Dead Lies (11 page)

“I mean, Serena and Bill were the most normal people in the world,” Tim continued. “How could the two of them have any enemies? It’s inconceivable. I just keep thinking that somehow this is all going to turn out to be a mistake.”

Web could only shake his head in agreement.

Danny had poured some ketchup onto his plate and was now stuffing a small handful of French fries into his mouth. Physically, he couldn’t have been more different than Tim. He’d been overweight as a child, and even though he’d lost most of his baby fat by the time he turned 14, he’d struggled to maintain a healthy weight ever since, putting in long hours at the gym for a few weeks at a time then letting the membership languish. He’d had more ups and downs on the scale than Oprah.

“You okay, Danny?” Tim said as Danny continued to gobble fries, shooting Web a look.

“No, I’m not,” Danny said sharply. He picked up his hamburger and took a large bite, chewing quickly and furiously. He turned to Web and, with his mouth full, said, “I don’t mean to sound callous, Web, but this is all a little too much to take in right now.” He swallowed and took another bite, continuing to talk while he chewed. “I mean, I was just getting used to the idea that Serena was…”

Dead,
Web silently finished for him. “Me, too,” he said.

The friends sat silently pondering that thought while Danny continued to wolf down his burger and fries, washing it all down with gulps of beer. Web tried a few bites of cheeseburger while Tim absently twisted his paper napkin in his hands.

Just as Danny pushed away his empty plate with a scrape, Web heard the door jingle again. He looked up and saw Danny’s wife Tanya walk in.

“Tanya’s here,” Web said, hoping his disappointment didn’t show.

But Danny hadn’t noticed. He’d turned around to wave to his wife. “She said she’d drop by after her errands,” he said as Tanya approached.

Web shot Tim a look, and Tim surreptitiously rolled his eyes at him, as if to say, “Great, on top of the visit from the cops, now
Tanya
has to show up?” The two men shared a longtime mutual dislike for Tanya, who’d gotten pregnant when they were seniors in college—while Danny was dating Serena, in fact. They’d both tried hard to like her, but they’d never been able to shake the feeling she’d gotten knocked up deliberately once she learned Danny came from money. Web had temporarily put his disdain for Tanya on hold when their newborn son was deprived of oxygen during a difficult birth, but his compassion was short-lived. When Tanya popped out a second son—a healthy one—a year later, she went out and bought an expensive new wardrobe to fit her new, self-prescribed role as a rich, suburban wife. Too bad Danny couldn’t afford it. Tanya refused to return the clothes, so Danny’s father had paid the bill, and Tanya’s reputation as a gold digger had been sealed.

“Hi, Honey,” Danny said when Tanya reached them.

“Hi guys,” Tanya said, slipping into the empty spot next to Web. As usual, Tanya was wearing a bit too much makeup, and underneath her coat, Web could see the hint of a sweater studded with some kind of shiny beading around the collar. It was her usual look. She’d always loved flashy things. She seemed to think the amount of glitz one wore was directly proportionate to the amount of class a person had.

She turned to Web and looked into his eyes, her blond hair and green eyes a painful reminder of his beautiful sister, whose only real resemblance to Danny’s wife was their Nordic coloring. Elegant, stately, and born with a natural grace, Serena had totally outclassed Tanya—and Tanya knew it.

“How are you doing?” Tanya asked kindly, which made Web feel bad for silently dissing her. She was actually being sincere.

But before he had a chance to answer, her gaze slid away, as if she’d forgotten what she’d just asked him, and landed on the plates in front of her. Her eyes narrowed when they found Danny’s empty one.

Web sighed. He had been mentally cutting her slack, reminding himself that Tanya may have been a greedy gold digger but had turned out to be a good mother. She was devoted to all four of her children and especially to her eldest Casey, who struggled with learning disabilities. When it looked like the boy might have to be held back in third grade, Tanya went to bat for her son, pushing the school for the extra tutoring he would need to help him pass. When they resisted, citing budget and staffing constraints, Tanya got angry and consulted a lawyer. Facing a lawsuit, the school gave in. Casey got the help he needed and was able to advance from grade to grade at the same pace as his fellow classmates.

The same bull-dog determination that had won Tanya a rich husband had won her son a better education, too.

“I’m okay, thanks,” Web told Tanya, figuring he deserved her indifference. In spite of his admiration for her mothering skills, Tanya clearly sensed his real feelings and didn’t much seem to care what Web, or anyone else, thought. She may have been a social climber, but she was no dummy.

“Would you like something to eat?” he asked her politely.

“No, I just came to pick up Danny. Casey dropped me off,” she added. “We’ve got to go down to Tiffany’s to have my new ring sized, and they close at six.” She smiled brightly. “I can’t wait to wear it!” Then she frowned, as if realizing it was inappropriate for her to be happy at a time like this.

Web hadn’t seen the ring, but he’d heard about it from Tim, who had laughingly likened it to the kind of bauble only a guilty man gives his wife.

“Well, I guess that’s my cue,” Danny said, giving his mouth a final wipe with his napkin. He threw the napkin onto his empty plate and slid out of the booth, and Tanya rose with him.

“I appreciate everything you’ve done…” Web started to say to his friend as Danny slipped on his coat.

Danny cut him off. “Don’t say another word. You’re one of my best friends. I’d do anything for you.” He leaned down and gave Web a one-armed man hug with a couple of pats on the back for good measure. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

Danny turned to Tim, who was sitting next to Web on the inside of the booth. “You’ll take him home, right?”

Tim put on his game face. “No, I’m going to drive him over to the Meadowlands, drop him off, and let him make his own way,” Tim said casually. “It’s only about twenty miles and twenty below. He’ll be fine.”

Web laughed and beer from the sip he’d just taken spurted out of his mouth and hit Tim’s arm. Tim casually wiped the offending droplets away with a cocktail napkin, which he balled up and threw at Web.

The moment of levity was exactly what Web needed. It seemed to dissolve the dark fog the cops had ushered in earlier.

After Danny and Tanya left, Tim uttered a low whistle and said, “Wow. Did you see that?”

“What?”

“Danny’s eating. The guy was on a tear!”

“Good thing Tanya didn’t catch him in the act,” Web responded ruefully. She was always monitoring what Danny ate and openly criticized his weight. It drove Web and Tim crazy, even though their friend didn’t seem to mind.

“Yeah, she’s probably chewing him out right now for finishing his meal,” Tim said with a grin. “The look she gave when she saw his plate was deadly!” He grew serious again. “You okay, Buddy?” he probed. “Face stuffing aside, Danny’s reaction was a little strange before.”

Web waved him away. “He’s just upset by what the detectives said. It’s impossible for any of us to think Serena and Bill could have done something to… to… bring all of this on.” A strange sensation arose in his belly, and he caught Tim’s gaze and held it. He voiced an earlier thought. “Do you think Justine could have had something to do with this?”

Tim’s response was immediate and adamant. “No way,” he said, putting up his hands. “She may be a little nutty, but she’s not a lunatic.”

Web nodded gratefully. “That’s what I thought,” he said, though he wasn’t exactly sure he believed it. But he decided to let it go, thinking that he’d try to get a good night’s sleep and decide whether or not to tell the police about Justine in the morning. After a moment, he said, “You know, Danny’s right. This has all been a little too much.”

“Do you want to talk?”

“No, I need time for everything to sink in.”

Tim nodded. “When you’re ready, I’m here.”

“Thanks.”

After a moment, Tim asked, “Think you’ll come watch the game with us on Sunday?” The three friends were huge Jets fans, and their team was playing their last game of the season on New Year’s Eve. They’d been planning to watch at Danny’s house, on his flat-screen the size of an eighteen wheeler’s windshield.

“Maybe,” Web said, perking up a little. “I might need the distraction.” He looked at his watch and felt an urge to go home. “I should get back and see how my family is doing.”

“Okay, let’s get out of here.” Tim pulled some cash out of his wallet and left it on the table for a tip.

Big feathery snowflakes were falling when the two friends left the bar. It was extremely cold but the wind had died down, and the air smelled fresh and clean. The streets, the sidewalks, the cars…everything was covered in a gentle dusting of white powder. With the strings of Christmas lights festooning the trees and the ropes of greenery and red velvet ribbons tied around each lamppost, Web felt like he’d stepped into the middle of a Currier & Ives painting.

He raised his head toward the sky and wished hard that heaven actually existed. Because if it did, Serena would be up there now, whole, beautiful as ever, and at peace. He closed his eyes and imagined her floating in the clouds, looking down lovingly at him, reassuring him that everything was all right and that she would see him again one day.

Then the image shifted, and the picture wasn’t so comforting. Serena was holding her hands in a prayer position, pleading with him with her eyes, moving her lips as she tried again to relay her final message. He struggled to decipher it, asking the same God he’d rejected as a teenager for help, but when the toe of his boot hit a patch of ice beneath the snow, the apparition dissolved. He caught himself before he stumbled and chided himself for being foolish. Serena was dead, soon to be in the ground, and now was not the time to find religion.

Keeping his eyes on the sidewalk so he wouldn’t lose his footing again, Web pulled his coat tighter, took another mighty breath of cold December air and resolved to get back to the earthly business of grieving.

CHAPTER 12

T
HE HELICOPTER TOUCHED DOWN WITHOUT A BUMP ONTO THE SMALL
landing pad on the edge of Manhattan’s East River, just north of the 59
th
Street Bridge. When the whirring of the blades died down and the pilot opened the passenger door, Gordon McGrower stepped onto the pavement, his black cashmere coat buffering him from the needling December wind. It was just the day after Christmas, but the small bit of holiday joy he’d experienced yesterday was gone now. His eyes narrowed to slits against the dust and bits of gravel kicking up around him, and he pulled his fedora down tighter over the thick mane of chestnut brown hair the New York society columnists inevitably gushed about when they mentioned him in their pages. He knew they did this because it was the one feature they could compliment honestly. The truth was he was an ugly man. His mother had made that clear when he was growing up by relentlessly picking apart his features like a French chef expertly de-boning a chicken.

But she’d been right. His onyx-colored eyes were set too close together, making him look both angry and shifty, even when he was feeling good. His lips were too large and had a rubbery appearance, much like a blowfish swimming toward you in an aquarium. Like a warlock from the Hogwarts School, his beakish nose was not only slightly hooked but dotted with a mole at the tip, just right of center. And to top it off his skin bore pockmark scars from a bad case of teenage acne.

While his looks had been a constant source of humiliation when he was young, McGrower didn’t much care anymore what people thought. In New York City, money was what made you powerful, and he had more of the green stuff that one man could spend in two lifetimes.

He watched his assistant Melinda approach from across the tarmac, wearing a tight navy blue suit that showed off her slim waist and hips, not the least of her many appealing physical attributes. She pressed her skirt with one hand to keep it from blowing up, a modesty he found pointless, since he’d already seen her naked. She wasn’t wearing a coat but didn’t seem affected by the cold.

Behind Melinda stood his brand-new Maybach. It was a spectacular car with customized interior lighting and a concert hall-quality sound system, and it had cost him half a million bucks. “Welcome back, sir,” said the young woman as she reached inside the chopper and pulled out his briefcase, taking care not to scrape the hand-sewn calfskin against the rough metal floor.

McGrower didn’t respond. She knew not to expect a greeting, just as she knew her boss never carried his own briefcase.

He strode to the limo, ignoring the black uniformed driver who tipped his hat and held the door for him. McGrower climbed inside, and Melinda slipped into the back seat with him, choosing to sit opposite him rather than facing forward, which he knew she preferred. That was curious. The door closed shut behind them, enveloping them in a luxurious leather cocoon.

“How did the deal go, sir?” Melinda said, looking nervous as she fumbled with the small lead crystal decanter she was pulling from a hidden compartment on the door. She got a grip on the container and poured a finger of scotch into one of the glasses in the cup holder. She replaced the egg-shaped lid of the decanter with a clink and put it back in its berth. When she leaned over to hand him the drink, he caught a whiff of her perfume, a light musky scent that caused a stir under his Ermengildo Zegna trousers.

McGrower smiled, revealing the fang on the right side of his upper teeth that he knew made him look vaguely like a shark. This morning in Atlantic City he’d closed another deal that would net him a one-hundred-million-dollar profit when he re-sold it to the Saudis in a year. Yes, the deal had gone well, indeed, he thought with satisfaction. Maybe later he’d show her how well.

“Here are your papers, sir,” said Melinda, handing him the drink as well as copies of both
The Bergen County Examiner
and the
Avondale News,
two of the local New Jersey rags serving the area around the town of Deerwood, where he was building his latest apartment complex. The project, due to break ground on January 9, had met with resistance from residents in the neighboring community of Avondale, who felt that the new development would bring down the property values of the private homes surrounding it. Currently their complaints were being heard by both sets of town officials.

But Gordon McGrower knew there was no chance they would actually succeed in halting the project. They were a lot like peasants storming the palace gates, hungry and loud but ultimately ineffectual. That’s just the way it was when people like them went up against a person like him, someone with a lot of influence and practically unlimited resources. Besides, he’d already greased the necessary palms and wouldn’t be averse to using a little physical persuasion if that, too, became necessary. Over the years he’d found it not only useful but essential to exercise every one of his business muscles. The hard truth was that big business was a contact sport, and the strategy was to get them before they got you.

Gordon McGrower was
very
good at the game.

As the Maybach snaked through the streets toward lower Manhattan, McGrower figured that he had about ten minutes to flip through the two newspapers before they reached his TriBeCa duplex. He was planning to have an early dinner with his wife and daughter. Today was his 52
nd
birthday, and he wanted to celebrate it quietly at home.

But he never got past the front page of the
Examiner
, whose front-page headline screamed at him as he unfolded the bulky paper onto his lap: “Double Murder Rocks Avondale.” He scanned the first few paragraphs of the story, growing more uneasy with each sentence. But it was the large color picture of the murdered couple that troubled him most. The female face looking out from the photo was the one belonging to the gorgeous blond who’d come to the office three weeks ago and pleaded for a meeting.

She’d had balls, that one. Though the receptionist had turned her away, the woman had been so insistent about seeing him that she had finally agreed to pass along a message concerning the purpose of her visit. The message was cryptic, but it had triggered a flutter in the back of his brain, and he’d been sufficiently intrigued to give the woman five minutes of his time. When Melinda had ushered her into his private corner office and he’d gotten a good look at her, he knew exactly who she was and why she was there. The realization had disarmed him, and Gordon McGrower was not a man easily caught off balance.

He looked at Melinda and saw fear in her eyes. No doubt she’d recognized the face in the photo. But would she go to the police? If she did, that would most certainly mean the cops would come calling. And while he had a team of lawyers to protect him from all sorts of inconveniences like these, as well as plenty of well-placed friends who’d welcome the chance to do a favor for New York City’s top real estate man, attention from the cops was never a good thing.

He decided to give Melinda the benefit of the doubt. She’d proven to be an outstanding assistant overall, attractive as well as discreet. But clearly something had to be done. He pulled out his cell phone and hit #3 on speed dial. The call connected.

“Ivan,” he said to his head of security, a man who’d spent eight years in a Siberian prison and had a missing left ear to show for it. He’d spent another three in a Maximum security facility in the U.S. before McGrower hired him and he’d gone legit. “I need to see you immediately. Meet me in my office in twenty minutes.”

“Ya, boss,” Ivan said before clicking off. His security chief was never one for words, which was fine because Ivan had other, more valuable skills.

McGrower looked at his watch. It was now almost 6:00. Dinner, it seemed, was going to have to wait.