The Daughter-in-Law (37 page)

Lambert nodded, and finished his drink. “You might leave word for Mr. Farr that the lady he’s looking for has left the country. But she did authorize me to pay off her debts. It’s a tidy sum.”

He spun off the bar stool and reached back for a handful of cashews. “I’m sorry I missed him.”

“Why don’t you have another drink?” the man suggested instantly. “Maybe someone knows where he can be reached.” Greg climbed back onto the stool. The bartender was already pouring a refill.

A few minutes later he was following his guide upstairs, past lounges set aside for private parties. They stopped in front of an inconspicuous door. “Would you mind?” the man asked. “No need,” Lambert said, reaching around his back and producing a pistol. “It hasn’t been fired in years.” The guide pocketed the pistol. “It’s really recorders and microphones that we object to,” he said. Greg raised his arms while the man patted him down.

Jimmy Farr was leaning back in a swivel chair behind a large executive desk. On the wall next to him a bank of color monitors showed views of the club at the bar level and from the private lounges. There was one focused on the lobby where the bouncer had blocked Greg’s path, and another panning the street outside. He gestured Greg to a chair without taking his eyes off the screens.

“So what can I do for you?”

“I’d like to get Pam Donner back. I thought you might be able to help.”

“Never heard of her,” Jimmy said. “Does she work for me?”

“She was kidnapped yesterday. The family received a video from her saying that she could be exchanged for their daughter-in-law, Nicole Pierce. The family would gladly comply, but Miss Pierce left the country sometime yesterday. They have no knowledge of where she is and it may be several days before they hear from her. So, they simply can’t make the trade.”

Farr showed no reaction. He raised his hands, palms upward, indicating that he was still confused. “Where do I fit in?”

Greg leaned closer. “We hoped you might be able to locate the people holding her and persuade them to accept money instead. You’d handle the cash, and be paid a commission.”

“What makes you think I can find her?”

“The woman they want to trade for used to work for you. We thought there might be some connections you could exploit.”

The true nature of the bargain was plain to both men. There would be no allegations of kidnapping, nor any implication of Jimmy Farr’s involvement. Both sides would honor the fiction that he had nothing to do with it, but was simply the intermediary to an unnamed third party. The payment given to Jimmy was intended for the third party, even though both men knew the money would never leave Jimmy’s hands.

“How much should I say you’re offering?”

“Two million,” Greg answered. “And then there’s a half million fee for you.”

“Is that enough?” Jimmy wondered aloud.

“It’s more than the woman they want to swap for got. They’ll make more money than they can get out of her with none of the effort.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Jimmy decided. “How do I reach you?”

Lambert handed over his card. “This has to be a fast deal,” he said. “Once the word is out that their daughter has been kidnapped, these people will have to work through the police. That’s what’s expected of them.”

“A couple of hours,” Jimmy said. “Unless the people I’m thinking of aren’t the right people. But either way, you’ll hear from me.”

Lambert left the room, pausing for a moment to get his gun back,
before he walked down the stairs. The ladies were dancing and the credit cards were being processed, both to a fast rock beat. Jimmy was just like Jack Donner, Lambert thought. They both made money without lifting a finger.

He used his car phone to call Alexandra who was waiting in Jonathan’s apartment, the other logical place where a ransom call might be expected. Greg explained the arrangements he had just worked out. He felt sure that Jimmy Farr would go for the money and that Pam would be free the next day. Then Alexandra added some hopeful news of her own. Jack had informed her that Nicole was on her way back. “She knows these thugs,” she said. “She’s one of them.”

Greg was going back to his office to await a call from Farr setting up the exchange. “Don’t do anything until I call you,” he asked. “If Nicole is going to talk with them we need to get our stories straight.”

Alexandra wasn’t comfortable with the idea of Nicole returning. Not that she was against the girl putting herself at risk. Maybe the kidnappers would take her money. There would be poetic justice in that. Or maybe some figure from her violent past would bring her to a violent end. Alexandra wasn’t prepared to shed any tears over her daughter-in-law. Nothing had changed her conviction that Nicole’s interest in Jonathan was economic, and that she had rushed the wedding in order to get the money before Alexandra came up with the damning evidence. She still suspected that Nicole might have been implicated in her son’s death, and was still convinced that Nicole had somehow arranged the explosion in the cottage. So, how was she supposed to greet this woman who had murdered and shattered her family just to become wealthy? Thank her for coming back to save Pam, or condemn her for bringing people like Jimmy Farr into her household? How was she supposed to be sociable with someone she would rather see dead?

Or maybe, as Nicole had told Ben Tobin, all this was her fault— her chickens coming home to roost? If she had embraced Nicole with open arms then she would probably be planning a wedding right now instead of struggling to save her only living child. Jack kept insisting that Nicole’s only crime was trying to leave her past behind. If he was right, then why had she insisted on dredging up all the girl’s youthful sins?

SIXTY-EIGHT

“I
NEED
to talk with Jimmy Farr,” Greg Lambert said to the tuxedo-clad bouncer who was standing in his way.

“Who’s Jimmy Farr?” The man answered with a smirk. He flexed his shoulders and stretched his neck as a reminder of his size and girth.

“Your boss. The guy who owns this place,” Lambert said.

“Club Platinum is owned by a corporation.” His tone was polite and informative, but indicated that he had no idea what a corporation was.

“Jimmy came in here about an hour ago, and he hasn’t left,” Greg said. “So will you please tell ‘the corporation’ that we’re ready to make the exchange.”

“Are you with the police?”

“No, I’m Jimmy’s link to several million dollars. And I’m getting tired of being jerked around in the doorway. Could you just ask him if he’s ready to make the exchange? He’ll know what it’s about.”

The bouncer thought for a moment and then nodded. “Hey Eddie,” he said to the small button on his lapel. Then he pressed a finger to the receiver in his ear while he waited for a response. “Gentleman here wants to see Mr. Farr about some kind of exchange. You know anything about it?” He pressed harder against the receiver. “Yeah, okay.” He smiled at Greg. “They’ll see if they can find Mr. Farr. You can wait at the bar if you like.”

Club Platinum was an upscale topless dance hall that catered to the credit-card crowd. Admission was steep, the drinks were overpriced, and the average tip to a dancer was fifty dollars. The dancers were stunning, all aspiring models and showgirls who were making more money than successful models and showgirls. Even now, after midnight, the clientele included law partners, bond traders, fund managers, and successful stockbrokers, all with their best clients
and customers. A fire in the building would cause a global financial panic by morning.

The bartender, nearly as big as the front-door bouncer, was in a dress shirt and black tie. His grooming was impeccable. He served a tall drink on a cloth napkin, and set a silver bowl of cashews beside it. The place had illusions of being an Edwardian gentlemen’s club.

Greg waited, unable to ignore the near naked women who danced on strategically placed stages. Lighting effects made their movements even more provocative. At the service bar, there were three bartenders working furiously with three credit-card terminals. Lights were blinking as drinks were registered and credit-card accounts were sacked. Jimmy has himself a gold mine, Lambert thought.

A man eased up next to him, again in a tuxedo. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Farr has gone for the day. His assistant suggests you try tomorrow early in the evening.”

Lambert nodded, and finished his drink. “You might leave word for Mr. Farr that the lady he’s looking for has left the country. But she did authorize me to pay off her debts. It’s a tidy sum.”

He spun off the bar stool and reached back for a handful of cashews. “I’m sorry I missed him.”

“Why don’t you have another drink?” the man suggested instantly. “Maybe someone knows where he can be reached.” Greg climbed back onto the stool. The bartender was already pouring a refill.

A few minutes later he was following his guide upstairs, past lounges set aside for private parties. They stopped in front of an inconspicuous door. “Would you mind?” the man asked. “No need,” Lambert said, reaching around his back and producing a pistol. “It hasn’t been fired in years.” The guide pocketed the pistol. “It’s really recorders and microphones that we object to,” he said. Greg raised his arms while the man patted him down.

Jimmy Farr was leaning back in a swivel chair behind a large executive desk. On the wall next to him a bank of color monitors showed views of the club at the bar level and from the private lounges. There was one focused on the lobby where the bouncer had blocked Greg’s path, and another panning the street outside. He gestured Greg to a chair without taking his eyes off the screens.

“So what can I do for you?”

“I’d like to get Pam Donner back. I thought you might be able to help.”

“Never heard of her,” Jimmy said. “Does she work for me?”

“She was kidnapped yesterday. The family received a video from her saying that she could be exchanged for their daughter-in-law, Nicole Pierce. The family would gladly comply, but Miss Pierce left the country sometime yesterday. They have no knowledge of where she is and it may be several days before they hear from her. So, they simply can’t make the trade.”

Farr showed no reaction. He raised his hands, palms upward, indicating that he was still confused. “Where do I fit in?”

Greg leaned closer. “We hoped you might be able to locate the people holding her and persuade them to accept money instead. You’d handle the cash, and be paid a commission.”

“What makes you think I can find her?”

“The woman they want to trade for used to work for you. We thought there might be some connections you could exploit.”

The true nature of the bargain was plain to both men. There would be no allegations of kidnapping, nor any implication of Jimmy Farr’s involvement. Both sides would honor the fiction that he had nothing to do with it, but was simply the intermediary to an unnamed third party. The payment given to Jimmy was intended for the third party, even though both men knew the money would never leave Jimmy’s hands.

“How much should I say you’re offering?”

“Two million,” Greg answered. “And then there’s a half million fee for you.”

“Is that enough?” Jimmy wondered aloud.

“It’s more than the woman they want to swap for got. They’ll make more money than they can get out of her with none of the effort.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Jimmy decided. “How do I reach you?”

Lambert handed over his card. “This has to be a fast deal,” he said. “Once the word is out that their daughter has been kidnapped, these people will have to work through the police. That’s what’s expected of them.”

“A couple of hours,” Jimmy said. “Unless the people I’m thinking of aren’t the right people. But either way, you’ll hear from me.”

Lambert left the room, pausing for a moment to get his gun back,
before he walked down the stairs. The ladies were dancing and the credit cards were being processed, both to a fast rock beat. Jimmy was just like Jack Donner, Lambert thought. They both made money without lifting a finger.

He used his car phone to call Alexandra who was waiting in Jonathan’s apartment, the other logical place where a ransom call might be expected. Greg explained the arrangements he had just worked out. He felt sure that Jimmy Farr would go for the money and that Pam would be free the next day. Then Alexandra added some hopeful news of her own. Jack had informed her that Nicole was on her way back. “She knows these thugs,” she said. “She’s one of them.”

Greg was going back to his office to await a call from Farr setting up the exchange. “Don’t do anything until I call you,” he asked. “If Nicole is going to talk with them we need to get our stories straight.”

Alexandra wasn’t comfortable with the idea of Nicole returning. Not that she was against the girl putting herself at risk. Maybe the kidnappers would take her money. There would be poetic justice in that. Or maybe some figure from her violent past would bring her to a violent end. Alexandra wasn’t prepared to shed any tears over her daughter-in-law. Nothing had changed her conviction that Nicole’s interest in Jonathan was economic, and that she had rushed the wedding in order to get the money before Alexandra came up with the damning evidence. She still suspected that Nicole might have been implicated in her son’s death, and was still convinced that Nicole had somehow arranged the explosion in the cottage. So, how was she supposed to greet this woman who had murdered and shattered her family just to become wealthy? Thank her for coming back to save Pam, or condemn her for bringing people like Jimmy Farr into her household? How was she supposed to be sociable with someone she would rather see dead?

Or maybe, as Nicole had told Ben Tobin, all this was her fault— her chickens coming home to roost? If she had embraced Nicole with open arms then she would probably be planning a wedding right now instead of struggling to save her only living child. Jack kept insisting that Nicole’s only crime was trying to leave her past behind. If he was right, then why had she insisted on dredging up all the girl’s youthful sins?

SIXTY-NINE

N
ICOLE LET
herself into Jack’s town house, went downstairs to the kitchen and used the wall telephone. “I’m here,” she said when he answered. He promised to be right over.