Suspicion (14 page)

  "Megan!"

  "Oh, don’t look so shocked, Mother. We both know that you’re clever enough to think of it and well connected enough to carry it out."

  "I won’t even dignify that comment with a reply." With those words, Abigail Hollbrook pulled herself erect and stalked out of the room.

  Dressed in a leopard-trimmed black suit Eric loved, Megan stood in the elegant reception room of Warwick Investigations, waiting for Monroe Warwick, the owner of the agency and one of her mother’s oldest friends, to come out and greet her.

  Although she hadn’t mentioned her visit, she had no doubt that Abigail already knew about it. One of the reasons her mother’s friends remained her friends was that they were blindly loyal to her.

  "Megan, my dear!"

  Monroe Warwick walked quickly across the thick cream carpet, both hands extended. He was an average size man with brown hair, brown eyes and no distinguishing features of any kind, a characteristic that allowed him to observe others without ever being noticed. Or remembered.

  "You look lovely." After kissing her cheek, he wrapped an arm around her waist and led her to his office, a well-appointed room overlooking the Washington Monument. "Would you care for some coffee, or-"

  She shook her head and sat down. "Nothing, thank you." She set her purse on her lap and clasped it tightly. "Actually, I’m in a bit of a hurry and would appreciate it if you could answer just one question for me."

  "Surely." His face remained neutral. No doubt he had his orders, but she would know if he was lying.

  "I just learned you’ve been watching Eric for many months," she said, keeping her voice free of emotion. "What I need to know is what day you stopped watching him."

  He sighed. "Your mother told me that you’d probably be stopping by and what question you would be asking."

  His honesty surprised her. "Did she also tell you what answer to give me?"

  Warwick laughed. "No, she didn’t." Folding his hands, he clasped them lightly and rested them on his desk. "I’m sorry for all the heartache you’re going through, Megan. And I’m sorry that I can’t tell you what you so badly want to hear. But the truth is, my surveillance of your fiance ended when I gave your mother my report on Sunday morning. That’s the God’s truth. I wouldn’t lie to you about something like that. And neither would your mother."

  She believed him. She had suspected she would. Monroe Warwick was one of those rare persons who, although he possessed a great deal of money, was unaffected by it. He was also the only man she knew who could stand up to Abigail.

  As the flimsy hope she had held on to until now began to evaporate, she felt a deep sense of loss. Anxious to be alone, she stood up. "Thank you, Monroe."

  "I’m sorry," he said again as he rose from behind his desk. "If there’s anything I can do…"

  She nodded, tears of disappointment stinging her eyes. "I’ll let you know."

  In a motel room on the outskirts of Goshen, Virginia, Eric stood by the window, nervously watching the parking

  lot as he ate the stale cheese sandwich he had bought from a vending machine.

  Fortunately, the lot was relatively empty at this time of year. He counted three cars, two eighteen-wheelers and an RV with Nevada plates. Yet he knew that at any given moment, the cops could show up, alerted by someone who had recognized him from the photograph TV stations kept showing during their newscasts.

  His left hand went to his face, cupped his jaw and rubbed it gently. Not that he could be so easily recognized. Four days’ growth of beard dyed the same dark gray as his new hair color covered most of his face. The Ralph Lauren jogging suit Megan had bought him for his last birthday had been replaced by baggy khakis and a denim shirt he had bought at a navy surplus store. A black canvas bag containing the bare essentials-a change of clothes, toiletries and thermal underwear-stood on a chair.

  Afraid to travel the major highways, he had stuck to small roads, not really caring where he went as long as it was far from Washington. In Fredericksburg, where he’d abandoned the Corvette, he had hitched a ride from a chicken farmer who’d brought him all the way to Goshen. But he wouldn’t do that again. Those people were too damned nosy. In exchange for a free ride, he was expected to tell his life story.

  Money, or rather the lack of it, worried him almost as much as the cops. The two hundred and fifty dollars he had withdrawn from the automated teller machine in Brookville was disappearing fast. If he tried using the ATM again, the police would concentrate their search in this area. He couldn’t risk that.

  He took another bite of his sandwich and chewed slowly. He could remember the days when two hundred

  and fifty dollars had seemed like a fortune. It sure wasn’t a fortune now. Thank God he had found this shabby, out of-the-way motel. At $19.95 a night, he could afford to stay here a few more days. But what the hell would he do once the money ran out?

  One thing was certain, though. He couldn’t call Kate again. It was too risky. The thought that the police had been there when he called earlier tied his stomach in knots. What did they want with her? Did they suspect he had contacted her? Had they tapped her phone? Lucky for him she hadn’t given him away, but from now on, no more calls. If he wanted news, he would have to get it from the TV.

  He finished off his sandwich, rubbed his hands to get rid of the crumbs and walked to the bathroom for a glass of water, wishing it was a cold draft instead. As he passed the small, cracked mirror over the dresser, he glanced at his reflection. His lips twitched in a small smile.

  What was he worried about? In this getup, even his own mother wouldn’t recognize him.

  The superintendent of The Hamptons condominium, a strong, silent type in blue overalls and a denim jacket, unlocked the door to Gina Lamont’s condo and moved aside to let Kate in. "There you go. Just holler when you’re done and I’ll come and lock up."

  The apartment, which as usual the police had left in a mess, consisted of a spacious living room, a bedroom with a stripped, king-size.brass bed in the center, a bathroom and a state-of-the-art kitchen.

  Kate took her time, opening drawers, checking closets, hoping to find one piece of evidence, however small, that Mitch and his men might have missed.

  Thirty minutes later, she had concluded that Gina Lamont liked expensive clothes, only drank French wine and, judging from the impressive selection of Lean Cuisine entrees in her freezer, was a consummate dieter.

  But she hadn’t found a single clue as to who might have killed her.

  After one last look at the living room, she closed the door and was about to go look for the super when an attractive young woman in a flight attendant’s uniform came out of the elevator, pulling a small black suitcase behind her.

  Kate watched her as she headed toward the apartment across from Gina’s-8A. "Hello there."

  The woman looked up. "Good afternoon. I mean good morning. It is morning here, isn’t it?"

  Kate laughed with her. "For another hour or so." She glanced at the wings on the woman’s jacket. "Long flight?"

  "The longest. Hong Kong. I’ve been gone since Saturday afternoon."

  Saturday. Which meant she hadn’t been home at the time of Gina’s murder. But even more significant, she hadn’t been questioned by Mitch Calhoon. Kate walked toward her. "I know you must be tired, but would you mind very much if I asked you a couple of questions?"

  The woman’s friendly smile faded. "What kind of questions? Who are you?"

  "My name is Kate Logan." Kate took one of her cards from her purse and handed it to her. "I’m an attorney."

  The resident of apartment 8A chuckled as she read the card. "Is Gina in some kind of trouble?"

  "You knew her, Miss…?"

  "Jacob. Shirley Jacob." She looked up. "You said ‘knew." Does that mean… Did something happen to Gina?"

  "She was murdered, Miss Jacob."

  Shirley’s hand flew to her breast as she let go of her suitcase. "Oh, my God! That’s awful." She shook her head as if in denial. "How? When?"

  "She was strangled." There was no point in mincing words. Neighbors often had a way of clamming up when questioned by the police or by an attorney. Fear, on the other hand, had a way of turning the most reluctant of witnesses into a fountain of information.

  "How horrible." Shirley threw a nervous glance around her. "Was the murderer caught?"

  "Not yet." Kate chose not to tell her about Eric. What mattered now was to get as much information from this woman as possible.

  "I should have listened to my mother," Shirley Jacob said. "When I told her what Gina did for a living, she wanted me to move. She said that living across the hall from a hooker could only bring trouble. But I’d just bought the condo, and Gina’s lifestyle didn’t bother me all that much. Half the time, I was away on a trip."

  "How did you know she was a hooker?"

  "Are you kidding? With all those men coming in and out of her apartment at all hours of the night, it wasn’t too difficult to figure out. Although I must say, in the past year or so, the activity had decreased considerably."

  "Did you know any of the men who came to see her?"

  "Good heavens, no. And don’t ask me to describe them because I couldn’t. I made a point to avoid all eye contact with anyone coming out of Gina’s apartment. Except…" She looked at Kate, her gaze suddenly more intense. "Except that one time. When I saw the girl."

  "What girl?"

  "It was about six months ago. I was getting ready for a trip to Montreal. As I was coming out of my apartment,

  Gina’s door opened and a young woman came out. They were having a rather heated discussion. When they saw me, they stopped."

  A break, Kate thought as her excitement mounted. Finally. "Can you describe the woman?"

  "Sure. She was pretty, with short, curly black hair, a dark complexion and beautiful eyes. I particularly remember the eyes because they were such an unusual color, at least for a Hispanic woman. They were the most incredible limpid blue. Oh, and she had a beauty mark above her upper lip. On the right side, I believe."

  Kate went still.

  Shirley Jacob had just described Lilly Moore.

  William Fox’s bail hearing, which had been scheduled for two o’clock that afternoon, was a major victory for Kate. Following the recovery of $1.3 million in a locker at National Airport, Kate had convinced the assistant U.S. attorney to reduce the charges from first to second degree murder. The judge, one of the most impartial in the district, had released Fox on two hundred thousand dollars bail.

  From the courthouse, Kate had gone directly to the district jail where Tony had been held since being arrested on June 6. He looked even thinner now than he had last Monday, Kate noted as he was escorted into the visiting room. There were dark circles under his eyes, and although he attempted a smile when he saw her, there was a defeated look about him that hadn’t been there before.

  "How are you, Tony?" She sat on the other side of the wooden table while the guard positioned himself by the door.

  He shrugged. "Hanging in there." Then, realizing her visit could be significant, his expression brightened. "You found out something?"

  Not wanting to raise his hopes too high, Kate chose her words carefully. "I came across an interesting piece of information, although I’m not sure what it means. Yet." Reaching into her purse, she pulled out the photo Brad

  Carpenter had given her and laid it on the table, turning it around so Tony could see it. "Do you know this woman?"

  Tony glanced at the photo of Gina Lamont. "No, why?" His tone was mildly sarcastic. "Am I supposed to have killed her, too?"

  Kate ignored the remark. He was entitled to some bitterness. "No. My ex-husband is."

  "Come again?"

  "Her name is Gina Lamont. She was found dead in her condo on Tuesday morning and the police believe Eric killed her."

  "Did he?"

  "No, but he’s on the run, which isn’t helping him any."

  "Who’s the woman?"

  "A call girl Eric met at a party." She left the photo where it was. "Did Lilly ever mention Gina’s name?"

  He let out a dry chuckle. "Why would Lilly even know a call girl?"

  Kate repeated what the flight attendant in apartment 8A had told her.

  Tony slowly shook his head. "That doesn’t make sense, Kate. Lilly didn’t have many friends, you know that. All she lived for was law school and her part-time job at Fairchild Baxter."

  It was true. Lilly had been so wrapped up in her studies that she barely had time to do anything else. Her encounter with Tony had been the product of sheer fate. Early one evening, he had stopped at Kate’s house to pick up his mother just as Lilly, who was delivering a file Kate needed for court the next morning, was arriving. For the handsome youth, it was love at first sight. Lilly, on the other hand, although clearly attracted to Tony, had been more reluctant to commit herself to a relationship that

  might take time from her studies. But Tony was persistent, and in the end, he had managed to break down the young woman’s resistance.

  "Of course," Tony added, his expression thoughtful, "she could have been doing something specific for one of the partners."

  "I questioned everyone at the firm at the time of your arrest. Lilly was doing some background check in that arson case Ian Baxter defended, but it had nothing whatsoever to do with Gina Lamont."

  Tony’s shoulders sagged and he fell back against his chair. "I knew it was too good to be true."

  "Don’t give up yet, Tony." She leaned forward, hoping some of her confidence would rub off on him. "This is the first big break we’ve had. If there’s a connection between Lilly and Gina Lamont’s murder, I’ll find it. Until then, you keep your chin up, okay?"