The Doll Brokers (37 page)

He didn't know what to say.

“And what else are you not telling me,” she continued.

“Huh?” Jonathan looked up in surprise.

“You're in love with Ann, aren't you? And have been for as many years as I can remember.”

“Mother—”

“So why don't you tell me the full story, including the part you've been holding back. The part that includes your brothers.”

He was genuinely surprised. It was obvious what Felicia was referring to. How she knew, or thought she knew, was another story. “I don't see how any of this can help Ann,” he started to say, trying to bide his time.

“I'm not referring to her,” Felicia jumped in. “We need closure, Jonathan. Lord knows, this can't stay hidden forever.”

Jonathan stared at the wall, anywhere but at her face. Then he mustered the strength to deal directly with her questions. “You'd lost Matthew,” he said. “That was enough.”

“When have you ever known me to be weak?”

She was right, of course. Even now, it was only her body that was wasted. “It sincerely was an accident,” he said.

He tried to gather his thoughts, to remember again what had happened that night.
She's using you, Matt!
Patrick had said.
Ann took a one-week sickbay stay and rolled it into years
.
Now she's running out of options! She struck out with me and Jon!
Shouting it into the wind, Jonathan thought. Shouting the lie about them both having been with Ann. They had all been straining to be heard over the engine and the noise of a fierce wind. Pat had taken a hand off the wheel of the boat to take another swig of beer.

Felicia already knew the details of Matt's death—that he had been thrown free at impact, right into the piling, that his neck had snapped. But what she did not know—what no one knew—was that Pat had been swilling beer all night, that Jonathan had sought to protect him, and that after the impact he had heaved Pat into the back of the boat, then taken the wheel himself, waiting as the flames licked over the water, until the authorities arrived.

“Matt had asked Ann to marry him earlier that same week,” he said to his mother now. “She … couldn't bring herself to hurt him. Had to figure out a way to tell him no, to let him down gently. So a couple of days passed and Matt … I think he took her silence to mean she was going to say yes. I guess we
all
thought that. So Pat … Patrick lied. Trying to jolt Mattie off her, I think, to make him change his mind. Pat's heart was in the right place, but his methods left a lot to be desired.”

“There is never a good reason for a lie, or for that kind of interference,” his mother interjected.

Jonathan nodded stiffly. “Mattie went nuts, went after him. Pat was at the wheel of the boat. We were at full throttle. When Pat left the wheel to get to Matt, we hit the piling.”

Everything about Felicia sagged. “And for fifteen years, you have let everyone believe that it was you behind the wheel?”

Because it hadn't all been Pat's fault, Jonathan thought. “He was saturated drunk, Mom. I shouldn't have let him get behind the wheel in the first place.”

“Jonathan, you are not responsible for the whole world.”

That startled him. “It was Matt, mom. Matthew was the one always trying to save people.”

One corner of her mouth tucked up. “No, my dearest, it is you.”

“He brought home broken birds…”

“And you collect and protect souls.”

He couldn't help it. He gave a harsh bark of laughter.

“Jonathan, once someone makes it into your inner circle, you'd die for them. You were the role model for Matthew. Where do you think he learned it? You've kept this secret for fifteen years in order to protect your brother, to protect Ann, to protect me.”

It rocked him back. To protect
Ann
? Yeah, he thought, because he'd known—he'd always known—that the truth would be too hard for her to take. She'd blame herself for not speaking soon enough. She'd take it all on her own shoulders. In truth, her peace of mind had been the most important single thing that had influenced his decision to say nothing.

Jonathan let out his breath and rubbed his face with his hands.

For a long while, Felicia was so quiet he thought their conversation was over. Then she gently cleared her throat. “If not for these extraordinary circumstances, I might have gone to my grave with this secret. But there are some things you need to know about Ann, Jonathan, to get you through this night or however long it takes until you find her. You need to understand why Ann tries to push you—to push everyone—away. You can't let her do that once I'm gone.”

Jonathan suddenly felt short of breath, as if something had constricted in his chest.

“Whoever has her,” she said, “whatever has happened to Ann, you must understand that she is a survivor, that she will not allow herself to be destroyed.” Felicia paused and looked Jonathan in the eye. “Do you know how it was that I found her on the street? Has she explained any of that?”

Jonathan shook his head. Of course she had told him nothing about her past, it resided beyond one of the many walls she constructed to keep him at a distance.

Felicia gave him a half-hearted smile. “Well, I suppose if she wanted you to know she would have told you by now, but circumstances are such that…” Then she seemed to cave in on herself. “I'll surely be cursed for betraying her confidence. But I'm willing to live with that for your sake, and hers.”

“You're meddling.”

“Yes, of course, I am. Ann's mother was a heroin addict who prostituted herself to support her habit. Ann never knew her father.”

Jonathan winced.

“While Ann was still living with her—she was barely fourteen years old—one of her mother's clients raped Ann. The second time he tried it, she fought him off and ran. This is why she was living on the street when I met her.”

“She was raped?” Jonathan said, barely getting the words out.

Felicia nodded. “Yes. Once Ann confided in me, I hired a private detective to find the man responsible, but he was long gone and presumed dead. It was all a matter of Ann being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The poor child. She was pretty and young and this man … this man simply took her on the basis of that alone. I'm sure she somehow believes that she invited it.”

The sex, he thought. Of course, it now all made sense. She'd been terrified of the sex. But in the end, she'd come to him, had allowed herself to open up.

The thought of her as that fourteen year-old made him hurt inside.
He had to find her.
Jonathan rose from the couch unsteadily.

“I tell you this because I want you to know what Ann is made of,” Felicia said. “That is, if you haven't already figured it out for yourself. She fled Newark and came to New York. She hid in the church at night instead of going to any of the usual homeless places. She couldn't take the risk of being somewhere where someone else might find her pretty.”

I was too pretty for him
, she had said. For Matthew. By being pretty as a child, Ann had thought she had provoked a stranger to attack her. She'd consider herself soiled, unworthy of Matthew.

“Handle this gently, Jonathan.”

“I will.” His voice was hoarse.

Felicia sat forward. “I know that. That's why I told you. Now—I want you to visit your brother. He's just been released from the rehab clinic. Despite your differences, he is still family. Patrick, more than anyone else, might have some ideas for you.”

Jonathan hesitated.

“Consult with him,” his mother insisted. “You have nothing to lose.”

W
ithout hesitating, and despite the late hour, Jonathan took his car out of the parking garage he rented on a yearly basis and raced to his brother's house. He thought he was wasting his time. Having a discussion with Patrick was not uppermost on his mind. But his mother had better instincts for this sort of thing and he was not one to second guess her.

They stood inside the vestibule, not saying anything for a moment or two, sizing each other up. Jonathan was surprised at how good Patrick looked. His eyes were clearer; a lot of the tension was gone from his face. “Welcome back,” he said, meaning it.

Patrick almost smiled. “Thanks. What the heck brings you out here this time of night?”

Jonathan paused. How much to divulge was the real question facing him. His brother may have survived the rehab clinic, but how trustworthy was he?

He began cautiously, taking Patrick through the events of the past twenty-four hours. The old Patrick would have turned a deaf ear, Jonathan knew, especially where Ann was concerned. Now, his brother absorbed the news of Ann's disappearance with what appeared to be genuine sympathy.

They sat down in the den—Jonathan on the couch, Patrick on one of the high-back upholstered chairs. And they weighed every possible motive. In the end, however, they both concluded that it was highly unlikely that someone in the toy industry would want to do Ann harm.

“It just doesn't make sense,” Patrick said.

Jonathan agreed with him; it made no sense at all. But not finding a toy industry connection only made matters worse. He didn't know where else he could look.

He was about to leave when Verna stepped into view. “Hello, Jonathan,” she said. A little shyly, he thought.

Seeing her here surprised him. “Glad to see you back on your feet,” he told her. Then he turned for the door, was about to say good night, when he paused.

Verna had contact with a man they knew was behind her beating as well as Patrick being arrested. If he could get her to describe Vincent, he could get the man's likeness down on paper. Then maybe, just
maybe
, someone might recognize him.

Jonathan asked Verna to take a seat beside him in the den. A pen and a pad of paper were provided by Patrick and he began to draw. At first he had the nose wrong, then the eyes. It took several drafts until finally, some two hours later, the sketch was apparently life-like enough to cause Verna to shrink back in alarm.

“That's him,” she muttered breathlessly. “He's the one … he's the bastard who hurt me!”

Jonathan sensed he was on to something. Vincent had an agenda involving both Verna and Patrick. He aimed to find out why.

On his way out, Patrick handed him a list of of Hart Toy's key competitors and contacts. “This would be a good place to start,” his brother told him.

He got into his car, pulled out of the driveway and headed back to Manhattan. He knew he had to keep his wits about him. There
were certain things that had to get done. Nothing could be left to chance.

He hit the city limits almost thirty minutes before he had any right to do so and went right to his loft. Sleep was out of the question. After making a pot of coffee he sat down in the kitchen and tried to think. Ann didn't bring much of her work home from the office but maybe there was something he could find in a closet or one of the bedroom drawers.

He climbed the stairs and started going through her things. There was nothing there. It was clothing, for the most part. He began to pace the loft. By the time dawn broke, his patience was wearing thin. He had a likeness of Vincent on paper and he wanted to show it to as many people as possible, as quickly as possible.

Now, getting into his car, Jonathan was grateful for the convenience of having many of Hart Toy's competitors relocated in one office tower close to the Javits Center.

He arrived just before nine o'clock. Taking out the list that Patrick had prepared for him, he rode the elevator to the top floor and began with Alvin Pelletier, the owner of Single-Brite, Inc. He handed Alvin the sketch and asked if he recognized the man. Alvin handed the sketch back and told him he'd never seen him before in his life.

His second stop was at a preschool company. His third, fourth and fifth included a plush manufacturer, a die-cast maker and a manufacturer of radio control cars. No one recognized the artist's rendition of Vincent.

At Sidney Greenspan's office, Jonathan was told Sidney was out, so he showed the picture to Sidney's secretary, Andrea, a brunette of average looks, with striking green eyes. At first she wore a blank expression, but this soon changed. “A few months ago,” she said, pulling the picture closer. “Yes. I saw Mr. Greenspan talking to this guy outside our building. I never found out who he was, however.”

Blood began to pound in Jonathan's temples. He now had confirmation that Sidney knew Vincent, a man who had nearly killed Verna. “When will Sidney be back?” he asked.

The girl shrugged. “He called me from his car two days ago to say he was on his way to our warehouse. I haven't heard from him since. I was going to contact his wife this afternoon.”

Jonathan paused. Something told him this was not a coincidence: both Ann and Sidney had disappeared around the same time. He asked for the exact warehouse address, thanked the girl and left.

Sidney wouldn't disappear on his own. There had to be a connection here. And his warehouse would be a logical place to start. At the very least, someone on the warehouse staff might have overheard something.

As soon as he was out of the building, he contacted Detective Rondgrun and filled him in on what he'd learned.

The man was skeptical. “There are too many variables,” he said.

“Oh, yeah? Like what?” Jonathan asked.

“You're flying by the seat of your pants. This is strictly a hunch.”

“So? A hunch can pay off.”

“Not in this case.”

“Why not?”

“Look—Mr. Morhardt. If you've been around as long as I have, you get a feeling for these things.”

“Oh? Like the feeling you had that Ann was stuck in a traffic jam?”

The pause was deafening.

Jonathan quickly realized he better drop the attitude. “Please,” he said. “I'm asking you for a favor. I know it's unusual, but it's not like Ann to go off on her own like this.”