BRONZED BETRAYALS

by Ritter Ames

  “Do you know when this was?” I asked, getting a funny feeling in my stomach.

  “Maybe a month before your father was reported missing in the avalanche,” Kelly said. “I remember thinking how lucky it was that Dexter received his dental work when he did. Your father said he was keeping Dex on for some kind of special project that was going to turn around the family’s bottom line. This was at a time money was already getting tight after your grandfather’s death, so the news sounded especially hopeful.”

  “That’s very interesting,” I said, smiling despite my desire to scream. “Do you remember Dexter saying anything about the special project?”

  “Just that he had to go to Europe a couple of times a year with your father. I figure he got a job over there after your father was killed.”

  “I’ll have to see if Jack and I can find him,” I said, though I knew how unlikely it was.

  We said our goodbyes and promised to keep in touch, and I returned to find the car empty. I looked around and saw Jack sitting on a bench in the park across the street. I walked over and asked, “Hey, is this seat available to rude girlfriends who run off and leave you in a strange town?”

  “Absolutely.” He grinned up at me. “I’ve already had to run off three other rude girlfriends to make sure it was available for you.”

  His arm was stretched across the back of the bench, so I sat close and rested my head on his shoulder.

  “Did you enjoy your reunion with Kelly?” he asked.

  “Yes.” I sighed and watched a chipmunk scamper across the lawn. When the critter disappeared in taller grass, I said, “I’m pretty sure I know who was actually killed in the mountain avalanche too.”

  He turned so he could look at me. “Who?”

  I relayed the story Kelly told me about Dexter. The surprise dental gift. The special project requiring he travel to Europe.

  “I don’t know if my father bought off the dentist or the receptionist, but I figure one of them switched the chauffeur’s dental records for those of my father.”

  “That would work.”

  “Dexter told Kelly my father said to get any amount of crown work needed to keep from him having to get dentures.”

  “Because dentures would render the chauffeur an unsuitable candidate,” Jack mused.

  “Yep.”

  “I’m sorry. I know you wanted to know who it was, but I never imagined it would be someone close to you.”

  “Amazing how whatever I learn, Daddy Dearest continues to disappoint.”

  Twenty-One

  The only other person I’d wanted to try to see was Mrs. Conner, a woman who had two original paintings of which forged copies of the works ended up in a coffee table art book Cassie discovered last Christmas when visiting her aunt. My desire to see her was actually a fishing expedition to test a theory. I hadn’t really needed to meet with Mrs. Conner about her art, Cassie and Nico had already done so in January, but I wanted to see if there was a reaction when she saw me in person. So many people had told me recently how much I looked like my late mother, and what I wanted to know from Mrs. Conner was if she knew my family. In particular, whether my father could have gained access to her Central Park apartment and art collection.

  However, as we motored back into the city, I phoned and was told by the maid that Mrs. Conner was at her home in Bermuda. Nope, I wasn’t planning on heading south. Besides, with all the mounting evidence we’d been gathering for months, plus the answers I’d learned from Arlo based on the questions he wouldn’t answer, the evidence was stacking up solidly to back up my team’s hypotheses regarding the number of crimes to be laid at the Moran organization’s feet or which were high treason art crimes by Ermo Colle. Meeting with Mrs. Conner would simply offer additional confirmation to give me peace of mind. It wasn’t crucial and wouldn’t change the plan. We needed to get Colle’s new identity, turn everything over to law enforcement so he could be arrested, and let the legal system dismantle all facets of his operation.

  I thanked the maid and said I’d try to see Mrs. Conner in the future, when she and I were both in New York at the same time.

  “So back to London?” Jack asked. “Or do you want to spend a couple of days enjoying a little R&R touring New York before Max learns you’re here in the States?”

  “I think you know the answer to that.”

  “You want to get home because you’re worried about Cassie and Nico.”

  I smiled and didn’t answer for a second. “Yes, I want to go home. And yes, I want to know Cassie and Nico are safe.”

  “What was the hesitation?”

  The sky had been clouding up ever since we’d left Scarsdale, and I hoped we could get out of town before any bad weather struck. My brain was feeling equally cloudy. I removed my shades and dropped them into my purse. “No hesitation. Just a little tired.”

  We hit a light, and he put his hand on my thigh. I looked over at him.

  “You don’t have to tell me now if you don’t want to,” he said. “Wait until you’re ready.”

  “It’s not anything really.” I shrugged. The light turned green and we continued moving. “I just kind of decided during this trip I want to find some place to live that truly is mine. No more hotel rooms. It’s time to set down some roots.”

  “That’s a big step.”

  “I think I’m ready,” I said, then grinned. “Besides, it gives me lots of new shopping options since I’ll have to furnish the place.”

  “I have little doubt,” Jack said. He had his phone mounted to the dash and the GPS guided us along the way.

  “Which airport are we flying out of?” I asked.

  “While I waited for you and Kelly to get reacquainted, I checked airline availability on my mobile and found LaGuardia gave us better options tonight.”

  “So that whole line earlier about a weekend of R&R…”

  “I knew you wouldn’t go for it,” he said. “Besides, Danny’s getting bogged down in work requests, and it might be a good idea for me to go in and try to do some video back-checking on the Amazon’s route myself. If we wait much longer it may not even be worth the trouble.”

  “You’re right. You talked to Danny?”

  “Nothing as good as what he told us last night, but he’s keeping me updated. They still haven’t found Jacqueline Baroux, but having her real name is giving Inspector Markham a little more direction. I gave them Moran’s former address in Mayfair, but I figure she’s already out of Great Britain. Took too long for us to know about her.”

  An airport sign flashed up ahead. I pointed. “Thank goodness, we’ll be out of this car soon.”

  “Getting tired of car travel?” he asked.

  “To be honest, after this week I’m getting tired of travel period—Paris yesterday, New York today, London by morning because of the time change—I may sleep for a week.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Not a bad idea.”

  Two seats were available in business class on a flight leaving in an hour and a half. We checked our bags, so only the Prada had to get past security. After we made it through the line and gained directions to our gate from one of the TSA agents, we arrived at check-in with just minutes to spare.

  I was about to put my phone in airplane mode when it rang. “It’s Nico.” I answered. “Hi, we’re just about to take off for London.”

  “Okay, great.” He sounded absentminded. “I’ve gained some information on Colle’s new look.”

  No wonder he sounded like he wasn’t listening to me. “Do you have it in email form yet?”

  “I will soon. I may have more by the time you land.”

  “I’ll look for it then. But remember that it’s middle of the night in Paris now. Don’t work twenty-four seven. Max won’t pay overtime.”

  He blew out a long breath. “Don’t I know it. I already have Cassie acting like s
he’s my mother. I don’t need it from you too.”

  “She’s also telling you to get some sleep?”

  “Women,” he said, and hung up.

  “What was that?” Jack asked.

  “Nico’s tired of people telling him to take care of himself.” I turned on airplane mode and stuffed the phone into its pocket in my Prada. “But the reason he called is that he’s broken the code on the new identity for you know who and will have material emailed to us by the time we land.”

  I pulled my coat over my arms like a blanket. “It’s okay to wake me for dinner, but otherwise I need to sleep.”

  Plane noise and food woke me up a couple of times, but otherwise the flight was uneventful. We landed at Heathrow at half-past it’s-too-damn-early, and I woke up enough to negotiate my way out of the plane and into the airport. By the time we’d found our bags and cleared customs, I was exhausted again.

  “I think I need a roadie slash travel-sherpa like Clive full-time,” I said. “Travel was so much easier when he took care of everything.”

  Jack laughed. “Sure. Take that up with Max during your next conference call regarding budget issues.”

  “Spoil sport.”

  We almost got on the train before Jack remembered he’d driven there, which meant we had to schlep our bags to long-term parking. The dark morning was cold, and mist was falling. I missed the spring preview I’d had in Paris…was it really only a day ago?

  “Are you going home with me? Or am I dropping you at Cassie’s?” he asked.

  “When I drop these bags, I may never pick them up again, so take me to Cassie’s, please.”

  When we arrived at her flat, he came in with my luggage and we discussed what we were going to do with the information we’d gained in the New York fly-by. I found most of a bottle of good wine in the refrigerator and carried it and two glasses into the lounge. Jack already had the files out on the table, including the copy of the file we’d found in Simon’s desk, and he was rereading the email attachments Nico sent while we flew home. He tossed my phone onto the table and held the glasses while I poured the chardonnay.

  “There’s plenty of material in Doug’s files to make a case for your mother’s murder,” Jack said, nodding toward the small stack of files on the coffee table. “We can get Colle held on the murder charge while a multi-country task force has the time needed to pull down his organization—both art forgery and import/export business.

  “What would I need to do to get things started? Or does that have to come out of law enforcement, too?”

  Jack picked up my phone from the table and reread the email Nico sent with Beacham/Colle’s new identity. “Even without knowing his new name, we can turn this and Simon’s original information over to the New York State Police and ask the Westchester prosecutor to file charges for your mother’s death.”

  “Can I do that by phone or email?”

  “I’ll talk to my solicitor in the morning…well, later,” Jack said, looking at his watch. “See what the procedure is exactly. Unless, of course, you want to go through the foundation’s lawyer.”

  I shook my head. “Not while there’s a high risk that Daddy Dearest has a mole in the foundation. I don’t want him learning what we’re doing and disappearing again. Just go ahead and have your lawyer start doing whatever needs to be done.”

  “Probably a letter to start.” He took another sip of wine.

  “Okay. Tell him to bill me. I guess give him the office address.”

  Jack snapped his fingers. “That reminds me. I need to call the security company and see whether they sorted the problem about the keypad or the lock. Find out what alternatives they have for us too.”

  We added another couple of tasks for our individual to-do lists, then finished off the wine. But as we headed to bed I came to a decision I’d been weighing ever since Jack mentioned going to his lawyer.

  “When you get the job started with your solicitor regarding the letter asking for prosecution, could he also get a DNA test run on me to compare with the hair in the file?”

  Jack stopped and leaned on the doorframe. I turned and met his gaze. “You’re sure?” he asked.

  “I think so.” I sighed. “I may not open the envelope with the results right away, but I need them available when I’m ready.

  He pulled me into a hug and spoke into my hair. “We can do this ourselves. I’ll grab a swab kit and get your sample, then we’ll send it and the hair off to see if they match.”

  A lump in my throat kept me from saying thank you, so I nodded into his chest instead.

  When we woke a few hours later, we found Nico had apparently worked all night, because he now had a fresh alias to go with Beacham/Colle’s new look. Albert Bentley. Daddy Dearest was trying to do the full Brit this time around.

  Jack called his solicitor. The lawyer said to meet him at the office and bring the files he needed.

  I forwarded Jack all my emails from Nico about the new persona, so he’d have them handy on his phone, and he headed out the door. I watched from the window as he drove away and had a sudden feeling of calm. I knew what I had to do.

  Despite my resolve, I spent almost a minute staring at my phone. This request was one I never dreamed I’d make, and I wondered what kind of reaction I’d receive. A swipe at the top of the contacts screen took me to the right number. Well, the number necessary to start this quest. He picked up after two rings.

  “Nico, I need you to find a way for me to contact Moran.”

  His reply was a choking sound, followed by, “What? Am I dreaming?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “You just emailed me ten minutes ago, so I assumed you were still awake. But if you heard me say I need to contact Moran, you heard correctly. I need to talk to him and there isn’t time to do it via any roundabout ways on my own. I need you to hack, bribe or plead the information out of someone. I’ll be doing the same with my own resources.”

  “Why?”

  “Do you really need to know?”

  “Does Jack?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Are you going to tell him?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Then, sì, I need to know. I’m not doing this if you’re the only person holding all the cards and Moran is involved.”

  I stared unseeing out the front curtains. This wasn’t something I actually wanted anyone privy to, but I could trust Nico. He might still try to talk me out of it, but I could trust him not to judge me or try to thwart my plan.

  “We found out my mother was murdered. The evidence in the files prove everyone knew it at the time, but…someone…someone probably in my family…likely bribed someone high enough to not get the case tried.”

  “Ermo Colle? Or, I guess now I should say Albert Bentley?”

  “Yes. Except to be more precise, he still used the Beacham name then.” At least I hoped he was the one doing the bribing. I didn’t want to think anyone further up the family tree was responsible for the cover-up that made sure a murderer went unpunished. “And since the M.O. matches the way Moran’s brother died—”

  “Paul-Henrì.”

  “Again, yes. It’s not a stretch to assume Beacham/Colle was responsible for both ‘accidents.’ Especially since everyone I talked to in Scarsdale has always thought he had my mother killed. The assumption wasn’t that he did it himself. He hired someone. But he murdered her, Nico.”

  “Sì. Are you contacting Moran to inform him, or—”

  “It’s a…courtesy call. That’s probably the best name for what I’m doing at this point. I want him to know what information is getting turned over to international authorities. Jack is with his solicitor now, who will notify the New York State Police, and we’ll make sure they have everything we have that they need. I also have a probable name for the body used to help Colle disappear ten years ago.”


  “When he faked his death with an avalanche?”

  “Exactly,” I said. “If Swiss authorities exhume that body, there’s a high possibility they’ll be able to identify the victim as our family chauffeur Dexter. I can also prove how the body was erroneously identified without anyone the wiser. And Jack’s lawyer will write a letter on my behalf saying in no uncertain terms that I want Daddy Dearest prosecuted for my mother’s death, and for the death of Dexter as well. I’ll look to see if I can find family for Dexter, but I don’t remember any in all the years I knew him. In the meantime, I’ll ask that Dexter’s death be charged as a homicide. I think I can do so through New York, so it can tie to my mother’s case since that was his state of legal residency. But even if it must start by going through Swiss courts, the prosecution should be able to cite Dexter’s death when prosecuting for my mother’s murder—and show the duplicity of the accused. The prosecution can charge him under Beacham, Colle, the new name you found—Bentley—or any other aliases he’s used in the present or past. I don’t know how quickly anyone will respond, but in case Moran wants to…mete out his own justice a little sooner…I want to let him know.”

  “You want Moran to have him killed.”

  “I want a fair and just outcome for the murders. I know if the authorities catch him and arrest him and try him, I will get that. But history makes me worry. Unless Moran steps in too, a murder charge will only be for my mother and possibly Dexter. Not Paul-Henrì. Giving a heads up before Colle is tracked down and arrested gives Moran a bit of latitude. Besides, as long as Colle is free, I’ll have a target on my back. I want him caught quickly, as much to save myself as to make sure justice is done for all the deaths. If Moran finds him first, I’m certain he will bring in a lawyer to furnish the necessary evidence to charge Colle in this third murder, or…he can handle things in a less conventional way.”

  “You know what Rollie would choose.”

  “Yes, the Amazon. That’s why I want to talk to Moran instead. I prefer the kind of outcome where Colle has years in prison to think about his crimes.”