Salander laughed hollowly.
“Something funny, Andy?”
“I was just thinking. About those times you came into The Cloisters and I served you. It’s really a great job, tending bar. You have the power to make people happy—their moods just kind of fall into your hands. Not just the booze, it’s everything—the listening. I knew you were a cop, someone told me. At first it bothered me. What an ugly world you must live in— I hoped you wouldn’t start talking, didn’t want to soak up all those negative vibes. But you never did. You just sat there and drank— you and that handsome doctor. Neither of you talked, you just drank in silence, then left. I started feeling sorry for you—no offense. Soaking up those vibes yourself. But I also felt good about helping you—not that you had a problem, but you know what I mean. I was in charge, got those beers and shots delivered right on the money and everyone was happy. And now . . .”
Another laugh. “I’ll be discreet, all right,” said Salander. “I’m the soul of discretion.”
Outside, I said, “No imminent danger?”
“Not if he keeps his mouth shut.”
“No grounds for protective custody?”
“That’s TV crap—LeMoyne’s world. So was my line about Salander being a material witness. The truth is, he and old Justin are free to fly off to Antigua any damn time they please.” He looked back at the Palm Court, cracked his knuckles. “I always knew it was about money, but Tony Duke’s daughter . . . Talk about high-stakes blackmail.”
I watched the traffic on Washington Boulevard, thinking about things Lauren had told me—that her parents hadn’t been married when she’d been conceived. That they’d “brought me up with lies.” The wall of ice between her and Lyle. The remark to Michelle about her mother “screwing up.” How early had she sensed something wrong? What had the truth done to her?
Jane had called me in a panic after Lauren had disappeared. Knowing what Lauren was up to, suspecting the five-day absence was more than just another extended weekend. Trying to motivate the police but holding back facts that might’ve helped. Even after Lauren’s death Milo had felt Jane had been less than helpful. I thought back to any hints she might have dropped, came up with only one: “Lauren’s never gotten anything from her father, and maybe that was my fault.”
Guilty—she had to have been tormented. Yet it hadn’t led her to finally open up. Worrying about her own safety. Justifiable fear.
And maybe something else: Lies had been the poisonous glue that held this family together.
“The time line fits,” I said. “Lauren was arrested for prostitution in Reno when she was nineteen, called Lyle for bail money but he turned her down. I always wondered why she phoned him and not Jane, but maybe it was because she still cared what Jane thought. Still, stuck in jail, she might’ve turned to Jane. And maybe Jane came through. But she didn’t give Lauren any of the money she’d collected from Tony Duke because she didn’t think Lauren could handle it. Instead, she tried to reconnect with Lauren. It was a slow process—Lauren had been on the streets for three years, was sitting on a lot of anger, and she continued to hook and strip. But Jane persisted, and some kind of bond must’ve been formed. Because two years later—when Lauren was twenty-one—Jane did give her the money, using the Mel Abbot cover story. You remember how Jane emphasized to us how well Lauren and Mel got along.”
He nodded. “Mel being a nice guy made it easier for Lauren to believe.”
“Shortly after Lauren received the hundred thousand, she set up her investment account, went back to school, got her GED, enrolled in community college, quit working for Gretchen. Maybe all of that was part of a deal with Jane, or Lauren really wanted to get her life together. Every year after that she invested another fifty-thousand-dollar annual payment.”
Milo said. “A deal. Give up the life, get rich.” His hand landed on my shoulder, and his eyes took on that sad, sympathetic droop—the look that comes over him when he delivers bad news.