Notorious (24 page)

J
ennifer Lamont was sitting
in a hotel bar sipping a cosmopolitan and feeling very grown-up. The space was light and airy, high-ceilinged, the walls and floors covered in a matte white limestone, the chocolate leather bar stools and cozy little tables occupied by chic young New Yorkers. A tinkle of glasses and the occasional peal of laughter could be heard above the constant buzz of conversation. She savored the moment: it was rare that she felt part of the glamorous city whose heart beat all around her. She'd come to New York well after 9/11, when all that grim, unpleasant danger was a thing of the past and a feeling of golden age, of boomtown, had settled back over the city. Yet Jennifer had never been able to enjoy it. By instinct, she held herself apart. She didn't know how to live in the moment. But tonight, waiting for Evan to show up, with a little alcohol in her, she felt liberated and happy for the first time in as long as she could remember.

She caught sight of him over at the hostess's station. The hostess had long dark hair and a fabulous ass, and Evan seemed more focused on her than on searching the bar for Jennifer. The hostess
handed him something, then turned to greet a group that had come in behind him. Only then did Evan head in her direction.

He stepped up to the bar several seats down from her and ordered a drink. They'd agreed to pretend that they were meeting by accident just in case anybody was watching. The ruse added a level of excitement that made Jennifer squirm in her seat.

Evan downed whatever was in his shot glass and asked for another. Only then, his gaze wandering idly around the bar, did he appear to notice her.

“Jennifer?” he called.

“Oh! Hi, Mr. Diamond.”

He picked up his glass and carried it over to where she sat. They shook hands formally.

“Nice to see you,” he said. “Am I interrupting? Are you meeting somebody?”

“I was, but my friend just called to say she has to work late.”

“I'll keep you company for a few minutes, then. I'm early for a client dinner. Can I refill that for you?”

“Um, isn't there a rule against that?”

“One drink? I think it's de minimis, although I applaud your diligence in following the ethics rules. Bartender,” he called, gesturing toward Jennifer's glass.

Jennifer leaned toward him. “That girl. What did she give you?”

“What girl?” he asked under his breath.

“The hostess. She gave you something.”

Annoyance flitted across his face. “Oh. She saw me on TV. She wants an autographed picture of Atari, so I took her address to mail her one.”

For the next fifteen minutes, they made small talk about the case, while the cosmopolitans went to Jennifer's head. She was dizzy with lust, looking into Evan's black eyes, imagining what he would do to her when they got upstairs. The bruises from the other night were
just turning green and purple. They were the marks of his desire for her, and she wanted more to add to her collection.

“Look at the time,” he said, consulting his watch. “I'm meeting a client in the restaurant. It was nice running into you.”

“Same here,” she said.

“See you in court.”

“You bet.”

“That's courtroom 1802.”

Her eyes followed him as he strode out of the bar, the long, lean physique, the broad shoulders in the expensive suit. When he was gone, she lifted up her napkin, found the card key there, and smiled.

A
s she arrived at
her office the next morning, Melanie got off the elevator to find an unexpected guest waiting for her in the seating area near the guard's station.

“Melanie,” Bob Adelman said, rising to his feet, briefcase in hand.

“Bob?”

“The guard told me to wait. I was hoping you could spare me fifteen minutes or so.”

“Oh, I thought you were waiting for someone else.” She looked at her watch. “I have a meeting, but it's not till ten. Come on in.”

“Thank you.”

A few minutes later, she was behind her desk with Adelman sitting across from her.

“Something strange happened, and I wanted to bring you into the loop on it right away,” he began. “It relates to Brenda Gould's death.”

Melanie was booting up her computer and changing into her work shoes. “Please, go ahead,” she said.

“I learned that a friend of mine, a former client who's a mover and shaker in the real-estate business, had lunch with Philippe Poe in New York. This lunch happened the day
before
I picked Philippe up from the airport.”

“I don't get it. So what?” she said, turning to face him, shoes on.

“Let me start again. Friday—which was the day Brenda died—my friend Judith Wells of Wells Fine Properties had lunch with Philippe. The purpose of the lunch was to discuss Judith's taking on selling Les's town house. At that moment, as far as Philippe knew, Brenda was still alive, and the town house was going to Brenda under Les's will. The next morning, I drove out to JFK to meet Philippe when he arrived from Paris. That arrival was a fake, staged for my benefit. He'd actually arrived the day before.”

Melanie stared at Adelman. “You're sure about this timing?”

“Positive. Do you see the logic? If I thought Philippe had arrived on Saturday, after his stepmother was already dead, I would never suspect him of any foul play. Nobody would. Meanwhile, he was already making arrangements to dispose of property that was rightfully Brenda's.”

“But why would he be so stupid? To have lunch with your friend the day before he asked you to pick him up? Didn't he realize that you'd find out?”

“Judith is a legendary real-estate broker, one of the few who can be trusted to properly handle a commission of this magnitude, and it was the only time she could fit him into her schedule. Besides, Philippe has no idea that she and I know one another. It was mere happenstance that she mentioned it to me. I might very well never have found out.”

“Are you certain Philippe knew the town house was going to Brenda when he met with Judith Wells about selling it? After all, Lester had already died. Maybe he thought it would be coming to him.”

“I'm absolutely certain that Philippe knew what the will said. Les's will was rewritten ten years ago when he and Brenda got back together. I know because I handled the drafting. Both Philippe and Brenda were informed of the terms. Les told me he'd informed Philippe and Philippe's mother, Les's ex-wife, both.”

“Could Philippe have been, perhaps, trying to help his stepmother out? He knew she was distraught. Maybe he wanted to take care of the details for her?”

“If you knew Philippe's relationship with Brenda, you'd know that ‘helping her out' was not a possibility for him.”

Remembering the remark Philippe had made about Brenda at the shiva after Lester's funeral, Melanie saw that Adelman was probably right.

“Was Philippe cut out of Lester's will entirely?” she asked.

“No. He got a healthy bequest, but the bulk of the real estate, and thus the assets, went to Brenda. Brenda had that kind of hold over Les, and I can tell you, Philippe wasn't happy about it.”

“What did Philippe get under the new will?”

“Philippe had a big trust fund during his childhood that got discharged to him in full when he turned twenty-one. That was a couple million Lester had already given him. On top of it, Les still bequeathed him about a million dollars in stocks and other assets under the new will. Les felt that was plenty. You have to understand, Philippe and Les had a troubled relationship. Philippe's mother turned him against Les early on, and it showed in Philippe's behavior. He resented his father, he despised his stepmother, and he took no pains to hide any of that. Besides, Philippe's stepfather is a wealthy guy, and there are no other children in that family. He stands to inherit there. Contrast that to Les's feelings about Brenda, who he viewed as helpless and dependent and deserving of his protection.”

“How much was Brenda supposed to get?” Melanie asked.

“Between the town house, the estate in Sagaponack, which is daz
zling, and the villa on St. Bart's, we're talking almost twenty million in equity.”

“That's a motive. No denying it,” Melanie said. But then she frowned. “
If
the real estate goes to Philippe after Brenda's death. Lester died before Brenda. Wouldn't the property that Lester bequeathed to her go to her heirs, rather than to Phillippe?”

“Lester's will provides that the properties go to Brenda, but only if she's alive at the time that his will is probated. If she's not, they go to Philippe.”

“When is the probate?”

“Three weeks from now.”

M
elanie was still mulling
the news Bob Adelman had given her when she got a call summoning her to an emergency meeting in Susan's office. They had a team meeting scheduled for ten, at which Mark Sonschein would presumably report that Vegas Bo and the car bomber had been cell mates at Leavenworth. But something had come up in the interim that couldn't wait the half hour till then. As to what it was, Susan had been vague on the phone.

Susan and Tommy Yee were huddled together at the conference table when Melanie walked in. They had a pile of surveillance photographs in front of them. Susan's complexion looked disturbingly green.

“What is it?” Melanie asked.

“It's bad, Mel. Mark's on his way down here right now, then Tommy'll walk us through the shots from last night.”

“Here I am,” Mark said, striding in. “This better be some damn good proof, because otherwise I refuse to believe what I'm hearing.”

“It's as good as you're gonna get without me being inside the hotel
room,” Tommy said. “I felt like some sleazy PI working a matrimonial case following this little slut around.”

“Save the pejorative language and calm down, would you?” Susan said.

“Calm down?” Tommy demanded. “This
is
calm. Little bitch could be responsible for the death of a brother agent. Tell me to calm down. Jeez.”

“You're undermining your credibility here, Tom,” Mark said.

“These pictures are for real, buddy. I don't know what you're implying, but—”

“We all believe they're for real,” Melanie said, putting her hand on his shoulder. “Just show them to us, and let us draw our own conclusions about the evidence.”

Tommy nodded, appeased.

Everybody gathered round, and he proceeded to rearrange the photographs into a different order on the table.

“Yesterday at approximately eight-thirty
P.M.,
I was stationed outside this building when I observed the female subject, Jennifer Lamont, emerge and get in a yellow cab. Here she is getting into the cab,” he said, touching the photograph that sat in the upper left-hand slot on the table, which showed Jennifer's shapely leg and her head as she folded herself into the backseat.

“I followed her to Fifty-seventh and Fifth, where she proceeded to the bar at the Four Seasons hotel. She sat down at the bar and ordered a drink, which I later learned from the bartender was a cosmopolitan. Here she is sitting alone at the bar.” He tapped the next photo. In it, Jennifer Lamont sat on a bar stool with her legs crossed, sipping a cocktail, wearing a short skirt, a tight sweater, and sling-back heels.

“Is that what she wore to work yesterday?” Melanie asked.

“No, I remember she was wearing pants,” Susan said.

“She must've changed in the bathroom before she left the office,” Melanie said. “Which strongly suggests to me that she had plans to meet a man.”

“That doesn't mean she had a date with Diamond,” Mark pointed out. “Maybe she was going to that bar to pick somebody up. That may show a lack of judgment, but it's not illegal.”

“Just wait, you'll see,” Tommy Yee said. “Okay, subject remained alone at the bar for approximately twenty-two minutes, at which time the male subject, Evan Diamond, was observed entering the bar area. Male subject proceeded to the bar and did not initially sit down next to the female subject. Within a period of three minutes, however, he moved over to where she was sitting, as you see in this photo.” He tapped the next one, in which Evan Diamond stood over Jennifer. Because of the angle, their faces were not visible.

“So they ran into each other by chance!” Mark exclaimed.

“What are you, this girl's bitch?” Tommy demanded.

“Mark is chief of the Criminal Division,” Susan said. “You have to understand, he doesn't want to believe the worst of one of his line assistants.”

“Doesn't want the scandal is what you mean.”

“You're both wrong,” Mark said. “I'm merely reacting to the proof as presented so far. What Tom has shown me indicates two individuals meeting by chance.”

“That's not it,” Tommy said. “They're wise to the fact that they might be followed. Consciousness of guilt is what we got here. After you hear the rest of my report, I know you'll agree with me. Okay, so the two subjects remained at the bar and spoke for approximately nineteen minutes more. These next six photographs were taken during that time period.”

In the photographs, Diamond was sitting next to Jennifer, and they faced each other. None of the pictures showed them touching, yet the lust was palpable on their faces and in their body language.
Her flirtatious gestures, the way their eyes stayed glued together, the way he stroked her glass when she set it down on the bar—all spoke of what would come next.

“This ain't no business meeting,” Susan said. “You can see how much they're into each other.”

Even Mark couldn't disagree.

There were no more pictures on the table. Tommy's outrage had to be based on more than what he'd shown them so far. Melanie saw that he was clutching a manila folder.

“Is there more?” she asked, gesturing at the folder, and Tommy's triumphant expression told her she was right on the money.

“There is, and it's some damn good surveillance photography if I do say so myself. Now, you all know I'm a narcotics agent, right?”

“Yeah,” Susan said.

“I'm skilled at observing hand-to-hands. That's my specialty. How many times have I been stationed in a crowded bar and tasked with knowing when an exchange is going down? A million times, right? And normally, the bad guys are palming the dope and the cash and trying to make sure nobody sees. They're trying to make my life hard, right?”

“What's your point?” Mark demanded.

Tommy opened the folder and laid out a series of four additional photographs, his face breaking into a Cheshire-cat grin.

“I see Diamond reach into his jacket pocket so,” Tommy said, pointing to the first photograph, which showed exactly that. “He palms something. I can't see what it is, but here's his hand moving in a way that I recognize from hand-to-hands. I know he's transferring something. You see?”

In the second photograph, Diamond's right hand was indeed cupped strangely, as if it concealed an object.

“And here, he puts it on the bar. Then here—and this is after he leaves—she picks it up.”

It was the fourth photograph that sank Jennifer. The object she'd removed from under the napkin was in plain view for the lens to capture.

“A key card,” Mark Sonschein said.

“Yup.”

“All right, you've convinced me,” Mark said, turning away toward the window with a look of disgust.

“Wait a minute, I'm just getting to the good part,” Tommy said.

“There's more?”

“This was the foreplay, man. Now for the main event. So, Jennifer never met me before, right, but Diamond did. I was the case agent on Fred Ruggerio, remember, that Mob cocaine case about seven, eight years back?”

“Diamond had a defendant on that?” Mark asked.

“Yeah, Little Freddy, the main guy's nephew. Ended up taking a plea. Anyway, I didn't follow Diamond out of the bar because I knew he'd make me. But with Jennifer, I followed her right onto the elevator. Got in there right with her, and let me tell you, the girl was horny as hell. She could barely stand still. The heat was coming off her in waves.”

“Could you save the commentary, please?” Susan said. “I'm grossed out enough as it is without watching you drooling over this.”

“Believe me, I'm as disgusted as the next person by whorish behavior in somebody who's sworn to preserve, protect, and defend. I'm just saying, nobody was twisting this girl's arm. She's mad into this guy.”

“Just the facts, Tom,” Mark said. “What happened next?”

“She pushes the button for eighteen. I just look at her and nod because I'm going wherever she's going. The doors open. I say, ‘After you, miss.' She gets out and goes one way. I go the other. Then I turn around and follow at a safe distance. Catch up in time to see her enter room 1802, which I subsequently determined from hotel records that Diamond rented in his own name.”

“Sloppy,” Susan said.

“His wife may not look at his Amex bills, but I sure as hell do,” Tommy said. “And I kept a copy for the prosecution. Anyway, once the hotel-room door closed behind the female subject and I heard it lock, I sidled up to it with my catlike prowl, placed my trusty amplification device against it, and listened.”

“Pervert,” Susan said.

“I was just executing my sworn duty as an agent, ma'am.”

“So? What happened?” Mark asked, raising an eyebrow.

“He tied her up and whacked her around something good. From the sound of it, it hurt. You want more proof, check her for contusions.”

“Are you serious?” Mark asked.

“Yes I am, and it was voluntary on her part. Otherwise I would've gone in and rescued her, but she was begging for more. If you don't believe me, I got that on tape.”

Melanie hadn't been distracted by Tommy's overheated account. She kept her eye on what mattered.

“But did they talk any business?” she asked.

“Of course, what am I saying? I'm leaving out the most important part. She gave him a—sorry, I can't resist—a
blow-by-blow
of everything that happened in the office yesterday. Including the fact that she's getting sent to the library to do research and isn't going to be directly involved in witness prep. That pissed Diamond off to no end, and he told her unless she can keep getting witness information for him like she's been doing, she's not useful to him anymore.”

Susan dropped her head into her hands. “Ugh, I feel sick.”