The Third Sin (24 page)

“But the story is no longer just about the diamond. There is Wade's death to take into account. I am almost certain we'll be airing the story.”

Jorge felt Elenora's elbow press against his arm, her way of warning him not to lose his temper again. He felt trapped between the two women—one trying to tame his natural instincts and the other not interested in what was so important to him. In Brazil, the media would be more responsive.

“Perhaps you could slant the story to support our position that the Braganza should go back to Brazil? That's the correct thing to do, the fairest thing.”

Sonya began to stand, gathering her notepad and bag. “Mr. Dias, you are being offensive. As a journalist, I must pursue the story wherever it takes me.”

Elenora spoke quickly, holding out her hand to delay the newswoman's departure. “I am sorry. Of course, you must do the story as you wish. But perhaps you could arrange for Señor Dias to state his position about the diamond's importance to Brazil and about the Dias family being the stone's rightful owners?”

Sonya relaxed into her chair. “Yes, fair enough. I can't promise to include what he says, but I want to do a balanced piece, so I'll interview him and see where we go from there.”

“Good. Thank you,” said Elenora.

Jorge's anger had grown more intense as his wife took charge and the women came to their agreement, but he continued to restrain himself. When this conversation was over, he would have it out with Elenora and send her back to Brazil on the next plane.

“Yes, I agree,” he said, as enthusiastically as he could manage. He couldn't resist adding, “And I advise you to be fair.”

Ignoring his threat, Sonya replied, “Can you answer some questions for me now? They will help me prepare for our interview.”

“What questions?” Jorge asked.

“When did you last see Wade?”

“As I told the police, I saw him when I first arrived, on the night he died.”

“So you must have been the last person to see him alive,” Sonya said.

“That could be true, but it is possible that someone else saw him later. We have connecting, but separate apartments.”

“And why didn't he sell the diamond to you?”

Jorge exploded. “Young woman, that is between me and my nephew. What kinds of questions are these? You are not the police. I don't have to answer such questions about him.”

This time Sonya did not react to his outburst. Jorge wondered if she thought he was all bluster and no action. She merely said, “That's true, but I need some background on your relationship with Wade if we're going to do an interview.”

She is clever, he thought, and I must be careful. “All right, but you must understand that I will not answer all your questions.”

Sonya continued, “How did you feel when he said he would sell the diamond at auction instead of letting your family buy it?”

“Naturally, I was upset. It was a matter of family honor. My nephew did not understand that.

“We have an obligation to bring the stone back to our country. Wade only thought of himself and what he wanted. He was a greedy boy and he grew into a greedy man. He gave no thought to the commandments.”

Jorge's voice rose out of control until he was practically shouting. “‘Thou shalt not covet,' the Bible says. Now God has punished him. Now he is dead.”

“Jorge, be calm,” Elenora urged, but he ignored her, pushing her hand off his arm and pointing at Sonya.

“That horrible woman he married only made things worse. More greed, just like Irina. They want our heirlooms, things Esperanza brought to her marriage with Douglas.” Jorge gasped and went on, “The painting of Esperanza … taken down.… They have no respect for our family, no appreciation for honor. But I swear to you I will have the diamond.”

“And what about the Bruckheimers' claim to the stone?” Sonya asked.

Jorge tried to respond, but began to cough. Elenora held up her hand to stop Sonya. “He is not well,” she said. “We should go upstairs.”

“No, Elenora…” he said, even as she put her arm around him and helped him to his feet. He felt dizzy and short of breath.

Sonya walked with them to the elevator. “May I help you?”

“No, thank you,” Elenora said. “He just needs to rest.”

“I'll call in the morning about a time for the interview.”

Jorge's coughing had eased and he was about to agree, but Elenora spoke first. “Yes, please call. If Jorge is feeling up to it, we'll schedule something.”

 

Chapter
30

S
ATURDAY, 8:30 P.M.

Sonya's apartment

“I'm home,” Sonya called as she let herself into her apartment.

There was no answer.

“Keith?” she tried again. Still no answer.

Her day had been so hectic, she forgot he was working overtime. She put down her bag and stood listening for a moment, suddenly feeling apprehensive.

She removed her coat, then turned the double lock on the door, and walked slowly through the apartment, stopping in each room to listen for movement.

Satisfied that she was alone, she felt foolish for having been afraid. It was exhaustion, she told herself, and worries about Kirsten. A nice long, luxurious bath would be just the thing to relax her.

While the tub filled, she left a brief report of the day on Donna's voice mail. Sonya lit her favorite lavender candle and slipped into the soothing warmth of the water as an intense aroma filled the room. She inhaled gently, then leaned back against the bath pillow and closed her eyes. She tried not to think but she couldn't clear her mind of the day's events.

Jorge Dias was an angry man. His was an unbending, aggressive belief in family honor. He was not used to being challenged and Sonya had clearly seen that only his wife's restraint kept his dangerous temper in check.

Wade had disgraced the family by selling the beach house and planning to sell the diamond. Differences between uncle and nephew might have ended in an explosive argument and murder.

But out of everything she had heard today, nothing was more astounding than Kirsten's accusation against her mother. Blair as a murderer? It seemed completely out of character for the TV chef. At the same time, Sonya could not completely dismiss the charge; she knew Blair could be tough. Incredibly, she had brought Donna near to collapse and forced her to withdraw from the story. No one had done that before.

Sonya couldn't help but wonder what Blair knew, how she had made Donna step back.

Of course, there were others, outside the family, who might have wanted Wade dead. Where a thirty- or forty-million-dollar payoff was involved, the list of suspects was large.

Sonya glanced at the clock on her bathroom wall and realized that she had been lying in the tub for nearly an hour. She got out, dried off, and put on a pair of jeans, a blouse and vest, and some comfortable walking shoes.

Keith said that he could tell her mood by the way she dressed. “My favorite is when you wear nothing,” he sometimes teased.

Thinking of Keith reminded Sonya that she hoped to use him as a sounding board when he got home. Which meant that her own thoughts had to be organized. Sonya got her bag and seated herself in the comfortable, red leather armchair that was her favorite for reading and dozing. As she settled in and flipped on the bright lamp beside her, she realized that she hadn't used the chair in a long time.

She'd gotten out of the habit of sitting there because this chair was the only one in the apartment that was really big enough for Keith. She wanted him to feel comfortable in her home, so she had almost entirely given up her favorite seat.

She opened her bag and took out her reporter's notebook. Somewhere, buried in what she had heard, was the name of the murderer and the answer to why she, Sonya, had also been targeted. She began by listing each person she had interviewed: Wade, Bella, Blair, Harold.

Then she added Jorge and Elenora Dias and Irina Bruckheimer. And there she froze, astonished at her failure to book an interview with Irina. Kirsten was her contact with the family and had made the first overtures, but Sonya had not followed through as she should have. Had Kirsten deliberately omitted Irina, or had it been a simple oversight?

After a moment's thought, Sonya concluded that Kirsten also belonged on the list. Giorgio came next. He had been close to Wade for years, had been married to Blair, and might know something that the others wanted to hide.

Suddenly she heard a soft clicking noise from the front of the apartment. Her body went rigid with fear. The sound repeated and she realized it was the front door lock. There was a lump in her throat; the relaxation from the bath had vanished. She half-rose from her chair, feeling her pulse racing.

Then Keith's voice called, “Hi, Red, it's me.”

Sonya was flooded with relief. She ran to hug him. He dropped the bags he was carrying and held her as she half-sobbed, half-gasped in his embrace. “I'm here and you're safe.” As Sonya's heart rate returned to normal, she pushed away from Keith and smiled though she still felt close to tears.

“I didn't realize how upset I was,” she said, as a kind of apology.

“I'm sorry I had to work so late, but I've brought something to make up for it. I got the Japanese place we like to make up a couple of takeout bento boxes for us, with the promise that I bring the boxes back tomorrow.”

She opened the bags on the dining table, revealing the beautifully prepared boxes and a large container of miso soup. “I've never seen so much food in a bento box.” She laughed. “You must be hungry.”

While she laid out chopsticks and napkins, he opened a bottle of red wine and took two glasses to the table. “I figured you'd want a quiet dinner,” he said, handing her a glass of wine. They touched glasses as Keith said, “Cheers, Red. I hope you don't mind staying in.”

“Keith, it's perfect. I have so much to tell you, and I need to sort some things out.”

“Sure. I've got a couple of things to tell you too. Want to start now?”

“Before you eat, you mean? No way. You're no good when you're hungry.”

The food was delicious, but Sonya's mind was elsewhere. She took a few sips of soup and picked at the sashimi. She was anxious to hear what Keith had to tell her, but she held back, knowing he would be more forthcoming after he ate.

“Not hungry?” Keith asked.

“Not so much,” she said with real regret, because the soup was delicious but her appetite seemed to have vanished. “I guess it's the tension.”

“Would you mind if I finished your California roll?”

“Of course not,” she said, refilling her wineglass. Once Keith was finished, they cleared the table. Sonya cleaned the bento boxes as best she could while Keith put the leftover soup in the refrigerator.

They sat together on the sofa. Keith smiled and said, “Want me to start?”

“You know I can hardly wait. Go!”

“Detectives from the drug unit have a plant in the crowd Bella runs with. According to our informant, Bella's friends are mostly young and rich and are big users. The night Wade was murdered, Bella was out with them and was spending more of her time with a particular guy. He's around thirty, good-looking, a former Brazilian football player. He's loaded, and the CI says he and Bella are lovers.”

“I'm not surprised,” Sonya said, shaking her head. “But the fact that she has a lover keeps her on the suspect list, even if she didn't have much opportunity that night.”

“You are right,” Keith said, nodding. “We know now that Wade died from an overdose of powerful sleeping pills that aren't available in the U.S., so our bet is that the uncle brought them from Brazil. They were ground up and blended into Wade's special ice cream.”

“What about the bird?”

“Same cause of death—the examiner found traces of the pills in its stomach. Of course, Wade didn't know that his ice cream was poisoned, so he might have fed it to the bird himself.”

“How long was the ice cream in the freezer?”

“Good question! The manager of the ice cream company said that Wade insisted they deliver once a month, on the first, and bring one carton for each day. Wade believed that ensured freshness. Apparently he even had the cartons lined up by date in the freezer.

“We ran tests on the remaining cartons. Only one other was contaminated with powdered sleeping pills.”

“That means the murderer would not only need access to Wade's freezer,” Sonya said, “but would have to know Wade's habits well enough to be able to poison cartons that Wade would probably eat before the diamond went to the auction house.

“In fact, the pills could have been put into the ice cream days ago and could have been brought into the country at any time. Jorge Dias wouldn't necessarily have had to bring them with him on this trip.” Though if he'd had that many pills sitting around somewhere in his apartment, Sonya thought, then Wade's murder might have been premeditated for a long time—since before the sale of the Braganza became public knowledge.

“You got it, Red,” Keith agreed. “This also proves that Wade didn't commit suicide.” He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “The other thing about Bella is that she and her lover left the party about eleven o'clock—but the nine-one-one call about Wade didn't come in until around two
A.M.
But the informant says that Bella and the Brazilian often went to his place for sex, so there's nothing particularly suspicious about the gap in time.”

“Anything else?” Sonya asked in her most professional tone.

Keith laughed. “Nothing more for the moment, Ms. Iverson.”

Sonya sat back and looked at him. “Guess I was a little reportorial, huh?” She began to laugh. He was the only one who could make her laugh at herself and enjoy it. “Now, my turn,” she said. “First, I have to tell you about Kirsten and get your take on whether I did the right thing.”