Deceived (14 page)

She shook her head. “I’m not buying it.”

“We need to find the original documents from which these exhibits were copied, if they still exist. You have access. I don’t. Will you either include me in the search,” he paused, “or tell me what you find?” He hesitated, then thought through what he had learned about Taylor. Despite his preconceived ideas of her, she was a compassionate, caring person who wanted to make the world a better place. His gut told him that she wouldn’t lie to him, no matter what she discovered. Yet she was a Bartholomew, which meant that she had a stake in the outcome, so he added, “Honestly tell me.”

Taylor drew a deep breath, as his phone vibrated with a call. “I would never be anything but honest,” she said. “How dare you suggest otherwise?”

He removed the phone from his pocket as Taylor turned and headed to the stairs. He told Pete to hold for a second, then caught up to Taylor. “Look-”

“Take your call,” she said, walking down the stairs and to the exit. “We’re done here.”

“I’ll give you a ride.”

She shook her head. “I’d prefer to walk.”

“Hey,” he said, as they stepped outside, “I didn’t mean to imply that you’d lie.”

She didn’t look at him. “But you did.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to insult you. It’s too hot to walk ten blocks, and I’m going to court, which is next to your office.” He paused. “Besides, Pete’s been looking into some things that were mentioned in Lisa’s notes, and you might be interested in what he’s found. That’s what this call is about.”

“Fine,” she said, “Then take your phone call and give me a ride.”

Once they were in the car, the audio system picked up the call. “Pete, find anything?”

“Rorsch’s daughter, Madeline Rorsch, has all of her father’s documents, which include transcripts of your grandfather’s trial. By the way, going through federal court cold storage would take weeks. If you want to look at the transcripts, Madeline is the way to go. So, Madeline was upset when I told her that Lisa was murdered. Lisa had made a couple of trips there, once in the beginning of the year, then three weeks ago, for a day.”

“Where is Madeline?” Brandon asked.

“Outside of Dallas.” Brandon and Taylor shared a glance. “Near the airport that you usually fly into.”

“Something had to be important for Lisa to spend money that she didn’t have and take the time to go all the way to Dallas,” Brandon said. Taylor nodded, indicating that she was thinking the same thing. “Especially considering that she had a five-week old baby at home.”

“Madeline wouldn’t tell me why Lisa went there, and she was reluctant to open her father’s collection to you,” Pete said. “I convinced her by pressing the issue that you were not only a friend of Lisa’s, but you were Benjamin Morrissey’s grandson. She said to tell you she’d expect you to arrive tomorrow or Sunday. The documents are part of her father’s collection of war memorabilia, which is kept under lock and key in a secure storage facility. She will not allow copies. I arranged for you to have the jet tomorrow. The pilots are booked and the flight plan, which might be adjusted slightly, calls for you to leave at 11:30,” Pete said, “then return here by 4:30.”

Brandon thought through his schedule for Saturday. “I was going to work with Steve and Noel on trial prep. Can you see whether they could be free on Sunday?”

“I’m already rearranging that. Steve would prefer to do it tonight. Are you open for a late night session?”

“Plan it at my house at ten-thirty. I was going to use that time to work on an oral argument that I’m giving next week, but I can wait. Mitch is coming by at ten to talk through discovery strategy on another case,” Brandon said, referring to one of his more senior associates. “And he might need your help with that.”

“I’ll pull it all together.” Pete said. “Oh. One more thing. I looked for an obituary on Rorsch. I wasn’t able to find one. I asked Madeline whether he was alive. She said yes. When I asked whether I could talk to him, she said no. Not under any circumstances.” Brandon detected silverware sliding on a plate, as Pete finished talking.

“Are you eating?”

“Yeah. I stopped by your house to check on the little guy.” Pete paused, and Brandon imagined him standing in the kitchen, as he usually did, with a plateful of food.

“How is Michael?”

“Awesome. I gave him a bottle, he fell asleep in my arms,” Pete said, “and now he’s sleeping. Esme insisted that I eat. Lasagna. It rocks. She made two pans, so we can eat it tonight as well. Getting back to Lisa’s research, I checked the Secretary of State’s historical records. Benjamin Morrissey was a principal in the company, as Lisa’s notes indicated, and I’ve confirmed that he forfeited his share in the company upon his conviction. Do you realize how wealthy you’d be today, if he hadn’t been convicted?”

Brandon glanced at Taylor, who arched an eyebrow back at him, and frowned. “I have an idea.”

“You know, if you could prove that your grandfather was wrongfully convicted,” Pete said, “you may have a claim against HBW for wrongful termination of his ownership interest. Or would that be prescribed?”

Brandon lucked out with a parking spot that was between the courthouse and Taylor’s office. Taylor said, “This is downright fascinating.”

“Brandon?” Pete asked.

Brandon chuckled. “I forgot to mention that Taylor Bartholomew is with me and you’re on speaker. Emphasis on Bartholomew. As in HBW. You two met yesterday evening in her capacity as an assistant district attorney. Today she’s leaving that job. Tomorrow, she’ll be working for HBW.”

“Um, when you have my call on speaker, don’t you know that you’re supposed to tell me when someone else is in the car with you?”

Brandon laughed.

“Hello, Taylor,” Pete said. “I hope that I didn’t offend you.”

“No offense taken,” Taylor answered Pete, but her gaze was on Brandon. Her eyes were serious, but she had a slight, amused smile “As general counsel for HBW, it’s important for me to stay informed of potential adversaries.”

“Whether I could, or would, ever claim an interest in the company is, like Taylor said, fascinating. But that isn’t what this is about. We want to know what Lisa knew,” Brandon said, his words as much for Taylor as for Pete, “and whether it was worth killing her.”

“So you’re not buying the idea that Tilly Rochelle did it?” Pete asked.

“No,” Brandon said, “Not yet.”

“I don’t blame you. The Kings claim that they have nothing to do with Tilly Rochelle, who, by the way, is gone. Even his mom claims that she doesn’t know where he is. Says she hasn’t seen him in months.”

“I’m getting ready to walk into court. Call Marvin. Tell him I’ll pay him to find Tilly and deliver him to the NOPD so that Joe doesn’t waste too much time looking for him.”

As he broke the connection with Pete, Brandon checked his watch. He had five minutes. Taylor said, “Nice to know you might be gunning for an ownership interest in my company.”

He laughed. “I’m not at all.”

“If that changes,” she said, “give me fair warning.”

“You won’t need a warning. I’ll make damn sure that you know.”

“You plan work sessions that begin at ten-thirty at night?”

He shrugged. “I’m an insomniac with a bad habit of multitasking during the day. The other lawyers in my firm know they’ll have my full attention at night.”

“I’d like to look at Rorsch’s documents myself. Is there room for one more on your jet?”

“Not mine. I lease it on an as-needed basis, mostly for the firm. And yes, there’s room for one more. You’re welcome to go to Dallas with me,” he paused, “as long as you let me know what those original design drawings tell you.”

“Deal,” she said, “and I was always going to do that.”

“I know,” he said. “Hard feelings?”

She shook her head. “No. Just be careful with that lack of trusting thing.”

“Will do.” Brandon and Taylor stepped out of the car and into the breath-stealing heat of the first of July. They said goodbye, then turned to walk in opposite directions, until her voice halted his forward movement. “I forgot to tell you about tonight.”

Brandon turned back to her, then froze. A car was pulling away, not twenty yards from where she stood. The car caught his attention, because it was a black, four-door Mercedes, the type of car that Taylor had described the night before. The side windows were tinted. He couldn’t see the driver’s features. As though the driver saw that Brandon was looking, the car accelerated, cutting across three lanes of traffic before Brandon could see the license number. Other drivers protested the maneuver with blaring horns.

Taylor turned to the commotion. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” he said, shaking it off before alarming Taylor. There had to be hundreds of cars like that in downtown New Orleans, even though tinted windows were illegal. He made a mental note to talk to Joe about it though. His observations, coupled with Taylor’s observations from the night before, could mean something in the scheme of the investigation. “You were saying?”

“I’ll be at your house at 6:30 this evening. With my decorators. They’re on board to decorate the nursery.” Taylor gave him a soft smile. “Remember, last night, you said that I could.”

“I remember,” he said, even though Taylor’s offer had slipped his mind. “That’s great.”

“You don’t need to be there. Arrange for me to get in and let me know which room is Michael’s. I’d welcome your input, though,” she paused, “any theme you’d like, and, of course, an amount you’d like to spend.”

“Of course,” Brandon answered. He had to get into court, but he lingered as he watched her walk away. Her skirt hit a few inches above her knee, giving him a view of plenty of long, lean calf. She was sleek and elegant, and even in the godawful heat, she made the parking lot seem like a runway. He turned from her, but he didn’t try to deny that he was attracted to her. His gut said no though, because she was a Bartholomew and would one day lead the company that had destroyed his grandfather and, by proxy, his father. Her name, and what it stood for, should give him enough of a reason to stay away, and the problems didn’t end with her name. For all of her put-on airs of sophistication, she seemed naive, as though she hadn’t been in the real world long enough to develop a shield.

He was broken, with sharp, jagged edges. One way or another, he’d hurt her. He was better than he’d been in a long time, but he sure as hell wasn’t whole. He entered the courtroom as the judge took the podium. As he waited for his case to be called, he told himself that he’d stay away. No more long looks. No more thinking about last night’s kiss and how his body had responded.

No more.

***

Collette Westerfeld stepped out of her home, which bordered Audubon Park. She locked the door, then wandered to the park’s jogging path, toying with ear buds and her phone as she walked. She wore athletic shorts, tennis shoes, and a thin exercise tank top. Her red hair was in a ponytail. She didn’t see him, even though he didn’t bother hiding. While many twenty-seven year olds had work to keep them occupied at two on a Friday afternoon, jobs were for lesser, poorer mortals. Collette was a Westerfeld, and that meant that she didn’t have to work.

He had already been in the Mediterranean-style home long enough to know that this would be an easy kill. Collette was grieving for her mother and brother with the aid of doctor-prescribed antidepressants and anytime-she-wanted-it alcohol. Those two drugs were in addition to her normal rich-girl-fixes of anti-anxiety medication and sleeping pills. Since she possessed the ingredients for a lethal mixture, all he had to do was persuade her to take the shit. Persuasion had never been a problem for him. He went into the kitchen and put odorless gamma hydroxybutyrate into a glass of water.

He liked to use the full name of the date-rape drug, always amused when the people who supplied it said,
huh
? Stupid fucks. GHB, dummy.
Huh
? Date-rape shit.
Oh
, they’d say,
that’s easy to get
.

He dissolved some of
her anti-anxiety pills into the liquid. Her refrigerator was stocked with bottles of drinking water, one of which was separate from the others and was only three quarters full.

Could it be that simple?

If she reached for that bottle of water first, he wouldn’t need to work hard at persuading her to take the rest of the stuff that would kill her. If she didn’t reach for that bottle first, he’d be there to make sure that she drank it anyway. He shrugged.

What the fuck? Why do hard when one could do easy?

He emptied the bottle that she had already started, filled it with some liquid persuasion, then waited for her return.

Chapter Nine

Rose was on a porch swing waiting for Brandon and Kate as they pulled into her driveway. She walked towards the car. Two young labs, Jett’s litter mates, ran circles around her. Rose was tall and lean and, at sixty-nine, she still had more black in her hair than gray. She had a stoic calmness about her that disappeared when she took in the fact that Kate was sitting in the backseat with Michael. “Brandon? Kate? What’s going on here?”

As Brandon got the baby out of the car seat, he said, “This is Michael, mom. He’s my son.”

“Good Lord.” She was still. “Seriously?”

He nodded. She took Michael out of Brandon’s arms. “Well, I was wondering why an impromptu visit on a Friday afternoon was warranted.” Puzzled eyes, a color that matched Brandon’s own, held his gaze, “but I never would have guessed this.” They walked into the house. Rose sat at the kitchen table, holding Michael, smiling as he gazed into her eyes. “He is the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen.” She redirected her attention to Brandon and Kate. Her smile disappeared. “Brandon, you’re scaring me with that godawful look of seriousness in your eyes,” she glanced at her daughter, “and Kate, you look about as somber as I’ve ever seen you. If the looks from the two of you are any indication of what’s coming, this conversation is going to be harsh. For five minutes, please let me drink in this gorgeous infant.”

Brandon handed Rose a bottle then, when he saw that Michael was taking it, he sat next to his mother. Kate sat at the table with them. As he let Rose have her time, he focused on Michael’s steady progress through the formula. When Michael had taken most of the bottle, and seem uninterested in the rest, Rose lifted him onto her shoulder and patted his back. Her gaze rested on Brandon. “Tell me why you look so miserable.”

His mother appreciated directness, so that’s what he gave her. “His mother and I didn’t have a relationship. Her pregnancy was an accident. I didn’t know about him until a little over two weeks ago. His mother’s name was Lisa Smithfield.” Rose drew in a deep breath, which he took as a a signal that she recognized the name. He hesitated. He knew that she didn’t pay attention to the news, and he bet that she didn’t know what happened. “She was murdered a couple of days ago.”

Her face became pale. “Oh good God.”

“You met her, didn’t you?”

She nodded. “Last summer. She came here, doing research. She mentioned that she went to you, but that you couldn’t, or wouldn’t, help her.”

Michael started whimpering. Kate reached for him. Brandon watched the baby settle into Kate’s arms, become quiet, and start to work again on the bottle. “What did you and Lisa talk about?”

“I told her that I wouldn’t talk about anything having to do with Benjamin Morrissey,” she paused, “or what your father believed. She came here anyway. She was such a nice young lady. She seemed smart. Oh Brandon,” Rose shook her head, “this is terrible.”

“I know,” he said. “Terrible doesn’t begin to describe it. I have to ask whether you talked to her about dad’s theories. Did you?”

Rose stood and walked to the refrigerator.

“Mom?”

“No,” she said. “Nothing good ever came of that. Are you two hungry?”

Brandon shook his head, not surprised by his mother’s total avoidance of the subject. Kate said, “No.”

He thought about Lisa’s notes, which indicated a meeting with Rose in New Orleans three months earlier. “Did you see Lisa again, more recently?”

Rose pulled a pitcher of tea out of the refrigerator. “No.”

“Did dad ever have dealings with Lloyd Landrum? He’s a professor of history at Tulane.”

“I know,” Rose said, placing ice in three glasses. “He’s an authority on the Allied invasion of Normandy. A book that he wrote on the subject came out around the time of your father’s death.” A memory sizzled through Brandon’s mind of his mother, up late, crying as she looked at a thick book. He remembered the incident, not because of the book, but because of his mother’s tears. With his father gone, Rose had been his rock. Her tears had disturbed him. Later, when she’d gone to bed, he found the book. He’d fallen asleep looking at the pictures of the landing craft that, according to his father, his grandfather had built. When he awakened, the book was gone. He never saw it in their home again.

“Did dad meet with him?”

“Your father met with anyone who would listen to him.”

He decided to ask a more specific question. “Mom. Do you know whether he met with Landrum?”

Rose handed them glasses of iced tea. She sat back down at the table. “Can we please not talk about your father?”

Michael finished the bottle. “He hasn’t burped, but,” Kate wrinkled her nose and handed the baby to Brandon, “this diaper has dad’s name written on it.”

Brandon set up a spot on the floor and changed Michael. As he did, Rose asked, “Do the police know who murdered Lisa?”

“They have a suspect,” Brandon said. He stood and burped Michael before handing him to Rose, who took him with a soft, uncertain smile. He drank the minty, sugar-sweetened tea, poured more for himself, and hesitated before asking Rose another question, one that she wouldn’t like. “Mom, all of dad’s documents were destroyed in the fire. Right?”

Her smile disappeared as he mentioned the fire. She looked in Brandon’s eyes. “The fire destroyed everything. Please, Brandon. Enough. I do not want to revisit the past.” Michael cooed and stole her attention. With her gaze on Michael, she asked, “Where are Lisa’s parents?”

“They died in an automobile accident a few years ago. She was an only child, and as far as I’ve been able to tell, she didn’t have close relatives.”

“So much tragedy,” she whispered, then visibly shook off her sadness. “And now this beautiful infant. I could hold him forever. If there’s anything you need or want from me, let me know.” She asked about Brandon’s child care arrangements, whether he needed help with Michael, how much Michael was eating, and whether he was sleeping through the night. He answered as best he could, listened to her advice when she offered it, and wondered how and when to tell her about Victor. She held his gaze for a few seconds. He drew a deep breath. “There’s more bad news, isn’t there?”

He took Michael from Rose’s arms. “I’m not sure how to say this.”

“Just say it,” Rose said.

“Kate was worried about Victor because he missed your birthday. She said that he’d been sick on his last few visits.”

Rose nodded, “He said that he was better. He even looked better last time he was here.”

“Well, because Kate was worried, I had Sebastian’s firm look into it. He called me last night. I’m sorry, mom. Kate. Victor was killed six weeks ago in a security operation.”

Kate gasped. In identical mother-daughter mannerisms, Kate and Rose lifted their hands to their mouths. After a moment, Kate asked questions, which Brandon answered based upon what Sebastian had told him. He omitted the sordid reality of the nature of Victor’s business. Kate and Rose believed that Victor was a private security contractor of the legitimate sort, such as the type of agent who worked for Black Raven. Brandon saw no reason to tell them the reality of Victor’s work. He waited for some kind of response, other than the unsettling calm that she portrayed.

“That’s it?” Rose asked. “A couple of Black Raven agents believe that Victor died in an explosion?”

“That,” Brandon nodded, “along with other intelligence gathered by Black Raven.”

Rose shook her head. “Did someone see Victor’s body? Are there photographs? Is there some kind of evidence?”

“No,” Brandon said. His mother was strong. On the night of the fire, when they realized that Catherine had died, Rose was the sole stabilizing force for Brandon. His father had broken down, but Brandon didn’t remember Rose even crying. In the following days and weeks, grief stole his father. Grief turned Victor into a fourteen-year-old who was bursting with anger, paranoia, and a dark side that was powered by a mean streak. Rose, though, had put on a brave front, and now, she shook her head. The initial shock had passed, and she looked as calm as ever.

“I don’t believe it,” Rose said.

“But he’s never missed your birthday,” Kate said. “No matter where he’s been, he has always called. Or he comes here.”

Brandon hadn’t seen his brother in years, not since, according to Sebastian, Victor had become a mercenary with no morals. He didn’t have personal knowledge of his brother’s activities, he certainly didn’t see him die, and if Rose put her tremendous force of will into denying Victor’s death, there’d be no persuading her that Victor was gone. Not without Victor’s body, which Brandon would never have. “Maybe one day I’ll believe it, but not now. I’m his mother,” Rose said, holding Brandon’s gaze. “I’d feel it.”

Brandon had expected tears and grief. He hadn’t contemplated that Rose wouldn’t believe him. He looked at Kate, who gave him a subtle shrug and a light shake of her head.

“Victor told me a few months ago,” Rose said, “actually in one of our last conversations, that he might not be able to call for a while. He was starting a job that required the utmost secrecy. He said not to worry, no matter what I heard, even if he didn’t call.” Brandon could tell from the way Kate’s glance was bouncing from Rose to Brandon, that Rose’s doubt was contagious. “Victor said not to worry,” Rose repeated, “and though I worry why he didn’t reach me on his birthday, I certainly will not believe that he is dead.” She glanced at them, then stood. She gave Michael a soft kiss on the forehead, and told Brandon, “I’ll come to see Michael on Sunday morning. Is ten o’clock good for you?”

“Of course,” Brandon said, not knowing what else to say.

“Mom, would you like me to stay with you tonight?” Kate asked.

Rose gave her daughter a soft smile, then shook her head. “That’s very nice of you, but no. I have work to do. If you stay, Brandon will have to drive on the Causeway alone with the baby,” she shuddered, referring to the 24-mile bridge that spanned Lake Pontchartrain,“and I’d hate for him to have to pull over if Michael starts to cry. Now, if you two will excuse me, I have evening exercise and feedings with the dogs, and I have grooming and paperwork to do before tomorrow’s show.” She slipped through the back door. Brandon stood and watched Rose walk across the yard to the newly-built, red barn that housed the kennel and her office. Whether she believed him or not, his news about Victor had to be disturbing. The news about Lisa was also terrible.

He fought the urge to follow her. He got it. He understood her need to be alone, but busy, so that she could sort through her feelings. Or just forget about feelings.

Restlessness simmered within Brandon throughout the drive home. By the time they arrived, it was after five. Kate helped him with Michael, then, once they were inside, she said, “You look like you’re wound so tight that you’re going to have a stroke.”

“I shouldn’t have bothered with Victor,” he said. “It was a waste of effort and time.”

“Victor told her not to worry, and a son telling his mother not to worry isn’t a bad thing,” Kate said. “If she isn’t going to be distraught, that isn’t a bad thing either. Let her live in denial.”

Some of Brandon’s anger ebbed. Kate was correct. Denial was better than grief. It had to be. “And you?” he asked his sister. “Are you all right?”

Kate nodded. “I’m sad,” she said, “but until mom lets go of her hope, I’ll have some as well.”

In light of Sebastian’s expertise, the hope was foolish, but Brandon didn’t steal it from her.

As Kate left, Brandon attempted to settle Michael in the pack-n-play, but Michael started crying the second that Brandon’s hands left him. He couldn’t be hungry. Brandon wondered whether he was tired. He hadn’t napped since Brandon had picked him up at three for the drive to Rose’s house. He lifted Michael, as his sobs became louder and more jarring. Brandon was relieved when Laura, the day nanny, stepped into the breakfast room.

“I’ve unpacked the boxes from his mother’s house that were brought over, and laid everything out in one of the rooms upstairs,” Laura said.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” Brandon said.

She scooped Michael from his arms and checked his diaper. “He’s wet. That’s probably why he’s crying.” Brandon felt useless, because he hadn’t thought to check the diaper. It seemed like he had changed it a second ago. Laura’s dark eyes gave him a soft glance. “You’ll get the hang of this. Esme and I made a list of a few more things that he needs,” Laura said, “and she’s shopping now.”

“I need some exercise. Can you handle everything for a while?” When Laura nodded, Brandon continued. “A friend of mine is stopping by with decorators to pull together a room for him.” He scribbled a note for Taylor. “This is for her. She’ll be here around 6:30.”

Brandon went upstairs and changed into a pair of running shorts and shoes. He didn’t bother with a shirt. The temperature had topped a hundred degrees and the pavement had spent all day absorbing the heat. The run was going to be brutal, but it was what he needed. He mapped out his run in his head as he laced his shoes. He started slow. By the time the first mile was behind him, he was in autodrive.

Lose it
, he told himself.
Lose the irritation. The feeling of ineffectiveness. The feeling that something was wrong. Victor wasn’t worth it.