The Fifth Avenue Series Boxed Set

by Christopher Smith

  “That dog better be cute.”

  She severed the connection and Marty stared at the phone. There was fear in his gut, but long ago, he and Gloria had devised a plan to keep the family safe in situations such as this. Gloria and the girls lived in a large building. If Beth did as she was told, they’d be safe.

  This time it was Maggie who reached over. She clicked the phone shut and put her hand on his. “Are you all right?”

  He moved his hand away. “You and I will talk when we get to the cafe.” He opened the cell and dialed Jennifer Barnes.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me.”

  “It says it’s Maggie Cain.”

  “I’m borrowing her phone. Are you at Carra Wolfhagen’s?”

  “I’ve been here since eight, when we agreed to meet. Why aren’t you here?”

  “I’ll tell you everything later, but I can give you an exclusive now. Peter Schwartz is dead. His throat was sliced and now his body is home to a whole host of things you don’t want to see. If you want the scoop, I’d run with it now for the 11 o’clock newscast before someone else does. You’ll find him at his house. He’s been dead for awhile, so be prepared. Wait for the police to arrive before you go anywhere near his house.”

  “I’m on it.”

  “Did you hear me?”

  “I won’t go near the house. I’ll wait for the police.”

  “Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  “One last thing. Are the Wolfhagens home?”

  “Carra left about an hour ago. A limousine arrived and she left the building with a young, really built guy. A few minutes ago, I saw Wolfhagen pacing in front of one of the upstairs windows.”

  “I need you to get out of there now,” Marty said.

  “You don’t need to tell me twice.”

  “What was Carra wearing?”

  “That’s a bizarre question.”

  “Things are getting bizarre. Wait until you have a look at Schwartz.”

  “She was wearing a black cocktail dress.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “It’s still in the 80s and humid as hell, Marty.”

  “What about her escort?”

  “A black suit.”

  “Grab a cab,” he said. “Watch your back. We’ll talk later.”

  “Be careful,” she said.

  “I’ll try.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  He hung up the phone, thought for a moment and decided to call Linda Patterson first, Hines second.

  This time, he dialed *67 to conceal his identity so neither knew whom he was working for. He told them about Schwartz, he came clean that he owed each a tip but that he was telling nobody else other than themselves. Now, it was up to them who got on-scene first and decided who was taking Schwartz’s case.

  Though Marty would be happy for Hines, he was pulling for Patterson. Hines was a friend Marty had helped countless times over the years, usually in ways that lifted his stature and his title within the department.

  But in this case, which might prove the largest of Marty’s career, he knew he needed to be smart. Winning over Patterson after he screwed her out of two grand was critical. With her contacts and ability to tap into information, having her on his side could be the game-changer he needed as this case progressed.

  * * *

  When they arrived at the Tarot Cafe, Marty was relieved to find it open. It was nearly 9:30 and the café’s neon sign—a tarot card tipped into a coffee cup—punched a red halo of light into the night and across the faces of those on the street.

  “We’ll be safe here,” Marty said.

  Since she’d been secretive from the start, he was expecting her to put up a fight. But she didn’t. Instead, she nodded and they stepped out of the cab. Marty went to the driver, handed him some cash and they went inside the cafe, where Roberta was across a room filled with hanging tapestries positioned in such a way that they diffused the light and created a mood.

  Just inside the door was a rush of incense that smelled of something toasted and earthy. Candles burned low on the gnarled wooden tables. Marty swept the space and saw that only a few of those tables were occupied. Moroccan music played in the background. He caught Roberta’s eye and immediately saw the concern on her face.

  “Twice in two days?” she said. “Let me get tea. Sit in the rear booth, not the front. The energy is better back here.”

  They went to the back of the café and slid into the booth. Marty chose the seat facing the door. Maggie sat opposite him and looked around the room. “I’ve never been here before,” she said.

  He had zero patience for small talk. He removed his cell and looked it over. Physically, it seemed fine. He smacked it hard against the palm of his hand and tried it. Nothing. He smacked it harder, this time against the side of the table, and it worked like a charm. He gave her back her phone. “Let’s get to it,” he said. “If my kids weren’t involved in this now, I’d be out.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “For which thing?”

  “For everything. For the first day we met. For tonight. For lying to you. For all of it. I’ve been watching my back for years. I don’t know who I can trust. I saw them enter the building tonight. I called the ambulance for a distraction so I could go inside without being heard. Did they hurt you?”

  “I’m fine. But we’re finishing this together and you’re going to tell me what you know. Who were those two people tonight?”

  “I don’t know. Assassins?”

  “Wolfhagen hire them?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Why aren’t you sure?”

  “Because one thing still doesn’t make sense to me. Wolfhagen wouldn’t have sent himself Wood’s head. I know him. He wouldn’t have pointed the finger at himself.”

  “Not even for an alibi?”

  She paused. It was obvious by her expression that she hadn’t considered that angle. As her expression changed, he saw now how much sense it made to her.

  “Would he do it for the alibi?”

  “He might. Forcing the attention on himself would actually work in his favor if he did hire this out. That’s how he thinks.”

  “What about Lasker?”

  “He’s a possibility.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “On Fifth.”

  “You’re not writing a book, are you?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then, what are you doing?”

  “Trying to expose Wolfhagen. Trying to make him pay for what he did.”

  “He’s already been to prison, Maggie.”

  She leveled him with a look. “That’s right. For securities fraud.”

  “What else did he do?”

  At that moment, Roberta arrived with two cups of tea, each smelling of cinnamon. When she handed Maggie hers, Marty noted that she intentionally brushed the side of her thumb along the curve of Maggie’s left hand. Her eyes darted to his, but she kept her voice light. “So, who’s this?”

  “Roberta, meet Maggie.”

  Roberta held out a hand, which Maggie shook. “You seem familiar to me,” Roberta said, still holding Maggie’s hand. “Have we met before?”

  Maggie looked down at her hand. “I don’t believe so.”

  Roberta gave it a slight squeeze before releasing it. “I’ve seen you somewhere,” she said. “It’ll come to me.”

  Maggie smiled, which emphasized the scar on her face.

  Roberta’s eyes lingered on that scar before she turned to Marty and leaned down to kiss him on the forehead. “I’m glad you’re here, because this has been killing me. Do you remember that joke I told you the other day about the three women?”

  He looked at her for a moment and then remembered. It wasn’t a joke—it was a warning. This was her way of reaching him covertly. Her words came back to him. “Three women,” Roberta said. “One of them loves you, one of them resents you, the other is kee
ping secrets from you. They’re in danger, too, but only one of them knows it and she doesn’t care. She’s got murder in her heart. She wants someone dead. I don’t know if it’s you, but you’re involved. She might kill you.”

  “I remember,” Marty said, and in his mind’s eye, he saw Maggie rolling into Schwartz’s room, her gun held out in front of her and firing. No amateur moved like that, so where had Maggie Cain learned to? It took everything he had not to look at her. “But as usual, you forgot the punch line.”

  “That’s because I’m old. And the worst part is that it’s not even as funny as I remembered. Still, I remembered it. Want to hear it?”

  “Why not? I could use a joke right now.”

  She kept her gaze squarely on Marty and though she tried to mask her emotions, she couldn’t. In her eyes, he saw fear and sorrow. “The third woman killed him.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  9:27 p.m.

  With his children involved, the only way out of this was to see it through. To do that, he needed Maggie. There was no other option. She’d lied to him before, but Marty now sensed it wasn’t with malice, but because she felt threatened by what was happening now.

  She was scared and trying to protect herself. He felt she was finally being honest with him. Still, if she thought for one second that her fear would ever get in the way of him protecting his daughters, she was a fool. His family was in danger. To end this, he would do whatever it took.

  He watched Roberta go back into the kitchen. “Alright,” he said. “Go on.”

  “I need you to understand one thing,” she said. “If my name is connected to any of this, I’ll be dead in a week.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I do know that.”

  “Then we’ll keep your name out of it. Why were you at Wood’s?”

  “How did you know I was at Wood’s?”

  “It’s what I do.”

  “She had a videotape I wanted. She had files on Mark. With him dead, there was no one else who could protect his memory from that tape and those files if someone didn’t intervene and destroy them. So, I called and threatened her. I got from her what she never should have had.”

  “What was her condition when you got there?”

  “She was high, but at least she had the box ready. I was there for about ten minutes. I left with what I came for.”

  “Why does the FBI have a file on you?”

  “We’ve already discussed that. They think I have Mark’s stolen money, but I don’t. That’s their only interest in me.”

  Marty knew the answer—he just wanted to see if she delivered the same response. She did. “Who would want to kill you?”

  “Who do you think? You’ve seen the DVDs.”

  “I’ve seen one DVD.”

  “Fine, you’ve seen one. That’s enough.” She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Did you recognize anyone on that tape, Marty?”

  “Senator Diamond from Arkansas.”

  “No one else?”

  “Everyone else was wearing a leather mask.”

  “Then you chose the wrong DVD.”

  “Who else should I have seen?”

  “Diamond was enough,” Maggie said. “Take off those leather masks and you would have seen more senators. More players with power. People who could buy and sell your ass a hundred times over.”

  “Wolfhagen started this club?”

  “He started it.”

  “Was it a sex club?”

  “It was whatever they wanted it to be. A sex club. A place to relax. A kink palace. A place to drink and have your drugs served a la carte. You could participate or just watch. It was whatever you wanted it to be because that’s what that crowd demanded. Anything they wanted. Admission wasn’t free. Each paid millions to join.”

  “Who belonged?”

  “Every bull who mattered on Wall Street, and then it grew to include others.”

  “Give me names.”

  “Lasker,” she said. “Schwartz. Wood. The Coles. Gerald Hayes. Everyone who testified against him in court, and many others.”

  “What about Boesky? Milken? Levine?”

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “What do you think?”

  “Tell me about Mark’s involvement. Did he belong?”

  There was a sudden air of protectiveness about her. “He did,” she said. “But not by choice. He was trying to please Wolfhagen even though he was nothing to Wolfhagen. Zero. Wolfhagen wanted to surround himself with money and power. Real money and power. Mark had neither. He was a pawn there to do what Wolfhagen wanted.”

  “I’ve been to the M.E.’s office. I’ve seen the tattoo. Did Mark have one?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “But you were lovers.”

  “That’s right.”

  “So, how couldn’t you know? A ring went through its snout. At the very least, you would have felt that.”

  “Sure, if we’d been making love. Mark left me about a week after he joined the club, which is where they initiated people with the tattoo and the piercing. He moved into his own place. Said he couldn’t be with me anymore. Wolfhagen was behind it. He wanted Mark for himself and he got him. He took away the one person in my life who mattered and I want him dead for it. Mark called me a week before he was murdered in Pamplona. He said he wanted to talk. He apologized for the mistakes he’d made.” She leaned back against the booth. “And then he was dead.”

  “Why do you think he was murdered when he was trampled by bulls? There were witnesses who saw how he died. He could have just fallen. It happens every year there. Why murder?”

  “Why not? Why would his death be any different from what happened to the Coles, Wood, Hayes and Schwartz? Someone could have pushed him and he fell. Someone could have tripped him while he was running. I’m convinced he was murdered.”

  “Did you belong to that club?”

  “Not on your life.”

  “Mark didn’t take you?”

  “Mark loved me. He got sucked in, but he made certain I was never a member.”

  “You didn’t answer my question. Did he take you to the club?”

  It was a moment before she spoke, and when she did, the fear she was trying to hold back came right to the forefront. It was obvious she’d never spoken to anyone about this. “Yes,” she said. “He took me. Once.”

  “When was this?”

  “Years ago.”

  “Let me guess. Three?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “There was a date painted above Wood’s bed. Did you do it?”

  “What date? What are you talking about?”

  It was the correct answer. They’d never talked about it and it still hadn’t reached the press. If she’d said yes or no, she would have revealed that she knew about it. She was telling the truth.

  “Somebody wrote a date above Wood’s bed in her blood. Somebody also had sex with her after they decapitated her. Any idea who?”

  “What was the date?”

  “November 5, 2007.”

  She closed her eyes. “It could be any number of people. There were dozens who witnessed what Wolfhagen did that night. Even the sick ones—the real pervs—thought he went too far. They also want him back in prison.”

  “What happened that night?”

  She looked over at Roberta as she swung through the kitchen door.

  “I need to know.”

  She waited for Roberta to move to a table of customers before she spoke.

  “Murder,” she said.

  * * *

  “Start from the beginning.”

  She pulled her hair away from her face and looked up at the ceiling. It was almost imperceptible, but in this light, he could see that her eyes were welling with tears. The more he learned from her, the more he felt connected to her. When they first met, he thought she was rigid. Now, all he saw was a woman being stripped of her secrets because she had no choice but to share them with him. That took a level of trust he felt she’d
likely only shared once in her life, likely with Mark Andrews.

  “I wish I could have a cigarette.”

  “Do you want a drink?”

  She shook her head. “I think we’re in for it tonight. My head needs to be clear.” She quickly wiped a finger under one of her eyes. “Do you want a drink?”

  “Actually, I’d kill for one, but I’m with you. Tell me about the murder.”

  She took a breath. “Mark and I had been apart two months and I knew Wolfhagen was behind it. When I called to ask if he’d see me, he agreed, but only at his convenience, which was at midnight that evening.”

  “Midnight was his earliest convenience?”

  “It had nothing to do with convenience. It had to do with power. I wanted to see him, he wasn’t going to make it easy. It was midnight in his office or he wouldn’t meet with me. Period. But when I arrived, Wolfhagen was putting on his jacket. He said a friend needed to see him. I could either talk to him in the limousine or I could forget about ever talking to him about Mark again. I knew he wouldn’t give me another chance. I was desperate and so I went.” She looked at him directly. “Have you ever loved somebody so much you’d do anything to get them back? Absolutely anything?”

  Six months after his first divorce from Gloria, he’d started seeing shrinks, psychologists, counselors. He’d told them every rotten thing that had happened in his life in an effort to find out how he could handle the past so he could maintain a healthy relationship in the present. It didn’t work, but he tried.

  He lifted his eyebrows at Maggie and smiled.

  “Then you know,” Maggie said. “I loved Mark so much, I was willing to do anything to get him back. Even risk talking to Wolfhagen alone. And it was a risk,” she said. “I knew whatever I said to him might get back to Mark, probably twisted around. But I didn’t care. I had something on that son of a bitch. I planned on bribing him into letting Mark go.”

  “How?”

  “Before I set up the meeting, I hired a private investigator who tailed Wolfhagen for two weeks. I had photographs of him cruising the meat packing district back when it was much more than just the meat packing district. I had photos of him at three in the morning screwing young girls in the back of his Mercedes, photos of him leaving The Eagle with men old enough to be his father. I had it all and I planned on going public with it if he didn’t let Mark go.”