Where Are You Now? (22 page)

His greeting was cordial enough, and he chose to sit, not in what I think would be his usual chair, but in one of the two matching leather chairs on either side of his desk. He began by offering sympathy for the way the tabloids were tying Mack to the disappearance of Leesey Andrews. “I can only imagine what that is doing to your mother,” he said. Then he added, after a pause, “And of course to you.”

“Bruce,” I said, “you can understand how desperate I am not only to find Mack, but whether I find him or not, to clear his name of any connection with the women who disappeared.”

“I absolutely understand that,” he said. “But the point is that Mack, Nick, and I merely shared an apartment. Mack and Nick were tight. They hung out together, they dated together. Nick was at your house for dinner a fair amount. He's a much better person to ask about Mack than I am. You might as well be talking to the rest of the graduating class at Columbia, for all
I
can tell you.”

“What about Barbara?” I asked. “She came to dinner once. I thought she was Nick's girlfriend, but he told me she had a crush on Mack, then she married you after Mack disappeared. Have you ever talked with her about Mack? Would she have any idea what was in his mind before he vanished?”

“Barbara and I have of course talked about Mack with
all this recent publicity. She is as bewildered as I am at the idea that he could be involved in any crime. She said that certainly isn't the person she knew.”

His voice was calm, but I saw a deep flush creep up from his neck to his cheeks. He
does
hate Mack, I thought. Is it jealousy? And how far would that jealousy have carried him? He was so buttoned up, so contained, an ordinary-looking man, who, judging from his success, was an extraordinarily gifted real estate tycoon. An image of Mack, with his stunning good looks, his wonderful sense of humor, his ever-present charm, flooded my mind.

I remembered having heard that Mack beat Galbraith out by a fraction to be in the top ten of the graduating class. That must have been a massive blow to Galbraith's ego, I thought. And after Mack disappeared, Barbara, the girl Nick said had been crazy about Mack, married Galbraith, maybe as her ticket to medical school. . . .

“I met Barbara at my house years ago,” I said. “I'd appreciate a chance to talk with her.”

“I'm afraid that isn't possible,” Galbraith said flatly. “Her father is very ill. He lives on Martha's Vineyard. She flew up there with the children to be with him in his final weeks.” He stood up, and I got the message the meeting was over. He walked me to the reception room, and I reached out to shake his hand. I didn't miss the way he rubbed his palm on his trouser leg before he reluctantly accepted mine. His was still sweaty and damp. A plain man in an expensive suit, his eyes shuttered.

I remembered that Nick had called him “the Lone Stranger.”

I
f there was one person Lil Kramer disliked more than Howard Altman, it was Steve Hockney, Derek Olsen's nephew. That was why when he arrived unannounced on Friday morning, Lil felt thoroughly rattled. Howie's advice to her and Gus—that it would be unwise to rush to Pennsylvania as if they had something to hide—they had originally welcomed with gratitude. But she was totally aware of Olsen's shifting alliances between his nephew Steve and his assistant, Howie, and seeing Steve alone terrified her.

Howie is on the outs with Olsen, she thought, and Steve is going to take over. She was glad Gus had gone upstairs to change the filters in some of the air conditioners. He was in a foul mood after cleaning the staircase between the second and third floors. One of the college kids had spilled beer there during the night.

“They must have been dragging up a keg,” he had grumbled minutes before Hockney arrived. “Spilled beer all over the whole flight. Wouldn't have killed them to have mopped it up themselves.”

It's a good thing Gus noticed it before Hockney got here, she thought. He'll probably make a big show of checking out the halls and the staircases trying to find something wrong. A sudden feeling of fatigue overcame her. Maybe, after all, it would be nice
not
to be busy all the time. Trying to sound civil, she invited Hockney in and asked if he'd like a cup of tea. He flashed her a broad smile as he strode past her.

He certainly is good-looking, she thought, and he
knows
it. He always was full of himself, and when he was around twenty, Olsen had to bail him out of a few problems. He almost went to jail. Now there was a certain insolent glitter in his eyes. He declined the tea but settled on the couch, his arm over the back, his legs crossed.

“Lil,” he began. “My uncle turned eighty-three last month.”

“I know it,” she said. “We sent him a card.”

“You're better than I am.” Steve smiled again. “But I feel it's time that I took over a lot of the management of his affairs. You know him. He won't show that he's feeling his age, but I can see that he is. I also know that Howie Altman is getting on his nerves a lot lately.”

“We get along with him,” Lil said carefully.

“He's been bullying you about giving up this apartment, hasn't he?”

“I think that's over.”

“He's a bully. I know my uncle would listen to you if you made him aware just how nasty Howie has been and can be to you both.”

“Why would I cause trouble when it's none of my business what Mr. Olsen thinks of Howie?”

“It's because I want your help, Lil. You seem to forget that I was here in the building when Mack MacKenzie all but accused you of stealing his watch. That was only a few days before he disappeared.”

White-lipped, Lil stammered, “He found that watch. He apologized.”

“Did anyone
hear
him apologize?”

“I don't know. I mean, no, I don't think so.”

Hockney unfolded himself from the couch. “Lil, you're lying about the apology. I can tell. But don't worry. I never told anyone about Mack's watch and I never will. We don't like Howie, do we Lil? By the way, I'll tell Uncle Derek that this building is the jewel in his crown, thanks to the way you and Gus keep it.”

D
erek Olsen was far from being only the irascible, petulant old man that his nephew Steve and his buildings manager, Howie, thought him to be. He was in fact a shrewd investor who had watched his real estate holdings in strategically chosen apartment buildings turn into a personal fortune worth many millions of dollars. Now he had come to the conclusion that the time was right to begin liquidating his assets.

On Friday morning he called Wallace and Madison and brusquely demanded to be put through to Elliott Wallace. Elliott's secretary, long used to Olsen's behavior, did not bother to tell him that Mr. Wallace was on his way to an urgent meeting. Instead, she asked him to hold, and rushed down the corridor to catch Elliott at the elevator. “It's Olsen,” she said.

With an exasperated sigh, Elliott retraced his steps to his office and picked up the phone. “Derek, how are you?” he asked, his tone hearty.

“I'm all right. Your so-called nephew's in a lot of trouble, I see.”

“As you well know, Mack has been missing for ten years. It is absurd that the police are trying to connect him to any crime. What can I do for you?”

“He caused
me
a lot of trouble by disappearing when he was living in one of my apartments. Anyhow, that's not why I called. My birthday was last month. I'm eighty-three years old. It's time to sell everything.”

“I've been suggesting that for the past five years.”

“If I had sold five years ago, I wouldn't get the price I'll get now. I'm coming in to talk to you. Monday morning, ten o'clock, okay for you?”

“Monday at ten would be fine,” Elliott said, cordially. When he was sure Olsen had hung up, he slammed the phone down into the cradle. “I'll have to reschedule the entire day,” he snapped to his secretary as he hurried back to the elevator.

She watched him go with sympathetic eyes. The meeting that had been scheduled was to decide who would assume Aaron Klein's responsibilities in the firm. After staying home for four days, Klein had phoned in his resignation, saying that it was impossible for him to work side by side with someone who was the champion of his mother's killer.

G
regg Andrews had set out a pattern for himself, and he stuck to it. After he left the hospital, he went straight home, grabbed something to eat, and went straight to bed. His alarm was set for one
A.M.
By two
A.M.
, he was nursing a beer at the bar of the Woodshed and stayed there until closing time. Then, sitting in his car down the street, he watched to see the pattern of how the waiters, bartenders, and band members exited the building, checking to see that they all left within a few minutes of one another, and that no one came out alone, as they'd all claimed about the night Leesey disappeared.

For the last three nights, he had then walked the mile distance between the club and Leesey's apartment, stopping to talk to anyone he saw on the street and asking if by any chance they had been around at the time Leesey vanished and perhaps had seen her. The answer was always negative. The fourth and fifth nights, he drove back and forth covering other streets, just in case she might not have taken the most direct route.

On Saturday morning, at 3:30, after watching the employees
lock the door of the Woodshed, he was about to start driving around the neighborhood when there was a rap at the window. A man with streaks of dirt on his face and unkempt hair was staring in at him. Sure it was a request for money, Gregg rolled the car window down only a few inches.

“You're the brother,” the man said, his voice hoarse, his alcohol-laden breath sour. Instinctively, Gregg pulled his head back. “Yes, I am.”

“I saw her. Will you promise I get the reward?”

“If you can help me find my sister, yes.”

“Take my name down.”

Gregg reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a pad.

“It's Zach Winters. I live at the shelter on Mott Street.”

“You think you saw my sister?”

“I saw her the night she disappeared.”

“Why didn't you come forward at once?”

“Nobody believes people like me. I tell them I saw her, next thing they'll be saying I did something to her. That's what happens.” Winters put a grimy hand on the car to steady himself.

“If whatever you tell me helps us find my sister, I will personally hand the reward to you. What do you know?”

“She was the last customer out. She started to walk that way.” He pointed. “Then a big SUV pulled up and stopped.”

Gregg felt his insides twist. “Was she forced into it?”

“No way. I heard the driver call, ‘Hey, Leesey,' and she jumped right in the SUV herself.”

“Could you tell what kind it was?”

“Sure. It was a black Mercedes.”