Death Logs In (26 page)

Ulrich despised Jonathan Goldstein and wondered how this man, so different from himself, could know precisely what woke him up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat.

Chapter 63

New York City

Y
es, Sindy thought, she had seen him twice before.

The scenes flashed before her as she watched Samantha—who was no longer speaking, her mouth half-open, her eyes glazed and half-shut, her head lowered halfway toward the table.

She remembered him. She had been dining with Michael in L.A. at La Dolce Vita, twirling her spaghetti. He had passed not too far from their table, on his way from the men’s room. It was the same night that photographer was killed outside their hotel. Even then, at that dinner, she remembered thinking she recognized him, but she had not been able to get a good look at him. She watched now as he leaned close to the bartender and, in a voice she could just barely hear but knew she had heard before, ordered a Campari and soda. He then turned slightly toward her, just enough for her to see his face more clearly, to see his eyes, the piercing eyes that were different colors. Astoria. Piccola Venezia, the night she sat at the bar while Michael and the bishop had their dinner. She remembered his eyes.

Samantha’s head was only inches off the table. Her delicate fingers still grasped the empty martini glass. Sindy checked the bottom of the glass to be sure there were no obvious signs of the capsule. The pill had done its job, but tonight’s plan would have to wait, at least until she could identify the stranger who had turned up three times—in Astoria, then L.A.—and now, here.

Leaving Samantha passed out at the table, she rose up and walked out the door.

Outside, she looked up and down Seventy-Sixth Street and, convinced no one was following, turned left toward Fifth Avenue and her car. She knew that when Samantha awoke, whenever and wherever that was, she would be unable to recall the details of the final minutes of her evening.

If anyone asked, Sindy would simply say that Samantha had become intoxicated and unpleasant, so she left her there. She laughed wildly and said, loud enough for anyone to hear, “Maybe she was on drugs.”

Chapter 64

New York City

W
hile Puccini’s opera played softly in the background, Frank Cortese sat watching Samantha as she lay sound asleep on the large king bed under the fluffy, white, down comforter, her head nestled on the oversized, soft, feather pillows.

Still attired in his silver-grey suit, white shirt and red tie, he stroked the sleek, sharpened, silver stiletto that he held in his lap.

He pressed the release button on the stiletto. The seven-inch blade silently snapped out of its case. He turned it over, inspecting it, admiring the Italian design and the polished silver. He took his handkerchief and meticulously rubbed it clean. He knew he hadn’t used this particular tool in months but handling it made him feel calm when he found himself agitated.

The warm lighting, stylish decor and subdued color tones of the Surrey’s junior suite further eased his nerves. He’d been watching Michael Nicholas for weeks and had silently gotten to know him—and Steele—quite well. But in the course of his surveillance, he had become
obsessed
with the beautiful woman asleep on the bed.

While in the bar watching Steele, it was clear that Samantha was in grave danger. He observed that even though Samantha was fading away in front of her, Steele’s attention was elsewhere. her eyes darting around the room, checking to see who was watching. He had learned to read the nuances; he knew well the subtle foundation work that goes into each assignment. He was sure that Steele was going to murder Samantha.

The irony of his situation wasn’t lost on him as he held his cell phone to his ear with his free hand and waited for Monsignor Petrucceli to answer.

“Monsignor, I know the hour is late.” It was three in the morning in Rome. “I would not call except for the urgency of the situation, my friend.”

“What’s wrong, Frank? Are you alright?”

He opened the knife again.

“Frank, are you there?”

Cortese carefully closed the instrument and placed it back in his coat pocket before turning his attention back to his call.

“Oh, yes, yes, of course, Dominick. But I am in an unusual situation, you see. I was following our friend in the bar of this hotel this evening while the lady assassin was sharing drinks with Mrs. Nicholas. I think perhaps this Signora Steele, is perhaps, as the Americans say, a loose cannon. Dangerous, you understand? I believe, Dominick, that she is also jealous of this Samantha. Anytime two women share one man, it is not good,
si
? But then, at the bar, you see, she may have recognized me from an earlier rendezvous. I believe she either got Mrs. Nicholas here very drunk or may have drugged her.”

“Frank, when you say, ‘Mrs. Nicholas
here
,’ what exactly do you mean? Are you
with
her?”

“Yes, precisely. Steele left Mrs. Nicholas passed out in the bar at this hotel. I could not leave her and walk out myself. I took a special room here and helped her up. I have carefully placed her in the bed and called for the hotel doctor. He says she is good, she will recover, she needs rest. So, now she is resting. All is well.”

“Frank, am I missing something? What are you doing there,
with her
? Why did you get involved with this?”

“She would have been harmed. The authorities would have been called. It would have brought attention to all of these people. It would then have complicated our own plans. Do you understand?” Cortese knew this was only his own rationalization, but he also knew it actually made sense.

“Yes, Frank. I think I understand but, you know what you have to do this weekend, don’t you? Your assignment has nothing to do with her—“

Cortese grimaced as he looked at Samantha Nicholas. He whispered into the phone, “Yes, Dominick. I know. Of course. There is no problem. I have watched her. She is a good woman.”

“Frank, think about this before you answer, but are you possibly attracted to this woman?”

He looked again at her as she slept. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. But he knew Petrucceli was now nervous, waiting for his answer.

“Tonight I save her life so that on Sunday she can be a widow. She is too good for this Michael Nicholas. But, a woman such as this, they are not drawn to men who live the life I do. I understand I cannot afford the luxury of such attractions except, of course, from a distance. I love many such things, my friend, but always from a distance. It is where I am, unfortunately, most comfortable.”

“Frank, it is late and you are lonely. This is the time to listen to the voice in your head, not the one speaking to you from your heart.” Cortese could hear Petrucceli’s deep sigh, “Frank, you must leave. The morning light will bring clarity to what the night conceals.”

Cortese closed his eyes. “Very well, life is complicated and delicate.”

Chapter 65

New York City

S
amantha Nicholas woke up to a splitting headache and the persistent ring of the telephone near her bed. She was still half-asleep but as she listened, the words gave her a fright.

“A visitor is on his way up, Mrs. Nicholas.”

Before she could ask who it was, they had hung up. Who is coming? How do they know my name? She recognized the room; she and Michael had stayed at the Surrey many times over the years. But how did she wind up here? She remembered sitting in the bar with Sindy Steele, the terrible conversation, and then … the drowsiness. Yes, she remembered feeling drugged. The rest was a blur.

She heard the click of the electronic lock on her door. She recognized his voice immediately, “Samantha, it’s me. Are you OK?”

She picked up the first object she could get her hands on. The heavy Baccarat crystal vase flew by, narrowly missing Michael’s head, and smashed into the wall behind him, shattering the formerly fine French crystal into a hundred pieces.

Her thick blonde hair matted, still in her clothes from last evening, she knew she looked crazed but with the effects of the drugs wearing off and seeing Michael in front of her, she felt energized with adrenalin—and anger.

“How could you let that nutcase woman come near me? How could you?” she screamed.

“I had no idea you were seeing her. I’ve been crazy since last night when I couldn’t reach you. I’ve been searching and calling all over. Fletcher had the NYPD helping. Finally, Sindy told me she had met you for a drink last night.”

“
Met me for a drink?
Is cyanide a drink?
Leaving aside everything else that we have discussed—and I don’t mean to minimize your relationship with her, I’ll deal with
that
again later—even
you
must realize this woman is dangerous. Do you understand this? She
drugged
me, Michael. She called my cell and said we had to meet, so I met her downstairs, we had a drink and then, all of a sudden, I was passing out. The next thing I know, I’m waking up alone in this hotel room. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know where to begin, Samantha. Everything’s just gotten crazy, it’s all out of control. I know that. I had no idea she’d contacted you or I would have stopped you.”

“You haven’t slept with her again have you?”

Michael didn’t answer.

“Oh my God. I must be crazy. You had
sex
with her after our discussion, our agreement, just a few days ago?”

“Samantha, I’m so sorry. I know it was ridiculously wrong but—”

Samantha stopped him. “But what?
But what, Michael
? What could you
possibly
say after ‘but’?”

“She’s a cold-blooded killer. I’m afraid of what she might have done if I broke everything off with her.” He watched for her reaction, “Samantha, she could kill either one—or both of us.”

Samantha put her face in her hands, “Oh my God. Oh my God. Was she trying to kill me?”

“I don’t know. I’m honestly not sure what she was up to. She said she was sitting with you—and someone came in and then she had to leave. She said you were upset and drunk—and maybe on drugs—and so she was going to leave anyway but then someone entered the bar. This guy she said had been following us—her—and she had to take off.”

“Is that how you found out where I was?”

“Actually, no. I called her
after
I found out, to see what she knew. Until then, I had no idea you’d met with her.”

“How
did you
find out then?”

Michael hesitated. She had a feeling he was going to say something crazy—and he did.

“Alex—”

“Oh, no. No. You can’t be serious. No, Michael, Alex is dead. You’ve been talking to a computer. Don’t you understand that? Please, tell me that you do.”

“I asked Alex to help me find you.”

Ignoring her, he said, “He told me where you were and to get to Sindy and so I called her right away. She then told me what had happened and where she left you. I then called the hotel, and some of our friends at the front desk here told me that they knew you were here. They were very nervous about disclosing it. They probably thought you were having an affair with this guy or something.”

“
What
guy? If I knew who it was,
I would
.”

“They finally said that a stranger, a man, checked you in, paid cash for the room and left shortly after he brought you up. They said you were passed out.”

“Oh my God. Some guy we don’t know got me the room and put me to bed? Who could it have been?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it was the guy Sindy saw at the bar and was worried about enough to cause her to leave.”

“Michael, what do you mean, you don’t know? How can you not know? How can you know part of the story but not the rest of it? Didn’t you ask her?”

“She’s not a normal person, Samantha. She doesn’t explain things. There’s always a lot of mystery surrounding her.”

“Michael, I thought we had already talked this through. I believed you when you said you were going to end this with her. Not having sex would have been a goddamned logical place to start, don’t you think?”

Chapter 66

New York City

M
ichael watched as both Lesters eagerly indulged in I Sodi’s thinly layered cheese-and-meat lasagna while he savored the homemade linguine prepared with butter, grated pecorino cheese and pepper. The intimate, dark and cozy West Village restaurant was one of his favorites.

He marveled how, roughly a year since Alex’s death, the conversation amongst the three of them seemed to flow so easily. And he wondered if Skinny and Fat Lester were now as much at ease with him as they had been for so many years with Alex.

“Did Alex ever involve Donna in the business?” Michael already knew the answer but his plan was to lay the groundwork for Samantha’s involvement in the business.

“No, Donna was Alex’s
wife
.”

“Lester,” Skinny Lester interjected, “I think Michael’s aware of that.” Then, turning to Michael, he said, “You’ve got to remember, Michael, Alex never married the types of women you’d bring into a business, unless it was a strip club. All three of them, they were great-looking, and if there was anything missing, he had that plastic surgeon on Park Avenue take care of it.”

“The reason I’m asking is that I might have Samantha get more involved with us. You know, to help entertain some of our clients, maybe hang around the offices sometimes during the day when I’m not around. She’s a good business person and she’s smart.”

Fat and Skinny Lester exchanged a quick glance. Skinny Lester, raising one eyebrow slightly, leaned in closer to Michael. “Michael,” he was nearly whispering, “How’s this going to work with The Terminator?”

Michael couldn’t help but smile at the endearment, “You mean Sindy?”

“Yeah, we mean it as a compliment. You know, for pushing the French guy out the window.” Fat Lester offered. “Guys she doesn’t like seem to die.”

“We’ve known you almost since the day you were born, so I’m going to tell it to you the way I see it,” Skinny Lester said.