The Beautiful and the Wicked

by Liv Spector

  One of Lila’s tasks that day, the only one that she was actually looking forward to, was clearing out Asher’s room. If she couldn’t tail him, then she hoped that having unfettered access to the things he’d left behind would give her some sort of insight into the man that had Josie Warren wrapped around his coconut-­scented finger.

  At first, she found nothing, just a lone white sock at the back of the closet and a jump rope left dangling on a hook. Because Asher’s room was identical to the minuscule one she shared with Sam, a thorough search took only a ­couple minutes. After she came up with next to nothing, Lila rechecked every surface of the room. As she was running her hand inside the three dresser drawers under the bed, she felt something taped to the top side of the middle drawer. When she pulled it carefully off, she saw it was a thumb drive.

  Her heart jumped. Finally, something! Praying there was useful information on it, Lila rushed down the hall to her room, shut the door behind her, and grabbed her laptop. And there she sat, hunched over the computer, opening the first folder and then click, click, clicking her way through image after image . . . all of Josie. The digital pictures went back four years, which meant that Josie and Asher had been involved for much longer than anyone had ever suspected.

  There were three folders in total. The first one contained pictures that Josie had taken of herself either with her phone or with her computer. The earliest photo was dated September 21, 2004, and showed a baby-­faced Josie shyly posing, her eyes down, a smattering of teenage acne visible on her forehead, her shirt bashfully pulled aside to show a hint of her nipple. But as the months and years progressed, and as Josie grew up and got bolder, the pictures became much more graphic in nature. Nothing was left to the imagination.

  The next folder was filled with hundreds of pictures that Asher took of him and Josie together. These started in 2005. None were sweet pictures of lovers smiling for the camera. On the contrary, they all felt dark and humiliating, showing Asher sexually dominating the young heiress. One had Josie on her knees, her wrists bound, Asher’s hand at the back of her head, forcing himself into her mouth. Another showed Asher taking Josie from behind while he shoved her face to the floor. It was clear that Josie knew these very private moments were being documented, but Asher was the one in control.

  The last folder was by far the most jarring. It contained fifteen videos, all about thirty minutes long, of Asher and Josie having sex, a lot of it involving bondage, some including other ­people. In one, Josie and Asher took turns snorting coke off the body of a naked woman. Any randomly selected ten seconds of these hours and hours of videos would result in a media firestorm and a huge family scandal.

  As Lila perused what felt like the digital diary of a twenty-­first-­century Marquis de Sade, her conviction that Asher and Josie were behind Jack’s murder grew stronger. There was only one reason for Asher to methodically categorize four years of these pictures and videos on a thumb drive that he left behind on Jack Warren’s yacht. He wanted it to be discovered. He wanted the Warrens to know that he held information that could destroy them. Lila knew that Asher’s next step would be to extort Jack for money. And if the Warrens didn’t pay, which Lila figured they wouldn’t, Asher would understand that the only way to get the money he was after was by killing Jack.

  Lila stored Asher’s thumb drive in her drawer. He had clearly planned on Jack and Elise Warren discovering this little treasure trove of sexually explicit images and videos. But for now, Lila decided to keep this information to herself.

  The sailing contingent returned a little after sunset, all sunburned and windblown. Jack seemed electrified by his day out on the water. Per Edna’s instructions, Lila was waiting for them with flutes of Dom Pérignon. As everyone talked about how lovely the day had been, no one so much as mentioned Josie’s or Asher’s names. Jack talked at length about how the helmsman had turned out to be everything he’d wanted him to be, plus some. Despite, or because of, his daughter’s absence, Jack Warren seemed in better spirits than Lila had ever seen him since Miami.

  Elise was another story entirely. When the boat that she and Charity chartered pulled up to the yacht, all anyone could see was a laughably large number of high-­end shopping bags: Hermès, Louis Vuitton, Céline, Gucci, Saint Laurent, and Chanel. It was safe to say that each woman had spent more money in one day than Lila made all year as a homicide detective. But the retail therapy didn’t seem to have the mood-­bolstering effect Elise had wanted. She stepped onto the yacht as the hired hands carrying her many, many purchases trailed behind her, looking as sour and tight-­jawed as she had before.

  “Has anyone heard from Josie?” she asked the group. But everyone shook their heads and said nothing. Jack, as usual, ignored his wife. “I’ll be in my room. You there,” she said, snapping at Lila. “I’ll need a vodka martini with a twist brought to the master suite immediately.”

  “I’m sure she’s fine,” Esperanza said to Elise before she retreated to her room. “You shouldn’t worry too much. She’s just a young girl having some fun.”

  A look of absolute disgust crawled onto Elise’s face as she stared at the gorgeous Brazilian, standing there with her young, flawless, caramel-­colored skin and her long, black, curly hair, made wild from the salt air and the wind. Despite Elise’s scowl, Esperanza kept smiling at her.

  “You’re not a mother, are you?” Elise asked Esperanza.

  “Not yet,” Esperanza said with a shrug, giving her husband a sly wink.

  “Then you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  The encouraging smile that Esperanza had on her face was instantly wiped off. “I was only trying to help,” she said.

  “Well, don’t,” Elise responded coldly as she left the group to be alone with her martini and her misery.

  “Now that Josie’s out of my hair,” Jack said jovially, “all I need is for someone to run away with my wife. Then I’d really be a happy man. Say, Ben, are you up for it?” Jack asked, throwing his arm around the shoulders of his first officer. Seeing that Ben and the rest of the group were made uncomfortable by his joke, Jack said, “Oh, hey, Ben. Don’t worry. I’m only kidding. I wouldn’t wish that bitch on my worst enemy.”

  “Now, Jack, really,” Liss said with a frown, once again gravely disappointed at how badly his CEO continued to act.

  “Shut up, Seth. You can try to control me out in the world, but here on my boat among my friends I can say whatever the fuck I want.”

  Despite the note of sourness in the air, Jack stayed upbeat. Declaring that he wanted a late-­night dinner, he had Chef Vatel cook up an impromptu feast of watermelon salad, grilled calamari, chilled lobster tail, and tuna ceviche, which was served poolside. Glass upon glass of perfectly chilled Montrachet was gulped down as Seth, Clarence, and Jack debated the pros and cons of outsourcing manufacturing while a bikini-­clad Esperanza stretched, slithered, and floated in the pool, ravenously watched by her husband who had Charity Baines chattering in his ear about her excitement over the purchase of a new electric-­blue crocodile-­skin Birkin bag. Jack couldn’t keep his eyes off Esperanza as well, which was something that Thiago was only too quick to notice.

  “I was so lucky to get it,” Charity was saying. “I only realized how expensive it was after I bought it.” She brought her voice down to a whisper. “It was thirty-­three thousand euros, which sounded fine to me. But then I realized only after I’d left the store how much that is in American dollars. Around forty-­five thousand. I mean, I don’t mind. It’s not about the money. It’s the perception. If anyone in Washington spots me with this bag, I’ll be skewered by the press. I mean, something like that could cost Clarence the reelection. It’s so awful. Whenever I’m home, I’m forced to dress in Ann Taylor suits and carry around Coach bags like some kind of secretary.”

  Lila eavesdropped while Thiago kept nodding and smiling, though she figured the Brazilian had no idea what this
politician’s wife was blathering on about. He watched his beautiful wife, who was performing some sort of Esther Williams–esque routine for his benefit, only occasionally looking away to glare at Jack.

  No one seemed to take notice when the police sirens disrupted the serene tropical silence, drowning out the gentle sound of the Caribbean waters lapping up against the side of the yacht. As the sirens grew closer, it became impossible to hear Esperanza splashing in the illuminated turquoise pool, or the sound of ice clinking in glasses, or the sound of Charity Baines yammering on excitedly about the lining of her new handbag.

  No one really paid attention until two uniformed policemen began walking up the gangway to the yacht’s main deck. Then everyone stood up the moment they all saw the same thing—­a weeping and frightened Josie, in handcuffs, being dragged onto the boat between the two officers from the Royal Virgin Islands police force.

  “What the hell?” Jack asked, looking around for Paul and Thiago, his two most trusted advisers. Both men jumped to their feet with confused looks on their faces. No one knew what was going on.

  “Daddy!” Josie cried when she got up to the main deck, staring desperately at the father, who, just hours before, she’d completely denounced.

  “Is there a Jack Warren on this ship?” asked one of the police officers in a heavy Virgin Islands accent. Both cops wore white short-­sleeve button-­down shirts, police hats, and long shorts accented with two red stripes along the outside of the leg. Lila’s mind was racing. She had no idea what was going on. All she knew was there were no records of arrest in Josie’s files. This made no sense. Had she somehow messed with the past, again?

  And where was Asher?

  “I’m Jack Warren,” Jack said, stepping forward. His voice was deep and powerful and his presence was commanding, making it clear that nobody could push him around.

  “Do you know this woman?” the other officer asked.

  “Yes, of course. She’s my daughter.”

  “I’m so sorry, Daddy,” Josie wept. Her head was hanging down, but her eyes were trained on her father. Lila could see that Josie was silently pleading for his help and forgiveness.

  “We picked her up selling drugs to tourists at a beach bar.”

  “You what!” Jack exclaimed, totally flabbergasted. “That’s not possible.”

  Paul Mason stepped forward. “Officers, I’m the Warren-­family attorney. What exactly are the charges?”

  “Drug trafficking.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Jack barked.

  “On what grounds?” Paul inquired, putting his hand on Jack’s shoulders, signaling his friend to calm down.

  “We apprehended this young woman and found she was in possession of a large number of prescription pharmaceuticals with the intent to sell them. Once we had her in our custody she said her family was on the big yacht down in West End Bay, so we came here to verify her story.”

  “That’s fine, Officers,” Paul said. “Why don’t we go somewhere where we can talk this through privately?”

  The cops looked at each other. One nodded to the other, who then said, “Fine. Please lead the way.”

  Paul Mason brought the officers into the yacht’s interior, down the hall, to a small office next to the dining room. Jack followed. Josie, still handcuffed, was left behind. The moment the cops were out of sight, she collapsed into tears.

  Esperanza, the guest closest to her age, sat down by her feet and tried to soothe Josie by gently rubbing her leg.

  “Good Christ, little missy,” Charity Baines said. “What on earth did you get yourself into?”

  Before Lila could hear Josie’s response, she left the main deck, following the procession down the hall. She wanted to find out what Jack and Paul were up to. But when she walked by the office door, it was firmly closed. She went through the dining room and down the exterior walkway to look through the window. Though the blinds were lowered, the slats were angled in a way that allowed Lila to see a bit of the room if she crouched down. All she could see were four pairs of legs standing in the office. Then she saw Paul Mason go to the desk and remove a large, green steel box, which he set down on the table. Jack walked over to the box and put his thumb on the fingerprint lock. The box opened and Lila watched his hands remove two bundles of bills, both with the mustard-­colored $10,000 band wrapped around them. Each officer grabbed a stack, and then all four men exited the room.

  Lila sprang up from her crouched position outside the window and hustled back to the main deck. When she arrived, she saw the officers taking the handcuffs off Josie and then swiftly leaving the boat, with a nod to Jack Warren. That was probably the quickest money those two corrupt bastards had ever made, Lila thought to herself. Though she’d never taken a bribe herself, she’d been offered plenty of times; every cop had. And she knew how strong the pull was to take the easy buck, especially when a police officer’s pay was so shitty and the rewards were so few. But she still passed judgment on the cops who took bribes. How could she not? They were the source of so much ill, not just for civilians, but for all cops in general. How could there be any faith in the system or any possibility of justice when anyone who was rich enough could buy a “get out of jail” card so easily?

  Once the cops had left, Jack Warren dropped his intimidating billionaire routine and became what he really was at that very moment—­a very pissed-­off father. He walked over to Josie, who was slumped down in a chair with her head buried in her arms as the rest of the guests silently huddled around her.

  “Josie!” Jack yelled at his daughter, who didn’t move.

  Josie did nothing but begin to weep at a louder volume. Esperanza grabbed her hand, trying to soothe her.

  “Esperanza,” Jack said sternly, “I’ll take it from here.”

  Esperanza scrambled to join Thiago, but Josie still didn’t move. Jack grabbed the top of her thin arm and hoisted her up to her feet. “Josie, I’m talking to you,” he yelled, but she just flopped back down into the chair. Jack hovered over her like a drone ready to strike. “Just tell me one damn thing. Where’s Asher? Huh? Where’s your goddamn Prince Charming?”

  “I don’t know,” Josie whimpered.

  “I’ll tell you where he is. He’s probably on top of some drunk tourist right about now,” Jack said. “I told you he was no good.”

  “Easy there, son,” Clarence Baines said to Jack. A southern gentleman to the core, Baines liked to keep things civilized, even at the worst of times.

  Charity walked over to Josie, “Now, honey, tell your father what you told us. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

  Josie slowly looked up at her father. She sniffed and wiped the slick of tears from her cheeks. “We didn’t have any money.”

  “Figures! I pay my crew top dollar. And that vulture has the gall to claim he’s penniless? It’s just unbelievable! And this is the man my only daughter chooses?!” Jack yelled, but the rest of the group shushed him and encouraged Josie to go on.

  “So, um, we decided, I mean Asher decided, that we should get Mom’s pills and sell them at some tourist spots so we could get money. He told me if we got enough, we could sail to St. Croix and get married.” Her voice caught in her throat for a moment. She had begun to shake. “He found a ­couple who wanted some Oxy, and he sent me over to give them the pills and get the money. But then the cops grabbed me. And when I looked up,” Josie said with a deep, profound sob, “Asher was gone. I called out to him, and nothing. He disappeared.” She went back into the fetal position. Then she whimpered, “I’m so sorry, Dad. I should’ve listened to you. I’m so sorry.” She began sobbing. “He didn’t ever love me, did he? Did he just want money the whole time?”

  The iron fist in Jack relaxed as he hovered over his daughter. He patted her head in a gesture that struck Lila as both condescending and comforting at once. “There, there,” he said to Josie. “Daddy’s here. Daddy’s here.
”

  Josie desperately flung her arms around her father, as if he were a life raft and she were drowning. Jack was clearly pleased to, once again, be the man in control as everyone else fell to pieces around him. He had reasserted his dominance and Josie was back in the fold, freshly chastised and weaker than ever.

  Lila watched the whole scene with a sick feeling growing inside her. She tried to think through every angle. Maybe Josie was putting on an act to make sure her father kept her in the will until Asher somehow got back on the boat, and they both murdered Jack. But that seemed far-­fetched. As she watched father and daughter, with their matching prominent noses and weak chins, sitting closely together, Lila’s gut told her that Josie’s emotions were real.

  And the chance that Josie and Asher were the killers was minuscule. Lila tried to stay calm as she realized that her latest theory had been shattered into a thousand jagged pieces and she was back to square one. She was running out of time.

  CHAPTER 18

  ON THE EIGHTH day of The Rising Tide’s Caribbean tour, the grand yacht sailed across ocean waters as blue and iridescent as a peacock. They were a day away from St. Barts, their next glamorous destination. But it seemed the charms of the trip had grown thin. Without any land in sight, and sick of one another’s company, the passengers slipped into the doldrums, dragging themselves listlessly around the yacht, no longer aware of its unparalleled beauty and luxury. After countless scandals, betrayals, and bad behavior, everyone had gone to their separate corners for a much-­needed breather. And a quiet routine replaced all of the dramatics, which was good for Lila. It allowed her the time and head space to focus on the investigation.

  Her eyes remained trained on Seth Liss and his machinations to climb to the top of Warren Software. She was monitoring Liss’s correspondence by hacking into his computer every day. As a result, Lila knew that Seth had convinced the board of directors to hold a vote to oust Jack as CEO. The vote was scheduled for mid-­September, once the yacht’s voyage was complete. Liss’s progress with his coup seemed to soften his seething anger into a lesser state of persistent grumpiness. Lila was still unable to confirm if Jack knew about his CFO’s treachery. Jack himself was impossible to read on the matter. And when Lila finally got another opportunity to scour Jack’s computer for any contact with Urs Hunziker, she found that all Urs’s emails had been totally wiped clean off Jack’s hard drive.