“Ms. Delevigne, in your opinion, did Senator Warner hate Lenny Brookstein enough to want to have him killed? Or to kill him himself?”
Jasmine smiled. The policewoman thought, Even her teeth are perfect.
“Did he hate him enough? Absolutely. Lenny was threatening to destroy everything Jack had ever worked for. He would force Jack to swing votes in Quorum’s favor, back when they were rewriting all that hedge fund legislation, you remember?” The policewoman nodded. “Every time Lenny would tell Jack, ‘This is it, one more vote and you’re off the hook.’ But every time he would come back for more, squeezing and squeezing.” Jasmine shook her head angrily. “Jack hated Lenny Brookstein with good reason. But he didn’t kill him.”
“You sound sure of that.”
“I am sure. Jack was supposed to be out sailing that day, you see. The day of the storm, when Lenny Brookstein went missing.”
The policewoman looked at her notes. “That’s right. He did go sailing. The Nantucket coast guard rescued him, six miles off Sankaty Head. He returned to the Brookstein estate at around…six o’clock that night.”
“The coast guard didn’t rescue Jack. At least, not in the way you mean.”
“I’m sorry?” The policewoman frowned. “I don’t follow.”
“Jack never took the boat out. He was with me all day, in a beachside cottage in Siasconset. The coast guard covered for him.”
“You mean the coast guard helped Senator Warner to give a false alibi? They lied?”
Jasmine laughed, a low, sensual vibration that brought her whole body to life. “Don’t look so shocked. It happens all the time. Senator Warner’s a powerful man. People scratch Jack’s back so that he’ll scratch theirs. I’d have thought, in your profession, you’d be used to that sort of thing. I certainly am in mine.”
Jasmine politely showed the officer to the door. As she left, Jasmine asked her, “So the police think Lenny Brookstein might have been murdered? I’ve been following the case but I hadn’t heard anything about murder.”
“It’s a possibility we’re considering.”
“Do you think that means things will come out now? About me and Jack?” Jasmine cocked her head to one side, hopefully. The policewoman thought, So that’s it. She wants people to know. She’s hoping to force the senator’s hand so he’ll leave his wife.
“I don’t know, Ms. Delevigne. That’s not for me to say.”
Jasmine leaned forward conspiratorially. “My money’s on his mistress. That woman is as hard as nails.”
The policewoman smiled. “I think you must be mistaken. Mr. Brookstein didn’t have a mistress.”
“Sure he did. Connie Gray, his sister-in-law. They were lovers till Lenny abandoned her and went crawling back to his wife. Didn’t you know?”
TWENTY-FOUR
POLICE! OPEN THE DOOR, MS. DELEVIGNE.”
Jasmine sighed. Again? What do they want this time?
She opened the door.
“Hey, I know you, don’t I?”
DOWNSTAIRS IN THE LOBBY, GRACE LOCKED the door of the ladies’ room. Removing her black wig and eyeglasses, she stepped out of her police uniform, folded it neatly and placed it in the toilet cistern. Only after she’d replaced the lid of the cistern and straightened her own clothes did she collapse onto the floor and cry.
No. Not Lenny. Not my Lenny.
With my own sister?
He couldn’t.
She cast her mind back. Lenny and Connie had always gotten along. They were kindred spirits in a way, both tough, both ambitious. The opposite of me. She remembered the pair of them dancing at the Quorum Ball, deep in conversation. Connie arguing with Lenny on the beach in Nantucket, then storming off in tears. I thought he was comforting her, because of Michael. Because of all the money they’d lost. How could I have been so blind?
Grace didn’t care about Connie. Her sisters were long since dead to her. But Lenny! Grace’s memory of their marriage, of Lenny’s love for her, was the one true thing she had left in this world. Without that, there was no hope, no meaning, no point to any of it. Without that love, the anguish was unbearable. She cried out to the heavens.
“Oh, Lenny. Tell me it isn’t true!”
But Grace heard nothing, only the echo of her own words in the silence.
JASMINE SMILED AT THE HUNKY BLOND COP. Usually she only went for wealthy men. But in Detective Mitch Connors’s case, she might be persuaded to make an exception.
“I’d like to talk about your relationship with Senator Warner.”
“Certainly. Although I’m not sure how much more I can help you. I already told your colleague everything I know.”
Mitch frowned. “My colleague?”
“Yes. She was just here.”
She?
“She was asking me all about Jack, and what happened on Nantucket the weekend that Lenny Brookstein disappeared. Didn’t you send her?”
Mitch’s mouth went dry. He bolted for the elevator, pounding his fist on the call button. It seemed to take forever.
Should I wait, or take the stairs?
Fuck it.
He pushed open the emergency exit door and bounded down the stairs, three at a time. Bursting into the lobby, he looked around. Empty. He ran out to the street, frantically looking to the left and right. Fifth Avenue was busy. The street was choked with afternoon traffic and the sidewalk was full of people. Mitch weaved among them holding out his badge like a talisman, grabbing every petite woman he came across, scanning the features of every female he passed.
It was no good.
Grace Brookstein was gone.
TWENTY-FIVE
AS SOON AS HE REALIZED GRACE had given him the slip, Mitch sprinted back up to Jasmine’s apartment. “What did you tell her? I want to know everything, word for word.”
It was quite a conversation. Mitch was used to hearing Lenny Brookstein derided as a fraud and a coward. But in all of the media’s vitriolic portrayals, there had never been so much as a whisper about his sleeping around. As for a full-blown affair, with his wife’s sister? It just seemed so out of character.
No wonder “the policewoman” had left in such a hurry.
Mitch tried to figure out what Grace’s next move would be. After so many weeks on the case, he was starting to feel as if he was in her head, almost as if they were psychically connected in some way. It was weird. Technically they barely knew each other. Didn’t know each other. Yet there were times when Mitch felt closer to Grace Brookstein than he had to any of his past lovers, even Helen.
Her first instinct, he felt sure, would be to head straight to Connie’s house for a confrontation. But then what? Would common sense kick in? Showing up at her sister’s place would be insanely risky. On the other hand, Grace had robbed Davey Buccola at gunpoint. Her appetite for risk seemed to be growing by the day.
Mitch had interviewed both Grace’s sisters immediately after her escape from Bedford. It was routine procedure to contact family, just in case a suspect tried to make contact. He remembered the way that both Honor and Connie had washed their hands of Grace like a pair of Lady Macbeths, abandoning her utterly in her time of need. Fair-weather friends were bad enough, but Grace seemed to have been cursed by fair-weather family.
If Lenny really had traded a looker like Grace for an ice maiden like Connie Gray, he must have needed his head read. Mitch thought back to his encounter with Grace on the subway at Times Square. He’d come so close to catching her that day, but it wasn’t his disappointment that he remembered. It was the look on Grace’s face, that haunting combination of vulnerability and strength. Despite her exhaustion and the baggy, drab clothes she was wearing, there was something uniquely compelling about her. In some ways, she reminded Mitch of Helen, back in the early, happy days of their marriage. Both women had an inner beauty, an innate femininity that drew men to them like moths to a flame. Connie Gray was the exact opposite. Connie’s features might be regular and her figure toned and trim, but she was about as feminine as a sumo wrestler. Maybe that’s what Lenny wanted. A tranny version of his wife? Now that really would be sick.
MICHAEL GRAY ANSWERED THE DOOR.
“Detective. This is a surprise.”
Mitch thought the same thing everyone thought when they met Michael. You’re a straight-up, old-fashioned, decent man. You’re too good for these people.
“Do you have news about Grace?”
“Nothing concrete. We’re pursuing some new lines of inquiry. I wondered if I might speak with your wife again?”
“Of course. I’ll see if I can find her.”
“It’s all right, Mike. I’m here.”
Connie appeared in the entryway. Mitch thought, Maybe I was a little harsh. In a pretty, floral-print dress, her blond hair drawn back in an Alice band, she looked a lot more attractive than he remembered her. Behind her, an adorable towheaded boy was pushing a wooden train along the floor. Through double doors to Mitch’s right, an older, darker boy was practicing the piano. The whole thing looked like a scene from a Currier and Ives print. Too good to be true?