Dark Room (14 page)

“Excellent. Then you’ll be meeting Jill then. She planned the party, so it’s bound to be an affair to remember.”

“I’ll wear my new Chanel dress. It’ll be perfect. And who knows? Maybe that’s the night I’ll meet Mr. Right.”

“Speaking of which…” Morgan leaned forward, curious to hear if Karly’s take on the evening was the same as Charlie’s. “What did you think of Charlie Denton?”

A shrug. “Nice guy. A little on the introspective side, but very charming. A great listener. Intelligent, too, and intense.” Karly wrinkled her nose. “I wish he’d directed a little more of his intensity at me, and not at the businessmen at the next table.”

Morgan knew exactly who Karly was referring to, since Charlie had mentioned Arthur’s powwow. “Charlie said something about a high-powered meeting going on at a nearby table. But he didn’t dwell on it. He just mentioned it in passing.”

“Well, he was definitely distracted. So much so that, at first, I thought he was staring at another woman. Which didn’t do much for my ego, given I was his date. But then I saw it was some businessmen and politicians he was focused on. So I assumed his interest must have been work-related. Still, it did put a damper on the evening, having only half his attention.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t personal. As a prosecutor, Charlie must have a lot on his plate.”

“True, but the crowd at the next table wasn’t on that plate. At least not while he was out with me.” Karly broke off with a rueful expression. “Sorry. I don’t mean to sound bitchy. I’m just not a very good sharer. When I’m out with a man, I expect his undivided attention. Call it self-centered, or call it insecurity.” A shrug. “In any case, I don’t hold it against him. We had a lovely dinner. As I said, he’s a nice guy. A really nice guy.”

“Just not
the
guy,” Morgan concluded.

“No—at least not for me.”

“Enough said.” Morgan filed away the nuances—those she’d picked up from Charlie, and those she’d just had reinforced by Karly. “Let’s see what we can do about zeroing in on
the
guy.”

HOURS HAD PASSED.
Lane was exhausted but satisfied with the results. He had coaxed every bit of resolution out of the original crime-scene negatives. He was in the middle of backing up the files to DVDs when his doorbell rang.

Right on cue.

He tore himself away from his work long enough to leave the lab and let his father into the brownstone. “Hey, Monty,” he greeted wryly. “What took you so long?”

“Cut the chitchat.” His father marched inside. “What did you find? And what were you doing skulking around Lenny’s like Secret Agent Man, hiding behind a coatrack?”

Lane exhaled sharply. He should have known. Nothing got by Monty. “I was getting a feel for the turf, figuring out what aspect of the investigation you guys were talking about.”

“In other words, this is about Hayek. Fine. You’ll tell me when you’re ready. Just make it soon.” Monty didn’t miss a beat. “Back to my question—what did you find out?”

“Give me a break, Serpico,” Lane retorted, rolling his eyes. “I just finished turning your precious negatives into digital gold nuggets. I haven’t had time to do anything beyond making sure that the scans were high quality.”

That response was greeted with a scowl. “How much longer before we get our answers?”

“This isn’t like shooting Polaroids, Monty. They don’t develop in three minutes.”

“Fine. I’ll give you five minutes.”

“Gee, thanks. Tell you what. Instead of harassing me, why don’t you make yourself useful? Go out and pick us up some dinner. And buy us three jumbo cups of coffee each. It’s going to be a long night.”

“Great.” Another scowl, this one surlier than the last. “I’d better call
your mother and tell her I won’t be coming home. She’s going to be pissed and it’s your fault. I’ll be sure to tell her that, too.”

“She’ll forgive me.” Lane looked unconcerned. “I’m her favorite son.”

“You’re her
only
son.”

“True. You, on the other hand, might not be so lucky.”

“Why? I’m her only husband.”

“Yeah, but if she doesn’t get her pastrami sandwich and Rhoda’s chopped liver, you’ll be sleeping on the couch for a week.”

“Not to worry. I’m safe. I drove home after lunch and delivered Lenny’s food. Your mother will find it in the fridge when she gets home.”

“Ah. Then there’s hope for you yet.” Lane jerked his thumb in the direction of the front door. “Enough banter. You get dinner and coffee. I’ll get back to work. We have a lot of ground to cover. The sooner I start, the sooner we’ll have our answers.”

MORGAN WAS JUST
popping a Lean Cuisine into the microwave when her phone rang. She scooped up the telephone as the microwave whirred into action. “Hello?”

“Morgan?”

“Yes, who’s this?”

“Charlie Denton. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

She paused in the process of reaching for a pot holder. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“That hit-and-run on Madison. I’m sure you heard about it on the evening news. The victim was Rachel Ogden. I requested a copy of the police report, which I just got. It turns out that Karly Fontaine was the person who called it in.”

“Yes, I know. The whole situation’s tragic. Rachel had to go through surgery, and it’ll be months before she’s herself. And Karly—she’s a mess. I spoke with her. She’s pretty traumatized.”

“I’m sure she is. But what about you?”

“Me?”

“Morgan, you’re the common denominator here. It worries me. Think about it. Two of your clients, both in the exact same spot at the exact same
time. Not only that, but it happens to be the exact instant that some maniac driver comes barreling around the corner and plows one of them down.”

“It’s a horrible coincidence, I agree. But—”

“Coincidences like that don’t happen.”

Morgan sank down into a chair. “Where are you going with this? You think this was personal?”

“Maybe. Maybe it was a warning.”

“A warning?” Morgan was trying to assimilate what Charlie was telling her. “How would hurting one of my clients be a warning to me? Why would I even make the connection you’re alluding to?”

“Who was Rachel on her way to meet?”

A tense pause. “Me.”

“Right. Which means you’d find out about the so-called accident quickly. As for Karly being at the scene, that tells me someone went to a lot of trouble to familiarize himself with both women’s schedules. His goal was to send you a message. Twice the number of clients meant twice the likelihood you’d realize the message was for you.”

“And what was this message?”

“To back off. To have
me
back off. I don’t have a concrete answer for you. But the timing, the women involved, the fact that I just spent virtually back-to-back evenings with those women, and the fact that I’m poking around the D.A.’s office, asking sensitive questions, maybe getting close enough to push someone’s hot button—doesn’t that strike you as too much of a coincidence? Because it sure as hell does me. It tells me someone doesn’t like the direction we’re heading in, or what we’re on the verge of finding.”

Morgan was starting to tremble. “So you think this was planned. Someone was sitting in a van, waiting for Rachel to show up so he could hit her. If that’s the case, why choose my client? Why not go for the gold and run me down instead?”

“Because he’s smart. Smart criminals aren’t obvious. They’re subtle. They do something personal enough to make their point, not explicit enough to get the cops interested. In this case, with your parents’ case reopened, running you down would be like waving a red flag in a bull’s face.”

“You really think…?” Behind Morgan, the microwave started a rhythmic beeping, announcing it had finished cooking her Lean Cuisine. She scarcely heard it. “Charlie, you’re scaring me.”

“That wasn’t my intent. But I’m a prosecutor. Unlikely coincidences jump out at me. And if there’s a chance I’m right, if someone is trying to scare you off, I had to let you know. To make sure you were okay, and to advise you to be careful.”

“Thanks—I think.”

“Just lock your door and put on your alarm. In the meantime, I’ll keep working this angle. I’ll see what else I can find out, and call you tomorrow. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Charlie heard the apprehension in her tone, and responded to it. “Hey, Morgan? Hang in there.”

“I’ll try.”

L
ane and Monty were in the kitchen, finishing their take-out burritos and polishing off their first giant cups of coffee, when Monty’s cell phone rang.

He glanced at his watch: 10:15. Late enough for the call to be important; not so late that it meant something was wrong.

He punched on the phone. “Montgomery.”

“Detective…hi. It’s Morgan Winter.” She sounded surprised to hear him, live and talking to her. Clearly, she’d been expecting voice mail.

She also sounded rattled.

“I hope I’m not calling too late.”

“Nope. Perfect timing,” he assured her. “For the past three hours, I’ve been sitting on my ass…sorry—my butt. It’s numb.”

“Sitting. Then you must be hanging out, relaxing with your wife. Please apologize to her for me. I didn’t mean to interrupt your evening.”

“Not to worry. I’m not home. I’m at Lane’s. He and I are going through
the scans—or, rather, he is. I’m just watching from the sidelines, waiting for something that looks out of place.”

“Lane’s? Isn’t his town house near mine?”

“Not far.”

“Too far to ask you to drop over?”

“Now?”

“If that’s possible.”

Monty’s eyes narrowed. “Is everything okay?”

A jittery pause. “I’m not sure. I could be overreacting. But I’d feel better if I ran this by you and got your opinion. And as long as you haven’t left the city yet…” Another pause. “This is ridiculous. It’s late. You and Lane are working—on my case no less. Forget I called. We’ll pick this up tomorrow—”

“I’m grabbing my coat,” Monty interrupted to inform her. “I could use some air. And Lane will be thrilled to have me off his back for a while. I’ll be there soon.” He punched off, lifting his head to meet Lane’s gaze. His son had swiveled around on the kitchen stool and was eyeing him quizzically—and with more than a touch of concern.

“What’s going on?”

“No clue. But whatever it is, it’s got Morgan pretty freaked out. I’m going to run over there and see what’s up.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll go back into your lab and scrutinize those scans until you have something to tell me.”

Lane was about to protest, when his doorbell rang.

“Damn,” he muttered, coming to his feet. “It’s a moot point. I can’t leave. That’s Jonah. I completely forgot he was dropping by.”

“It’s a little late for a mentoring session, isn’t it?” Monty sounded annoyed. “Besides, much as I like the kid, I don’t want him distracting you from these scans.”

“He won’t. This will be quick. He finished developing the photos he took today of Arthur Shore, and he’s eager for me to look at them.” A pensive frown. “I also got the feeling something threw him for a loop, and he wants to talk to me about it.”

“Then I’m outta here.” Monty was headed toward the door. He strode
through the hall, snatched his jacket off the hook, and was shrugging into it when Lane opened the door for Jonah.

“Hey,” Lane greeted him. “Come on in.”

Jonah hovered in the doorway, glancing from Lane to Monty. “Hi, Detective Montgomery.” He shifted awkwardly. “If this is a bad time, I can come back.”

“Not a bad time at all,” Monty assured him. “I’ve got an errand to run. I’ll be gone an hour or so. That’ll give you and Lane some time to talk before I drag him back to work.”

“Thanks.”

Monty zipped up his jacket, then shot Lane a purposeful look. “I won’t be long. Get back to those photos as soon as you can.”

“Will do.” Lane shut the door behind his father.

“Sorry.” Jonah kicked snow off his boot. “I hope your dad’s not pissed.”

A corner of Lane’s mouth lifted. “That wasn’t his pissed voice. That was his Dick Tracy voice. He’s in his get-it-solved mode. Don’t take it personally.” Lane extended his arm. “Give me your coat, and grab a seat anywhere—just not in the lab. It’s a zoo.”

“And off-limits. I get it.” Jonah handed over his parka, simultaneously whipping out an envelope and offering it to Lane. “Here are the photos. I got shots of the congressman at his meetings, among his constituents, and even in his office. I think a bunch of them work. But I want your opinion.”

“No problem,” Lane replied, taking the envelope. “Although I’m sure you did a great job. Now let’s get to what’s bugging you. I got the feeling there was something on your mind other than getting my professional opinion on your photographic assignment.”

A nod, as Jonah dropped onto the sofa. “I had kind of a weird experience at Congressman Shore’s office today. I need some advice. Maybe some perspective. Maybe some reassurance.”

“Go on.” Lane leaned against the wall, folding his arms across his chest.

“Like I said, I took some shots of the congressman in his office. Mostly they were candids of him with his staff. I zoomed in on one aide in particular—Heidi Garber. She’s about twenty-three, really photogenic, and she’s
got a great rapport with the congressman. They were talking, going over his agenda. The interaction captured a side of him that worked. Warm. Tight with his staff. So I snapped six or seven shots in rapid succession. In the middle of it, Mrs. Shore walked in. She got ticked off, told me to pick another angle to focus on. I’m not dumb. I get where it’s coming from. I’m just not sure how to handle it. This is my first big assignment. I don’t want to blow it. Do you think I did?”

Lane felt a wave of compassion for Jonah. The uncertain look in his eyes, the nervous pumping of his leg—they only served to remind Lane that his assistant was just an insecure teenager trying to prove himself. And finding himself in the middle of all the personal drama surrounding Arthur Shore couldn’t be easy.

“You didn’t blow anything,” he assured Jonah. “Elyse Shore might be sensitive about certain issues surrounding her husband, but she’s a nice lady. She’s actually pretty laid-back and upbeat. She’s not going to throw a monkey wrench in your work or at you—not unless you outright insulted her. Did you?”

“Uh-uh.” Jonah shook his head. “I didn’t even answer her. I was too tongue-tied. I just stood there. The good part is, I don’t think she noticed. She turned and walked out right after she saw her husband hanging out with Heidi.”

“Then I’d say you’re safe.”

“I hope so.” Jonah shuffled in his seat. “It’s hard to imagine Mrs. Shore as laid-back. She was pretty uptight when she told me to change perspectives. And the way she looked when she left was anything but upbeat. She looked beaten up. I don’t mean physically—”

“I know what you mean,” Lane interrupted. “And you did the right thing by staying out of it. Here’s some advice, for both work and play: never get in the middle of a relationship.
You’re
the one who’ll end up beaten up.”

“I hear you.” Jonah looked relieved. “Anyway, I shifted gears after that. Just some random shots of the congressman at work. They have less eye appeal, but they’re a lot safer.”

Lane chuckled. “Let me take a look.” He opened the envelope, slid out the prints Jonah had made. The kid had definite talent. In a couple of
rolls, he’d captured the essence of “Congressman Shore wins his district’s faith, support, and hearts.”

“These are exceptional,” Lane informed his assistant. “You’ve got real talent, Jonah. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“Thanks.” Jonah released the breath he’d been holding, pride and pleasure lighting his eyes. “Coming from you, that means a lot.”

“It also means you’ll be doing more on this project—if you want to.”

“If I
want
to? Are you kidding? Just tell me what you need and it’s done.”

“I like your enthusiasm. Plus, I think it would be good for you to spread your wings. Photography’s a big field. I’d be remiss if I didn’t point that out to you. There’s a ton of different career paths you can take. Photojournalism’s just one, especially given the other talents you bring to the table. Your technical aptitudes are off the charts, not only behind the lens but on the computer, in the lab. Explore every avenue.”

Rather than puffing up at the compliment, Jonah grimaced. “You’re not talking about taking more courses, are you?”

“No,” Lane answered thoughtfully. “I wasn’t thinking of more classroom training. You’re on the right track in that area. But speaking of school, what’s your schedule this week? Brooklyn Tech is on break for the holidays, isn’t it?” He waited for Jonah’s nod. “Good. Because that matters for what I have in mind. How’d you feel about joining me on the road, as they say? Or in this case, in the air—to Colorado and the Poconos?”

Jonah nearly leaped to his feet. “Say when and I’m packed.”

“Tomorrow. Of course, I’ll need permission from your folks. It’ll only be for a couple of days, and you’ll be under my supervision at all times. And before you ask, no, you don’t get to jump out of planes or go heli-skiing. You just get to take ground and aerial shots of the congressman and me doing that.”

“I can live with that.” Jonah paused, his excitement suspended as a thought struck. “I hope my parents will be okay with this. We’ve got some heavy stuff going on at home right now.”

“Really.” Lane’s brows rose. It was the first time Jonah had offered up anything personal about his home life. Lane knew that the Vaughns lived in the Sheepshead Bay section of Brooklyn, that Jonah’s father worked as
a mechanic and his mother as a hospital aide. He’d never met either of them, except by phone, and that was a perfunctory call when Jonah started working for him. They’d seemed like a normal, caring set of parents, asking questions and expressing pride in their son.

Clearly, whatever “stuff” was going on was bugging Jonah. Lane didn’t want to pry, but he didn’t want to give Jonah the impression he didn’t care, either.

“Anything you want to talk about?” he asked carefully.

Rather than shutting down, Jonah seemed torn, like he wanted to open up but wasn’t quite ready to. “Maybe later.” His response confirmed Lane’s assessment. “Right now, I’m still trying to sort it out.” Abruptly, his head came up. “I’m not in any trouble, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

“It’s not. If you want the truth, what’s worrying me is that it might be financial. If so, I’d like to help.”

“Thanks, Lane, that’s really cool of you. But, no, it’s not about money. It’s about me, who I am. I’ve got issues to come to terms with. So do my parents.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “But, man, I really want to go on these trips with you. And a couple of days won’t change anything anyway.”

Lane processed that, studying his assistant. Whatever identity crisis Jonah was going through, he needed something solid and real to lean on. And in his case, photography was it.

“How about if I call your folks?” Lane suggested. “I’ll tell them about the opportunity, and the fact that a credit in
Time
could clinch a scholarship for you. Do you think that would help?”

“Yeah.” Jonah blew out a relieved breath. “Yeah, I think that would help a lot. In fact, I’m pretty sure it would give me the green light.”

“Consider it done, then.” Lane glanced at his watch. “Damn. It’s eleven o’clock. You’ve got to get home, and I’ve got to get back to work. I’ve got a mound of work to accomplish before I take off for Colorado. So I’ll call your parents first thing in the morning.”

“My dad goes into the shop at seven,” Jonah quickly supplied. “My mom’s at the hospital by eight. The whole house is awake at six.”

“Got it. I’ll call at six-thirty. That’ll give your parents time to open their eyes. And it’ll give you plenty of time to pack. We’re not leaving till ten.”

“Great.” Jonah got up and snatched his jacket. “So we’ll talk in the morning?”

“Yup. And pack warm clothes. It’ll be freezing in the San Juans.”

MORGAN HEARD THE
knock at her front door. She walked quickly down the hall, although she had no intention of even touching the lock until she knew who was on the other side of the door.

Detective Montgomery saved her the trouble of asking. “It’s Pete Montgomery,” he called.

Gratefully, she unlocked the door and let him in. “Thank you so much for coming. I feel like an idiot bothering you at this time of night.”

“It wasn’t a bother, not if you’ve got some coffee.” He’d already yanked off his parka.

“Already brewed.” Morgan managed a smile, hanging up Monty’s jacket and leading him toward the staircase. “Let’s go to the second-floor sitting room. It’s more comfortable, and right next to the kitchen—which means it’s near the Impressa.”

“The what?”

Her smile curved into something real rather than strained. “The Impressa. My über-elite coffee center. It brews everything from espresso to cappuccino to latte.” She preceded Monty up the staircase, tossing a reassuring look over her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I sensed you weren’t a latte kind of guy. So I brewed a pot of regular.”

“Good.” He marched upstairs behind her, already wired and willing to become more so. “Caffeine’s good for cops and PIs. It keeps our minds and bodies working overtime.”

“I doubt you need it. That seems to come naturally to you.” Morgan showed Monty into the sitting room and left long enough to bring him a steaming mug. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Perched at the edge of the settee, Monty took an appreciative gulp. “Strong and leaded, the way I like it.” He raised his chin, fixing Morgan with a probing stare. “Now, tell me what happened to freak you out so much.”

“A couple of things.” Morgan sank down across from him and crossed her legs. “Did you hear about today’s hit-and-run on Madison?”

“Yeah. On the radio.” Monty made a face. “When those happen in East New York, the stories barely make the eleven o’clock news. When it’s in a classy section of midtown, it’s on every local channel at five. Go figure.” His eyes narrowed. “Why? Did you know the woman?”

“She’s one of my clients. So is the woman who called in the accident.”

“Interesting.” Monty’s facial expression didn’t change. “Go on.”

Morgan detailed the entire scenario for him. “Rachel’s going to be okay. Initially, that’s all I focused on. Meaningful coincidences never entered my mind. Then I got this cryptic phone call from Charlie Denton.”

“Denton?” This time Monty’s brows rose. “Where does he factor into this?”