Facade (10 page)

“D
on't say anything, Budge. My brother's a lawyer. He'll get us out of this,” Iris hissed under her breath.

“No talking, you two! Ms. Reid, stand over there,” Malone pointed to a spot on the gravel driveway. “You can put your hands down. Russo, get those keys. Use the gloves.”

Malone approached the dirty garage window and cupped his hands to see inside.

“Ms. Reid,” he said turning to face her, “you continue to turn up in interesting places.”

“I'm teaching nearby.” She waved in the direction of GSD. “Actually, I've got to get going right now. I have to get ready for my afternoon class.”

“Not so fast. We'll be needing some answers from you.” Malone pivoted to Budge. “And you, sir. Can I see some form of I.D. please?”

Budge reached into his pocket and surgically opened his wallet to display his press pass.

Malone looked at him sharply. “The reporter on the Lara Kurjak story.”

“Yes, sir,” Budge answered.

Russo returned with the small ring of keys and fitted one into the padlock that secured the garage doors. The lock clicked, and hung, open-jawed from its hasp.

He swung the large doors open and light flooded the space. Through the cloud of fine dust, Iris saw a van with a dented back fender. As she moved closer, she could see that the van was blue. She and Budge drew sharp breaths at the same time. The license plate matched the number Jasna's neighbor had recited.

“What is it?” Malone looked from them to the license plate and back.

Iris' mind raced. The police found these keys in Xander's house. This van took Lara away.

Iris had a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach. Had she befriended a kidnapping pedophile?

Russo circled the vehicle looking inside its windows, then shook his head in the negative. Malone murmered into his phone: “We need a Crime Scene team down here at 8 Howland St. Also, clear two interview rooms. I'm bringing some people back with us.”

*                          *                        *

Two hours later, Iris stalked out of Cambridge Police Headquarters.

Her brother, Sterling, raised both palms in surrender. “You do realize that you've all three obstructed justice in a kidnapping case, don't you? Your student knew what really happened to Lara for five whole days and didn't tell the police. The cops thought the girl might have run away. They could have been following leads. They canvassed the wrong neighborhood. God only knows what this kid may have gone through in those five days.”

“Stop it! I know I made a misjudgment. Jasna came to me, terrified. I tried to help her without getting her into trouble. Now things are even more messed up.” She slumped onto the curb and put her head in her hands.

“It was only four months ago that I had to get you out of this same Police Station on a murder charge. Do you think I wait around my office all day for my sister's phone calls from jail? You're always doing this—trying to save some lost cause and making things worse. I remember that time you were in fourth grade...”

Iris emitted muffled sobs.

“Stop crying,” he said as he passed her one of the starched pocket squares he always sported in the breast pocket of his impeccable suits. He helped her to her feet.

“Now Jasna might be sent to jail,” Iris said. “At the least she'll be a target for the father's Bosnian cronies, and get her student visa revoked. Why did you have to tell the police her name?”

“Your reporter friend didn't leave me much choice. He had the
Globe's
attorney down here before I could even back my car out of my downtown parking lot. His attorney offered up everything but the girl's name in order to get his client off the hook. All I had left to work with was her identity.”

“Sterling, please help her. Can't you get her immunity if she tells them the whole story?”

“At this point she'll get jail time if she doesn't tell them the whole story. And you'd be sitting in a holding cell now if I hadn't told them her name.”

“Won't you represent her? Please, Sterling. I'll pay you.”

“You can't afford me.”

“Let me call her cell phone and reassure her that you'll meet her here. I'll warn her not to say anything. The police probably haven't reached her apartment yet.”

Sterling stood stock still for a minute looking pained. “Why is Harvard hiring kidnappers as professors? We never had this problem at Yale.”

I
ris trudged up Arlington St. from the Porter Square T, fighting the urge to stop at the Paradise Café to talk to Luc on the way. His betrayal coiled in the pit of her stomach. She rang Ellie's doorbell, praying her friend was home.

As soon as she saw Ellie's face in the door glass, a tear dribbled down Iris' cheek.

“He's married.” Iris said when the door opened, then headed down the hall toward the kitchen at the back of Ellie's Victorian house.

“What? Who?” Ellie scurried after her.

“Luc. He's married,” Iris said, dropping into a stool at the island and wiping away the tear.

Ellie drew back and stared at Iris. “No, he's not. Who told you that?”

“We were in the café talking. Allegra came out of the kitchen and told him he had a phone call. From his wife!”

“You know how bad Allegra's English is. She probably meant his mother.”

“No. He didn't contradict her.”

“What happened next?” Ellie eased into the stool next to her.

“He didn't look at me—just rushed off to answer the phone, so I got up and left.” Iris rubbed the bruise on her thigh caused by her awkward exit.

Ellie opened her mouth, then closed it. Finally she said “Have you had lunch? I'll make us some sandwiches and we'll figure this out.”

“I couldn't possibly eat. I'm too upset.”

“There's got to be some other explanation. You and Luc have been practically living together. How could he be hiding a wife?”

“I must be so stupid.” Iris dropped her head into her hands. “There's more.” She filled Ellie in on Jasna's story.

“Jeez. Why didn't she go to the police? Why is she dragging you into it?”

Iris told Ellie about Jasna's fears and about how their attempts to track down the kidnapper's van ended in a trip to Police Headquarters and an emergency call to Sterling.

“How can you possibly pack that much drama into one day, Iris? Your life is like that TV show, '24.' Let me get my head around this. Xander might be involved with the kidnapping? Maybe we shouldn't jump to conclusions. Who knows how many garage keys the professor on sabbatical gave out to neighbors. If Xander were a pedophile wouldn't this have come out before? He's a public figure.”

Iris wandered over to the freezer and returned with a pint of Toscanini's Burnt Caramel ice cream and two spoons.

“Wait a minute—you saw Xander on the night she was taken, didn't you?” Ellie asked, grabbing a spoon.

“I saw him at nine that night. But the police gave out a mistaken time because they didn't know the girl had been taken from Jasna's house an hour later.”

“That was pretty critical information for Jasna to hold back. She might have kept the police from finding Lara while the trail was hot.”

“I know, and now she's in a lot of trouble. Jasna and I were trying to track down Lara ourselves so she wouldn't be implicated. At least I convinced Sterling to represent her and to try to work something out with the police.”

“This is a big deal, Iris.” Ellie's eyes were serious. “Xander is a god in the architecture world. The trail you discovered has led the police to Xander and now Budge is going to splash the story all over Boston. Then the international papers will pick it up. If he really took Lara, then maybe the police can get him to say where she is now. But if he isn't involved, Xander's reputation will be destroyed.”

Iris looked at her miserably. “I know. People's lives might be ruined and I feel responsible. Jasna came to me last night. Now, thanks to my brilliant 'help' she might get thrown in jail, and I've given a reporter ammunition that could ruin Xander's life. I still can't believe he's guilty. He didn't seem like a guy getting ready to go kidnap a twelve year old girl.”

“The police can't arrest him just because he has a connection to the van. And Sterling's a shark, Iris. If anyone can help Jasna, he can.”

Iris nodded. “That's my big brother—the shark you want swimming out in front of you in dangerous waters.”

“As for Xander, I doubt that Budge will risk printing anything libelous.”

“Just laying out the facts will sound incriminating enough.”

Ellie smiled wanly. “There's one ray of sunshine. Luc won't be jealous of Xander after the
Globe
story comes out.”

“U
h, huh. Uh, huh.” Russo held the phone loosely in his hand and stared at a tiny brown stain on the corner of an acoustical tile above his desk. It seemed to be spreading but he couldn't be sure. “Did you give copies of your garage key to anyone else, Professor Kunstler? ... Okay. By any chance, did you happen to keep track of how many miles were on the vehicle before you left in September? Really? And the inspection report is in the glove compartment? … Got it— two trips to Star market after that. The Porter Square Star Market or the Beacon St. one? Okay. This is very helpful.”

Malone poked his head into the cubicle, then leaned against a low partition to wait, arms folded.

“No, no. There's nothing wrong with the van,” Russo continued. “There was a car stolen in your neighborhood. Kids going for a joy-ride. Would you do me a favor, professor? Would you please not mention our conversation to Professor DeWitt? No need to worry him. Thank you for your time. Bye now.”

Russo digested the information. “We may be getting somewhere. I'll check the odometer, then see if I can get Crime Scene to send over the contents of the glove compartment, after they're done fingerprinting.”

“Sounds like you're making some headway,” Malone said. “Maybe I can light a fire under the goddamn Crime Lab to analyze the crud we got off DeWitt's boots and the van's tire treads. We've got to make up time since this idiot woman sat on the real kidnapping story for five days! What kind of a moron does that? Where is she, anyway?”

“Jackson and Lee went to her apartment to pick her up.” Russo unwrapped a stick of gum and popped it into his mouth. “At least the Reid woman led us to the vehicle. Do you still want me to track down that 'Crazy-dog' guy who works in DeWitt's Amsterdam office?”

“Absolutely. We need to interview everyone who knows anything about the professor.”

“Let me call their office manager again. She never returned my call. Meanwhile, are we going to let DeWitt stay free-range? No grabbing his phone or computer based on his lying about the van?”

“Foster's got eyes on him. We need him to lead us to the girl.”

I
ris felt a bit more settled after leaving Ellie's. They had gotten through to her brother Sterling and, while he couldn't reassure them about Jasna's fate, it sounded like he was giving the case his full attention.

Iris walked up the hill to her own home to find Sheba waiting for her with an accusing look. The dog waddled over to her water bowl and stuck a paw in the bone-dry interior.

“Sorry, Shebz. I'm screwing up on all fronts today.” Iris filled the bowl and gave the basset-hound a rolled-up chicken treat. Sheba took it indifferently from Iris' hand and walked around the corner to the office rug. For her own treat Iris tamped down a scoop of rich espresso into a sleek stainless steel pot, added water, and set it on the stove to heat. After waiting through a few moments of hissing and steam she poured the aromatic liquid into an all-black Wedgewood cup and headed into her office in the house's turreted corner room.

I need to do something productive today.
She sat at her computer desk intending to check e-mails but her eyes drifted to her inspiration board on the wall behind the monitor. On it were tacked images that gave her pleasure— a museum in Verona by Carlo Scarpa, a light installation by James Turrell, a photograph of the Alhambra in Granada that she had taken at dusk . While nothing from these images moved directly into her designs, she believed that they influenced her in deeper ways, helping her to move conceptually beyond mere problem solving. Her first sketches of the Mt. Auburn Street townhouse project were pinned along one edge of the board. Her final design had neatly captured those early ideas, and melded the functional program and sculptural shapes to the unique qualities of the site.

Along one side wall hung a five foot tall mahogany sculpture that she had made in college. It resembled a set of abstract ubdulating wings. She had spent weeks sanding and oiling its surface until it seemed to glow from within. Years later, she still loved to run her hands over it.

Iris moved toward the large desk she had built, with a center section that flipped up into a drafting surface. She sat down to work on the electrical drawings for the townhouse and was soon absorbed in a world of technical problems to be solved.

It was hours later when she heard ringing from a long way off. She had to refocus her eyes to find her office phone.

She almost didn't recognize his voice at first, but then her heart started racing wildly.

Xander spoke with urgency: “Iris, I need to meet with you.”