Lovers & Players (44 page)

Hmm…a direct question. Should he lie and say no? Or should he admit that he’d gone to visit Irena in Brighton Beach? ‘You pointed out that if she
was
Mariska’s mother, it would make her my child’s grandmother. So, yes, I did go see her.’

‘Really?’ the detective said, still stroking his moustache. ‘And what did she have to say?’

‘Nothing that she hasn’t already said to you.’

The detective gave him a long, brooding stare. ‘You might be interested to know that we’re putting together new evidence all the time.’

‘What kind of evidence?’

‘DNA samples are being tested, hair, skin.’ Another long beat. ‘You know, murderers never understand how they get caught. Truth is, they get caught because they’re careless. They think a pair of gloves will do it. Not anymore.’

‘Are we done, Detective?’ Max asked impatiently.

‘For now.’

Max flung open the front door, and Detective Rodriguez stepped outside. ‘I’ll keep you informed, Mr Diamond,’ he said.

‘Do that,’ Max said, slamming the door and frowning. His main concern was Vladimir, and if Vladimir hadn’t killed her, could it have been Alex? And who was the third man?

He needed to find out.

Jett didn’t relish the thought of having dinner with Chris, he wanted to be with Amy. But when he called her and told her he was coming over, she gave him a speech about how she needed time and space to work out what she was going to do.

This alarmed him–he’d just broken up with his long-time girlfriend and now Amy was backing off. What kind of crap was
that?

Then to disturb him further, his mother called. ‘What the
hell
’s goin’ on with that damn family?’ Edie slurred, wasted and belligerent. ‘I tole you t’ stay ’way from the bastards. I
warned
you.’

‘Hey–listen, Mom—’

‘
No
. You damn well lissen t’
me.
They’re degenerates, all of ’em. You stay the hell away, Jett. I mean it.’

He got her off the phone as quickly as possible. Then, to calm his nerves, he decided he needed a drink, one small shot of vodka.

What harm was there in one shot of vodka?

After a quick search of the apartment, he discovered a half-full bottle of Grey Goose nestled in Sam’s kitchen cupboard. One drink after almost three years of sobriety. He could handle it. Right
on
he could handle it.

I’m in limbo
, Amy thought.
I’m confused and unhappy and filled with guilt. Maybe my mother is right. Maybe I should get out of town.

She’d made up her mind not to see Jett again until she’d come to a decision about Max. What
should
she do? Tell Max they were over, then start seeing his brother? How right was
that?

Grandma Poppy had told her to follow her heart, and what did her heart say? She didn’t know. She wasn’t sure.

And while she was having these thoughts, it occurred to her that lately Max seemed to have become very distant, making no attempt to see her. She understood why, with all that
he
was going through–but surely, if they were really close, he would want her to be with him at a time like this.

On her way home she decided to visit Tina in the hospital, hoping they’d have a chance to talk.

When she walked into Tina’s hospital room, Brad was already there and so were Tina’s parents.

‘Hi!’ Tina said, delighted to see her. ‘We’re going home tomorrow. Isn’t that
great?
’

The baby was thriving and Tina was glowing–no sign of post-partum blues. ‘I’m
itching
to get out of here,’ Tina said excitedly. ‘Isn’t he the cutest?’

Amy agreed that, yes, indeed Brad Junior
was
the cutest, and she sat there for a while, feeling out of place and anxious to leave. Close as she was to Tina, it was a family event.

After a polite half-hour she excused herself, hurried home and continued to mull over her situation.

There didn’t seem to be an answer in sight.

‘
Her
fuckin’ people are drivin’
my
fuckin’ people fuckin’
loco
!’ The unmistakable voice of Roth Giagante.

‘Listen to me, Roth, I’m Birdy’s lawyer,’ Chris said evenly. ‘I don’t get into those kind of details. Tell them to contact her publicist or one of her assistants.’

‘Fuckin’ pink. She wants everything fuckin’
pink
,’ Roth complained. ‘She’s a whack-job. She’s even asked for the water in the pool to be tinted pink!’

‘Did you
hear
me, Roth?’

‘Yeah, yeah, I heard you.’ A long beat and a change of tone. ‘Where’s my fuckin’ money?’

‘You’ll have it this weekend’ Chris assured him. ‘In cash, just the way you wanted.’

‘About time,’ Roth grumbled.

Chris hung up. Since staying with Max was not on his agenda, he’d checked back into the Four Seasons. Comfortable as Max’s apartment was, he preferred the freedom of a hotel. Besides, after the meeting with Red he planned on flying back to L.A. No more delays. He’d been away almost a week, much longer than he’d anticipated.

He couldn’t reach Max anyway. His brother wasn’t at his office and there was no answer on his cell, so he left a message about dinner.

He hoped that by this time Max had handed Mariska’s box and everything in it over to the detectives. If he hadn’t, he was a fool.

The news stations were still all over Mariska’s murder–it was as if they had nothing else to cover. And yet all Chris could think about were Red’s ominous words concerning his mother’s death.

Tomorrow he’d get to the real truth–if Red was
capable
of telling the truth. And that was doubtful–
very
doubtful.

‘Lady Bentley knows,’ Diahann said, standing in the library.

Sprawled on the leather couch, newspapers scattered around him, Red gave her a canny look. ‘What does the bitch know?’

‘About Liberty,’ Diahann said wearily. ‘You promised me nobody would ever find out.’

‘Promises mean nothing,’ Red said roughly. ‘You’re smart enough to realize that.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘You’ll see, along with all of ’em. I want you in the meeting I’m having tomorrow morning. I want Liberty there too.’

‘That’s not possible. She’s in Los Angeles.’

‘Get her back.’

‘I’ll try.’

‘Don’t try,’ he said roughly. ‘Do it!’

After Detective Rodriguez left, Max wished he’d given him the box and stepped away, as Chris had suggested. But he couldn’t do it. The information in the box would eventually lead them to Vladimir, and the truth that Mariska had been a bigamist would be revealed.

And where would that leave him and Lulu? The illegitimate child and the husband who never was. The fool who’d married a Russian ex-hooker who had still been married to another man.

He simply couldn’t do it. Not to his Lulu. Not to the light of his life.

He made a sudden decision to take the box to Irena. She’d never give it to the police–she’d hide it away and make good use of the money.

Yes. That was the answer. He’d take it to her tonight, get it over with.

Fearing he’d change his mind, he picked up the phone and called her.

She answered with a raspy ‘
Da?
’

‘Irena,’ he said. ‘It’s Mr Diamond. About that matter we discussed. I’m bringing you what you requested on the condition you mention
nothing
about Vladimir or the other men to the police. Do we have an agreement?’

‘When you come?’ she asked. He could almost imagine her rubbing her hands together in anticipation of the riches she was about to inherit.

‘I’ll be there in an hour. And I expect you to tell me everything you know.’

Just as he was leaving the apartment, Chris phoned. ‘Dinner with me and Jett,’ Chris said. ‘I left you a message.’

‘Not tonight,’ he replied abruptly. ‘Maybe tomorrow.’

‘I’ll be in L.A. tomorrow.’

‘Then we’ll have lunch before you leave, after the meeting with Red.’

‘You’ll be at the meeting?’ Chris asked.

‘If you and Jett are going, I’ll be there. What do you think the canny old bastard wants now?’

‘When I spoke to him on the phone he mumbled something about my mother.’

‘Your
mother?
’ Max said, frowning.

‘Why do you think I turned round and came back? I was almost at the airport when he called.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He intimated that her death was due to more than just a plane crash.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘Is it?’ Chris said slowly. ‘Do you ever think about
your
mother’s death?’

‘Well, of course I do. But you’re not saying—’

‘Hey, I don’t know
what
I’m saying. It’s Red Diamond we’re dealing with, so consider the man and what he’s capable of.’

Max hung up the phone and slumped into a deep depression. All his life he’d wondered about his mother’s untimely death. Rachel, an exquisite twenty-six-year-old woman who’d died in her sleep six months after giving birth to him. The official word was heart failure, and when, at the age of thirteen, Max had started asking questions, Red had told him that his mother had always suffered from a defective heart, and that he was never to mention her again.

The only way Max knew his mother was through the few photographs he had been able to find of her. Rachel. His mother. Dark hair. Huge eyes. A Madonna-like smile.

He missed knowing her with a deep wrenching hurt in his gut. And if Red was in any way responsible for her death…

It was a thought he almost couldn’t face.

T
he tabloids were due to hit the street on Thursday, so Red Diamond had copies–straight off the press–delivered to his house Wednesday night.

The headlines were scandalous.

THE DIAMOND DYNASTY!

EX-MODEL STABBED TO DEATH!

BILLIONAIRE MEDIA TYCOON RED DIAMOND’S FAMILY SECRETS THAT LED TO SEX, DRUGS AND MURDER!

WILD DAYS OF THE DIAMOND BROTHERS!

MURDER IN MANHATTAN!

BEAUTIFUL SOCIETY WOMAN SLAIN!

WHO KILLED MARISKA?

Truth and Fact
, the most scurrilous rag of all, had unearthed plenty. Mariska–the beautiful murder victim–was the only one spared, although they’d managed to dig up several semi-nude pin-up photos of her, taken when she’d first arrived in America and had apparently harboured hopes of being a model.

Maxwell Diamond was portrayed as a business-obsessed, real-estate tycoon, with a years younger fiancée who was due to inherit millions when her
über
-rich society grandmother passed. The implication being that Max had divorced Mariska to get his hands on Amy’s inheritance. There were pictures of Max and Amy taken at their rehearsal dinner, and a large photo of Max, Mariska and Lulu on a skiing vacation when Lulu was three.

Chris Diamond was written about as a playboy Hollywood lawyer with gambling connections to Vegas and the Mob. There were photos of him with Birdy Marvel, and several ex-girlfriends–including Holly Anton. The article even insinuated that the emancipation of Birdy Marvel had been brokered by Chris, so that he could get a large cut of her money and as many nights as he wanted with the teenage pop diva.

Jett came off worst of all. Along with several bare-chested modelling shots taken when he’d first arrived in Milan, there were photographs of him from his wild New York days–falling down drunk at various clubs and parties, mostly with girls in barely-there dresses who looked like under-age hookers.

Red Diamond was featured heavily. The billionaire patriarch of the family was a tempting target. Diligent journalists had no trouble digging up a wealth of information, including his many wives, their unfortunate deaths, the scandalous divorce and subsequent affair with Lady Jane Bentley, and numerous business machinations, including a slew of hostile takeovers and fraught relationships with other media moguls who considered themselves his peers.

Red Diamond was an old-fashioned, ego-driven, megalomaniac, and the rags relished the chance of putting their investigative skills to work–especially
Truth and Fact
, which happened to come under the umbrella of a host of publications owned by one of Red’s arch-rivals, of which, over the years, he’d had quite a few.

When Red saw the tabloids–particularly
Truth and Fact
–he went berserk, stamping around his house in a frenzied fury, shouting and yelling obscenities. The entire household heard him, Lady Jane Bentley, sequestered in her room, Diahann, who’d been hoping for another chance to speak with him privately, the cook, the laundress, the maids.

‘Fuck the dirty, lying, cocksucking bastards!’ he screamed. ‘Fuck Mariska, that Russian
cunt
! And fuck the stupid boys I should never have allowed my dumb fucking wives to bring into this world!’

After venting for a while, he made a call, summoned his driver and stomped out of the house.

Nobody cared to deal with Red Diamond when he’d worked himself up into one of his turbulent frenzies.

Jett turned up for dinner an hour late and totally wasted. Watching him weave his way towards the table, Chris groaned inwardly. With all that was going on, Jett had to choose this moment to slide out of sobriety and turn into the drunk he used to be.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ Jett slurred, as he arrived at the table. ‘Hadda go see my mom.’

‘Edie’s in town?’ Chris questioned, wondering if mother and son had been out on a drinking binge together.

‘Kinda. Sorta,’ Jett said, attempting to pull out a chair and almost losing his balance. ‘You know Edie, she had me trapped on the phone.’

Chris realized there was no sense in pretending he didn’t know what was going on, that would just be a monumental waste of time. ‘Okay,’ he said, trying not to sound too judgemental. ‘What made you do it?’

‘Huh?’ Jett said blankly. ‘Do
what
?’

‘Take a drink.’

‘Are you fuckin’
shittin
’ me?’ Jett said, managing to look outraged. ‘Y’
know
I’m in the goddamn programme.’

‘Yes, I’m aware of that,’ Chris answered calmly. ‘And exactly
when
did you last attend a meeting?’

‘A meetin’,’ Jett mumbled. ‘Ah…let me see. A meetin’…’ His eyes glazed over. ‘Who’m I meetin’?’

Chris clicked his fingers for the check. ‘I’m taking you upstairs.’

‘Why we doin’ that?’ Jett grumbled. ‘I gotta eat, gotta call my girl.’ His voice started getting louder. ‘Gotta call my
goddamn
girl.’ Without warning he was on his feet, swaying and shouting. ‘Amy. Where the fuck are ya? Amy baby. Amy
bitch
!’

Other patrons turned to stare.

Jumping up, Chris grabbed his brother’s arm in a vice-like grip. ‘We’re outta here,’ he said, steering him towards the entrance. ‘Do
not
say another word.’

Before Sonja had a chance to contact Red Diamond, Famka phoned.

‘He wants us,’ Famka stated, sounding quite pleased with herself.

‘Who wants us?’ Sonja asked. After her long night of rough sex with Alex Pinchinoff, she wasn’t in the mood for new action, even if it meant big bucks.

‘The old guy, of course,’ Famka said triumphantly. ‘I knew he couldn’t resist.’

‘Red Diamond?’ Sonja questioned. If it
was
Red, how convenient was
that
?

‘Mr Viagra himself,’ Famka said, with a brittle laugh. ‘The old man sound agitated. I tell him two thousand apiece, double we stay all night.’

‘He agreed?’

‘Bring rubber handcuffs and special lotion–I run out. Had important client from UN, he want lotion head to toe, ’specially around his balls. No sex, just lotion.’ She gave another brittle laugh. ‘Asshole.’

‘They’re all assholes,’ Sonja said.

‘Where
you
been?’ Famka asked.

‘Alex Pinchinoff.’

‘Ah, the dangerous one.’

‘Dangerous
and
sexy.’

‘You don’t get enough at work?’

‘It make change.’

‘I call for cab, you want I pick you up?’

‘How soon?’

‘Fifteen minutes.’

‘I’ll be downstairs.’

This couldn’t have worked out better. Now she could blackmail Red to his face. Well, maybe not blackmail–that was too harsh a word. Merely allow him an opportunity to pay to have certain information suppressed.

But what about Famka? She couldn’t do it in front of her.

Damn! She’d have to figure
something
out.

Driving into a certain area of Brighton Beach at night was scary. The restaurants and nightclubs were lit up, while noisy, half-drunk patrons spilled out onto the sidewalk.

Searching for a parking spot, Max became very aware that he was carrying a box–which he’d put inside a canvas bag, then locked into the trunk–a box that contained half a million bucks in cash, plus a few priceless gemstones. The only items he’d removed from it were Mariska’s address book, filled with the numbers of all her Russian acquaintances, along with her birth certificate and marriage certificate to Vladimir. The moment he got home he would burn them–burn away all traces of her duplicitous past.

Damnit, he was turning into a criminal, planning to destroy what could turn out to be very valuable evidence in a murder case. Shades of Red Diamond. It was the kind of thing Red would do without a second thought.

He didn’t want to become like his father, but all rational thought seemed to have deserted him. He was convinced that this was something he
had
to do to protect his daughter–if indeed Lulu
was
his daughter. The thought that she might not be paralyzed him. She was all he had, her and Amy.

A green Buick conveniently slid out of a parking spot. Max backed his Mercedes into the vacant space, bumping the fender of an old Cadillac parked behind.

Almost immediately a man emerged from the Cadillac zipping up his fly. ‘What’s
wrong
with you?’ the man yelled. He was big, bald and bad-tempered. ‘You need a fuckin’ compass to park your shitty German car?’

Max got out of his Mercedes. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered. The last thing he wanted was a scene. ‘I don’t think there’s any damage.’

‘You don’t, huh?’ the man sneered belligerently. ‘That’s where you an’ I differ, my friend. Take a look at my bumper! There’s a coupla hundred
bucks
’ worth of damage.’

Max attempted to peer at the supposedly damaged car. It was too dark to see anything.

A young girl emerged from the Cadillac, young enough to be the bald man’s daughter–although she obviously wasn’t, as her clothes were askew, and her lipstick smudged across her chin.

‘Here’s my witness,’ the man said triumphantly.

‘Where’s my twenny?’ the girl demanded in a tinny voice, pulling on his sleeve.

‘Shut up,’ the man hissed, glaring at her. ‘You’ll get your money. We’re not finished.’

Max got the picture. ‘Will two hundred cover it?’ he asked.

The bald man thought about it for a nano-second. ‘Make it two fifty an’ I won’t bother callin’ the cops to report an accident,’ he said, adjusting his crotch.

‘Right,’ Max said. He hated giving in to this oaf’s blackmail, but anything to avoid more of a confrontation. Turning away from the man, he pulled out his wallet, extracted the right amount of money, then handed it over.

The bald man shoved the bills into his pocket and said, ‘What you down here lookin’ for? Mebbe I can help ya find it.’

‘That’s all right,’ Max said. ‘I’m visiting a relative.’

‘A relative, huh?’

‘Are we doin’ it or not?’ the young girl whined, tugging on the bald man’s shirt-sleeve.

‘Yeah, we’re doin’ it,’ he said, throwing Max a lascivious wink.

The two of them got back into the Cadillac.

Max waited a few minutes before he opened the trunk of his Mercedes. Then he quickly took out the canvas bag, crossed the street and entered Irena’s building.

Standing astride Red Diamond, wearing nothing but sheer black stockings, a leather garterbelt and ridiculously high stilettos, Sonja thought the old man looked unusually pale. Of course, he had just indulged in a series of sexual activities with two beautiful women, activities probably far too taxing for a seventy-nine-year-old man–she’d discovered his age by reading the newspapers–and then there was the matter of the Viagra he’d been taking on what seemed a regular basis. It couldn’t be healthy for a man his age.

Sonja was worried about his well-being. What if he had a seizure or a heart-attack? Either could turn out to be deadly, and where would that leave her and the major pay-out she hoped to extract from him?

Right now he was demanding that she handcuff and punish him. It was one of his favourite scenarios–smack his wrinkled old ass until it was rosy.

Famka was in the bathroom taking a leisurely shower–or so she said. Famka worked hard with her clients, but she claimed they never made her come, so whenever there was a break, she locked herself away and pleasured herself.

This suited Sonja fine, because it gave
her
the opportunity she was looking for. ‘How much you pay for Vladimir story to stay quiet?’ she ventured.

‘What?’ Red growled, staring up at the woman who stood astride him. She wasn’t supposed to talk. He didn’t appreciate talkers.

‘Your daughter-in-law’s
real
husband.’

‘My daughter-in-law’s
what?
’

‘Legitimate husband.’

He ran his gnarled hand up her thigh. ‘Is this part of the punishment?’

‘No. This real stuff,’ Sonja said quickly. ‘Mariska no marry Max, she already married to my friend Vladimir. That make her bigamist. Not only bigamist–in Moscow she prostitute.’ Sonja paused to let her words sink in. ‘How much you pay for story to stay quiet?’

‘Are you trying to
blackmail
me?’ Red asked incredulously, then burst into derisive laughter. ‘You honestly think I didn’t
know
who Mariska was? She was a cheap whore, like you. I understood
that
the moment I saw her.’

‘I am not cheap,’ Sonja muttered, her dreams of scoring a fortune crashing around her.

‘No, you’re not,’ Red agreed. ‘Now, put your mouth where it’s supposed to be and shut the fuck up.’

The same smell of cat piss and stale beer assailed Max’s nostrils as he entered Irena’s building. The question occurred to him–why
had
Mariska allowed her mother to live in such squalor? Then again, it was unlikely that Mariska had ever visited the dank apartment in Brighton Beach, so he’d give her the benefit of the doubt and assume she hadn’t realized how bad it was.

He climbed the darkened stairs, clutching the bag tightly to his chest. This was so unlike anything he’d ever done before. Was he losing his mind? It was insane behaviour. Chris was right, he could get himself arrested for concealing evidence.

At least by giving the box to Irena he was no longer responsible for it. And who could prove that he’d taken it from her apartment? No one.