Forgotten Girls, The (4 page)

The rail yard looked like he
remembered it: a deserted stretch of concrete pavement broken up by patches of
unwanted grass sprouting between the cracks. He climbed inside an abandoned
barrel near the entrance to the warehouse and stayed there, curled into a ball.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew at any
moment the police were going to come knocking down his door to pin this thing
on him. Once his mama woke him with the news of the murder he was outta there, quicker
than the morning sun could break through the rain clouds and shine its glassy
light upon him.

Faster than she could cry wolf.

He had been down this road before,
and one time was one too many.

He had listened to his mother back
then, when he was just a boy; he had done what she had asked of him. And it had
landed him in prison. All those years wasting away in that hell of a place,
doing time for a crime she had committed.

Handsome, coiffed, articulate,
well versed in bridge, yachting, charities—his mother was appropriate in every
sense of the word, all that the martini queens in town strove to be. Her home, her
deceased doctor husband, her cute children, her shining car, her club
membership—all of it gave her respectability. Everyone loved her.

Only he knew the truth.

Only he knew what skulked behind
her heavy, velour drapery and her ornate, perpetually closed doors.

His own mommy dearest. A monster chameleon.

Her pleas for him to stay last
night were pathetic. Useless. Fake. He simply knew her too well.

He would not go back to her house.
Ever. He’d grabbed enough cash for a few days, until he could make his way
south, toward Trenton. To Jay.

He was not going to let her do
this to him again. If anyone was going to prison this time, it would be her.

Bella strode over to Jamie’s
table, alone, her hair long and loose, her tight jeans and shirt hugging her
body. She had an air of confidence to her, an intensity he was not accustomed
to in women. At least not in the women he knew.

Jamie Freed spoke with the affect
and poise of a powerful man. As he succinctly recounted the events of the night
before, Bella lasered in on his demeanor and his tone. He appeared sad, but
retained presence of mind and control. His hands, tan, manicured, and missing a
wedding band, remained clasped together on the table in front of him. They
hardly moved except to weave their way through his hair at certain moments when
he seemed particularly stressed. It was a habit Bella noted.

He reviewed how they had arrived
at the gala at 7:45 p.m. but split up shortly thereafter. He claimed Joslyn got
a drink and went off into a corner with her girlfriends while he and some guys
remained near the bar. He claimed to not have seen much of her all evening,
except from a distance. He told Bella he made a thousand-dollar bid at the
silent auction for a signed Knicks jersey for his nephew and a fifteen-thousand-dollar
bid for a weekend getaway to a five-star resort in Val d’Isere.

“A ski village in France,” he
clarified.

He left the gala without Joslyn at
approximately 11:15 for a midnight conference call with colleagues in Moscow.
His friend Doug Jordan had offered to bring Joslyn home.

When he finished Bella sat back,
gauging how she felt about this man. Her mind was swimming with questions she
wanted to ask, and would ask, but not yet. Questions like why he wasn’t with his
wife all night, why he left without saying goodbye, why he didn’t wear a
wedding band, whether he loved her still. But those questions would come later.

For now she needed him to believe
she was sympathetic, that she believed he was suffering. Maybe he was, maybe he
wasn’t. Time would tell.

“So you are sure your wife had her
cell phone with her last night?”

“Absolutely. She never went
anywhere without it.”

“But do you know for a fact she
brought it last night?” Bella prodded. “I mean, did you actually see her put it
in her purse?”

“No, I did not,” he said slowly.

“It wasn’t in her purse,” Bella
said.

Jamie simply looked at her.

“It’s important we find her phone,”
Bella said quietly and respectfully. She knew the chances of that happening
were slim to none.

Jamie nodded and she continued, “Do
you recall what your wife wore last night?”

Jamie hesitated. The question
clearly rattled him. Understandably. He cleared his throat before he responded:

“A long, silk ivory dress. High
heels. A clutch.”

“Did she wear a shawl? A cardigan?
Light jacket? Anything of that sort?” Bella continued.

“Not that I recall,” Jamie
answered. He looked sad.

“Can you tell us a little about your
wife, Mr. Freed? The more information we have under our belts the better.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything you might feel is
important.” Bella wanted to see what he might offer on his own.

Jamie got a faraway look in his
eyes and spoke softly. “Jos was an unbelievably kind woman. She didn’t have a mean
bone in her body. She was pure goodness.”

Bella was taken aback. For some
reason, she wasn’t expecting that.

“She was very bright,” he
continued. “She could have had a great career. But she wanted to be a mother. To
be the one to raise the girls.”

Again, Bella felt a pang of
surprise.

“Was she happy?” Bella asked. “Any
problems you knew about or recent issues bothering her?”

“Jos had everything any woman
could ever want,” Jamie answered. “A beautiful home, two beautiful daughters,
financial freedom, full-time help.” He took a break.

“Close friends,” he added as an
afterthought, last in line behind full-time help. She noticed he didn’t add a
happy marriage to his list.

Bella didn’t miss a beat.

“It sounds like a beautiful life
for sure,” she responded sweetly, “but again, would you say she was happy?”

He locked eyes with her. He seemed
not to appreciate the question.

“Of course she was happy. Always. What
makes you think she wasn’t?”

“I don’t think that at all, Mr.
Freed. I am simply asking.”

He rubbed both hands through his
hair and exhaled deeply and loudly.

“I don’t know many women who
wouldn’t be happy with the life Joslyn had,” he said simply.

You are sitting next to one, she
thought.

He squinted his eyes as he looked
out the window at the water in the distance and the gray, rainy sky. Officers still
swarmed the marina. Their presence marred the view. He redirected his gaze back
to the table.

“We heard your wife was working at
the local paper, part time,” Bella continued.

Billy had told them this, but Jamie
hadn’t mentioned a job on the list of things his wife had either.

“Yes, she was,” he answered.

“Was she working on anything in
particular?” Bella pressed on.

“Fluff pieces, that’s all. She
complained about it.”

“Was she looking for a different
job?”

“She hadn’t written a thing in
fifteen years,” he said, with a hint of condescension. He clenched and said
authoritatively, “She needed experience before she could do real news.”

“According to who, you or her?”
Bella smiled.

“That’s how the world works. You
need to know what you’re doing before you can do it. You need experience. She
didn’t have any.”

“I would imagine you know a lot of
people who might have helped her get a part-time job at a place where the
assignments weren’t so fluffy, no?” She smiled to hide her growing dislike.

“I don’t know many people in that
world,” he answered. “And even so, you have to know what to do once you get
there.”

Bella didn’t like his tone. It had
an arrogance and authority that made her bristle.

“But it’s not like she asked,” he
added. “Anyway, it wasn’t so much a job really, as much as a diversion.”

“A diversion from what?”

“From boredom,” Jamie said
bluntly. “Jos had time on her hands now that the girls were older. She felt a
bit bored from time to time, I think.”

“I see,” Bella said in almost a
whisper. “So she didn’t ask you for help in finding a better diversion?” Bella
emphasized the word.

Jamie gave her a blank stare. “No,
she didn’t.”

“OK.” Bella smiled again, not
wanting to alienate him.

“Do you have any idea why your
wife went down to that boat last night?”

“I have no idea. She didn’t like
boats. Or water for that matter. She never spent time at the marina.”

“Do you know Mr. Amsellem? The
owner of the yacht?”

“No,” he answered simply.

Bella paused momentarily, and the
table was silent. Mack had walked over in the middle of the conversation and listened,
but now decided to speak up after introducing himself.

“I hate to have to go here,” he
began casually, changing the subject. “It’s actually the least favorite part of
my job, asking personal questions to someone you don’t know and worse, at a
moment like this, so let me apologize from the outset. All these questions are,
well, protocol, that’s all. Just routine. You understand, I am sure.”

Smooth, Bella thought. Well done.

Jamie looked from Bella to Mack,
assessing him for the first time. He leaned back in his chair and folded his
arms across his chest.

“I understand. Ask away.”

Jamie looked ready for whatever
might be coming at him.

“How long were you and your wife
married?” Mack started.

“Twenty-two years,” Jamie
answered.

“And it was a good marriage?” Mack
asked.

Bella could see it dawning on
Jamie that Mack was going to embark on a personal line of questions, ones he
would now be forced to answer or sidestep, as he navigated this obstacle course.
She could feel his mounting resistance.

“Are you really going to ask me to
delve into my marriage only a few hours after my wife’s death?” Jamie asked, with
an air of controlled anger.

“She didn’t just die, Mr. Freed,
she was murdered. I apologize for my bluntness, but I am afraid we do have to
ask,” Mack countered. “It’s just one of those questions that, I can’t tell you
how much we hate to, ya know, to insinuate anything tawdry. But marriage can be
a hotbed, ya know, for all sorts of things. Just want to know if all was good?”

“All was fine,” Jamie answered
through clenched teeth.

Bella noted the anger.

“OK, good. I am relieved to hear
that.” Mack grinned, then turned serious. “Can you think of anyone who would
want to harm your wife?” he asked.

“Not a soul,” Jamie replied.

“What about you? Anyone have it
out for you?” Mack looked at Jamie when he asked this, as though the two of
them were close friends.

Jamie looked taken aback at the
question.

“There are plenty of people who
are not happy with me, but enough to kill my wife?” He seemed flabbergasted at
the thought.

“People who?” Mack asked.
“Business associates? Friends?”

Jamie took a moment to answer.

“I have done well these past few
years. I have left many behind in the dust where they belonged.” Jamie gave a
look of disgust. “I can’t tell you how they feel about me,” he continued. “I only
know how I feel about them. But sometimes in my business things get ugly, just
like they do in yours.”

“Ahhh…” Mack responded. “Ugliness.
Don’t know that we see the same kind, Mr. Freed. A well-heeled man like yourself
doesn’t really get the pleasure of seeing ugly the way we get to see ugly.”

“Ugliness is ugliness,” Jamie replied.

Bella certainly agreed.

“Any friends, ex-friends, anything
of a more personal nature? Even going back a while?”

Jamie looked dumbfounded.

“I, I can’t think of anyone I have
ever known who would commit murder.”

“I understand you work in the
finance world, eh? In New York City? You manage a hedge fund, is that correct?”
Mack asked this question looking down at a pad in front of him, pretending to
read some notes.

Jamie nodded. Mack pressed on:

“Must have female support staff,
secretaries, assistants and such, maybe even lady co-workers. A man in your
position, of your stature, Mr. Freed, I would imagine there is no shortage of
women who would like to get to know you better.”

Mack brought his hands to his
heart with his palms facing out, as if to say, hey, I don’t care what you do
personally. I get it, my friend. But instead he said, “No judgments here. Our
job isn’t to judge, Mr. Freed. But if there’s a woman in the shadows, now’s the
time to tell.”

Jamie’s hands tensed as Mack spoke.
His arms remained folded tightly across his chest, but Bella could see his
hands grip his biceps tightly.

“There are no other women in my
life,” he spat bitterly. “And while this may be police procedure, I resent your
implying otherwise.”

“Did she have many close friends?”
Bella switched gears quickly.

“Who?”

Jamie looked embarrassed when he
saw the look of surprise on Bella’s face.

“Joslyn?” he asked.

“Whom else might I be asking after?”
Bella inquired.

“I…I…didn’t know to whom you were
referring.” Jamie sounded defensive.

“I said ‘she,’” Bella pointed out.
“Was there another she you were thinking of?”

Jamie stared at Bella silently.

“My wife had a small group of
close personal friends,” he answered, ignoring her comment and speaking in a
controlled tone. He seemed mildly frayed. “Her crew, she called them.” He shook
his head from side to side as he added, “She is, was, very close to her sister,
Lillie.”

“OK, please write down the names
and contact info for her friends in town. We will need to speak with them. We also
want to talk to Lillie when she arrives, as I assume she will be? That might be
a good time to speak to your daughters as well,” Bella added.

The reference to his girls altered
his composure.

“My girls? For god’s sakes, what
do you people want to ask them?”

“All part of a murder
investigation, I am afraid, Mr. Freed,” Mack said quietly. Bella could tell
Mack didn’t like being called “you people” any more than she did.

“We will be brief,” Mack added. “Detective
de Franco can speak to them alone if you think that will be easier, less scary—a
woman and all,” he proposed. Nice touch, Bella thought.

Jamie got up from the table,
signaling their time was up.

“One last thing, Mr. Freed,” Bella
said as she stood as well. She was only a few inches away from him and, looking
up into his eyes, she realized now how tall he was.

“Do you know if your wife was
friends with a Mrs. Adrianna Westin? Here in town? Do you know her?”

Jamie thought for a minute.

“I know the name,” he replied
tersely. “Is she the one with that son? The one in prison?”

Bella nodded and looked at Mack.

“Did your wife have any dealings
with her? Were they friends?” Mack asked.

“Absolutely not,” Jamie said
slowly with a suspicious look on his face. “Why?”

“Just needed to ask. Given her
son’s connection to your town,” Mack answered.

“Luckily our paths never crossed.
As far as I know, he’s rotting away in prison somewhere,” Jamie replied
stoically.

Apparently he had not heard that his
friendly neighborhood psycho had returned home to his fabled town, but neither
Mack nor Bella felt the need to illuminate him. Yet.