Night Vision (32 page)

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Authors: Ellen Hart

BOOK: Night Vision
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Cordelia twirled through the living room, arms spread wide, searching high and low for a bug. She didn't look at all like Whitney Houston, but she had all the right moves.
Jane played with the sound. It was a little tinny but not bad. She turned it up to high as Cordelia continued to enumerate what she loved. Pistachios. Natalie Portman. Drambuie. Juliette Binoche. Ted Kooser. Silk underwear. It was getting a little repetitive and she was about to turn the sound down when a voice boomed, “What the hell?”
Jane whirled around to find Faye standing a few yards away, a grocery sack in each arm.
“You have no right—” Her voice shook with anger.
“I know about the bloody clothes.” Jane stood and turned to face her. “And obviously you've been bugging Joanna's loft.”
“Get out of here!”
“Not until you tell me what I want to know.”
They stared each other down.
Turning on her heel, Faye headed into the kitchen, set the groceries on the counter, and out of habit, put the teakettle on to boil. “Who let you in here?” she demanded. “Was it Cordelia? I'll call the police, have them arrest her! Get out of here! You're invading my privacy!”
“I'm not the only one who's been invading privacy around here. Where did you find those clothes?”
“I'm not telling you a thing.”
“Joanna killed a man.”
“He deserved it.”
“Did you see her do it?”
“I'd rather go to prison than say a word against her.”
“Faye, that's just crazy. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life behind bars just to protect her?”
“Won't happen. Never. Not in a million years.”
Jane heard the front door open and Cordelia call, “Janey, I didn't find a thing. But we gotta get going, otherwise Freddy and Joanna will have to find someone else to be witnesses at their wedding.”
A tremor passed across Faye's face. “They're getting married?” she said, her voice full of disbelief. “Is that your idea of a joke?”
Cordelia sauntered into the kitchen. “Ooops,” she said, glancing at Jane. “Busted. No, Faye. No joke. They're tying the knot this afternoon. You know what they say. It's better the second time around.”
Faye looked down, her wiry eyebrows knit together. “She wouldn't do that. We talked about it. She agreed with me.”
“Well, apparently she's changed her mind,” said Cordelia, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her football jacket. “Jane?” She tilted her head toward the door. “Shall we go?”
But Jane kept her eyes on Faye. By the look on the old woman's face, she could tell that a fierce internal battle was being waged between her sense of loyalty and her feelings of betrayal.
Faye stood next to the stove, her hand massaging her temple. Suddenly, without warning, she swept the teapot off the burner.
Jane and Cordelia jumped back as it crashed to the floor in front of them, belching water all over the floor.
“No,” she roared, shaking her hand, trying to wave away the pain. “After everything I've done for her!” cried Faye. “All these years, all my love and concern. And what does she do? She goes against everything I've tried to teach her! She might as well spit in my face!
Me! Me.
” Glaring at Jane, she said, “I've had it. I'm done. You want to know why I did what I did? I'll tell you.”
“I
s that woman's brain made of cement or
what
?” demanded Faye, rubbing some antiseptic into her burn.
They were all seated at the kitchen table, Cordelia eating one of Faye's cookies.
“How could she do this to me? I had such plans for her, for our future together.”
“Plans?” Jane repeated.
Faye's head snapped up. “You know, missy, you're on my shit list. And so are you, Cordelia. I assume you gave her the key so she could get in here.”
“We're sorry,” said Jane, hoping an apology might head off a rant.
“Yeah, well. I could call the police if I wanted to, you know, have you both arrested. But I won't.” She lifted a pack of Chesterfields out of the pocket of her orange cardigan. “You both love Joanna, so I figure I can talk to you. The only thing I ask is, unless I decide different, whatever I say goes no farther than this room. You promise?”
Cordelia snorted. “Are you kidding—”
Jane kicked her under the table.
“Hey,” she said, “what did I tell you about kicking—”
“We promise,” said Jane, slapping Cordelia's back. “Right?”
“Right,” said Cordelia, moving some fake sincerity through her vocal cords. “Yeah, mum's the word, Faye.
No problemo.
”
“Will you start at the beginning?” asked Jane. “So that everything's clear for us.”
She tapped a cigarette out of the pack, grabbed a Bic lighter off the table, and lit up. “Okay. You're probably right. All this goes way back. I was still living in my old apartment in Bloomington when I read that interview you did with
The Rake,
Cordelia. It was a couple of years ago. I remember you said you were working on a deal to get Joanna to come to town to do a play. Well, I thought, hell, if I could just find out where you lived, I might get to meet her in person if I waited around outside your house long enough. When I found out you lived here, I told my real estate agent to get me in. It took him nearly fourteen months, but he did it. And then I wheedled my way into your poker game, got to know you. I never expected that Joanna would stay here when she came to town. You don't get lucky all that often in your life, but I was due for a break.
“Before Joanna arrived, I checked out what was available in surveillance equipment. It was all too complicated and expensive for me. I settled for two upscale but relatively cheap baby monitors. Amazing what you can do with technology these days. I know, I know. You're thinking, how could I do something like that? It's probably immoral. But when it comes to Joanna … I don't know how else to say this except, she's like my daughter. We have a real, important relationship. You don't know this, but I've been writing her for years. The letters are never returned, so that's proof she reads them. I hope I've helped her. I believe, in my heart, that I have. I've seen her take my advice more than once, so again, even though we'd never actually met, we had—through my letters. I thought maybe, when I introduced myself, that she'd recognize my name. When she didn't, I guess I was a little sad.” Faye frowned. She seemed to get lost in her thoughts.
“Did you send her the flowers?” asked Jane.
“Huh? Oh, sure I did. I didn't know this Luberman fellow had sent her flowers, I just thought it was a sweet thing to do. I wanted her to
know she was welcome here, loved, you know. That I was happy to see her.”
“But you kept sending them even
after
you knew it was Luberman's calling card.”
She lifted her head. “Well, but he was dead when I sent the last bouquet. Joanna must have known they couldn't be from him, so I didn't think it would be a problem. Actually, that was my way of telling her that they never
were
from him in the first place—they were from someone who truly loved her.”
“Why didn't you sign your name?” asked Jane.
“Actually, I was about to tell her they were from me, her beloved letter-writing friend, when she went and agreed to marry Freddy. I mean, sleeping with that piss bag was bad enough, but marriage? I had to put the kibosh on that, and I mean fast.”
“So you broke the mirror in her bathroom?” said Cordelia, tapping her fingers impatiently on the tabletop. “Left her that message saying not to cross you because you
owned
her.”
“I was so mad. Can you blame me?”
In Faye's world, thought Jane, this twisted thinking must have a certain logic. “You owned her because you knew she'd killed Luberman.”
Faye looked down at her sweater, began picking off some lint. “It wasn't very nice of me, I agree, but I was desperate. We'd talked about Freddy a lot last week. I thought I'd made myself clear—he was no good for her. She needed to listen to me! All that new movie script crap was just stardust he was blowing at her as a way to get her in bed. I told her she'd get down to South America and it would all fall through. No Kevin Spacey. No Tim Robbins. No Chris Cooper. Nothing. Just Freddy, his toupee, and his lecherous grin.
But,
” she said, holding up one finger, “she had nothing to fear from me. I would never have hurt a hair on her head. How could I? She's like my own daughter. Except, after what you just told me about her getting married today, I've come to the conclusion that she has some hard lessons to learn. Who am I to stand in the way of that? Sometimes, we
need
hard lessons so we can grow. That's what my mother always told me, and I believe it's true. I was just … I mean, I was hoping I could help
spare her more trouble. She's had enough in her life for twelve people. But if she's going to be hardheaded—”
“Did Joanna know you had her bloody clothes?” asked Jane.
Cordelia turned to Jane, a startled look on her face. “What bloody clothes?”
“I'll explain in a minute. Just let her talk.”
“No,” said Faye, tapping some ash on a saucer. “Unless she guessed. I suppose I should have been more direct. I should have told her I had them, blackmailed her into tossing Freddy out of her life. I blame myself for what's happening today.”
“You were heading toward blackmail when you wrote that you owned her,” said Jane.
“Yeah, I suppose, but she just never got the point. Again, my fault. If she'd just dumped Freddy, she could have gone on with her life as if nothing had happened.”
“How did you get your hands on the clothes?” asked Jane, angry that in all her feelings of protectiveness, she'd never once considered David.
“Well, truth be told, Joanna isn't much of a criminal. After she knifed Luberman in the stairwell, she came back to her loft, stripped, then took a half-filled garbage bag from her kitchen and stuffed the clothes down inside. She showered, dressed, and then went out into the hallway and tossed the bag down the garbage chute. I ran down to the basement and retrieved it, just in case the police decided to check the Dumpster. I had to protect her, didn't I?”
“You watched all this on one of those video monitors I found in your study?” asked Jane.
“Video?”
repeated Cordelia, locking eyes with Jane. “I leave you alone for ten minutes and you hit the friggin' jackpot.”
“Sure, I watched it.” Faye lifted her chin in defiance. “I taped my game shows, so I didn't miss anything while I was watching the monitors.”
“But … how did Joanna know that Luberman would be in the stairwell?” asked Jane.
“Oh, that. It's kind of a long story.”
“We've got time,” said Jane.
“No we don't,” whispered Cordelia out of the side of her mouth. She pointed at her watch.
“Faye,” said Jane. “Would you excuse us a moment?”
Faye shrugged, reaching for a pack of cigarettes and firing another one up.
Jane walked Cordelia back to the front door. “Listen,” she said, keeping her voice low, “I'll tell her you left to go to the wedding. Where the hell is it, anyway?”
“Flying Cloud Inn. It's close to the airport.”
“Okay. Here's what you do. As soon as you're out of here, call the police. Tell them about Faye, the clothes, the baby monitors, everything. I can't leave until the police have her in custody. And also tell them about Joanna, about knifing Luberman. They need to get a squad car down to that hotel right away. Where were she and Freddy headed after the wedding?”
Cordelia bit a fingernail. “Switzerland. It's Freddy's wedding present. A private jet will be waiting for them at Flying Cloud field—they planned to leave directly after the ceremony.”
“Hurry,” said Jane. “Oh, and call Nolan. Tell him what's happened and that we'll meet him at the hotel as soon as we can. Wait for me outside in the parking lot.”
“I feel like such a traitor,” said Cordelia, her eyes rising to the ceiling.
“Feel any way you want,” said Jane, opening the door and shoving her out, “but make those calls.”
When she returned to the kitchen, Faye was putting away the groceries.
“Cordelia seemed pretty antsy about getting to that wedding,” said Faye, cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth. “I can't understand how a friend of Joanna's could approve of that vile man.”
“Me, too,” said Jane. “That's why I told her to go without me. I'd rather stay here and talk to you.”
The comment seemed to please Faye. “You know, Jane, I'd call the police on them, but … I still can't bring myself to hurt Joanna. Do you think I'm being a bad mother?”
“Not at all.” She gave it a few seconds, then said, “You were about to explain how Joanna knew Luberman was in the stairwell.”
“Oh, right.” She folded up the two empty sacks, then sat down on a kitchen stool. “Well, see, Freddy organized the whole thing. He told Joanna that he knew a guy who knew a guy, who … et cetera, et cetera. You get what I'm saying? He was friends with thugs who could get anything done for the right price. He hired a man to call Luberman and tell him that Joanna would pay him off if he'd just leave her alone. Half a million dollars. In cash. All he had to do was show up at this bar last Tuesday night, promise he'd never contact Joanna again, and the money was his. Joanna didn't think he'd bite, that he'd figure it was a setup, but he apparently showed up.
“The thug was supposed to put a bullet in Luberman and then get rid of the body. But something must have gone wrong. Luberman was shot, all right, but so was the other guy. The thug called Joanna around one forty-five in the morning. I couldn't hear his side of the conversation, but he must have told her to get out of the building fast. As soon as she hung up, she started to get dressed. I could tell she was in a panic, so I knew something had gone wrong. When she left her loft, I padded down the hall after her in my stocking feet. I didn't want to make any noise that would tip her off that I was following. I stayed back a ways, hid in the shadows, so she didn't see me. She must have met Luberman on the stairs as he was coming up. By the time I'd crept down the steps, she was kneeling next to his body, stabbing him over and over. It was like she couldn't stop. He wasn't moving. It made me so sick to my stomach that I came back to my loft and lost my cookies in the toilet.” She waved away the memory.
“True to form, Freddy was out in L.A. that night. I never heard him say it, but I think he wanted an alibi. I assume a locked security building was supposed to be Joanna's. If only she'd never let him talk her into it, none of this would have happened. It's
all
Freddy's fault!”
“It must have been awful for you,” said Jane, stalling for time.
“Yeah, it was. Nobody understands how much a mother worries. It's not a job for sissies, that's for sure.” She crushed out her cigarette and immediately lit another. “I mean, there aren't any books on parenting that cover a situation like this. I've been thinking, maybe I should get rid of those bloody clothes. If it were up to you, what would you do?”
“I don't know,” said Jane. “I'd have to think about it.”
“I have half a mind to crash that wedding.” She glanced at her watch. “Do you know where they're holding it?”
“Flying Cloud Inn.”
“In Bloomington. I know the place.” She thought a minute more. “Would you be up for it? I don't have a car, but you do. I'd have to change my clothes. Wouldn't take but a few minutes for me to get ready.”
“Sure,” said Jane. “I suppose.”
“You wait right here.” She got down off the stool, stubbed out the cigarette, and went back to her bedroom.
Instead of staying put, Jane returned to the living room. If the police didn't arrive before Faye got dressed, she'd simply have to think of another way to stall. But just as she stuffed the bloody clothes sack behind a chair, out of Faye's direct line of sight, she heard a key slip into the lock. A moment later, three policemen filled the doorway. She pointed them to the sack, told them about the monitors in the study, then explained that Faye was in the bedroom changing her clothes. Satisfied now that three armed cops were on the scene, Jane headed out the door.

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