Home Before Dark (37 page)

'I was afraid of this.’ He leant back. 'David Mallet, it
seems, lives a couple of doors down from Ed Lister’s office
in St-Germain.’
'What?’
'Still think it’s coincidence?’
Luca laughed. 'Maybe too much of one.’
Morelli thought for a moment. 'I may need to go to Paris.’

It was only after she hung up the phone that Jelly realised
she’d just heard his voice for the first time and that he didn’t
sound anything like Colin Firth. Every word he’d spoken had
irritated her. Hard, mean, mistrustful, bossing her around.
She pictured him now as some white-bread, gelled-down,
corner-office geek. No more Mr Darcy. The weirdo in the
subway must have been his damned ghost.
Do you know the Frick Collection? What a jerk! She was
doing Ed a favour, trying to be nice and he had made her
feel like she was bothering him. She’d had to take a twenty
dollar cab ride over here.
This was without doubt the dumbest idea she’d ever had,
and all because the sonofabitch had made her feel guilty.
She just wanted him to understand it could never have
worked. She had to talk some sense into him. She had to
be crazy.
Jelly was sitting on a marble bench in the garden court
watching the glass doors that gave onto the south colonnade.
Why had he suggested meeting here? So that she would feel
intimidated? Did it mean he’d seen through her little game
already? Her stomach was churning. The splashing of the
damned fountain kept reminding her she needed to go to the
bathroom. She was so nervous.
Oh hi, “I’m Tachel. . . you must be Ed. I’ve heard such a lot
about you.
She didn’t have a hope in hell of pulling this off. She
couldn’t stop shaking. Suddenly she had to pee. She knew if
she moved away from this spot now he was bound to show
up and then they’d miss each other. Shit, maybe that would
be the best solution. It wasn’t too late.
Jelly stood up to leave at the very moment she heard
footsteps behind her; she turned her head and saw that he
was already there.
She gasped and started babbling like a fool. 'Hello, I’m
… you must be …’ She had a mental block, couldn’t remember
their names.
'I’m Ed,’ the man said quietly. 'Sorry, I’m late.’
Oh Jesus . . . she just wanted to run away and hide.
She held out a hand. 'TaChel. Nice to meet you.’
He smiled, reached over and … what the fuck? ... touched
her face.
'Reality check,’ he said.

59

'So you’re her millionaire,'Tachel said with a half-smile, leaning
back in her chair and looking me over.
'Was,’ I corrected her.
'Unhuh.’ She nodded. It was the same oblique, slightly
mocking smile I knew from the photograph of 'Jelly’ on my
computer that I still hadn’t got round to deleting. I couldn’t
read what was behind it.
'I didn’t think money came into this.’
'You’re kidding, right?’ She sat forward, leaning her chin
on her hand. 'Do us both a favour, Ed. You know that money
comes into everything. You were her rich guy fantasy.’
'Well, if I was, she didn’t exactly make the most of it. She
never asked for a penny. At one point I’d have given her the
world.’
'What the hell is your problem?’
'I’m sorry?’
'Forget it.’ Tachel shrugged. 'Okay, tell me what you want
to know’
I turned my hands up. 'You’re holding the cards.’
I’d taken her to lunch at 21, the former speakeasy and
venerable New York landmark on Fifty-second Street. A haunt
now of hedge-fund managers and well-heeled tourists, it’s
the kind of place I normally go out of my way to avoid. I
chose it because I wasn’t known there and I thought, patronisingly,
that the girl might be amused but not overwhelmed
by its mellow clubby atmosphere.
'You do realise,’ she said with a frown, 'there wasn’t one
word of truth in anything she told you?’ She paused, as if to
let that sink in, biting her lower lip.
'All right.’ I let out my breath slowly.
'Jelena made it all up. She lied to you about everything the
way she looks, dresses, does her hair, where she lives,
about her job at the kindergarten, going to DC that time, her
two cats . . . have two cats. I don’t know what all else she
told you, but you can be damned sure she was either talking
about me, or it was bullshit.’
'I don’t remember hairstyles being discussed,’ I said, just
to see if it raised a laugh. Not a flicker. 'Why did she pretend
to be you?’
'You’d have to ask her that.’
'I thought you were her deputy.’
She smiled then. I felt I’d missed the point somewhere.
'She had this dumb idea she could get anyone to fall in
love with her online. When I found out Jelly was using my
photo and ripping off my life – it wasn’t lack of confidence,
just plain theft I got mad as hell at her. She’s my best friend,
but that girl’s always had a tendency toward getting into
drama . . . online and off
I thought of asking her about Jelly’s old boyfriend, the one
she’d told me she was sleeping with again, but it would have
sent the wrong signals.
We were sitting in the Bar Room at a table hidden away
behind the door. I ordered whisky sours and '21’ burgers for
both of us. Once the food came and she began to relax,
Tachel turned out to be engaging company. I did my best to
put her at her ease and keep things light. I even made her
laugh a few times, but I can’t pretend that it was plain sailing.
There were gaps in the conversation and all through lunch
the situation remained exquisitely awkward. It wasn’t until
the coffee stage that we really got around to talking about
why we were there.
'What did she say to you about us?’
'Us?’ Tachel raised an eyebrow. 'She never loved you, if
that’s what you mean. It was just a game to her, trying to
make this super-straight, white,
RICH
, older English guy fall
for her. She boasted that she had you crazy in love with her
ass.’
I nodded, watching her face closely. I have to say I don’t
think of myself as 'super-straight’. But I was getting an
education.
'I warned Jelly she was messing with real people’s lives. I
don’t think she meant to let things go as far as they did. She
said she lost count of the times she tried to tell you, but that
you . . . you refused to listen. Then I think she got scared.’
'Scared? Scared of what?’
'That you might be, you know, a psycho or something . . .
stalking her … stuff like that. She still worries that you could
be a stalker, maybe without knowing it.’
'I see.’ I felt my chest tighten. It was upsetting to hear how
my feelings for her were misconstrued. I wanted to defend
myself, but I just said, 'Well, I’m not.’
There was a silence.
'Jelly said to tell you she’s sorry if she hurt your feelings.’
I smiled and made a brushing-aside gesture with my hand.
'I always knew at some level it wasn’t real. Do I seem to you
the kind of person who’d lose their head over… well, nothing?
What it feels like is waking from a dream.’
'Sure it was just a dream,’ she said slowly, looking at me
with serious eyes, 'but that ain’t no excuse for what she did;
saying it’s not real don’t make a wrong right.’
'Forgiven.’ I gave a laugh. 'She should forget about it now.
I have.’
'All I can say is that I know she’s sorry she hurt you.’
'Tell her I’ll live.’
It was difficult, in fact almost impossible, for me not to
think of the person sitting across the table as Jelly. In one
sense it was her, but I was equally convinced (I’d asked Tachel
a few carefully baited questions, and never caught her out)
she was a complete stranger. She wore glasses. I hadn’t been
ready for that, but it helped.
Naturally it had occurred to me that this could be a double
bluff and that Jelly could have switched identities with her
friend to protect herself from the threat I seemed to represent.
But, if that were the case, if she had done it to get rid of me – why was she here?
'And you just happened,’ I pressed her, 'to be in that subway
station yesterday when I was looking for Jelly?’
'Hey, I work in the neighborhood. It’s not that big a deal.
Plus, you may not have known it then, but you were really
looking for me.’
We both laughed and our eyes met. Suddenly I didn’t
know what to believe, or how I felt about the situation.
She reminded me of 'her’ and how beguiled by her I had
been when she was someone else and only existed in my
imagination.
I looked down at her slim brown hands, the long tapering
fingers I’d often pictured making music, and asked if her
friend played the piano.
'Nope, she based all that stuff on me,’ she said modestly.

Outside the restaurant, she paused on the steps in front of
the famous '21’ facade with its painted jockey statues and lit
up a Marlboro.
'What’s wrong now?’ she said, blowing a cloud of smoke.
She’d caught the puzzled frown I had on my face. 'You know
I get this all day long from people who suspect us smokers
have a better time than they do because for one thing . . .
we don’t give a shit’
'It’s just that Jelena hated it when I smoked.’
'Yeah, well, I’m not her and I’m full of surprises.’
'So that’s something she didn’t base on you.’
She shook her head. 'Doesn’t approve. Always on me to
give up. How far is this place? I need to get back to work.’
'A couple of blocks.’
The music store I had suggested we visit, Frank Camille’s,
had a showroom on Fifty-seventh Street. I’d told Tachel I
was thinking of buying a piano as a gift for a friend and
needed some advice. I didn’t say the friend in question had
been Jelly, which meant the expedition was no longer relevant,
but it must have been pretty obvious.
I just wanted to hear her play.
We started wading up Fifth Avenue. The sidewalk was
thronged and whatever path we took we seemed to be
against the flow. We hadn’t gone more than half a block when she stopped and, putting a hand on my arm, said, 'You know what, this is going to take too long. I really have
to go.’
'Some other time?’
'I don’t think that would work, do you?’
'No, I suppose not,’ I said. 'Well, I enjoyed meeting you.
And thanks … I don’t quite know what for, but I’m very
glad you called.’
She laughed and started to back away. 'Thanks for lunch.’
'Can I get you a cab? '
She shook her head, then turned smartly and walked off.
I stood and watched her go, trying to ignore a small chafing
voice inside my skull telling me that I needed to stop her. It
took a moment for it to sink in that once I lost sight of her
I wouldn’t see her again.
'Wait a minute,’ I called out, rather half-heartedly, 'I don’t
know how to get in touch.’ But she’d already been swallowed
up by the crowds. 'There was something else I wanted to ask
you.’
It must have looked as if I was talking to myself. When I
started to run after her, yelling at her to wait, people weren’t
slow to clear a path.
I caught up with her at the light. 'I was wondering,’ I said
too loudly, coughed, then lowered my voice as she turned
her head, 'if you had plans for this evening.’
She looked less surprised than I’d expected. 'As a matter
of fact I do.’
'You couldn’t change them?’
'Out of the question.’
'It’s just that I have a couple of tickets … for the ballet.’
I had to think fast. 'I know this sounds pretty stupid, but I
was hoping to take Jelena.’
She sighed and crossed her arms. 'That girl doesn’t even
like ballet.’
'I should have guessed.’ I smiled. I remembered Jelly saying
online that she was a huge fan of classical ballet. 'If you really
want to know, I don’t either.’ A look came into her eyes then
that made me think she might be open to persuasion. 'But
what I’m asking is, do you?’
'I dunno.’ She shrugged. 'It depends which one.’
'Sleeping Beauty … her favourite.’ I had read somewhere
that a revival of the Kenneth MacMillan staging for the
American Ballet was opening at the Met.
She rolled her eyes. 'That girl.’
She started laughing but in a different way. 'Hey, I gotta jet.’
'Will I see you tonight?’
'I dunno … I doubt it.’

60

It was nearly four thirty when Campbell Armour walked
through the arrivals hall of the New York Port Authority
bus terminal keeping an eye out for anyone looking at him
the wrong way. In his traffic-cop sunglasses, long Army
Green shorts, a Tampa Bay Devil Rays baseball shirt and
Nike Air force trainers, he could have passed for a tourist
or a college kid on vacation. His fears of being hauled
off the bus in handcuffs or stopped at the gate hadn’t
materialised.
Maybe his stratagem had worked and 'Chen’ had already
been picked up in his place behind the wheel of the silver
Toyota. But as he crossed the busy concourse, he felt a prickly
sensation between his shoulder blades that he knew wouldn’t
go away until he was clear of the building.
On the bus ride from Torrington, he’d had guilt issues about taking advantage of his wandering countryman. But the way he looked at it, fate had offered him a chance it
would have been wrong to turn down. As well as handing
over his rental car, he’d paid the kid a hundred bucks over
the odds for the bus ticket. Worst case, he might have to
spend the night in jail while the authorities tried to find an
interpreter. What Campbell had bought was more time.
The two cops at the Eighth Avenue exit barely glanced at
him as he sauntered out onto the street, chatting on his cell
to his wife in Florida, and headed downtown. He hadn’t eaten
since breakfast and suddenly realised he was ravenous.
'What time is your flight?’ Kira asked.
He hesitated. 'It’s looking more like tomorrow.’
'You promised Amy.’
'Dish, this is really important. I’m getting close.’
There was silence the other end.
'He’s starting to show himself. He made his first mistake.’
While he walked, Campbell gave his wife an update of the
investigation. He told her about the re-enactment of the
Seaton tragedy he’d witnessed on the homebeforedark website
and Ward’s extraordinary revelation that Ed Lister was at
the house the night it happened. Then, careful to downplay
the possibility that he might have been in any danger himself,
he gave a brief, censored account of going back to Skylands
that morning and discovering Grace’s body.
Kira wasn’t fooled, not for a moment.
'You call your client,’ she said quietly when he was done,
'and you tell him that you’ve taken this as far as you can,
now it’s over to him and the police . . . then you catch the
first plane
HOME
.’
'It’s not that simple, honey.’ He laughed and tried to make
a joke of his being a murder suspect on the run. 'I need to
bring him in so I can prove I was framed . . .’
'Bring him in? My God, Campbell, if you could just hear
yourself. You think you’re so smart, acting out your little
private eye fantasy as if this was a movie, or one of your
damn video games.’
'Before someone else gets hurt.’
'You’re behaving like a child. Drop the case. You don’t
know what you’re getting into . . . baby, please.’
'I have to do this.’
'Why? What for? So you can get yourself killed?’
Campbell said nothing.
'What are you trying to prove?’
'Have you checked our savings account lately?’
It was Kira’s turn to be silent. He hadn’t intended telling
her until tomorrow, but he’d kept it to himself long enough
and the truth just came out. Kira knew about his 'little weakness’ – he’d had a gambling habit before they married. There
had been a few slip-ups since, but nothing major. She didn’t
comment now when he confessed that he’d lost nearly
200,000 playing poker in a private online game. It was only
when he told her that he owed another hundred k to some
people in Sarasota that she said softly – he was sure she was
crying: 'Campbell, how could you do this to us?’
He started to tell her he was going to pay it all back with
the bonus Ed Lister had promised … all he had to do was
find Ward.
With a despairing moan, she hung up on him.