Flightfall (3 page)

“What did you think?” Toronto asked me as the three of us drove away from the site.

“I think he was telling the truth.”

“Me, too.”

“He was acting a little squirrelly though at the end. Be interesting to see what else he has to say.”

“Very interesting,” Toronto said. We had made arrangements to meet Wylie over his lunch hour at a deli in town. It used to be a fancier restaurant and was the kind of place that served fresh sandwiches and had deep booths where you could sit and have a private conversation.

“Wylie was your prime suspect?” Nicole asked.

“Yeah.”

“But you said you had more than one.”

“Right. Next, we’re going to talk to my former client.”

“You mean the one who owns the land where Jazzy was shot?”

“Right.”

“You think he could be our shooter?”

“Unlikely. But one of his ex-employees is a good bet. Dr. Clayton hired me to get rid of the joker about three months ago.”

Toronto’s former client, Dr. Ricardo Clayton was a former practicing physician, famous for his appearances and infomercials on TV about self-healing and nutrition. His books and DVDs had sold in the gazillions and he even had his own cable network, where he headlined the marquee show with his stunning wife, filling the rest of the programming with infomercials for vitamins, herbals, and other healthcare products. His net worth must have easily been in the hundreds of millions. I’d heard Clayton had moved to the region a couple years before.

“What did this employee do that made the doctor hire you to get rid of him?”

“Not he, she. The woman worked for him as a chef. Hot tempered, and not too bad to look at either. She was really upset with Clayton over some things he’d done to her, and Clayton was afraid she might try to poison his food or something.”

“That hot-tempered, huh?”

“She could be.”

“Why didn’t Clayton just fire her then?”

“It’s complicated. To tell you the truth, I think he was afraid of her.”

“So he hired you to take the heat.”

“My specialty.”

We rode on in silence for a minute or two. Then Nicole said, “This what you do now, Jake, strong-arm people for a living?”

I felt her eyes on both of us. “Once in a blue moon,” Toronto said. “If the price is right. Pays the bills.”

“Doesn’t exactly fit, you know, the back-to nature image.”

“Uh-huh.”

We were winding down a grade above a fast-flowing stream. The sky was bluer today, with cotton-ball clouds, and the air was less humid. The reprieve was only temporary, however. The weather people had predicted a typical summer afternoon buildup of heat with a chance of thunderstorms. A great day to be anywhere but here. Like at the beach.

We steered into another curve.

“So what are we hoping to learn from Dr. Clayton, then?” I asked.

“The chef didn’t exactly leave me a forwarding address. I’ll bet Clayton’s sent her severance.”

“When was she fired?”

“Two, maybe three months ago.”

“She would have to be pretty peeved to take out your bird after all that time.”

“Unless she’s been planning it for a while... never should’ve let Jazzy get so far away from me, not this time of year anyway when we’re not even hunting. We were only doing some lure training. Never thought he’d rake out on me like that.”

“At least you had the transmitter on him. Otherwise, you might never have found him.”

“Yeah,” Nicole said. “But if Jake’s right, the telemetry could have been what the shooter used to zero in on him too.”

We all thought about that for a moment.

“Jesting hidden behind gravity,” I said.

“Huh?” Jake said.

“Nothing. Something I read once . . . Guy was talking about irony.”

“Whatever you say.” He took the next right. We followed a long fence line until we came to a dead end, and then turned right again.

“This isn’t the main entrance, is it?”

“No,” he said. “That’s about a half mile farther up the highway. But this is where we go in. Don’t worry. The security people all know me.”

We drove through a grove of birches, one or two of which sported closed circuit TV cameras. Around a curve we came to a guardhouse made of concrete and fieldstone beside an imposing wrought iron gate flanked by stone columns. We pulled up to the gate and Toronto rolled down his window. A man dressed in black wearing a headset came out. His face bore a wary look.

That changed when he saw it was Toronto. “Oh, it’s you, Mr.T.”

“Hey, Mike. Dr. Clayton home this morning?” “

“Sure is. He and the Missus went out riding earlier, but they never go for long. Ought to be back up to the house by now.”

“You mind announcing us?”

“All right. Who’re your friends?”

“Frank and Nicole Pavlicek. Private investigators from Charlottesville.”

“You here on business, Mr. T?”

“Always.” Toronto never fraternized with clients. It was a hard and fast rule with him.

The guard nodded, then wrote something on his clipboard before reaching down and turning a key in a console that caused the black metal gate to swing open. “Have a nice day,” he said.

“Mr. T?” I gave Toronto a look.

He rolled his eyes and we drove on through the open gate, winding our way into dark forest again. The trees here were giant oak with the occasional bush and pachysandra as ground cover. I spotted a few more cameras discreetly tucked into the foliage.

“The main house is straight ahead,” Toronto said. “We’ll be coming into the employee parking lot behind the kitchen. The stables are around the other side of the main house. So are the tennis court, swimming pool, and sauna... You’ll get to see the helipad though.”

“No self-respecting country manor should be without one,” I said.

We broke over a rise and the house appeared. It was stunning. Made of fieldstone like the guardhouse, with a slate roof and shutters painted a dark green. A stone terrace ran the length of the back of the structure, looking out on a lawn and a pond with a fountain.

A short man clad in tall boots approached as we pulled into the lot. His skin was tan. Black hair was beginning to gray around his temples, but otherwise he looked the picture of health. His mouth curved into a smile. He also had a royal air about him, one that only celebrity could bestow. I recognized him immediately as Ricardo Clayton.

The three of us stepped out of the Jeep. Toronto and Clayton shook hands.

“Jake Toronto,” Clayton smiled. “Come down from your lair to mingle with the commoners?”

“We all have to sometime, I guess,” Toronto said.

“How true.” He stepped back and clapped his hands as if delighted with his former employee, before regarding Nicole and me. “And who might your associates be? Private investigators, from what I understand.”

“This is Frank Pavlicek from Charlottesville and his daughter Nicole. Nicole works with her Dad.”

“Charming. A pleasure to meet both of you.”

He shook hands with the two of us as well. His grip was firm and radiated confidence, a practiced grip. He clasped my arm lightly with his opposite hand the way a politician might. I would have told him I’d seen him on television or that I enjoyed his books, except it wasn’t true. I’d never read any of the books and I wasn’t about to gush over a TV idol.

“Frank used to be my partner when I was a cop,” Toronto said.

“Ahhhh, I see... well what can I do for you people this fine day?”

“I came to ask you a favor.”

“A favor? Of course.”

A woman emerged from the back of the house. At first, she appeared much younger than Clayton, with unblemished skin and blond hair that swept down her back. As she came closer, small, telltale signs that the dermatologist’s laser couldn’t erase revealed she was probably closer to the doctor’s age. But she, too, looked radiant in her health. No casting director could have picked a better couple to advertise their natural health empire.

“Mr. Pavlicek. Ms. Pavlicek,” Dr. Clayton said. “I’d like you to meet Sylvia, my wife. Jake, I believe you two already know one another.”

The woman came forward. Like her husband, she was clad in riding boots and skintight pants as well, except that they more favorably displayed her willowy figure. A green windbreaker with an orange and black patch on one sleeve was draped around her shoulders. She slipped to the doctor’s side and he put his arm around her. Her eyes seemed to dissect me as I shook her hand.

“So you were saying about a favor?” Dr. Clayton looked at Toronto.

“Right. If you remember, I keep and raise falcons, birds of prey, and the like.”

“Yes, of course. Beautiful creatures. I gave you permission to hunt on our land. How has it been flying them on our mountain?”

“Great, thank you. Until yesterday morning, that is. Someone shot my peregrine falcon.”

“Someone shot your bird on our land?” The doctor let go of his wife and folded his arms.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Oh, what a shame,” Mrs. Clayton’s hand covered her mouth for a moment in surprise. “I’m terribly sorry. It must be a real loss for you.” Her accent was lightly British and her stare was fixed on Toronto.

“That’s awful,” Dr. Clayton said.

“At least I think he was shot. The worst part is, I couldn’t find any trace of him. He flew off on me. I was tracking him but then I lost him. I thought I heard the sound of a round being fired.”

Which wasn’t entirely true, of course. I looked at Toronto. One of the oldest detective tricks in the book was giving potential suspects false information, something they would have to act on in some way. Was Clayton a suspect? Did Toronto think he was still in contact with his former employee? Nicole and I made eye contact, but we remained stone-faced.

“No sign of the culprit either, then, I suppose,” the doctor said.

“Nothing. But I heard the shot just before I lost the telemetry signal. The three of us will be heading back up to the area first thing tomorrow morning. If we can find the dead bird, maybe we can come up with some evidence that will point us to the shooter.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Dr. Clayton asked. The physician seemed sincere. In spite of his money and celebrity and all, I already sort of liked the man. I supposed the millions who bought his books and watched him on TV liked him for the same reason: we all bought image. I wasn’t sure what Jake was up to yet, but I would find out soon enough.

“Your old chef, Maria Andros,” Toronto said. He had told me about her earlier. “She hasn’t come around here again, has she?”

“No. You don’t mean ... you don’t think Maria was involved in this, do you?”

“I don’t know. But I’m not exactly at the top of her dance card, if you know what I mean,” Toronto said.

“I know, but—”

“Have you been sending her any severance?”

“Of course, but that’s just about come to an end.”

“She’s still in the area then?”

“As far as I know. She’s moved, but not that far away. I think she works at the Homestead now.”

“You have her new address?”

“I do. I have it in my files in the study. Would you like me to get it for you?”

“That would be great, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course. It’ll only be a minute,” he said. “Sylvia, maybe you could see if these gentlemen would like something to drink?”

“That’s okay, Doc,” Jake said. “We’re fine.”

“All right then.” He disappeared into the house.

The mistress of the manor regarded us with calm eyes. “I feel terrible about your bird,” she said. “I can’t imagine why Maria would ever do such a thing.”

“I hope she didn’t,” Jake said. “But she was pretty angry with me when she left your employ.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Clayton said. “But not that angry.” She and Jake looked at one another for a few moments.

I shoved my hands in my pockets and leaned on the truck. “Did you know Maria Andros well, Mrs. Clayton?” I asked.

She tore her gaze from Toronto. “Maria? Oh, not that well. She only worked here for a few months.”

“How did you happen to hire her?”

“Ricardo sees to all the employees. I believe she was referred by an agency.”

“I understand she’s quite an attractive young woman.”

“Well, I . . . I suppose she is. That is if you—”

Sylvia Clayton stopped speaking and turned to look as her husband reappeared through the back door and strode toward us on the pavement. If she knew about the affair between her husband and Maria Andros, she wasn’t making it obvious. She seemed even more upset about what had happened to Jazzman than we did.

Dr. Clayton handed Toronto a business card with the information written on the back. “You know, Jake,” he said, “it occurs to me that if Ms. Andros was involved in any of this, she might be a threat to me or my family again. Do you think we need to reactivate our arrangement?”

“Not yet, sir,” Toronto said. “Why don’t you let us talk with her first.”

The doc seemed to think it over for a moment. “All right,” he said. “You’ve still got my cell phone number?”

Jake assured him that he did.

We said our good-byes all around and climbed back into the Jeep. The doctor slipped his arm around his wife again. They waved as they watched us drive away.

I waited until we had cleared the guardhouse before speaking.

“So what are we doing? Playing Agatha Christie here?”

Toronto smiled. “You might say that.”

“I didn’t come all the way over here to waste my time.”

“You’re right. No reason to be jerking your chain.”

“Why are you feeding a setup to Clayton and his wife, too. You think one of them wasted your bird?”

“Not exactly.” He lifted a hand off the wheel for a moment and scratched the back of his neck .

“Then what gives?”

He shifted in the seat. “You remember I told you this Maria had gotten into some difficulty with the Doctor and the Missus?”

“Right.” “Well, the specific difficulty had a lot more to do with the Doc than with his wife.”

“Okay.”

“He and the chef were having a fling.”

So much for TV image. But certainly not a shock. I hadn’t laid eyes yet on Maria Andros, but Sylvia Clayton, though beautiful, looked like she would give any man a run for his money.

“So why’d the doctor hire you then?” I asked.

“Because he wanted to break off the affair and the chef didn’t.”

“So he brings you in to find a reason to fire the chef.”

“Uh-huh . . . Plus maybe give the young lady a reason to forget about him.”

I looked across the seat at him. “What? Part of your job was to seduce her as well?”

He said nothing, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

“But I thought you said this Maria character hated you.”

He shrugged. “Love. Hate. Two sides of the same coin.”

Nicole sat up a little higher in her seat. “You slept with this woman, Jake?”

Toronto nodded.

“So you used her.”

“If you want to call it that. Look, I was hired to convince her to leave her employer peacefully. It was a job.”

“Some job,” she said.

“Why didn’t you tell us about this sooner?” I asked.

“I’m sorry, Frank. I should apologize to both of you. But I’ve developed a sudden case of doubt regarding Dr. Celebrity and I wanted to see what you thought without prejudice.”

“What I think is the guy could charm tax money out of a libertarian ... what I think is that he and his wife seem to be carrying on something of a show, and it makes me wonder what might be going on beneath the surface.”

He nodded. We were both silent for a minute. He had the air conditioning on and the windows rolled up, so looking out from our shade on the bright Virginia landscape was almost like staring into one of those glassed-in exhibits at the zoo.

“Now that you’ve broken this chef’s heart,” Nicole said, “you think Clayton may have had second thoughts and gone back to whipping up some gourmet with her again?”

“Exactly what I’ve been thinking.”

“The doctor likes the danger.”

“Probably.”

“And you’re afraid he might tip off his on-again lover if we tell him what we’ve already found.”

Toronto nodded. “That’s pretty much the story.”

“Guess there’s only one way to find out,” Nicole said. “Go see the girl.”