I went back to Dad’s office, flicked on the light, and went over Mack’s file again. I knew Lucas Reeves, the private investigator, had interviewed Mack’s drama teacher, as well as other members of the Columbia University Faculty. I had read his comments the other day and knew they weren’t helpful, but now I was looking specifically for what he had written about Esther Klein.
It was very short. “Ms. Klein expressed her sorrow and shock over Mack’s disappearance. She was unaware of any specific problem he may have been having.”
An innocuous statement, I thought, remembering the dictionary definition of the word “innocuous”: “Pallid; uninspiring; without power to interest or excite.”
The few words she and Mack had exchanged on the tape suggested they had had a warm relationship. Had Esther Klein been deliberately evasive when she was talking to Reeves? And if so, why?
It was a question that made me toss and turn in bed that night. Monday morning couldn’t come fast enough for me. I took the chance that Aaron Klein was one of those executives who gets to his desk early, and at twenty of nine phoned Wallace and Madison and asked for him.
His secretary had the usual question: “What is this in reference to?” and seemed miffed when I said it was personal, but when she gave Aaron Klein my name, he took my call immediately.
As briefly as I could, I explained to him that I did not want to upset Elliott or my mother by continuing to search for my brother, but that I had come across a tape of Mack and Aaron’s mother, and could I possibly meet him outside the office to play it for him?
His response was warm and understanding. “Elliott told me that your brother phoned on Mother’s Day last week and left a note saying that you were not to search for him.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Which is why I want to keep this between us. But the tape that I found may suggest that Mack was having a problem. I don’t know how much your mother may have talked to you about him.”
“She was very fond of Mack,” Klein said swiftly. “I do understand why you don’t want to involve Elliott and your mother. I’ve always been so sorry about your brother. Listen, I’m leaving early today. My boys are in a school play this evening and I don’t intend to miss it by being caught in traffic. I have all the tapes my mother made with her private students in a box in the attic. I’m sure any she made with your brother are there. Would you want to drive up to my house at about five o’clock this evening? I’ll give them all to you.”
Of course I promptly agreed. I called down to the garage and told the attendant I’d be picking up my mother’s car. I knew it would be hurtful to hear Mack’s voice over and over again, but at least if I could be reasonably sure that the tape I found in the suitcase was one of many in that vein, it would end the gnawing fear that he disappeared because he had a terrible problem he could not share with us.
Satisfied that I had made the connection, I made a fresh pot of coffee and turned on the morning news, then listened with a sinking heart to the latest report on the Leesey Andrews case. Someone had tipped a reporter at the Post that she had phoned her father Saturday and had promised to call again on Mother’s Day.
ON MOTHER’S DAY!
My cell phone rang. Every instinct told me that it was Detective Barrott. I did not answer, and a moment later when I checked my messages, I heard his voice. “Ms. MacKenzie, I’d like to see you again as soon as possible. My number is…”
I disconnected, my heart racing. I had his number, and I had no intention of calling him back until after I saw Aaron Klein.
At five o’clock that evening, when I arrived at the Klein home in Darien, I walked into a firestorm. After I rang the bell, the door was opened by an attractive woman in her late thirties who introduced herself as Aaron’s wife, Jenny. The strained expression on her face told me that something was terribly wrong.
She brought me into the den. Aaron Klein was on his knees on the rug, surrounded by overturned boxes. Stacks of tapes had been separated in individual piles. There must have been three hundred of them at least.
Aaron’s face was deathly pale. When he saw me, he got up slowly. He looked past me to his wife. “Jenny, they are absolutely not here, not one of them.”
“But it doesn’t make sense, Aaron,” she protested. “Why would-?”
He interrupted her and looked at me, his expression hostile. “I have never been satisfied that my mother was the victim of a random crime,” he said flatly. “At the time, it didn’t seem as if anything had been taken from her apartment, but that isn’t true. There is not a single tape of your brother’s lessons with her here, and I know there were at least twenty of them, and I know they were there after he disappeared. The only person who would want them would be your brother.”
“I don’t understand,” I said, sinking into the nearest chair.
“I now believe my mother was killed because someone had to get something from her apartment. The person who killed her took her house key. At the time, I couldn’t find anything missing. But there was something taken-the box that contained all the tapes she had made of your brother.”
“But your mother was attacked nearly a year after Mack disappeared,” I said. “Why would he want them? What use would they be to him?” Then, suddenly outraged, I demanded, “What are you insinuating?”
“I’m not insinuating,” Aaron Klein snapped at me. “I am telling you that I now believe that your missing brother may have been responsible for my mother’s death! There may have been something incriminating in those tapes.” He pointed out the window. “There is a girl from Greenwich who has been missing all week. I don’t know her, but if the newscast I heard coming up here in the car is accurate, she called her father and promised to call again next Mother’s Day. Isn’t that the day of choice for your brother to call? No wonder he warned you not to try to find him.”
I stood up. “My brother is not a killer. He is not a predator. When the truth is known, Mack will not be responsible for whatever happened to your mother and Leesey Andrews.”
I walked out, got into the car, and began to drive home. I guess I was in such a state of shock that I was on some kind of mental autopilot, because my next clear memory is of pulling up in front of our building on Sutton Place-and seeing Detective Barrott waiting for me in the lobby.
30
O h, come on, Poppa. You’re not really mad at me. You know I love you.” Steve Hockney’s tone was wheedling as he sat across the table from his elderly uncle, Derek Olsen. He had collected Olsen at his apartment and taken him by cab to Shun Lee West on Sixty-fifth Street for dinner. “We’re having the best Chinese food in New York. So we’re celebrating your birthday a few weeks late. Maybe we’ll celebrate it all year.”
Steve saw that he was getting the reaction he wanted. The anger was disappearing from his uncle’s eyes and an unwilling smile was hovering around his lips. I’ve got to be more careful, Hockney warned himself. Forgetting his birthday was the stupidest thing I’ve done in a long time.
“You’re lucky I don’t throw you out of your apartment and make you support yourself for a change,” Olsen muttered, but without rancor. It always surprised him, the swift rush of emotion he felt when he was with his dead sister’s handsome son. It’s because he looks so much like Irma, Olsen reminded himself-the same dark hair and big brown eyes, the same wonderful smile. Flesh of my flesh, he thought, as he took a bite of steamed dumplings Steve had ordered for him. It was delicious. “These are good,” he said. “You take me to nice places all the time. I must be giving you too much money.”
“No you’re not, Poppa. I’ve been doing a lot of gigs downtown. My big break is just around the corner. You’re going to be so proud of me. Think about it. My band is going to be the next Rolling Stones.”
“I’ve been hearing that since you were twenty. How old are you now? Forty-two?”
Hockney smiled. “Thirty-six and you know it.”
Olsen laughed. “I know I know it. But listen to me: I still think you should take over running the apartments. Howie gets on my nerves sometimes. He irritates people. I would have fired him today, except that the Kramers changed their minds about leaving, thank God.”
“The Kramers? They’ll never leave New York! Their daughter made them buy that place in Pennsylvania, and I’ll tell you why. She doesn’t want her parents to be superintendents. Hurts her image with her dreary, stuck-up friends.”
