“Usually. All I have to do is put a glass of wine in their hands and let them look to their heart’s content. The view is gorgeous, but prepare yourself for a very small kitchen. At least it’s open so you can see the view while you cook.” Mia stopped in her kitchen doorway. She was supposed to sit down and let Sherlock feed her?
Sherlock walked straight to a kitchen chair and pulled it out. “Down you go, right there. Your kitchen’s nice and bright. I have a half dozen of those little herb pots you have lined up on the window ledge in my own kitchen. You’re right about the view. Central Park in all its winter glory, which makes me shiver just looking. You have a coffee maker I recognize, so, no problem. Everything else is in the fridge?”
Six minutes later, Mia sipped delicious coffee, closed her eyes, and whispered, “Thank you. You even heated the cream. It’s wonderful.”
“My mother-in-law taught me that. You’re welcome. Here’s your muffin, lots of peanut butter. The protein should perk you up.”
While they ate, they spoke of the frigid New York weather and the murder case Sherlock had come to New York to consult about. Sherlock gave her a few of the details. At the mention of a creative murdering psychopath who happened to be a real estate agent as well as a gun expert, Mia was leaning forward, her aches and pains forgotten. She wanted a name, only a name, but knew she wouldn’t get it. Sherlock only smiled at her, shook her head. “I’m hopeful we’ll close the case today. Then I’m sure you’ll hear about it.”
Mia watched Sherlock take their plates to the sink, pour two more cups of coffee, add the lovely hot cream, and sit down again.
Sherlock said, “Tommy’s already spoken to the current police chief in Creighton, sent him clear photos of Harrington and Harper back when they were twenty-seven, the age they’d have been at the rave at Godwyn. He’ll show them to his old list of witnesses, but it’s unlikely the photos will jog any memories. He’s tracked down the cars registered to them at the time—a Jaguar and a BMW, and their license plates. That might help put them at or near Godwyn that night, if we’re lucky. Tommy can’t check credit card records yet that could help put them coming or going from Godwyn that night seven years ago. Those aren’t in the public domain and we don’t have enough yet to get a warrant, especially on a candidate for mayor of New York City or a bigwig businessman. And since it’s unlikely Harrington and Harper started and ended their roofieing spree with Serena at Godwyn, Tommy’s going to check nearby colleges for unsolved rapes or disappearances. That kind of luck would be a lot to ask for though.
“Now, about last night. The NYPD will review the CCTV feeds, send a forensics team to West Third. The sedan struck some garbage cans, and there could be traces of paint or maybe a piece of broken headlight. They’ll spot the car, but it’s not likely they’ll see the driver well enough to make an ID.”
“Maybe the license plate?”
“We’ll hope.”
“Sherlock, do you honestly think Alex Harrington, now a candidate for mayor of New York City, would be crazy enough to try to run me down himself? Even Kent Harper, he’s the head of his family’s company here . . . it’s crazy.”
Sherlock said matter-of-factly, “No, I can’t see either of those two being directly involved. Since the attack happened so quickly after you got back to New York, they probably already had someone on their payroll or available to them. I doubt checking their phone records would help turn up anything valuable. I can’t imagine either of these gentlemen would be stupid enough to leave a record on their cell phones, or at campaign headquarters. But the records might tell us who tipped them off, from Boston or from Bennington Prep. Of course, it’s academic, no way to get a search warrant.
“Mia, if you’re right about this, about what those men have done, about their being responsible for what happened last night, you’re very lucky to be alive.”
Mia said, “I know, believe me, I’ve had a few bad moments thinking about that. I said I couldn’t see either of them involved directly. I take that back. Not Kent Harper, but Alex Harrington would. He’s got guts and he would view me as an obstacle like any other, to be overcome, or obliterated as the case may be.”
Sherlock studied the myriad emotions racing over Mia’s face—frustration, sadness, maybe a dollop of hope? She said, “I wasn’t in the FBI yet when your friend Serena Winters disappeared from the frat rave, but I heard about it later from my husband. He told me Tommy was wrecked over it, that it influenced his decision to join the FBI, like his dad. Tommy went on the warpath, determined to find out who killed her, but when there were absolutely no leads, and as time passed, as it always does, her case went cold, and even Tommy realized there was nothing more he could do. But no one who loved her forgot about her, least of all Tommy.
“Now, you think you’ve found the men who roofied her, killed her.” Sherlock sat back. “You’ve given Tommy hope again he’ll find out what happened to her, hope he thought was dead. He told me about everything, going back to the rave when Serena met that guy who was a gamer, about the two photos, the bracelet, the notch on Alex Harrington’s earlobe. And Kent Harper being a gamer too. Tommy’s retention is amazing so I’m confident I have all those facts.
“What I want you to tell me are your firsthand impressions of the people you spoke with in Boston, and at Bennington Prep.”
Mia said, “It’s hard to believe I met these people only yesterday, not twenty-four hours ago. Okay, first I went to Louisburg Square and met Pamela Raines Barrett, Alex Harrington’s fiancée. She’s pretty, polished to a high shine, shows off Armani very well. She knows her own worth and values herself highly. She’s arrogant and tried to hide it for the most part since I was there to interview her about her fiancé. She tried to make nice, but her belief in her own superiority shimmered off her.
“She’s smart, Sherlock, and I think she’d be as ruthless as she needed to be to get what she wants. And she wants Alex to be mayor as much as he does, maybe more. It’s her first big step toward the top of the power food chain, where she knows she belongs. So she really wasn’t of much help. But one thing struck me between the eyes. She’s still jealous of Harrington’s ex-fiancée, Juliet Ash Calley. She told me calling off the wedding was Alex’s idea, but it wasn’t. It was Juliet who called it off.
“I’m sure she doesn’t know about Juliet being roofied and raped by Alex Harrington and Kent Harper, or anything else. Yes, I imagine Tommy mentioned that to you. Even though it sounds unbelievable, it’s true. He not only roofied and raped his own fiancée, he also invited his friend Kent Harper to join the fun. And I wondered—if Pamela knew, would she be willing to cover it up to get what she wanted? I don’t think so, but I could be wrong.”
Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at her. “Let me guess. You really didn’t like her.”
35
Mia
Mia looked down at a ragged fingernail, doubtless from banging against a garbage can last night. “I made Pamela sound like the wicked witch. She really didn’t come across like that. She was polite, solicitous, well-spoken, gushed about Harrington, only to be expected. Maybe, too, I think I was predisposed to dislike her, my fault.” Mia sighed. “She’s focused, Sherlock, committed to being the first lady of New York City, then, who knows? The United States? Oh yes, no doubt in my mind. And bottom line, what’s wrong with that?
“Moving forward. I walked to Juliet’s parents’ house after I left the freeze queen. Juliet was there taking care of her ill mom. Juliet’s a concert pianist.”
“Yes, I know, I’ve heard her in concert at the Kennedy Center. An incredible talent and a jaw-dropper.”
“Yes, she’s awesomely beautiful. I liked her very much. She seemed sensible, she cares about other people, particularly her parents, and as you said, she’s immensely talented. She doesn’t trade on her beauty, either; she ignores it as best I could tell. It’s amazing, really, how she’s managed to move forward after those two roofied and raped her. Imagine, your own fiancé, the man you believed loved you,
rapes you. He’s a monster, Sherlock.”
“No argument from me,” Sherlock said.
“I was thinking Alex had already decided Juliet wasn’t suited to be his wife now that he wanted to be a politician, was already planning to break it off. Or not, I can’t be sure either way. If so, like I said, I can see him thinking why not have his BFF Kent enjoy her, too? I also believe Alex never thought she’d remember, but she did.”
Sherlock sat back and marveled. “You actually pried the roofie and rape out of Juliet Ash Calley, a stranger you only just met? You’re beyond good, Mia. Okay, Alex must have suspected she remembered when she broke off the engagement.”
“Well, he knew for sure because Juliet confronted him; of course, he played it off, said she had a bad dream. That’s when she broke off the engagement. I imagine he was really worried, though, until he realized he and Kent would be safe, that Juliet would keep her mouth shut. She didn’t go to the police, nor did she ever tell a soul. She’s very protective of her parents. She still doesn’t want to deal with any of it, didn’t want to hear any questions about it at first. She didn’t even contradict Pamela telling me that breaking off the engagement was Alex’s idea, until I pushed her about it. I doubt even her parents know she was the one who ended it, and not the why, that’s for sure. I think she shoved her rage at what they did to her down deep, but it’s there, festering, and it’s costing her, even after two years.
“You wondered why she told me, a perfect stranger, and a reporter to boot? I really worked on her, Sherlock. She was shocked when I told her about Serena. It was kind of manipulative but it still wasn’t enough to make her come right out and admit what they’d done to her and agree to come forward. I asked her if she’s thought about warning Pamela about what Alex and Kent really are. You should have seen the guilty look on her face. She hadn’t said anything to Pamela, because she knew it would get back to Alex and what would he do to her? I felt really sorry for her and impatient, too. How could she let these two go on with what was their fun sport?
“Maybe it’s different now for her, now she knows they’re responsible for killing someone. I don’t know. I told her I was going to make sure they paid, left her my card.”
Sherlock met Mia’s eyes, slowly nodded. “It’s a lot to ask of her since she can’t prove anything, and it would impact her life, her family, and her career. But if anyone can bring her forward, it would be you, Mia, you and Tommy; you both loved Serena so much, it would make it very real for her. Now, tell me about Coach Wiliker at Bennington Prep.”
Mia ran through the interview. “It’s obvious to me now I didn’t handle him well. He was probably the one who called Alex, told him about the strange questions I asked. Maybe, too, Pamela got suspicious, or someone thought it was odd I spent so much time speaking with the departmental secretaries at Harvard. It also occurred to me Alex could have asked his senior staffer, Miles Lombardy, to have drinks with me last night so the candidate would know exactly where I’d be.”
Sherlock said, “It was a spur-of-the-moment plan, but it might have worked if not for Lex.”
“If Lex weren’t so much younger, I’d have asked him to marry me.”
Sherlock grinned at her, took another drink of her coffee, set down the Minnie Mouse mug. She said, “Mia, imagine you were born with the proverbial silver spoon. All your life you’ve been given everything you wanted. You’re lucky enough to be smart, you’re very good-looking, both men and women like you, you never have occasion to question why you’re at the top of the food chain. Then you and your best buddy from childhood attend Bennington Prep, and you come up with the idea to roofie and rape one of the girls. If she’s not willing, who cares? You’re bulletproof. You go ahead with your twisted teenage fantasy, and it’s great. Nothing happens. You get away with it. No harm, no foul. So you do it again. And again.
“It becomes another amusement you share with Kent, like gaming, but you know you have to keep yourselves safe. You might be worried the first couple of times the girls might remember, but they don’t say a thing. You realize even if a girl did say something, she wouldn’t have any proof against you. You’re the golden boy.
“You hear about the rave at Godwyn University in Pennsylvania. It sounds like another great place to hunt yourself a girl. It’s everything you expected. The place is packed with students, there’s fountains of booze, and drugs, and dozens of girls. It’s Kent who spots Serena, this great girl who’s a gamer, and you agree, she’ll do just fine. But something goes wrong, very wrong. Suddenly she’s dead or dying. You’re smart enough to set a fire to cover getting her out of there. You never think of yourself as a murderer, you don’t for a minute blame yourself, it was an accident. You’re lucky there’s plenty of open land and wilderness nearby. Where to bury her where she won’t be found? Not in a field or a forest owned by someone you don’t know.
“I remember Valley Forge National Park is fairly close to Godwyn, maybe a thirty-minute drive. The park’s closed for the night, and no one’s around, easy enough to drive in. You carry her body far off the road, bury her, go on your merry way. And you know that was smart, too, because her body has never been found, not in seven years. Maybe you’re shook up for a while, but again, it wasn’t your fault, maybe it was even that stupid girl’s fault for wondering what you put in her drink. The years pass, and you enjoy your life, and both of you move up in the world, as you knew you would. Enough time you even take up your sport again.
“Amazing you end up roofieing even Juliet, your fiancée, for your and Kent’s pleasure. Why would you do that? Did she enrage you by not supporting your decision to enter politics, so you decide she’s no more use to you, that you’re not going to marry her? Did she deny you sex? Whatever your reasons, it seems like madness, but not to you. Sure, it would have blown up on you, but a little risk is part of the sport, and once again, you’re lucky. I wonder if Harrington discussed it with Kent Harper or just told him they were going to have some fine sport?” Sherlock paused, shook her head. “It’s still hard for me to understand why Alex Harrington would roofie and rape his own fiancée, much less invite his friend to rape her as well. But I guess to do this to her, he obviously doesn’t respect her or value her, even care all that much about her.” She shook her head. “I’m being dense. The guy’s a psychopath; he has no empathy, no conscience, and his reasons for doing anything wouldn’t make sense to you or me. I wonder if Kent Harper was appalled at the idea of raping Juliet, but he was used to falling in with Alex’s plans? It certainly could have blown up on them, but once again, they’re lucky.”
Sherlock gave Mia a big smile. “Lucky until a pretty young reporter is assigned to cover your campaign for mayor of New York City. You’re happy to hear it, you believe she’ll write good things about you because, after all, you’re tall, good-looking, charming, who could resist you? You’re pleased when the reporter tells you she’s going to Boston to interview friends and family for the article she’s writing. Then you get a call from one of the people the reporter interviews, maybe the lacrosse coach at Bennington like you said, who tells you about some strange questions the reporter asked about an old photo she showed him. Coach describes it, a profile, couldn’t really tell who it was, but the boy had an ear injury, like yours. You’re a bit alarmed. You google her, find out she went to Godwyn University. Now there’s a nibble of panic. Was she at the rave? Did she know the girl who disappeared? You don’t remember her name, but Kent does when you meet with him. You call your fiancée. You don’t tell her the truth, of course, you tell her you think Juliet might have made up a story about you and you’re concerned. Whatever Pamela says, it’s enough. You decide you have to act before the reporter goes public. But with what? No proof of anything, you’re safe, but a hint of this getting out and your campaign is done before it gets off the ground. You want this. Pamela wants this. You arrange for your staffer to have drinks with the reporter at a specific time and place, pump her, find out what she thinks she knows, what her purpo
se is.”
Mia stared at Sherlock. “That’s amazing, it’s like you see it.”
Sherlock only shook her head, continued. “But as we’ve agreed, it’s doubtful it was either Alex Harrington or Kent Harper who tried to run you down. Much too great a risk. So that means we have to find someone close enough to Harrington to have done it, most likely for a price.
“Which brings us back to our problem. We have only circumstantial evidence, not enough to even make it worthwhile to interview them.”
Sherlock sat back in her chair and regarded Mia. “You know the easiest way to keep you safe is for me to go to Alex Harrington, tell him someone tried to kill you last night, tell him you’ve gathered information about him and Kent, and that information is now in FBI hands. That would keep you safer. Unless they’re insane.”
Mia was shaking her head before Sherlock finished. “He’d demand to know exactly what you’re talking about, he’d take the high road, demand you tell him exactly what I believe he did. And what would you lay out for him exactly? You’d have to admit there isn’t any proof, not yet. He’d laugh at you, at me, and threaten to sue us both and the Guardian if these ridiculous accusations came out.
“I can’t see Alex Harrington folding his tent. He’d play the aggrieved party, the victim of an ambitious reporter willing to do anything to get herself publicity, willing to trash an innocent man’s name, ruin his life.
“Sherlock, nothing good could come out of facing him down. I’d instantly be persona non grata, worthless in helping find the proof to put him and Kent away.”
Mia saw Sherlock was about to disagree, and she added quickly, “Don’t forget Juliet. If you faced him down, told him what we know he did, wouldn’t it put her in danger? He’d have to suspect she told me what happened.” Mia sat forward, grabbed Sherlock’s hand. “You’ve got to agree to let me continue to investigate. I could pretend I think it was an accident last night, a drunk driver or some idiot on drugs.”
Vortex Page 19
