Death Logs In (35 page)

“I’m headed to Marseilles. It’s a great place to get lost—and from there, who knows? Oddly enough, no one seems to be looking for me.”

It appeared that Sharkey had “disappeared” and his murder had gone unreported. The Church works in miraculous ways, he thought. He needed to get back inside before Samantha came out looking for him.

“Well, I wish you the—”

“Michael, there’s more about me than you know.”

“I know.” He believed he did. “You mean what happened in med school?”

She appeared surprised. “Well … yes. That too, I guess.”

“We know about the bishop.”

“Of course. That was actually a pleasure. You know, when work and your passion come together.”

“What else? Hightower?”

“No, I had nothing to do with his murder. That was those money guys who, I’m sure, were afraid he was going to turn on them for a plea deal. They have some crazy neo-Nazi fanatic kids do some of their dirty work for them.”

“OK, what haven’t you told me?”

“When we met in your office, I told you I was a bodyguard. I was a lot more than that.”

“Yeah …”

“Almost since that incident, so to speak, at Stanford, I’ve been a paid assassin. A professional hit man, woman, whatever.”

“Well, I can’t say that that’s a total surprise to me at this point—”

“There’s more. Remember when you said you’d noticed me in the Peninsula Hotel in Beverly Hills?”

“Yes, the night before my speech.”

“And the night before Applegarden was murdered.”

No, he thought. “But … how—”

“Johnny Feathers had called me for the assignment. I’d done work for him before. I put a small team together, two other pros. We got into his room while he was asleep. I injected him—right in his groin—he couldn’t move or speak. We held a pillow over his face. … It took a couple of minutes.”

“But how did you know it had anything to do with me? I never had a clue Feathers was going to do this. It was a huge misunderstanding.”

“Feathers told me just enough. He said he was doing this as a favor for the brother of a friend of his—obviously Alex—who’d been murdered. I did a lot of Googling and figured out you were the brother. He said for him it was a freebie, so he actually paid me less than I usually made on a job. I was infatuated with you, your background and everything, all so different from your brother and the people I deal with now—so I tracked you down. I realized later that you didn’t have any idea what Feathers really did—or that he’d act on what he thought you wanted.”

Her mood then appeared to change. Michael had seen it before, as though she reached back into her mind or memory and found something there that she’d buried.

“The problem is, Michael, sometimes I kill the ones I love.”

He didn’t know what to say. He was afraid to go deeper. He needed to get back to Samantha.

“How will I contact you?” After the words were out, he knew it was a question fraught with problems, he wished he could pull it back. Just in case he was ever questioned, it was probably even better that he didn’t know. Maybe even if he was never questioned.

“Michael, you don’t need to contact me. You just need to be careful. But, most of all, you need to go back to your family.”

There was an extended silent pause. Michael checked the screen on his cell to see if he had lost the connection.

“Sindy—are you still there?”

“Yes, Michael, just be well.”

He felt relieved. Until he heard her voice again.

“Don’t worry, I’ll find you.”

Chapter 93

Saint Paul de Vence, France

“B
ertrand Rosen was a shit and I hope they have thoroughly cleaned the sidewalk so there is no trace of him in Paris,” Catherine Saint-Laurent pronounced.

Michael detected an audible sigh from many of the nearby patrons on La Columbe d’Or’s outdoor terrace, so it was apparent that they were all eavesdropping on the famous actress’ every word.

Catherine was as beautiful as ever. Even more radiant now, he thought, with her career on a rebound.

“Michael, how could you have done business with such a man?”

He began to answer but since no one at the table would dare interrupt her anyway, she continued. “I’m only sorry that he didn’t live on a higher floor so that he could have had more time on his way down to think about what awaited him. He ruined so many people. He lived like a king—mansions, yachts, helicopters—on everyone else’s money.”

Saint-Laurent then turned to Samantha, “And, you know, he was a creep. He was not an attractive man. He had money, that’s all. Actually, he only had the money of the people who trusted him. Many of my good friends lost everything because of him.”

Samantha, showing neither emotion nor expression, looked down and straightened out the white linen napkin resting on her lap. Michael, sensing her unease, thought about Sindy’s bewildering announcement that she had seen Samantha enter Rosen’s apartment. He had not been able to dislodge it from his mind but had chosen not to ask Samantha about it. He wondered whether it was true or had Steele made it up in a desperate attempt to turn him against his wife. And, after all, he thought, he was no longer in any position to pass judgments on issues of fidelity.

Catherine continued, “He was screwing around left and right. Even the hotel maids where he stayed weren’t safe. His wife left him, but they had an arrangement. She lived another life, with an apartment in the sixth in Paris, she did everything she wanted to do—and he paid for it. He had no choice. She knew too much.”

“But wasn’t he considering financing your movie before Alex jumped in?” Michael asked, recalling that Catherine mentioned that to him when she advised him to be leery of Rosen.

“He said he was interested—but all he was interested in was getting me to the bedroom. He wanted to be able to say he made love to Catherine Saint-Laurent. He was a terrible man.”

Michael noticed that, several times, as Catherine spoke about Rosen, Samantha would reach over and gently touch his arm. Perhaps just a casual gesture of polite affection, he thought, yet, he couldn’t recall any such gestures recently.

But once the discussion of Bertrand Rosen was over, everyone seemed to relax and take in the beauty that was all around them. “Life is good, my dear friends,” Catherine said as she raised her glass of champagne.

And, indeed, for Michael, as he took in the view of the mature trees, the twinkling lights, the large canvas umbrellas, and the garden’s contemporary sculptures, the world appeared to have calmed down.

The cuisine, his own simple skirt steak with shallots, and Samantha’s perfectly prepared sole surrounded by fresh, locally grown vegetables, was artfully orchestrated on each plate. The candlelight on the table bathed everyone in a soft glow, making the attractive beautiful, and the already beautiful ravishing.

Jennifer Walsh looked fresh and tan, like the fantasy all-American beauty, in her low-cut coral cotton dress. Her cleavage showed a slight touch of perspiration, glistening like a fairy-dust sprinkling of Swarovski crystals. As the French diners stole discreet glances toward their venerable star, Catherine Saint-Laurent, Michael knew that none would imagine that the fresh young American beauty beside her, known in the American tabloids as the “hairdresser to the stars,” was her lover.

Jennifer looked at Catherine, “We are so excited about the movie. Catherine is dying to tell you both the latest.”

Michael and Samantha, simultaneously, called out, “Yes, yes. Of course.”

“We just completed shooting last week.” Saint-Laurent said, beaming. “I believe that
Mirror Image
will be my triumphant return to the screen.” Then like the great actress she was, her expression quickly turned melancholy. I’m afraid though that people will use the horrible C word when speaking about me.”

Momentarily shocked, everyone else was about to protest when Catherine waved her hand dismissively, smiling. “I mean that horrible word,
comeback
, of course.

Although it seemed a lifetime ago, Michael recalled the first time he met Jennifer Walsh, the day she revealed that she had been Alex’s mistress and disclosed the existence of his secret Apple laptop. It was Jennifer, Michael thought, as he watched her across the table, who’d brought him closer to his brother than he had ever been while Alex was alive.

“You know, Michael,” Jennifer interjected, “the story is one that should interest you. It takes place in the south of France. It’s about two brothers, one who is very straight, a corporate guy, and his brother, who is the exact opposite, involved in organized crime and stuff.”

“I can see the obvious similarities but Alex was never involved with organized crime. He liked to organize his own crime,” Michael said, hesitant to pursue the topic further.

But Samantha was definitely curious. “What happens to the two brothers?”

Before answering, Jennifer looked to Catherine who turned solemn. “One of them dies,” she said.

“Well, which one?” Samantha asked.

Catherine, carefully watching Samantha’s expression, must have sensed it was time to rescue the brash Jennifer. “Oh, do not worry, my dear Samantha. It is merely a script, fiction; it is just our Hollywood. It’s not real.”

“Thank you, Catherine. I know you are trying to spare me any discomfort but, I am curious, who dies?”

“It is the older brother, the bad boy, the one involved in all the illegal businesses. Too many women,” she glanced at Jennifer, “perhaps too many at one time too, yes? Let us say that he lived a very unhealthy life, not unlike our dear Alex, I’m afraid.” She then turned to Michael. “But there is a surprising secret twist to the story, which, unfortunately, does
not
follow real life. I am not supposed to reveal it to anyone.” Ever the actress, she then proceeded to pick at her dinner.

Samantha looked ready to leap out of her seat. “Catherine, you are terrible. You
must
tell us!”

“Very well then, I will tell you. But you must swear never to repeat it.”

Almost in unison again, Michael and Samantha shouted, “Yes.”

Catherine took her time, obviously relishing the drama—or the attention. Finally, she looked up from her dish and revealed her secret.

“The dead brother may still be alive.”

Samantha closed her eyes, “Oh my God, no.” It was the
last
thing Samantha wanted to hear, Michael thought.

Unfazed as she picked up her fork again, Catherine whispered, “Unfortunately for my dear Alex, life does not always imitate art.”

Author’s Note

Death Logs In
is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents described in this novel are the product of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, businesses, events or places is purely coincidental.

Acknowledgements

Many thanks to my editors, Peter Gelfan and Debra Ginsberg, for saving me from myself.

Thanks also to the great professionals at The Editorial Department, including Morgana Gallaway and her team of cover designers, notably Pete Garceau. Also to my many friends and readers, including Kay Kopec, Sherry Moran and Bill Finan,

A special appreciation goes to Donald Luciano, who, despite his prior commitments and busy schedule, provided invaluable creative ideas and a thorough and painstaking review.

Finally, my loving appreciation to Andrea and Danielle, who tirelessly read my drafts and offered their brilliant advice, solicited or not.

Preview

DEATH LOGS OUT

Fall 2015

Chapter 1

Westport, Connecticut

I
t’s never good news when the phone rings after midnight.

“I have your precious Sofia here.”

Michael Nicholas knew he would hear from her again. Her voice carried through the telephone receiver and seared through his chest. He didn’t have time to speak before she continued.

“Michael, I told you I’d find you.”

Michael hoped it was a cruel joke, but he knew Sindy Steele—and therefore, it was no joke. His daughter, Sofia, should have been safely tucked away in quiet Chapel Hill, for her second year at the University of North Carolina. However, she was now in the hands of the woman he wanted, yet feared the most.

“Sindy, what are you doing?” He couldn’t keep the sense of desperation out of his voice.

“Soon you’ll know what it’s like to love someone with all your heart—and not be able to have them again. Michael, you’re going to experience that never ending emptiness that comes from loss, terrible loss.”

Fifteen years ago, Sindy Steele, a brilliant, beautiful—but troubled—medical student at Stanford University, poisoned her live-in lover. She did so expertly, using her new found aptitude for pharmacology. Due to the fact he had just dumped her, the police strongly suspected foul play, however they couldn’t find evidence of anything to explain his sudden death. School officials also found the circumstances to be, ‘problematic’. In exchange for Sindy voluntarily leaving Stanford, they provided her with a substantial payment. In a round about way, that turned out to be Sindy’s first paid ‘hit’.

That instance inspired her to use her talents for profit—as an assassin for hire. It was how Michael Nicholas met her.

“Sindy, please, don’t touch her. She hasn’t done anything to you. What do you want? What do you want me to do?”

“There’s nothing you can do. It’s about what you’ve
done,
Michael. What you‘ve done to
me.”

“Sindy, there’s got to be something I can do. Please. Let me speak with Sofia.”

After a momentary silence that seemed to last forever, she answered, “Sure, I’ll let you speak with her—as soon as I can get the duct tape off.”

The line went dead.

For previews of upcoming books by E. J. Simon, and more information about the author, visit
www.ejsimon.com

About the Author