The account was accompanied by a grainy photo of Dubray surrounded by lawyers and police, his face hidden behind his raised briefcase.
“’Dateline Montréal: Robert Dubray of Planning and Development has resigned from city hall amid rumors of scandal. Officials declined to comment but a reliable source informed this reporter that charges are being considered,’” Tony read over Sam’s shoulder. He glanced at the date. “March 7. That was just before you left, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” She bent to the boxes, sorting the papers by date. “Let’s see now. We have to find the one for the day I left.” Quickly she leafed through it, then picked up the next day’s edition. “Um-hmm. City News. Dubray’s scheduled court appearance was postponed when he failed to attend. Seems he was kept overnight in hospital for observation after a minor car accident. He was released the next day.”
“There you have it, Sam. They took him to a hospital and made up a story to explain the injuries.”
“Of course.” She looked up at Tony, her eyes dancing with excitement. “Do you realize what this means? Dubray was alive after I saw him. There was no murder.”
“You’re off the hook.” The words seemed to stick in Tony’s throat.
Sam’s euphoria died. “No, I’m not. There’s Germain. Being seen with him would incriminate Bennett. And Dubray.” She sat back on her heels. “Maybe Dubray is behind what’s happening to me. Maybe he saw me that day and recognized me. He could easily have seen my picture in Bennett’s office or someplace. He might be trying to hide his own association with Germain—not that it appeared too amiable.”
“Yeah.” Tony nodded, his mouth grim. “Okay, let’s both concentrate on March, see if we can find out what Dubray was charged with.”
They plodded on, becoming more dirty and disgruntled. Then Sam found something. “Dubray is mentioned again, later in March. The charges against him were dropped. No one seems to know why, or even what they were. Somebody must have had some pull to keep that out of the press. The reporter says there were hints that it involved embezzlement of city funds.”
“That would get a person fired all right,” Tony agreed. “But I wonder what the real story is. Does it say what Dubray went into afterwards?”
“Only that he has plans to enter private business.” She frowned, her silver eyes contemplative. “I wonder if he was looking for work with Bennett’s company. He must have been a good engineer to have his position in City Hall. But that still doesn’t explain what I witnessed in my father’s house.”
“Wait, Sam.” Tony’s voice, sharp with a questioning note, cut into her vocal musings. “Here’s something on Germain. I guess you won’t have to worry about him any more.
A chill enveloped her whole body as she focused on the picture of a man with small eyes and a hard, emotionless face above a thick neck. “Claude Germain.” Her lips soundlessly formed the words. “He’s dead.”
For an instant the headlines above the story blurred, then she read them slowly aloud. “’Claude Germain, suspected mobster found dead in his car.’”
She closed her eyes, letting Tony read the report. “’Germain died of a single gunshot wound to the head. While there are no leads, the slaying has all the earmarks of a professional hit.’”
“When did this happen?” Sam asked.
Tony turned the paper over. “About a month ago. I guess that eliminates Germain as the one who’s been harassing you.”
Samantha waited for a rush of relief, but it didn’t come. “Yes. And leaves Bennett as the likeliest suspect.” She felt cold all over. Somehow Bennett, who knew her, seemed more dangerous than either of the others.
They searched through the remainder of the papers, but found little of interest. Tony, without bringing it to Sam’s attention, carefully scrutinized the reports of the cancellation of the trade conference in April. No reason was given, only that the French delegates were angry because security precautions were not up to their expected standards. The news stories contained nothing he didn’t already know, and no mention of Dubray.
Tucked away at the bottom of a page, in an edition a few days later, was a one-sentence item that the Québec premier had survived a non-confidence vote in the provincial legislature. It didn’t give details, and Tony had no way of knowing whether there was a connection between the two events.
Packing the last of the papers into a storage box, Tony glanced at his watch. “Parker has the afternoon shift today. We should be able to catch him before it gets too busy.”
“Parker?” Samantha got up and dusted her palms together. ”Oh, you mean that English butler type who was so affronted by my crassness in fainting in the Regal Arms.”
“The very one.” Tony grinned as she hitched up the waist of the jeans he’d lent her for their task. “He won’t like the way we’re dressed today, but that’s too bad.”
He took her arm, tucking her close to his side as they headed for the freight elevator that was the only way out. “Let’s go. Seems to me we’ve found a lot more questions than answers. But Parker might be able to tell us something.” He grimaced as he glanced back at the piles of dusty storage cartons. “At the moment I don’t care if I never see another newspaper.”
* * * *
“What are you thinking?” Tony asked once they were in the taxi heading to the hotel.
“That I’d better make a call to Montréal to check a few things, like what Bennett is up to these days. James won’t give me away. In fact he’ll probably be happy to hear from me, although he must have received a post card or two sent through Amelia.”
“Good idea, Sam. I might make a call or two myself. I want to contact Jacques, an old friend of mine who might be able to tell us more about Dubray and the mysteriously dropped charges.”
The lobby of the Regal Arms was virtually deserted, much as it had been the day Samantha fainted on the elegant carpet. Parker presided behind his counter with a dignity and devotion that wouldn’t have been out of place at Buckingham Palace. At least he appeared to. Tony had to suppress a smile when he saw the man slip a copy of the racing form under the old-fashioned ledger on the desk.
“You remember this lady, don’t you, Parker?”
Parker lifted his chin to an even more lofty elevation, his nostrils flaring as he noted the way they were dressed. “Yes, I do, sir.”
Tony leaned his elbows on the counter, hooking his toe onto the brass rail that ran around its base. “Do you remember what happened just before she fainted? A group of men were getting into the lift. Were they registered here?”
A ruddy flush crept over Parker’s high cheekbones. “Sir, no one would get into the lift without checking at the desk first.”
“That’s fine,” Tony said hastily. “I wasn’t finding fault with your work. One of them was called Robert Dubray. He wasn’t registered on that day. Sam, what does he look like?”
A vivid image of the man lying on the marble floor flashed into her mind. She banished it, substituting the picture of the man getting into the elevator. “He’s average height, a little stout, bald on top but the remaining hair was dark.”
“Glasses?” Tony asked.
She bit her lip in concentration. “Yes, I think so. And his suit was light brown, almost tan. Not a color you see much in London, even in summer.”
Parker’s mouth twisted. “Yes, there is a Mr. Dubray.” He riffled through the little box of registration cards.
“He’s staying here?” Tony asked. “But you checked, didn’t you, Sam?”
“Yes, I did.”
Parker pulled out a file card. “He’s registered under his company name, Sunset Consulting Engineers, with a notation that he’s not taking personal calls. He’s in a suite on the fifth floor.”
“Where does this company have its office?” Tony asked.
“Montréal, Canada. I believe Mr. Dubray is here for an architect’s convention.”
“Okay,” Tony said. “Thanks.” He turned to Sam. “It seems that our Mr. Dubray l
anded on his feet after he left city hall.”
“So he wasn’t seeing Bennett about a job,” Sam said as they waited for the elevator. “I wonder what he was seeing Bennett about, and what caused the apparent falling out with Germain. Tony, I certainly hope either James or your friend Jacques can give us some facts.”
* * * *
The man beside the newsstand waited out of sight until the elevator door closed. Good thing his associate had been able to catch Theopoulos’s order to the taxi driver, and phone at once with the information.
He put down the book he was examining and walked to the house phones. “It’s time for the next stage. They’ve made the connection.”
Chapter Seven
“Do you want to make your call first?” Tony asked when they reached his office. “I’ll take a minute to look over my messages.” He waved the bundle of pink slips in his hand.
“Thanks.” Mindful of her dusty clothes she perched on the edge of a leather chair while she dialed the long series of numbers for the overseas call. A moment later she put down the receiver. “Tony, you’d better try yours. James’s line is busy.”
Tony had better luck, getting through almost at once.“Jacques? Tony here. How’s it going?”
Samantha moved to sit on another chair. Pensively she fixed her eyes on the view outside the window, the green of Hyde Park, quiet on a weekday. The sun had returned but a brisk wind ruffled the trees and gave a bite to the air. Almost autumn. Soon the leaves would turn. Chrysanthemums were already appearing in the flower markets.
Tony hung up the phone, a strange expression on his face. Samantha stared at him, her stomach beginning to churn. “What is it?”
Saying nothing, Tony passed a pencil slowly from one hand to the other. Samantha’s stomach increased its gyrations. “What is it, Tony?” Her voice rose. “What’s wrong? Has something happened to—” she swallowed down nausea. “—my aunt? Oh, I knew I should have left my whereabouts with somebody.”
“No, nothing’s happened to anybody, as far as I know.” He tilted his chair back and slid the pencil along his jaw in a gesture that was almost hypnotic. How much could he tell her? He was under orders to say nothing about the upcoming trade conference, yet it was increasingly apparent that someone Samantha knew might have been connected with the April breach of security.
“Samantha, did you know that Bennett’s involved in politics?” The tiny item he’d seen in the paper jumped back into his mind. “He’s rumored to be financially supporting a Paul Messier who was recently elected opposition leader in Québec. With the Québec premier’s position shaky, he could be the next premier.”
Samantha swallowed, forcing herself to calm. She’d overreacted. But Tony’s face had carried the strangest expression. “There’s nothing sinister about that, is there?”
“Not in itself, no. But in view of what you’ve told me about Bennett, I wonder what kind of candidate Messier is. I’ve never heard of him.”
“Neither have I,” Samantha said firmly.
Tony got up and walked to the window. He pushed his hands into his back pockets. The faded jeans and old chambray shirt he wore made an incongruous picture against the luxury of the office. “I’ve asked Jacques to check up on Germain, and on how well he knew Bennett. Jacques is a lawyer. He’ll keep it quiet. Bennett won’t know.”
“That’s probably wise, since Bennett might not be too happy if he finds out he’s being investigated.” She got up from the chair. “I’m going to try James again.”
“Wait a minute, Sam.” He turned to face her. His body was a dark silhouette against the bright window and she couldn’t make out his expression. “Samantha, was your father in business with Price?”
“Not as far as I know. But my Aunt Olivia mentioned that she’d invested money in Bennett’s company. She seemed quite keen for me to do the same.”
“And did you?”
Samantha nodded slowly. “In a manner of speaking. But it wasn’t strictly an investment. I made Bennett a loan. A handshake would have bound it, especially since at that time we were still planning to get married, but Bennett insisted on having a lawyer draw up a contract. The loan is to be repaid by September 15.”
“How, if Bennett doesn’t know where you are?”
“It’s to be paid directly to my Montréal bank.”
Tony moved back to his desk, perching on the edge of it. “I take it the amount was substantial. If something happened to you, Bennett wouldn’t have to repay it.”
“I suppose not.” She sat in the leather chair, folding her hands in her lap so that Tony couldn’t see their trembling. “But a lot of people borrow money. They don’t bump off the lender to avoid paying.”
Tony rubbed his palms down his thighs. “Samantha, there’s something weird about this whole situation. It doesn’t make sense.”
Exactly what she’d concluded. She hunched down in the chair. “If I hadn’t fainted that day, you wouldn’t have met me. You wouldn’t be in this.”
The grin he flashed her was quick and spontaneous. “Sam, I wouldn’t have wanted to miss this experience for anything. And don’t apologize for fainting. You’d had a shock.”
“I really thought Dubray was dead. He looked dead.”
“Nobody’s dead unless you can’t take his pulse. And maybe not even then.” He flipped the pencil in his hand idly back and forth. “Sam, if you had married Bennett, what did he stand to gain?”
“Gain?” She jerked upright. “Not much. After my experience with the prince, I made sure of that. About the only thing I learned at that finishing school was to beware of fortune hunters.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that was all you learned. You pulled off the British aristocrat act perfectly.” He eyed her present appearance. “Of course, today that would hardly work. Just how wealthy in your own right are you?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you want to know?”
“Just keeping things in perspective. Did Bennett stand to gain by your marriage? Would he have had more clout in business, getting loans or contracts, making lucrative connections?”
Sam had never talked about finances with anyone outside of her family. Indeed, she’d been brought up to believe such discussions were in the worst of taste. But with Tony, the rules didn’t seem to apply.
“Since my father’s death,” she said, “I hold a controlling number of shares in the company. Of course, Bennett didn’t know my father would die when he did. Bennett might have thought he could influence me to let him into the business. But he didn’t seem to need that. He was a success.”
She chewed on her bottom lip, drawing Tony’s attention to its luscious curve. He’d almost kissed her that time…
Resolutely he squelched his distracting thoughts. “Was there any kind of a prenuptial agreement?”
Her level gaze didn’t waver. “There was, but since the marriage didn’t go through, it would have been invalid.”
“You didn’t sign it, did you?”
“Why yes, I did. It’s a common enough procedure these days. Simplifies all the legalities concerned with setting up housekeeping.”
Tony shivered, an icy dread cascading through his blood. “What were the terms? Half your father’s corporation if you died?”
Samantha stared at him, wondering if he was joking. “Of course not. There was nothing in it about my father’s corporation. There was only my grandmother’s trust fund, which was mine outright. The loan came out of it. But even then Bennett wouldn’t benefit unless we stayed married at least six months.”
“And if you divorced after that time?”
“If we divorced after six months and before a year of marriage, Bennett’s claim was limited to two hundred thousand dollars. If either of us died, the survivor was entitled to half the joint estate.”
Would a man murder someone for that? Tony asked himself. Maybe, if the estate was substantial, a fact he didn’t know and hadn’t quite the nerve to ask. “What about insurance? Did you have a life ins
urance policy?”
“Yes.”
“Who’s the beneficiary?”
“Bennett is, but—”
“How much?” The words snapped across her like a released rubber band.
“One million.”
“Any conditions?”
“Not that I know of.”
“So if you die, he gets $1,000,000. And,” he added musingly, “if there’s a double indemnity clause, such as for accidental death, it could be two million. Plus half of your estate.”
“But if he dies, I’d benefit. So I have as much a motive as he does.”
“You don’t, because you don’t need the money. You have your grandmother’s trust fund.”
“I suppose so. But it still doesn’t wash. The policies wouldn’t activate until we married. So your little theories don’t hold water.”
“Um-hmm.” Tony leaned back, closing his eyes. “Some of them might.”
“But we never married.”
Tony’s eyes popped open, their gaze hard and probing. “Are you sure?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’d done all the legal stuff, purchased the license and so forth. What would stop Bennett from forging a certificate? He could have told all your friends that he was meeting you in Reno or someplace, then come back with a marriage certificate. No one ever asks to look at those things, anyway.”
She glared at him. “You’ve got a sick mind. How would he explain the fact that I’m not living with him?”
“Easy. You used to travel a lot. He could say you had a job somewhere. Samantha, you have to face facts. There’s something going on and you’re in danger. Since I don’t think you’ve made enemies here, it’s logical to assume Bennett’s behind it, especially in view of what you saw before you left. He must have gone crazy trying to figure out why you’d walked out without leaving a forwarding address.”
Samantha clenched her fists, anger burgeoning up inside her. Murder. Bennett wasn’t a murderer. An accomplice, perhaps, but if there was no murder, he wasn’t even that.
“I was engaged to the man. He wouldn’t try to kill me.”
Past Tense Page 8
