'No. That's the point. There's no answer at Paige's apartment and I thought you'd know how to reach her. She called to say she's trying to bring the boy in herself.'
15
The three-dimensional building, set back in tiers like a giant birthday cake, has the most distinctive windows in New York. They were modeled to look like the bulbous aft end of old Dutch sailing ships, and as we drove up to the front of 37 West Forty-fourth Street-the New York Yacht Club-its century-old limestone facade seemed like a throwback to another era.
I was a few minutes late for my meeting with Graham Hoyt. Mike had decided to work with Mercer, figuring I needed no help in bartering a deal with Dulles's lawyer.
'Beep us if he knows anything,' Mike said to me.
'Of course. You do the same.'
'Sure they'll let you through the front door? The lieutenant says it's tougher to get into this yacht club than into your pants.'
'For certain I'm a cheaper date than trying to pay the dues here,' I said, slamming the car door. 'Speak to you later.'
I had spent a lot of time in the building across the street from the club-the Association of the Bar of the City of New York-and I'd downed my share of cocktails in the sleek lobby of the Royalton Hotel. But this architectural beauty, with its galleon-styled windows, was one of Manhattan's great mysteries. Its elite membership, its fabled pedigree, and its prohibitive fees had long made it an object of curiosity. One couldn't buy his way in with money-it took a real knowledge of boating to penetrate the ranks. Despite myself, I was impressed that Graham Hoyt was a member.
Hoyt was waiting for me inside the lobby, so the doorman just nodded and let me pass through the grand salon.
'Shall we talk in the Model Room?'
'Whatever you like. I've never been here before,' I said.
It was clear that the room was the centerpiece of the club. The entire history of yachting seemed to be displayed in its cavernous space, with hundreds of models of members' ships, with globes and astrolabes, and with braids of seaweed draping its huge mantel and wall trim.
'Is Chapman joining us?' Hoyt asked as we settled into a pair of corner seats.
'No. He's actually working on another case. Have you heard anything from Dulles?'
'Afraid not. I've got Jenna-my wife-sitting by the phone. I'm determined not to panic either one of us until another day goes by.'
He leaned forward and cupped his hands over his knees. 'Alex, why don't you just lay out what you've got, and tell me what you think the solution is? Perhaps we can fashion something that I can sell to Andrew, to convince him that pleading guilty would be in the boy's best interest.'
'I think he's pretty well aware of the strengths of my case-and its weaknesses.' I didn't trust anyone enough to reveal my personal thoughts about the witnesses.
'I knew from the discovery material you had turned over to Peter Robelon before the trial that Paige Vallis had accidentally killed a man. What's that about? Don't you think Peter's going to rip her to shreds on cross- examination?'
'Look, Graham, I'm sure you can understand why I'm reluctant-'
'I'm not a litigator, Alex. Strictly corporate law. Forgive me if you think I'm stepping on your toes. I'd just hate to see the jury find her less than credible, and throw out Dulles's case with hers.'
I let Graham tell me about how he and his wife had bonded with the boy over the past years, how they wanted to help him-maybe even have him as a member of their own family. It seemed clear they had better expectations for his future.
'When we've got him safely back,' Hoyt said, 'I can probably persuade the people at the child welfare agency to let him sit down with you, as long as we can find a noninstitutional setting in which to do it-I don't want him subjected to another police station or courtroom. And on the condition, of course, that I can be present.'
'I assume there's some quid pro quo for this, something you want from me,' I said.
Hoyt straightened up. 'I want you to offer Andrew Tripping a deal. A plea bargain. Something that will speed this along and have him sentenced so that he's in jail-immediately-and Dulles can breathe more easily. You can't imagine how this hangs over the child's head-this love-hate thing with his own father that the shrinks will testify about.'
All the psychiatrists spoke of the same findings. The boy had a natural filial love for Andrew, but his fear was even greater. He knew that telling the truth could make him safe, but if the judge or jury didn't believe him, he would be back at his father's mercy and in more danger than before.
'Tripping's been offered a deal from the get-go,' I said. 'I talked to Peter about a charge of third-degree rape instead of first.'
'Sorry. I don't know the criminal law. What's the difference?'
'The amount of time he'd have to serve. It's still a felony, but he wouldn't be exposed to as many years in state prison,' I said. The case was complicated. The top charges in the indictment related to the rape of Paige Vallis. I had added misdemeanor counts of physical assault and endangering the welfare of a child-counts that involved Dulles's abuse-knowing that they might be taken more seriously in the higher-court forum where the rape trial would be heard. It was an unorthodox way to proceed, but I thought it was worth the chance.
'Can't we still-?'
'It's too late for that, Graham. I told the defense team that once Paige gave sworn testimony, once she had to go through the experience of telling her story publicly, the offer was withdrawn. The ball was in Andrew's court for months and he didn't want to play.'
'But you'd save her the embarrassment of cross-examination. She can't be looking forward to Monday.'
'You know something that I don't?' I asked. 'You want to tell me what other surprises Peter has to hit her with?'
Was he bluffing now, I wondered, or did Robelon have more dirt on Paige Vallis, something else she had omitted from her narrative of events?
Graham Hoyt cocked his head and thought for a moment. For too long to make me comfortable. Why was it the prosecutor was so often the last to know?
'I've got a four-thirty appointment across town,' I said. 'I think we both agree there's nothing more important than Dulles's mental health. For that, I'll make almost any deal you want. But we've got to find him quickly or there's no point negotiating.'
'Finding him, and finding him safe, is our first concern, of course.'
We talked for a few minutes more about the police efforts and the fact that there had been no bad news as of yet. 'It actually helps me to hear how optimistic you are about Dulles,' I said, smiling as I stood up to leave.
'I have to be. Jenna is set on doing the right thing for this boy. It's broken her heart to be childless, and this seems like such a chance to solve both sets of problems,' Hoyt said. His somber expression passed in seconds. 'Want to have a look around before you go? J. P. Morgan's folly.'
Maybe I could do some reconnaissance for Paul Battaglia on his future political opponent. It would behoove me to be sociable for fifteen minutes, especially if I could bring home some information about Peter Robelon, follow up on the hint Hoyt had dropped last evening. It never hurt to have some professional gossip for the Boss. 'Sure. I didn't realize Morgan was responsible for this place.'
'Not for the club, initially. That was started in 1844, on a yacht anchored in New York Harbor. But he was responsible for the acquisition of this great building. That's his portrait over the stairwell. And those are some of his yachts.'
The painting of the Commodore was of minor interest compared with the models of his boats. 'The
'That's not a yacht,' I said, 'that's a-'
