Can You Keep a Secret? (27 page)

‘Because you wanted to have it out with her? Give her a piece of your mind?’

‘I don’t want to give her a piece of anything. I just want her to stop sleeping with my husband.’

‘You’ve had words with her, then?’ Cramer asked. ‘On the phone? On social media? She has a reason to want to disrupt your peace?’

‘Disrupt my peace? She’s already got my husband. Isn’t that enough?’

‘I’m just looking at every possible scenario. You have a last name for Summer?’

‘Bilton.’

‘Okay. And your husband works with her?’

‘She works with him. He’s at Carnegie. They used to be at the World Trade Center. They’re on West Street now.’

‘Alright then. And is there any other thing we should know? Anywhere else your husband might go?’

Caitlin shook her head, no.

‘Alright. Well, listen, our priority has got to be finding your boy. He is not in the house. I’m absolutely certain of it. We both are. But I promise you now, Mrs Colbert, we’ll do all we can to locate him.’

Cramer and Bassingsthwaite climbed down out of the ambulance.

‘Let’s gather up a team,’ Cramer said. ‘Let’s cover everything. We need men in the woods, and knocking on doors around the neighbourhood getting people to check their sheds. But my gut feeling is that we find this husband, and we find the boy.’

‘How many men have you got?’ Bassingsthwaite looked around, like he was doing a head count.

‘I’ve got six squad cars. So, at least twelve people if we put them on foot.’

‘Take my men as well. They can knock on doors. And I’ll come with you.’

‘You feel he’s alive?’ asked Cramer.

‘All I know is, he’s not in that house.’ Bassingsthwaite paused. ‘One thing troubles me. The mom seems pretty sure he’s dead.’

Cramer nodded. He had noticed that, too.

‘So why is she so sure?’ said Bassingsthwaite. ‘A mom likes to think her son’s alive, surely?’

‘You don’t think it’s possible he got out before the fire started?’

‘I don’t want to take a guess,’ said Bassingsthwaite, ‘but while we’re looking at who lit the fire, don’t rule out the boy.’

‘I thought of that, too,’ said Cramer, ‘but, you know, I’m still thinking maybe it was an accident and maybe he’s too scared now to come out.’

A colleague of Bassingsthwaite’s walked over. He nodded at Cramer before speaking quietly into Bassingsthwaite’s ear. Bassingsthwaite listened, grimaced and nodded.

‘Okay, this was no accident,’ he said to Cramer. ‘We’ve got traces of accelerants. There’s a puddle formation near the front door, and a trail of something similar, like it’s been squirted down the hall.’

Cramer nodded. ‘Okay, so who do we know who came out the front door?’

‘The mom says she did.’

‘You think maybe she lit the fire?’

‘Could be,’ said Bassingsthwaite. ‘Maybe she didn’t want this Benjamin either … Or else it
was
Benjamin.’

Cramer nodded grimly and said, ‘Right.’

Cramer and Bassingsthwaite travelled into Manhattan together, and arrived at Pearl’s building shortly after 9 am.

‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ said the doorman, surveying the two uniforms. ‘Do we have a problem?’

‘We’re just wanting to speak to one of your residents, a Mrs Pearl Colbert,’ Cramer and Bassingsthwaite said, showing their badges.

‘Mrs Colbert?’ The doorman sounded surprised. ‘Sure thing.’ He led them through the foyer, with its dusty flower arrangement and its spectacular polished floor. ‘I’ll just check she’s in.’ He picked up the phone, although of course he knew that Pearl would be in; she was never out.

‘Doorman here,’ he said to Reg. ‘One of New York City’s finest and another of its bravest here to see Mrs Colbert.’ He paused. ‘No idea. They didn’t say. Shall I send them up?’

The doorman put down the phone and guided the two men to the elevator. It moved at glacial speed, pausing between floors even though it wasn’t stopping, and making a terrible noise.

When they finally stepped onto the landing on the sixteenth floor, Reg was there, waiting by Pearl’s door.

‘Good morning,’ he said, ‘this way.’ If he was curious as to why both the police and fire brigade wanted to see his employer, he did not betray it.

‘The police are here, Mrs Colbert,’ he said, using both hands to push open the heavy doors to the parlour. ‘And the fire brigade, too.’

‘So I see,’ said Pearl. She was reclining in her favourite chair. Her head was, as ever, lost in a cloud of smoke.

‘We’re sorry to have to inform you, there’s been a fire at your son’s house,’ Cramer said. If he was expecting Pearl to leap up, he’d have been disappointed, because Pearl barely moved.

‘A fire?’ she replied. She pronounced it like ‘far’.

‘I’m afraid so.’

Cramer waited for some kind of response, but none was forthcoming. He looked over at Bassingsthwaite, who looked back at him. Maybe the lady was in shock?

‘Do you mind if we sit down?’ he asked.

‘Be my guests,’ said Pearl, waving her cigarette.

Cramer moved across the floor towards a Victorian-style armchair. Bassingsthwaite opted to keep standing. He stared at Pearl. Her reaction had been fascinating. No: ‘Did everyone get out?’ No: ‘Was anybody hurt?’

‘Your daughter-in-law, Caitlin – she’s been located. She was inside. She’s suffered some smoke inhalation, but she’s very lucky,’ Cramer said. ‘She’s going to be fine.’

‘Hallelujah,’ said Pearl, drily.

‘As for your son, Lachlan, we don’t believe that he was home at the time.’

‘Well, that’s a relief,’ said Pearl. But the way she said it, it was like she couldn’t have been less interested.

‘You do have a son: Lachlan Colbert?’ Cramer consulted his notes.

‘I do.’

‘And he normally lives at Bellevue Road, Larchmont?’

‘I suppose he does. I’ve never been there.’

‘And he’s recently moved out of that residence? He’s separated from his wife in recent weeks?’

‘Has he now?’ said Pearl, tapping her cigarette. ‘Well, I didn’t know that. But I’m pleased. He finally left. Good for him.’

Bassingsthwaite stepped forward. ‘Mrs Colbert, do you know where your son is now?’

‘Do I? No.’

‘Your daughter-in-law, Caitlin, she says your son left the house two weeks ago. We’d like to speak to him if we can. Because the bigger problem is – we can’t find your grandson, either.’

Pearl raised her eyebrows.

‘You can’t find my grandson?’ she said, carefully.

‘No.’

‘And which grandson would that be?’

‘Benjamin,’ Cramer said.

‘I see,’ said Pearl. ‘Well, there must be a misunderstanding. I don’t have a grandson called Benjamin.’

Cramer looked confused. He flipped some pages backward and forward, and moved his lips while reading.

‘Your son, Lachlan, known as Colby, and your daughter-in-law, Caitlin Colbert – they have a son, Benjamin? The little boy adopted from Moscow a little over a year ago?’

Pearl had been holding smoke in her lungs, and now expelled it.

‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Caitlin does not have a son. And I certainly don’t have a grandson. And if I did have a grandson, he would not be from Moscow.’

Summer’s apartment was in a new building, near Carnegie’s headquarters in West Street. Cramer approached the doorman, who rang Summer’s buzzer. She answered immediately, but then asked the doorman to give her a minute; she wasn’t dressed. Cramer said no, they wanted to go straight up.

Summer’s face showed concern when she opened up, wearing the clothes she’d quickly been able to grab – a skirt and top, and flat shoes.

‘Is everything alright?’ she asked.

‘Summer Bilton?’ They showed their badges.

‘Yes. Has something happened?’

‘May we come in?’

Summer stood back.

‘You’re making me nervous,’ she said, trying to laugh. ‘Please, just tell me everything’s okay?’

‘May we sit down?’

The apartment was furnished in white leather, with fur throws and mirrored cabinets, and a 1950s-style cocktail station with polished glassware. A plasma TV stood atop a sideboard, tuned to NY1 but without volume. A Hispanic maid in a pink uniform kneeled near the balcony door, cleaning lint from the tracks with paper towel.

‘Please do,’ said Summer.

Cramer and Bassingsthwaite sat down on the sofa and Summer took a seat on the white Barcelona chair opposite.

Cramer cleared his throat. ‘Do you know a man by the name of Lachlan J. Colbert?’

‘Colby? Yes, of course I do. Why? What’s wrong?’ Summer’s hands were trembling.

‘Do you happen to know where Mr Colbert is this morning?’

‘This morning? No. I mean, it’s Saturday. We’re not working. Or not officially. Colby’s always working. I suppose I could check my BlackBerry to see if he’s messaged me?’ She went to get up, but Cramer raised his hand and she stopped.

‘So, he’s not here?’ he said.

‘Why would he be here?’

‘He’s your friend?’

‘He’s my friend, yes. He’s also my colleague.’

‘He’s not more than that?’

Summer looked from Cramer to Bassingsthwaite and back again.

‘Look, I don’t know what’s going on here,’ she said, ‘and
to be honest, you’re frightening me. But I’m also not sure I want to answer any more questions. At least, not without a lawyer.’

‘Why would you need a lawyer?’ asked Bassingsthwaite.

‘Don’t you want to know why we’re here?’ Cramer asked.

‘Well, of course I want to know – but you’re not telling me.’

‘Your colleague’s house – Lachlan’s house – burnt down this morning.’

Summer’s hand flew to her open mouth. ‘Oh dear God,’ she said. ‘Is Caitlin alright?’

‘Is
Caitlin
alright?’ echoed Cramer.

‘Colby’s wife? Caitlin?’

‘Caitlin’s fine,’ said Cramer. ‘She suffered some smoke inhalation, but she’s okay. But why do you ask about Caitlin? Not about Colby? It’s like you know he wasn’t there.’

‘You just told me he wasn’t there,’ Summer said. ‘You asked me where he was, so I assumed he’s not there. But Caitlin, oh my! That’s terrible news. And the house is destroyed?’

‘It’s destroyed,’ Cramer said.

Summer looked genuinely shocked.

‘Caitlin’s a friend of yours?’ asked Bassingsthwaite.

‘A friend of mine? No. Or, not really. No. I suppose she’s not. I’ve known her for years. Since she first came out from Australia. I helped her a little after 9/11. She was shaken up. She needed a therapist. She’s been married to Colby for a
long time. We used to see each other at the odd event here and there, though not for several years.’

‘But you’re close to her husband?’

‘To Colby? Yes … I mean, we work together, probably eleven, twelve hours a day.’

‘But you don’t know where he is now?’

Summer shook her head. ‘Oh my God,’ she said, suddenly looking shocked. ‘You’re here because you think
Colby
did this?’

‘Well, we’d like to know where Mr Colbert is,’ Bassingsthwaite said.

‘Oh, this is madness!’ Summer said. She shook her head so vigorously that her lush ponytail started to swing. ‘Why on earth would Colby burn his own house down?’

‘You’re aware that Mr Colbert recently moved out of his house?’

‘I am aware of that, yes,’ said Summer. ‘He’s had some problems in his marriage. He asked me to organise a lease on a serviced apartment for him.’

‘And you did that?’

‘I did that. Of course I did. He asked for help, I gave it to him. He’s at the serviced apartments at 92nd and Park.’

Cramer made a note of it. ‘And remind me, the nature of your relationship with Mr Colbert is …?’

‘He’s my
colleague.
And before you ask me another question, I would like an answer to mine: do I need a lawyer?’ Summer’s voice was shaking.

‘Again, why would you need a lawyer?’ asked Bassingsthwaite.

Summer rested her elbows on the coffee table in front of her. She seemed to be collecting her thoughts. The two officers exchanged glances.

‘We know about your relationship,’ Cramer said.

Summer lifted her head and Cramer could see she had been crying.

‘What do you mean?’

‘We know about the romance.’

Summer’s chest heaved. ‘Well, that’s not anyone’s business. Colby’s wanted to leave Caitlin for a long time. Now he’s finally done it and she’s burnt their beautiful house down. She really must be crazy.’

Cramer frowned. ‘What do you mean,
she
burnt his house down?’

‘Well, who else would have done it? You don’t understand. Caitlin’s got … well, look, she’s got all kinds of problems. Maybe you need to talk to Colby about it, but there’s no way he did this.’

Cramer sighed. ‘You know, as cops we hear this quite a bit.’ His tone was world-weary. ‘We hear stories about men who have mistresses, just like you. They tell their mistresses that they really want to leave their wives, but they can’t. They’re worried about what their wife might do. Or they’re worried about the kids. I’m betting that’s what this Colby told you. That he wanted to leave, but he couldn’t leave Benjamin. Am I right?’

Summer snorted, and because she’d been crying, she immediately needed a tissue. Cramer reached into his pocket to get one for her.

‘Thank you, I’m okay,’ she said, ‘it’s just, all that nonsense with Benjamin … believe me when I say if I never hear that name again it’ll be too soon.’

Cramer looked at Bassingsthwaite.

‘You don’t think that’s a bit harsh? We’re talking about a little boy here. Colby’s little boy.’

‘No,’ said Summer, shaking her head. ‘No. You don’t understand. Colby doesn’t have a little boy.’

Cramer opened the file that he’d placed on the table. It contained pictures of Benjamin, downloaded from Caitlin’s website. He was feeling pretty fed up with these strange rich people, writing off a boy because he’d been adopted.

‘Look at this boy,’ he said. ‘How is it that you people can talk about him like you do?’

Summer reached over, put a finger on the photograph and slid it across the table to get a better look.

‘Look,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘You’ve got this all wrong.’

Cramer sighed. ‘Look, however Colby wants to describe the boy doesn’t concern us right now. What we’re trying to do – what we’re urgently trying to do – is find him. He hasn’t been seen since the fire. And neither has Colby. And I don’t like to assume too much so early in an investigation, but that doesn’t look good for either of them.’

‘No, please listen,’ said Summer. ‘You don’t understand. Whatever Caitlin’s told you – whatever you might
think – Colby had nothing to do with this fire. He wasn’t even there.’

‘And you know this how?’ asked Cramer.

‘She’s knows because I’m here,’ said Colby, stepping through Summer’s front door. ‘I’m right here.’