The Third Sin (26 page)

“Of course I can, but there are still details to be settled. I have to talk to the attorney again.”

“You must ensure that I can wear the Braganza to the next Black and White Ball. I can't bear the humiliation of making my entrance without it.”

“Yes, Mother. When I'm executor, it will all work out.”

The phone rang.

“Get that,” she commanded. “I don't want to talk to anyone but Sonya Iverson. If it's anyone else, you deal with it.”

Harold lifted the receiver and said hello.

An already-familiar voice replied, “Good morning, Harold, this is Sonya Iverson. I'm returning a call from your mother.”

“Yes, Sonya, my mother has asked me to speak for her for now.”

“I see,” Sonya said, sounding disappointed. “I was really hoping to speak to Irina directly, but as long as I have you, I'd like to get an update on what's to become of the diamond.”

“I'm not sure what I can tell you, Sonya,” Harold said. “I'm going to put you on speaker, so my mother can hear too.” He clicked the button on the phone and confirmed that the speaker was working.

Irina made the first move. “I prefer you talk with my son. I will listen, and if I have anything to add, I will speak up. I do want to apologize for disturbing your Sunday morning.”

“Not at all,” Sonya replied, “I often work on Sundays in order to have a story ready for the Tuesday broadcast. In fact, I'm going to see Kirsten later today.”

Irina pointed at Harold in alarm, and waved her finger back and forth with a gesture that clearly meant no.

“In fact, that's the very reason my mother called you.”

“Oh? What do you mean?”

“My mother and I are worried about the effect of so much publicity on Kirsten's life. I'm sure you've noticed, since you work with her, that she has a number of health problems.”

He waited for Sonya to respond, but the phone was silent.

“Miss Iverson,” Irina interjected. “Let me speak frankly. I—that is, we—do not want you to include Kirsten in the story. We do not want you to even mention her. She has had enough.”

“I'm afraid, Mrs. Bruckheimer, that that is not possible. I can't promise to keep her out of the story.” There was a pause, then Sonya continued. “While I have you on the phone, I have to tell you how sorry I am that you refuse to do an interview with me. I think you could shed light on the murky view many people have of your family.”

Irina moved closer to the phone. Her voice rose as she said, “I have no idea what you are talking about and I strongly advise you not to express any such opinions of my family.”

“I'm only sharing my observations. That's why I want to give you the chance to express your feelings on camera. For example, I was surprised to hear your concerns about Kirsten, since it was my understanding that the two of you are not close.”

“How dare you…” Irina shouted.

Harold spoke quietly but firmly. “That's unfair, Sonya…”

“Well, you see what I mean,” said Sonya calmly. “If you were on camera, you could clear up any misunderstandings. Kirsten seems to have a different perspective on some matters regarding your family, and if you won't talk to me, then I have to rely on her impressions.”

“Very clever, Miss Iverson,” Irina responded, “but I have been dealing with the press all my life and your cheap trick doesn't faze me. I want you to know I have powerful, determined friends, who would not—and I repeat—
not
be happy to hear that you have refused my reasonable request to respect Kirsten's privacy and protect her future. I want you to think that over carefully before you include her in your tabloid program.”

“I do hear you, and I will keep your threat in mind.”

“No threat, Miss Iverson,” Irina countered, “just something, as you say, to keep in mind. Anyway, we'll be seeing Kirsten this afternoon and advise her not to cooperate with you. Now, good-bye.” She signaled Harold to push the button ending the call.

After a moment of silence, Irina took a deep breath and said, “Sonya Iverson seems more strong willed than I expected. I don't like it. Let's see Kirsten as early as possible this afternoon. I want to put a stop to this Iverson woman once and for all.”

She kissed him on the cheek. “Now go, dear, and let me fix myself up.” She swept into the bathroom.

Harold felt relieved. There was the Irina he knew, back again.

 

Chapter
32

S
UNDAY, 11:00 A.M.

Sonya's office

Sonya had never seen Sabrina look so worried. She hesitated in the doorway, obviously unsure whether to come in. “What is it?” Sonya asked firmly. “Don't stand there like a homeless pigeon. Come in and tell me what's on your mind.”

Sabrina smiled, walked in, and sat opposite Sonya. “It's not what's on my mind—it's what's on the mind of your faithful cameraman. And for once, you'd better pay attention to what I've got to say about him.”

Sonya broke in. “Don't start that again. I've told you to quit the matchmaking. Perry's a good friend and I respect his work, but if you want to get him married, then marry him yourself.”

Sabrina gave her a hard look. “Cool it, will you? You almost got a bullet through your heart on Friday night. We're both just trying to protect you.”

Sonya looked at the makeup artist's full, round face. As she often did, Sabrina had given herself a highly stylized appearance, painting her face dead white and placing a perfect circle of bright red rouge on each cheek. She looked freaky but Sonya knew that underneath Sabrina had plenty of common sense.

“I'm sorry, Sabrina,” she said. “Go on.”

“Well.” She hesitated for moment, then said, “Perry feels that in a way he's responsible for the shooting.”

Sonya couldn't resist a laugh. “That's ridiculous. Perry wouldn't hurt a fly.”

“He thinks he met the hit man and told him a lot about you.”

“What?” Sonya sat bolt upright in her chair in shock.

“You know that pub around the corner where the techs hang out? A few days ago, Perry met some guy there who said he was writing a screenplay about a TV producer. They had a few drinks together—well, maybe more than a few drinks. Perry said the guy asked him a lot of questions, supposedly to get background information for his movie.”

“Why isn't Perry telling me this, Sabrina?”

“He's in a complete panic and says he's too ashamed. I think he feels he betrayed you and put your life in jeopardy.”

Sonya thought back to the previous day, when she and Perry had worked together on the interview with Harold Bruckheimer. Now that she focused on it, she realized that they hadn't really talked much, that Perry hadn't kidded with her as usual.

“When did this happen?”

“Friday night, after work.” Sabrina shook her head. “He'll tell you the rest himself now that I've broken the ice. He said if I spoke to you first, that would make it easier on him.”

Sonya put her head between her hands and pressed her palms to her temples. Her mind was racing.

“I can't believe this. Perry meets a total stranger and gives him enough information about how we operate to let him figure out how to try to shoot me?”

Thinking of what Perry had done made her feel sick to her stomach. She trusted Perry completely.

“Sabrina, I don't know what to say. How could Perry betray me like that? We have tons of security in place at the office and he didn't stop to think before opening his mouth!” She took a deep breath to calm herself. “I'm sick about this. I feel as if I never want to see him again.”

She reached across the desk and took Sabrina's hand. “Thank you for being such a friend to me and letting me know what he did.”

“Oh, honey, stop it,” Sabrina said, patting her hand. “You're overreacting. Perry would never harm you intentionally. He had too many drinks. Just give him a chance. He's waiting in the cafeteria to talk to you. Let me call and tell him to come up.”

Sonya shook her head. “No.”

“Oh, Sonya grow up,” Sabrina said sharply. She picked up the phone and dialed.

Sonya had managed to compose herself by the time Perry appeared, looking utterly shamefaced. She stood up to greet him, determined not to let him see how hurt she was, and put her hand casually on his shoulder. “Come, sit down, and tell me everything.”

“Oh, god, Sonya, I feel awful. I had no idea what the guy was up to,” Perry said mournfully. “But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe he had nothing to do with the shooting.” He took the chair next to Sabrina.

“Let's have every detail,” Sonya said.

“It's like this; I went to the regular bar to have a few beers, like I often do after work. This guy was a stranger, but I saw him talking to a couple of the cameramen, so I thought he was one of the regulars. After a while he drifted over to me. He said his name was Arthur Singer and that he was writing a movie script about a TV producer, and could I answer some questions.”

Perry spoke slowly and carefully. It irritated Sonya, and she interrupted to insist he get on with his story. “Did you ask him why he wanted to talk to you?”

“No. I assumed the other guys told him I could give him some of the information he wanted.”

“So you have no idea whether he came to the bar just to talk to you?”

Perry shook his head. “No.” He leaned forward and spoke earnestly. “Listen, Sonya, he did nothing to suggest he was up to anything. He was just an average guy, about five eleven, brown hair, short cut, wire-rimmed glasses, slim Levi's, black leather jacket. He bought me a couple of drinks and we talked. Like any two guys in a bar.”

“What did he ask you and what did you tell him?”

Perry's face turned red and he shifted in his chair.

Sabrina held up her hand. “Slow down, Sonya. Give Perry a chance to think. This isn't the Inquisition.”

Sonya wasn't moved. “I don't mean to upset you, Perry, but if a hit man can figure out how to try to kill me after talking to you in a bar for a few minutes, we have a big problem.”

Perry reached into his jacket pocket and took out a sheet of paper covered with his neat handwriting. “I've written down some of the things he asked about. For starters, your routine at the office. When you came in the morning, when you left at night. Was there any pattern?”

Sabrina broke in, “Those questions would make me suspicious.”

Looking even more embarrassed, Perry shook his head. “I know, Sabrina, they should have set me off. The guy could have been a crazed fan. But those weren't his first questions, and he seemed so normal—I didn't feel like he was pumping me for information. It was just a conversation.

“And how could I have known he was a hit man? It's not like he gave me a business card that said P
AID
A
SSASSIN
.” It was a terrible joke and no one laughed.

Sonya took the paper from Perry. The questions dealt with every aspect of her working life. Arthur Singer was not interested in her as a person, but how she operated as a producer.

“Interesting list. If he was working on a screenplay, this would be a lot of help.”

“He was really interested in Kirsten's job too,” Perry said. “He wanted to know how she was treated by the regular staff. What she did exactly. How much time you spent with her. I got the impression that he was thinking that some young sexy actress could get a starring role if his movie was ever made.

“I said that you both worked long hours,” Perry continued. “Then Arthur asked me to tell him about that day, about everything we'd done. He said it would give him a good idea about an average workday. So I told him. And I told him that you and Kirsten were still upstairs, still working.”

“The call from the garage,” Sonya said. “That wasn't you. But the hit man learned how to do it from you.”

Perry lowered his eyes, avoiding Sonya's gaze as he continued. “Yes. I told him about the systems we have for handling tapes and how things sometimes go wrong.” He looked up at Sonya then, red-faced. “I probably said that, if I had something I'd forgotten to give you, I'd call your office and you'd either come or, more likely, send an intern to get it.”

“Are you sure you said that?”

“I'm sure I said something, but I'm not sure what.”

“Anything else?” Sonya asked, her anger rising.

“We'd swapped phone numbers in the bar. Later, when my head had cleared, I realized that I had told him some stuff I probably shouldn't have. So I gave him a call, to let him know that the information I'd given him was strictly confidential. But the number he gave me was no good—the person who answered had never heard of Arthur Singer.”

“You see,” Sabrina said, “Arthur Singer left no traces behind him.”

Sonya sat quietly for a moment, thinking through all she had heard.

“And it wasn't me he was after,” she said slowly.

 

Chapter
33

S
UNDAY, 12:30 P.M.

A local restaurant

Sonya picked up her handbag, slipped it over her shoulder, and headed out the office door. She and Keith had already planned to meet for lunch. She was glad, because she wanted to tell him about Perry's encounter right away. The police would have to interview Perry as part of their investigation.

They were meeting at a local deli—another deli, she thought with a sigh. And she knew that he'd want to talk to her about a trip he was planning to take with his teenage daughters. She loved Keith, but she hadn't yet met his children and wasn't sure their first encounter should be a vacation together. From what she'd heard of the girls, Sonya suspected they were somewhat spoiled—Keith and his ex-wife seemed to give them everything they set their sights on.