by Alexa Steele
“Two more things. I noticed a video camera at the front gate. Was it on last night? If so, we want footage. Also, does this club have security, other than those two pimply-faced valet kids and the half drunk sitting at the booth in front? How does a marina and a club of this stature not employ security, especially with three hundred fifty guests at an event?”
“Acme handles security for the club and provides extra eyes for events,” Dennis replied. “I spoke with them myself this morning personally—no one saw a thing.”
“No one? How many sets of extra eyes did you speak with?” Bella asked, sounding a bit derisive.
“Three security officers were present all night. Not including Fred McCourt. Would you like to question them again?” Dennis asked.
Was he really that naïve? Bella resisted the urge to say “Duh” and simply said, “Yes, I would, Dennis.”
“I think they may have left.” He looked worried.
“Bring them back,” was all she replied.
He nodded and sat there quietly, looking grave.
“Billy is checking the county’s sex offenders database,” she said, pouring cream into her cup. She took a huge bite out of a blueberry muffin. Mack was eating and pouring more coffee, listening. “We need to hear what the ME concludes as to cause of death and what forensics finds ASAP. Where are the reports going—you or Billy?”
“To us both,” Dennis answered.
“OK. Let me know the second you hear—that goes without saying, I would hope.” Bella was antsy. She wanted to get over to the husband. “That’s all for now. You have our cells. Keep us in the loop.”
When it was clear she was through, Dennis ripped the piece of paper out of the pad and folded it in half. The poor guy looked flummoxed and grave.
“Young lady,” he said, as he placed his hat on his head. “We’ve got a lunatic in our midst. It defies comprehension, but I see that it is so. Be careful.”
Bella bristled at the warning. Was he kidding? Psychos were her life. She could teach him a thing or two about them. She wasn’t the one up here in paradise, away from it all. Outwardly though, she smiled respectfully, understanding that for a man of Dennis’s age and station in life, it was a good-natured, well-intended remark.
“I will, Dennis,” she answered nicely. “Don’t you worry.”
He didn’t say a word to Mack except to lean across the table and shake his hand before he walked away.
After a few quick sips of coffee and one more bite of her muffin, she was warm and ready to go. She glanced at Mack, who was looking at his phone.
“You want to play or would you rather sit here and relax?” Bella challenged as she stood.
Mack looked up from his cell, unruffled, almost amused. His nonchalance was beginning to piss her off. Then he spoke up:
“Billy has a lead, but he wants you to talk to Freed before he fills you in.”
Bella raised her eyebrows.
“Go on,” she said simply.
“Sex offender named Ridley Westin got out of Sing Sing three months ago, two years shy of his ten-year sentence for the murder of one of his mother’s friends.”
“OK,” Bella replied. “So what?”
“Apparently he’s moved back home. Guess he missed good old mom and her buddies.”
“Why do we care?” Bella asked impatiently.
Mack was quiet for a moment.
“Like I said, he moved back home. To Greenvale.”
CHAPTER 6
The rail yard looked like he remembered it: a deserted stretch of concrete pavement broken up by patches of unwanted grass sprouting between the cracks. He climbed inside an abandoned barrel near the entrance to the warehouse and stayed there, curled into a ball.
He wasn’t stupid. He knew at any moment the police were going to come knocking down his door to pin this thing on him. Once his mama woke him with the news of the murder he was outta there, quicker than the morning sun could break through the rain clouds and shine its glassy light upon him.
Faster than she could cry wolf.
He had been down this road before, and one time was one too many.
He had listened to his mother back then, when he was just a boy; he had done what she had asked of him. And it had landed him in prison. All those years wasting away in that hell of a place, doing time for a crime she had committed.
Handsome, coiffed, articulate, well versed in bridge, yachting, charities—his mother was appropriate in every sense of the word, all that the martini queens in town strove to be. Her home, her deceased doctor husband, her cute children, her shining car, her club membership—all of it gave her respectability. Everyone loved her.
Only he knew the truth.
Only he knew what skulked behind her heavy, velour drapery and her ornate, perpetually closed doors.
His own mommy dearest. A monster chameleon.
Her pleas for him to stay last night were pathetic. Useless. Fake. He simply knew her too well.
He would not go back to her house. Ever. He’d grabbed enough cash for a few days, until he could make his way south, toward Trenton. To Jay.
He was not going to let her do this to him again. If anyone was going to prison this time, it would be her.
CHAPTER 7
Bella strode over to Jamie’s table, alone, her hair long and loose, her tight jeans and shirt hugging her body. She had an air of confidence to her, an intensity he was not accustomed to in women. At least not in the women he knew.
Jamie Freed spoke with the affect and poise of a powerful man. As he succinctly recounted the events of the night before, Bella lasered in on his demeanor and his tone. He appeared sad, but retained presence of mind and control. His hands, tan, manicured, and missing a wedding band, remained clasped together on the table in front of him. They hardly moved except to weave their way through his hair at certain moments when he seemed particularly stressed. It was a habit Bella noted.
He reviewed how they had arrived at the gala at 7:45 p.m. but split up shortly thereafter. He claimed Joslyn got a drink and went off into a corner with her girlfriends while he and some guys remained near the bar. He claimed to not have seen much of her all evening, except from a distance. He told Bella he made a thousand-dollar bid at the silent auction for a signed Knicks jersey for his nephew and a fifteen-thousand-dollar bid for a weekend getaway to a five-star resort in Val d’Isere.
“A ski village in France,” he clarified.
He left the gala without Joslyn at approximately 11:15 for a midnight conference call with colleagues in Moscow. His friend Doug Jordan had offered to bring Joslyn home.
When he finished Bella sat back, gauging how she felt about this man. Her mind was swimming with questions she wanted to ask, and would ask, but not yet. Questions like why he wasn’t with his wife all night, why he left without saying goodbye, why he didn’t wear a wedding band, whether he loved her still. But those questions would come later.
For now she needed him to believe she was sympathetic, that she believed he was suffering. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t. Time would tell.
“So you are sure your wife had her cell phone with her last night?”
“Absolutely. She never went anywhere without it.”
“But do you know for a fact she brought it last night?” Bella prodded. “I mean, did you actually see her put it in her purse?”
“No, I did not,” he said slowly.
“It wasn’t in her purse,” Bella said.
Jamie simply looked at her.
“It’s important we find her phone,” Bella said quietly and respectfully. She knew the chances of that happening were slim to none.
Jamie nodded and she continued, “Do you recall what your wife wore last night?”
Jamie hesitated. The question clearly rattled him. Understandably. He cleared his throat before he responded:
“A long, silk ivory dress. High heels. A clutch.”
“Did she wear a shawl? A cardigan? Light jacket? Anything of that so
rt?” Bella continued.
“Not that I recall,” Jamie answered. He looked sad.
“Can you tell us a little about your wife, Mr. Freed? The more information we have under our belts the better.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Anything you might feel is important.” Bella wanted to see what he might offer on his own.
Jamie got a faraway look in his eyes and spoke softly. “Jos was an unbelievably kind woman. She didn’t have a mean bone in her body. She was pure goodness.”
Bella was taken aback. For some reason, she wasn’t expecting that.
“She was very bright,” he continued. “She could have had a great career. But she wanted to be a mother. To be the one to raise the girls.”
Again, Bella felt a pang of surprise.
“Was she happy?” Bella asked. “Any problems you knew about or recent issues bothering her?”
“Jos had everything any woman could ever want,” Jamie answered. “A beautiful home, two beautiful daughters, financial freedom, full-time help.” He took a break.
“Close friends,” he added as an afterthought, last in line behind full-time help. She noticed he didn’t add a happy marriage to his list.
Bella didn’t miss a beat.
“It sounds like a beautiful life for sure,” she responded sweetly, “but again, would you say she was happy?”
He locked eyes with her. He seemed not to appreciate the question.
“Of course she was happy. Always. What makes you think she wasn’t?”
“I don’t think that at all, Mr. Freed. I am simply asking.”
He rubbed both hands through his hair and exhaled deeply and loudly.
“I don’t know many women who wouldn’t be happy with the life Joslyn had,” he said simply.
You are sitting next to one, she thought.
He squinted his eyes as he looked out the window at the water in the distance and the gray, rainy sky. Officers still swarmed the marina. Their presence marred the view. He redirected his gaze back to the table.
“We heard your wife was working at the local paper, part time,” Bella continued.
Billy had told them this, but Jamie hadn’t mentioned a job on the list of things his wife had either.
“Yes, she was,” he answered.
“Was she working on anything in particular?” Bella pressed on.
“Fluff pieces, that’s all. She complained about it.”
“Was she looking for a different job?”
“She hadn’t written a thing in fifteen years,” he said, with a hint of condescension. He clenched and said authoritatively, “She needed experience before she could do real news.”
“According to who, you or her?” Bella smiled.
“That’s how the world works. You need to know what you’re doing before you can do it. You need experience. She didn’t have any.”
“I would imagine you know a lot of people who might have helped her get a part-time job at a place where the assignments weren’t so fluffy, no?” She smiled to hide her growing dislike.
“I don’t know many people in that world,” he answered. “And even so, you have to know what to do once you get there.”
Bella didn’t like his tone. It had an arrogance and authority that made her bristle.
“But it’s not like she asked,” he added. “Anyway, it wasn’t so much a job really, as much as a diversion.”
“A diversion from what?”
“From boredom,” Jamie said bluntly. “Jos had time on her hands now that the girls were older. She felt a bit bored from time to time, I think.”
“I see,” Bella said in almost a whisper. “So she didn’t ask you for help in finding a better diversion?” Bella emphasized the word.
Jamie gave her a blank stare. “No, she didn’t.”
“OK.” Bella smiled again, not wanting to alienate him.
“Do you have any idea why your wife went down to that boat last night?”
“I have no idea. She didn’t like boats. Or water for that matter. She never spent time at the marina.”
“Do you know Mr. Amsellem? The owner of the yacht?”
“No,” he answered simply.
Bella paused momentarily, and the table was silent. Mack had walked over in the middle of the conversation and listened, but now decided to speak up after introducing himself.
“I hate to have to go here,” he began casually, changing the subject. “It’s actually the least favorite part of my job, asking personal questions to someone you don’t know and worse, at a moment like this, so let me apologize from the outset. All these questions are, well, protocol, that’s all. Just routine. You understand, I am sure.”
Smooth, Bella thought. Well done.
Jamie looked from Bella to Mack, assessing him for the first time. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.
“I understand. Ask away.”
Jamie looked ready for whatever might be coming at him.
“How long were you and your wife married?” Mack started.
“Twenty-two years,” Jamie answered.
“And it was a good marriage?” Mack asked.
Bella could see it dawning on Jamie that Mack was going to embark on a personal line of questions, ones he would now be forced to answer or sidestep, as he navigated this obstacle course. She could feel his mounting resistance.
“Are you really going to ask me to delve into my marriage only a few hours after my wife’s death?” Jamie asked, with an air of controlled anger.
“She didn’t just die, Mr. Freed, she was murdered. I apologize for my bluntness, but I am afraid we do have to ask,” Mack countered. “It’s just one of those questions that, I can’t tell you how much we hate to, ya know, to insinuate anything tawdry. But marriage can be a hotbed, ya know, for all sorts of things. Just want to know if all was good?”
“All was fine,” Jamie answered through clenched teeth.
Bella noted the anger.
“OK, good. I am relieved to hear that.” Mack grinned, then turned serious. “Can you think of anyone who would want to harm your wife?” he asked.
“Not a soul,” Jamie replied.
“What about you? Anyone have it out for you?” Mack looked at Jamie when he asked this, as though the two of them were close friends.
Jamie looked taken aback at the question.
“There are plenty of people who are not happy with me, but enough to kill my wife?” He seemed flabbergasted at the thought.
“People who?” Mack asked. “Business associates? Friends?”
Jamie took a moment to answer.
“I have done well these past few years. I have left many behind in the dust where they belonged.” Jamie gave a look of disgust. “I can’t tell you how they feel about me,” he continued. “I only know how I feel about them. But sometimes in my business things get ugly, just like they do in yours.”
“Ahhh…” Mack responded. “Ugliness. Don’t know that we see the same kind, Mr. Freed. A well-heeled man like yourself doesn’t really get the pleasure of seeing ugly the way we get to see ugly.”
“Ugliness is ugliness,” Jamie replied.
Bella certainly agreed.
“Any friends, ex-friends, anything of a more personal nature? Even going back a while?”
Jamie looked dumbfounded.
“I, I can’t think of anyone I have ever known who would commit murder.”
“I understand you work in the finance world, eh? In New York City? You manage a hedge fund, is that correct?” Mack asked this question looking down at a pad in front of him, pretending to read some notes.
Jamie nodded. Mack pressed on:
“Must have female support staff, secretaries, assistants and such, maybe even lady co-workers. A man in your position, of your stature, Mr. Freed, I would imagine there is no shortage of women who would like to get to know you better.”
Mack brought his hands to his heart with his palms facing out, a
s if to say, hey, I don’t care what you do personally. I get it, my friend. But instead he said, “No judgments here. Our job isn’t to judge, Mr. Freed. But if there’s a woman in the shadows, now’s the time to tell.”
Jamie’s hands tensed as Mack spoke. His arms remained folded tightly across his chest, but Bella could see his hands grip his biceps tightly.
“There are no other women in my life,” he spat bitterly. “And while this may be police procedure, I resent your implying otherwise.”
“Did she have many close friends?” Bella switched gears quickly.
“Who?”
Jamie looked embarrassed when he saw the look of surprise on Bella’s face.
“Joslyn?” he asked.
“Whom else might I be asking after?” Bella inquired.
“I…I…didn’t know to whom you were referring.” Jamie sounded defensive.
“I said ‘she,’” Bella pointed out. “Was there another she you were thinking of?”
Jamie stared at Bella silently.
“My wife had a small group of close personal friends,” he answered, ignoring her comment and speaking in a controlled tone. He seemed mildly frayed. “Her crew, she called them.” He shook his head from side to side as he added, “She is, was, very close to her sister, Lillie.”
“OK, please write down the names and contact info for her friends in town. We will need to speak with them. We also want to talk to Lillie when she arrives, as I assume she will be? That might be a good time to speak to your daughters as well,” Bella added.
The reference to his girls altered his composure.
“My girls? For god’s sakes, what do you people want to ask them?”
“All part of a murder investigation, I am afraid, Mr. Freed,” Mack said quietly. Bella could tell Mack didn’t like being called “you people” any more than she did.
“We will be brief,” Mack added. “Detective de Franco can speak to them alone if you think that will be easier, less scary—a woman and all,” he proposed. Nice touch, Bella thought.
Jamie got up from the table, signaling their time was up.
“One last thing, Mr. Freed,” Bella said as she stood as well. She was only a few inches away from him and, looking up into his eyes, she realized now how tall he was.
