In doing so, he’d placed complete trust in Julia. She now knew enough to destroy his reputation and credibility, at least with Kessler and the police, which would cripple his political ambitions. It was a gift, she realized, a gesture of good faith in her and in their budding relationship. He was repaying her suspicion with humbling candor.
“Hannity,” he affirmed. “Then Kessler showed up, and he wanted the whole story too. They were nervous as cats, knowing the place could blow sky-high.”
As if remembering that fear, he wrapped a protective arm around her.
Julia breathed in a lungful of that intoxicating scent, then freed herself and stood. Not yet. She couldn’t think clearly when he was so close. “You didn’t tell the police you saw her?”
“No. She was terrified, but not with guilt. I’m convinced she didn’t kill him.”
So he’d lied to the police too. Of course—his own neck was on the line for helping her escape. Even so, that lie had saved Eva from certain arrest, and he’d freely admitted it. His trust was breathtaking.
Julia felt an urge to take his face between her hands, to feel the muscles of his jaw. She turned and paced to the windows. “When did you see her again?”
“I had to bide my time. Until they checked with James, I was a major suspect. When he finally cleared my story, Kessler asked for my help. I promised I’d try to keep a lid on Bobby and his men. The place was a tinderbox.”
She nudged aside the heavy velvet. The sky was starless. “And Eva?”
Wallace joined her and swept back the drapery. They were high above the park, above cresting waves of treetops. On the avenue below, a few headlamps plied the dark pools between streetlights. “I got to the Lester about nine that night. I told her I could help only if she let the police question her. It was risky, but we had no choice. The next morning she walked into the local precinct like she’d promised, and they carted her downtown.”
He let the curtain fall into place with a dustless rustle. “You know the rest.”
Julia rested two fingertips in the gap between her lips as she thought. She barely registered the faint pressure when Wallace kissed her hair. “What about Jerome Crockett?” she asked. “Where did he fit in?”
“My men got him out of sight that morning too, because Eva begged me to, but I’m not convinced he’s as clueless as he lets on. He’s a smart man. He could be playing a hand I can only guess at. But as long as he stays put and keeps his head down, he can’t do her any harm.”
“What do you know about her manuscript?”
“I know it’s missing. I know Eva’s worried about it. Beyond that, nothing. Why?”
“That manuscript has to be the key. It must be why Timson was murdered.”
He brushed hair back from her face, fingers lingering above her ear. “If I knew anything, I’d tell you. We just have to hope, for Eva’s sake, that Kessler turns up something.” He tilted her face to make certain she understood the import of his words.
She did—the all-important we—and met his kiss. But before a corner could be turned, she pulled back. “And now?”
“And now each day Eddie does his Ethel magic, Carlotta’s settles down a bit more. I doubt they care much anymore who shot Leonard—or why, for that matter. Sometimes it’s best just to move on, as I keep trying to convince Kessler. But if I can’t, and nothing turns up by next weekend, you heard me say I’d help them search.” He touched his nose to hers. “I lied, Julia. A whopper.”
She smiled.
“I plan to prove remarkably inept at finding her. I hope she can rely on your bungling as well.”
She smiled again. At last they were where she’d hoped to be from the start, on the same side, working together to find a safe path forward for Eva.
The joke faded as somewhere water pipes labored awake. Someone was about.
“Mrs. Hoskins,” Wallace said. “She gets up at a ghastly hour every morning to take care of God knows what all.”
Julia thought of the hallway of closed doors. “You must have a large household.”
“Just four. Mrs. Hoskins, plus Edgar and Archie and my man Farraday, but he sleeps at the other end of the apartment.”
“It seems large enough for more.”
“There’s space for six, I believe, though for all I know Mrs. Hoskins grows orchids in those rooms. She’ll be bustling in here soon.” Wallace took her hand. “Come. Let me show you the rest of the apartment.”
He led her down the long hallway with its ornate wainscoting to the north end of the apartment. As they approached a beautifully carved pair of walnut doors on their right, he swept open a door to their left. Julia admired a large windowless billiards room, pungent with tobacco. He gestured her around the hallway’s bend. The carved doors remained closed, ignored. Why? Surely another wondrous room lay beyond them. Why pass it by? Was this the place? Was Eva inside, just yards away?
Julia steadied her voice. “What’s in that room?”
“Only my library. Off limits, I’m afraid. My important papers are in there.” He led her on to a final pair of even more magnificent carved doors. These Wallace swung open. It was a grand bedroom, presumably his own. The bed was gargantuan, a continent of ecru satin that may have once served a French duke or Italian count. Here were more seascapes, one almost certainly a Turner, and a collection of Chinese bronze figures Philip would envy.
Wallace watched as she moved about the room. A deep oriental carpet hushed all sound. As she loitered in front of the Turner, he joined her, hands on her shoulders. “Satisfied?”
She laid her cheek on his knuckles. “Why won’t you tell me?”
He laughed. “Because I care about her, and you.” More quietly he added, “Julia?”
Even now it was a question.
