My chest was heaving as Anton Griggs sped away, the cashmere stole hanging from the side of the cab like a limp body being dragged through the city streets.
THIRTY-TWO
“You sound like you can’t breathe,” Mercer said. “Slow down, Alex.”
I had practically run the block and a half to the restaurant before calling Mercer.
“I’ll be all right. Are you with Mike?”
“He’s on the phone in Dr. Assif’s office. Why?”
“I want you to know what happened,” I said, describing the nightmare cab ride and how I had played right into the patient hands of Anton Griggs. “Obviously, you have to tell the lieutenant, and I’ll call Battaglia, but hold off on Mike for tonight. He’s likely to go ballistic and head off after Anton and Tyrone Griggs. We don’t need any more trouble.”
“And the judge?”
“I’ll tell him in chambers on Monday. It’s smarter to have one of the guys from the DA’s squad handle this. I need Mike as a witness in the underlying murder case.”
“I’ll run Anton Griggs. You get a plate number?”
“Not even a partial. I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted out.”
“Understood. You want me to stay at your place tonight?”
“No, thanks. I’ve got-well, um, Luc is in town. We’re having dinner with Joan and Jim. I’ll be fine.”
“Sounds like Anton had his moment if he was going to do anything more than scare the pants off you.”
“A total success at that.”
“You’re on the street? I heard a car honking.”
“Just going into the restaurant, I promise.”
“I’ll check in with you in the morning. You got your Saturday ballet class?”
“I’ve just done my best leap. I’ll play hooky tomorrow.”
“You know Battaglia will put someone on you the minute you call him,” Mercer said. “I’d just as soon have it be me.”
“So would I. But I want to wait till Luc goes to the airport in the morning. I’d like a semblance of a normal social life for the evening.”
“You’re entitled to that. We’ll talk.”
Ken Aretsky welcomed me to Patroon with his usual warmth and charm. We embraced and exchanged kisses. “Good to see you, Alex. I hope you’re not coming down with something.”
“No, Ken. Why?”
“Well, you’re all flushed and perspiring a bit.”
That was a polite way of telling me I was sweating and shaking. “The traffic was wild. I had to sprint the last couple of blocks.”
“Better for me. That’s bound to make you even hungrier,” he said, leading me into the dining room, where New York ’s power brokers gathered to make deals over the superb food for which Aretsky was known. “Joan’s at the table. Jim took Luc upstairs to show him the private dining rooms and the rooftop bar. Happy to know I’m getting you into my business.”
“That’s entirely Luc’s doing, I’m afraid.”
Ken led me to the banquette in the front corner of the room and left me to bask in Joan Stafford’s effusive greeting.
I slipped onto the seat beside Joan, and after we hugged she asked to be brought up to the minute on everything I’d been doing.
“Sweetheart, did you even have time to see the news tonight? Your case is all over it. What did that poor girl do to deserve to die like that?”
“Isn’t it tragic?”
“I know you can’t tell me anything, but it’s so dreadful. We like to think of libraries as uplifting sanctuaries, but there have been murders and thefts associated with the best of them. Someone walked out of Cambridge University with a million dollars’ worth of rare books a couple of years ago when my play was in rehearsal in London.”
“I didn’t know about that one. It’s mind-boggling, isn’t it?”
“Mark Antony plundered the entire library of Pergamon so he could give it to Cleopatra as a wedding present. Nothing new under the sun.”
A novelist and playwright, Joan knew more about literature than anyone I had ever encountered. Brilliant, funny, and incredibly chic, she was happily married to an expert in foreign affairs who wrote a nationally syndicated column. Joan and my college roommate, Nina Baum, were the most loyal of friends, and I leaned on their shoulders during my more serious investigations.
“So I’m learning. And the characters who people this world-”
“Tell me about it. I go to those library benefits, and let me remind you that it isn’t all classy trustees like Louise Grunwald and Gordon Davis. The NBC reporter said the Hunts might be involved in this brouhaha,” Joan said as Stefan, the maitre d’, came over to fill my flute with champagne. “You don’t want to find yourself between Minerva Hunt and a rattlesnake. She’ll take your eyes out in a flash.”
“How about Jonah Krauss?” I asked. Joan had one of the grandest homes in East Hampton, where she’d been summering all of her life. There were few people of substance there that she didn’t know.
“You’re talking very north of the highway now, Alex,” she said, referring to the less fancy neighborhoods on the far side of Route 25, which split the Hamptons in half, where many of the newly rich had built their McMansions.
“We met with him this afternoon. He’s actually got a book bound in human skin.”
“Check his wife’s plastic surgeon. She’s had so much work done, they probably had enough left over to bind an encyclopedia,” Joan said, clinking her glass against mine. “Listen, sweetheart, when the reporters come after you on this one, promise me you’ll trowel on some foundation. You came in here all flushed and now you’re so white, you look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I thought I had, Joanie.”
“You must just be exhausted. Let’s give you some delicious comfort food and send you home to bed. Here come the guys,” she said, pointing at Jim and Luc, who had stopped in the bar to talk with Ken. “Things going okay with Luc?”
“He’s wonderful to me and it’s been very exciting. There can’t be a worse week for him to be here, though. I’ve been so unavailable on every level-physically and emotionally.”
“If I see your head fall into the bisque during dinner, I’ll kick you under the table,” she said, reaching out and squeezing my hand.
“I’ll stay awake,” I said, as Joan’s usual good humor restored my calm.
“Not to worry.”
Luc came directly to my side, bending over to kiss me on each cheek before he and Jim took seats opposite us. “I was so worried that Mr. Battaglia wouldn’t give you the night off, darling. How do you feel?”
“Better, for the three of you.”
Luc lifted his glass for a toast to Joan and Jim, then turned his attention back to me.
“I’m going to miss you terribly, Alexandra. You look stunning tonight.”
“Please don’t-”
“She’s right to stop you, Monsieur Rouget. Or I’ll never believe anything you tell me,” Joan said, wagging a finger at Luc. “She looks drawn and tired and thin. Awful is how she looks. Stunned, not stunning.”
“My English doesn’t need correction,
“You were there?” Joan said, turning to me. “You had to go out to the scene? You didn’t tell me that.”
“Let’s talk about somebody else’s week, okay?”
