Now You See Me... (25 page)

Chapter 45

They found Hadassah’s black purse, inside of which were her cell phone, house keys, and a small journal. They also found a plastic bag with makeup and toiletries and clothing. A cashmere shawl, earrings, a skirt and a clingy black sweater, an ivory lace nightgown with a tag still attached. Wrapped in a towel was a black marble owl.

I stood in the hall, watching. I checked my watch and was surprised to see that it was almost four. Two hours had passed since Nancy and I had arrived.

A short while later Jessie came out of the room.

“What now?” I asked her.

“We have to take Dr. McIntyre for questioning.”

“I think he’s telling the truth, Detective Drake.”

“Call me Jessie. I think you’ve earned it.” She smiled. “McIntyre may be telling the truth, Molly. But he does have what will probably turn out to be the murder weapon.”

“He mentioned a gash in Shankman’s throat.”

“As I said, the autopsy hasn’t been done yet. But the injury to his head was significant.”

I tried not to, but I pictured a hand slamming the black marble owl against the back of Shankman’s head. I felt queasy. “Did Dr. McIntyre tell you what time he arrived at Shankman’s apartment?”

“He says it was around six-forty. He says his service delayed giving him Hadassah’s message, which she placed at five-fifty-three. We’ll check with the service to verify that he’s telling the truth.”

“You think he’s lying?”

“We can’t rule out the possibility that he killed Shankman. You said his daughter killed herself because she’d been molested by a teacher. Friday night he finds himself in a room with a teacher who tried to seduce a student, and maybe assaulted her, and perhaps intended to kill her? Could be he was reliving the past, but this time he was determined to render justice.”

It was so sad, I thought. Carrying around that pain, that guilt. “What about the Prossers? Are you forgetting about them?”

“Not at all. I spoke to the father, Gerald. His wife was out of town for the weekend, visiting her parents. Gerald and the boys were home. They alibi each other.”

“Naturally.”

“But,” Jessie said, “a neighbor saw the car pulling out of the driveway Friday night, just before six.”

“Interesting,” I said.

“And the older brother, Seth, left law school at the end of last semester. Apparently, he has a drug problem. He was in rehab through the end of the summer, and he’s taking the year off before he goes back.”

I drove home and phoned Zack to tell him what had happened. I debated phoning the Bailors but decided not to. If McIntyre was telling the truth, either Hadassah had killed Shankman, or someone else had.

My quiches had been sitting on my kitchen counter for hours. I put them in the refrigerator and phoned Jessie.

“Did you check Hadassah’s cell phone calls?” I asked.

“A few minutes ago. She placed a call to McIntyre at five-fifty-three. So McIntyre is telling the truth about that. She also placed a call to her home.”

“Thursday night, you mean. Shankman phoned Hadassah’s mother.”

“No, Friday night, at five-fifty-two. There are a few other calls, including one to 911, also at five-fifty-two. My guess is she hung up before she talked to a dispatcher. We’ll check out all the calls.”

“You’re sure about the Friday night call to the Bailors?”

“I’m sure. I’m sorry, Molly.”

“She could have placed the call to her parents but decided against leaving a message. The same as with the 911 call.”

“She could have. Absolutely.”

I could hear that Jessie was humoring me. I was sick at heart. Rabbi Bailor had said he was home Friday night, having
Shabbat
dinner with his family before he and Gavriel left for the
sholom zochor.
But was that true?

I was restless. It was four-thirty. Zack wouldn’t be home for more than an hour. I read a few chapters of a book, but I couldn’t concentrate. My sister-in-law, Gitty, phoned. I pretended to be surprised when she told me she was pregnant, and was commiserating with her about her morning sickness when a beep on the line told me I had another call. My caller ID showed that the call was from Yamashiro. I said good-bye to Gitty and pressed FLASH.

It was Irene Jakaitis. I wondered what she could possibly tell me now.

“Your cousin must be so relieved,” she said.

“Relieved?”

“You know, about her boyfriend? I finally saw the news, about the car crash. It was awful.”

“We’re all glad she’s safe.”

“No, I mean that
he’s
okay. Your cousin’s boyfriend.”

“Irene, he was in a fatal car crash. The man my cousin was with is dead.”

“Well, I guess we’re talking about some other guy, Molly. Because the man they showed on the news? Greg Shankman, I think they said? The one whose car went off the road? That’s not the man your cousin was with Thursday night at Yamashiro.”

I was speechless. I leaned against the kitchen counter.

“Molly? Are you there?”

“Irene, are you sure about this?”

“Positive. Like I told you, I’m bad with names. But I’m good with faces. What I can’t figure out, though, is what your cousin’s boyfriend was doing in this guy’s Altima. I guess he borrowed it, huh? That explains why he was so freaked by the damage to the car.”

Chapter 46

Bubbie G says speed is good only for catching flies. I thought about that and decided to wait before phoning Jessie Drake.

I drove to the Bailors. Parked in front was Jastrow’s dark blue Volvo, so I wasn’t surprised that he answered the door. He didn’t look thrilled to see me.

“I need to talk to Hadassah,” I said. “It’s urgent.”

Jastrow sighed. “Miss Blume, we appreciate all your efforts, and I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, but my brother-in-law retained an attorney for Dassie, and the attorney instructed us not to talk to anyone.”

“Where’s Rabbi Bailor?”

“In his office. My sister is out. As I said—”

“Tell him Greg Shankman wasn’t at Yamashiro with Dassie.”

Jastrow grunted. “Of course, he was.”

“I spoke with the waitress fifteen minutes ago. You know, Irene Jakaitis? The one you phoned Friday afternoon?” Jastrow had the grace to blush. “She just saw the news coverage for the first time, along with a photo of Shankman. She’s positive he’s not the man who was with Dassie Thursday night.”

Jastrow froze. “But the license plate . . .”

“Obviously, someone else was driving Shankman’s car.”

“Who?”

“That’s what I want to ask Dassie. She knows. Maybe that’s the person she’s protecting, although I can’t imagine why.”

“Dassie’s not here. She’s feeling a little better, thank God. She walked over to visit her friend, Sara. It’s just a few blocks, and she needed the fresh air.”

“Call Dassie and tell her to come home.”

Jastrow hesitated, then stepped aside to let me in. He left me in the hall and walked to his brother-in-law’s office.

While I waited, I reviewed what I’d worked out on the drive here. Shankman had told Milt LaSalle, the apartment manager, that he was going away for a few days on vacation. With Melissa he’d been more specific: He’d told her he was going to Sedona to think things over and make some decisions. Like Melissa, I’d assumed that Shankman had lied about going away. Just as I’d assumed that he’d assaulted Hadassah.

But if Irene Jakaitis was right, and I had no reason to think otherwise, someone else had “met” Dassie through J Spot and lured her away. Someone, I still believed, who had known enough about her to impress her with his “insight.” Someone who, while Shankman was away, had appropriated Shankman’s car and apartment.

Dr. Mendes had probably known that Shankman was going away. According to Melissa, the principal had talked with Shankman several times over the past few weeks. Had she mentioned his travel plans to Gerald Prosser? Had Prosser calmed his son:
Don’t worry, Adam, as soon
as Shankman’s back from vacation, we’ll resolve this issue?

Had Seth known?

Seth was high-strung, Sue had said. And according to Jessie, he’d been in rehab for a drug problem. So he’d been in town in September, when Dassie first met her anonymous boyfriend. And Sue Horowitz had said that the law school dropout had threatened Rabbi Bailor.
He’ll
be sorry.

Maybe it had started as a prank: Humiliate the daughter. Embarrass the rabbi. Maybe he’d wanted to blackmail Rabbi Bailor to remove the probation—and then it turned into something more sinister. What a double coup, and what malevolent irony, to complete the seduction by using the car and apartment that belonged to Shankman, the man who was the cause of Seth’s brother’s problems.

But how had Seth gained access to Shankman’s apartment and car? Melissa, I recalled, had said something about Seth going to talk to Shankman at his apartment. . . .

I heard footsteps and saw Rabbi Bailor and his brother-in-law walking toward me. They both looked grim.

“Listen,” I said, prepared to forestall an argument.

“She’s not there,” Rabbi Bailor said. It was more a wail, really. “Dassie’s not at Sara’s. She never showed up.”

My chest was so tight I couldn’t breathe. “When did she leave here?”

“After five. A half hour ago? Reuben said it wasn’t Shankman. But that’s not possible! He’s dead! Dassie—” He stopped himself.

“I want to see her room,” I said.

I didn’t wait for permission. I raced up the stairs to the bedroom and heard footsteps following me. The bed had been neatened. The computer was off. The room was filled with flowers. On the nightstand between the two beds was a stack of get-well cards and the envelopes they had come in.

“All her friends have been sending cards and flowers,” Rabbi Bailor said. “And calling. That’s why she wanted to go to Sara’s. For a little normalcy.”

An envelope in the stack caught my eye. The return address said ADAM PROSSER. I pulled it out and showed it to Rabbi Bailor.

“Where’s the note?” I asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t you find it odd that Dassie is friendly with a boy who hates you?”

“I’ve never discussed any Torat Tzion student with Dassie. She has no idea that the Prosser boy and I have our difficulties.”

I checked the trash can. I looked under Dassie’s bed. The magazines were gone. A section of the bedskirt was stuck between the mattress and box spring. I lifted the mattress, bent my head, and looked underneath.

Something was there. I slipped my hand into the space and pulled out a blue card.

I showed Rabbi Bailor the note.

“That’s a lie.” His face was red with outrage. “Do you have any idea who wrote this?”

I took the card from his shaking hand. “Possibly.”

“Who—”

“I could be wrong. I was wrong about Greg Shankman.” I didn’t want to think about my role in his death. “As soon as I learn anything conclusive, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, call Detective Drake and tell her Dassie has disappeared.”

“You think Dassie went with this man voluntarily?”

“She may have. She may love him. She may feel obligated. Rabbi Bailor, are you aware that Dassie has been cutting herself?”

He looked as if I’d slapped him. “Cutting herself?”

“Self-mutilating. Cheryl Wexner suspected it and told Dr. McIntyre.”

“Dr. McIntyre never said a word.” The rabbi sank onto Aliza’s bed. “When Dassie was a baby, I used to put a mirror in front of her nose to make sure she was breathing. I worried about every sniffle. She had croup, so I stayed up nights with her, worrying. And then she grew up, and I thought, now I don’t have to worry so much. So now you’re telling me she’s cutting herself? Why?”

“I spoke with a psychologist, Rabbi Bailor. She said cutting is sometimes a prelude to suicide. That’s why I was so worried last week, because I thought this man might convince Dassie to kill herself. A double suicide,” I said.

I explained the references to Hamlet and Romeo and Juliet. “Whatever Dassie’s involvement with Shankman’s death, she may feel guilty.”

“I can’t believe Dassie would kill herself.” Rabbi Bailor frowned. “And if he can’t convince her? What then?”

I could see from the terror in his eyes that he’d answered his own question.

Chapter 47

The maître d’ remembered me. He didn’t look pleased, but he agreed to get Irene. I tapped my foot impatiently until he returned after what seemed like an hour but was only a few minutes.

“Irene is extremely busy,” he told me, basking in disapproval. “But she said she’ll be out as soon as she can.”

“Thank you.”

More waiting—not my strong suit. I phoned Zack to tell him where I was and what had happened. Then I phoned Rabbi Bailor.

“I talked to Detective Drake,” the rabbi told me. “She’s putting out an all-points bulletin. Reuben and I drove around the neighborhood, but there’s no sign of Dassie.”

I saw Irene approaching. She waved as if we were old friends.

“Can you tell me what you’re thinking?” he asked. “Please.”

“When I’m sure. I have to go, Rabbi.” I hung up before he could say anything else.

“That’s something about the car, isn’t it?” Irene said when she was at my side. “Did you figure out who borrowed it?”

“I have an idea.”

On the way to Yamashiro I had stopped at home for the photocopy I’d made of the Prosser family. I took the photocopy from my purse and showed it to her.

“Do you recognize anyone in this photo, Irene?” I held my breath.

She peered at the photocopy for a long moment, then shook her head. “Nope.”

Not the answer I’d expected.

“Are you sure?” I pointed to Seth. “What about him? This was taken a few years ago, but he looks pretty much the same.”

She took another look. “No, sorry. Not even close.”

I had been so certain. Thank God I hadn’t said anything about Seth to Rabbi Bailor.

“You think your cousin’s boyfriend stole the car, don’t you?” Irene said. “I’d hate to believe that. He seemed so sweet.”

“To be honest, I’m not sure of anything anymore. Well, thanks anyway, Irene. If you remember anything—”

“I
did
remember something. Your cousin’s boyfriend was writing a screenplay. That probably doesn’t narrow it down, ’cause half the people in Hollywood are writing screenplays, right?”

“Right.”

“Or trying to get into acting. I am, too. Shocker, huh?” Irene smiled. “I don’t plan to be waiting tables long. But I’m patient. If it’s meant to happen, it’ll happen, right? Anyway, I guess that’s why he gave me such a nice tip. One waiter to the other, you know?”

My heart was drumming in my chest. “He was a waiter?”

Irene nodded. “You don’t look good. Are you okay, Molly?”

“Irene, did he mention what kind of screenplay he was writing?”

She thought a moment. “He said it was like a movie I saw, with Ethan Hawke and Uma Thurman. I don’t remember the name.”

“Gattaca?”

“That sounds right. It’s kind of sad, isn’t it? About Ethan Hawke and Uma, I mean. I thought that one would last, didn’t you? I guess it’s hard to find true love.”