Inferno Anthology (152 page)

“Get on with it, gentlemen.” I say as these two are really starting to piss me off. I can feel my temper starting to flare.

“Or course, initially we believed he acted out of revenge for your company firing him. However, we interviewed his ex-fiancée today, and a new development took us down another road, so to speak.”

“What kind of development?” Why do I feel like Baker wants a pound of flesh from me? I’m the injured—or least the endangered—party in this matter. The road he’s leading me down makes me wonder what he found out from the ex-fiancée. My side of the table remains silent for now.

“Here’s a photo of Marta Llewellyn, Mr. Edwards’ ex-fiancée.” Again we do the shuffle and pass with the photo. I take the photo in my hand and see a stunning woman. Straight blond hair hanging down to her breasts. The dress she’s wearing is cut dangerously low, exposing what appear to be a pair of large surgically enhanced breasts. Glancing back up to her face, her brown eyes have a scheming nature to them. After dealing with so many women, I’ve learned to be leery of that look, as it usually spells trouble.

“I’ve never met Ms. Llewellyn,” I remark after viewing the photo and setting it aside. “What does she have to do with Simon going crazy?”

“Are you sure you’ve never met her?” Baker asks with a definite gotcha attitude, like he’s trying to outsmart me. This man totally has it out for me. There is no disguising it now. I glance at my attorneys, who both have puzzled looks on their faces.

“No, I’ve never met her before,” I say emphatically.

“You have a home in the Hamptons, correct?” Baker already knows the answer to his question; it’s public information. Any detective worth his salt would know this fact.

“You know I do,” I say with a snap back at Baker. I feel the hand of Rhodes, my attorney, on my arm, giving me a subtle but unmistakable hint to keep my shit together. I turn to Rhodes and convey a look meant to tell him I’ll control my temper.

“Well, Ms. Llewellyn remembers meeting you. About a year ago, last June, to be more precise. There was a Parrish Art Museum benefit at a large estate in the Hamptons that you both attended. I’ve confirmed with the museum’s benefit committee that both of you were in attendance at the event.”

“I said I have no recollection of ever meeting her. I may have been there; I’m a major contributor to the Parrish. I also have a house in the Hamptons. During the season, I’m out there often. I usually attend two similar events per weekend.”

“She had this photo of the two of you.” Baker quickly hands me another photo.  I gaze at the image, still not familiar with the woman. Rhodes seizes the photo from me.

“Detective Baker, I think you’ve made your point clear on the facts of my client and this woman being at the same event. Could you please get to the point of this discussion?” Rhodes speaks with an air of superiority and confidence.

“The long and the short of it?” Baker looks at us from his side of the table, his shoulders pushed back, his back ramrod straight. “Your client, Mr. Kingsley, allegedly took this woman home for the night, or I should say for an hour or so, after the event. Then he proceeded to, as Ms. Llewellyn explained it, ‘fuck her brains out in his study’.”

What the hell? I recall fucking many women in my study in the Hamptons last summer, but not a single face or body stands out to me. So what the detective is proclaiming could be true.

“Ms. Llewellyn said she believes Mr. Kingsley and she had some kind connection that night. One that was never fully explored since she left shortly after the act, due to Mr. Kingsley needing to take a conference call.” Baker is definitely mocking me and poking fun at my excuse to get the woman out of my house. “Supposedly, she snapped these photos of your bathroom before your driver took her home.”

Rhodes takes the photo from Baker and places it on the table in front of me. I see my guest bathroom, the one closest to my study. The details are still hazy, but there’s no denying it now. I nod to Rhodes in confirmation that it is indeed as the detective says.

Baker rubs his fingers across his chin. His attitude toward me remains condescending, but under the circumstances, what is my defense? “Ms. Llewellyn appears to have been hell-bent on meeting Mr. Kingsley again. So much so that she lured Mr. Edwards into a relationship in hopes of getting close to Mr. Kingsley.”

“She appears to be obsessed with Mr. Kingsley. When a dinner date with Mr. Kingsley, her then-fiancée, Edwards, and herself didn’t happen, she’d had enough and broke off the engagement. Vowing to meet Mr. Kingsley some other way.”

Shit, shit, shit. The missing pieces of the puzzle have become crystal clear to me, and the reality I’m confronted with reveals the selfishness of my actions. Everything I’ve been facing over the last few days is the result of my own behavior. Granted the girl is nuts, but if I’d never fucked and dumped her, these officers wouldn’t be here grilling me now. I’m to blame for setting the wheels in motion.

“We asked Ms. Llewellyn if she told Edwards the true reason why she broke up with him. She told him everything down to the last detail. It seems as though Mr. Edwards blames you.” Baker nods his head in my direction with his brows knitted together in a scowl.  “Apparently, he cracked when he realized she was using him to get to you. She gave us some emails he sent to her. It’s clear he’s hated you for years, even referencing you in their correspondence.”

Another paper makes its way across the table, and I don’t want to acknowledge it. I’d prefer this interview to be over, and the detective, along with his cohort, gone from my sight.

“This printout is the last email Edwards sent to Ms. Llewellyn. There is no doubt in our mind he had some type of mental breakdown and is determined to get at Mr. Kingsley.”

The rest of the interview is a blur to me. I feel overwhelmed with guilt and remorse for my choices. Unaccustomed feelings for someone so used to instant gratification and impenitence. But it was true, I was careless and cared for no one but myself. Now someone I’ve known for almost half my life wants me dead because he thought I took from him the most precious thing he ever had: his lover and future wife.

Finally the room is empty. The detectives and attorneys have left, and I’m alone with the detective’s papers sitting in front of me, reminding me of my self-indulgence. I lean my elbows on the table and bury my head in my hands. Not remembering the woman’s face and the intimate acts I did with her sickens me, but I know she’s just one of many I’ve used and forgotten. Other than my beautiful Kathryn, there isn’t a fuck I’m proud of. What a fool I’ve been.

The glow from the evening sun shines through my office windows. The view from the top floor of my building showcases the brilliant sunset as it flickers over the Hudson River. Normally, I stare in awe at the colors blazing across the horizon, but tonight I’ve moved far away from the display and the conference table with its incriminating evidence. Instead I’ve found a soft couch and a bottle of scotch to keep me company as I hide from the world. The couch is comfortable; the scotch is a familiar and numbing friend.

I rest my feet on the coffee table in front of me and lay my head back over the top of the couch as I await a call from Kathryn. I sent her a text around six thirty, hoping she might be able to meet me earlier than we discussed. She returned my text promptly, saying she would call me in about thirty minutes. The time is now ten after seven, and my palms sweat as I itch to call her. I pour myself another glass of scotch, very conscious that waiting is a game I’m not accustomed to playing.

Holding my phone in my hand, I feel it begin to buzz. I sit up straight, removing my feet from the table, and look down at the phone and see the photo of Kathryn I took earlier in the day filling the screen.

“Kathryn,” I say her name quietly as my voice strains from all the tension I’m under.

“Kingsley, is everything okay? You sound funny.” I hear the concern in her voice and close my eyes as I realize she does truly care about me. At this moment, she may be the only person in the world who does.

“The police were here earlier and…” I can’t seem to tell her what I learned today about myself and Simon’s motive for wanting me dead. “I need to see you.”

“You’re scaring me.” Now her voice reflects a touch of fear, but I don’t want her worrying about me.

“I know what’s behind Simon’s actions now.” Without giving her the ugly specifics, I say, “But I’d rather talk to you about it in person.”

“Of course. You’re not in more danger now, are you?”

“No, the police are convinced Simon has fled to Canada, and until they know he’s back on American soil, the case has been put on hold.”

After enduring the detectives’ attitude toward me, I’m convinced they feel I’ve brought Simon’s revenge upon myself and don’t care to waste their time going through the hassle of working with the Canadian authorities.

“Well, that’s good news he’s not in the area at least. But something else is bothering you. What aren’t you telling me?”

“It’s the motive behind Simon’s actions. It’s not what I expected at all. Where are you now?”

“I’m close to The Pierre at the Rose Club bar in The Plaza.” She’s only a few blocks from my penthouse, and I sigh in relief as my mind forms a plan.

“Let’s meet at The Pierre. On 61st Street there’s rose-colored marble accenting one of the hotel’s entrances. Enter there through the revolving doors, and once you’re inside the lobby head straight toward the back wall. You’ll see a seating area with red velvet chairs ahead of you. Sit down in one of them and face the lobby entrance. You won’t be able to miss me when I arrive; I’m sure you’ll notice Goliath, my bodyguard, first. Join me when you see us walking closer to you. We’ll ride up the elevator together.”

“Are you sure it’s okay?”

“Yes, my security guy has been working at The Pierre all day. The inside is likely safer than the White House.”

“It will only take me a few minutes to walk there. Are you still at your office?”

“Yes, but I’m leaving now.” I rise up from the couch, grab my discarded suit coat off a nearby chair, and head to my office’s outside door. I can’t decide whether to bring the papers on the conference table or not. For now I think it’s best to leave them. What I have to say to Kathryn won’t need a picture.

“Then I’ll see you in a few minutes. And Kingsley, everything’s going to be all right.”

“Thanks, beautiful. I hope you’re right.”

Her words soothe me and give me hope. She has no idea how I long for them to be true. But for now, I have to face the reality of the situation. Simon’s loose, and until he’s caught I’ll always be looking over my shoulder. My carefree lifestyle, with its laissez-faire freedom, is gone.

I’d love to take Kathryn out for an elegant dinner tonight. Nothing would make me happier than to parade her on my arm. But for now my apartment will have to be our meeting place.

Heading out of my office, I see Eddie and Goliath playing cards on top of Mrs. Carter’s abandoned desk. Eddie is seated in Mrs. Carter’s chair, and his brow furrows as he concentrates on the cards in his hand. Goliath is perched on the edge of the desk. He too appears consumed by the game, and neither of them moves a muscle as I stand there observing them.

I pull the door closed behind me; the handle makes a clicking sound against the metal, startling them. Their eyes shoot up from their amusement, and on reflex they immediately stand when they see it’s me. Goliath walks toward me as Eddie nervously stuffs the cards back into the box.

“Mr. Kingsley.” Stopping in front of me, Goliath towers over me; his expression is unreadable. “Finished for the day, sir?”

“Yes, I’m ready to leave.” I have spoken no truer words today, as I can’t wait to get the hell out of here, especially knowing that Kathryn is waiting for me.

Goliath takes longs strides as he leads the way to the elevators. Eddie and I dutifully follow behind him since Goliath is in charge of getting me safely to my next destination. And as annoying as it is having someone shadowing my every move, I’ll just have to get used to it for now, because my gut feeling is that Simon will be on the loose for a while with no one actively pursuing him.

The police insinuated the case is in limbo until Simon returns to American soil, so I need to discuss an alternative plan with Peters. Perhaps he can hire someone to search for Simon in Canada. It’s amazing what money can do, and I’d be willing to pay a king’s ransom to have my freedom back.

On the way to my penthouse, I give Tom a call. He was off work today to stay home with Lois and make sure she was fully recovered from the trauma of Simon’s attack on them last night.

“Adam.” Tom seems to be in a good spirits. I breathe a sigh of relief hoping this means Lois is doing all right. To think a stupid choice on my part could’ve killed them makes me ill.

“Just checking in with you to see how Lois is doing.” I pause and wait for him to answer. I hear what sounds like the heels of Tom’s shoes clicking against tiles.

“Sorry, I needed to step away from Lois. I’ve tried to avoid talking about last night unless she brings up the subject. But she’s doing fine. After we left the library last night, she calmed down. I think it was the initial shock of Simon firing the gun at us, followed by his threats. It was too much for her.”

“Hell, it’s too much for anyone. I’m relieved she’s doing okay. Especially in her condition, and what she’s already been through…” I don’t finish my statement, but Tom knows what I’m implying.

“I took her to her favorite restaurant for lunch, followed by a mini-shopping spree at Barney’s. She’s just starting to show and needs new clothes. Overall, I think she’s doing fine. So don’t worry.” He clears his throat. “Did you find out anything more about Simon? The news didn’t cover it tonight, so I wasn’t sure.”

Hell, how do I answer Tom’s question and tell him what I found out today? Normally, we meet at nine each Saturday morning for a game or two of squash, but obviously that’s not happening tomorrow. I feel like what I need to say to him should be done in person. The details I have to disclose aren’t going to be welcomed, and I sure as hell don’t want to spoil his current good mood.