The Third Sin (23 page)

“No, I guess not,” Sonya agreed. “Your mother and father met in New York, didn't they?”

“Yes. My grandfather lived in Cincinnati, but my mother moved here. He was against my mother and father's marriage at first, but it turned out well. Granddad still lives in Ohio. He's getting older.” Harold paused and then said, “He's not feeling so well right now.”

“Did you and Wade ever discuss his Brazilian family or his mother, Esperanza?”

“You couldn't avoid it, with her picture hanging in his apartment. My father also often spoke of her. I think Wade was Father's favorite son because he was Esperanza's child.” There was a flicker of some emotion in Harold's eyes, though his voice stayed smooth and calm. He shrugged lightly as he said, “But that wasn't a problem between Wade and me. We were brothers. We had a special relationship.”

Sonya was not convinced by his expression of family solidarity. Instinct told her that Harold resented Wade. With the possible exception of Kirsten, she had not found anyone in the family who genuinely liked Wade.

“Did you share Wade's interest in birds?”

“You mean his parrot? I thought Cacao was great. Maybe a little noisy, and it could be nasty. But I liked it.”

“Did you think it strange that the parrot was killed at the same time as your brother?”

“Not if Wade committed suicide. He was devoted to Cacao and I don't think that he would have trusted Cacao to anyone else. Better dead than not loved, I think.” Harold said this with little visible emotion; so much, Sonya thought, for Wade being his adored older brother.

“You think it was suicide?” she pressed.

“Yes,” Harold said flatly. She could see that she'd get no shot of a tearful, grieving man today.

“Did Wade get along with your mother?”

“They had their differences.”

“How did your mother feel about Cacao? Did she and the bird get along?”

Harold stiffened; she could see fresh wariness in his eyes. “What are you suggesting?” he demanded. “That my mother had something to do with Wade's death?”

“Not at all … just trying to get more background.” She smiled. “Did Irina like the parrot?”

“I don't know,” Harold admitted. “I don't think any of us liked the mess Cacao could make, but Wade mostly kept him downstairs. So Bella would be the one to talk to about that.”

“Do you have any thoughts about who might want to harm your brother?”

“Of course not,” he replied angrily. Then he seemed to have a second thought. “You might look into Bella's family in Brazil.”

“What do you mean?”

“They're a rough bunch. Wade told me he had made a deal with them to bring birds into the country, to be sold as pets, and there was some kind of trouble. Wade got out of it, as he always did, with his uncle Jorge's help. But he made enemies.

“Wade also told me his uncle wanted the Braganza back in Brazil.” Harold's tight smile told Sonya that he was pleased to have deflected suspicion onto others.

“Do you think Bella's family might have hired whoever shot your stepdaughter, Kirsten?” That hit home, Sonya thought, when she saw Harold's eyes widen fractionally. It was hard to tell under Perry's lights, but it looked like he'd gone pale as well.

“I'm not saying anything more,” he replied, his voice shaking. “I don't know who could have wanted to shoot Kirsten.”

“Please,” Sonya said quickly, “just a few more questions—about Kirsten. How does she get along with her mother and with you?”

“Sonya, she's our dearest treasure. We both love her. I've tried to be a good father to her—certainly better than her birth father. I know she has her faults, but underneath she's a fine woman.”

“So you have a good relationship with her?”

“When Blair and I married, Kirsten was very young and I was delighted to have a little girl in my life, especially once Blair and I found out that we couldn't have children. She looked to me as her father and we spent a lot of time together.

“She liked going to the zoo and so did I,” Harold said, beaming. “Kirsten has a natural talent for drawing and she'd usually bring a pad with her and draw the animals or the trees in Central Park. I thought she should study art, but television is what she has her eye on.”

“Do the two of you still spend time together?”

“Sadly, no. And it's disappointing. As she got older, there were the expected differences—you know how teenagers can be. She began to say that I wasn't her real father, things like that. When I asked her to come to the park with me, to maybe do a little drawing, she wasn't interested. We grew apart, but I still love her.”

“Have you been to the hospital to see her?”

“Not yet. I wanted to go right away, of course, but Blair insisted only one of us go at a time. She doesn't want Kirsten to get too excited.”

“Do you know of any reason why anyone would try to kill Kirsten?”

“No. Of course not. I thought they were after you?” Harold asked, looking closely at Sonya.

“Yes, that's what the police think,” Sonya said, as calmly as possible. She signaled to Perry to stop rolling. “Harold, I have what we need. Thank you for doing this interview.”

She began to gather her things. Harold had successfully stonewalled her most of the time, but some of what he'd said, and how he'd said it, had sparked some connections and questions in her mind. She wanted to write them down as quickly as possible, but not in front of him.

As soon as the TV lights were off, Harold got out of his chair and came to stand near Sonya. “What parts of my interview will you use?” he asked.

“I don't know yet,” she answered truthfully. “I'll have to look at your interview, and Blair's, and any other footage we have, before we make any decisions.” She turned to Perry. “Take your time getting the equipment together. I'll see you downstairs.”

“I hope what I told you was useful,” Harold persisted.

“It was,” Sonya said. “I definitely learned some new things from what you said.”

Harold's face tensed. “What did you learn?”

Sonya tried to cover her slip. “Just some small details that help to fill out the story—like you and Kirsten going to the zoo together. Thanks again. Now I have to go.” She left quickly, passing Irina's still-closed bedroom door on the way.

In the elevator, Sonya told herself that she had learned one thing for certain. Harold Bruckheimer was a liar.

 

Chapter
29

S
ATURDAY, 6:00 P.M.

The Bruckheimers' Fifth Avenue apartment

“Will she ever finish that interview and come down?” Jorge asked Elenora. “There's a draft on this lobby sofa, and I'm getting tired of waiting.”

Her reply began with a series of light, encouraging pats on his hand. “Be patient. We don't want to miss her.”

Blair had told Elenora that Harold would be interviewed that afternoon at around four o'clock. That gave the Diases the opportunity to meet Sonya Iverson, but they didn't want her to think that they were lying in wait for her. They decided it would seem more natural if they ran into each other by chance. Even if it wasn't by chance at all.

Jorge had given the doorman some cash and asked him to ring their apartment when the newspeople arrived. When word had come, Jorge had found himself suddenly curious about how the people on Fifth Avenue were reacting to the presence of the network van. What if the neighbors connected the van with Wade's murder? He didn't want anyone gossiping about his nephew.

He and Elenora went downstairs, dressed as if they were going for a walk. Outside the building, they found a small group of passersby gathered near the van, watching the cameraman finish unloading.

Someone asked the man what program he was shooting. Jorge was pleased at the cameraman's polite and discreet reply, “This is for
The Donna Fuller Show
.” No mention of the Bruckheimer or Dias families.

To avoid attracting attention, Jorge took Elenora's arm and they crossed Fifth Avenue to sit on one of the benches outside the stone wall that framed Central Park. From there, they watched the front door of their apartment building. Once the cameraman was inside, the little crowd quickly dispersed.

The Diases sat in a comfortable silence for some time. Jorge's attention was drawn to the many dog walkers passing by and pausing to pick up their animals' waste.

“Can you imagine how it would be if someone from Brazil saw me bending down to clean what a dog put in the street?” Jorge asked. “I certainly would never have a dog in this city—and if I did, one of the servants would walk it.”

“Nonsense,” Elenora responded, “you love dogs, and you would do anything necessary to care for your dog. Besides, here, everyone does it. And it's the law.” She gave his arm an affectionate squeeze.

“No, my dear Elenora, you are mistaken. If I found myself with a troublesome, demanding cur, I would dispose of it.”

“Jorge, please don't talk that way.”

Why did she so rarely take his side on anything, even in such simple matters? How was it that after so many years of marriage, she still failed to understand what was important to him? If she knew what he had done to preserve the family's wealth and power, what would she say?

Elenora suddenly said, “Jorge, what are we doing? If we stay here, we might not get across the street in time to catch her. We should wait in the lobby.”

Jorge had to admit that she was right. He stood and drew his wife to her feet. “Let's go.”

They crossed Fifth Avenue midblock, weaving quickly through the tangle of cars that had stopped for a red light.

The doorman smoothly opened the door for them and the Diases passed into the lobby. Now they had to find a place to sit where they could still “run into” Donna Fuller's producer. Elenora guided Jorge to the sofa at the side of the lobby.

As they waited, he closed his eyes and tried to rest, but continued to seethe. It was true that Elenora's warnings had often kept him from having unwise confrontations, but he resented her advice. As he grew older, her constant interference made him feel less and less in charge of his life. How would she have handled the discussion with Wade? Would it still have gotten so tragically out of hand?

His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp squeeze on his arm. “There she is,” Elenora hissed, “just out of the elevator.”

They rose quickly. “May we speak to you for a moment?” Jorge asked as they approached the small, red-haired woman.

“Certainly. I'm Sonya Iverson,” she said, offering her hand.

“We are pleased to have run into you,” Jorge said, introducing himself and Elenora.

“I recognize you, Mr. Dias,” Sonya said. “In my research, I found several pictures of you and the Dias family. This must be a hard time for you. My condolences on the death of your nephew.”

“Yes, it is difficult, but we are strong.”

“I'm so glad to have run into you; I was considering calling you for an interview. Do you have time to sit and talk now? I won't be leaving until my cameraman comes down with his equipment, and that will take a few minutes. If we move to the back of the lobby, we should have some privacy.”

Jorge looked at Elenora for her reaction. She smiled and said, “It would be good to chat now.”

They moved away from the elevator and took seats. Jorge began, “How lucky that we ran into you by chance.”

“Yes, by chance. Very lucky,” she responded as she pulled out her notebook. Jorge saw a flicker of her eyelids and realized that she was more perceptive than he had expected. Clearly she was aware that they had been waiting for her. He began to try to explain, but Elenora spoke first.

“Ms. Iverson, the truth is we have been hoping to talk to you and that is why we were waiting here in the lobby. My husband spoke as he did because he thought you might resent our intruding.”

Jorge felt a hot wave of anger. He took Elenora's hand and squeezed it tightly. Her slight gasp confirmed that he had hurt her. Perhaps now she understood that she was to remain silent.

“My wife is right. We wanted to talk with you,” he said.

“I understand. Did you have a specific reason?”

Jorge tried to swallow before he continued, but his mouth was dry. His voice felt tight and it cracked slightly as he spoke. “We want you to cancel the story on the Braganza.”

He studied her face, looking for her reaction, but saw no indication of how she had taken his blunt request. He felt compelled to continue.

“Let me explain. This diamond is part of our country's history. Though Esperanza brought it to the United States, she always meant to return it to Brazil. Unfortunately, her untimely death prevented that. Her husband, Douglas, claimed the diamond as part of his wife's estate and escaped with it to New York.”

“Escaped? That's not quite how I heard it from your nephew, Wade, before his death.”

“He was a liar,” Jorge snarled, angry that Sonya had challenged him. Unsettled, he allowed his true feelings about Wade to show.

Sonya looked astounded by his vehemence.

Elenora intervened, speaking almost inaudibly. “Sonya, forgive us. My husband didn't mean that. Jorge loved Wade and supported him. You can see he is passionate about this stone and its importance to Brazil. He and Wade occasionally argued over it, which was painful for him. And he has not been well.”

“I understand. But tell me why you don't want me to do the story.”

Jorge explained, “
The Donna Fuller Show
is very powerful. If you do this story, I am convinced the publicity will cause the auction price to go up. We want to buy the Braganza for our museum, but unfortunately, my family and our friends have limited resources, and if it is too costly, we would lose it.”