The Fifth Avenue Series Boxed Set

by Christopher Smith

  George was about to speak when the woman started frisking him. Her hands were quick and thorough. She looked at Spocatti when he leaned inside the open door. “He’s clean.” she said.

  Spocatti glanced at Michael and George. “Jesus,” he said. “Would you look at yourselves? You’d think we were going to a morgue and not a party. Lighten the hell up.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Music swelled, there was a sharp burst of applause and Leana continued moving through the crowd, smiling to people she didn’t know, nodding to those who suddenly knew her, wondering where Michael was.

  She had no escort. She was surrounded by hundreds of smiling, laughing people, yet never had she felt more alone. Where was he? She specifically asked him to be here by eight, so they could join the party together at eight-thirty. Yet now it was pushing ten and he was nowhere in sight.

  Neither was Louis.

  Alone, she had just finished greeting, by name, the better part of eighteen hundred guests, including the French ambassador, the British ambassador, Countess Castellani and her blind husband, Count Luftwick, Lady Ionesco from Spain, and the mayor and governor of New York. Alone, she had given interviews to select members of the press—an exhausting task that hadn’t gone well. Everyone wanted to know why she took this position given the public feud that existed between her father and Louis Ryan. And everyone wanted to know if there was any information on Celina.

  Leana had handled them, cleverly skirting their questions and instead concentrating on the hotel and its future. But she was tired and not having a good time. She looked around the crowded space. At least the flowers had been delivered.

  She panned the room for Michael. She saw men her father had once cut deals with, powerful women Celina once charmed, couples her mother once invited to dinner. She saw old money and new money, wealthy widows and wealthier divorcees. But there was no sign of Michael. He hadn’t arrived.

  There was a hand on her arm. Leana turned and saw Louis Ryan.

  “Dance?” he asked.

  Leana looked crossly at him. He was wearing a black silk dinner jacket and a deep red tie. “Where have you been?” she asked. “People have been asking where you are, I had to greet the guests myself and you said you’d be here hours ago. Where were you?”

  Louis lifted a finger to his lips. “I know I’m late and I apologize. But I do have an excellent excuse.” He paused, then said in a quieter voice, “I’ve found the person who murdered your sister.”

  Stunned, Leana could only look at him. “You’ve found him?”

  “That’s right,” Louis said. “Spocatti came through. I told you he’s the best.”

  “Who is he? Where is he?”

  “I won’t talk about it in this crowd—too many people listening.” He motioned toward the dance floor, where society was whirling. “Come,” he said. “Dance with me. I’ll whisper what I know in your ear.”

  She followed him to the dance floor, hesitating only briefly when a photographer stepped in their path to take their picture. A light flashed, the photographer moved aside and as Leana walked passed him, she saw on his face the hunger and desperation her sister must have seen when she was in this very position.

  Louis led her to the center of the dance floor, put his arm around her waist and they started to dance. “It’s amazing,” he said, looking around the jammed lobby. “For years these people, these members of New York society, have ignored me. Like the Baron and Baroness over there. Do you know how many times I’ve been invited to one of their famous dinner parties, Leana? Zero. Zero times. They’ve had that fucking penthouse on Fifth for twenty-five years and I’ve never stepped foot in it. But when I hire you to manage the hotel, the whole world comes running. Life’s funny that way, isn’t it?”

  “Either that or you made the right decision in hiring me. Tell me what you know.”

  It was as though the question went unheard.

  Louis held her slightly closer and turned her so they were dancing in front of the orchestra. “I’m sorry to hear what happened to your father today,” he said. He saw the disbelief in her eyes and said, “I mean that. Believe it or not—despite my feelings for the man, I do respect him. And I do admire the balls it took for him to buy WestTex. If it had worked out for him, if Iran only waited a while longer, your father would have made history. Now, I’m afraid he’ll lose everything.”

  “Louis—”

  “What do you think he would have thought of this, Leana? Do you think he would have liked the hotel?”

  “I really don’t care.”

  “But I do.”

  “Then we’ll discuss it later.”

  “No,” Louis said. “Let’s discuss it now. I don’t think your father would like any of this. Years ago, when we worked together, he didn’t respect my ideas. It was George’s way or no way.” He shrugged. “But maybe I’m wrong. It’s tough to trump what I’ve just built. At the very least, if he was here, he’d be jealous and wish it was his own.”

  Leana tried to step away from him, but his grip was so firm, she knew she would create a scene if she did so. She glared at him. “What’s the matter with you?” she said. “Let go of me. People are watching.”

  “Then stop struggling.” He held her closer and said softly in her ear, “I thought you wanted me to tell you about the man who murdered your sister?”

  His mouth was now so close to her face, she could smell the alcohol on his breath. He had been drinking. Incredulous, Leana said, “What I want is for you to stop playing games.” It came to her that they were barely moving, that people at the surrounding tables were watching them, wondering what they were talking about.

  “All right,” Louis sighed. “This is what I know. It seems that your father made an enemy years ago. I don’t know the man’s name—Spocatti will tell you that later—but I do know that your father destroyed the man. First he tried through business, but then it became personal.”

  People were dancing around them, smiling that faintly secretive smile so many people of wealth assumed.

  “The man is out for revenge,” Louis said. “He wants Redman to see what it feels like to lose the most important things in his life—including his business, his daughter and who knows what else, maybe you and your mother.”

  Louis nodded at a woman as she breezed past them and touched his arm.

  “Tell me who he is.”

  Louis was about to speak when a ripple of excitement went through the crowd, followed by the distinct sound of shattering glass. There was the sound of men shouting somewhere in the distance.

  Louis said, “What the hell…?” But Leana was already gone, moving toward the bar that was near the east entrance.

  The head of security, a former marine lieutenant, saw her and intercepted. “No need to be alarmed, Ms. Redman. Everything’s taken care of.”

  Leana looked past the man and saw several members of security muscling two members of her bar staff from the lobby.

  “What happened?”

  The man glanced at the crowd, then took Leana gently by the arm. “Let’s talk where it’s more private.”

  Leana followed him through a set of doors that led to the outer lobby, where the barmen were being handcuffed. She studied them for a moment and thought they looked vaguely familiar, as if she’d met them somewhere before.

  “What have they done?” she asked.

  Before the lieutenant could respond, a door swung open and Louis Ryan stepped into the room. His face was flushed. His forehead was shiny. He glanced over at the two barmen, then looked with confusion at Leana. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  Leana refused to look at him. “Obviously there’s been a problem,” she said.

  Louis turned to the lieutenant. “What kind of problem?”

  The lieutenant nodded at the two barmen, who were now leaning against a marble wall, waiting in angry silence. “We received an anonymous call asking us to check the bar staff. I gathered a few of my men, we came upon these two, sa
w they were armed and brought them here. Unfortunately, they decided to put up a struggle. Otherwise, no one in that lobby would have known that these gentlemen existed at all.”

  “Who are they?” Louis asked.

  The lieutenant shrugged. “We don’t know. But something tells me these boys have been through this before. We’ll find out who they are once the police bring them downtown. We’ll print them, we’ll run a check and we’ll find out who they are.”

  He must have noted the guarded look on Louis’ face, because he said, “Don’t worry, Mr. Ryan. We’ll wait until after the party to contact the police. These boys aren’t in a hurry and neither am I. There’s no need to cause a commotion on a night like this.”

  Louis nodded his thanks.

  The lieutenant turned to Leana. “But I am going to have to insist that you forgo your speech, Ms. Redman. I know what happened to your sister. I understand her death might be connected with the bombs that exploded on top of your father’s building. If that’s the case then you are not safe and I can’t take the risk of having you at that podium tonight.”

  He glanced over at the two barmen, then with disappointment at the three men watching them. “I thought security was tight tonight,” he said, more to the three men than to Louis and Leana. “We took every conceivable precaution against this very thing happening and I’m embarrassed to say that these men somehow slipped through. While I think they’re an exception, I can’t be sure there aren’t others. I need you to forget the speech and allow me to shadow you for the rest of the evening.”

  Leana couldn’t conceal her disappointment. All her life she had waited for this moment and now it was being taken from her. A wave of stubbornness rose in her. “I have to give that speech,” she said. “People are expecting it.”

  “I’m sorry,” the lieutenant said. “But as long as I’m in charge of security, I won’t allow it.” He studied her for a moment. “Is this speech really so important to you? Think about what you’re saying. We’ve just proved that mistakes have been made. There’s no telling who else is in that crowd.”

  He was right. There was no telling what could happen if she stood at that podium. The presence of these barmen suggested there could be others.

  Her anger dissolved into frustration and sadness. Once again, another opportunity had passed her by. Once again, it wouldn’t be her front and center. “Well,” she said, more to herself than to anyone else, “I came close, didn’t I?”

  The lieutenant didn’t know what she was talking about, but Louis did and when Leana looked at him, hoping to find sympathy and a hint of understanding in his eyes, she saw nothing but a controlled look of rage that was becoming difficult for him to suppress.

  He addressed the lieutenant. “Would you please excuse us? I’d like a moment alone with her.”

  The lieutenant nodded and started moving in the direction of the two barmen.

  “No,” Louis said. “You’ve got three men watching them already. I want you in the lobby, where there could be others. Find Zack Anderson and tell him to inform the crowd that for personal reasons, Leana Redman will not be delivering tonight’s speech.” He saw the hesitation on the man’s face and said, “Let’s not forget that you work for me.”

  The man left the room.

  “I know how much that speech meant to you,” Louis said to Leana. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out.”

  Leana lifted her head. I’ll bet you’re sorry, she thought. She knew that having that speech delivered by her meant more to him than the opening of this hotel. But she had more important things to address. “I need you to tell me what you know. Who murdered my sister?”

  He led her across the empty lobby, toward an illumined bank of elevators. “I’ll do better than just tell you,” he said. “I’ll take you to him.”

  “Take me to him?” she said.

  “Spocatti has him upstairs. Right now, the man you’ve been looking for is waiting in your office. I suggest we confront the son of a bitch and end this now.”

  * * *

  Jack Douglas heard the clicking of Elizabeth Redman’s heels and saw her shadow stretching along the far north wall before he actually saw her.

  He stopped pacing in the rose-colored foyer and turned to watch her round the corner at the end of the long hallway. She was wearing a cream silk suit that was so delicate, it might have been transparent had it not been for the paleness of her own skin. As she came toward him, Jack saw nothing in her demeanor that suggested she was annoyed or surprised by his unexpected presence.

  Yet he knew she wouldn’t be pleased to see him. She had made it well known that she held him personally responsible for Celina’s death.

  Jack started walking toward her, thinking that if she didn’t cooperate with him, she might be facing the reality of another dead daughter. “I’m sorry for intruding,” he said. “But I have to speak to George. Do you know where he is?”

  At the mention of her husband’s name, there was the slightest hesitation in Elizabeth Redman’s stride. Then she stopped in the center of the hallway and said coolly, “My husband isn’t here, Mr. Douglas.”

  And without another word, she stepped into the sitting room.

  Jack stood there a moment, weighing his options and then he went after her. He found her across the room, facing a window that looked uptown, toward the swirling lights of The Hotel Fifth. If she knew he was there, she didn’t let it show.

  There was no time for games. “I know who murdered Celina,” he said. “I know who rigged those spotlights with explosives. If you want me to catch the man and put a stop to this, then I suggest you cut the bullshit, Mrs. Redman, and help me.”

  Stunned by the tone of his voice and what he’d just said to her, Elizabeth turned.

  “Where is George?” he said again. “You must know where he is.”

  “You know who killed Celina?”

  “I do,” he said. “But I need to speak to George.”

  She stepped away from the window and sat in a white chintz chair. She seemed very tired when she said, “I don’t know where he is. He left an hour ago. He didn’t tell me where he was going.”

  “Is that unusual?”

  “Of course, it’s unusual.”

  “And you have no idea where he could have gone?”

  “None,” Elizabeth said. “He received that letter by messenger and then he left. He wouldn’t tell me where he was going.”

  Jack’s mind was racing. “What letter?” he said. “Who sent it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you read it?”

  “He wouldn’t let me.”

  “And he left after receiving it?”

  “Yes. Whatever was in that letter disturbed him very much.”

  “Disturbed him how?”

  “It was a look I haven’t seen in him before. George looked frightened. I could see it on his face when he put the letter in his jacket pocket. It was clear that he was scared, but there was something else, some other emotion I couldn’t define. At least not then.”

  “But you can now?”

  Elizabeth was silent a moment, but then she nodded. “Yes. I’ve seen that look before. I saw it quite a bit in Leana when she was growing up.” She took a breath. “George looked incredibly sad, as if he had been cheated out of something he always wanted. That’s what I saw in his face—beneath the fear.”

  “What could it be?”

  “I don’t know. But I might have a better idea if you tell me who murdered my daughter

  “It was Louis Ryan.”

  She had little reaction to this and while Jack was surprised by that, he supposed that perhaps a part of her always had known it was Ryan, but that she never assumed he would go this far after so many years.

  For a moment, she was still, then she rose and stepped again to the windows that looked uptown. “And now he has Leana.”

  Jack picked up the phone on the table beside him.

  “Who are you calling?” Elizabeth said
.

  “The police.”

  “That letter was from Louis Ryan,” she said. “You do know that, don’t you?”

  “I know it now. I think your husband is with him.”

  “He thinks George killed his wife, Anne. He’s always thought that. But I suppose you know that, too.”

  A dispatcher came on the line. While he spoke to the man, briefly telling him what he knew, Elizabeth started talking. “But George didn’t kill her,” she said. “How could he? Anne Ryan was his first love.”

  Jack looked sideways at her. The mood in the room was changing. “Forget it,” he said to the dispatcher. “A lot of people are involved in this—including my parents. Tell Lieutenant Greenfield that I will meet him at the hotel. And get a crew out at JFK. Diana Crane’s plane will be landing there at midnight. I want to make certain nothing happens to her or her mother.”

  He hung up the phone. “I have to go,” he said.

  But Elizabeth was in another place, another time. She looked at Jack and said, “What would you have done, Mr. Douglas, had you been in my shoes? He didn’t think I knew, but I did. I followed them one night to a hotel in Hartford. While I sat in my car, no more than a hundred yards away, I watched them go inside.’’

  He was about to say this was none of his business, that he needed to go, when he realized what was unfolding here.

  “You can’t imagine how much that hurt,” she said. “Seeing them like that, laughing, holding hands. But I loved George. We were engaged and I was willing to do anything to keep him. As far as I was concerned, Anne Ryan was poison. And so I killed her. I took one of George’s shotguns, drove out to her home and saw that her car was gone.”

  She looked up at the ceiling. “It was late,” she said. “I knew she would be coming back sooner or later, and so I parked my car a mile down the road and hid in the woods near her house. The weather was awful that night. We were having a blizzard. I must have stayed in those woods for hours before I saw her car coming down the road and skidding in the snow as she approached the bridge. When I pulled the trigger, I remember being perfectly calm, like I am now. Even the sound of gunfire didn’t startle me. And when her car toppled over the bridge, I felt nothing but relief. She was out of our lives. Problem solved. I hurried back to my car and left before the police could arrive.”