Dark Room (12 page)

Lane was ready for the question. It confirmed what he’d already suspected—that this was the real reason Arthur had wanted this collaborative meeting. He was aware of Lane’s expertise, realized Monty had tapped into that expertise, and wanted to amass the information cumulatively.

“Everything I’ve done is preliminary,” Lane informed him. “I expect that to change in about two hours. That’s when the negatives are being delivered to my town house. Once I scan those negatives into my computer, I’ll be able to enhance every detail. If there’s something there, I’ll find it.”

Arthur turned to Monty. “Is there any correlation between what you’ve asked Lane to focus on, and the path you were pursuing with my father and me a few minutes ago? Is Lane searching for something visual that would connect the Winters’ murders to one of the criminals Jack put away right before he died?”

“No,” Monty stated flatly. “It would be stupid to narrow our scope. Not without a shred of proof. Lane’s got an expert eye. The best thing he can do is view those photos without any preconceived ideas; only facts. That way he won’t overlook anything. In the meantime, I’ll keep pounding away at my investigation. Anything I uncover that impacts his analysis, he’ll hear about ASAP. We want to keep this as open-minded an investigation as possible, until we’re damned sure we’re heading in the right direction. No more screwups. Not this time.”

“Amen,” Arthur muttered. “I still can’t believe no one saw through Schiller’s bogus confession.”

“If by ‘no one’ you mean you, don’t be so hard on yourself,” Monty replied. “Schiller’s a thief and a murderer. It wasn’t a reach to think the Winters were two more names on his victims list.”

“Right.” Arthur’s tone was rife with self-censure. It was evident he still hadn’t forgiven himself. “Anyway, what else have you got?”

“I’ve got the rest of Jack Winter’s caseload to go through. I’ve got leads on everyone from perps he prosecuted, were convicted, and who were either released or paroled right before he was killed, to relatives, friends, or associates of perps still serving time, to none of the above.”

“What’s none of the above?”

“You name it. Unrelated perps with histories of breaking and entering or theft who were in Brooklyn in December 1989. Also, guys with police records and histories of violence whose wives frequented Lara Winter’s shelter. It’s possible that one of those husbands flipped out that night and came to the shelter to teach his wife a lesson. Lara and Jack could have been casualties of that visit. And that’s just the tip of the ‘none of the above’ iceberg.”

“God, there’s so much ground to cover.” Arthur rubbed his forehead in a weary, frustrated gesture.

“Yup. The good news is, I work fast.” A pensive look crossed Monty’s face. “How’s Morgan? Is she holding up okay?”

Arthur’s shrug was ambivalent. “She spent most of the weekend alone. Jill tried to coax her out, but no luck. This investigation is eating away at her. So ‘okay’ is a relative term. Elyse and I are really worried.”

“She’s hanging in there,” Lane supplied quietly. “It’s not easy, but she’s a strong woman.”

Both men looked at Lane in surprise.

“You spoke to her?” Arthur asked.

“Actually, I ran into her. Saturday night. We both wandered into the Carlyle for a drink. We ended up having dinner together. She was definitely more relaxed when I walked her home.”

“Good.” Arthur sighed with relief. “I’m glad she got out. And that she had a little fun. Thank you, Lane.”

“No thanks necessary. I had a great time. Truthfully, I was wound pretty tight myself. So the evening did as much for me as it did for Morgan.”

Monty opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the arrival of their lunch.

“Here you go.” Anya whisked over and began unloading plates of food onto the table. “I’ll be right back with your drinks. Lenny’s on his way out; he’s putting together Jonah’s next big delivery order.”

“Thanks, Anya.” Arthur gave her a broad smile. “This looks great.”

“Save the compliments for your mother,” she advised him with wry humor. “Eat all that noodle pudding.” She pointed at the side plate, which could barely hold the enormous square of steaming noodle pudding that was hanging over the edges.

“Yes, ma’am.” Arthur snapped off a mock salute.

Anya had just left, when Jonah shuffled over to the table, looking awkward and uncomfortable. “Hey, Lane? Sorry to bother you, but you said to let you know when that package from the Central Clerk’s Office was delivered. It showed up at your place just as I was leaving.”

Lane exchanged a surprised glance with Monty.

“Earlier than expected,” Monty murmured. “That’s a first.”

“Yeah.” Lane turned back to his assistant. “Thanks, Jonah.”

“No problem.” The lanky teenager was visibly relieved that his good news had been well enough received to eclipse the inconvenience of his intrusion. Hoping he was on a roll, he angled his head in Lane’s direction. “Is it okay if I put in a few extra hours later today? I could use the cash. Or do you need the lab to yourself now that that package arrived?”

“Unfortunately, I need the whole lab. I’ll be spread out all over the place.” Lane paused as a spur-of-the-moment idea struck him. “But I might have a way for you to put in those extra hours and earn that cash.” A questioning glance at Arthur. “I assume you have afternoon meetings?”

“I do,” Arthur confirmed.

“In Manhattan?”

A nod.

“Why don’t you pick a time and place that works. Jonah can be there and take some preliminary shots of you among your constituents. I want to get him involved in this photo-essay project of ours, anyway. He has the skill. We need the help. And there’s no time like the present.”

Arthur got the message. Lane was taking care of the vital, confidential aspect of things, and Jonah could handle the more mundane.

“Sounds good. How about outside my office around three o’clock?” Ar
thur suggested to Jonah. “I’ll be checking in with my staff around then anyway. And it’ll give you more than enough time to do your lunch runs for my father, and pick up whatever camera equipment you need from Lane’s lab.”

“Great. Thanks.” Jonah’s eyes were huge, like he’d been handed a grand prize. “Your office is over on Lex. I’ll be there at three sharp.”

“Fine.”

“Jonah, there you are.” Lenny bustled out, two large insulated Styrofoam boxes clutched in his arms. “Here’s the first part of the order. It’s for Monty’s old haunt—East New York. And there’s more.” He winced a little as he shifted the heavy boxes from his grasp to Jonah’s. “I’ve got another two of these being packed. So stick those in the truck, then come back in and wait.”

He watched Jonah head off, then glanced down at his right hand and scowled. “Damn,” he muttered. He reached over to an adjacent table, whipped out two napkins, and wiped off the gold initial ring Rhoda had bought him for their twenty-fifth anniversary. Then he grabbed a few more napkins and wrapped them around his bleeding forefinger.

“What happened?” Arthur asked.

“Nothing. I’m just a klutz. I was slicing some sour pickles, and I cut myself.”

“Go tape it up,” Monty advised him as a little blood soaked through. “It looks like you did quite a number on it.”

“Nah, I was just doing too many things at once. I’ll slap on a Band-Aid after the lunch crowd slows down.”

“Did you have your blood tested this month?” Arthur demanded, frowning as his father grabbed another napkin, wrapped it around the others.

Lenny shot him a look. “No, and don’t start. I’ll go next week. It’s been too hectic here for me to break away.”

“Not
that
hectic. Forget next week. Go tomorrow, or I’ll tell Mom.”

A grimace. “You would. Fine, I’ll go tomorrow. Now let me get the rest of Jonah’s order.”

Arthur rolled his eyes as Lenny hurried back to the kitchen to get the rest of Jonah’s delivery order. “Stubborn as an ox. He’s on blood-thinning
medication. He’s supposed to get his levels checked every month. It’s just routine, but it’s doctor’s orders. Try telling that to him. He thinks he’s immortal.”

“He is,” Lane replied.

“He’s also territorial about the deli,” Monty added. “It’s his life’s work. He doesn’t trust anyone else to run it.” A pause. “I can relate.”

“Yes,” Arthur agreed, nodding as Monty’s analogy sank in. “I’m sure you can. You two are a lot alike. Neither of you believes anyone can do your job as well as you. The irony of it is, you’re right. No one can.”

“Which is why I’m going to be the one to solve this case.” Monty’s jaw set. Abandoning conversation, he grabbed his soup spoon, downed a healthy portion of matzo-ball soup, then dove into his combo sandwich, chewing it with gusto. “Enough chitchat. Let’s eat. I’ve got an investigation to get back to.”

T
he agency was hopping. Phones were ringing off the hook, clients were setting up appointments, and referrals were pouring in by the droves.

Never had Morgan been more grateful to be busy.

She’d dashed down to the office early for a new-client consult. Then came two existing-client follow-up meetings. After a quick microwaved cup of soup, she’d taken off for three back-to-back outside appointments.

The first of those appointments was with Charlie Denton, a fact that pleased her on several levels. Professionally, she wanted to expand Charlie’s chances of finding the right mate. She wanted to hear everything about his weekend—he’d taken out both Karly Fontaine and Rachel Ogden. Both women would be strong complements to Charlie, each in different ways.

And, yes, she had a personal motive in wanting to see him, too. She was anxious to know if Charlie had had any success in prying information out of
anyone
in the Manhattan D.A.’s office.

They met at a Cosi in midtown, halfway between the agency’s Upper
East Side location and the D.A.’s downtown office. Over a light lunch and a cup of coffee, they talked.

“You look tired,” Charlie began, studying Morgan’s face.

“I guess I am. Life is hectic on all fronts, and I’m not sleeping well.” She pulled out the file she’d brought with Charlie’s name printed on it, ready to jot down notes. “I’m dying to hear about your dates with Rachel and Karly.” A weighty pause. “But first, I have to ask, has anyone in the D.A.’s office come through for you? Did you learn anything new?”

Charlie lowered his gaze, concentrating on stirring his coffee. “Nothing I can discuss.”

Morgan went very still. “What does that mean?”

He sighed. “Look, Morgan, I’m pushing as hard as I can. But this is a delicate situation. It requires a fair amount of diplomacy—and I
don’t
mean because I’m covering my own butt. Like it or not, my sources have to feel certain that I’ll keep whatever I’m told in confidence.”

“In other words,
they’re
protecting
their
butts.”

“In some cases, yes. In some cases, they’re not working with facts, only supposition and hearsay. And in some cases, I’m easing my way through a chain of command in order to find the right person to supply my answers—if those answers exist.”

“Does that mean you don’t know anything yet, or you know something but aren’t authorized to share it with me?”

“It means you have to give me a little time. I’m operating on instinct and bread crumbs of information I’m picking up along the way. When I have something concrete under my belt, I’ll speed-dial your number. I promise.”

Reluctantly, Morgan accepted his explanation and his assurance. “I appreciate that. I realize you’re putting yourself through this primarily because of the pressure Arthur is exerting.”

“You’re wrong,” he interrupted. “My office’s motive is one thing. Mine’s another.” He leaned forward, staring at her intently. “It’s true that Congressman Shore has a lot of influence. And, yes, the D.A. is eager to offer his cooperation. But I’m not doing this for the congressman. I’m doing it for your father—and for you.”

Morgan’s cup paused halfway to her lips. There was an intensity about
Charlie’s tone, and his words, that caught her off guard. She’d known he admired her father, maybe even hero-worshipped him a little. But what he’d just said sounded like more than that. It sounded personal.

She sipped at her coffee, trying to figure out how to approach this. Ultimately, she decided that direct was best. “Charlie, is there something you’re not telling me? Something you had firsthand knowledge of seventeen years ago that’s driving you now?”

Clearly, the question startled him. His eyes narrowed. “Where are you going with this?”

“I’m not sure. It’s just the way you said that, about doing this for my father and me, you sounded…I don’t know, invested.”

“I am invested,” he replied flatly. “I thought the world of your father. I think the world of you. Anything I can do to set things right, I will.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Morgan wasn’t ready to back down. The feeling she had wasn’t going away. And her instincts were rarely without basis. “I’m not questioning your motives. I’m questioning your suspicions. You were working for the D.A. when my father was killed. Were you privy to something that didn’t seem right, but that you dismissed as unrelated at the time?”

Charlie’s gaze hardened. “Don’t pump me, Morgan. I’m a prosecutor. I manipulate information out of people, not the other way around.”

“Right. And you work for the D.A. Your allegiance has to encompass more than just my father and me.”

“It has to. That doesn’t mean it does.”

“What are you—” Morgan bit off her question. She was dying to push this. But something in Charlie’s expression made her back down. She’d have to bide her time. Otherwise, she’d blow one of the few inside connections she had.

“Okay,” she said carefully. “Let’s drop this for now. Whatever it is, you’ll tell me…when you’re ready.”

A flash of irony flickered in his eyes. “Count on it.” He resumed eating his sandwich.

Taking a deep breath, Morgan changed the subject. “Let’s talk about the weekend. How did things go with your dates?”

“Very well.” Charlie’s words seemed forced, complimentary or not. “Rachel might be young, but she’s a real go-getter. I admire her ambition. Hell,
I see it in myself. Anyway, we went to dinner, saw a show, then had drinks and debated the death penalty until three a.m. As for Karly, she’s great-looking, charming, and intuitive. My energy level was low the night we got together. She picked up on that right away, and kept things mellow. We had a leisurely dinner at La Grenouille. Actually, we saw Congressman Shore there. He was with Daniel Kellerman and several other businessmen. I would have said hello, but they seemed to be in the middle of a heavy discussion.”

A shrug. “Probably about the bill Arthur’s sponsoring. He has dozens of meetings between now and January, when Congress reconvenes.” Morgan dismissed the subject with a wave of her hand. “So back to Karly and Rachel. Any sparks? Any desire to see either of them again? Because it sounds to me more like you’re delivering a keynote address than reporting on dates with two incredible women.”

Charlie’s lips curved slightly. “Does it? I didn’t mean for it to. They were both lovely. Maybe it’s just my state of mind right now. Maybe I’m just distracted.”

“Then I’m not doing my job well enough,” Morgan declared. “Because I’m supposed to help you find someone who’ll overcome that distraction.” She eased her plate aside and flipped open the file to a clean sheet of paper. “Let’s talk specifics. I’m hell-bent on finding you the woman of your dreams.”

Charlie raised his coffee cup. “Then here’s to specifics. May they hold the key to my happiness.”

RACHEL OGDEN AND
Karly Fontaine had never met.

So they had no way of knowing they crossed paths on Madison Avenue at one-forty that afternoon.

Rachel was on her way to the St. Regis hotel for the consult she’d scheduled with Morgan. She’d just finished up a half-day meeting with a major advertising firm she was working with on acquisition candidates. Her mind was in a million places at once, and she was striding through the city on autopilot.

She should be getting back to the office. She really didn’t have another
hour to devote to her love life. But Morgan had a way of inspiring confidence. Her approach promised results. And with the way Rachel’s career was skyrocketing, the long hours she was putting in, she wouldn’t have a minute to personally seek out fascinating men. So why not have Winshore do it for her? They were pros, and besides, she’d done a lousy job of managing her love life on her own. Her track record stunk. The men she found were either totally self-involved, unwilling to compromise or commit, or married.

No more of that. Time to level the playing field.

Rachel reached the corner of Fifty-third and Madison, and was waiting for the traffic light to change. That’s when Karly Fontaine approached, coming from the opposite direction.

Karly’s day had been equally hectic. Botched photo sessions. Massaging delicate egos. Soothing irate magazine publishers. Her modeling agency had been like the set of a bad soap opera since 8 a.m. Now she was headed for the subway station to catch the E train downtown, in the hopes of putting out yet another fire.

The two women never saw each other. The corner was jammed with pedestrians elbowing to gain advantage. Rachel edged her way between two people and stepped into the street the minute the light turned green. Karly was half a step behind her.

It happened in an instant. A beat-up white van screeched around the corner and struck Rachel head-on, sending her flying through the air and then crashing to the street, where she rolled to the curb. Several bystanders screamed. Cars swerved to avoid her. Even taxis slammed on their brakes.

The van never stopped.

Without glancing back, the driver weaved through traffic, racing up Madison Avenue until the van was swallowed up and gone.