and said, “I’m Evan’s CFO. We’ve worked together for over ten years. Starting at Merrill Lynch. I didn’t go with him to Rockworth and Williams. But when he started Ascension, his hedge fund, he called and I came.”
“Do you think there was a reason he wanted you here tonight? Other than loneliness? A business reason?”
“Maybe. He was very concerned about Ellis St. John.”
“Who is . . . ?”
“Ascension’s prime broker. He’s at Rockworth. He may have wanted to talk about Elly.”
“And what was the problem with . . . Elly?”
“I don’t know. I just know that Evan was unhappy with him. I believe he was thinking of making a change.”
“Changing brokers?”
“Changing his primary broker. We use quite a few different brokers.”
“But you have no idea why he’d want to change?”
“I don’t know for sure that’s what he wanted. It’s just a guess on my part.” He shrugged in a strange kind of false modesty. “An educated guess.”
“He never discussed this unhappiness or this desire to change?”
“Not in any great depth. Just hints. Bits and pieces.”
“How about giving me some of the bits?”
“It wasn’t anything major. Evan felt Elly was a tad . . . well . . . ambitious.”
“And that’s bad?”
“It was a question of personal ambition compared to ambition for the good of the company.”
“He steered Evan toward bad investments for his personal gain?”
“I don’t know that. As I said, Evan never got that specific with me.” Forrest bit his lip, as if debating whether to speak further. It was the kind of gesture a flirtatious teenage girl would have made. “Frankly, I think some of it was that he just didn’t like Elly.”
“Thass not true.” It was Abby speaking now. Facing Justin, she said, “Evan liked Ellis. Really did.” She turned to Forrest. “Liked him a helluva lot more’n he liked you.”
“I’m not going to get down in the mud with you,” the CFO said. “I’m just not. I know what Evan thought about me. And I know what he thought about you, too.”
Justin stepped in between them. “How big is Ascension, Forrest? How large is the fund?”
“I don’t think I should be giving out that kind of information.”
“Almost two billion dollars,” Abby said. The word “dollars” came out as “dollarsh.” “Give or take a few hundred million.”
Justin kept his eyes on Forrest. By the aggravated look on the man’s face, Justin thought Abby’s estimate was probably accurate. This was clearly a man who liked to control information. It was the only power he had. “What happened when you got here?” Justin asked the CFO. “Walk me through it.”
The thin man nodded. He seemed to be regaining strength from being the sudden center of attention. “I got to the driveway and the gate was open . . .”
“Was that unusual?”
“Yes. I usually had to punch in the code to open it. Most people had to use the intercom, but I had the code.” He was obviously proud of this access.
“That’s good,” Justin said quickly. He spoke up because Abby was rolling her eyes at Forrest’s misplaced smugness. He wanted her to keep quiet for a bit so he could get what he needed from this strange and strangely sad man. “So the gate was open. What then?”
“I came up to the house.”
“Was it unlocked?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a key? Just in case.”
Now Forrest Bannister looked pained and slighted. “No,” he said. He started to make some sort of explanation or excuse, stopped himself, shook his head, and just said, “No key.”
“So what then?”
“Well . . . it wasn’t normal for everything to be so . . . open. I had kind of a sixth sense that something was wrong. Because of the gate and the door and Evan’s tone when he called.”
“What tone? I thought you said he just seemed lonely.”
“Yes. But it seemed more urgent than usual. More pressing than usual.”
“But you didn’t ask why?”
“No. It didn’t matter. I figured I’d find out when I got here.”
Justin nodded, then nodded a second time for Bannister to continue with his story.
“When nobody answered the door, I opened it and went inside.”
“No one was here?”
Bannister shook his head.
“The couple who worked here?”
Bannister shook his head again. “No. The house was empty. At least I didn’t see anyone. I called Evan’s name a couple of times, then I thought that maybe he was taking a shower or something. So I—I went upstairs. And saw him.”
“How long before you called the police station?”
“Immediately. Well, I don’t know how long I stood there. I mean, I couldn’t believe what had happened, what I saw, but I don’t think it was more than a few seconds. And I didn’t call the station, I called 911.”
“Did you ask for an ambulance?”
Bannister looked startled at the question. “No. The police. I said there’d been a murder.”
“Did you check Evan to see if he was alive?”
The same flash of confusion—Justin thought that this time it might have been embarrassment—crossed Bannister’s face. “No,” he said quietly. “I . . . He was dead. He was clearly dead. My god, it was so horrible. I couldn’t bring myself to touch him, to get close. I just couldn’t.”
“I understand,” Justin said. “What did you do until Officer Jenkins arrived?”
“Nothing. I came downstairs . . . I couldn’t stay in that room . . . and I just sat. I felt dizzy—I may have even passed out for a few moments.”
“You didn’t move around the house?”
“No. I just sat on the couch.”
“Were you planning on going back to the city tonight?”
“No. I was going to stay here.”
“In the house?”
“Yes.” He glared over at the ever more inebriated widow. “I stayed here sometimes when she was . . . out. I don’t know what I’m going to do now.”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d stick around until tomorrow morning, in case we have some other questions.”
“But I can’t stay here.”
“No. Officer Jenkins’ll find you a hotel in East End Harbor. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to drive tonight anyway.”
“Yes. I mean no. I mean, yes, I’ll stay and, no, I don’t want to drive back.”
“An ambulance should be here soon. So will another officer who works with me. And I’m going to get a crime scene unit over here as quickly as I can get one. As soon as the officer arrives, Officer Jenkins will get you settled. I’d appreciate it if you’d come to the station by nine tomorrow morning so we can see if there’s anything else you might be able to help us with. It’s possible that the media’ll get hold of this story very quickly. They’ll probably want to talk to you. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk to them. At least not yet.”
Bannister nodded. He’d used up whatever strength he’d regained and looked ready to slump over again. Justin stepped over to Abby, touched her lightly on the elbow, quietly said, “Let’s go. I�
�ll get you settled, too.” But before he could steer her to the door, Gary Jenkins cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable.
“Um,” the young officer said, “could I just talk to you for a second, Chief?”
The two men walked over to the foyer and Justin waited for whatever Gary had to say, but the younger cop just looked more and more on edge. Justin finally had to say, “What is it?” and Gary turned a slight shade of red.
“I’m trying to learn, you know? Learn what to do, I mean. Although, Christ, I hope I never have to deal with anything like this again.”
“What do you want to know?” Justin asked.
Gary lowered his voice, almost to a whisper. “Taking Mrs. Harmon upstairs . . . to see the body . . . couldn’t that have waited? Until he’d been cleaned up, I mean. Did she have to see him like that?”
Justin scratched under his chin, felt the stubble that had grown back since he’d last shaved. “No,” he said. “She didn’t have to see him like that. It could have waited.”
Still speaking just a shade above a whisper, Gary said, “Then . . . Jesus . . . why’d you make her do it?”
“Because I needed to see how she’d react.”
“You think she killed him?”
“No. But she might’ve. So I wanted to watch her when she saw the body, see if she was calm or surprised or sickened.”
The two men faced each other. Gary nodded his understanding. Justin turned to return to the living room, but Gary reached out and grabbed his arm.
“It was kind of a cruel thing to do, what you did.” It wasn’t a statement, more like half a question. The younger cop knew the answer but wanted to hear it said.
“I thought it was necessary,” Justin told him.
“And you like her, don’t you? I mean, you—you know . . .”
“Yes, I know. And, yes, I like her. I like her very much.”
Gary didn’t say anything else, but Justin knew he wasn’t quite through. There was still another question hanging in the air and Justin decided to deal with it before it could even be asked.
“You want to know what I think my job is?” Justin asked. “And your job? What a cop’s job is?”
Gary didn’t even nod this time, but his eyes answered yes.
“It’s to find out what happened,” Justin said. “That’s all. Everything else after that—justice, lack of justice, punishment, revenge, everything else—all depends on us doing our job, finding out what happened, finding out the truth. Without that there’s nothing.”
“But—”
“There’s no but. There’s only the truth.”
“And once we know the truth?”
“Then we’re on our own. Then it’s every man for himself.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
“Pretty much.”
“Then you want to ask the question you really want to ask?”
“What’s that?”
“If I could do something that cruel to someone I like, what could I do to someone I don’t care about? Is that your real question?”
“Yeah. More or less.”
“You want me to answer it?”
“No,” Gary said. “I don’t think so.”
“Good,” Justin said. “Make sure that skinny little creep gets put to bed and get him to the station by nine tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll see you in the morning,” Justin said.
And with nothing else to say, he took Abigail Harmon out to his car and drove her back to his house. As he made his way around the circular driveway, he saw her peering out the window at a black Lexus.
“Evan’s car?” he asked. When she nodded he said, “His only one?” And she nodded again.
He didn’t say anything else to her during the ride, let her fall asleep in the silence, her head resting on his shoulder as he drove. The only thing he made sure to do was not look in the rearview mirror. He didn’t want to see his own eyes. Not because of the Bobby Short song. Not because there was a party going on inside his head. It was because of something else someone once said: that the eyes were the mirror to the soul.
If that was true, that was the one place he definitely did not want to peer at.
5
One more vodka and an Ambien—no self-respecting wealthy Hamptons woman was without a supply handy at all times—and Abigail was sound asleep in Justin’s bed twenty minutes after they got back to his house on Division Street. He helped her get undressed, made sure she was securely between his almost clean sheets, and gently pulled his light wool summer blanket up to cover her. He leaned over and, although she didn’t feel a thing, he kissed her gently on the top of her head. As he went downstairs, the sweet smell of her shampoo filled his nostrils. He quickly shook it away. He didn’t need any distractions now.
Downstairs, he went straight to the telephone and dialed the home number of Leona Krill, the mayor of East End Harbor. A woman’s voice answered on the fourth ring, and when Justin went, “Leona?” the half-asleep voice said, “No.” Justin could hear the rustling of sheets, some mumbled words, and then Leona was speaking into the receiver.
“Whoever it is,” she said, “do you know what time it is?”
“Maybe if you didn’t stay up all night sleeping with strange women, you wouldn’t need so much rest.”
“Jay?”
“Yeah.”
“Melissa is my wife, in case you don’t remember. You were invited to the wedding but didn’t show up.”
“I’ve met Melissa. She qualifies as strange.”
“Why are you calling me in the middle of the night?”
“Because there’s been a murder and I thought you’d want to know about it right away.”
“Good Christ. Who is it?”
“Evan Harmon.” There was a long silence from the mayor’s end. “Leona? You still with me?”
“Yes. And I’m wide awake now, thank you. I have so many questions, I don’t know where to begin.”
“That’s probably good because I don’t have too many answers.”
“Are you sure it was murder?”
“As compared to what?”
“Natural causes, suicide—I don’t know, how else does someone drop dead in the middle of the night?”
“He didn’t exactly drop dead,” Justin said.
“How was he killed?”
“Beaten to death. And from the looks of it, tortured, too.”
“Was it his wife?”
“Who killed him?”
“Yes.”
“No,” Justin said.
“Are you sure?”
“Reasonably sure. Why do you ask?”
“’Cause she’s capable of torturing just about anybody. And isn’t it almost always the spouse?”
“Well, this one’s got an alibi.”
“A good one?”
“Pretty good,” Justin said.
“Any other suspects?”
“Not yet. I’ll have more info in the morning, I hope.”
“I hope so, too.” Another silence. Then Leona said, “Jay, you understand—”
“I understand.”
“Christ, the papers. And TV reporters.”
“They’ll be sliming all over the place.”
“Who else knows?”
“From me? Gary Jenkins. He called Mike Haversham. The CSU guys know, assuming they’re there by now, the ambulance driver and EM workers . . .”
“Have you called Larry Silverbush?”
Silverbush was the DA for the East End of Long Island. He was based in Riverhead, about forty minutes or so from East End Harbor, and had been involved in several high-profile trials over the past five or six years, winning them all. Three years earlier he’d put a British nanny away for poisoning the baby daughter of a well-known record producer—that’s what had made his reputation. It was a tough case to make, but Silverbush had made it brilliantly, slowly reconstructing for the jury a history of the woman’s carelessness,
thoughtlessness, arrogance, and lack of warmth. There were no witnesses and no real forensic proof, but Silverbush showed the jurors—and the media—that she was capable of murder. That was enough to swing them over to the fact that she’d committed this particular murder. The nanny was still proclaiming her innocence and still trying to build a valid appeal, but she was serving twelve and a half to twenty-five years in prison.
Silverbush’s other attention-getting case was a year ago. A famous—and famously obnoxious—public relations diva had gotten drunk and driven her SUV into a Hamptons club. No one was killed, but several patrons and two doormen were injured. The case had turned into a class war—blue collar versus rich summer interlopers. The PR queen was an interloper—and not a Mid-Island voter—so Silverbush was able to put her away for eighteen months. Justin had met him once, just a handshake really, not enough to get a sense of the man. His reputation was as a no-nonsense, no-bullshit guy. Instinctively, Justin didn’t buy it. Word was that Silverbush wanted to run for state attorney general and already had some major financial backers. And AG was not a bad stepping stone to governor. So he was a politician at heart, which Justin thought pretty much eliminated the no-bullshit possibility. “No,” he told Leona. “I haven’t called him. I thought it might be better coming from you.”
“Thanks,” she said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm. Then: “Hold on a second.” There was the slight rustling of bedcovers. Justin was fairly sure that Leona put her hand over the phone because he heard a very muffled, “No, it’s all right, sweetie, I’ll be off in a minute.” The hand was then removed because Justin next heard very clearly, “What about Harmon’s father?”
“No,” Justin said. “I haven’t notified anyone yet. Other than Mrs. Harmon.”
“Thinking it’s her responsibility to tell the old man?”
“My brain doesn’t work on that many levels, Leona. My thinking was that my only responsibility was to tell her. She’s the next of kin.”
“Well, sometimes there are things other than legal responsibilities to consider.”
“You’re worried about the moral thing to do now?”
“Don’t be an asshole, please. I’m being practical. I don’t want him hearing about this from the outside.”
“It’s too late to make the morning papers—the deadline’s past even if they get the story now. And I don’t think the Internet or TV’ll get it until the morning.”
Hades Page 5
