Feared

by Lisa Scottoline

  Mary faced Machiavelli. “You manufactured the reverse-discrimination case against us, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Those three plaintiffs worked for you in your businesses, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes,” Machiavelli said, pursing his lips.

  “You put them through college and then called in the favor.”

  “Law school. I put them through law school.”

  “I stand corrected. Otherwise, that’s a yes?”

  “Yes,” Machiavelli answered, apparently unremorseful.

  “You’re vaguely aware there’s a code of ethics for attorneys, aren’t you? You can’t manufacture litigation. It’s abuse of process. You’re not allowed to recruit plaintiffs, they’re supposed to come to you.”

  “Oh really, Pollyanna?” Machiavelli rolled his eyes. “Tell that to the class-action bar.”

  Mary ignored it. “You filed a bogus lawsuit, completely fraudulent. You can get disbarred for that.”

  “Suspended, at most.” Machiavelli shrugged.

  “I would see to it that you got disbarred, if I didn’t have bigger fish to fry. You did it because you wanted to neutralize John, because you thought he was the brains behind the antitrust litigation we brought on behalf of London Technologies against Home Hacks and EXMS, both of which you own, one way or another.”

  “Yes,” Machiavelli admitted, his brows lifting in surprise. “How did you figure that out?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Mary inhaled deeply, feeling powerful and validated, for once in her life. “And you placed Paul Patrioca at London Technologies as a spy and made him steal their software code and documents relating to the antirust litigation.”

  Machiavelli scowled. “How did you find that out?”

  “Yes or no?”

  “Yes.”

  “Home Hacks and EXMS are guilty of everything that London Technologies alleged, aren’t they? They’re gouging their customers to maintain monopoly power?”

  “Yes.” Machiavelli looked at her coldly. “You done yet?”

  “No.” Mary realized something. “I thought you sent those plaintiffs to us to set us up for litigation, but really you sent them to us as spies. When we didn’t hire them, you improvised.

  Machiavelli smirked. “You handed me an ace and I know how to play it.”

  Mary saw Flavia, who looked appalled, but she didn’t stop now. “You sent that female freelancer Amanda Sussman after us, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you even sent protesters to John’s memorial service, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Listening, Flavia bowed her head, shaking it slowly back and forth, but she said nothing. Mary noticed Machiavelli glance at his mother, betraying just the slightest microexpression of regret.

  Mary asked Machiavelli again, “You sent Stretch to kill John that night in his apartment, didn’t you?”

  “Asked and answered.”

  “Stretch walked in the front, wearing a suit, maybe even said he was from your office, to talk about the reverse-discrimination suit. He knew he would kill John in the end, so he didn’t worry about a witness.”

  “No.”

  “And they went upstairs to John’s apartment, where Stretch killed him with a lamp base and then left by the fire escape.”

  “No.” Machiavelli shook his head. “I didn’t do any of that. Neither did he.”

  “Where was Stretch the night of the murder?”

  “With me.”

  “Where were you?”

  “At the office. I was working. He stays until I go.”

  “Were you with anyone else beside him, who could prove it?”

  “No.”

  “No security guards around?”

  “Stretch is security. I was working late.”

  “Any cameras?”

  Machiavelli rolled his eyes. “I don’t surveil my own offices.”

  “Then you have no proof, and no alibi.” Mary didn’t believe a word Machiavelli said about his involvement in John’s murder, no matter whether Flavia did or not.

  “Mary, I don’t know what to tell you.” Machiavelli looked at her evenly, his brown eyes frank. “I didn’t kill John Foxman. Neither did Stretch. I had nothing to do with it. I would never do that.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Suddenly Flavia moaned, and Machiavelli leaned over, putting his hand on her arm.

  “Ma, are you all right?”

  “Flavia, are you okay?” Mary asked, worried. She didn’t want to give Flavia a heart attack.

  “I’m fine,” Flavia answered, clearing her throat. “Nicky, I believe you didn’t kill John. I believe Stretch didn’t kill John. I don’t think you could ever do a murder, but that doesn’t excuse the other terrible things you did.”

  “I know, I’m sorry, Ma.”

  “No, that’s not good enough. You have gone too far, for too long. I should have stepped in, years ago. Now, you have to make everything right.” Flavia turned to Mary, her face drained. “Mary, what can he do to make this right? Can he make this right?”

  Mary felt sick to her stomach. “John was killed, Flavia. How can you make murder right? Only by going to the police and confessing.”

  “He didn’t do it.”

  “I didn’t do it,” Machiavelli repeated.

  Flavia touched Mary’s hand, squeezing it. “Mare, I know you’re sad about your friend, you miss him and you want to see his killer go to jail. But can you put that aside, for just a minute?”

  “No, I can’t put it aside,” Mary answered, barely able to suppress her anger. She couldn’t stand to see Machiavelli slip through her fingers. She hadn’t come this far to come this far. “I don’t believe him, and it’s murder. You can’t put murder aside.”

  “Just for a minute.” Flavia shook it off, jittery. “What about the cases you talked about? Did he commit crimes? Were they crimes?”

  “No, they were civil wrongs.”

  “So he doesn’t go to jail for them?”

  “Not for them, no. But for murder, or conspiracy to murder, he sure does, and that’s what I want.” Mary’s chest tightened. “That crime matters more than everything, Flavia. To me, and to everybody else. And it should to you, too.”

  “What if he takes away the lawsuit against you and your law firm?”

  “He could do that. He should do that. You just heard him, he made the whole thing up!”

  “He will do that.” Flavia turned to Machiavelli. “Nicky, you’ll do that, right?”

  “Fine.” Machiavelli folded his arms, with an unhappy frown.

  Flavia returned her attention to Mary, her expression pleading. “What about what you said he stole? The computer? What if he gave it back?”

  “He should give back the London Technologies software, plus the documents and any copies he made of those things.”

  Flavia nodded. “He’ll do that too. Anything else? Wasn’t there another case? The big one? I’m not a lawyer, but my husband was a lawyer and he settled cases when his clients did wrong. Can’t Nicky settle that case?”

  “Flavia, really?” Mary had an obligation to London Technologies to answer, but she felt as if she were bargaining over John’s body. “Yes, he should negotiate a reasonable settlement with London Technologies because he just admitted that his companies did everything we alleged, and if he does that, we will end the litigation.”

  Flavia nodded again. “He’ll settle then, too. How much do you want?”

  “Flavia, are you brokering this deal now? I can’t begin to answer that because I don’t know. It would be up to my partners, Bennie and Anne.”

  Machiavelli grimaced. “Ma, no, wait, there’s millions at stake—”

  “So what?” Flavia whipped her head around to her son. “Nicky, you have enough money. You have plenty of money, more than you can spend in twenty lifetimes! How much do you need? What’s the matter with you? I raised you better than that! Stop it, stop it right now
!”

  “But Ma—”

  “Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare say anything except, ‘I’ll do it.’”

  Machiavelli sighed theatrically. “Okay, whatever, I’ll do it.”

  Flavia raised an arthritic index finger. “And you’ll pay what they want.”

  “I’ll negotiate. She said negotiate.”

  Mary leaned forward, looking Machiavelli directly in the eye. “Hold on, let’s be clear. You’re not agreeing to this because your mother is making you. You’re agreeing to this because I got you. You’re not doing me a favor, I’m doing you one. Me and my partners found out what you were doing, and we can prove everything we say in court. We could have you disbarred after what we found out about the antidiscrimination lawsuit. And we would win London Technologies, especially with Paul Patrioca’s testimony. So you’re not giving me anything that I didn’t earn. Your giving it to me because in the end, I’ll get it anyway, and then some. And that’s the power of the law.”

  “Whatever.” Machiavelli shrugged, but Mary knew it bothered him.

  “And finally, your alleged ancestor, the real Niccolò Machiavelli, said it’s better to be feared than loved. But let me tell you something. It isn’t. Your mother is isolated in this neighborhood because everybody is afraid of you.” Mary pointed at Flavia, whose face fell. “She lives her days alone in this big house, listening to the Patriocas through a wall. She doesn’t have any friends because of you. She doesn’t even have any neighbors because of you. Neither do you, but maybe you don’t notice it or don’t care. But with her, you care. I know you care.”

  Machiavelli blinked, his expression darkening just the slightest, and Mary got the impression that he was listening.

  “Today, all that changed for her. She’s joining the Rosary Society. They’re going to give her another chance, and you know why? Because love is better than fear.” Mary felt her heart lift, unaccountably. “This whole neighborhood is full of love, everywhere. And love is what gives you a second chance. They’re willing to give her a second chance, and she’s going to take it. If you ask me, you should too. This neighborhood, these people, even me, all of us will forgive you, but you have to change. You just have to change.”

  “Right!” Flavia chimed in, frowning at her son. “Nicky, everything Mary said is true, and this thing you have with her has to stop, here and now. You have to get over her. You lost your chance. She married Anthony. She’s having a baby. You don’t get everything you want. Only babies do. Capisce?”

  “Yes.” Machiavelli nodded, avoiding Mary’s eye.

  “Now, Nicky, say you’re sorry to her.”

  “I’m sorry, Mary.”

  Mary felt her chest tighten, reaching her limit. “I’m not accepting your apology. You can’t say you’re sorry for murder.”

  “Mary, give it up!” Machiavelli threw up his manicured hands. “I didn’t kill him, and you can’t prove I did. You have no evidence.”

  “I have a video!” Mary blurted out, raising her voice. She hoped she could parlay it into something more. Maybe she could trick him into confessing. “It shows Stretch leaving the apartment by the fire escape. Or you!”

  “It can’t! I wasn’t there and neither was he! Where’s the video? At the office? I want to see it!”

  “No, right here!” Mary got her phone, scrolled to the text, and set it on the table, playing the video. She knew it wouldn’t deliver, and the very thought made her want to throw up. Machiavelli leaned over to get close to the phone, and Flavia adjusted her glasses. They all watched the video in silence until the end, when the shadowy silhouette climbed out of the window and vanished.

  “Ha!” Machiavelli laughed, cruelly. “Mary, that doesn’t show anything. That could be anybody. It could even be a woman. You can’t tell anything from that.”

  “Mary, he’s right.” Flavia eased back into her chair, troubled. “I don’t understand. Is this why you think it’s Stretch? It’s just a shadow. You can’t see a face.”

  “Flavia, it’s Stretch, I know it is, I just can’t prove it. I know they did it, and you’re in denial because it’s Nicky.” Mary began to feel nauseated, but she didn’t know if it was physical, emotional or both. She put her hand on her belly, but the baby wasn’t moving.

  “Let me see that again.” Machiavelli picked up Mary’s phone, watching the video closer. “There’s nothing here. It really could be anybody.”

  “No, it’s Stretch.” Mary wiped her brow, newly damp.

  “Wait. Look, Mary.” Machiavelli pointed excitedly, freezing the video, enlarging it even further, and showing her the screen. “See that bump, on the killer’s left wrist? Maybe it’s a woman, wearing bracelets, with, like a pendant or a charm. It could be a woman in pants.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Mary tried to focus on the video, and since it was enlarged, she saw what Machiavelli meant. There was a small bump on the shadow’s left wrist, visible only when the killer opened the window and his sleeve rode up.

  “Or it could be a man with a big watch, who wears it loose. A man’s watch, but oversized—”

  “Like Nicky’s.” Flavia pulled up her son’s sleeve to reveal a clunky stainless-steel watch. “I gave him this watch, but lots of men have them. The murderer could be a man with a big watch like Nicky’s.”

  “My Panerai?” Nicky said, with a note of pride. “I love this watch. It’s a real diver’s watch, designed for the Italian Navy. I don’t wear it loose, but maybe the killer did. He could’ve been wearing another type of big watch.”

  “You did it, not Stretch! It was you!” Suddenly Mary felt terrible. She didn’t know what was wrong with her, then she felt a rush of warmth in her underwear.

  “Mary?” Flavia squeezed her arm. “You’re so pale. What’s the matter?”

  “Um, I think I need to go to the doctor.” Mary rose, nervous.

  “Nicky, get her to your car!”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  “Is the baby okay?” Mary asked, her heart in her throat. She lay on the examining table in the examining room, holding her breath while Dr. Foster read a long continuous paper graph inching out of a fetal monitor machine, which sat next to the examining table on a rolling cart. A plastic fetal heart rate monitor and a contraction sensor had been taped to Mary’s belly, as soon as she had gotten to the office.

  “The baby is fine.” Dr. Foster smiled, looking up from the tape. Her heavy black glasses slipped down her nose, and her pearl earrings matched her long, white coat. “The heartbeat is normal and steady.”

  “Thank God!” Mary felt tears come to her eyes, but held them back.

  “You had a scare, but it’s over now.” Dr. Foster came to Mary’s side, letting the monitor tape drop.

  “But the baby hasn’t been kicking for, like, a day and a half.”

  “I know, you told me, and that can be worrisome. It doesn’t always mean something.”

  “But the spotting? This is the second time.”

  “Again, I’m not overly worried, but I think it’s time for you to go on restricted activity, for two weeks. Stay home, off your feet for a week. Then check back with me.”

  “You think?” Mary couldn’t process it fast enough.

  “Yes, I know your job is important to you. But I play it safe, always do. You told me how active your day was yesterday and today. I’m hearing that you’re very busy.” Dr. Foster frowned. “I even saw you on TV the other day, in the middle of a mob scene. It was all I could do not to text you.”

  “What you saw was a protest after a memorial service. A friend of mine was murdered. It’s just been such a busy time, and everything is so important.”

  “My condolences.” Dr. Foster nodded gravely. “And believe me, I understand that you have a lot of things to juggle, all important. Welcome to motherhood.”

  Mary managed to smile, wiping her eyes.

  “But that doesn’t change my orders. Please stay home for two full weeks. Then call me and come back in. We’ll see where we
stand.” Dr. Foster smiled in a professional way. “You’re going to be here for a few hours. I want a full reading, so we have a complete picture. So rest now, and we’ll keep monitoring the baby. After you leave today, go directly home to bed. I’ll have the receptionist tell your friend that you’ll be awhile longer.”

  “My friend?” Mary hadn’t called Judy or Anthony in Boston, because she didn’t want to alarm them until she knew what was going on.

  “Your colleague. The guy in the waiting room.”

  “He’s here?” Mary hadn’t thought that Machiavelli would wait. He’d dropped her off at the doctor’s office, parking his big Mercedes-Benz illegally. They hadn’t spoken on the way here, since she’d been disgusted to be in such close quarters with him. “He’s not my friend. In fact, he’s my enemy.”

  “Really?” Dr. Foster gave her a final pat on the arm. “He’s pretty worried about you, for an enemy. He’s already asked the receptionist about you twice. With enemies like that, who needs friends?”

  Mary managed a smile, because she couldn’t say, oh yes, he’s a prince of a murderer. “Dr. Foster, would you do me a favor? Could your receptionist tell him to leave? I can get a cab home.”

  “Are you sure?” Dr. Foster checked her watch. “It’s the end of the day, rush hour. You might not get a cab so easily.”

  “I’ll be fine. He’s the last person I want to see right now.” Mary hadn’t had a choice on the way here, but she sure as hell had a choice on the way home.

  “Okay, I’ll tell her.” Dr. Foster nodded. “I’m going to leave you for a while. I’ll come back later to check on you.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  “Be back in a bit.” Dr. Foster left the examining room, and Mary took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. She rested her head back on the crinkly paper, keeping an eye on the spiky graph as the tape kept ticking out of the monitor. The razor-thin black line remained basically flat until it peaked like a tiny mountain range, and she saw that it came at regular intervals, a sight that eased her to her marrow. She sent up a prayer of thanks, that the baby was still okay.

  Mary’s attention stayed glued to the graph paper, and suddenly she felt drained and exhausted. She had been so active lately, too active, even if she hadn’t been pregnant, and she felt it catch up with her, as she lay there. She looked away from the monitor, so she wouldn’t obsess, and scanned the mint-green walls, the pretty floral watercolors, and the inspirational poster. I SET MY WORRIES ASIDE AND LET MY BODY DO ITS JOB.